#and I come back and discover I was right in assessment but also so so so wrong in execution

[missmarveledsblog]

It's only pretend right? ( Bucky barnes x reader) part two

summary : the morning the two get to the ranch only to discover the stay is longer than intended , Bucky meets her family some great and some honestly pissed him off , as if the seeing her judgemental family her ex was also there but still in all that she ignored it ready to show bucky they things that made her love coming home shitty extended family or not

warning: majority of this is fluffy some shitty people but bucky is there to keep her smiling

(previous part )

“ wakey wakey kiddo” Clint's voice boomed throughout the room sending her startled form out the bed. “ we’re leaving in 20 minutes. I was also informed to tell you that  Bucky will have food and coffee  on the jet” he chuckled seeing her on the floor glaring up at the man.

 “ gotta ask laura if she would enjoy the widow life , ” she grumbled heading towards the bathroom .

 “ nah she loves me too much and so do you ,  just not like how you love  bucky” he teased .

 “ Everybody knows I like bucky?”she came out a minute later.

 “ everyone but bucky , enhanced sense my ass” he muttered. 

“ it’s 5 am even steve knows to not wake me up so early bird man what is your deal ” she whined looking at the phone. 

“ Get dressed, you can sleep on the jet” he called, pushing her back to the bathroom with the clothes the girls were so kind to pick out for her the night before.

“ when did you become so bossy?” she growled 

 “ Oh shut up , get dressed,” he chuckled . 

“ told you she doesn’t like to be woken up , she didn’t stab you either that good” nat assessed. 

“ she didn’t get a chance” he winked.

 “ Nat Your MALE best friend is going to be visiting the bermuda triangle so say bye bye” she walked out rubbing her  eyes and yawning before shooting the man with another glare.

 “ Nice knowing you barton , you grumpy sit down” she saluted the man before taking the hair brush in her hand. She sat as nat tackled the bird nest that was her bed head eyes dropping slightly  .

 “ Ten more minutes” she mumbled before Clint lifted her up, making her yelp before walking out the room and down the hallway , Nat following after.

 “Are you excited to see your family kid?… Y/n … is she .. she’s asleep” he turned to see nat standing trying to suppress her laughter as the woman on his shoulders let out soft snores .

 “ oh this little shit”he grumbled heading out to the jet . 

“ hey doll” bucky smirked seeing  clint carrying her onto the jet. 

“She’s still asleep” he grunted, placing her down on the chair as she stirred , waking up again. 

“ Here's some coffee doll,” the man smiled .

 “ hey thank you bucky , good morning” she beamed before taking a generous gulp. “ Where was my goodmorning “ Clint looked to her, arms crossed.

“ back in the room when you scared it out of me” she took the tupperware filled with food.

 “ Just friends my ass” he turned, seeing the two filled with adoration for each other . 

The trip wasn’t long enough when Clint landed the jet near her family's ranch before rushing them out .

 “ Enjoy , have fun  and I'll collect you guys in two weeks” he called a mischievous smirk as the two spun around.

 “ Did  he just say two weeks?” she asked.

 “ he did and apparently we weren’t told” he held up the phone to see the team texting them to enjoy the time off.

 “ I mean I have Stark's black card so the second week doesn’t have to be here” she held the black plastic up and a devious smirk on her face.

 “  I mean I could use a vacation” he chuckled, both turning to see her mother and father coming out smiles painted on their faces as they walked up the drive. 

“ Natasha just told me we have you both for two weeks isn’t that exciting,” her mother cooed.

 “ she is not getting that prada bag.. Hey mama , pops where is everyone” she smiled softly hugging them. 

“ Nice to see you sir , ma'am,” bucky smiled, shaking their hands.

 “ Son, call me frank” her father pulled him into a hug . 

“ and me beth , your aunt owes me fifty  for this” she giggled, hugging  her then him . “So good to see you both  but i must say seeing her smile this hour of the morning is strange, you must have the touch mr barnes” her father chuckled. 

“ Please call me Bucky or James, please both of you and I didn't wake her. It is my secret” he laughed.

 “ I aint that bad” she grumbled. 

“ doll loki is afraid to go near your room in the morning and i think Clint learned his lesson” he nudged her softly.

 “ he’s not wrong , i mean you nearly stabbed jack” her mother nodded.

 “ Well my dumbass brother shouldn’t have worn a mask” she rolled her eyes.  

“ Speaking of Jack , he  and Helen and Izzy and Maya are staying at a hotel along with the rest of the family.”  her mother smiled as she and her father cheered.

 “ oh give it up to you two , grandma is still staying here” her mother rolled her eyes. `` which one?” she whispered to her dad while Bucky smiled at the close bond the two seem to share. 

“ Her mother ,  so the evil one” her dad winced. 

“ Bucky ..baby you’re catholic right? '' she asked .  

“ I mean I was back in the 40s” He almost melted at the pet name. 

 “ She's going bingo Thursday  so Izzy will propose to Maya then  it will be just us as a family rest will be out ” her mother sadly smiled.

 “ Why do we have to entertain these assholes?” Y/N asked.

 “ Because they are still family, '' her mother shot back . 

“ Well they don’t treat us like that,” she shook her head.

 “ it's not even for the full week we can do it kitty” her dad wrapped his arm around her as they approached the house. “ your mama set your room up for both of you so bring your bags up and join us for breakfast” he smiled as she froze turning to her friend.

 “ Sorry I didn’t think we’d have to share a room for a week, nevermind two” she winced. 

“ it’s ok we bunked together on a mission and sleepover in the compound” he brushed it off pretending his prayers weren’t just answered and frankly he thought his acting skills were Oscar worthy at that moment .

 “ ok we can do this” she nodded before taking his hand in hers . 

“ Show me the way, little cowgirl” he winked, making her burst into laughter.

Thankfully the rest of the morning was quiet once they finished breakfast ,she helped her mom with preparing lunch while Bucky offered to help her father with some of the chores on the ranch. 

“ My , my a  little kitty has gotten into the kitchen” she heard the voice before she felt him lift her up swinging her in a bruising hug.

 “ Jack in the box” she laughed excitedly. 

“ Where is this fella who thinks he’s good enough for my little sister?” he puffed his chest and stood a little taller.

 “Behind you” her father chuckled as the two walked into the kitchen .

 “ holy shit that’s sergeant james barnes' ' her brother's tough guy act fell instantly.

 “ aww shit i owe mama 50” her sister izzy pushed past the men before hugging her sister tightly. 

“  Who else owes you money?” She turned to her mother. 

“ A couple of your uncles and aunts,” she shrugged, heading back to the food. 

“ So where are my future sister in laws?” she asked quietly. 

“ how good at you with controlling that little gift of yours” jack stood back shooting izzy a worried glance. 

“ Why are you asking?” she crossed her arms as the man gulped. 

“They’re outside with Eli. '' Izzy called  hiding  behind jack.

 '' as in the cheating ,  dick of an ex left me alone in a big city alone , that eli '' she felt the heat on her finger tips til a sudden coldness snapped her back to reality  .

 “ I got you, '' Bucky whispered in that voice, instantly melting the annoyance.

 “ fuck please never leave” izzy patted the man on the back 

.” yeah took us forever to grow out our  eyebrows last time  , he’s my best friend and helen's brother” he smiled sadly to his sister . 

“ KITTY” her head whipped to see the two women pulling her to their arms. 

 “ good to see you Y/N” his voice had the hair on her body standing like bucky could sense it pulling her to him and wrapping his arm around her waist tightly.

 “ See my sister the avenger pulled sergeant james barnes” Jack smiled brightly.

 “ Please, it’s bucky” he waved to them .

 “I'm a big fan, Bucky,” Eli smiled.

 “ Mr. Barnes to you son” he turned, ignoring the outstretched hand pulling the knife out of his back pocket . " i forget i had this , hey beth why do i help you with lunch my knife skills are almost criminal " he smirked seeing the man pale .  

“ I like this one,” her father beamed.  

“ Me too” Helen chuckled before shooting her own brother a glare. 

.................

“ So how did y’all meet?” Eli asked, taking his seat across , most of the family arriving. 

“ work dummy” Helen rolled her eyes. 

“ oh yeah your mom told us you took to being an avenger , what are you the secretary? '' her uncle joked.

 “ No, she is part of the team , she beast on a mission.. But always safe, super cautious "Bucky spoke up ,then he added seeing the worry on her parents' faces . 

“ I mean she's always been a spitfire,” Jack chuckled.

 “ yeah she beat up those boys that picked on you when we were kids” izzy high fived her little sister.

 “ You allow her to do that,” another uncle scoffed. 

“ I don't own her so she’s free to do what she wants ma’am” bucky laughed thinking it was a joke but from her expression , he wondered what else she hid from the team when it came to her own family.

 “ We thought it was made up, “ her aunt laughed as her shoulder tense. 

“ Is  your son  out of rehab yet oh sorry i wasn’t supposed to say that was i? is he out of that college for drugs ” her father asked as she and her sibling hide the giggles. 

“Hey bucky wanna see my horse? '' she asked, feeling the man's jaw clench and tension build throughout the table .

 “ Sure doll” he smiled softly when his eyes set on her . Almost pulling him out the door as they all watched judging like always . she barely got out the door before he pulled her to a halt .

 “ ok what the hell was that” he asked with an almost sad tone in his voice. 

“ I may be the black sheep of a judgmental as hell family. I know I should've warned you,” she let out a sigh, wringing her hands.

 " Is this why you don’t visit home much?” he asked softly.

 “ You cracked that code huh?, i mean even if she can be bitchy i still write to my grandma and my folks visit and i ring siblings regularly but the rest i avoid because i’m never good enough and I thought maybe with a boyfriend and great job would help nope” she sighed. 

“ How long are they staying for?” he asked, wrapping his arms around as she melted in his embrace. 

“ They leave in a couple of days which is too long” her father's voice rang out. “ you ok kitty?” he asked softly.

 “ I'm fine papa , we're going to bring bucky on my trail ” she smiled sadly. 

“ What is this kitty I keep hearing?” Bucky asked, smiling as her cheeks heated. 

“ oh she ain’t told you that one yet , ” her father chuckled . “ After the madness i’ll tell you “ he added before walking into the house.

 “ Let's go see these horses” she rushed off before he could ask her more.

 “ Oh no back here doll face ” he chuckled, chasing after her as her father watched from the front door with a smile so wide he couldn’t remember the last time he saw it so free on her face not a force one as she took the battering of their words  . 

“ he's a bit old for her, no? '' her fathers eyes rolled walking in they barely waited til she was out the door before the nit picking started . 

 '' yeah isn’t he like a hundred or something” eli added.

 “ he was frozen doesn’t count” her brother shook his head 

“ he makes her smile i don’t care if he is a thousand years old” her father almost snapped at the guest at the table. 

“ That job is so unsafe, people are gonna know she one of those thing ” her aunt shook her head. 

“Well ain't we lucky you ain’t doing it , she could be a lunch lady and you’d find a problem in it and ain't nothing wrong with her ” he looked at the woman .

 “What is your problem with Y/N? least she not a junkie or a dim witted whore like your kids '' izzy asked hating how it was alway y/n they would attack or show disgust at . 

'' You know what our problem is? She’s not even … ''. 

“ everybody stop yelling and eat your food” the elderly woman yelled, instantly shutting them up, eyeing the sneaking touches from her eldest granddaughter before the two went to eat their food. “ Sorry mama” and “ grandmama” were uttered around the table as the woman looked out the window  at her granddaughter running around smiling . “ she is very happy” she murmured as the rest ignored her words, bragging about their fake lives .

 

“ Here bucky bear is star , she is the best horse in the state nah in the whole of the US although i might be biased”she winked as she patted the mare’s side. 

“ she is a pretty one, star nice name ,it's cute ” he mused but  a black mane caught his eyes . “ Who's this?” he asked, walking toward the one across. 

“ Oh moon,  he's the new one , my pops rescued him , the previous owner said he ain’t nothing good but my dad sees the best in everything i think i get that from him” she smiled . 

“ he seems ok to me” he patted the horse .

 “ he’s misunderstood like someone i know” she mused only for the horse to kick the stall . “ You must be fed up there huh buddy” she mused.“ What do you say bucket wanna  see my childhood being little cowgirl and all that ” she walked towards the saddles.

 “ Lead the way doll” he smiled as she handed it to him but the minute the stall opened the jet black stallion made its way toward the almost stark white mare's head rubbing hers.

 “ oh you dirty dog come kicking a fuss for the ladies huh ? ” she chuckled pulling them apart as she led star out both getting them ready before she hopped up with ease.  

“ you make that too easy” he chuckled before not so gracefully getting on the stallion before she took head.  Bought passing the window as her father and brother almost fell over each other seeing bucky easily walk by . 

“ catch me if you can” she giggled before taking off down the trail as his horse followed  after .

  “ Hey, this guy is doing the work” he called.

 “ That's because I think he is  in love” she giggled, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her hair , taking full advantage given she didn’t get to do stuff like this back in the compound. 

“ he’s not the only one” he sighed following after her. Watching her so free and smiling wider wondering if he could get tony to get something like this on the compound just to see her look like that more often .

[flimsy-roost]

now that I know I'm audhd I'm pretty gentle with myself, like I can just go meh whatever and shrug off most of the weird shit I do, but one thing that still makes me want to sink into the floor every time is when I get so excited to see a visibly queer person in a mundane environment that I forget you're not supposed to stare and bc I'm not super expressive by the time I snap back to reality this poor person has been stonefaced stared down by a random schlub (me) for long enough that they're now worried about getting hatecrimed in the Lowes parking lot. Why Am I Like This

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part two

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part two word count: 12.4k

part two warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, me forcing you to read extensive vampire lore, the supernatural elements are ramped up a notch (or, like, eight notches), semi-graphic descriptions and depictions of violence

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

note/disclaimer: and to absolutely no one’s surprise, I cannot stop talking about vampire heeseung, so this story will be more than two parts. this is not the end. I want to say it will be around 4-5. potentially more. (yay if you’re excited, and my apologies if you’re not.) again, I want to name the sources I used to help me create this: the dark moon webtoon is where lots of the lore comes from, and influences from twilight are also scattered throughout. okay I think that’s it. for now at least… as always, happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Everything hurts. 

As your consciousness slowly begins to trickle back in, pain is the most prominent sensation. It comes in slow, steady waves. With a certain kind of deep ache. 

Eyes still screwed shut, your brow furrows. The movement only inspires anothing intense wave of throbbing pain that thuds against your temples. 

As senses begin to emerge, you can tell that you’re horizontal. Lying down. The surface beneath you is soft. It dips and curves, gives to the shape of your body. A bed, maybe. 

Delicately, you try moving your right arm. Wiggling your toes. Both are responsive, but there’s a profound soreness sitting deep within your muscle that makes you strain against a whimper from even the tiniest of movements. 

And your throat. It’s so dry. Scraped raw as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. As if you’ve been screaming. 

You inhale deeply, assessing the way air inflates the lungs beneath your ribs. Even there, deep within you, there’s a dull, muted ache. A pain that lingers. As the ensuing exhale leaves your body, you note another sensation. 

The emptiness of your stomach. The deep pangs of hunger that roll like nausea. 

With no small amount of reluctance, you begin the arduous task of opening your eyes. One slow blink that bleeds into another. 

At first, the only thing you see is a vast expanse of white. Blinding light makes you want to squint. Close your eyes again. But it’s nothing but a trick of your own senses. Causes by eyes that have gone unused for an extended period of time. 

Slowly, the space above you begins to take on its true tone. A soft, even light gray that coats the expanse of the ceiling. Turning your head to the side, you ignore the protest of pain from your neck. 

You let your eyes wander for a minute. But as the space around you begins to come into focus, you’re left with more questions than answers. 

Your earlier assertion had been correct. You are lying in a bed. But it’s not the one you’ve grown used to. This isn’t your apartment. 

No, the bedroom around you is an unfamiliar one. But that’s undoubtedly what it is: a bedroom. Threadbare maybe, but with small touches of life. Aside from your current resting place, there’s a desk on the opposite side of the room. A nightstand right next to you. A small lamp that emanate a warm, golden glow. 

Forcing your body into an upright position, you wince at the effort it takes just to sit upright, to maneuver every aching limb into place. 

More details of the room come into focus. A computer monitor and keyboard on the desk. The small stack of books next to it. A record player. A small dresser. Little trinkets of personality, but nothing that serves you now. 

Even through the haze in your sleep-addled mind, you’re sure you’ve never seen any of it before. Why are you here? Where is here?

And why does your body hurt so damn much, nerves under your skin singing like they’ve been wrung out to dry?

The fog in your mind refuses to clear. Soon, another emotion begins to emerge alongside the confusion as the reality of the situation sets in. 

You’re alone. In an unfamiliar room. Hungry as if it’s been days since you’ve eaten. 

Judging from the way your limbs respond to even the most minute of movements, you’re injured. Badly. 

Flexing your left leg again, you wince. Can you even walk right now? 

This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

The beginnings of panic begin to trace your mind. Again, you’re searching the room. This time, however, you focus on memorizing the layout. Finding anything that might be of any use to you, that might help you identify your location. That might help you craft an escape.

Your search turns up two doors, one to your left and one directly across from the foot of the bed. Both are unmarked. Both are pulled shut. 

It’s possible that your panic is premature. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that this was nothing more than the bedroom of a rather minimalistic university student. But if that were the case why did you wake up here alone, head pounding, body aching?

That alone is definitive. Something is very wrong. 

Instinctively, you try to retrace your steps. You must have gotten here somehow. But the more you try to walk back through your memory, the hazier things become. The inside of your mind is like a murky labyrinth, dead ends at every corner. Rearranging and shifting the more you try to focus. 

It’s as if a dense fog has clouded over your ability to think, to recall. No matter how close you get to a memory, you can’t see anything. 

That alone is enough to send another fresh wave of panic straight to your bones. Alone, injured, and you can’t remember any of the events that led you to this strange place. 

Gingerly, you turn your body so that your legs hang off the side of the bed, bare feet resting lightly on the floor. That movement alone requires several of your deep inhales. 

Slowly, you try putting weight on your feet, your legs. It’s not pleasant by any means, but they hold steady. Or at the very least, they don’t buckle beneath you. Aside from the soreness, there’s a distinct fatigue in your extremities. One that gives them a slight shake the longer you try to stand. 

You doubt you can run, but at least you’re not completely immobile. Maybe, given enough adrenaline, you can walk. Crawl. 

But now you’re faced with another dilemma. Two doors. Two points of entry, two potential routes to escape. Or two paths to further danger. Trapped in a windowless room, you have no way of knowing which of your two choices, if any, is better. 

But you can’t just stay here. Backed into a corner, practically a sitting duck. Eyes darting between the two doors, you steel yourself for the inevitable flash of pain fully standing will inevitably cause. 

The door to the left of the bed. The door at the foot of the bed. 

Just as you’ve decided to veer to the right, muscles tensing in anticipation, a knock rings out. Your breath catches in your throat, panic reaching its peak as your heart beats a furious rhythm in your chest. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go.One rap against the door to your left. Two. Three. 

You won’t make it to the other door in time. Not on your legs. 

There’s a moment of suspended silence. And then, the door is opening. 

Instinctively, you push yourself backwards on the bed., trying to put as much space as physically possible between you and the stranger that enters. 

And a stranger he certainly is. With a tentative sort of slowness, a boy peers around the edge of the door, squinting in the low light. 

When he sees that you’re upright, he pushes into the room fully, closing the door quietly behind him. The glimpse you get over his shoulder doesn’t reveal much. Another room, maybe, but it’s gone too quickly to be certain. 

“You’re awake,” he nods, more to himself than anything. “I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

Back pressed against the wall, you have nowhere left to go. Still hunched as if that will do anything to protect you, you stare at the boy in front of you. 

Maybe, you think. Maybe you could move fast enough to grab the lamp from the nightstand before he realizes what’s happening. Could use it as some sort of weapon, some meager means of self-defense. 

“Who are you?” Your throat is scraped raw. It hurts to speak, to think, to do much of anything. “Where am I?”

“Oh.” The boy pauses for a moment. For the first time since he entered, he stops to look at you. Really look at you. The extent of the terror that’s embedded in your features, written in the positioning of your body. 

Immediately, he stops in his tracks. Retreats a few steps until he’s back at the far edge of the room, just in front of the door he entered from. “Sorry, I guess it was probably quite the shock to wake up here. My name is Jake. You’re in our…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Well, our home, I suppose.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Chest still rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even your breathing. You can still feel your pulse in your neck. 

If the situation weren't so disorienting, so terrifyingly confusing, you might be mildly amused by the almost… sheepish look that crosses his features. Where he avoids eye contact with you from the doorframe, this boy certainly doesn’t look like a threat. 

If you had to guess, you’d say that he — Jake — is around your age. With dark hair that falls across his forehead and wide, dark eyes, he has a distinct sort of beauty that almost reminds you of… 

Suddenly, in the confines of your missing memories, you’re grasping at straws again. 

“Specifically,” Jake adds, realizing the information might be pertinent to you, “this is Heeseung’s room.”

Heeseung. You know that name. You think it’s the one you were searching for. 

Heeseung. 

It sparks something. A flicker of a memory. A ghost of the answers you seek. 

You feel like you’re on the verge of a revelation when you ask, “Where is he? Heeseung?”

Jake’s expression betrays no surprise. He’d expected you to ask him that, you realize. It does, however, suddenly appear a bit more guarded. “He’s recovering. That poison he got out of you really did a number on him.”

For a moment, his words do nothing but reverberate in your aching skull. And then—

“Poison?”

Jake just looks at you for a second, brow pulling down in confusion as if you’re the strange one in this situation. As if poison and Heeseung’s apparent removal of it should already be old news. Then, a flicker of realization crosses his features. His brow softens. 

“That’s right,” he mumbles. Again, it seems more for his benefit than yours. “I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

Moonflower? In humans? 

“Memory loss?”

“It’s only temporary,” Jake says, as if that’s enough to make everything better. “Everything will start to come back soon, I’m sure.” He pauses, frowning. A flicker of sympathy enters his gaze. “I feel like I should warn you, though. Judging from the way you and Heeseung came in here a couple of nights ago, it might be a lot to take in all at once when they do.”

A couple of nights ago. Which means—

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Just over two days. It’s Friday night now. Almost midnight.” While the shock of that settles into your system, Jake continues, “Which reminds me, I brought you some things I thought you might need.”

He turns away from you, opening the door. When he closes it behind him again, he now has two bags in his hand. Carefully, like one might approach a wounded animal, he takes slow footsteps towards you. 

Setting the bags down next to the nightstand, he explains, “This one has water and food. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so feel free to have whatever, and let us know if there’s anything else you want.”

Looking at the second bag, he adds, “I also brought you some clothes. We didn’t really have anything for a girl here. I mean, Sunghoon had a couple of things, but I didn’t really think you’d want them. Sunoo and Niki went out and got some stuff. I’m sure they did their best, but, uh,” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “No promises.”

Jake nods towards the dresser that sits by the desk. “If you hate everything, you can also look through whatever Heeseung has in there. I’m sure he wouldn't mind.”

That name again. Heeseung. There’s nothing solid in your memory, but heat finds itself on your cheekbones anyway. The thought of wearing his clothes just feels like something that should warrant that reaction, even if you’re not sure why. 

“There’s also a bathroom through that door.” Jake jerks his chin towards the door across from the foot of the bed. And maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have enough time to craft an escape through there, you think. This conversation might have been significantly more awkward in a bathroom. “Feel free to use anything in there, including the shower, if you want. There should be clean towels in the bottom drawer.”

He takes another long look at you, that same sympathy from earlier coloring his gaze. It feels weighted, heavy. As if he’s forseen some great tragedy you’re not yet privy too. As if he knows something you don’t. “I’m sure you have a million questions, but I think you’ll feel better with some food and water in you.” He nods towards the bags he set close to you. “And a fresh change of clothes.” 

He’s probably right. With the urgency of your former panic subsiding, you still don’t feel at ease. But neither fight nor flight seem like appropriate responses to this situation. Which leaves you stuck with a third one: reluctant trust. 

As you make your peace with it, something begins to press at the fog in your mind. It swirls, collects as if being pressed against a glass window. Your memories are still evasive, but there’s something there, in that haze. Syllables stuck on a loop, a constant repetition that begs your attention. 

Heeseung. 

There’s a sudden urgency in your gut. The distinct feeling that things will start to make sense again if you can just see him, talk to him. Jake said that he’s recovering. From poison. But you don’t know what that means, don’t understand what kind of gravity it might hold. 

Vague sentiments conveyed through a messenger are hardly enough to satisfy the tugging in your mind. 

So you ask, “Can I see him? Heeseung?”

Something flickers across Jake’s gaze, too fast for you to catch it fully. Concern maybe. A premonition of fear. Still, he says, “He’s okay. I promise. You’ll be able to see him soon.” For a moment, Jake falls into silence, weighing words on his tongue like he can’t decide if he should share them or not. “But he’s not really in the best shape for visitors right now. Take care of you first, and then we can talk more if you want. And when you’re both ready, you can see Heeseung, too.”

It’s hardly a satisfying answer, but Jake holds the cards here. You have nothing to leverage, nothing to bargain. 

Before he leaves, he reiterates, “I’m sure that your memories will start to come back soon. Like I said, it might be a lot all at once. I’ll let you eat and get changed, if you want. The door locks.” He nods to the door handle. “So does the one on the bathroom door. And please, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just outside.”

Gently, Jake opens the door, pulls it shut behind him. And then you’re alone again. 

Gone is the frantic terror you awoke with, and left in its wake is a gentler sort of fear. A deep sense of unease that refuses to fade. 

Pushing it aside for now, you attend to your baser needs. Heeding Jake’s advice, you retrieve the first bag he left for you, pulling it up onto the bed. 

The first thing you see is a bottle of water. You make quick work of pulling it out, removing the cap, and taking a long sip. It’s cool, refreshing. Soothes your aching throat before settling heavily at the bottom of your empty stomach. 

Taking another handful of gulps, you replace the cap before setting it on the nightstand. Opening the bag further, you reveal its other contents. 

It’s possibly the strangest assortment of food that you’ve ever seen. Frowning in confusion, you take stock of what you’ve been given. It just gets weirder the more you look at it. It’s as if Jake went to the grocery store and just grabbed the first thing he saw in every aisle with no regard for how they would fit together. As if he hasn’t made himself a meal since the day he was born. 

The first thing you pull out is a box of dry pasta, completely inedible without cooking utensils you currently have no access to. Jake did say you could ask him for anything, but even boiling water has a way of feeling like an insurmountable task in your current state. You move on. 

What follows is hardly better. There’s a singular, unripe avocado, an entire family sized bag of clementine oranges, three boxes of breakfast cereal, a loaf of bread, and — you pause a moment to count — eight different kinds of granola bars. 

Pushing past the strangeness, you figure you don’t need a Michelin star meal to ease the hunger. For now, you decide that one of the granola bars and a clementine look the most appetizing. 

After a few minutes, the blunt edges of hunger lose their sharpness. But even with a bit of food in your system, the nausea hold steady. 

Mind addled, you curse yourself for not asking him the most obvious question. What the hell happened to you? 

But he did say your memories should be coming back soon, and you decide you’ll just have to trust in that for now. 

Next, you reach for the bag of clothes. You didn’t think it was possible, but it somehow manages to be even stranger than the food. 

To your shoppers’ credit, they are girls’ clothes, yes, but it seems that was the only criteria for selection. It’s the dead of winter, and the first two things you pull out are a pair of denim shorts and a sundress. Frowning, you refold them both, placing them back in the bag. At least they still have their tags. Hopefully the two boys Jake mentioned kept their receipt. 

That leaves you with your other option. Glancing over at the dresser, his dresser, you’re at an impasse. 

Even with gaping holes in your memory, it feels invasive, far too intimate to look through his things. To go through his clothes until you find something that suits you. To wear it without his permission. 

Taking a sidelong glance at the pair of denim shorts, you decide you don’t have all that much pride left to barter, anyway. After all, you work up disoriented, weak, and missing all of your memories in the boy’s bed. What’s a spare change of clothes in comparison with that?

As you gingerly pad your way to the dresser, you decide it feels less like snooping if you only reach for what’s on top. Luck is on your side. The first thing you see when you open the top drawer is a sweatshirt and matching pair of sweatpants, both of which are ridiculously soft. 

Stolen goods in tow, you continue towards the bathroom door. Pulling it closed behind you, you see that Jake was telling the truth. The lock slides into place with a small click.  

Like his bedroom, Heeseung’s bathroom is fairly nondescript. Devoid of decor, it holds what he needs and little else. Opening the bottom drawer of the vanity, you find a clean towel and set it down on the counter, next to the clothes. 

Lifting your head, you catch your reflection in the mirror. It’s enough to have you double take. You almost don’t recognize yourself. The tangled mess of hair and dark circles of exhaustion beneath your eyes are things you could forgive. Two days of straight sleep is enough to wreak at least a little havoc on anyone. 

But that’s not what has your reflection freezing. 

Delicately, as if the truth will somehow be less awful if revealed slowly, you tilt your head to the side. Pull your hair away, tuck it behind your ear. Expose the dark, mottled assortment of discolored marks that extend all the way from your jaw to the base of your neck. 

Bruises. Deep, dark bruises. 

And on top of them, uneven, flaky patches of multicolored crimson. Dried blood, you realize as your stomach gives a sickening lurch. 

Is it yours? Heeseung’s? Someone else’s? 

The fog in your mind suddenly feels like an enclosure. Holding you hostage and dangling your forgotten memories just out of reach. Trapping you in the darkness and offering no way out, no way through. Just a dim candle against the vast, midnight darkness of terror. 

You’re too wrung out to cry, too confused to so much as gasp. As reality unfolds, devastation seems to be the norm, not the exception. Even if your throat weren’t raw, you’re not sure you’d scream. 

With trepidation, you raise a hand, watching the way your fingers tremble in your reflection. And then your run a gentle touch over the evidence of destruction, a war waged on your skin. Once it nears your jaw, you feel something. A small bump that has you hissing at the contact. 

Leaning forward, you examine it closer. It’s a tiny wound, barely perceptible. It reminds you of a vaccination at the doctor’s office. Neat, sterile. 

Enough to be confusing, yes. Arguably even concerning. But it’s not what has you reeling. 

Because around the tiny mark are two more puncture wounds. Perfectly circular still, but decidedly larger. Rougher. Deeper. They’re embedded into your skin on either side of the smaller wound. And if you didn’t know any better, if your mind had any more capacity for the impossible, you’d almost think they look like…

You’d almost think they look like bite marks. 

The longer you stare, the more sinister they appear. The more hopelessly horrified you feel. What happened to you? Why does the side of your neck look like a watercolor painting of violets? Why does it look like you’ve been bitten?

If this is what you look like, what kind of state is Heeseung in? Jake said it himself that he’s in no condition for visitors. 

What if he’s not recovering as well as Jake said? What if it’s your fault—?

No. You won’t let yourself spiral there. 

Memories, you just need your memories. 

Which means you just need a little more time. 

The shower, to your relief, has plenty of hot water to spare. For long minutes, you just stand there, letting it pour over you, your skin, your aching muscles. As water seeps through the drain, it carries some of your tension with it.

You watch as the water that circles the drain runs red before it clears again, blood washed away from your skin.

It’s instinct, mostly. The desire to confirm what you already know, that has you retracing the strange marks on your neck. 

A hiss of pain is the only thing that ensues in response at first. But then something else comes. 

A flicker of a memory. 

A strange place, a dark room. 

New Haven. The publishing house. Because you had gone there to meet Professor Kim, to show him your draft, to see the space you’d won an internship in. 

It’s coming back now, in fragments. 

There had been something strange, though. It was dark when you arrived. Dark and empty and quiet until—

Until suddenly it wasn’t. Until Heeseung was there with you.

Warm water traces steady lines on your skin. Your memory reappears in tangled, discombobulated jumbles. Things clicking into place as you do your best to sort them chronologically. 

Heeseung was there, but he wasn’t supposed to be. You had gone there to see Professor Kim. Why wasn’t he—?

The sudden flash of memory is sickening. Has another bout of nausea threatening the contents of your stomach. 

It all comes back, all at once. Replaying like a nightmare, like a scene plucked from a horror film. 

Blood dripping from your professor’s mouth. Clothes tattered on his body. Heeseung shielding you, protecting you. 

But Professor Kim wasn’t himself. He wasn’t right. He threw something at you. Something that hit you right where he intended. 

Without your permission, your fingers are back on the slippery skin of your neck. The blood is gone, but the wound remains just the same. The wound that Professor Kim gave to you. 

You remember the feeling of floating, of being distant from your body, removed from reality. Mind on some other plane of existence. 

You remember gentle, insistent, desperate hands on your waist. Your jaw. Your forehead. 

Heeseung, bent over you, consuming your limited plane of vision as your eyelids became too heavy to remain open. 

Pain in your neck. Sharp at first. Then dull, numbing. 

Heeseung. Heeseung bit you. Held you in his arms as consciousness drained from your body along with your blood. 

Poison, Jake had called it. ‘Poison he got out of you.’

It’s all so strange. They’re your memories, yes, and you’re sure of them, but why was there poison in your neck? Why was biting you the solution? How did his teeth leave such perfectly circular marks on—?

The final puzzle piece clicks into place. 

Vampire attacks. You had been worried about Heeseung, relieved to see him safe and sound at New Haven. Because you had just read about vampire attacks. 

Robotically, you turn the water off. Step out of the shower, wrap a towel around your body. 

His clothes are soft against your skin. 

Heeseung saved you. Of that, you’re sure. But what about the three people at the river? The three victims of a vampire attack?

It can’t be true. It can’t. You don’t know him, not really, but he’s just… Heeseung. 

An annoyingly competent poet and a massive pain in your ass. Someone that walks you home when you stay too late in the library. Someone that calls your writing awful when it is, when you need a cold, hard reality check. 

He’s… he’s just Heeseung. He’s not a—

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the thought. 

But your memories are back, and there’s a alertness to your mind that only sharpens as the fog clears. 

At the edge of your mind, Jake’s voice replays. Something you glossed over in your confusion, something you fixate on now. 

“I always forget that moonflower can cause memory loss in humans.”

“I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up.”

The strange assortment of food. Jake’s undeniable, uncanny beauty. The kind you’ve only ever seen in one other person. 

Jake was right. You do feel a bit better with food and water in your stomach. With the last three days of horror washed off of your skin. But your mind is alert now. The memories are coming back. Puzzle pieces rearranging and clicking into place with alarming accuracy. 

And as the dust settles, you’re suddenly very, very afraid of the reality that greets you. 

In your mind, the facts play on a loop. 

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how to leave. Jake has been nothing but kind, but if he so wished, you’re sure he could overpower you easily. And he insinuated that he’s not the only one here. 

You need answers. You need to leave. But Heeseung…

You have to know. 

Is the boy you’ve been trying to outwrite for months, the boy you shared a moment under a moonlit sky with, is he a… a vampire?

Why was he at New Haven that day? Did he know about Professor Kim? Did he know about the deaths at the river? Was he complicit in them? Was he responsible for them?

Clothed in determination and a fleeting moment of bravery, you undo the lock on the bathroom door, passing through the bedroom, his bedroom, on furious footsteps. The second door opens just as easily as the bathroom had, and suddenly, you’re in the room you caught just a glimpse of before. A living room, of sorts. Some sort of common area. 

True to his earlier word, Jake sits nearby. Planted on a navy sofa, he looks up when you enter. “How are you feeling? Do you need any—”

Manners are the last thing on your mind when you interrupt him mid-sentence. “What are you?” Not ‘who are you.’ That won’t give you the answer you seek. The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous. 

Jake’s mouth falls shut, presses into a line. Hesitation paints his features. “I don’t think this is the best—”

You won’t hear it. “What are you?”

Jake holds up his palms in surrender. “Your memories are starting to come back, I take it. Look, we can explain everything, just—”

On the far end of the room, another door opens. Another boy enters. Just like Heeseung, just like Jake, he’s beautiful. Moves with that same unnatural grace that you used to admire when you thought no one would notice. Now, it has another surge of nausea rolling in your stomach. 

Jake glances at the new arrival. He sighs. “This isn’t really a good time, Sunghoon. Why don’t you—”

The boy, Sunghoon, never hears Jake’s suggestion. Instead, he cuts him off. And once again, your world is spinning. 

“He’s back.”

…..

You are the last to enter the strange room. On the heels of Jake and Sunghoon, despite the former’s insistence that you wait and see him later, you take in your surroundings. 

Odd enough was the long, winding hallway that led you here, but this is even stranger. Instead of a proper door, the room is guarded by long, thick metal bars. They stand ajar now but bear a rather impressive lock. You have the distinct impression that this place was designed to keep people out. Or maybe rather to keep someone in. 

You hear him before you see him. Memories recovered, the sound of his voice is something you’re well attuned to, even if it flickers with a strong tone of annoyance. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I told you, it’s a ridiculously strong sedative at its core. We’ll react strangely, yes, but it’s not the same as bloodlust—”

“Still,” another voice argues. “We all saw how she looked when you brought her in. You had to have drank a considerable amount—”

“I told you I’m fine, Jungwon,” Heeseung counters. “Do I look out of control to you? Would I be sitting here having this conversation with you if I was?”

“Fine.” It’s the same voice. Jungwon. “If you’re alive and well, then maybe you can answer my question. What were you doing at New Haven? Do you know how long we’ve—”

It’s probably stupid, shoving past people in their own home. People that you suspect are dangerous, that might not really be people at all. But you have to see him. You have to know. 

Once you finally get around Sunghoon, your view of the room opens up. Sparsely decorated, dimly lit, and there are four other boys you don’t recognize. You pay them no attention. 

Because in the middle of it all stands Heeseung. Maybe, if you squint, you could argue that he looks a little worse for wear. There’s a pink flush under his eyes, a slight disarray to his usually perfect hair, but other than that, he paints the perfect, untouchable picture he always has. 

At the commotion of your sudden movement, all eyes in the room turn from Heeseung and land squarely on you. For a moment, seven gazes just look at you. All of them are blank. Lost. Out of depth. 

All except for the one you match. 

Where he stands, Heeseung stares at you with an intensity you’ve only seen once before. In a moment you wish you could forget. In a fragmented memory you already know you’re cursed to carry forever. 

Slowly, his eyes scan the length of your body, something in his jaw tightening when he notes the clothes you’re wearing. His clothes. 

Jungwon is still pressing him for answers. Heeseung doesn’t bother to provide any. 

Instead, he says, “Give us a minute.”

He’s still looking at you. Frozen in place, his eyes trace the line of your neck, ghosting over the array of bruises, the twin wounds he left there. His voice betrays no emotion, but his eyes flash with something that looks all too much like regret, shame. 

Jungwon balks for a moment. “No, I’m not giving you a minute. You could have jeopardized everything we’ve been working towards—”

Heeseung does break eye contact with you then. Turning to the boy that stands next to him, he says, “What’s done is done, Jungwon. A few more minutes won’t change that. You can shout at me some more in a minute.”

“Ouch.” A boy that you don’t recognize winces. 

“Right?” another one of the strangers agrees. “A pretty human over five hundred years of brotherhood.” He shakes his head. “I’d expect that from Sunghoon, maybe, but—”

Behind you, Jake sighs. “Is this really the time, you two?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon agrees, arms crossing his chest as he pouts. “And I take offense to that, you know. I would not put all of your hard work in danger for a human.” Sunghoon takes a sidelong glance at you. “No offense.”

“Just give us a minute,” Heeseung repeats again, more command in his voice this time as he slides a palm through his hair in frustration. “Please. All of you.”

There’s enough authority in his voice time. Or maybe enough pleading. Whatever it is, the rest of the room files out, one by one. Even Jungwon, although he does cast one final, warning look over his shoulder. 

It’s lost on Heeseung, who has already turned his attention back to you. “Are you okay?” 

An echo of the past, a reminder of why you’re here. Of why your throat threatens to close up now, just looking at him.  

Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how you’d answer him. Physically, you’re sore. Tired even though you’ve been sleeping for days. Temporary aches. Things that will heal with rest and time. 

Mentally, though… Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. Even now, face to face with him, you can’t reconcile all of the pieces of Heeseung you’ve gathered. 

Indifferent student. Brilliant writer. Honest reviewer. Maybe even a friend. 

Vampire. 

You don’t know what to make of him. You don’t know how to piece him together. 

He’s here, standing in front of you. You used to stare at the back of his head during lectures. Used to fantasize about him giving you a minute of his time. 

And now, it’s just the two of you. Alone. His eyes search your face, his focus consumed by you. And he’s never felt further away. 

You don't answer his question. Instead, you ask one of your own. 

“What’s going on?” Your voice is small, holds none of the command you wish it could. “And don’t… don’t you dare lie to me.”

Across from you, Heeseung exhales. There’s a distinct sorrow in his eyes. “I won’t. But it’s a long story. And there are parts of it I’m not sure you’ll like.”

“I don’t care.” But you do, so much that it hurts. You almost wish you were still begging for scraps of his attention. At least then, you knew where you stood. “I want the truth.” That much, at least, is honest. 

Heeseung nods, as if any of this is simple. “Then you’ll have it.”

A beat of silence passes. You remember the question you had asked Jake less than an hour ago. What are you? You can’t quite bring yourself to ask it now. Not with everything that has passed between you. Not when it feels like more of an accusation than an inquiry. 

You wear his wounds on your skin. You don’t know why you still want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still, you ask, “Who are you?” The difference is subtle. The difference is cavernous. 

Heeseung doesn’t smile, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’m not undercover. My name is Heeseung.” The flicker of amusement dies. He knows what you’re really asking him. He knows it’s not an easy answer to give, not an easy truth to receive. “But I’m… different. I was born with a strange ability.”

You breathe. “What kind of ability?”

Heeseung looks down at his hands. Studies them for a moment before turning back to you. “It would be easier to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Instinctively, your hand finds the wound on your neck. 

A dark shadow crosses Heeseung’s features. “That’s not the ability I’m referring to.” 

There’s a chair in the room, just behind him. He walks to it and sits down at the edge, knees wide. “Come here.”

You shouldn’t. You should stay as far away as space allows. You shouldn’t let him do anything. In every sense of the word, he holds the advantage here. You’re in his home. He has knowledge you don’t. The only thing you have left to leverage is the distance between you and your decision to maintain it. 

But every inch between you was doomed to be a losing battle. Steady, slow footsteps erase the distance between you as you come to stand directly in front of him. 

At this angle, with your positioning, he’s forced to look up at you. Chin lifted, he whispers, “Hold out your hand.”

You could try to fight. You could question him. You don’t. Resistance was always going to be futile. In no time at all, your hand is outstretched. 

Once again, Heeseung studies his own fingers. A shudder traces the length of his spine. Hesitation spills from every minute movement, every microexpression you’re allowed. It’s straining him, you realize. This ability is not something he’s excited to share. 

You can’t decide if that eases your worry or increases it tenfold. 

But after another wasted moment, his right hand reaches out to encircle the skin of your left wrist. For a few stilted heartbeats, it’s just the two of you in a strange room, a cage of sorts, your wrist cradled in his loose grip. 

Then, your vision begins to flicker. At first, you think it’s a trick of the light. Something lingering side effect of a long sleep as everything begins to go out of focus. 

But as the room around you fades, something takes its place. It takes a moment to manifest completely, for your eyes to adjust. 

In front of you, Heeseung still sits in his chair, gaze trained on your wide eyes. But the two of you are no longer in the small, threadbare room. Instead, you stand in an open field, freckled with wildflowers and teeming with butterflies. Above you, the sky is blue and vast, the late summer sun casting a vibrant glow over everything. 

In your shock, you nearly wrench your arm out of Heeseung’s grip. He senses the movement, tightens his fingers around your wrist before you can pull away. 

“Sorry.” He glances at where you two are touching. “It’s better not to break contact once you’re in. It’s quite disorienting if you do. And it will give you awful motion sickness.”

Once you’re in where? Turning your head, you look for something, anything, that makes even the tiniest bit of sense. But all you see is grass. The vast expanse of an open field that only ends where it meets the sky. 

“Where are we?”

“Still in the same room,” Heeseung says. “Physically, at least.” He takes a deep breath. “This is the ability I referred to. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but I can… project my consciousness, I guess. As long as we maintain physical contact, I can show you things from my mind. Memories, visions, anything I dream up. What you see now is the field where I discovered my ability, actually. A friend and I were playing here. I was ten.” He pauses, looks at you. “The year was 1534.”

The full weight of his words barely has time to settle before the vision is morphing, the scene changing into another. 

“It’s difficult to know where to start, but I suppose the beginning is as good a place as any. In the Kingdom of Celedis,” he narrates, “there were eight noble families that had been feuding with each other for over a century. As a result of their petty infighting, the common people suffered. There was constant strife throughout the kingdom. Pains that caused immense suffering but left the nobles untouched. There were frequent blockades, limits on trading, restricted movement, and nasty skirmishes along the borders. Petty crime ran rampant, unchecked. People weren’t safe anywhere, not even in their homes.”

You see it just as he imagines it. Tired, hungry, exhausted people. Mistreated and left to the whims of whatever best suited the nobles’ current desires. 

And the rulers, the nobles themselves. Eight men, adorned in finery, showered with gifts and praise and fine wines while the people just outside the walls of their ornate homes suffered just to survive, starving to death while they gorged themselves on luxury. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself an expert in history, and it’s not like the scenario is exactly uncommon, but you still find it strange that you’ve never heard of this place, not even in passing. 

“Celedis?” You frown. 

“It’s been erased now,” is all Heeseung says. “From both existence and memory. But it was real, a long time ago. And it was where I was born.”

Again, the scene around you starts to take on that odd, unfocused quality. It’s changing again. By now, you almost feel accustomed to the way images and light start to distort as one vision bleeds into another. 

“Celedis was a strange kingdom,” Heeseung continues. “Full of old magic. Ancient rituals and rites that faded from most places but held true there. The land was, in many ways, just as alive as you and I. And it grew weary of seeing its people suffer.”

You see a man now, dressed in simple clothes, tucked in the back corner of what appears to be a shop. He’s surrounded by crystals, trinkets, and old, leather-bound books. 

“One night, the eight noble lords received a message from a seer, one that claimed to communicate with the land, to speak for Celedis as its messenger. The seer told them that the old magic of the land would grant them a single wish on one condition: There had to be peace in the kingdom by the night of the blood moon. A night that comes only once every hundred years. When the moon itself shines bright red.  

“Seven of the lords, eager to have a wish granted, did as the seer advised. They ceased their fighting, recalled their troops. Began to support and protect their people once again. The eighth lord, however, did not.”

After a moment, you’re plunged into darkness. Above you, the night sky of Heeseung’s mind twinkles with distant stars and a distinct, crimson red moon. Seven men, all dressed in finery, stand around an oak tree. The rules of Heeseung’s ability don’t seem to be governed by the laws of physics. You watch as an eighth man appears, seemingly out of thin air. The same man from the crystal shop. 

“The seven who heeded the seer’s advice gathered on the night of the blood moon to pass along their wish — they wanted their bloodlines to endure forever. 

“The seer passed this message along, but old magic is a fickle thing. You have to be precise with your words, or things will be lost in translation. Interpreted in strange ways.”

Now, you stand in a nursery. There’s a crib in the corner. A pregnant woman bends over it, singing a soft lullaby. 

“Within the year, each of the seven noble lords gave birth to a son. They took this with great joy, a sign that their wish had come true. Before the year reached its end, each of the seven had procured a strong, healthy heir to succeed them.”

Suddenly, you’re back in the endless field from before, watching two young boys play in the distance. 

“But these were no ordinary sons. And around the age of ten, each of them revealed a special ability, a supernatural gift.” 

The two boys are playing a game, you realize. You can’t decipher the rules, but you watch as they throw their heads back in a burst of carefree laughter. The first young boy grabs his friend by the wrist. A harmless gesture. A meaningless touch. 

The second boy recoils as if he’s been burned. Hand back at his side, he doubles over in pain, emptying the contents of his stomach. 

In front of you, Heeseung looks away. 

In the distance, another version of Heeseung apologizes profusely as the other child turns his back. 

He changes the scene before you can watch any further. 

You’re in a bedroom now, watching a young man put on a jacket. It’s startling, almost, how similar he looks. The two of you watch as Heeseung, because it is undoubtedly him, pulls the jacket over his back, slides his arms through the sleeves. 

The resemblance is so uncanny that the only thing that sets this Heeseung apart, really, is the style of his clothing. The coat that obviously belongs to another century, lost to time. 

“And once each son reached their twenty-first birthday,” Heesung says. “They stopped aging.”

Heeseung and his jacket dissolve, change into something else. The new scene you look out upon is somber. Heeseung is there again, this time dressed in all black. The clothes of a mourner. Aside from that, he looks exactly the same. 

Then you see the casket. The portrait standing next to it. It’s her, you realize. The woman from the nursery, the one who hummed the lullaby. Much, much older though. Fifty years older. Maybe sixty. 

You look at this vision’s Heeseung again. He hasn’t aged a day. Still the epitome of youth, even as he mourns the death of his mother. 

“This was the interpretation of the wish, how it was warped through old magic. The bloodline would endure forever, because each son that had been born in the year of the blood moon was born immortal. But by doing so, the seven lords’ wish had also effectively ended their bloodline. Their sons would never grow old, never bear children. And none were ever given a sibling. 

“The eighth lord, the one that did not agree to peace and therefore did not receive a wish, had not yet foreseen this tragedy. He didn’t understand the implications of immortality, the terrible burden it brings. All he saw was an opportunity that he had lost. In his eyes, it had been stolen.”

You watch as the eighth lord bangs on the door of the crystal shop, face red, fury obvious in every inch of his visage. 

“When he discovered the nature of the gift the other lords had been given, the eighth became enraged. He went to the seer and demanded that he pass along his wish to the old magic of the land. That his son, born as an ordinary human, would also be given the gift of immortality.”

In front of you, the lord lunges at the seer, rage in his eyes. The seer raises his hands in a pitiful attempt at self-defense. 

“The seer pleaded with the lord. He tried to explain that he had no way of passing his request along. That the ability to communicate with old magic was not something he could do whenever he so pleased.”

The scene changes, the seer and his shop disappearing. Again, you see the oak tree. This time, though, it is only the eighth lord that stands before it. His eyes are sunken, shaded with deep, dark shadows. A mad desperation is painted across his features. 

“After murdering the seer for his insolence, the eighth lord went to the oak tree, a place rumored to be full of old magic. He wished for his son to become like the other seven sons, and he gave the seer’s blood as an offering.” 

The scene morphs again, fading until you’re surrounded by the ghastliest thing you’ve seen yet. You and Heeseung are in a small room. In the center, there’s an ornate dining table adorned with expensive cutlery and fine china. Lined with a lacy white tablecloth. 

And blood. The room, the tablecloth, the plates, are covered in dark, red blood. 

“There was one last thing that the eighth lord did not yet understand about immortality. About the other seven sons.”

One by one, you watch as they appear. 

Jake. Sunghoon. Jungwon. The others whose names you do not yet know. Heeseung.

Their mouths, clothes, faces, are all covered in it, dripping with it. Blood. 

“The old magic, above all, favors balance. In exchange for eternal life, it deemed that the only thing capable of sustaining it would be the life of others. Their blood. Once a year, on the anniversary of the day the seven noble lords cast their selfish wish, their seven sons would need to feed. To consume blood. This would sustain them for the rest of the year. They did not need to eat, drink, or sleep on any other day.

“But that one day, every year, they would always need blood.”

The horror of the bloody dining room fades. Now, you see the eighth son. Your eyes widen in fear as the image continues to develop in front of you, one ghastly scene traded for another. He is in a throne room, back bent unnaturally, a predatory glint in his eyes. Blood covers his mouth, his jaw. And as he rises to his full height, the rest of the horror is unveiled. 

He stands above the pale, drained, lifeless body of his father. 

“As I said before, old magic is a fickle thing. It listened to the eighth lord’s request that his son ‘become like the other seven sons,’ but not everything was the same. He was granted immortality, yes, and he also needed to consume blood to sustain himself. Unlike the original seven, he needed to feed frequently. Consume blood often. If he didn’t, the urges would drive him mad. Send him into a frenzy. 

“It was in such a state that he killed his own father. Murdered the rest of his family and every other living soul he found in the castle.”

You now stand in the dim light of a castle corridor. Beams of moonlight cast a cool glow as a soft breeze rustles tree branches just outside the window. It’s quiet, eerily so. In front of you, a person lies motionless. The wound on their neck matches yours, but instead of bruising, it’s surrounded by fresh blood. 

You watch in silent horror as the eighth son’s victim begins to twitch. At first, it’s just the fingers of their left hand. A spasm that shakes their shoulder. And then their mouth opens, face contorted in agony as they let out a long, blood curdling scream. 

Heeseung spares you the burden of hearing it.

“One of his victims, however, he did not drain fully of blood. Lost to his instinct, he had gorged himself so full that he could drink no more. This human, nearly dead, began to transform. And after long hours of acute agony, turned into a vampire of the same nature as the eighth son. Uncontrollable. Frenzied. And full of bloodlust.”

It reminds you of a montage, the scene that plays next. Still standing in front of Heeseung, your wrist still between his fingers, you watch as villages appear and fade. Families, lovers, children running in fear as the domino effect begins to take place. As one vampire becomes ten. As they fall into bloodlust, leaving a bloody path in their wake. 

The image of a young woman, mouth agape and features frozen in terror, remains imprinted on the backs of your eyelids as the small, dark room of Heeseung’s home comes back into view. As the last of the illusion fades, he releases his grip, freeing you from his ability. 

Your arm falls limply to your side. 

“For years,” he tells you, and there’s no image to accompany his words now. Nowhere to look but his eyes. “We just existed. Tried to carve meaning into our lives, tried to find a reason to keep living once it became apparent that was never something we would need to fight for. 

“But terror continued to reign. Vampire populations continued to spread and after three hundred long years of acting only in our own self-interest, we decided to intervene. To help the human effort to eradicate vampirism and the blight it had become. 

“But we never wanted to become judge, jury, or executioner. And playing god was never something we found pleasure in. We let many live. Vampires that demonstrated restraint, that chose to live far away from humans. Vampires that we came across on days we were tired of killing. Of being monsters.”

His words hang heavy between you. Was it a mistake, not finishing the job? Was it mercy?

“Professor Kim is what brought us here, actually. He has an unnaturally high level of control over his instincts. One we’ve never seen from a descendent of the eighth son.”

You inhale, more pieces beginning to fall into place. “So you enrolled in his course—”

“With the intention of winning the internship, yes,” he confirms. “Of getting a chance to study him up close.” 

Heeseung smiles wryly. “You were quite the pain at first, actually. After those first few days of class, I wasn’t so sure I could outwrite you.”

You have no idea what to say to that. An apology feels strange, but he’s just told you that you essentially foiled a grand plan to reduce the threat of vampires, to better understand their nature. “I…”

Heeseung pushes on, “It didn’t end up mattering, though.” He frowns. “The last day of the semester, the day I was late. I’d been following him. Trailing him from his house when he…” He trails off. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what happened. But I think he scented me. Or somehow realized I was on his tail.”

You frown. “Is that unusual?” You remember Jake’s words earlier. I thought I heard your heartbeat pick up. “I thought that vampires had heightened senses.”

“We do,” Heeseung clarifies. “But there are differences between us — the original seven — and all other vampires. Our senses are much stronger. They still have sharper senses than a human, yes, but I accounted for that. He shouldn’t have been able to detect me.”

“What are the other differences?”

“The seven of us are the only ones with any kind of additional abilities. We each have one, and they’re all different. We only need to feed once a year, and we have far more control over our instincts. We don’t experience bloodlust nearly as strong.” He passes you a meaningful glance. “Unless we’re feeding.”

Looking around, Heeseung confirms your suspicions.  “That’s what this room is, actually. A precautionary measure. It hasn’t happened in the last five hundred years, but we like knowing that there’s somewhere we won’t be able to escape, should the need for that ever arise.” 

“And you’re in here, because you… you drank my blood.”

Heeseung’s expression is unreadable. “Yes. The others thought it would be wise. It was precautionary. And ultimately unnecessary.” Again, he glances at your neck. “I didn’t experience any bloodlust. I was weak for a couple of days, but that wasn’t because of you. The dart that the professor shot you with had traces of moonflower in it. It’s poisonous for us.” 

As he looks at you, he explains, “Humans can ingest it safely in small doses, usually. Some brew it as a tea. You just have to be careful not to have too much, since it can cause temporary memory loss. But injected straight into the bloodstream, the effects are unknown.” His eyes flicker with a memory. You, crumpled in his arms, losing your grip on consciousness. “But it didn’t look good.”

So he had sucked it out of your neck. 

Your neck. Where he bit you.

Another piece of the vision he’s just shown you comes flashing back. 

“You bit me.” 

Heeseung meets your gaze. “I did.”

“Am I…” It’s hard to quell the panic once the realization starts to set in. Flashes of faces contorted in agony swim across your vision. “Am I going to change?”

“No,” Heeseung shakes his head. Leans forward, as if to reach for you. He thinks better of it, letting his hand fall back to his side. “No, that’s another difference. The seven of us can’t create new vampires.”

“Oh.” As the panic ebbs, you find yourself at a loss again. He saved you. Knowingly ingested a substance that could harm him to do so. Gratitude feels in order, but you can’t quite bring yourself to express it. 

The truth you want most to avoid dances on the tip of your tongue. “And you only… feed once a year.”

Again, Heeseung nods. “It doesn’t hurt us to ingest blood more frequently, but it’s not necessary. And like I said, we avoid it. We’re better at maintaining our inhibitions, but blood still has power over us. When we feed, it’s in a room like this. One we can’t get out of until we have complete control again.”

The questions that arise are morbid. How much blood is required to satisfy a year’s worth of thirst? How do they choose? Who lives, who dies for the hunger that binds them to this world? In the last five hundred years, how much blood has been washed from their hands, from his hands?

You can hardly ask him, but the truth still remains. “You’ve killed people.”

Heeseung’s gaze falls to the floor. “I won’t pretend to be innocent.” There’s a distinct edge of self-loathing when he says, “I won’t pretend that I’m not still… a monster. But the blood we ingest comes from animals, not humans.” 

He looks back to you, gaze searching as if he craves something from you. A flicker of trust. The reassurance that you’re not appalled by him, by everything he’s told you. 

You match his eye, and he hates the fear he finds reflected there. 

A moment of stilted silence passes. Another. The weight of a million revelations and a thousand unanswered questions rests heavily between you. It’s a lot to digest all at once. Too much. So much that your mind struggles to bear the weight of it all, to organize the information you’ve received into categories that give sense to the illogical, the impossible. 

Outside the barred door, you hear the whisper of a scuffle. 

“Stop that!”

“Move over. It’s been way more than a minute. I don’t care what he says. I’m going to—”

Heeseung sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns towards the door. “Just come in if you’re going to.”

Six boys tumble through the door in an excited heap. It reminds you a bit of overenthusiastic puppies. Again, you find the differences hard to reconcile. Killers. Monsters. Immortals beings with unnatural powers. 

And they look about as threatening as a gang of kittens. 

“So,” Jake starts, glancing between the two of you. “Did he tell you everything?”

You spare a look at Heeseung. The long fingers that rest at his side. “Showed me, actually.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Jake’s features. “Oh.” He tamps it quickly. “That is more efficient, I suppose.”

“Well,” another boy pipes up, one you don’t yet have a name for. “At least now you know why he’s been following you home like a lovesick puppy every night. You can rest assured he’s not just some crazy stalker, and he—”

“Jay,” Heeseung bites. “Would you shut up already?”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Oh.” Jay winces, realizing the misstep a moment too late. “Sorry, man.” 

Heeseung exhales again. “We were worried Professor Kim might do something,” he explains, looking at you. “It was a precautionary measure.” 

Behind you, you hear a snicker. “Precautionary measure, my ass.”

But you’re too caught up in a sudden realization. Your professor. “It was Professor Kim, then. Those bodies at the river…”

“No, actually.” Jake shakes his head. “We don’t think he was responsible for the bodies at the river.” He nods towards another boy. “Sunoo had eyes on him that night. He was home when the attacks occurred.” 

You frown. “So who was?”

“We don’t know.” Jungwon’s ire may not be directed at you, but you feel it all the same. “We have no idea, and your professor was our best shot at figuring it out.” He looks at Heeseung. “Thanks to the stunt you pulled, we have no way of getting closer to him now.”

Heeseung glares back. “If by stunt, you mean saving someone’s life, then yes, I pulled a stunt.”

“And now there have been three more attacks in the last two days!”

“Wait.” For a moment, your voice reverberates off the walls as all seven of them fall into silence, gazes turning to you. Your face heats at the sudden influx of attention. Finding your words again, you state the obvious oddity. “But it doesn’t make any sense that Professor Kim is a vampire. He hates vampires. Everything New Haven has published is essentially just anti-vampire propaganda.”

“That’s another mystery,” Heeseung says. “Something else we were trying to figure out. And honestly, Jungwon, I don’t think it would have mattered. I told you, he scented me that day, so I’m sure he already knew—”

“That’s impossible.” Jungwon scoffs. 

“And yet it happened.” Heeseung frowns. “There’s something strange about him.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a thin line. “Something that we’re no closer to finding out. It will take months for another one of us to get any sort of trust from him. Never mind access to New Haven.”

With the urgency of an alarm bell, an idea starts to take form in your mind. Rough around the edges but solid in shape. “I think I can help with that.” Again, seven pairs of eyes fall on you, all in varying states of disbelief. “I’m interning with him. At New Haven.”

Heeseung is the first to break the silence. “Like hell you are. Or did you forget that the last time he saw you, he shot you with poison?”

Sunghoon nods. “It does seem like a pretty bad idea.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head. “Think about it. He shot me with something that’s poisonous to vampires. And I think it’s because he saw Heeseung. If he really did… scent you, then he knew you were a vampire. I think… I think he might have been trying to protect me.”

The room is quiet for a moment, your inference settling into the air. It’s a long shot maybe, but it’s starting to come together. 

After a minute, Sunoo says tentatively, “She might be right.” No one else speaks up, but you see a few heads nod in agreement. 

Heeseung is quick to shut them down. “No way. No fucking way. Those are terrible odds, and I’m not betting on them. None of you should be either.”

But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense to you. Why else would your professor shoot you full of something poisonous to vampires? 

You try to think of the scene from his eyes. He walked in on you and Heeseung alone in a dark room. You were frightened out of your mind, and in the split second he had to analyze things, he could have misjudged the source of your fear. One vampire for another. 

So you double down. “I’m serious. This could be the in we need.”

“There is no we,” Heeseung shakes his head. “You’re not a part of this.”

His dismissal makes you bristle. If what Jungwon said is true, the attacks are only increasing, leaving more victims in their wake. And your professor may have unusual amounts of control, but he certainly wasn’t demonstrating that two nights ago. 

“So what, I’m supposed to go home, pretend that everything is normal, and just let people keep dying?” Your gaze meets Jungwon’s. “That’s what will happen, isn’t it? You said there were three more attacks just in the time I was unconscious. How many people have died now?”

Jungwon’s lips are tight. “Eleven.”

“Eleven people,” you echo. “If I go to Professor Kim and tell him—”

“You’re not going anywhere near that man,” Heeseung counters. “We’ll take care of it. It’s what we do.”

But his excuses are wearing thin in your mind, turning flimsy the more you consider them. “How? If he can identify you as vampires, then there’s no way you’ll ever get close enough to figure out how he might be connected to all of this.” You turn, addressing all seven of them. “I, on the other hand, have a draft written about the intrinsic evil of vampirism. I have a bite mark healing on my neck. If I go to him and say that I hate vampires too, that I was attacked by Heeseung, and his poison was the only thing that saved me, then I’ll earn his trust.”

Heeseung just scoffs, shaking his head. “Are the rest of you hearing this?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth hesitantly. “I mean… she kind of has a point.”

Heeseung glares. “Besides you.”

Sunoo frowns for a moment, parts his lips. 

Heeseung doesn’t let him get a word out. “Don’t even try it.” He turns to the others, something pleading in his gaze. “Jungwon, Jay, Niki, Jake, you have to see how insane this is. She’s a human.”

Your lips pull tight. “A human that’s standing right here.”

Jungwon maintains an even tone when he restates the simple fact, “If this professor truly can scent us, we don’t have any way of investigating him further. Not without using force.” He turns to look at you, gaze assessing. “Do you really think he’ll believe that you’re on his side?”

Do you? Maybe Heeseung is right. Maybe you’re betting on ludicrous odds, wasting the last of your luck on a game that was rigged from the beginning. But why inject you with a substance poisonous to vampires? Why publish all of those anti-vampire stories?

You match Jungwon’s eye. “I do.”

“Okay.” Jungwon nods, mulling it over in his mind. “Okay.”

Heeseung watches the exchange with heated eyes. “Absolutely not—”

“You’ve been overruled,” Jay interjects. 

“Six to one,” Niki agrees. Glancing at you, he amends, “Make that seven to one.”

Heeseung is still seeing red. “This isn’t a fucking group vote. We’re not deciding which coffee table to put in the living room. This is a life.” Turning to you, his voice softens, an edge of pleading in his tone. “This is your life.”

“Exactly.” You’re begging too, for a bit of understanding. “It’s my life. A week ago, it was completely consumed by winning an internship, getting my writing published. And now there are vampire attacks ravaging my city. The professor I wanted to impress so badly might just be one of them. Even if I walk away from here and vow to never go near New Haven again, my life won’t go back to what it was. I won’t be safe. So I’m going to do what I can to get back to the things that are important to me.” Eyes heating, you add, “So yes, I am a part of this now, whether you like it or not. And I have the marks on my neck to prove it.”

“Damn,” Sunghoon whistles lowly. “That was kind of beautiful.”

“You have a way with words,” Sunoo agrees. 

“Of course she does,” Jay nods. “Remember how frustrated Heeseung was a few months ago after she presented her analysis or whatever in class? He was so stressed he’d lose out on the internship bec—”

Heeseung’s glare could freeze hellfire. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“It’s late,” Jungwon interrupts, sensing the response that builds on Jay’s tongue. Pouring water over the flames before they can escalate into a full blown argument. Again, he addresses you. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.” He glances around the room, and you imagine he’s trying to see things from your perspective. “Or any one of us would be happy to take you back home, if that’s what you prefer.”

There are aspects of your apartment that appeal to you. Sleeping in your own bed comes to mind. As does getting some distance from all of this. From him. You’ve taken in far too much information in the span of a few hours, and the throbbing against your temple has yet to ease. 

But your apartment is also empty. Quiet, isolated. With recent events in mind, you’re not sure it would feel like such a safe haven. If you’re quite ready to be truly alone. 

Still, you’re tentative. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re not,” Jake shakes his head. “It’s been a long few days. I’m sure you could use some rest.”

“Hasn’t she been asleep for, like, two days straight?” Sunghoon whispers to Jay. 

The only thing he gets in response is an elbow to the ribs. 

Jungwon ignores them. “You’re not overstaying anything. You can go home when you’re ready.”

“Ugh,” Niki grumbles. “Does that mean Heeseung’s gonna try and hang out in my room again? Because—”

He falls silent when at least three matching glares turn in his direction. 

Suddenly sheepish, you offer, “I can sleep somewhere else.” Glancing at Heeseung, you add, “I’m sure you want to sleep in your own bed again.” 

Heeseung just gives you a strange look. Niki bursts out laughing. 

“Damn,” Jay says. “Two hundred years really is a long time, I guess. Humans these days don’t remember anything about vampires.”

Cheeks heating with embarrassment, you realize your mistake. Of course. Not only are the boys in front of you blood-drinking immortal beings that have been alive since the early sixteenth century, but they also don’t sleep. 

Mollified, you feel the urge to defend yourself. “Why do you even have beds, then?”

This time, it’s Sunghoon that erupts in a fit of laughter. The other six avoid your gaze pointedly. 

You didn’t think it was possible, but once the realization sinks in, your cheeks heat even further. 

“Oh, cut the poor girl some slack,” Sunoo scolds. Turning to you, he’s kind when he explains, “We don’t sleep, but we do relax. An old force of habit, I suppose. It’s nice to just lay down sometimes.”

Jay can’t help himself. “Among other things, right Sunghoon?”

“Ignore them,” Jungwon advises. “Five hundred year old children.”

“Hey!” Sunghoon protests. “We’re not the ones that couldn’t handle a sex joke—”

Heeseung just sighs, a stray strand of hair falling over his eyes. For a moment, he looks like the boy you used to sit behind in class. Dreamy. Moody. Untouchable. So painfully out of reach that spite made you want to try anyway. 

He’s here now. Within your grasp. And when he looks at you, the quiet words he whispers are meant only for your ears. “I can walk you to my—er—your room, if you’re ready.”

You’re not ready. You don’t think you ever will be. But even a life spun on top of its head has a way of unfolding in predictable ways. Such is the nature of things, and so flows the progression of time. 

You don’t say anything, but you do nod. 

Trailing after him silently down the hallway you came from, you’re not sure if it feels more right to fall into step beside him or let him lead you. In the end, he makes the decision for you. Without breaking stride, Heeseung slows down until your shoulders are aligned, eyes facing forward. 

He doesn’t say anything as the two of you track a steady path to his bedroom. Mind leaden with the weight of the last five hundred years, you remain silent as well. Finally, you pass the common room again. 

He opens the door to his bedroom, steps to the side to let you walk in first. 

Unwittingly, your eyes land on the most conspicuous piece of furniture in the room. Your cheekbones are flaming again, and finding sleep in that bed suddenly feels like an arduous task. 

Heeseung follows your gaze. The golden glow of his skin remains the same, but his eyes flash with embarrassment. “You don't, uh…” He trails off. Even poets struggle with finding the right words at times. Finally, he settles on, “Not all of us live like Sunghoon.”

“He seems nice,” you say, desperate to draw your minds away from where they’ve wandered. 

“That’s one way of putting it.” But there’s affection in his voice when he says it. Brothers, you think. All of them. They seem like brothers. 

Heeseung’s eyes scan the expanse of his bedroom as if he’s looking at it for the first time. “There’s not much.” He seems almost apologetic for it. “But help yourself to whatever you like. The computer doesn’t have a password. And there’s books on the desk, too.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. And you mean it. He’s not someone you expected to be generous with their space, their belongings. Another aspect of him you had all wrong. 

“I’ll let you have some space then.” He pauses at the door. “Don’t be afraid to let me know if there's anything you need.”

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He hesitates a moment longer. You can see it in the curve of his lips, the arrangement of his features. There’s more he wants to say. Something else he wants to tell you. 

Instead, he closes the door behind him on his way out. Gently, so that it hardly makes a noise. 

His bed is comfortable when you lay down, even if your mind is still racing a million miles a minute. Distantly, you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat now. What he thinks of the way it picks up speed every time certain moments replay in your head. 

But despite yourself, despite him, despite everything, you manage to drift off after only a few long minutes. Tucked away in the corner of a strange home, the sleep that greets you is blissfully dreamless.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: WHEW. This is the most info-dumpy we'll be getting, so I hope this made for an enjoyable follow up to the first part regardless. The relationship between our two leads will really start to take off in the next part, as will the remaining aspects of the ~mystery~ now that (most of) the lore/backstory is covered. as always, I love to know what you're thinking!

[thirsty4villains]

Cool Heat

Summary: You're an assistant for the Avengers. Loki has been hiding up in his room for the past week. You go to check on him and he's reverted back to his Jotun form, but he's not quite himself. The two of you discover that Jotuns go into cycles of heat, and Loki hasn't been in his Jotun form for over a millennia...

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of dubcon

Tags: Loki lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers, PIV, smut, humor, romance, Jotun!Loki, dom!Loki, spanking, more tags to be added

Find me on AO3, Wattpad. Previous chapters/other Loki fics on Tumblr by me here.

Notes: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO PATIENT, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to roll out. Real life stuff, I hope y'all understand. Please enjoy!

Tagged users: @nyxxharmonia @mischief2sarawr @drunkbirdbug @lorelibrarianlizbit @strawberry--fawn @thenotoriouserg @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough @salvinaa @bellajg21 lorielulu7 

CHAPTER 4

You woke up feeling more rested than you did most mornings. If you knew Loki was this good at sex you may have hit him up earlier. Asshole or no, he knew what he was doing. Last night’s events replayed in your head repeatedly: your dream that wasn’t a dream, your conversation, and ultimately the conclusion. They spun around in your head as you tried to assess because it was hard to believe that you had sex with Loki. You also wondered, was it wrong that you weren’t angry at him for having sex while you were unconscious? It definitely wasn’t right of him, but you’d been feeling so lonely and horny – horny for him – that you didn’t care. You quite enjoyed it, actually.

After mulling these thoughts, you took a shower, got dressed, and threw the sheets in the washer. It was nearing 11:00 am on a Tuesday. Shit, you were supposed to submit some reports to Coulson by nine!

You ran to the elevator and went back up to the penthouse. Gathering your paperwork and opening your laptop, you opened up the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and began uploading the work you should have submitted two hours ago. Thankfully, there were no text messages, emails in your inbox, or missed calls on your phone, so Coulson must be preoccupied this morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the time stamp that read 11:28am.

In this moment you were eternally grateful the majority of your work was remote because if you came into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters three hours late because you slept in, Fury would have your head.

With that problem finished, you went to check on Loki. Back down in the bedroom areas, you stood in the hallway and knocked on his bedroom door. A sense of deja vu swept over you.

“Come in,” the god’s voice said behind the door.

The knob turned and you entered Loki’s room. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall opposite him. He seemed not all there.

“Loki?” you asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Not worse, but not better, either.”

“So you’re still..?”

“Still enormously frustrated sexually? Yes.”

A wave of insecurity washed over you. “It wasn’t… bad, was it?”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, it was exactly what I needed. I felt better, instantly. But it came back as soon as I awoke this morning. The fundamental issue I am facing, however, is this dreaded blue color – and these horns. I cannot will this form away with magic no matter how hard I try.”

You apologized for his state.

“Are you not disgusted by me?” the god asked. “After last night?”

“I already told you that it’s okay, you weren’t yourself,” you said.

“I also meant… after.”

“Like, the actual sex?”

He nodded.

“Are you not disgusted by this brutish, carnal form? How rough I was with you. These horns… these claws…” He sneered after looking at his own nails.

“No.” You blushed. “It was really hot, actually.”

For the first time in days, he laughed an actual, genuine laugh. “Sincerely? You human women are so strange. No Asgardian woman in their right mind would bed a Jotun.”

“Their loss,” you said.

He furrowed his eyebrow at you but also, perhaps there was a hint of a smile?

“No matter, my predicament is… URGH!”

Out of nowhere, Loki curled his right hand into a fist and punched the wall. Little pieces of drywall flew outward. Loki retracted his hand and a fist-sized hole was left behind in its wake. He dusted off a thin layer of powder from his knuckles.

You jumped back. “What was that?!”

Loki’s shoulders heaved. “I don’t know! That’s the problem! I don’t know. I have no clue why this is happening now, and why it’s so drastic. I get these changes in mood, like I’m nothing but an adolescent again who cannot even master his own emotions. I feel virile yet emasculated. We had intercourse, so why was it not enough?”

He punched the wall a second time. With gritted teeth and labored breaths he stared at it and you were unsure if the god was lost in thought or would lose his temper entirely. You watched his pecs and the dark blue ridges upon his body move up and down with his breaths. His lean arms, the biceps on them; those horns, those eyes…

Okay, snap back to reality. Loki’s having a crisis. Sex is the only thing that made him feel himself again, even if it was just for a few hours. Like he said, he was in heat; maybe just one go isn’t enough to get the job done.

“Well, we know what we have to do, then.” You outstretched your arms, offering yourself.

He turned from the wall. “What are you –”

“What position do you want me in, Loki?” You interrupted, asserting yourself. You fought the blush creeping up your cheeks. “On my back? On my side? Do you want me to blow you first? Pick one. You want to fix this, right?”

Loki stood there in shock; examining your face, your body language. Or was he checking you out? He dropped his fist that was prepping to punch the wall and his lips stretched into a devious grin.

“On the bed, all fours.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” you replied.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you approached his bed, staying in the crawling position upon his mattress.

To your side he stripped as well, and he was already rock hard. That blueish purple cock sprang from his pants, rearing to go. He climbed onto the bed behind you, examining your backside. You jolted forward as his cold hands touched your thighs. You’d forgotten how cold he felt. His icy fingers traced the smooth skin of your legs.

Then out of nowhere, he spanked you. A cold, red handprint decorated your bottom.

You gave a small screech, jolting forward again – both from the low temperature and the sudden smack.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” you muttered, nodding.

Another smack, and this next screech was mixed with a moan.

“Your assertiveness was quite endearing, but remember your tone when speaking to your king.”

He spanked your ass again.

“My – my king?” you asked.

“Yes, your king. Did I not mention to you the other day that I was kept as a bargain by Odin? I wasn’t any Jotun child, I was Laufey’s son, the king of the Jotuns.”

Another spanking. You felt yourself grow wet amidst the pain.

“N – no, you didn’t mention that part.”

“Though I failed to conquer Earth, and Thor is the first heir to Asgard, since Laufey is dead I am still a king in my own right – of Jotunheim.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my king.”

He gave you one last spanking, a lighter smack, a playful one. “I forgive you,” he said, lowering himself over your back, so his lips could graze your ear. He placed his hands on your butt, to soothe the irritated skin. The iciness felt good but you also squirmed due to your skin being so sensitive there.

With his new position, his cock rested against your cunt. You prevented yourself from lurching forward. He rubbed the cold member against your lips.

“Now your king shall claim what is his.”

Without further warning, Loki penetrated your opening, sinking completely within you. His chilly member made you clench around him. You gasped as you acclimated to him. Oh god, he was big. You didn’t know how you could forget since the last time you fucked him was literally hours ago, yet you were still in awe. His cool, dextrous fingers brushed your hips, finding the perfect place to grip in order to rail you. Then, he moved within you, and you already felt your juices coating him and your own thighs. Completely at his mercy, you allowed him to take all of you, as you kneeled on the bed, all fours, like an animal. He slipped in and out of your cunt at a deliciously fast pace, hitting the right spot every time. Your arms barely kept upright as you tried to keep up the weight of yourself and your balance as the god of mischief rocked your body.

While fucking you, Loki removed one hand from your hip to grasp your hair and tugged. Your head tilted backward so that you were forced to look straight forward instead of below. On one hand you could count how many times you were in Loki’s room, and you didn’t realize until now that he had a mirror mounted above the bed frame, so when he pulled your hair you were forced to look at the scene. You, your tits hanging, on hands and knees, and the blue god of mischief with one hand fisted in your hair and his cock taking you for all you’re worth. His mouth flashed a devious smile as your eyes connected through the mirror, and his red eyes gleamed of hunger and dominance. He tightened his fist in your hair and spoke.

“Enjoying the view?”

In your pleasure you found it difficult to form words.

He spanked your ass. The combination of that, your hair, the view ahead, and your cunt sent sparks through your body. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips.

“I asked you a question.”

Your legs quaked like jello, but you managed to say: “Yes!”

The light in the god’s eyes danced. Another smile graced his face, “Good.” 

He released your hair. Your head fell forward again, your arms collapsed underneath you, and now your face was buried in the mattress. With nothing but your ass in the air, Loki continued to drive into your pussy, chuckling at the state of you; tired, splayed out, and completely surrendered to him. He gave another playful spanking on your behind.

You gathered the blankets underneath, balling them in your fists as Loki delivered your pleasure unto you. All you could do was hold on, listen to the sounds of his hips slapping your skin and the wet noises of furious lovemaking, and praise his body into the bed. Your legs, before jello, were now an autumn leaf shaking in the wind and you knew you were so close. Loki dug his claws into your hips, claiming you once again and you were gone. Shouting into the blankets, your cunt tensed before finally releasing, and you climaxed on the god’s cold, pulsing cock; riding the waves and yet somehow keeping your ass in the air.

Your climax, however, was the catalyst for his own and Loki burst within you, sending a final few thrusts into your hole. He filled you again, uttering his own release to the heavens. Then you both collapsed onto the bed.

When he found the strength to roll off you, you excused yourself to his bathroom to clean up. After that, as well as re-brushing your hair and getting dressed, you entered his bedroom again to find him on the bed reading a book. Loki was still naked as the day he was born. One long, lean blue leg was crossed over the other as he lay back. Your eyes traced the ridges of his Jotun form up along his toned body, then up his face and ending at the curve of his horns. His eyelashes fluttered against his ruby-red eyes. How in the world did he see himself ugly in this form?

You spoke up: “It’s getting close to afternoon. I’m gonna make breakfast. Want anything?”

Loki looked up from his book and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll have whatever you are having.”

“Cool,” you said, returning upstairs to the penthouse.

In the kitchen you pulled out the cookware and ingredients to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. The items sizzled on the pans, filling the kitchen with the aroma of eggs, potatoes, and spices. Your stomach growled in approval and restlessness. Loki joined shortly behind you, now clothed in his usual garb of black and green. His horns stood high and mighty, even regal, atop his head, cutting through the air.

“This is the first time I have been out in this state at midday in nearly a fortnight,” Loki remarked. He looked around the room, almost as if he’d forgotten what it looked like bathed in noon’s light. 

“That’s rough. I’m sorry,” you said. “How do you feel now?”

“Better – much. I had thought I would need intercourse once and this would go away. Now, I am not so sure. I am hoping… soon.”

You nodded. “Yeah, especially since we don’t know when the others will come back from that mission, and if you’re still ‘sick’,” you airquoted. “...by the time they get back, I’m pretty sure they’re going to start getting nosy, maybe even suspicious.”

Loki growled, not enthused by that thought. A slight tingle tickled your southern area. Instantly, you wondered: were you an asshole for being attracted to his irritability? It’s not like you meant to, but the growling was, well…

“Do you need help with the cooking?” Loki said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, thank you.” Good distraction from that moral dilemma. Thank you, Loki. “Actually, could you help clean up? Put some of the things away for me while I watch the stove?”

The god nodded and proceeded to help with his tasks. Cabinets were opened and closed as he put the spices away, he went and washed the silverware you weren’t using anymore, and threw the eggshells and other trash in the garbage. The food would be ready in just a few minutes.

The kitchen grew quiet again when he finished. So quiet, you thought he may have slinked off somewhere – to the bathroom or something. Until you felt a pair of hands on your hips.

“And you are well after our encounters?” he asked, his voice low and husky. His cool breath tickled your ear. 

One of his hands moved lower, cupping your ass slightly. A jolt of electricity flowed through you. He had you pinned between his front and the kitchen counter.

“The eggs,” you said in protest. 

“What about the eggs?” he quipped, squeezing you lightly.

“They’ll burn. Don’t distract me.”

“Then don’t get distracted.”

Loki proceeded to move his other hand to your other ass cheek, kneading both hands on your behind through your shorts. His mouth lowered closer to you, gliding his cold tongue against your neck. The hairs on your arms stood on their ends, goosebumps budding. The god licked slowly, deliberately. You shivered and Loki chuckled lightly against your skin. He bared his teeth -- his fangs -- and grazed the points over your carotid.

You tried to pay attention to the cooking food; flipping over the eggs, watching the potatoes, adjusting the heat as necessary. However, you were facing much difficulty ignoring the rising heat within your body.

Loki switched between teeth and tongue, lapping and nipping at your neck. You gasped when he bit your earlobe, smoothing over the pain with another lick. One of his hands moved to your front, sneaking underneath your shorts and underwear to play with you. His fingers toyed with your slit, wetting them in your slick and using his lubricated digits to circle your clit. You did your best to not lurch into the hot stove with his cold hands pleasuring you. Your hands gripped the handle on the oven as you moaned aloud.

“I told you not to get distracted,” the god teased. You opened your eyes – which you didn’t realize you’d even closed and quickly removed the eggs from the heat. The ends browned a bit, but they were nowhere close to burned; just a bit more cooked than you’d like them to be.

Your hands returned to the oven’s door handle, bracing yourself so your legs wouldn’t give in. Loki teased you mercilessly: one hand on your ass, the other playing with your clit, and his mouth, tongue, and lips attacking your neck and ear. You could already feel the hickey forming.

“Turn your head toward me,” the god urged.

You did, and met his gaze. He stole a kiss, deep and wanton, and cold; deliciously and illicitly cold. As you kissed, you realized this was your first one with him. A bit backwards, given you’d had sex twice before even kissing, but not unwanted. No, not unwanted at all. His kiss made you lightheaded and shivery, especially as he dove his tongue into your mouth. All this while he massaged your clit, soft and engorged and wet.

When the kiss broke, you took the hash browns off the heat too. “It’s hard to not get distracted when I can’t even see what’s in front of me.”

“Well, there’s no more distracting then, given the food’s done.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Loki yanked your shorts and underwear down your legs. They pooled at your ankles. He barely gave you any time to shake them off before parting your legs for him, exposing your opening for him, and he entered you swiftly. You gave a choked sound as you adjusted to him, his thick, chilly, irresistible cock planted within you. His hands moved; one on hip and the other under your shirt to pinch your nipples.

“I thought you were good,” you croaked.

“Oh, I’m more than good now,” Loki uttered as he began to move within you.

“I mean… We just fucked… not even twenty minutes ago, and already… Mmmf.” You bit your lip as he hit that sweet spot within you.

“What can I say? I finished cleaning up, then I began watching you. Your shorts barely covering your ass, accentuating your thighs, how your hair cascades down your shoulders. Something like a switch flipped inside me. I had to have you. You won’t deny me now, surely?”

“N – no.” Your thighs pressed together and your eyes shut closed. With anyone else this would be too much, but with him you didn’t find yourself growing tired, nor sore, nor overstimulated. Something about Loki, his touch, his voice made you want his sex just as much as he required it for his sanity.

So he fucked you there, on the kitchen counter, in front of the stove. The god of mischief thrusted into you, his chest pressed against your back. The chill of his skin radiated from his chest through your shirt, and of course his cold hands on your breasts and cock buried inside you aroused your senses and your attention. He drove his cock upward, and the best you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked his divine jotun lechery into you. As they did when you were taken from behind, your thighs shook, your pussy clenched, and with a snap Loki spilled his frigid seed into you. His fingernails dug into your hips and teeth sunk into your neck as he completed his final thrusts, filling you with his load.

The two of you took a moment to catch your breaths. His chest rose and fell against your back, his wintry breath panting upon your skin. When he removed himself, a wet plop noise sounded as his cock exited you. His seed within you trickled down your legs, droplets of him dripping onto the tile floor. You moaned impatiently upon his removal, as you were still flushed with arousal. 

“Patience, woman,” the god spoke. “I am not yet done.”

Without warning, he grabbed you and moved you to an empty space on the counter. Placing you with your back against the granite, he lined his still erect cock with your entrance. His hands grabbed your ankles, resting them on the dip of his shoulders and again, he drove into you.

You screamed.

The frost giant god railed you with his cock, with complete and total access to your cunt, filling you to the brim. Within seconds, he hit the sweet spot within you at the perfect, fast, desperate pace, and you came on him. Your walls pulsed and contracted as you rode his cold member through your orgasm, screaming at the ceiling of Stark Tower. All the muscles in your body relaxed and you finally opened your eyes to see the face of a demon grinning lasciviously at you. His raven black hair rested upon his shoulders, a pretty contrast to his sapphire skin, and you watched him as he fucked you to a second completion.

A third time today – or was it fourth, since technically you fucked after midnight last night, and then this morning, and now… Your brain was too addled but yes, four was probably right. For a fourth time today, Loki came inside you, his member pulsating within you, ejaculating and filling you once again.

He bent down and bit your neck before separating. His scarlet eyes roamed over your body, entirely used and spent. He chuckled to himself. You must have been quite a sight at the moment, with your hair every which way and utterly drenched of him.

With a flick of his wrist, a golden hue emanated from his hands and then disappeared – the mess with it. All of his cum – on the counter, inside you, on the floor, vanished as if it had never existed. With a light head you carefully sat up and jumped down from the counter.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Loki said.

“I’ll be fine, I just need food. It’s not customary for me to fuck multiple times before breakfast. I’m on an empty stomach right now and I just came three times in half an hour.”

You redressed yourself and plated the food. “Great, well, it’s almost cold now. You interested in cold eggs? ‘Cause that’s what we’re getting.”

“Are you saying you regret our tryst?” he teased.

“No. Yes… I don’t know. No, no I don’t regret it, but I don’t want cold breakfast either!”

You plopped your plate on the dining table harder than was necessary and sat in the chair, ready to eat your sad breakfast.

The god flicked his wrist again, and instantly steam emanated from your food. The smell of warm food filled your nostrils again and you devoured your breakfast.

“Would a ‘thank you’ hurt?”

“Fank you,” you said, mouth half-full.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the utter impropriety. He redressed himself and joined you at the table.

“We are probably going to need to fuck once breakfast is finished. I’m already feeling the urge again.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” you muttered. This was the worst best problem you’ve ever encountered.

And he was true to his word. When the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Loki had you on the counter again.

[iamcalmdammit]

The truth is out || [Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader]

Summary: Rumor has it you're a psychopath but Ghost begins to doubt it. When you end up on the run together, the truth eventually comes out about your mutual feelings.

Ghost used the emerging opportunity created by Soap's escape to get out of the Shadows' sight and hide not far from the road. He was still within earshot and watched as some men took Alejandro inside while you and Graves remained out on the road. You had one hand on your gun just in case, but other than that, you didn't look particularly taken aback by the situation.

Could it be that you had known all along? Psychopaths were known for being excellent actors, making everyone believe they are perfectly normal citizens. But you had also told him once when you were alone that you found the Shadows weird, especially Graves. You didn't trust them according to your statement. Well, you didn't trust anyone, this is why you usually worked alone.

"Wait, wait, wait," your voice finally broke the silence. "But if mommy and daddy are getting divorced, who will I stay with?"

The corners of Graves's lips curled into a half smile as he looked at you. It was as clear as day that this guy wanted something from you, but you never returned the sentiment. "I suggest you pick a side, sweetheart," was all he said with a sickeningly sweet smile.

You let out a humming sound as your eyes moved to the spot where Soap had disappeared not long ago, then to the back of the car that hid Ghost himself before he could escape too. Then your gaze returned to Graves and you said, "I think I’ll pick daddy."

His eyes twitched for a moment as he realized you were talking about ditching him and the Shadow Company for Task Force 141 and Los Vaqueros. Ghost couldn't help but quietly laugh at the sight. Their betrayal hurt, but seeing his smug smile disappear like this surely brightened his shitty day.

"Suit yourself. Shoot her!" Graves gave out the order.

And just like that, you found yourself having multiple guns suddenly pointing at you, while Graves casually got into the car and drove to the base. "Fuck, I didn’t think this through," you said with a groan as you quickly sized up your chances for survival.

Ghost closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath he didn't even notice he had held in until now. He couldn't leave you getting shot like that after choosing them over Graves or yourself. Reaching down for a smoke grenade, he quickly thought about the plan. He gets you out of here first then you find Soap together. Easy peasy.

He threw the grenade near you, and just as the smoke began to come out, he shouted, "Run, Y/N!" It didn't take you more than a second to put the pieces together and start running towards the woods by the road. He immediately got up and followed you, hoping you wouldn't hear his footsteps and think the Shadows were the ones after you here.

They didn't go after Soap, they didn't start looking for him after he disappeared, so he was quite sure they wouldn't follow you either. When you stopped for a moment to catch your breath and take a good look around, he finally reached you and stopped a few steps away with his hands up. "It's just me," he said quietly when you pointed your gun at him.

Seconds passed unusually slowly as you assessed the situation, your eyes scanning his body from top to bottom several times. Then you finally lowered your weapon and asked, "The smoke grenade was yours, right?" Ghost nodded right away. "Thank you. You saved my life with that. I didn't have much of a chance back there."

"You're welcome," he said. "So you chose us over them?"

You shrugged with a smile. "You guys grew on me, I couldn't help myself."

As he watched you, Ghost couldn't help but see you in a different light. You weren't acting like you were friendly. You were actually, truly friendly towards him, seemingly meaning every word you said. And when he took a closer look at your face he discovered certain things, like the shape of your nose or the shade of pink your lips were, that gave him insight into what Graves probably saw in you.

Maybe you weren't capable of having real emotions, or at least the range was heavily limited, but you were still breathtaking in a lot of ways. He was drawn to you with every cell in his body, wishing he could reach out and run a finger down your cheek before kissing you, finally getting a taste of those rosy lips.

He had been watching you since Laswell had introduced you to the team, hoping to get a chance to find out more about the gorgeous lone wolf that was thrown into their pack. It was Soap who told him about your reputation, the story of the psychopath no one could work with for long.

But his own experiences started to make him doubt these rumors. You were only as cold and heartless as the rest of them, not more, not less. The thing that stood out was your personality around the team when you loosened up a little. You could be quite annoying sometimes, joking at the worst possible times, but at the end of the day he found it strangely charming.

"Are you coming?"

Ghost looked up, suddenly realizing he had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice you were talking to him until now. "Sure," he said after clearing his throat and picking up your pace.

While the two of you began walking, he tried to reach Soap over the radio but there was no answer. Where the hell was he? Ghost truly hoped he survived and was hiding out somewhere nearby. They had to regroup and come up with a plan. Right now there were only a handful of people he could trust and one of them was by his side already. One down, another one to go in the immediate future.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked, playfully poking his side with your elbow to get his attention.

Letting out a sigh, he looked down at you and thought about what to say. He was thinking about many different things at the same time. His friends who were either captured or missing, the rage he felt from someone they all trusted betraying them like that, and a woman who was a complete mystery but still managed to awaken inappropriate thoughts and feelings in him.

So, what should he begin with? "A lot of things," he said in the end. "Can I ask you something?" You nodded and waited for him to continue with your head sweetly tilted to the side. Why were you making his life so difficult? "When you were talking to Graves, you said you picked daddy. How did he know you were talking about us?"

"Well, we have a short history together. We went on a date once after a mission and things just didn't work out. I may or may not have said something about him not being a man enough to handle me," you explained, flashing a wicked smile at him. "I think he understood the reference. He deserves it, after all he started a rumor that I'm a psychopath."

"So you're not like that?" Ghost asked cautiously.

"I'm not. Honestly, I'm done explaining myself to people, I just let them think what they think now." You kept a short pause while you came to a halt and turned to look up at him. "And I think he knew because he picked up on something."

He raised an eyebrow under the mask as he watched you. "What?"

Suddenly a wide smile appeared on your lips and he could have sworn you blushed. "Maybe there is a specific person I called Daddy in this case," you told him.

"Who?" he asked, completely dumbfounded.

Instead of answering, you simply moved your hand in front of your mouth, telling him that your lips were zipped. What kind of game were you playing? Did you enjoy driving him crazy? This was neither the right time nor place for that.

But before he knew it, you took his hand and pulled him forward, causing his body to crash into yours. His mind was racing as he tried to process what was happening. "You're no fun, I thought you'd keep asking," you told him quietly. "Why don't you guess?"

He didn't want to play. What you had said about Graves a few minutes ago, how he wasn't man enough to handle you, gave him an idea. He had to take control of this situation. Yes, that's what he had to do. So he took a deep breath, laced his gloved fingers with yours and spoke up. "I don't play games. But I need you to know that I can't get you out of my mind. Let's be honest, this isn't exactly an advantage in our current situation."

There was a glint in your eyes that gave away your emotions right away. "I'm sorry," you said as you bit on your lower lip.

"Don't be, it's not entirely your fault," he assured you. It was true, he was just as guilty in that.

A part of him was dying to take off his mask and kiss you in the safety of the woods, but another part was trying to snap him out of this stupid haze to make him focus on the mission. He would have time to deal with his emotions when it was over, now he had to find Soap and come up with a plan.

You clearly knew what he was thinking about because you flashed an understanding smile at him and went, "Let's find your friend. I'm sure he's looking for you."

[inchidentally]

was originally writing this as tags on this photoset of Carlos but god no I need to write it out properly bc god knows carcar carloscar fans need more in our tags <3<3

also part blame falls on @wisteriagoesvroom as a carloscar enabler in chief !!!

AU where Carlos is already with Ferrari when Oscar was with Prema and they cross paths in Italy at the same facility while both filming media…

the Prema boys can't resist sneaking over to the next room to watch the big boys at Ferrari - maybe get an autograph or a picture! and Oscar has to suddenly grip his hoodie in front of himself when he sees Carlos looking like THAT. and then Carlos spots the pretty pink thing with the sweet mouth huddled with his friends, and the devastating fucker actually winks at Oscar. Robert and Logan look like their eyes are about to fall out of their heads and Fred is suppressing spasms of laughter but all of them freeze when Carlos saunters over to them, still wearing that second-skin hi vis top that clings all the way down to the grooves of his groin.

and maybe Carlos casually introduces himself to them and poses for selfies. but as the boys are scolded back to their own room for filming, maybe Carlos wraps a big tanned hand around Oscar's wrist and ohhhh my Carlos' fingers overlap so deep around the fine bones. his voice casually offers to take Oscar for dinner that night bc he's heard a lot about this impressive kid and he always likes to scope out the guys he'll be racing against one day. but his eyes are saying that he'd like to get to know the intimate skin of Oscar's thighs where they meet his ass.

Carlos goes so far as to meet Oscar at the shared accommodation and with a huge effort Oscar keeps the other boys from going all googly eyed out the window. Carlos is dressed in just a linen button down and dark trousers and it makes Oscar self-conscious about having borrowed a blazer from one of the race engineers to wear over his only pair of nice pants and a white collared shirt he's had since school. Carlos' Ferrari is as cool as he is and Oscar feels at ease finally in gushing about it all the way to the restaurant. Carlos seems to maybe be laughing a little bit at him but Oscar doesn't mind. and when Carlos says maybe he'll have something just as nice one day soon, Oscar lifts his chin and returns that 'maybe he'll have something even nicer'. it's clearly the right thing to say because Carlos tips his head back and actually cackles. he says "I knew I was going to like you, guapito" and slaps a huge hairy hand over Oscar's upper thigh.

Oscar had expected to be taken to a nice, cozy trattoria or some obnoxiously exclusive spot with celebrities "off duty" that Carlos would probably ignore. he wasn't expecting a small table in the intimate outdoor garden terrace of a restaurant that doesn't even have a sign out front. there's a heavenly breeze that didn't seem to exist outside the magic of the six tables placed comfortably apart from each other. the entire space is sinking into a pinky-orange dusk with only lanterns and candlelight illuminating everyone's faces.

Carlos is actually even funnier than he seems in the videos Oscar's been watching since he was probably too young to have a crush on someone Carlos' age. he's also crazy smart and can keep pace with Oscar in discussions about aerodynamics and the stuff that he knows a lot of other drivers don't want to be bothered about. he's also intimidatingly cultured and well-traveled and yes, unavoidably part of exceptionally elite society. there are strong divergences in their experiences both in and outside of racing but Oscar tilts his chin up with pride and refuses to feel embarrassed about chasing sponsorship money. he can see Carlos assessing him in those moments and his smile looks warm, not condescending.

two other things Oscar discovers about Carlos: he has no understanding of personal space, and he's got an iron constitution when it comes to potent wine. Oscar had tried to keep up so that he didn't seem like a total baby but still had to alternate his sips with water. Carlos had chuckled and stroked the hot open flat of his hand over each of Oscar's red cheeks, mumbling something in Italian to the waiter and they both grinned at Oscar knowingly.

the delicious food and heavy scent of earth carrying over from the countryside make Oscar feel sleepy and slightly dreamy as night settles around them. at some point, their chairs had scooted closer together and Oscar leaned more and more into Carlos' casual touch. Carlos' eyes are fully black in the dim light and the flame of the candle on their table is the only light reflected in them. his hand had gripped the back of Oscar's neck jokingly but he'd kept it there, massaging slightly. Oscar had hummed and then the fingers slipped up to cup the base of Oscar's skull, rubbing circles over the soft, closely cropped hairs.

Oscar can't even blame the wine he'd given up trying to enjoy an hour ago when he steadies himself with a hand on Carlos' thigh and pushes a closed-mouth kiss against Carlos' lips. he can't stop the whine when Carlos pulls away after a moment, leaning back in to whisper "not here" into his ear.

and maybe Carlos hastily pays up and guides Oscar with a big warm hand curled around where Oscar's waist dips narrow and lean. and maybe Carlos turns the car in the opposite direction of Oscar's accommodation, throwing a questioning look at him, to which Oscar replies by sinking lower into his seat and cupping himself lazily where he's been thickening up for the better part of an hour. Carlos swears heavily under his breath and speeds up to get to his apartment.

and Carlos crowds Oscar inside, carefully not putting his hands anywhere untoward as they climb the public stairs but never taking them off of him either. Carlos is on him the second he turns the lock on the door, pryng Oscar's mouth open with the kinds of kisses Oscar remembers seeing on his mom's favorite shows but that he didn't think existed in real life. how could anyone feel confident in taking someone else's mouth like that?

Carlos may not be much taller but he's broad and strong and muscles Oscar to the bedroom with ease. Oscar probably gets a surge of panic over wanting to make sure he gets at least one fantasy lived out in case Carlos doesn't like his body or changes his mind or gets a call from some supermodel who wants to come over and he boots Oscar out.

so he pulls away and actually begs to be allowed to blow Carlos, not even caring that his voice broke on the 'ple-ase'. and that's how Carlos ends up hastily throwing an accent pillow down on the floor for Oscar to kneel on while Carlos leans back on his arms on the bed with one hand curled in Oscar's hair, urging him on. it's seeing Oscar's arm moving furtively out of sight and realizing that Oscar's getting off just from energetically but inexpertly blowing him that gets Carlos to climax. he apologizes because he hadn't even warned him, but the sight of Oscar shuddering through his own orgasm and moaning with his open mouth overfilling with Carlos is honestly worth the rudeness.

reasoning that someone Oscar's age has practically no refractory period, Carlos hauls him up onto the bed and strips them both. he grips Oscar behind both knees and lays into abusing the flesh of his inner thighs that have been on his mind since that afternoon. he pushes Oscar's legs up even higher to get his teeth and tongue on the exact crease of thigh and cheek and works each side until the skin is red raw from his stubble. Oscar is making these small, broken-off noises that are driving Carlos crazy and he drops both legs to work his way up to Oscar's beautiful pecs. he assumes no one has ever paid attention to this area before now because Oscar nearly bucks him off the bed with how intensely he reacts.

and Carlos has probably gotten hard again so he swipes his lube from the bedside table and jerks them both off one-handed while worrying one of Oscar's nipples red and sore. Oscar comes again and Carlos has to kneel up and finish all over Oscar's pale, pink chest. some of it hits Oscar's chin where some of Carlos' come had already started to dry from before.

and maybe there's a moment after they've both recovered enough to think where Oscar is about to awkwardly as for a cab or maybe a ride back but Carlos gets ahead of it and tells him to text his friends and Carlos will drive him back in the morning.

and Carlos smirks when Oscar hovers his fingers over his phone, clearly unsure of how to phrase it. "go ahead and tell them all about it, it'll drive them crazy"

and Oscar smiles to himself as he types out who he's with and why and what they've done and then gazes up at Carlos who is holding Oscar's chin between thumb and forefinger, wiping down his face with a warm cloth.

"you're going to be bad news for me, Oscar. I can tell.”

there is a seriousness behind it that Oscar is too young and inexperienced to hear. instead he smirks and digs a knee into Carlos' side.

"you bet I am"

[avocadorablepirate]

What Do We Call This? - 04

previous || mini masterlist || next

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler

A/N: I would be lying if I said I was happy with this chapter :\. Since this story happens during canon One Piece arcs, I wanted to try and stay away from spoilers as much as possible and also avoid changing the original plot, so the chapter kinda ends up feeling a bit rushed, which isn't great...but this is how most of the chapters that include scenes from the anime/manga are going to be like, so I apologise in advance if future chapters feel rushed as well...anyway I hope you still like it.

Challenge: take a shot every time you see the word blue orb/orb ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

"(Y/N) are you sure about this?" Robin asked, pulling you aside before you disembarked at Dressrosa, "We might have to fight." She knew that you didn't like using your powers to harm people after what you had been through on Fishman Island. But you gave her a reassuring smile before the two of you followed behind Law, Usopp and Caesar, "I'll be fine Robin, thank you."

Suffice to say, you were not fine. It had all started when Doflamingo had attacked Law at Green Bit. You had managed to stay out of Doflamingo's sight, and had tried to help Law get away from him when he was cornered on the bridge, but before you could focus your attention to use your powers, Law's blue orb had you surrounded and transported to where the Sunny had initially been docked.

"Fuck, why'd he do that!?" you yelled, as you took in your surroundings, almost instantly running in the same direction you had taken when you first reached Dressrosa.

You had managed to get back into the city just as Doflamingo had covered it with his "birdcage", and you had been helping the citizens reach the centre of the island, healing anyone who got injured in the process, which wasn't great for you. The aftermath of using your powers had started to take its toll on your body. Still, you were desperate to keep going. Doflamingo had done some serious damage to Law on the bridge, and you were sure his condition would have worsened by now. You had to find him.

You had run into Usopp's group when Viola, the former princess of Dressrosa had told you that Law was with a pirate named Cavendish. However, when you had found him, the two of you discovered that Law was already gone. Now, you were back to running around the city helping the injured while also looking for Law.

That was when you saw Luffy - he was being carried on the back of a man dressed in gladiator-wear. You were just about to approach them when you saw the familiar orb appear.

You sighed in relief when you realised that Law was still alive. But when he appeared in place of the orb, you noticed just how much damage he had taken - there was a cloth wrapped around his right arm, but blood still seeped through it, there was blood spattered across his face as well, and he was covered in bruises. Despite that, he took Luffy from the man and disappeared even before you could show yourself.

"Where did they go?" you think aloud, and assess your surroundings, looking for the blue orb to reappear somewhere. A second later you see it, it's further away than you expected, but you're determined to reach the two of them. So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you.

Once you've reached the building, you start climbing up to get to the top, but when you're halfway up you see the orb come into view again.

Shit, why's he moving?, you think to yourself, but you can still hear the faint sound of voices at the top. "Law?" you yell out, but there's no response. Deciding to still climb to the top so that you could scout the area, you're relieved when you find Law still there along with Viola.

"Where's Luffy?" you ask as you rush towards Law, and kneel down beside him. His head tilts up and he's slightly taken aback by your presence.

"I switched him out with her," he answers, nudging his head towards Viola just as another orb appears, teleporting a girl with pink hair who you hadn't seen before. But Viola immediately runs to her aid which lets you focus your attention on Law.

"Did Doflamingo do all of this?" you ask as you assess his wounds, but he doesn't respond.

"Fuck Law, I don't know how much of this I can heal," you tell him while trying to be as gentle as possible as you remove his coat to get a better look at the bullet wounds he's riddled with.

"Don't heal anything," he firmly states, and your brow furrows in confusion.

"Don't be an idiot. You've clearly taken a lot of external damage, god knows how much internal bleeding you're suffering from," you say, as your hand hovers over his torso, but he's quick to grab onto it with his own - not completely wounded - hand.

"From the looks of it you've already used your powers to heal other people," he says, his grip on your hand tightening.

"What's your point?"

"My point is that I know how your powers work. Every time you heal or attack someone you hurt yourself." You somewhat lose your balance, falling back, stunned by his words because you were sure you had done well to hide it.

"H-how?"

"I saw you when you attacked Vergo," Law says, as he leans back against the wall and let's go of your hand, assuming that he had managed to stop you from using your powers on him.

Your quick to recover from the initial shock of his words, and before Law can comprehend you place your hands on his midriff to "work your magic". He tries to push you away, but this time you grab onto his arm with your free hand and hold it down.

"I ate the fruit, I deal with the consequences," you firmly state, and try to focus, to find which of his muscles and organs were damaged.

"Wait, is that why you teleported me from the bridge to where the Sunny was?" you ask, but he doesn't answer, instead objecting to your help, "(Y/N)-ya stop," but you don't relent, determined to heal his injured body.

You can sense the strain on your own body increase, but you push through when you feel Law slowly begin to relax under your touch, his protests fading along with his pain. Finally, after what feels like eternity, you finish your work, and withdraw your hand, the strain on your own body slowly starting to weigh down on you.

"I can't heal your bullet wounds until the bullets are removed, and your arm is still in pretty bad shape, but I was able to stop most of the internal bleeding," you tell him as you lean against the wall, letting out a fatigued sigh.

"You shouldn't have done that," he says, and you scoff in amusement, "A simple 'thank you' works too you know."

"Thanks," Law murmurs, when suddenly he feels your body slump against his, and he immediately looks to see what's wrong. Your eyes are half shut, and you mumble something incoherent, the exhaustion washing over you. But before you can succumb to the darkness (i.e., sleep), you let out a soft chuckle - now almost in a delirious state - and whisper, "Cora-san would be glad you managed to stay alive."

Law's body tenses at your words, and his eyes instantly dart to yours again, but your limp body pressed against him tells him that you're already unconscious.

_______________________________________________

When you awake you find yourself sprawled on the bed of a small house. You try to get up, but let out a loud groan because of how sore your entire body is. A pair of hands are quick to grab onto you, and you blink away the reminents of sleep to see Law sitting beside you. He helps you stand up and guides you to the table where everyone is seated.

"(Y/N), you finally got up! You almost missed all this food!" Luffy smiles at you as he chonks down on a piece of meat, and you look to see the spread in front of you, your stomach growling at the sight. You stretch forward to grab yourself something to munch on, but a hand holds you back by the arm. A blue orb instantly appears in front of you, and soon after in its place materializes a plate of food.

"Thank you," you mumble and Law responds with a nod of acknowledgement, his usual impassive manner softened by a subtle hint of concern for you.

"Oye Tra, can you pass me some food too!" Luffy yells, despite already having heaps of food in front of him, and Law lets out a, tsk, only giving a scowl in reply.

You're satisfying your hunger when the peacefulness of the moment is interrupted by the door to the house slamming open, and in walks a man with green hair and a nose ring. You had seen him during the battle, but you weren't sure who he was.

"Luffy-senpai! The Marines are going to come after you soon, even the former fleet admiral Sengoku is here! We need to leave!" he yells, and Law instantly jolts up from beside you, his composed exterior being replaced by a look of agitation.

The man, who you found out was called Bartolomeo, continues to explain the plan of action, but he doesn't hold your attention. Instead, you're observing Law. He seems to be deep in thought, and although he wears his usual frown, he exudes a sense of uneasiness that does not go unnoticed by you.

"I'll meet you all at the harbour," he says, and you look at him quizzically, but he doesn't notice. He strides out the door in a hurry, not waiting for a response, and despite your weariness in his change of attitude, your attention is now back on the rest of the group.

Robin had moved to stand beside you, and she gazes at you with concern, "(Y/N), you still haven't fully recovered, do you think you'll be able to make it to the harbour by yourself?"

"Um....yes...don't worry about me," you say, attempting to give her a reassuring smile, although you yourself doubt the truth behind your claim. Nevermind the harbour, you doubt you'd even be able to walk to the door by yourself. However, Robin picks up on the hesitance in your reply and is quick to offer her support which you were about to graciously accept when all of a sudden you're enveloped in a dome of blue light.

"Huh?" you freeze in your spot, confused by the blue orb that has you trapped within its confines. Robin chuckles at your bewilderment, already having a grasp of the unexpected change of plans, "Well looks like that's taken care of."

When you realise what's going on, you close your eyes shut, in fear of not knowing what to expect. It's the sudden feeling of weightlessness beneath your feet that draws your eyes open, and what you expect to be the harbour is instead someone's back - you're slung over someone's shoulder, an arm tightly wrapped around your waist. You look to see who it is and spot the white fur cap with black spots.

"Law what are you doing!? Put me down!" you yell, as you try to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You're coming with me," Law says, your fidgeting having no affect on his gait, "knowing those idiots, you'll only get hurt if you go with them."

"Fine at least put me down!"

He finally sets you down and you don't forget to shoot him a glare, "where are you going anyway?" His response is cryptic, leaving you with more questions as he grabs your hand in his and encompasses the two of you in his blue orb.

"Where are we-" you try asking again, but he's already transported the two of you, and you're cut short by the surprise that washes over when you notice the presence that sits in front of the both of you.

"Sengoku?" you murmer his name to yourself, the sudden shiver running down your spine instinctively making you seek refuge behind Law.

"Been a while, hasn't it (Y/N)?" Sengoku asks with an amused grin, yet you don't respond.

"Spit it out." Law ignores his remark, and on noticing your change in demeanour, takes a protective stance as he lets you hide behind him. Sengoku lets out an amused sigh this time, but does as Law says - narrating the story of a Marine from years go. You fidget nervously as he recounts the details, anxiously playing with your fingers as you hang on to his every word.

"He didn't save you for your name," Sengoku concludes, the weight of the statement prompting you to glance at Law to get a better look at his reaction. His typical stoic facade falters, a look of shock momentarily replacing it. It's clear that Sengoku's words have struck a nerve in him, but he remains silent.

"'Just keep living on', that's something he would have said, right?," Sengoku says as he turns away from the two of you, ready to walk away, "If you wish to do something in his stead - remember him."

He turns his head to look at you, and with a fleeting smile nods in farewell, "It was good to see you (Y/N)."

"You two might want to get out of here," he calls out as he continues on his way.

The shadows that form on the ground grab your attention, and you look to the sky to see debris flying above you, "What the-"

Law swiftly grabs onto you, encircling the two of you with his blue orb, "We need to leave. Now."

_______________________________________________

A/N: honestly at this point it's just the reader self inserting herself into the One Piece plot....also I think I'm being so subtle with the hinting when I'm really not ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌.

[avatar-anna]

Hi I was wondering if you could write something about the fan!reader having a small business and Harry randomly checks out the shop and he immediately thinks she's cute or something? If really appreciate it :)

yes!! i... don't really know how i ended up with this fic, and i'm not sure i like it, so lmk what you think!

part two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was there again.

You knew who he was, of course, how could you not? Harry Styles was the world’s biggest rockstar, known for his 70s-inspired sound, arms covered in tattoos, and elusive reputation. He was loved by millions, yet no one actually knew him, which you assumed was a part of his allure.

In short, Harry Styles wasn’t the kind of person you thought you would find at a Saturday farmer’s market, yet he was there. Every weekend. You weren’t one of his devoted followers, but as time went by and you saw more and more of him, you began to notice things about him. He dressed impeccably, but in a way that said he didn’t want to be noticed. His painted nails were always in various stages of chipped, which you started to believe he preferred it that way because you never saw him with a new manicure. And from what you could tell, he only ever spoke to the two or three friends he walked around with, so you tried to respect his privacy and not notice him. That didn’t stop other people from coming up to him and asking for a picture, but you let him be.

It was hard to do that when he kept coming to your stall every weekend and left empty-handed, though.

Harry Styles, you discovered, was not only the quiet and brooding type, but apparently, he was also the type of person to inspect every single thing in a store and then not buy anything. Not a single thing. Some days it felt like he inspected every petal and stem just to not buy a single flower, let alone a whole bouquet. And his brows were always furrowed, like the display wasn't up to his standards. You didn't know what kinds of flowers Harry Styles bought, but clearly yours weren't good enough for him.

A real head scratcher because he was at your stall every Saturday.

It made you question your stall sometimes—the way you arranged your flowers, the brown paper and ribbon and twine you wrapped them in; the bunches of lavender and rosemary, and bouquets of roses and daises and carnations and peonies, and all the other sweet-smelling flowers you grew at home and brought to the market every weekend. You couldn’t understand why your flowers weren’t good enough for him. Or why he kept coming back to your stall if they weren't.

Each time he stopped by your stall and didn’t buy anything, you got more and more annoyed, something that didn’t happen often. It got to the point that by the sixth time he walked up to inspect your flowers, you couldn’t sit by anymore. You were going to say something, you just had to work up the courage first.

You’d been on your phone typing up possible things to say to him, so you didn’t see Harry walk up to your stall, and when you looked up, you jumped. He was right in front of you.

“I, um, I wanted to ask for your opinion,” he said, his voice so quiet you had to lean in to hear him.

“My opinion?” you asked, looking at him skeptically.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I—I want to buy a bouquet of flowers, but I don’t know which ones to get. I'm meeting someone and am in a bit of a rush, so if you could just...”

He gestured like he wanted you to be quick in your assessment of your own flower arrangements.

You were curious as to why now, after weeks of him practically judging your stall, he wanted your advice, or to buy something. But when he said he was in a rush, you realized you were probably a last resort. Harry didn't want to buy from you, you were just a convenient option.

"Sure. Is there anything you're looking for in particular?"

"Flowers," he blurted, looking at you like he suddenly regretted coming to your stall at all. At that moment, you wondered where his normal group of friends was. Harry was rarely ever alone, and you would've loved a buffer between the two of you right about now.

Rolling your eyes, you said, "I meant, what's the occasion? Are you celebrating? Is it romantic? Are they for a family member?"

You hoped that your questions would clear things up, but he only looked at you with a deeper frown. "Does it matter? They're all flowers."

This was your moment. This was your opportunity to speak your mind and match his sour energy. But as you opened your mouth to tell him how you really felt about his judgy eyes and above-it-all demeanor, you chickened out.

"You're right. Here," you told him, pulling a random bouquet from your stall and handing it to Harry. It was a personal favorite of yours—lavender and daisies and baby's breath bundled together with twine—and a pretty neutral bouquet. Unless he was about to go to some sort of anniversary event with a significant other, in which something a little more grand would be more fitting. But he said it didn't matter, so you decided not to think into it too much.

"That'll be twelve dollars."

His brows raised in a way that made you dislike him even more, but he only pulled his wallet out and handed you a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change," he mumbled, then walked off the way he'd come.

"Ass," you muttered.

Checking your watch, you realized the market was going to be over soon. And since no one was even looking at your stall, you decided to pack up for the day. You began pulling bouquets from their displays, already coming up with ways to repurpose the ones that were showing signs of wilting. You often dried them and made little bookmarks, plates, ornaments, and other kinds of decorations, but that took time and planning.

"Did Harry Styles just buy flowers from here?"

You looked behind you to where a girl dressed in bell bottoms and a crop top was standing, glitter-covered eyes looking at you expectantly.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Can I buy the same bouquet as him? Does he shop here a lot?"

There was an opportunity here. To lie or to tell the truth. Since you were still a little miffed by the singer's behavior, you went with a little white lie. "He comes here every week."

It technically wasn't a lie. He did come every week, but the girl didn't have to know that today was the first time he'd ever purchased anything. You had a lot of flowers to sell, and Harry was going to help you, whether he was aware of it or not.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next Saturday came and Harry was back with what some might consider his “entourage.” If it was possible, he looked even moodier than he normally did, and he was headed straight towards you. You didn’t know what he wanted, nor did you care that people were gawking at him as he came into your stall. Thanks to him, business was better than ever, word having spread that the Harry Styles frequented your flower stand. You were in the middle of helping a bride with ideas for arrangements for her wedding, and you weren’t going to stop for Harry. He could wait.

“I need to speak to you.”

His voice made it seem like there wasn’t room for debate, but you didn’t see it that way.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute. Feel free to look around,” you told him, quickly going back to the bride to be.

You could practically feel him standing behind you, but you took your time helping the potential client. In reality, it was maybe two or three minutes, but when you turned around, Harry’s arms were crossed like you’d made him wait an hour.

Smiling, you asked, “How can I help you?”

“She didn’t like them.”

You knew what he was talking about, but an evil part of you kind of liked pissing the rockstar off. “Like what?”

Harry just continued to stare intensely. “The flowers. The ones I bought from you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” you said, and you meant it too. You took pride in arranging your bouquets. “Did you want to buy more or did you just want to tell me that?”

“Well, I—” He paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. “I mean not really, but she said I had to.”

Your brows raised, both thoroughly confused and amused at the same time. “Okay. Well, have a look around, and let me know if—”

“There’s nothing here,” he interrupted. “She’s very picky. Likes to have stuff that other people don’t.”

Who was he dating? The queen? you thought. You understood getting the right bouquet and having a favorite flower, but you couldn’t just pull the ones you had apart and make Harry a new one. You grouped those flowers together for a reason.

“I mean if you think they’re unsatisfactory, then you could always just go somewhere else,” you said.

“It’s not me, it’s her,” Harry said. “I couldn’t care less, but she’s insisting, and I’m already here, so.”

He didn’t even realize that he just insulted you. And not only that, but he still expected your help.

Channeling all of your most calming thoughts, you took a deep breath and smiled. “Well, let me check the back for something more unique. Oh wait, there is no back,” you said with a shrug. If he didn’t care, then you didn’t either.

“Why are you being rude? I’m asking you for help,” he asked, seeming utterly confused.

It occurred to you then that the man in front of you might just be the brutally honest type, that he didn’t think he was being mean, just honest. He was, but you weren’t going to have it out with him about his behavior. If no one hadn’t called him out on it, you weren’t going to be the one to change his mind.

“I...guess you can come back to my garden and pick out a bouquet there, but it’ll cost you ex—”

“Done. When can we leave?”

“Market closes in an hour,” you said, eager to be rid of him for the time being.

“I’ll come back then.”

“Can’t wait,” you muttered. It was sarcastic, of course, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry was back in exactly an hour, his friends nowhere to be seen. He watched passively as you loaded wooden crates of flowers into your truck, and when you finally closed up the bed, you walked back over to him.

“You can just follow me in your car, I guess. I live about ten minutes from here.”

You weren’t surprised when all he did was nod. He followed you to the market’s parking lot, your eyes widening when he slid behind a sleek black car with tinted windows.

The entire drive, your mind was occupied. You wondered how the hell you ended up in this situation and pondered ways it could’ve gone differently. Perhaps you should’ve just told Harry to find another florist, or just let him pick apart your bouquets. But you were here, driving in your beat up, barely working, pick-up truck with one of the biggest celebrities of today trailing behind you in a car that costed more than you made in a year.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Take a look around and let me know if you see anything you like.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t want to leave him alone among the rows of flowers, but you also didn’t want to awkwardly trail behind him. So you settled for venturing to the next row over pretending to gather flowers while keeping an eye on him.

Harry barely said a word as he walked up and down your garden, his face as void of emotion as always. You wondered if he ever smiled, or what his laugh sounded like, but you quickly shook those thoughts away.

“I can’t find anything.”

Having gotten lost in picking out marigolds that looked ready to be picked, you startled at Harry’s sudden closeness. It appeared he was very sneaky.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said, though you kind of expected that from him. “I don’t have anything else to show you.”

“I just don’t know what to get for her, and she’ll have my head if I don’t get it right,” he said, and for a moment it sounded like he was genuinely worried about the possibility of his head being removed from his neck.

Harry claimed he couldn’t find anything, but it looked to you like he wasn’t going to leave here empty handed.

“Um...” You quickly scanned the row you were in. Spotting some pink carnations and wild daisies, an idea sprouted in your head. You snipped stems and went to another row to pull some other flowers to match. “Here. Carnations symbolize gratitude and the wild daisies beauty and hope. And the little purple ones are unique and will tie the whole thing together once I wrap them in purple paper. Does that work?”

Harry took the flowers from your hands and inspected them like he was about to give you feedback on your choice. Why he would do that, you weren’t sure. You didn’t go to his home and criticize his music.

But all he said was, “Flowers have meaning?”

You breathed heavily through your nose. “Yes, they do. Now, if you’d like, I can wrap these up for you. Put a bow on them maybe?”

Harry looked like he wanted to ask more about flowers and their meanings, but he just nodded.

You led him away from your garden and into your garage, which you’d converted into a workspace years ago. It was covered in unfinished projects and snipped stems and stray petals, but honestly it always looked like that.

“Um, there are small animals following you.”

“Oh!”

Turning around, you saw that Harry was right. There was a line of ducklings following you towards the house. Bending down, you cupped your hands and let a couple hop in.

“This is Melon, Sandy, and Hank. They hatched recently, and now they follow me everywhere.”

Harry peered down at the ducklings curiosity wrinkling his brow. “They...follow...you?”

“Yep. Do you want to hold one? Actually, why don’t you just take these while I go wrap up your flowers.”

You handed the ducklings off to Harry while you darted into your workspace, making quick work of cutting ribbon and tying a knot around the sweet peas’s stems. When you returned, Harry was holding two ducks while one somehow made it onto his shoulder and was burying itself in his hair.

“Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that Melon does that,” you said.

It was a risk to step into Harry’s personal bubble, you didn’t think he would be the type to appreciate that, but he also looked slightly freaked out that a duckling named Melon was trying to make a home out of his hair. Carefully, you removed Melon from strands of hair until he was safely back in your hands.

Harry quietly took the packaged flowers from you and handed the other ducklings back. Figuring he was in some kind of shock from holding the three ducks, you left him to his silence and showed him out.

“Do you own a lot of animals?”

The question surprised you, but only because you assumed Harry would want to leave as quickly as possible. “I don’t really see myself as an ‘owner,’ but I technically have a cow. And Cheese. And deer show up every now and again.

“Cheese?”

“A tree frog,” you clarified. “I was high when I named him.

That time you were sure the corner of his mouth flickered. “That’s...unusual.”

“What? Getting high?”

“No, the cow and—”

“That was a joke,” you said, stopping him even though his flustered state satisfied you to no end.

“Oh. Well here,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and pulling out a bunch of bills.

You started at them in shock. There was easily a hundred dollars in your hands. “I don’t need that mu—”

“Just take it. Please,” he insisted.

For a brief moment there, Harry seemed... different. You couldn’t really pass judgement because you didn’t know him, but the last couple minutes, he wasn’t so tense and wasn’t frowning so much. More awkward than broody. But he seemed closed off again,so you just took the money like he told you to.

Harry quickly sped off after that, and you were left alone in the dust, literally, trying to comprehend the day you just had.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Wiggles says you own a cow.”

Your first instinct was to look up, not down, so you didn’t see her at first. When you realized it wasn’t an adult that was speaking to you, your eyes shifted downward.

The first thing you saw was blond hair slicked back into a ponytail, the next thing was the coffee cup. She looked like she was nine going on twenty-nine with a plaid skirt and sweater vest. Who was this girl and where did she come from?

“You realize coffee stunts your growth, don’t you?” you asked, though a smile played at your lips.

She looked down at you the best she could at her height. A very commendable effort, you decided. “It’s decaf.”

“Fair enough. Who told you about my cow?”

“H—”

“Lucy, there you are!”

With wide eyes, you watched as Harry jogged over to you and the young girl. Lucy.

It seemed Harry switched out his usual group of friends for this young girl. You knew you probably shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Wiggles?”

At that, Harry glared down at Lucy. “We talked about that.”

Lucy shrugged. “You talked. I listened, and then I silently disagreed.”

You immediately liked this girl.

Turning away from Lucy, Harry looked at you with pink cheeks. “Sorry about her. We were just leaving, actually.”

“Oh. No worries, she just—”

“You came all this way and you’re not gonna give it to her?” Lucy asked.

It seemed as if this girl was Harry’s kryptonite, as he began to blush even harder. Sighing, Harry set the drink in his hand down on the table you were sitting behind. The drink you always ordered.

You looked at the drink, astonished. “How did you—”

“I just noticed the label, and I knew that that coffee shop is close by, and I mean the drink is green so all I had to ask for was the green one. It’s not like it was hard or anything.”

It sounded like Harry was trying to convince himself of that fact and not you, but the fact that his moody, broody exterior wasn’t as thick as you initially assumed put a smile on your face.

“Thank you. I don’t know why you got it for me, but thank you.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry said, “Well, I told Lucy about the florist who owned ducklings and a cow, and she insisted that I take her, and when I tried to explain that your house wasn’t a petting zoo, she said—”

“That everyone has a price, and Wiggles has a very big wallet,” Lucy supplied helpfully.

Lots of things shocked you at the moment, it was hard to pinpoint which one had your mouth slightly ajar.

Harry had...a child? They didn't look anything alike, but that didn't say much. But not only did he have a child, who was just as blunt as Harry was, he talked about you to her. You were curious to know in how much detail, but you didn't dare ask. It was clear Harry—Wiggles—had his hands full.

"I was just bringing this as a thank you for your help last week. That's all," Harry said, looking you dead in the eye. It was like he needed you to know he had absolutely no ulterior motives with the coffee. Not that you expected him to. As far as you knew, Harry had never been photographed with anyone romantically, but you had a feeling a florist and cow owner wasn't his type.

"Thanks," you said, picking up the drink and taking a sip from the straw.

It was awkwardly silent after that. You didn't really know what to say, and from the looks of it, Harry didn't want to say anything. His mask of indifference was back, but he made no move to take himself and Lucy away.

"So is it like one of those black and white cows you see on milk cartons, or is it—"

"Lucy," Harry hissed.

"What?"

The pair had a very interesting dynamic. The way they interacted felt more sibling-esque than father-daughter, and now you really wanted to know what exactly they meant to each other.

"She's a miniature cow with brown hair," you said to Lucy, not minding her curiosity one bit.

"Miniature?"

You nodded. "She won't grow to be very big. Wanna see?"

Harry stood with his arms crossed while you and Lucy looked at pictures of your pet on your phone. As you scrolled, the young girl peppered you with questions, and while you were more than happy to answer all of them, you could tell that Harry was even more ready to leave.

"You really live there? It looks like a fairy's home," she said, admiring the picture of Petal the miniature cow dozing in the garden.

"I do."

Lucy turned to Harry, and while his arms were still crossed and his face was still pretty stoic, something in his eyes softened when he looked at her. "We have to have our next tea party there."

"You can't just use someone's home for your tea parties, Lucy," Harry said, sounding like he'd had similar conversations before.

"Well obviously Y/n would be invited too," Lucy said with a roll of her eyes.

Sighing, he told her, "You can't invite yourself over to someone's house, Lu—"

"It's fine," you said, even if Harry was technically right. "Lucy, why don't you go pick out a bouquet of flowers. Free of charge."

Lucy's eyes lit up, and she scampered off to inspect each one, much like Harry often did when he stopped by.

Now that you and Harry were relatively alone, you were able to digest some of the information you'd learned in the last few minutes, the first being that Harry Styles, the Harry Styles that toured the world as a rock star and sang about sex and hallucinogenics, went to tea parties with a girl who couldn't be older than ten years old and called him Wiggles. Who knew that was what he was hiding under that broody facade?

"I'm sorry about her, she has no sense of personal boundaries," he finally said, breaking you away from your thoughts.

"Like I said, it's fine. She just made my day."

That made Harry smile just enough for a dimple to indent one of his cheeks. It made you wonder what his actual smile looked like. Attractive like him, you assumed, though you doubted you would ever see it.

"Thanks. And don't worry about the whole tea party and coming over thing, she'll forget about it by tomorrow."

Harry was saying one thing, but it didn't sound like he was all that convinced, and after witnessing Lucy's fascination and persistence yourself, you knew that she would probably nag Harry about it for days, maybe even weeks, to come.

"I...wouldn't mind if she came to visit Petal, but I will require one thing."

Harry looked skeptical but also relieved that he wasn't going to have to repeatedly tell Lucy no. "Deal. What is it?"

"I need to know how Harry Styles got the nickname 'Wiggles.'"

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Suddenly knowing things about a celebrity was weird.

To you, Harry had just been some guy that was popular on the radio and really had a problem with your flower arrangements, and now he and his...well, you didn't know who Lucy was to him, but they were coming over to your house so that she could meet your pet cow.

Life was utterly bizarre (cow pun intended).

You didn't really know what to expect from Harry. He was quiet and standoffish and had this uncanny ability to make you question every little thing you did. You were used to seeing him from a distance, watching him as he silently judged your bouquets of flowers, and now you were spending an extended period of time with him. You weren't sure why you cared, but you did.

So you put a little effort into what you were wearing for your guests, but not to the point of looking like you were trying too hard. A bandana over your hair, a pair of jeans that didn't have grass stains on them, and a green turtleneck sweater that made your eyes pop.

Lucy and Harry were right on time, something you were expecting from them. This whole arrangement was strange, but seeing Lucy's eyes widen as she took in your garden in person made it all worth it.

Harry was pretty much silent as you showed Lucy all the different types of flowers and how to properly pick them. He trailed behind the two of you like some kind of bodyguard, boots kicking up dirt and crunching gravel as he walked.

"Is he always like that?" you couldn't help but ask Lucy. You wondered if it was just you who had that affect on him, or if that was just his natural disposition.

"Mm, kinda. He's just shy. Doesn't know how to talk to girls."

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but that was not how you assumed Harry Styles would be. You weren't a huge fan of his by any means, but you didn't live under a rock, either. Girls practically threw themselves at him, you guessed he had no issue flirting with girls.

Not that that's what you thought Harry wanted from you. His feelings towards you were pretty clear, you thought.

"I can hear you, you know," Harry called from a few feet behind you and Lucy. She giggled, like that was exactly her plan, but you just blushed. He didn't need to know you were asking about him.

"And here's Petal. She mostly just sleeps and eats all day," you said a while later. Lucy had insisted you showed her everything, and after an hour, you finally made it to where Petal was napping in the afternoon sun.

"She's so cute! Isn't she cute, Wig—I mean Harry?"

You stood back after telling Lucy where the best places to pet Petal were so she wouldn't get spooked, more than happy to just watch like Harry was.

You tried not to, but you couldn't help but steal glances at Harry. Your eyes caught on the sharp angle of his jaw the curl of his lashes and the point of his nose. And when you settled on his hair, you couldn't help but smile.

"You—You have something in your hair," you said, and before you could think, you were reaching up to pluck the dandelion tuft from one of his curls. The image of Harry's hair dotted with flowers made you smile even wider.

When you pulled back and saw his wide eyes, though, you immediately took a step back. "Sorry, I should've asked before invading your space like that."

Harry cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "It's fine."

Not that you really expected to, but you couldn't read Harry for the life of you. There were moments where you thought he was just awkward like Lucy said, and then there were those where he just seemed inexplicably cold. Maybe it's just me, you thought, and you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by that.

When you turned back towards Lucy to ask if she wanted to go find your ducklings, you missed the way rested his face in his hands.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

You weren't sure how it happened, but Harry and Lucy were suddenly a part of your life.

Well, that wasn't totally true. Lucy kept inviting herself over, and you learned very quickly that Harry had a hard time telling her no. Not that you minded. Lucy was sweet, and it was nice having people around.

Harry remained as cold as ever. Over the last few weeks, you knew almost everything about Lucy. As she helped you pick flower crowns, she told you how she preferred her coffee, while you showed her how to make flower crowns and preserve dried flowers, she revealed that Harry was her godfather who helped take care of her, and she told you about her classmate that sang a little too loudly during music class. And while you brewed tea for her tea party, she broke down her meal schedule, from breakfast croissant all the way down to her bedtime glass of steamed milk (non-dairy, of course).

And yet, in all that time, Harry remained a mystery. Unless Lucy included him in a story, you knew as much about him as you did when he was merely someone who came by your stall at the farmer's market.

It didn't bother you, but you were curious as to why stayed so far away whenever you and Lucy hung out.

"Are you free on Saturday night, Y/n?"

You looked up from where you'd been braiding little flowers into Lucy's hair. "I think so. Why? Are you asking to come over?"

"No, I have plans, but you should definitely go out."

She did that a lot, you learned. She liked to tell you what to do with your life and give you advice on how to spend it. Most of it you ignored, seeing as she was nine—though you did take her up on a coffee recommendation she gave you a week ago—but for the most part, you humored her.

"And where should I go?" you asked.

"Wiggles is playing at the Troubadour. You should go see him perform."

Looking over to where Harry sat on a patio chair, you assumed he would be on his phone or staring off into the distance, but his eyes were already on you and Lucy, watching the conversation play out.

"Um..." You weren't really sure how to answer with Harry staring you down like that. Did he want you to say no? Yes? You couldn't tell. "It's kind of last minute, don't you think? I think it might be sold out by now."

"He could work something out. Couldn't you, Harry? Don't you want Y/n to see you perform?"

You didn't know him, but one thing you could assume about Harry Styles was that he didn't like being put on the spot. Looking at you, he said, "If you want to come, I could figure something out."

Lucy jumped up and clapped. "See? Perfect! Now your night won't be boring and Wiggles will be so excited you're coming."

He certainly didn't look very excited. His face morphed into a grimace, though you tried not to be too offended by that.

When it was time for Lucy and Harry to leave, you pulled Harry aside once Lucy was buckled up in the car.

"I won't come if you don't want me to."

Harry shook his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders as he moved. "No, you should. The Troubadour is a cool venue."

"Uh...Okay. Sure. I guess it wouldn't hurt to have plans on Saturday night."

Giving you a curt nod, he said. "Great. I'll text you the details on Friday."

"Cool, I'll see you—then," you said, but he'd already spun around to get in the car.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"The Troubadour is a cool venue?" Lucy mocked with a giggle.

Harry rested his head on the steering wheel and blew out a heavy sigh. "Shut up, Lucy."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

You were overdressed.

Or perhaps not appropriately dressed was a better way to put it. You weren't the type to wear a lot of black, but maybe you should've gone out and bought something more suited for a rock concert at the Troubadour. You were in a pair of denim overalls with a floral blouse underneath, a small bouquet of flowers in your hands to give to Harry after his performance.

Everyone at Harry's show was intense, and you were suddenly very glad that you were watching from the second floor. There was a lot of pushing and shoving right in front of the stage, people reaching out in the hopes that Harry would touch their hand.

And Harry. Well, at least now you knew why everyone loved him. Everything about him was hot as he sang onstage. He played guitar, his chest was on display with the button-down that was barely buttoned, and eyeliner was smudged around his eyes, making his green eyes pop. A few times, he looked up to where you were, and you blushed every time. You thought he was cute, like most of the population, but to you that was just a fact. Now, though, butterflies stirred in your stomach.

Maybe it was that Harry seemed to come alive onstage, or that you were finally seeing a side of him other than the quiet, indifferent person you'd become acquainted with through Lucy. Whatever the case, you enjoyed seeing Harry like this, less stoic and more energetic.

When the show was over, you waited and debated. You'd brought flowers for Harry, but his text didn't say anything about the two of you meeting afterward. In truth, your connection was mostly through Lucy, and without her here, there was no reason for you to see each other.

Harry "Wiggles" Styles: You can come backstage if you'd like.

That was certainly unexpected. You made your way to what you assumed backstage, smiling at people as you passed. Some smiled back, and some glared at you when they realized where you were headed.

There was a security guard in front of the green room, but he must have been expecting you because he stepped aside before you could say anything.

"Oh! Sorry! I'll wait outside!"

Apparently, the security guard wasn't aware that Harry was changing out of his stage clothes. He'd been slipping his patterned button-down off his shoulders. You were quick to turn around, but not before catching a glimpse of broad shoulders and an entire chest covered in tattoos. Your heart had just stopped racing after his final performance, but now it was fluttering all over again.

"It's fine, Y/n. You can turn around."

Slowly, you turned on your heel. Harry was already in a t-shirt, a faded Ramones shirt with a stretched collar that revealed tattoos inching up his neck.

"These are—These are for you."

"Thanks."

You awkwardly handed over the flowers for him to take, Harry's fingers brushing yours when he eventually did. You weren't sure why you were so nervous all of a sudden. You'd seen Harry numerous times, so you didn't know why this felt so different.

"I really enjoyed your show tonight. I can see why so many people like you. And the, um, the part where you drank water and then spit it out was cool too. I think the girl next to me almost fainted."

Your nerves were palpable, so you weren't surprised when a smile itched at the corner of Harry's mouth. "I'm glad you had a good time."

Neither of you knew what to say now. Both of you stood in the middle of the green room, Harry holding the bouquet of flowers between ringed-adorned fingers and you wishing you hadn't given them away just yet so your hands had something to fiddle with.

"Well, thanks again for this. I had a lot of fun. Though maybe I should thank Lucy. She kind of forced your hand."

Harry was still staring at you with an unreadable expression. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

"I'm—I'm glad you came tonight," he said.

Your brows raised in surprise. "Really? I kind of thought you hated me."

Why did you have to go and say that, idiot? you thought. Now things were even more awkward than they were before.

Harry frowned, looking genuinely hurt by what you said. "I don't hate you. You think I hate you?"

"Well, no, I mean kinda? I guess I just took you not talking to me as disliking me, and before I even met Lucy you would always look at my stall with this hard expression on your face, and then you would never buy anything. Which is fine except you kept coming back so, I don't know, it just felt like my work wasn't good enough for you and you're always glaring and it—it's just this feeling I have."

You took a deep exhaled, having said all of that in one breath. You didn't come to Harry's show tonight with plans to say all that, but now that you did, you felt a bit better. Though now you worried you may have hurt Harry's feelings.

"I—I was just trying to come up with something," he said.

"Come up with something?"

"To say. To you. I don't know anything about flowers, and you make me nervous, and the fact that I couldn't just make myself go up and talk to you frustrated me to no end. I just didn't want to look like an idiot in front of you."

"Oh."

You had no idea how to respond. All this time, you thought Harry didn't like you, only to find out that he was...nervous to talk to you? You remembered Lucy saying that Harry was shy, but you didn't think it went that deep. Apparently, it did.

"So you...like...me then?" you asked. It sounded to you like Harry had a crush, but you weren't going to make any more assumptions.

"Yeah, I—I've been working up the courage to ask you out for weeks, but Lucy beat me to it. Nosy little menace."

You couldn't help but smile at the mention of Lucy. She really was the cause of all this. "Her heart was in the right place?"

Harry nodded, but he wouldn't meet your eyes. "I understand if—if don't want to. Go out with me that is," he said, pink tinging his cheeks. "Now that I know you thought I hated you and everything. But I don't. You should know that, at the very least."

He looked so defeated with his hair hanging in his face the way it was. All of this was coming as a surprise to you, and as such rendered you speechless. But the longer you went without saying anything, the more Harry seemed to deflate.

"You, uh, you haven't actually asked me yet," you found yourself saying.

You thought Harry was a mystery, and in some respects, he was. He'd been a little rude to you the first few times you spoke to him, but everyone had their off days, and he hadn't been like that since he and Lucy started regularly coming to your house.

And without actually speaking to him much, you knew quite a bit about him. You knew he had a goddaughter, whom he loved very much and let call him Wiggles. You knew that he seemed to have a hard time expressing his feelings unless he was onstage. You knew he had a close group of friends that he hung out with regularly. And you knew he let Lucy put flowers in his hair (but you only knew that because she told you).

It was a short list, but you found yourself wanting to add to it.

Harry looked at you, hope etching his features. "Right, um. Would you like to...to go out sometime?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As your truck pulled into the driveway, you sighed.

You felt like Cinderella after the clock struck twelve. You checked in on all your animals, making sure they were all accounted for. As you finally made it to your bedroom, you replayed the night's events over and over.

You didn't think that was where the night was headed, you almost couldn't believe it. The last few hours felt like a dream, one that you would wake up from any minute now.

But then your phone chimed, and your heart did that weird fluttery thing when you saw who the message was from.

Harry "Wiggles" Styles: I had a really good time tonight.

Harry "Wiggles" Styles: Is it too soon to ask for a second date?

[pagesfromthevoid]

A Real Nightmare | a.a. | 1

Astarion x fem!Tav

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Cussing. Astarion being…Astarion

Author’s Note: I’m not even sorry.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

Astarion, visibly frustrated, threw his jacket to the ground with irritation, aggressively stomping out the flames that had crawled up its arm. A string of colorful curses escaped his lips as he forcefully dug his heel into the dirt, determined to extinguish every ember. Witnessing the dramatic display, Tav instinctively covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and panic. The crackling sounds of the dying flames, accompanied by Astarion's expressive language, created a chaotic scene that lingered in the air, leaving an awkward tension between the two.

The majority of the party had headed into the nearest town to snag supplies or dig deeper into their quest details, leaving Tav and Astarion to handle the camp setup—just the two of them. Despite their limited interactions in the few days they'd known each other, usually confined to brief and somewhat meaningless small talk, today marked a shift. It was the day they finally got down to setting up a proper camp, making it the longest stretch of time she'd spent alone with him.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world; it’s not as if she hated him or anything…she just didn’t like his snide comments on everything. Or the way he looked at her like she was something to eat and not a person. Or the burning feeling in her belly when he flirted. But when he didn’t have an audience, he wasn’t nearly as bad. Truthfully, he was almost tolerable. 

Astarion had thrown a fit, complaining about having "worked so hard" to gather what he considered "so much firewood" (although three logs hardly qualified, she didn't bother arguing), only to come back and discover they had no means to light it. In a moment of misguided goodwill, Tav offered to take care of it. In hindsight, she should have known better than to make such an offer; her command over magic, especially when it came to fire, was far from stellar.

Which was how Astarion's jacket caught fire. And how her tent also caught fire. Though luckily, she hadn’t put all of her belongings inside yet.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, hastily reaching out to retrieve his coat as he stormed away from the smoldering fabric. Examining it, she assessed the damage, hoping against hope for a chance at recovery. The arm was unmistakably burned through, but with the right supplies, she believed she could mend it. Her voice carried a mix of guilt and fear as she spoke, "I really didn't mean to do that – truly, Astarion. I would never actually try to hurt you, not on –,"

“You can’t even cast a spell correctly!” He interrupted, turning around quickly to point at her. His eyes flashed –a mix of darkness, anger, and a touch of dangerous allure.

“Excuse me, I can cast a spell just fine,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. His jacket hung at her side as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I just don’t have a lot of control after I cast it.”

“How is that any better?”

“Because at least I can do something!”

“You lit me on fire!”

“It was an accident!”

“What kind of sorceress can’t control her own fucking magic?” He demanded.

“One that has never been taught!” She spat back at him, her guilt receding only to be replaced with anger. He was allowed to be mad at her for lighting him on fire –he wasn’t allowed to insult her in the process, however.

“What the bloody hell do you mean, ‘one that’s never been taught’?”

Tav hesitated, realizing that maybe she had divulged too much. Her reluctance to expose her...deficiencies in magic was almost nonexistent.

When she had become the de facto leader of the party, and they had gathered up Gale into their midst, he had pressed her about her skills and spells that came from her home in Otherus. She tried to play it off at first, explaining that magic in Faerun wasn’t all that different from magic in Otherus, but Gale had been persistent –even when she explained she’d rather not have an audience. He just asked for her to join him in private.

It was there that Gale learned that their leader was not nearly as capable as she had made herself out to be. While she was able to cast spells and use magic, she couldn’t exactly…control the outcome. 

Magic had long been outlawed in certain parts of Otherus –in the main cities and around the edge of the kingdom, specifically –and Tav was born to a sorceress mother and a soldier of the king, who loathed those with magic at their dispense. Her mother, Fera, had kept her abilities secret for years until after Tav had been born. However, fearing that her babe would start showing signs, Fera thought it time to reveal to her husband what they were.

Fera had thought he would understand. That he loved them enough to protect them.

Fera had been wrong.

The King’s Guard had been called to the home, and by the time they arrived –Fera was slain, and Tav’s father was attempting to remove her hands from her body.

“A sorceress without hands is no sorceress at all,” he had seethed, pressing the blade into her wrist, breaking the skin and almost hitting the bone. 

The Guard stopped him before he did further damage; demanded if she had shown any signs of magic prior. When they determined she hadn’t, the Guard charged him with the abuse of a child; but his sentence was lenient for ridding the world of one more magic user.

Tav was ten. 

For a short while, Tav lived with her grandmother in a small village outside the kingdom but she was old and frail, and had no desire to raise a child at her age. Isowen, her mother’s sister, took her instead to the edge of the kingdom, as far from the king’s guard of Otherus as possible. Isowen ran an apothecary and taught Tav in the healing arts but forbade her from talking of magic or the arcane. Too many soldiers came in and out of their little shop; it was never safe. 

This was how it went for years –until Tav was old enough to go out on her own, and make a life for herself.

Initially, she had every intention of departing from Otherus. The kingdom as a whole, in all honesty, didn't hold any allure for her, especially if she aspired to master the control of her magic. However, the lack of viable means to leave or reach any other destination left her with no choice. Consequently, she found herself navigating a transient existence, engaging in various odd jobs across villages she encountered along the way. To safeguard herself, she discreetly concealed her magical abilities, aware of the potential risks that came with revealing her unique skills in unfamiliar territories. 

It wasn’t until the damned tadpole in her eye that she was finally taken away from Otherus. And now she was the leader of a band of heroes, trying to save everyone…and she had no idea how to control herself.

Gale had been sweet enough to offer to teach her, and keep her secret. Even though he did sound a bit snobbish about the ordeal, his lessons were important to her and she enjoyed the time she spent with him. 

Astarion continued to stare her down, his gaze unwavering, expecting an explanation. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, her left hand instinctively curling around her right, fingers tracing the scar that served as a perpetual reminder of the painful history of her life in Otherus.

"Have you ever kept so much bottled up for so damn long that when it finally spills out, it's like a wildfire you can't control? But, you know, strangely satisfying? Like this unseen weight you didn't even realize you were hauling around just lifts off your shoulders?" she asked, settling onto the ground before the dormant fire pit. She absentmindedly wrung her wrist, caught in the residual tension of her confession.

Astarion remained standing, though when she looked up at him to ask him to join her, his eyes had left her face and were fixed on where she held her wrist.

“I can’t say I have.” 

His voice was soft –sincere, even –and Tav smiled wryly.

“I’m from Otherus,” she explained, and Astarion let out a little ah in response –a knowing sound. She let out a humorless laugh, holding her hand to him now. “I had just gotten enough coin to finally leave when the damn worm got me. And now…I’m here.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his end, but eventually Astarion kneeled beside her and took her hand, examining the scar that rested between where her hand and wrist met. “You’re saying, darling, that up until you became the leader of a bunch of weirdos –you had never used your magic?”

Tav nodded once, shivering involuntarily as Astarion ran his thumb over the scar. “Here and there; but never enough to be meaningful.”

“Sweet hells, we’re doomed.”

“Must you be so dramatic?” She asked, though instead of the annoyed tone she usually held, it was laced with a fear that she wished she didn’t have. “I…I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know what happened; one moment, I was following Shadowheart’s lead then the next I was doling out orders.”

Astarion dropped from his kneeling position to sit beside her, one knee pulled up as the other was outstretched in front of him. He shifted and rested his weight on his hands. 

“You are rather bossy,” he pointed out, grinning at her teasingly, as if trying to ease the tension. “I suppose it only makes sense, minus the whole lack of skill bit.”

“You and Gale are the only two who know.”

Astarion practically giggled in delight. “Ah, so I have blackmail. I love it.”

She gave him a funny look, unable to help herself. “Astarion, you cannot blackmail me when I also know something about you.”

He scoffed. “Please. I’m an open book, darling.”

“You’re right; you are an open book. And the very first page says you’re a vampire.”

For a moment, she could tell he was debating if he would play off her accusations. She knew the look well; it was one she used herself when she wanted to avoid confrontation. But then he narrowed his eyes. 

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at her throat. “You have bite marks on your neck, Astarion,” then she motioned towards her mouth. “You also have fangs. You never eat with us, or when I offer you food. When you drink wine, you look nearly offended by it —,”

“To be fair, it is shit wine.”

“Regardless —I know you think me an idiot, but what I may lack in spell casting, I make up for in intelligence. I’m rather observant when I want to be.”

At this, Astarion leaned in close to her, voice turning sultry. “Oh, so you observe me, my love?”

Tav swallowed hard, involuntarily leaning in as well without even realizing it. “Occasionally, yes. Probably as much as you observe me.”

Astarion's lips curled into a mischievous smirk, and as he subtly withdrew, Tav felt the heat rise in her cheeks. A mix of excitement and self-chastisement coursed through her, acknowledging the magnetic effect he seemed to have on her. As she opened her mouth to respond, the distant sound of Karlach's animated yell reached them, accompanied by the laughter of their returning companions. Both their attentions shifted towards the camp's edge, momentarily distracted from the tension that she was certain they both felt.

Astarion rose from his spot, extending his hand toward her. Tav met his gaze briefly before accepting his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Their hands remained connected for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a subtle tension hanging in the air, before Astarion finally withdrew and strolled away from her towards the group. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was about to go embellish how badly she fucked up the fire. 

But instead of feeling annoyed, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“I hope you feel that weight lift one day, Astarion,” she said, soft enough that only he could hear. 

He paused mid step, glancing over his shoulder at her. “One day, perhaps.”

[humbledragon669]

S1E6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives P3 - from Sunday (the very first day of the rest of their lives) up to the departure of Shadwell and Madame Tracy

So here we are, the last day of the storyline. I was fairly sure the phrase “this is the first day of the rest of their lives” (or variations on the theme) is commonly used at weddings to the newly married couple, so I Googled it, and aside from an awful lot of Etsy links to wedding items emblazoned with the slogan, I came across this lovely summation of the phrase’s meaning:

I mean… wow. There’s so much that I could try to unpack there and apply directly to Crowley and Aziraphale (probably more so the latter of the two), I don’t really know where to start. So maybe I won’t. Call me lazy, but this definition says everything I could ever want to say about the use of this phrase being applied to this point in the storyline, and does so very eloquently.

Alright, next observation. When we rejoin Aziraphale(/Crowley), it’s broad daylight. There are lots of people milling around. When we saw both him and Crowley last, it was fully dark. The location they were in was a rural village and they were catching a normal scheduled bus. I don’t know about you, but I’ve lived in a rural village with a scheduled bus service, and I can assure you, they do not run through the night. We also know that Tadfield is only about an hour’s drive out of London. All of this means we have a period of time unaccounted for. I know that we will later come to discover that they have performed the body switch during this time, but we also know, from the switch reversion we see in the park, that it takes mere seconds to do. Given that the previous conversation between the two of them involved an invitation from Crowley for Aziraphale to stay at his place, I think it’s probably reasonable to assume that this is exactly what has happened. As a reminder, and because I actually haven’t brought it up for a while, my head canon is that they are already romantically involved as a couple at this point, so let me just say that a little louder to try and convey my excitement about this.

WE KNOW AZIRAPHALE STAYED THE NIGHT AT CROWLEY’S! HE STAYED OVER! AT CROWLEY’S FLAT! THEY DEFINITELY, 100%, SPENT THE NIGHT TOGETHER!

I know, I know, they could have just carried on drinking and chatting shit like we saw them doing in episode 1. But that is definitely not what happens in my head. This pair have a lot of making up to do. Also, this is my blog and my head canon. So there.

Ahem. Right. Now that’s out of the way, let’s take a moment to give praise where it’s due to Michael and David in these body switch scenes. The differences in their respective characters are noticeable but subtle. You could genuinely believe that Aziraphale and Crowley are actually Aziraphale and Crowley if you weren’t fully paying attention, which I suspect most of us weren’t the first time we watched the show, which is (yet another) indicator of what incredibly talented actors they are. I think it’s more obvious that Crowley isn’t really who he appears to be, but that’s not to do with the acting – it's the tartan collar and the fact that he doesn’t get into the Bentley. I think we all know Crowley would never get into a taxi when his beloved car was right there (especially when he thought it was lost forever), which he looks pleased to see but not overjoyed. This is a parallel of Aziraphale’s reaction to the bookshop he thought had burned to the ground – it’s unexpectedly reserved, almost assessing.

I’m actually a little bit sad that we didn’t get to see the real Aziraphale going back to his shop to find it back in one piece – I have a suspicion that would have been one absolutely ecstatic angel. Instead we see an uncharacteristically stoic reaction throughout the evaluation of the building. What is really telling is that Crowley (as Aziraphale) knows the inside of the bookshop well enough to be able to pick out a new set of books that weren’t there previously, which is a pretty clear indication as to how much time he spends there. The final Clue we’re given that Aziraphale isn’t really Aziraphale comes in the only line of dialogue we hear in this section. It’s brief:

Let’s set aside, just for a moment, the fact that the wording is rather un-Aziraphale-like (I don’t think he would liaise those words together: “Those are new”), and that the simple brevity of the sentence is similarly uncharacteristic, and even that there are no typical flustery hand gestures that we would typically associate with an excited angel. What really drives this Clue home, for me at least, is the entire pitch of Aziraphale’s voice is considerably lower than we are used to. Much closer to Crowley’s pitch in fact. It’s subtle, partly because the line is short, and there’s another ever-so-subtle difference in (Aziraphale as) Crowley’s gait when he walks to the taxi – it’s missing a bit of that typical Crowley swagger. Those tiny differences go to show how well Michael and David know each other that they can replicate mannerisms of a character that the other one plays so accurately, and I think we would all agree that without that chemistry this show really wouldn’t be what it is. Thanks guys, and fucking brilliant work.

Easter egg time: the “Just William” books that have manifested in the bookshop appear to be a duplicate of the same set of books on the bookshelf in Adam’s bedroom, which (considering Adam is responsible for the bookshop’s restoration) might explain how they ended up in the bookshop.

There’s a bit of dialogue in the scene with Anathema and Newt that suggests something that really is only hinted at in the series: that the people involved in the events of the day before don’t really remember them very clearly.

ANATHEMA: Did we save the world yesterday? NEWT: I don’t know.

This concept is made clearer in the book, with most people finding it difficult to believe that it is in fact Sunday, because they don’t really remember their Saturday at all.

Just in case you weren’t aware, the piece of music that the brass band is playing in St. James’s Park is actually another Queen song called “Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon”, which is a lovely little double-edged Easter egg (it being Queen and the story actually taking place on a Sunday at this point). And if you’re me (which, last I checked, I was), there’s an extra bit of excitement to be had in the lyrics of this song. You see, it’s my head canon that Crowley and Aziraphale actually get married on this particular Sunday, after the lunch at the Ritz. So imagine the squeal of delight that issued forth from my mouth when I read references to proposing and going on honeymoon in the lyrics. I mean, they don’t fit perfectly but hey, the song was written 15 years before the book – not everything can be so serendipitous.

Now, I love the fact that Aziraphale (as Crowley) orders the real Crowley an ice cream without hesitation as much as the next person. It really does show how much time they spend together.

My question is this: is the ice cream the personal preference of Aziraphale’s body’s physical taste buds, or Crowley’s mental personal preference? I can understand that might look a little complicated, so let me ask the question a different way: when Aziraphale and Crowley are in their own bodies, which one favours the ice cream, and which one the strawberry lolly? The answer doesn’t really matter, I just felt like it was a bit of a brain twister. Philosophical questions about body switches aside, the conversation here has a few more Clues peppered around for us to spot. As with (Crowley as) Aziraphale’s voice in the bookshop, (Aziraphale as) Crowley’s voice, at times, is subtly higher-pitched than we are used to, and his words more articulated. There’s also the fact that, when we first see the pair together again, Crowley (as Aziraphale) has taken up his usual position on (Crowley as) Aziraphale’s left.

It looks unnatural because we’re so used to seeing them the other way around. Crowley (as Aziraphale) does remedy the situation, and I’m sure it must be a conscious decision, because I’m also sure standing on the right side of Aziraphale would feel very unnatural for him. In fact, I not only think it’s a conscious decision, I think Aziraphale (as Crowley) signals to him that he’s on the wrong side. It’s tiny, and you could mistake it for a literal tongue-in-cheek moment when he asks about the bookshop, but it’s followed by a covert flick of the eyes to the right from Crowley (as Aziraphale), just before he moves casually to the other side.

Can we say non-verbal communication? We know very well that’s a running theme in the show. And all of these subtle Clues as so easy to miss because the whole conversation is so cautious, spoken low so we have to concentrate on hearing what they’re saying, distracting us from the things that would give the game away. Which includes the fact that both of them ask after the singular material object that matters most to them, despite the fact that the one asking about it isn’t the one it matters to (jeez, this is getting really confusing, isn’t it?). They manage to pass it off as casual conversation in their conspiratorial tones, but in fact it’s a plea for information. The final Clue comes to us in (Aziraphale as) Crowley’s use of the phrase “tickety-boo”, which should be a glaring indicator that the being on the floor is not who he pretends to be. We certainly never hear Crowley use this phrase, and he himself pointed out that it’s unusual even for Aziraphale to use it unless something isn’t right, but we can dismiss it as the ramblings of somebody who has just been hit very hard over the head with a crowbar, something that the warped rendition of the brass band in the soundtrack tells us is highly likely.

Side note: there is obviously another Sound of Music reference here in the departing words of the kidnappers. These references have previously been used to indicate an association with bad things happening that have been caused by Heavenly involvement. And as a personal side note, I was clearly delighted at myself when I wrote the words “it’s a bad omen” on my notes about this particular point because I wrote it in capital letters with a smiley face at the end. What. A. Saddo.

Let’s talk briefly about the face (Crowley as) Aziraphale pulls when Gabriel teases him about what they have planned for him.

I love this expression because it carries subtext on a couple of different levels. If you’re of the belief that this is really Aziraphale in the chair (which I think most of us would have been on first watch), it appears knowingly sarcastic, along the lines of “I sincerely doubt I’m going to enjoy any of this”, but if you’re already in the know about this really being Crowley, the subtext is more along the lines of “I really did see this coming, that’s why I’m not really Aziraphale, you slimy turd”. And the genius thing about the way that Michael plays it is that this singular expression fits either one of those possibilities perfectly.

Little side note: “wank wings” is my absolute favourite insult used in the entirety of this series, hands down. Also, a little question: if a tiny dribble of holy water is enough to completely obliviate a demon (see Ligur’s demise), why was it necessary for Michael to fill a bath with the stuff? The only obvious reason I can think of is so that we get to see (Aziraphale as) Crowley wearing his socks whilst in the bath and asking for a rubber duck, and to be honest if that’s the sole reason, I’m good with that.

Tiny possible Easter egg: Michael’s response to (Aziraphale as) Crowley’s comment about the liquid being holy water is the same as Aziraphale’s own response when asked what the contents of the flask were in 1967:

The holiest.

It was only whilst rewatching this episode for these write ups that I realised that the snarky comment from (Aziraphale as) Crowley wasn’t just there for comedy or for him to give his persecutors a bit of cheek.

This is a new jacket, and I’d hate to ruin it.

Which it sort of is, it having a tartan collar at Aziraphale’s liking. I don’t think this is a coincidence, not least because the original script line is “this is a new suit”, but also because we know from episode 2 that Aziraphale has a bit of a soft spot about jackets.

Hold on a minute, just hold on one bloody minute. What the hell is this noise?

I only heard it by chance when I was trying to clip something else. Do you hear it? It’s pretty subtle (not to mention short) so I turned the recording levels on the clip up. For context, this is right before he asks if it’s ok for him to take his jacket off. There’s the rising sound of a choir singing in an open vowel sound that ends abruptly with a little “ting” noise. I think it sounds an awful lot like one of the collection of sounds we’ve been introduced to that signify that a miracle has just performed. And if that’s true, what miracle has just been performed and by who? This one will genuinely keep me awake tonight…

Back on Earth, we see Shadwell reading a book which appears to be about psychic phenomena and demonology, complete with a very accurate rendition of the demon that was just destroyed in the bath of holy water. Presumably his choice of literature has been influenced by the events of the previous 24 hours. Somebody has made some sort of notes or markings on the adjacent pages, but unfortunately I cannot make out what they are. He’s also listening to “Jerusalem” again (as he was in episode 4), which makes me wonder if he has any other music other than that in the apartment at all.

There are two things in the text that I find interesting, one of which is more of an Easter egg. It’s very difficult to see because the writing is so small, but there is a reference to the author of the New Aquarian publication that Anathema and Adam so adore:

The other lies in the following passage of text:

...if communication with those who have been possessed or passed into the unseen be possible, why should it be necessary to have a connecting link in a so-called medium or demon hunter, especially a perfect stranger and of other order of mind? Surely our loved ones who have recently entered the spiritual world would try to communicate directly with them dearest to them: a father or mother would be more likely to be sensitive to the spiritual presence of their beloved child that an uncongenial stranger.

This feels like it might be a reference to Aziraphale’s actions after he was discoporated – he returned to the being dearest to him knowing that he would be more likely to sense his presence. If this is the case and this was purposeful, I am once again struck by the incredible attention to detail on display. It makes it so obvious that this was a show loved by everybody involved in its creation, and they have every right to be proud of their achievements.

There’s quite a lot to cover about Shadwell and Madame Tracy’s relationship in the remaining 20 minutes of the episode so it’s nice to see that there’s no time wasted in reminding the audience that they have been living an odd sort of joint existence for a while (not actually that dissimilar to our hero pair really) – his insistence that she leave the plate outside the door speaks volumes about this not only being a regular occurrence, but that this arrangement (no pun intended) is one that both parties are comfortable with. And let’s just take a moment to appreciate how smitten Shadwell is when he sees Madame Tracy at the door. It’s especially lovely because the outfit she’s wearing is deliberately plain and unflattering, yet seems to be of immense pleasure to him.

And just as a quick side note, I LOVE that shot from above of Shadwell leaving his own apartment and entering Madame Tracy’s. There’s something about it that’s so slick, and it feels like we’re being shown that the barriers between this couple were all of Shadwell’s own making because the walls and doors are so easy to traverse.

Do we think there’s something of an ironic anti-racism/anti-xenophobia joke in the little exchange between Baddicombe and Newt? I do not wish to cause offence to anybody, so I will try and demonstrate the point I’m trying to make with the following clip instead (which, very appropriately, the actor who plays Baddicombe is actually in):

Possible Easter egg: the year that the law firm that Baddicombe works for was established in 1692, the year that the Salem witch trials began in Massachusetts.

The next scene is the last we see of Shadwell and Madame Tracy (at least for this season, who’s to say they won’t be back in season 3?), and sadly I don’t have much to say about it other than this is the only time we ever hear Shadwell being honest about the size of the Witchfinder Army. I don’t think he’s ever lied to himself about the fact, but he’s certainly not been telling the truth to other people.

This part has gone on for quite a bit (surprise miracle noise can take part of the blame for that one), so I feel like the last sighting of a pair of characters might be a convenient place to wrap this part up. Bye (for now) Shadwell! Bye (for now) Madame Tracy! As always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome. See you for the next one 😊

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey Sex Witch!

I am a gay cis man, and while I don’t consider myself ace, I find it difficult to feel either romantic or sexual attraction to other men. Now, I’ve spent most of my time around straight men, and most of my queer friends are women. I also didn’t have any out queer friends at all until well into my adult life, largely through lack of access. Porn was basically the only source of sexual gratification for me.

I suspect that a fear of rejection/physical assault led me to overcorrect and just assume that all men around me were inexorably off limits during my formative years. Which, while not GREAT, did offer me some emotional and physical protection. I now live in San Francisco though, but while I’ve visited the Castro many times, I still can’t quite break out of the “everything is platonic by default” and feel the emotional sting of desire that I feel when I look at a male pornstar. (This is despite despite the fact that the men in these bars are at least as attractive as the men on the screen - I can say “This guy ticks all the boxes I find appealing” but still feel like any prospective spark is being smothered. I understand some of it is the fear of being “the creepy predatory gay” (thanks Popular Culture!) but I also just find my brain going into the platonic interaction zone before I’ve even considered making eye contact.

(For the record, I don’t blame the porn. “Porn addiction” is, ironically, quite the fresh load. I’m as sure as I can be that this is just late-stage pragmatic sexual repression refusing to die completely.)

Do you have any recommendations for normalizing (renormalizing?) sexual attraction and potential chemistry? If so, I’d love to hear!!

hi anon,

I have a question: you mention that you go to "platonic interaction zone" before you even make eye contact. what happens after that? do you ever actually talk to these men? based on your statements about growing to think of all men as off-limits and fears of coming across as predatory, I worry that maybe you don't.

it sounds like, more than anything, what you need is some practice initiating interactions with people who strike you as cool and attractive and interesting to get to know better, particularly in gay settings where the risk of hitting on someone who will respond with homophobia is very low.

I'm not talking about flirting or pickup lines or waltzing right up to someone and announcing sexual interest, I just mean approaching and striking up conversation. give them a compliment, ask a question, offer to buy a drink or an appetizer, whatever. just, you know, talk to them and give them an opening to talk to you back. deepen that conversation if it's going well, and politely bail if it turns out you don't click.

the worst thing that can happen is a bit of awkward conversation, which happens to everyone all the time anyway and is more or less the price of being human, so no real loss there. the best thing that can happen is that you meet a new best friend or a great romantic love. the middle ground between those two points is a thrilling mix of potential dynamics, none of which you'll ever discover if you never put yourself out there.

back to your idea of the platonic interaction zone: I get what you're saying, but I also think a lot of unintentional hurt can come from the idea that there's anything fundamentally different about approaching someone in a platonic manner vs a sexual/romantic one. either way, the goal is to make a good impression on another person and learn more about them to assess them as potential company.

making a habit of approaching people to chat can also help dispel that sense of being creepy or predatory. every time you have a perfectly pleasant interaction with someone, boom, there's another reminder that you're not a criminal of the heart who's skeezing everyone out. hell, if anything you'll actually get better at picking up cues by regularly talking to a wider variety of people - and, if you're ever in doubt, just ask and give them the option to continue the interaction on their terms. "hey, it seems like you wanted to get back to your friends. should I go?" "you can be honest: would you rather keep sitting alone? no hard feelings!" "I'm gonna pop outside for some air, do you want to keep talking when I come back?"

now at this point you're probably saying "hey Makenzie how does this apply to sex and romance" because you still have to talk to people that you want to do sex and romance with!!! and you'd be amazed how easily striking up a friendly conversation can turn into sex and/or romance. very often the thing that makes people most attractive is getting to know more about them and finding little things that excite you and draw you to them. sure, they're good-looking, but you're never going to find out about their very cute laugh or their passion for cooking or your mutual interests unless you actually go talk to them.

and hey, listen: knowing that someone was interested enough to take the plunge and start a conversation is a great feeling. someone confessing interest right up front, that's good shit. people like to feel seen and wanted. but very few people want to be the one to take the plunge, so being bold enough to do so automatically sets you apart.

you're smothering your own spark, babe. next time a guy is ticking all your boxes, get out of your own way, tell him you're digging the vibe, and see what happens next.

[uriekukistan]

Something I've been thinking about in the past couple of months is what current fans of JJK will think of the series in the future: 1, 5, 10+ years down the line after it ends. I don't think it's a secret or anything that fans are really divided and have during opinions about where the series is going and how it might end, but I'm curious about what it's legacy will be. Do you have any thoughts about that? (Also hi I hope you're having a good day!)

oooh interesting ask, thank you winnie :D hope you're having a good day too !!

hhhhh im not sure im smart enough to conceptualize this kind of thing fairly, but im gonna do my best 🤞 sorry in advance for the essay omg

one thing i wanna touch on really quickly is that i feel like the lifespans of fandoms are decreasing. im not sure if this is a fair assessment, but it seems like people move on quicker that they used to and migrate to new fandoms quickly as series end. i think it has to do with the increase in the amount and accessibility of new media, plus the trend of "consuming," rather than enjoying. part of a growing problem of rapid consumption and accelerating trend cycles.

that being said, jjk is still ongoing for who knows how long (allegedly finishing this year), and has to be animated after that. so depending on how they break the series up, and how hard mappa decides to push their workers, could be up to 5 more years of releasing content, which means retention of old fans and acquisition of new fans. i also think it will be impacted by the ending of the story.

the other two fandoms i participate in are 10+ years old (death note is 20+ at this point...) so im gonna use them as reference points

i was like...1-5 years old when death note was actively releasing, so im not sure how ppl were reacting at the time. but death note has become a "classic" anime/manga that new fans are constantly discovering and appreciating, keeping the fandom going. a lot of people still love death note, and from what i've seen, it's generally less divisive. people like death note, generally. everything has flaws and can/will be criticized, but as far as anime/manga goes, people are generally able to come to a consensus that death note is good. it has interesting characters and interesting themes and comes to a satisfying conclusion- that no man can be god. because of that, it still has a large and active fanbase that has enjoyed much longevity.

in contrast, tokyo ghoul is very divisive, and its aggravated by the fact that the anime completely diverges from the manga, and creates its own story, so the reviews are always mixed. it's wonderfully tragic or it's edgy. it's beautiful or it's boring. it has great themes or it's incoherent. it doesnt help that the mangaka was seriously burnt out towards the end of creating it. despite the fact that tokyo ghoul was one of the most popular anime/manga at one point, its fandom, while very much alive, is also pretty small. im either oomfs or oomfs-in-law w pretty much everyone here. i think the amount of criticism tokyo ghoul got (which dont get me wrong, some parts are very much worthy of it, but that's not what people were saying) affected the longevity of the fandom.

that brings me back to jjk. i think there's two camps of people in the fandom right now: those who are only interested in a "happy ending" and those who are interested in whatever ending may come, so long as it suits the themes and the character arcs feel completed. so i think the way jjk ends will be the deciding factor of its legacy and the direction the fandom takes.

personally, i'll be happiest with the second option, i mean im a tragedy fan if nothing else, and i love the thematic aspects of jjk. but i know most people will be looking out for a happy ending, at least based on what i see people saying. the fact that so many people are back to saying jjk is good after last night's leaks is proof of that to me. i think if the manga ends happily, whether it suits the story or not, people will be more likely to stick around than if it ends in a way that is less happy, but suits the story perfectly. if that makes sense.

[dollsonmain]

Ok I'm going to explode if I don't talk about the big batch of unfortunate ponies that are on their way in for an emergency cleaning.

I am so excited and happy and grateful that I get a chance to clean them up because I'd never get to see many of these ponies in person otherwise since they're too pricey for me to buy.

I'll put it behind a cut, though, so their owner can choose whether or not to view my preliminary assessments which are based on the sales photos.

So, these were an expensive eBay lot with a lot of rare ponies in it which was an excellent price for all of them together. When they arrived to their buyer, it was discovered that they absolutely reek of mildew/mold. That's extremely disappointing.

They got packed right back up and are already on their way here.

Normally, boxes of ponies coming from there say they'll take a week and a half or so then suddenly appear after a couple days. I don't think that's going to happen this time, being Giftmas.

I had linked to the sale a while back but I didn't look super close at the pictures because there was no way I was going to be bidding, until today. They certainly LOOK stinky.

Mildew stink is easier to remove than smoke, regardless of whether it's cigarette smoke or whatever my Wave Runner smells of (it smells like she was in a house fire). Mildew stops stinking for the most part once it's all dead, and it's all certainly going to be very dead when I'm done with these ponies.

I have an ozone generator which will help if the bad smell doesn't wash off sufficiently. They can also be treated like rustbutts and given an oxyclean soak inside and out though that's rough on the hair so not my first choice. I may also get that UVC lamp and add it to the SunBox which is good for killing off mold and mildew. Then it's a question of how efficiently I remove it all from the vinyl, or how deeply the scent has gotten into said vinyl.

I'm both feeling optimistic and wary of that optimism. I don't want to get my own hopes up. Gotta keep that shit realistic.

If everyone got wet enough to mold, I don't think Talk-a-Lot is going to be functional. Hopefully she doesn't have batteries corroding in there. If that stuff on her face comes off, though, she'll at least be good for display. She looks very bright and fresh, otherwise.

Look at that scrungy hair on Merry Treat. hohoho bitch I am so excited. She also has some yellow on her face that will hopefully wash off. If it doesn't, yellow does cooperate pretty well with hydrogen peroxide and the SunBox.

I can already see that Mommy has unstable vinyl. That's a shame. Mommy and Baby are Euro exclusive IIRC, and difficult to get, here.

I'm not sure those dark spots on Baby aren't stains. I hope not, but it kind of looks like marker eyeliner.

These little pearlized babies are downright disgusting... Poor things. The pearl paint is surprisingly not as difficult to clean as I'd feared when the first ones showed up, what was it last year? It can withstand a gentle melamine sponging just as well as the cutie mark and eye paint. I also have a matching pearl paint to help with patching in where needed, though I don't have any semi-gloss sealant so any patched areas would rub off again rather easily. Good enough for display. I am rather confident they will turn out just fine.

Look at that knotted up wad of tail tinsel. (❁´◡`❁) I can't WAIT to make that all smooth and pretty again. Hopefully the stuff on her will come off... I can't tell if she has all of her hair and there were no photos of her other side. It looks like it might be shorter, but that can be caused by being matted, too. Fingers crossed it's all there.

Even with a haircut, Rapunzel's resale value is preposterous, which is why I will never own one.

There's some yellow grime on Birthday Pony and Firefly. I'm wary. It will either wipe right off or is stained. No way to know until I start cleaning.

There are no photos of the other side of Li'l Pocket. I wonder if she has her piggy bank and coin, still.

There's a little Remco donkey in there! I was wanting to see one, and now I don't have to buy one to get to.

Swirly Whirly.... I can't tell if the grime is ON her or IN her. She does seem to have shadowing in thinner areas but that can be both caused by dark mildew inside the body and just the fact that it's thinner, there, and there's a bit of a shadow inside. I won't know until I crack her open. When there's dirt stuck in the rooting holes like that, in my experience, it's coming from inside the body. Which is not a problem.

Her horrible hair texture excites me.

I have seen a few Glow n Shows go opaque even more than Starglow there... No idea what causes it. Happyglow in this same batch seems fine.

Someday I want to have some Glow n Shows.

I expect this to be stains. When it's been little round blooms like that, it's generally stained. I hope I'm proven wrong. She has her key, which is EXCITE.

There have been times where I've picked up a pony that looked like they had blooms and I didn't think they'd come off, and they wiped off no problem.

I actually have this one. She's my only remaining childhood pony. My Secret Beauty's key is long gone, though, and her saddle can barely stay latched anymore. The spring for the latch is worn out. She also has an ink stain on her cheek.

.... I don't even know. The listing doesn't say what this dog is.

[slothquisitor]

I Know the End

Confronted with a final choice to defeat the Netherbrain, Astarion is sure he knows how this ends. Major endgame spoilers. Work title comes from I Know the End by Phoebe Bridgers. Astarion x Liv, 4.1k, mostly angst.

Also on AO3.

The elder brain is close. Astarion knows this because the damned thing won’t shut up. The closer they draw to the morphic pool, the whispers layer over each other, crescendoing until he feels as though its commands are echoing through his entire mind.  

–OBEY– fulfill – anomaly – BECOME –

As the brain rises from the morphic pool, Astarion wonders if it was this big the last time they saw it beneath Moonrise. The pain in his head feels like it might cleave him in two, the way it reverberates all the way through his teeth. He clutches his head on instinct, but it doesn’t seem to help. Liv staggers forward, the netherstones floating above her hand, and she throws everything she has at the brain. Her magic glows, great bolts of red, crackling energy flow out of her and straight for the crown.

And he watches it not be enough. 

It had never occurred to him that they might get this far and fail. It had never occurred to him that Liv could fail. At every juncture, he has watched her do the impossible. He doesn’t believe in much, but he does believe in her. When he watches her fail, it feels like the cruelest of jokes. 

The brain mocks them then. Tells them they had been just another cog in the Grand Design. Gods, he’s so tired of being a pawn in the games and machinations of others. 

He rushes to Liv’s side as he sees her crumble, falling to her knees as the final blast from the netherstones does nothing, again. There is a screaming, clawing pain in his mind, it is staggering, it orders him to give in, to become . It is taking all of his energy not to give in. He is trying to help Liv up when the brain blasts them back, and he braces for an impact that never comes. Instead, he finds himself floating in the soft blue expanse of the Astral plane, the Emperor interceding once again.

I pulled you out just in time. The situation is worse than I thought, the Emperor says, voice echoing in their heads. It has always been strangely disconcerting, the way the Emperor communicates, mind to mind. This is an elder brain no longer, the magic of the crown has caused it to evolve. It has become something more - a Netherbrain. 

Astarion almost laughs then and there. Of course, it has. This whole bloody quest of theirs has just been one complication after another. First, they looked for a healer for their tadpole, and then no healer could help, and neither could the githyanki creche. And then all the answers were supposed to be at Moonrise, but instead, they discover it’s all one big plot put together by the Chosen of the Dead Three. On and on and on. He feels stupid for assuming that simply wielding the netherstones would bring them victory. It has always been more complicated than that. He thought he knew better than this. 

“I thought the netherstones were supposed to allow us to dominate the brain,” Liv says, her words hold no curiosity, just barely contained rage. 

I thought so too, but that was when I believed it was still an elder brain. It has been anticipating our every move from the start. I underestimated it. We will need to rethink our plan, the Emperor says before floating down towards Orpheus’ prison. 

Liv glances at him, frustration clear on her face. “Something isn’t right,” she says, voice low. 

Of course, something isn’t right, the brain should have been destroyed by now. “We don’t exactly have a Plan B.” 

She nods and looks thoroughly resigned before jumping down to join the Emperor. He and the rest of their companions follow. This is an arena they know well, the corpses of Orpheus’ honor guard still lay scattered amongst the rocks. 

As they approach, the Emperor regards them impassively. I have assessed our encounter with the Netherbrain from every angle. I know why we failed. The problem was not the stones. The problem was you . You can make only one move at a time, but the Netherbrain calculates every possible move at once. It knows what you will do, it knows everything you could possibly do. You cannot outmaneuver it. To defeat it, you would have to think like an illithid. Better yet, be one. Your mind is not capable of this. Mine is. You will give the stones to me. I will assimilate Orpheus, and then I will be able to leave this prism to face the brain. 

Liv steps back, and Astarion recognizes the look on her face. She’s figured out something. “So this was it? Your plan all along? Use me to retrieve the stones for you and then send me to fail so that you could claim them for yourself. It’s obvious, really. Only ask me to turn them over when it’s clear I can’t use them.” 

If they weren’t so totally fucked by this reveal of information, Astarion would want to cheer Liv on for so completely laying out the plan. She’s right, it is obvious. Especially now that it’s too late.

You still don’t trust me, after all we’ve been through. Remember, I have been your salvation from the very beginning. Your knight in shining armor. I freed you from the nautiloid, prevented you from crashing to your death. I have protected you ever since - at no small cost to myself. 

Liv’s eyes narrow. “Oh yes, you are always quick to remind me of everything you’ve done on my behalf. On how we have no more secrets between us, and yet I still keep discovering things you haven’t told me. You claim we’re allies, but I’ve seen how you treat your allies. What you did to Stelmane and Ansur. Is this where you kill me too? Or will you simply turn me into a puppet like Stelmane and force me to do your bidding?”

In a blink the Emperor closes the distance, tentacled face just inches away from Liv’s. She holds her ground, and Astarion represses the urge to draw his daggers, to step between them. He has never seen Liv be cruel, but there is an edge to her words, she is looking to be cutting. He knows she has been suspicious of the Emperor’s relationship to Stelmane since finding that book in the cellar, but she has never told him her theory, never said it out loud in case the Emperor was listening. But its reaction gives the truth away, Liv has guessed right. 

That was the alternative relationship we could have had. Aren’t you glad I finessed my methods? Make no mistake. You are my puppet. Without me, you have no value. Now, release the netherstones to me. 

Gods, he hopes she doesn’t do it. Doesn’t give in. She had argued with the Emperor over Ansur’s corpse, gone to the House of Hope despite its protests, but this is something else. This means abandoning their best shot at defeating the brain. He’s glad the choice isn’t his. 

“No,” Liv spits out the word, glaring up at the mind flayer. Astarion prepares for a fight, and prepares for the Emperor to force her to give up the stones. But then, it surprises him.

  Fine. I told you that the githyanki would want to kill you for what you are. Even united the Netherbrain was going to be an impossible enemy. But apart, we have no chance of survival. Since you will not work with me, you work against me. You leave me no option but to join the Netherbrain. 

And then, just like that it is gone. Portalling away. Liv stands tall until the portal closes, and then she doubles over, clutching her chest as breaths come in great gasps. For a moment he worries that she has been injured, but he can see no injuries, magical or otherwise. 

“I sure as hells hope I didn’t just sentence the entire realm to death with that choice,” she manages around gasping breaths.

Ah, so it’s panic then. “It wasn’t to be trusted,” he says, but his words come out far less reassuring than he hoped. He’s never seen her like this, so…unmoored. She is always calm, always steady. He used to find her utter unflappability annoying, gleefully awaiting the moment she might break. Now, her obvious panic almost scares him more than the Netherbrain.

Liv straightens, looking at their stunned companions, still breathless. “Well, let’s hope that Orpheus isn’t actually interested in killing us. Lae’zel?”

Drawing the Orphic Hammer, Lae’zel approaches her prince and frees him from his prison. Astarion stands beside Liv, wishing he had words to combat the rising panic he can feel in her. He takes her hand, an attempt at comfort he suspects they both need. 

Her grip is tight as the githyanki prince crashes to the ground and takes up his blade. And then their minds are ripped apart, a silent cry piercing their heads. It’s all Astarion can do to remain upright. 

“You reek of illithid,” Orpheus snarls. “You slaughtered my honor guard and abused my power. Nonetheless, it seems we must be allies.”

“Your Majesty, The Prince of the Comet, Gith’s true heir. It is an honor,” Lae’zel says, bowing her head voice full of awe. 

The Prince glares at them. “Do not patronise me. You rejected the illithid when it no longer suited your needs. No doubt you freed me because it suits you now. I will neither forgive nor forget your abuse of my powers.”

Liv lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. We were deceived…we should have attempted to free you sooner, but we believed that without your powers, we would die.”

“That is true, and it would have been the honorable outcome for one destined to become ghaik . You had the opportunity to surrender yourself to my honor guard. They would have given you a noble end. They would have freed me, and I would have stopped the elder brain before it evolved into a Netherbrain. All that suffering - avoidable. Were it not for the choices you made,” Orpheus’ words are laced in accusation and righteous anger. 

A sort of devastation shadows on Liv’s face. He’s never seen her be this open with her emotions. It’s almost as if rejecting the Emperor has broken something within her, and she cannot seem to rein in back in. “We…we cannot change what is past. We can only move forward. We need your help to stop the Netherbrain.” 

“In this we are aligned…I am obliged to overlook your transgressions. We will destroy this Netherbrain together, and put a stop to this nascent Empire before it expands into the stars. The ghaik was right about one thing - the Netherbrain’s power is beyond us. At this point, it will take an illithid to unleash the full power of the netherstones. You have the rare opportunity to right your wrongs, to sacrifice for the greater good.”

“What? You can’t be serious.” The words escape him before he can stop them. Orpheus isn’t really asking this of her, is he? 

“One of us must become illithid, I am afraid it is the only way,” Orpheus says, and the githyanki prince has the audacity to sound sorry even as he asks Liv to surrender her soul. 

Liv glances his way, and there is fear there, real genuine fear. She turns back to Orpheus. “I…I suppose if it’s the only way…” Her words are reluctant, edged with regret. She doesn’t want this. She can’t want this. 

He steps between her and Orpheus. “Let’s not be hasty about this. I think this warrants a more private discussion, away from our new friend.” 

Liv looks to Orpheus and then back at their companions apologetically. “If you’ll just give us a moment.” 

He stalks away, trusting her to follow. He’s looking for somewhere, anywhere they can have a semblance of privacy.  There aren’t a lot of options here, and a glance back at their companions shows him that they’re in a deeply heated discussion themselves. 

They come to a stop and he rounds on her. “Tell me you’re not actually considering this.”

Liv’s face is pained, brow furrowed. “You heard Orpheus. The fact that the Grand Design made it this far…it’s our fault. But I can make it right, I can wield the stones and save the city and…I…I can fix it.”

“There are other options.” Like Orpheus for one. He doesn’t give a shit if the prince lives or dies. He could be the illithid. It should be someone, anyone else. Just not her. Not her. 

Liv shakes her head. “He has been imprisoned here for so long…to ask that of him…or of any of our friends. I can’t do that.”

Damn her and her selflessness. This is it, this is where he loses her. There is yet to be a heroic choice she has been faced with that he has seen her flinch away from. Liv is the type of person who would set herself on fire to keep everyone else warm. He just wishes he had told her more often that she doesn’t have to. No one is requiring that from her. But he knows how this ends. 

He knows her. And he knows that no matter what he says, she’s going to do this. 

“I wish I was surprised you’d volunteer. But I’m not…it’s just so perfectly you . Tell me that this is what you really want, and you have my unwavering support.” He hates the way his voice quivers, the way it gives his every emotion away. He’s trying to mean the words, to force them true. If this is really what she wants then well…he’ll try. 

There are tears pooling in her eyes as she stares up into his face. The moment catches, drags on horribly. Her eyes close, the tears running down her face. Finally, she whispers, “I don’t want to be a mind flayer.”

He cups her face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. “Then don’t. Let someone, anyone else do it. Please .” He rests his forehead against hers, and when she reaches for his forearms, he can feel the way she trembles. They stay there for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. He can see the turmoil in hers, and he hopes she can see the pleading in his.

“Astarion-”

“Don’t,” he says because he cannot bear to hear her apologies, her justifications for this. 

She kisses him then. It tastes like goodbye.

***

The end of the world feels a lot different than she thought it would. She feels a hells of a lot more guilty than she thought she would, for one. She also feels as though something has broken inside of her, the ability to repress, to push emotions down, and simply keep moving, keeps eluding her. She’s aware that every emotion she feels is too obvious, too open, but she cannot seem to fix it. 

Perhaps it is for the best. With the Emperor’s true nature exposed, their alliance in shambles, and Orpheus explaining that someone must become illithid, a deepset resignation joins the chorus of emotions all demanding to be felt, all at once. Of course freeing Orpheus means sacrifice, as if they all haven’t given enough. 

Which is why it must be her, mustn’t it? She cannot possibly ask any of her friends to do this. She has led them across Sword Coast, to the Hells, and across planes, and they have followed her. And it had all been wrong. They have been misled and manipulated at every step, played into the plans of the very entity they sought to destroy. She could make it right, with one last sacrifice.  But she doesn’t want to. No part of her wants this. 

When Astarion pulls her away from the group, he begs her not to do this. She wishes she could tell him she won’t. She wishes that this was all different. She has no words to make this okay, so she kisses him instead and tells herself it’s going to be okay. 

She’s aware that Astarion is trailing a few steps behind, but she’s doing her best not to look at him. She’s sure if she does, she’ll lose her nerve. As she approaches the group, Wyll steps forward, looking earnestly between her and Astarion. “We’ve been talking. We have an idea.”

Karlach nods. “Maybe you don’t have to. It…it should be me. I’m dying. My heart feels like a living grenade - gonna blow any minute. You still have a life to live. I don’t. If this is the end for me, let me be the motherfucker who saved the world.” Karlach’s words say she’s willing, but Liv can see it in her eyes, Karlach wants this about as much as she does. 

“I adore you,” Liv says, echoing the very sentiment Karlach has so often expressed. “But we’re going to find a fix for that engine of yours, Karlach. I won’t let this be how your story ends.” Liv just needs time, and Karlach doesn’t have to die, not if she goes to Avernus…not forever…just long enough for Liv to solve this problem. She knows she can do it.

Gale steps forward. “I think it’s time we reconsider the orb then. With its power, I could put an end to this whole thing. Crown. Netherbrain. Absolute. Everything. No one will have to surrender their soul to become an illithid.”

“No one is blowing themselves up!” Shadowheart says, heatedly. 

Their group dissolves into a myriad of conversations. Everyone talking over everyone. Liv tries to follow them, but somewhere she loses the thread of it, and the conversations have taken on an angrier tone, arguments rising. 

She turns away from her friends, and takes a few steps closer to Orpheus who stands watching the exchange with sharp eyes. He doesn’t seem thrilled at his would-be saviors, and who can blame him? They have apparently stumbled their way here, blundering along, losing the forest for the trees. And yet, she doesn’t regret it. She has done what she thought was right all along the way, even when it cost her. Sometimes, especially when it cost her. 

But perhaps…perhaps she has given enough. Perhaps she deserves her life, her future, her soul. Astarion had asked her this morning what she wanted to do after this was over, and she hadn’t had an answer, not a real one. But faced with this choice, she is shocked by how much she wants to live her life. She wants to see her future as it happens to her. She wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything. 

It is the most selfish thing she has ever done, but she slowly approaches Orpheus and asks, “Are you willing?”

The arguing behind her immediately ceases. Some part of her is disappointed in this moment, that she was unwilling to accept Karlach’s sacrifice, that she’s unwilling to do this herself. She hates that she is asking Orpheus to become a thing that he despises, the very entity he has been fighting against for millennia. But another part of her keeps insisting: enough. She has done enough.

The githyanki prince closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Just as I was free…” And then he raises his chin, noble and dignified. “I will become - illithid. I will sacrifice my soul for my people. I will end the Grand Design.”

“My Prince, you cannot. It is not your burden to bear,” Lae’zel grabs at her arm. “Please, my people need him.”

“Do not ask this of her!” Astarion snarls. “I don’t see you volunteering, Lae’zel!”

At that, Lae’zel pulls away, head down. No…she doesn’t like this, but she’s not willing to sacrifice herself either. Liv looks back at Orpheus. “You are a true hero.” And she is not. 

She watches the ceremorphosis process take Orpheus. She forces herself to stand witness to every snapped bone, every elongated limb. She will not allow herself to look away from this. This is her doing, and her doing alone. She wishes that it hadn’t come to this, to a choice between giving up her soul and saving the world. But as Orpheus straightens in his new form and the netherstones float into his open palm, all she feels is a profound sense of relief. 

She doesn’t know what that says about her.

All to wield these… Orpheus stares at the stones. Let us seek out the Netherbrain and finish this. Once the Grand Design is ended, kill me. It is the very least you can do. 

“You don’t deserve to die.” 

Orpheus floats close, orange eyes flashing menacingly. I took this burden so that you did not have to. You will grant me this . 

She glances over to Lae’zel who only gives a small, dejected nod. “Alright.”

Orpheus opens up a portal for them, but Liv hesitates for a moment, casting one last glance over the tranquil beauty of the Astral Plane. She takes one final moment before she is thrown back into chaos and battle and unknown. 

Astarion steps in front of her, his eyes full of relief, pride even. He captures her lips in a kiss that is not soft or careful. This is a kiss for the battlefield, all passion and teeth. It burns bright and fierce and fast, over so quickly, she almost questions if it happened at all. 

“We’d better survive this because I never want to stop doing that,” he says, and then he’s gone jumping through the portal. 

She follows and finds herself thrown directly into the mess and chaos of battle. The Netherbrain floats over the Upper City, nautiloids fly beside it, and the streets and gardens are filled with the Absolute’s forces. It is a long and bloody fight up to the Watch Citadel. 

When Kith’rak Voss intercepts them on the steps of the Watch Citadel, she worries that their luck has finally run out. Lae’zel has accepted Orpheus, his new form, but Voss has been planning and plotting for so long to free Orpheus. How must it feel to finally see your friend, your prince, free only to discover that they are a mind flayer? To lose the best chance for githyanki liberty? 

She expects it to feel as if the guilt will swallow her up, but then they open the doors of the tower, and waiting behind them are allies and friends they’ve made along the way. Dammon and their owlbear cub, who is a cub no longer. Jaheira and Halsin. Valeria. Ulma. Arabella. The Gondians. Duke Ulder Ravengard and Counselor Florrick. Dame Aylin and Isobel. Barcus Wroot. Mol and Rolan. Volo and Zevlor. Nine-Fingers Keene…and Percy.

“Liv!” Percy calls, and then her brother appears out of shadow in front of her, arms pulling her into a tight hug. It shocks her, and it takes a moment for her to return the gesture. He holds her close. “No one had seen you since the fighting began. We feared the worst.”

His concern feels real and genuine. “We…uh…had to make a stop and free an ally.” She pulls away and gestures to the mind flayer beside Kith’rak Voss, hanging back from this scene. Their allies are understandably concerned about having a mind flayer in their midst, but Withers, appearing as always at the strangest of times sets everyone at ease.

She turns back to Percy. “What are you doing here?”

Her brother grins. “I promised I’d come when you called, but well, you didn’t call, so I took the liberty of showing up anyway. I’ve got your back.”

And it doesn’t erase all of the hurt and the pain and all of the years of suffering, but it is something. “Thank you.”

“Your little group has managed to amass quite the collection of allies,” he says, a sense of awe in his voice. 

And as she looks around, she realizes it’s true. All these people, friends, and allies. Oh, they might have made mistakes along the way, but they’ve also built this. It is a relief and a comfort to find that they are not alone here at the end of all things. “Yeah, we really have.”

“Credit where it is due, darling,” Astarion says, stepping close. “This is almost entirely Liv’s doing.”

Her brother nods as if he believes it. As if he’s not at all surprised. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Some sort of understanding passes between her brother and Astarion, but she’s not quite sure what it is. It’s gone in a moment. “Now, shall we go kill a brain?” Astarion asks with a smile. 

She nods, as ready as she could ever be, even though she doesn’t know the end.

[fe-fictions]

do you still have that story where saizo and corrin have a baby girl and he's worried about how he's going to raise her? it was soooo fluffy and one of my favorites 🥹🩷

(This is one of my favorites so I really wanted to repost it, which means I got to rewrite it from scratch!! Hope you enjoy)

You were both shocked when you discovered you were pregnant a third time. There were never been plans to expand the family further, as you were quite satisfied with your two boys.

Asugi and Kana were over the moon at the prospect of another sibling. Someone else to cause mischief with.

While Saizo was initially floored upon the discover, he was also quite eager. That is, until Azama and Sakura started gossiping about how different this pregnancy was.

How you were more irritable and ache-y than before, and that your physical and emotional struggles were much harder. It was deeply worrying for Saizo, but the healers assured him it was normal; and that it was incredibly common to see when women were pregnant with daughters.

They were quite certain it was a girl, not a  boy.

He didn’t believe them, of course. The Saizo line had never produced a daughter. Surely he wouldn’t be the first to do so! 

But then Orochi started foreseeing a lot of dainty, delicate clothes in the future; and him and his boys glaring at all sorts of potential suitors for this new child.

It only meant one thing, really; there must be a girl on the way.

Saizo had been stressing about it for weeks leading up to the birth. It was only in that moment you could know for sure. Because if he found out it was a girl…well, he had no idea what to do.

The day of labor came, and you were pushing, fighting to bring that baby into the world for all you were worth. It was a difficult birth, which convinced Saizo that three was more than enough.

The labor was finished off and the baby was finally delivered. He heard the sharp cry through the doors, which silenced all other mumbling and murmuring nearby.

The third-born of Saizo and Corrin officially arrived.

“Oh my gods, everyone!! You'll never believe it- Corrin has a new baby girl!!” Elise exclaimed, bursting out of the delivery room with sparkling eyes.

Everyone cheered, save for Kaze and Saizo.

The green-haired ninja eyed his brother warily, knowing that he had been squeamish at the thought of a daughter.

Now it had become his reality.

“Saizo…are you all right?”

He could not form words, speechless behind his mask. Kaze put a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“It will be all right, Saizo. My Midori is a wonderful little girl. I’m sure your daughter will be, too.”

“My…daughter.” He echoed, the words bringing him back to his senses. “My child- my wife, are they…?”

“They're both just fine, Saizo!” Elise informed him, “Corrin is awake, and in good spirits! Would you like to see them before we take the baby for her assessment? Corrin really wants you to come in!”

“Yes…of course.” He quickly followed her into the delivery room, the doors shutting behind him. And with it, silence followed. Now that he was there, time slowed to a stop; just mere steps away was his child. A girl. He wasn't sure if he was brave enough to face it.

“Saizo,” Your voice was weak, and strained hoarse. It was no wonder, from all the fighting you had to do just moments earlier. 

The quiet call broke his spell, drawing him back into reality so he could swiftly go to your side.

Saizo bent over, touching your hair and brushing it away from your face. You leaned into his touch, but you did not bring your hands up to meet his. They were preoccupied.

“Are you all right?” He asked you worriedly, looking you over to ensure you were not in any immediate danger. You nodded with a deep breath, tilting your face towards the child on your chest.

“We’re both okay. We…we have a daughter, Saizo.” You whispered to him, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“I…” He trailed off, swallowing in a feeble attempt to steel himself. 

Nestled in a bundle of blankets was a very tiny, new ittle girl. She had a shock of crimson hair, just like him. There was a deep warmth that bloomed in his chest, gazing at his third-born child.

But with that warmth came a very real, very concerning spike of worry.

“Saizo?”

“Ah…yes. Yes, she is very beautiful.” He confirmed with a pinched frown, “But I worry.”

“You worry?” You reached up to cup his cheek, in tandem shifting the little girl so he might better see his perfectly healthy daughter.

“Of course I do- she’s the first daughter to ever be produced by the Saizo line.”

“That is a great honor.” You pointed out with a soft smile, quite proud to have been the first to make history in his family.

Well, aside from being a princess and a dragon. That also raised the stakes a little bit. But Saizo was far more concerned with other things.

“It is unprecedented; quite literally. How…how am I supposed to- how do we raise a girl?”

“It’s pretty straightforward, dear. Like the boys, but a little different.”

“There are no guides on how to train a Saizo in the secret family arts- not for one that is a girl!! All of our techniques, the flaming ninjutsu- they were created and perfected strictly for men!”

“Then we will find a way to teach her differently. She will adapt- she’s your daughter.”

“But she will be smaller than Asugi and Kana. Which means she may be more fragile, and have less stamina, and strength, and-”

“If you went toe to toe with me, do you think you’d be able to overpower me without a dragonstone?”

“...Perhaps. It tends to be an even match when we duel.” Saizo hummed, brow furrowed as he considered it. You gestured to your snoozing newborn.

“She will be no different to me. Besides; Kagero, Orochi and Rinkah are all exemplary warriors. No matter which path she chooses, I know she’ll be an excellent warrior with your tutelage. Though I doubt you’d let her go far from the ninja way.”

“I would prefer she grew up like Kagero in terms of skills, it’s true.” He admitted, but the worry lingered. You frowned some, seeing he had yet to be comforted.

You raised your hand, gently lowering the mask to reveal a deep frown on his lips. 

“What else are you worried about? It’s better to get it all out now than later, don’t you think?” You joked some, tilting your head towards the baby.

Saizo frowned softly, “I worry that she will be vulnerable…and her face…her hair! She will look just like me!”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes!! Think of all the suitors she will have-- the boys and girls!! Can you imagine the kind of trouble that we’ll have to protect her from?!”

“Ohh…” Your smile broadened, “You want to protect your little girl already?”

“I just…it will be difficult for her as she gets older. Especially as the first and only daughter of a Saizo. I worry about many things…some I cannot even begin to think about- I do not know how to raise a daughter, o-or what she will need from me, or the best way to train her, or…there are too many unknowns, Corrin!” He cleared his throat, looking away. 

You shook your head, carefully shifting the baby up for him. “Why don’t you hold her? I know it will make all your worries fade away.”

“N-no, I…I don’t think I should…” He trailed off, just as you passed the little bundle right into his arms. 

The instant she landed in his arms, it was like his whole world shifted.

His little girl was hardly the length of his forearm, but just the sight of her filled his chest. He held her close and snug, right to his heart. 

She was perfect.

And it made all of his fears fade away in an instant.

“See?”

Your voice was almost faded in the background. He was utterly enraptured by his daughter. The first daughter of the Saizo line.

And she was so beautiful.

You were beaming, a single tear slipping from the corner of your eye as you watched your husband fall even deeper in love with his daughter than he ever thought possible.

“I…I can’t even remember what I was so worried about.” His voice was shaky. Just like he was when he held his baby Asugi and baby Kana.

You held out your hand, which Saizo was very quick to take. 

He squeezed your hand, carefully shifting so that he was sitting right on the edge of the bed, bringing his daughter to rest between her mother and father.

“You were right.” He murmured softly, and leaned down, kissing your forehead. “I’m so proud of you…you’ve done well.”

“Heehee…” You tilted your chin up, prompting a proper kiss. “I hope you won’t mind handling the boys while I recover. I think we’ll have our hands full for a while.”

“Do not fret. I will take care of everything. I will make sure that my wife, my sons and my daughter are all well tended. You have my word.”

“As a Saizo?” You grinned at him, and he chuckled softly, hugging you and your little girl to his chest.

“As your Saizo. Both of you.”

[the-wip-project]

SloMo WriNo: Rest, Reassess, Refine

November is over! We are one month into the challenge! And how are you feeling?

I haven’t done Nano for many years now, but I still feel a sense of relief when the month of November is over. There’s an ambient sense of anxiety in the online writer community that seems to infect me despite my best efforts.

But come the 1st of December? Freedom!

I intended to write a post discussing that, but instead I stopped dead. I felt unable to write a single word.

“Is this what people talk about when they say they can’t write?” I asked a friend. Who laughed at me. Not because she’s mean, but because I’m always the one with a hundred methods for getting around writer's block. I am the master of ‘just write the next sentence and the rest will come’ positivity.

I can always figure out a way to write if I really want to write.

But this time I couldn’t.

All of my executives had decided to stop functioning. I wanted to lie on the couch and enter a vegetative state. The human equivalent of an error code.

I had to stop for a moment. More than a moment.

A week, it turns out. A week of not writing at all.

I actually fought it for a few days, managing to edit and note down ideas. In retrospect, that was a bad choice, it just prolonged things. (It’s always easy to see these things in retrospect.)

You know those posts you see circulating that say stuff like ‘writing isn’t just writing, it’s taking a walk and looking at sunsets and etc, etc, etc.’ I firmly disagree. Writing isn’t an ethereal experience, it’s putting words on a page.

But making words doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It doesn’t come out of nowhere. It can be draining. Emotionally and physically. So while I don't consider breaks actually writing, I know they're necessary.

A person in the wip discord summed it up well by saying this: I've been pushing forwards so much I didn't let myself look back .

The combination of some things going on in my non-writing life, and the extra pressure I’ve been putting on myself to host this challenge, meant I hit a point where rest was required.

If, like me, you’ve found that after hitting a certain date or word count, you’ve slowed down or stopped writing, don’t punish or castigate yourself. (I say, like a hypocrite who spent at least two days in recrimination land.) Breaks are good and healthy. Don’t be ashamed of needing them.

But take a moment to think about why. What’s working and what isn’t. No matter what, it’s a good time to think about what you’ve accomplished, and where you’re going next.

For me I needed to assess how much time and energy writing these SloMo posts require of me, and how much I need to adjust the rest of my writing goals to accommodate that. I’ve realized that writing nonfiction takes a lot more energy from me than writing fiction.

You too may discover that certain projects require more effort and energy than others.

Or you might find that you’re tired because you’ve written more in November than you have in a while, or that the mental and emotional effort of implementing a new habit has been tiring.

It’s also time to reassess the mechanics of what you’ve been doing.

How is your current writing schedule working? Does having a minimum and maximum goal help or hinder? Is the time of day you’ve been aiming for working out? How is it affecting the rest of your life? (it’s no good to be getting words on the page at the expense of your work, relationships, and/or mental health.) Be ready to discard any and all advice from me or anyone else that isn’t working for you.

More than anything, don’t let the fact that you needed to rest and/or reassess stop you from pursuing your writing. Make the needed adjustments in your goals and schedule. And then get back to writing. (Like I’m going to. Right now actually.)