#had to cut this chapter in half alas

[bonus-links]

DIRECTORS COMMENTARY PLEASE I LOVE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS AND PROCESS <3!!!!!!!!

YEAHHH lots to say for this update

there's a scene I didn't so much as cut from the beginning of this update as significantly shorten: Wolf, Loft, Wake, and Slate are changing into their lighter outfits. Loft says the same line as having the party, Wake begs them for this one day with his Gran Gran, and they all agree they can wait. I've been trying to get better about like, not putting a ton of work into unnecessary connecting scenes, which is why I cut it down. Wake sounding more cavalier also works better for the overall chapter. But i was sad to leave this joke out lol:

may I present to you, Slate's picture gallery! he was mostly on task documenting flora and fauna but he gets a little sidetracked sometimes

I love the idea that he's just, like, kind of terrible at photography. he documents stuff for Zelda and it's always weirdly cropped and kind of out of focus, but she appreciates it anyway.

Slate is also picking flowers for the party! so he is still helping out on that front lol

idk if i've mentioned this before, but beetle does still have pincers! they're just. idk what the right word is. retractable maybe? yeah. like the ancient weapon blades

the filling of the half moon pies is pineapple :-) i was. so worried about it looking like an egg HAHA.

I thought way too hard about how they were going to cook these pies. I was originally going to draw a clay oven or some other setup, but ultimately I thought the Zelda tradition of only having pots over fires to cook was a funnier nod lol. So, they're frying the pies

believe it or not, I wrote this scene before reading dungeon meshi HAHA but it certainly served as good reference for how to set up shots for it

Aryll did in fact eavesdrop on Wake telling Tetra The Situation

That's Champion's little sister in the memory! I like the headcanon that her name was also Aryll.

Champion and his sister are making meat pies instead of pineapple ones.

One again, made a bunch of layout mistakes I ended up having to fix, except this time I didn't catch them until I had already gotten to rendering :-( if you're a patron, you probably saw these versions in the WIP:

problems here: Wolf is walking the wrong away. I was sad we'd be losing his expression but alas. And for the panels with Champion's sister, the angle is too low to be an actual POV shot. I could've left it and said he's just sitting or something probably but it was really bothering me lol so I redrew everything. and then recolored all of it. woof.

as a general rule, if he has scars, that's Slate. No scars is The Other Guy

I understand the complaint about this in BOTW, but I actually kind of like that weird moment that occurs after you finish a memory cutscene, and it just abruptly goes back to Link looking blank-faced like nothing happened. It implies this kind of....distance from the memories that I find interesting. Slate has complicated feelings abt the memories of Champion's life he gets, but like. there's pies to make

shout out to peony she's a real one

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Lessons in love

Lesson 2: Party time

Lesson 1: A new professor

Summary: No slow burn around here, we’re already making out at parties and taking off underwear in a car! You and Wanda see each other at a sorority party where a bit of liquid courage helps Wanda along greatly and as much as you tried resisting her she was so irresistible, but is there something waiting at home to ruin it all? Of course there is 🙄

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI no actual smut just very close to being smut, talking about masturbation if I had to put a label on it, kissing and soft moments and men (meh)

Words: about 3000 maybe more

A/n: I like this chapter I’m sorry it took a while between the first chapter and this one, some stuff at work and whatever stopped me from writing I wanted this to come out soon after the first but alas here we are, also it does seem sudden but I wanted to get initial meetings out of the way so we can fully focus on the relationship and other things so no slow burn here as I said 😂

A/n: Also I’m sorry for any mistakes and how long it is, I was going to cut it down but I couldn’t think of when to do it so, hopefully everything’s good but please do let me know if anything’s wrong

*****************************************************

Pepper had demanded you get ready at their place before the party and you had a suspicion it was to see you undressed, you didn’t mind though, you liked the attention, was that narcissistic? Probably a little

“I only have this to wear Pepper, is it a little much?” Pepper turned to you and stepped back “woah! If I wasn’t married to a man and you weren’t obsessed with a shy emo 22 year old I’d do you”

You were just wearing a pantsuit , something you picked up at a place in the city, maybe it was the plunging neckline that pretty much went down to your navel

“I’m pretty sure Tony wouldn’t mind” you winked and pepper laughed “he’d want to join in but then get overwhelmed and leave, he hates the attention not being fully on him, and with your body I’d definitely forget about him”

You stepped closer to pepper kissing her cheek “careful Mrs Stark 1 might think you were being serious”

“Hmm who says I’m not?” She laughed and kissed your cheek too

“Sorry Pepper you’re not my type” you pulled away going to the mirror and fixing your lipstick and rubbing out some that pepper left on your cheek

“Sorry I forgot your type was a young 22 year old shy girl with mommy issues”

You gasped spinning around to the woman “wow! You get rejected and this is what happens? Talk about catty”

Both women laughed fixing themselves up before leaving for the party, were you hoping to see Wanda again? Absolutely, was a party her thing though? You’ll found out.

“Take me back to the dorms” Wanda complained to Nat who was definitely listening and not at all staring at Maria playing beer pong and watching the beer overfill her mouth and then drip down her neck and her chest

“What?” Nat didn’t remove her eyes from the girl and was only half listening “why do you wanna go?”

“Because Nat there’s people grinding on each other and I’m bored”

Nat didn’t listen to Wanda instead walking towards Maria kissing her in celebration of winning beer pong

Wanda rolled her eyes heading for the less crowded kitchen hoping to escape the crazy house and try to get a early night, walking into the kitchen Wanda walked right into someone’s back, god why was this the second time this happened?? When the woman turned around her eyes went wide both in surprise and shock, why were you at a party?

“Professor Y/n what are you doing here??” Wanda really tried not to look at your outfit, or the way the plunging neckline highlighted some freckles that disappeared towards your breast and Wanda wanted to see where they ended up, wait focus Wanda!

A hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up to see your face once again really close to her own “did you hear me honey? I said I was here for the party like you, do you need some water? How much have you had to drink?”

Your concern for her made Wanda smile “no I’m okay I’m not too drunk just surprised you’re here”

“Okay good” god she was beautiful, a short black dress, simple but so elegant, though you thought Wanda would look nice in a plastic bag

You smiled back picking up Wanda’s hand and leading her away from the kitchen when a group of people came in “where are we going?” Wanda asked but you didn’t say anything until you both ended up outside

“Ah isn’t that better? Outside in some fresh air” you turned back to Wanda and picking her hand up again you pulled her closer inspecting her face holding it in your hand that made Wanda melt, god your hands were so soft “are you sure you’re not drunk princess?”

“You’re so hot” she whispered immediately hoping you didn’t hear but you did, oh you definitely did “you think I’m hot princess? Is your brain all fuzzy with the alcohol?”

Wanda couldn’t move you were holding her firm so she just took the plunge pushing forward to kiss you, you tasted like cherries and Wanda loved cherries!

When Wanda tried tugging your jumpsuit you pulled away and grabbed her hands to stop her “hold on princess, you’re drunk”

Wanda shrugged “not that much I told you I’m fine”

She tried kissing you again but you dodged her advances, even if you didn’t want to “I’m going to take you home”

Wanda perked up but you quickly shut her down “no no I’m not taking you home to sleep with you, no you need to sober up, you can sleep in my bed while I sleep on the couch okay?”

Wanda simply nodded annoyed with you saying no but grateful that she’d be finally leave the party

She let you take the lead back into the house going towards the front door, you held her close to you with a protective arm around her shoulders, you felt her pull you to the side seeing Nat “I have to tell her I’m leaving” she mumbled and you nodded “go on I’ll wait here”

Wanda walked over to a surprised Nat holding in her massive grin as you eyed her up, bless her, trying hard not to laugh or freak out, you could see what the other teachers were talking about when they said Nat was a lot to handle

“Hey Nat I-

“You got the hot teacher! Wanda I’m so proud! Wear protection” Wanda laughed at Nat “natty come on, protection really?”

Nat shrugged “yeah I know I know but I bet if you tried really really hard you could get her pregnant, anything could happen!”

Wanda playfully slapped Nat “don’t be silly, she’s taking me home because I’m not enjoying myself and I’m a little drunk, but we did kiss, Nat she tastes like cherries”

“You love cherries! Go on Wanda maybe you can convince her to do something”

Wanda glanced back at you and caught your eye, you winked at her and she quickly turned back around blushing, even in the darkness Nat could see the blush “you’re blushing Wands, she clearly wants you, even if she said no because you’re tipsy, if you flashed her something I’m sure she’d forget all about what she said”

Wanda sighed “I’ll see, but all I know is that I’m going home with the hot teacher, on her second day! We work quick”

Nat laughed and turned her around back to you talking in her ear close “okay enough talking to me, you go and get your older woman, make sure you remember to use your tongue to spell out the alphabet, ladies love that, now I’m gonna go find Maria again” Nat kissed her cheek and sent her off with a small tap to her ass

Wanda shuffled back to you and you greeted her with a kiss to her cheek “I know you said no to sleeping with me because I’m not in the right frame of one or whatever but-

“No buts princess, you can do whatever you want, walk around naked or even touch yourself in front of me I’m not taking back what I said”

Wanda groaned “you could at least play with me a little”

You sighed gripping Wanda’s hand and dragging her out of the house towards your car on the other side of the street, not saying a word until you got Wanda and yourself into the car “Professor?”

“You want me to play with you?”

She nodded “y-yeah”

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

She shook her head “no, actually I’m completely sober now to be honest”

“Hmm okay” you looked down at her pretty dress and back up at her flushed face “I’m glad you’re wearing a dress princess, how about you hike it up for me?”

Wanda’s eyes went wide staring at you for any wavering or laughter but there wasn’t anything as you started the car up and set off for your house

“You’ve got 15 minutes to prove to me how much you want me to play with you”

Wanda was confused, what did you want her to do? “Erm I don’t-I don’t know what to do”

You nodded your head keeping your eyes on the road, Wanda was so sweet and innocent “awe has your bravado has all gone? Go on princess, show me how wet you are for me, touch yourself and I’ll decide if you’re on the couch unsatisfied when we get to my place”

Wanda flushed hot all over, she pulled up her dress exposing her plain black panties, god she wished she put on something sexier, what would you think?

“Take them off” you said, you weren’t even looking at her just so focused on the road, how were you doing that?

Wanda nodded removing the clothing, the cold air from the car AC hitting you all at once making you shiver “oh god” she whispered and you smiled hearing her loud and clear “has it been too long honey? Been so long that even a small blow of cold air sends you over the edge? How fun”

Your enjoyment was quickly cut short when your phone rang and you looked at the screen to see who it was “oh fuck off Steve” you ignored the call and tried focusing back on Wanda and the road but the phone rang again forcing you to pull over on the side of the road and take the call on speaker “this better be important Steven I’m busy”

“Y/n you need to come home right now”

“I’m on my way home now idiot. Wait! are you at my house??”

“Yes we need to work on us, I know you’ve started your new job and you needed space to adjust to that but we need to talk”

“Sorry Steve you need to leave my house before I get there I’m bringing back company and don’t want you to scare her off”

You offered Wanda a smile motioning for her to pull her dress back down so she was comfortable and blew her a kiss, Wanda didn’t mind though, she was more intrigued than aroused now, who was Steve? And why was he demanding things from you?

Wanda broke out of her thoughts when you switched the phone off and slammed it against the floor of your car “Professor are you okay?” She asked cautiously and you lifted your head up to smile “I’m okay Wanda, just my husband being a dick that’s all”

“Husband? You’re married?? Oh god I’m a home-wrecker” she started to panic but you reached over the console to hold her hand rubbing it softly “shh pretty girl no you’re not a home-wrecker, I left him weeks ago but he thinks we’re still together and has apparently found me already, everything will be fine but I’ll need to get rid of him when we get back of course”

You reached round the back of your car for a hoodie for Wanda “here you go, wear this it should be long enough”

You gave her a small peck on the lips and Wanda tried but failed to keep your lips on her “I want to Wanda, trust me it’s been so hard to keep my calm around you, I’ve wanted you literally since the moment I saw you but let me deal with Steve first okay?”

“Okay professor I’ll wait”

“Good girl” you did kiss her again letting your lips linger a little longer before pulling away and setting the car off for your home again

*******************************************************

Pulling up at your house you saw Steve through the window watching you with his arms crossed and that stupid disappointed look on his face, you turned to Wanda “darling I know it may be a bit much to ask but can you come in with me? I’d feel better if you were there”

Wanda nodded “of course! I want you to be okay, do I need to do anything?”

“Just stick with me and don’t let him insult you or upset you, he will try and do that, that’s how he gets to you”

Wanda agreed although slightly nervous too “okay, but I’ll tell you now I’m completely sober and scared”

You’d both gotten out of the car and you pulled Wanda into a hug “it’ll be okay I promise, behave and I’ll treat you so well” you winked and Wanda blushed “please don’t say anymore I don’t have my underwear on”

“Awe poor baby, if I continued would you start dripping down your leg?”

“..yeah..” she answered meekly making you laugh “I love honesty, well we better get this over with then, just one more thing though”

You pushed Wanda against the side of the car and kissed her hard forcing her lips apart and your tongue in making her moan and grip your sides, okay she was aroused again

Breathlessly pulling away you licked your lips savouring the taste of her and admiring how messed up she looks “good girl, god you’re gonna be such a good girl for me aren’t you?”

“Yes mommy” Wanda immediately stood up from the car and stumbled over her words but you put a finger to her lips to shh her “mommy’s good girl then” you pulled yourself away from her body keeping a hold her hand to keep her with you “I’m dreaming right?” She giggled between small kisses you gave her walking towards the door

“Better than a dream, but I’m sorry my love it’s about to become a nightmare, remember to stay with me and don’t let him insult you I’ll deal with him”

“Okay”

You took in a deep breath before opening the door and walking through with you, you were immediately met with the grating voice of Steve, god how were you with him for 4 years?

“She’s young enough to be your daughter Y/n are you serious?”

Wanda kept her head down to the floor feeling you squeeze her had 3 times to reassure her

“How about you mind your own damn business, she isn’t any concern of yours tonight,” you tried redirecting the conversation but the man persisted, now looking at Wanda like a disappointed adult would a misbehaved child

“I mean seriously do you have issues? Did Y/n here manipulate you? Did she take advantage of you and make you feel things you probably shouldn’t?”

Wanda accidentally looked up and clocked eyes with Steve confirming his suspicions “ah she did, did she? Interesting, just wait until she moves on and gets someone even younger-

“Okay enough!” You turned to Wanda shielding her from Steve and whispering in her ear “baby please go up stairs, second door on the left is my bedroom please go in and make yourself comfortable and I’ll be up in a couple of minutes”

Wanda nodded sadly but you were having none of it, you kissed her sweetly and led her to the stairs sending her up “I promise, a few minutes”

“Okay” Wanda made her way up glancing back at you and you gave her a smile “be good”

Wanda disappeared and you waited for the bedroom door to shut and as soon as it did you turned back to Steve with a scowl on your face “you better have a fucking good reason for being here and disturbing my evening”

Steve was drawn to your outfit and you felt gross, you were together for 4 years and in all that time he never looked at you the way he is now and you wanted him to stop

“What are you wearing? You look like a whore”

You scoffed “ because you know exactly how a white would dress wouldn’t you? Whatever I don’t care to be childish anymore, how about you just leave so I can be with my girl there”

The man rolled his eyes “I can’t believe you, you cheat on me multiple times throughout our relationship and you’re fucking students now, that’s completely inappropriate, what would the higher ups think?”

You rolled your eyes “please Steve this isn’t the 1900s anymore she’s of age and it wouldn’t be inappropriate to be in a relationship if that’s what we both wanted, you have no power here now get the fuck out of my house”

“Fine, but I’ll be back, you need time to think and I accept that but myself and your parents think-

“Parents?! You’re still talking to my parents? That’s it, get the fuck out” you pushed him out of the house and locked the door behind you racing upstairs to Wanda who was sat on the bed playing with her nails looking up quick when you entered the room

“Everything okay?” She asked and you sighed “no but I’ll be okay, just men being men, I’m sorry darling I don’t think I’m up for anything anymore”

Wanda stood hugging you, kissing you softly “it’s okay we don’t need to do anything, do you want me to go? I can get Nat to pick me up”

You shook your head kissing her back “you can stay here, I said you were staying here to sleep and that’s what we’ll do, let’s get you out of this dress”

You gently pushed Wanda away and spun her around to start undressing her “this is not how I thought the night would go, you don’t deserve this Wanda” you took the hoodie off and the dress was unzipped, you took the dress placing it in a wash basket in the room “it’s okay Y/n I’m sorry I pushed you to do something with me”

Picking up a long sleep shirt for Wanda you put it on her and fixed her hair taking all the hair pins out and pulling her into your bathroom to clean her makeup off “is this your shirt?” Wanda asked admiring the flower patterns on the sleeves of your soft shirt

“Yeah it’s my favourite to sleep in”

“Oh what are you sleeping in, I’m okay with a old shirt or something” you smiled tapping the counter in the bathroom for Wanda to jump onto “don’t you worry princess, its like a conquest you wearing my shirt”

You enjoyed the blush on Wanda’s face, you’d never tire of seeing that

You smiled “I meant it before, I didn’t want to hold back tonight, I came to the party hoping to see you and I’m glad I did, I just wish I slept with you in a spare room at the party instead of putting you through all this”

Wanda giggled “you’re better than a night in a sorority house, plus I’m pretty sure Nat would follow and cheer me on from outside the room”

“Hmm yeah I don’t think I’d like that, plus I’m a screamer so-

Wanda shook her head “nope please don’t start with anything like that or I’ll get aroused again”

She allowed you a kiss on the cheek before stepping away from you “you’re so funny”

You moved around the bathroom picking up some makeup remover and facial wipes “close your eyes honey” she obeyed and you cleaned her face free from makeup “you’re so beautiful” you whispered and Wanda smiled opening her eyes “you’re beautiful too”

You both enjoyed the comfort of each others company in silence while you finished cleaning Wanda’s face and then brought her back into the bedroom.

Am I okay to change in front of you?” You were being polite of course, you did know the answer but to be a lady you needed to ask

“Yeah yeah of course I don’t mind” her eyes stayed focused on you as you took off your heels and then tried (not very hard) to take off the pantsuit do you mind helping me honey?” Wanda was over to you like a shot unzipping you and slipping her hands through the suit to pull it down your body, your soft soft body

“Are you having fun there Wanda?” You chuckled turning around in Wanda’s hold where she was looking at your chest “you’re so obvious princess”

Wanda wasn’t paying attention she didn’t even pretend she wasn’t paying attention, did you have piercings on your nipples? Jesus what else were you hiding?

You pulled Wanda’s chin up with your fingers forcing her eyes away “should a professor have piercings? Seems a little unprofessional if you ask me”

“We met 24 hours ago pretty much and I’ve made sexual innuendos, kissed you, nearly forced you to touch yourself and you’ve just undressed me, none of what we’re doing is unprofessional anymore”

You both tried holding in your laughter while you kissed failing after a couple of seconds “well professor I think it’s time for bed don’t you?”

“I think you’re right Miss Maximoff excellent work” you let Wanda go and fished out a shirt to sleep in “so what side do you normally sleep on?”

Wanda shrugged “to be honest I’ve only ever slept in a single bed so there’s only one side really”

“Okay well I sleep on the right so you get in on the left and we’ll meet in the middle”

You both climbed into bed and before Wanda could even settle you pulled her against your body wrapping your arms around her waist and burying you face into her neck “perfect”

“I agree” Wanda relaxed, fully relaxed for the first time in a while and it was amazing “what happens in the morning?” Wanda whispered and you kissed her neck to reassure her “we’re not doing anything wrong Wanda, if you want to leave in the morning I’ll take you back to the dorms and you can decide what happens on Monday” you manoeuvred Wanda around to face you kissing her on the nose “but if you stay in the morning and eat breakfast with me I’d be delighted to figure out what all this means for us, all I know is that you’re a great person even though we’ve not known each other more than a couple of days I want to get to know you more”

Wanda was welling up and trying not to cry but god it was difficult, you noticed though and used your thumbs to wipe away the stray tears “you are so good with words”

“That’s good since I’m also an English teacher when I’m not doing psychology”

You kissed Wanda’s forehead keeping her close in a protective cuddle “sleep tight Wanda”

“Sleep well Professor”

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Taglist: @mathxa @ooverthemoon @gay4wandanat @poison-blackheart @gaydetectiveperson @justaramdomreaderxoxo

(It won’t let me tag three people but I did try I promise!)

[kentocalls]

jiraiya | breadcrumbs nsfw. it’s a situationship but the good kind, i wanted to thank @actuallysaiyan for writing all those prompts. also the gif 🥵

he groans, crosses out the line that’s lived for only three seconds, the words dancing around his eyes, mocking him. he’s the renown author of the Icha Icha series. he can write, move his audience with his captivating comedy and well timed eruptions of emotions. but this, this piece of work is draining everything from him.

his cup is empty, his snacks gone. tense and frustrated he snaps his pen across the room. he could find something, someone to help take his mind off of it all. except he’s causes enough of a racket, his mission isn’t an easy one and he’s not exactly kept low key about his presence. it’s going to mean more paperwork and an earful from superiors and writing was supposed to help. the editor would be less person to yell at him. alas. the night is not in his favor.

the village is silent, most folks already asleep. he can hear cats fighting if he really tried but even then, his stares at the blank wall ahead. a flash of the prettiest lips fills his mind and he aches.

his mind trails after the confident, youthful, smart shinobi who had his knees gracing the ground with a simple ask. he doesn't know how it started, doesn't care where it goes, wants more. maybe there's enough clues if he looks for them, maybe his favorite has graced him with kindness and left a morsel.

enough is enough, he’s leaving tomorrow. the change of pace necessary, he has to keep moving. because who he’s seeking isn’t here and the mission is at a dead end too. t

he wind offers another pause from his thoughts, tempation, cool against his skin gentle, inviting. he closes his eyes, takes half a second to let his body relax, half a second to imagine it’s not the wind’s gentle caress but wait! he didn’t open the window, he wouldn’t this late and—

there’s your scent and something medicinal permeating the room.

you’ve always been fast. confidnet. slipping into unsavory places with ease.

making the most excellent shinobi and his worst habit.

by the time he’s done looking at the window your seated on his desk, writing pad in arms as your eyes trace over the latest pagse written. you’ve always loved spoilers, itching to know what happens before everyone else.

it makes him feel smug, after all these are fresh words, something exclusive only he can offer. gods, he’s missed your face, notes swollen lips and tired eyes, ignores the scratches near your chin. what you both do is dangerous, tedious, necessary. he won't ask because you can't tell. still the thought, did you rush over immedidately after a succes?

eyes rake your beautiful form spilling over his work desk.

your uniform has seen better days but he’s so so so pleased to see exposed skin. your legs look so smooth, nevermind new scratches and old scares greeting him.

he’s staring, gawking like an inexperienced brat, it would be embarrassing, you’d tease him endlessly for it, however, you’re so engrossed in his writing. swaying your legs softly, they dangle freely off the desk, and yet managing to cage him in. his palms reach up, kisses at a small cut on your knee, large palms soothing, fondling, massaging your thighs. itching to admire.

you’re here.

skin is hot, face is a bit flushed though you’re hiding it behind a stoic expression, eyes stealing more and more words. it’s not that long of a chapter, he sighs and pulls you closer, face nuzzling into your stomach, you can feel his kisses through your uniform. needy.

he’s usually wordy, jokey, loud. leaves no space for the outside world when it’s just you two, but right now he’s being such a good boy. you wonder how long it’ll last, the fact he’s being gentle and slow with his movements is trippy. especially when you know how tough he is, have seen him snap men in half so casually. flaunts his reputation, his height, his fame like he’s breathing but right now? letting you read unreleased, unedited writing?

letting you sit on his precious desk, your scent will drive him mad when you’re gone in the morning. he doesn’t have to be nice, could’ve easily stopped you from slipping into his room. taken you against the wall, you wouldn’t have protested. except he didn’t, he’s being the most gracious host.

that’s the only reason one of your hands plays with his long locks, eyes pulling away from his writing pad when your fingers, inevitably, tangle. “hair’s gotten too long.”

“to match yours.” he muffles, before leaning back and looking up almost innocent. like his hands aren’t squeezing and molding and clawing at your thighs. like his mouth isn’t kissing lower and lower, as if he isn’t inhaling that sweet scent that’s evaded him for months now.

you hum, spreading your legs wider, tilting your hips a little higher, his hands know what to do, moving to the waistband of your bottoms, “why’s this one so serious?”

“if you read the other two you’d see why.” he grins, a lazy hand drawing circles from your bellybutton down to your clothed sex and your hand snaps to his wrist with such power. “i like my uniform, i need it clean.” your glare sends shivers down his spine, you’d be mean for him if he asked right?

“and where are the other two?” he doesn’t want you to move, he doesn’t want to spend time playing writer and editor. he much rather gather more field experience, engaging in physical activities has always been his forte, he’s a hands on learner afterall.

crumbles the second your hand is patting at his cheek, pulling his hair and crashing your lips to his. it’s greedy, messy, hungry. you’ve been pent up too. the missions come one after the other and you’re such a high rank, all those secrets and no where to bury them — who knows the weight of all the pain you cary better than one of the legendary sannin?

it’s why you seek him out, over and over again

he doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t push and always pulls you close.

“i wanna…” he nips at your lips, stop distracting him, moves his hands under your top and up, squeezing, groping, pulling, “need too, ah, read the other two first.”

“you’ve worked hard enough,” finally your legs wrap around his hips, he lifts you up so easily, grips the back of your neck firmly, earning a moan, oh you need him, “let me take care of you.”

laying under him, he’s extra careful peeling your clothing off, aware your previous warning still hangs true. you’d take a kunai to his arm if he dirties another uniform. in another setting, he'd like that very much. but he's barely containing his urges, forces hands to work with extra patience, despite his pressing need making itself known. makes a haste of kissing, licking, biting, bruising what can be hidden. for both your eyes only.

you’re so pretty for him.

he tries to pace himself, tries not to get caught up in spite of all his reasoning to go slow he’s a frantic mess. hands clasping with yours, using one arm to hold both your arms above your head, you comply so easily, mouth open and wanton and how the fuck is he going to do all the things he wants to do if he can’t stop kissing you?

a hand snacks down your chest, pinching, fingernails lightly scratching before reaching your core and the gasp you make; drives him insane, let him be a little mean, a little rough, the sounds he makes deepening your need further. his own hips canting against your thigh and sheets.

part of him still doesn’t believe you’re here. that you're not an illusion. that he doesn’t need to wreck his brain and imagine the sounds slipping freely from your lips, that he can take you in with all his senses. have you falling apart in all the ways he knows you adore.

“pretty pretty thing…” he’s sucking and biting on your neck, sliding another finger in and the sloshing sounds cause your cheeks to burn. you want more, hips bucking up on their own, you want so much more but he’s breaking a rule.

“no ma-marks, jiraiya, don’t—“ silencing you with a heated kis, hand frees your arms, one to squeeze at your neck; it’s just enough pressure, how you like it; brain almost turning almost mush. but he’s pulls back, grins wide with a third finger in you now. you’re so wet, sounds absolutely filthy.

“let’s ruin ourselves for anyone else, yeah?” and fuck, he can’t say shit like that when you’re like this, body clenching around him. call it lust, call it longing, call it satisfaction whatever he has you chasing is where you want to go. the softest kiss on lips and he starts to trail down, praises and naughty things whipsered into your skin.

editing his draft can wait.

that’s not why you snuck in anyways.

[fangirldreams101]

Coming Home pt. 6

DBF! Daryl, Rick, Shane & Negan x Reader

TW: Severe age-gap w/ older men, smut, consensual sex, handjobs/fingering, groping, some aggression, alcohol usage, unprotected piv sex (wrapping before tapping), Reader FINALLY gets laid

Chapter Index

It has been months since you have last talked to Rick and Daryl properly. Not for lack of trying on their part, they had tried to talk to you but you were not there to play games. They made their choice, they were not going to be allowed to backtrack on it. Besides! Shane kept you plenty of company. He swung by the house more often nowadays, flirting and flashing his charming smile. It was nice getting to know him, even though he frequently did not get the chance to stick around for very long, Daryl or Rick miraculously making an appearance and dragging him off. They thought they were being subtle, but you heard glimpses of their not-so-quiet whispers; saying things along the lines of, "Shane wasn't allowed to flirt with you," and to "remember the pact,"- whatever the hell that means. It didn't seem to really deter him though, Shane being quite bold in the placement of his hands or how close his body would be against yours. Alas, it was only teasing and nothing more, and you were not planning on spending your college years getting wet over fleeting touches. You enjoyed Shane's flirtatious company but you wanted more than that. And you were going to get it.

The month of your birthday was rolling around, and since it would be your 21st, your dad was planning on going all out. He booked one of the town's bars for the night, and was inviting almost everyone who ever made contact with you in your life. You tried to tell him you would be happy with something small but nothing was stopping your kind father from giving you an all out birthday bash. Your mom was even flying in with some of your old gang: friends from high school, neighbors, etc. You felt a little embarrassed with how much they doted on you but you were also very touched.

The day of the party came around and you were at the bar now, dolled up and greeting everyone arriving. It was a heartwarming feeling seeing everyone come in to support and celebrate you. You stood by the door and greeted the new friends and neighbors that you've made. Rick was one of the first to arrive. It was strange not seeing him in his work uniform, he chose to instead wearing a casual button-up with jeans. The first few buttons were undone, and for whatever reason, you didn't think you had ever seen a more attractive collarbone in your life. He sauntered up to you and his eyes trailed your body.

"I havn' seen ya around much darlin'," he said, a tentative smile on his face.

"I wonder whose fault that is," you joked half-heartedly.

His smile dropped from his face, “There is nothin more that I want than to-"

"Thanks for coming," you cut him off with a smile, "I have to greet the other guests but please help yourself to whatever you'd like."

You went to move away but suddenly arms wrapped around you and a familiar voice whispered into your ear.

"Does that mean I can have ya," Shane's voice was heavy with barely hidden lust.

"Everythin' alrigh' over here," Daryl's heavy drawl broke into the conversation.

Great. All three of the hot men in your life who have expressed some kind of desire over you and then rejecting you in some way or another all in one room. Thanks dad.

Shane released his grasp on you and grinned like a wolf, "Everythin' is more than fine. Peachy, even."

With the word 'peachy' he gives a small smack to your ass, eliciting a yelp out of you and a threatening step towards the two of you by Rick and Daryl.

"Get yer hands off o' her," Daryl growls.

"Shane we talked about this," Rick sighs at the same time.

Shane's tone turns to frustration, "No. No we didn'. You two talked about it n' then decided to tell me what to do. I'm sick of it."

While they squabbled amongst themselves like hens in a coop, you took this chance to slip away. You did not want whatever weird relationship you had with them to ruin the hard work your community went through to make this a special night for you.

Suddenly, the door to the bar burst open and your mom charged in arms wide, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Behind her, your friends and neighbors from Washington came in, smiling and giving their well wishes. You charged at them, giving them hugs and teary smiles. Finally, the party could kick off now that everyone was here.

As the night went on, drinks, stories and laughter were passed around. You couldn't believe how great of a time this was. You avoided the troublesome trio as much as possible, intent on having a good time. Later in the night, as everyone was just milling about, the bell hanging over the door rang out as another guest came in. You turned to greet the late comer but stopped when you realized you had no idea who the hell he was.

Your eyes slowly raked over his body, admiring his dark hair and facial features along with the dark leather jacket that clung to his arms.

"Hi, sir! Is there something I can help you with," you politely asked, walking towards him.

As you did, he let out a low appreciative whistle at your form, not hiding how he admired your shape, "Well helloooo, doll, aren't you a sight?"

You felt yourself bristle at his forwardness but also couldn't help the heat you felt rise to your cheeks.

"Mmm if I had a pretty little thing like you, I'd never let you leave the bed," he laughed.

For the first time in a hot minute, you were left speechless. Sure, Shane was pretty forward, but nothing like this. This man was clearly eye fucking you and you were sure that if he could get away with it, he'd be actually fucking you right here on the floor.

"I'm sorry, but this is a private event. Who are you," you asked, after taking a moment to recover from the shock.

"Hey! Negan! My man!" Your dad came barreling into the conversation as always, clearly having one too many to drink.

"Hey man, how are you," Negan smiled back, the both of them doing the typical man hug and slapping each other on the back.

Your dad did the introductions, "This is Negan, he was my best friend in college but the bastard stayed in Washington. Turns out he was comin' by to explore the town cause he got a job offer, so I invited him here to catch up. I hope that's ok?"

You nodded sheepishly, "Sorry for attacking your entry like that, just didn't recognize you."

"No worries, doll, I get it," Negan winked at you and then turned back to your dad, "Now where's the little birthday girl you always yap about?"

Your dad chortled and gestured to you, "This is the birthday girl!"

Negan's eyes visibly bulged out of his head. "The fuck are you talking about? The way you talk about her I thought she was 5 or something. This is... this is a woman."

"Well she'll always be my little girl," your dad sheepishly said, "Hey wait a minute... I sent you her age when I sent the details about the party! Did you not read it?"

"Fuck no man, you sent like 10 paragraphs, I am not reading that shit," he glanced at you, "Uh, no offense."

You laughed, you really liked hearing the banter between the two of them. Negan felt like a very sexy breath of fresh air. He was blunt and forward, you really liked that after dealing with the troublesome trio's vagueness and their hot and cold attitudes towards you. You liked Negan. Your eyes took him in once more. Oh yeah. You liked him a lot.

Your dad and Negan continued to converse but his attention was really more on you than anything else. He kept his gaze on you for most of the conversation until someone else caught your father's attention and dragged him off. Negan took the opportunity handed to him and sauntered back towards you.

"Hello, doll," he said.

"Hey," you returned, holding out a hand, "Sorry I never got the chance to introduce myself properly. I'm (Y/N)."

He shook your hand, "Seems like you read my mind, sweetheart. I was about to say the same to you. The name's Negan. Had I known what a beauty you are, I would've flown down to meet the old bastard ages ago."

You felt yourself giggle at that comment and that was the green light for him. You spent the rest of the evening in a little tucked away corner of the bar with him, learning more about each other. He became more and more bold with your body as you both became increasingly tipsy. As the party continued, you eventually decided that the clear chemistry between the both of you was enough to see if you can get to know Negan a bit more... intimately. He was just too damn charming and too damn hot for you to pass up the chance. And if he rejected you... well add the name to the list.

You leaned in close at his next joke, laughing lightly as you put your hand on his thigh. His smile slowly left his face and the beer he was bringing up to his mouth was brought down. He looked down at your hand and you could visibly see his gaze darken. Worried you did something wrong, you began to pull away when his hand shot out and latched onto your wrist. Keeping a firm but gentle grasp on your hand, he looked into your eyes and slowly dragged your hand up to his crotch.

"Is this what you were aiming for, sweetheart," he breathed out and you shuddered, feeling that he was actually hard this whole time, the leather jacket and jeans covering and restricting his hard-on from view.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, "Depends on if that's what I get."

"You can get it alright, baby, just not here. Don't want your old man cutting off my dick before I get the chance to be in you," he tugged on your arm, lifting you from the barstools you were residing on, "Come on sweetheart."

You guys both maneuvered your way through the crowd, not noticing Daryl's inquisitive gaze following you. You guys originally headed to the bathroom, but they were full so you both stepped outside into the alleyway behind the bar. The chilly night air could not do a damn thing to quell the heat that was growing in your stomach and you grabbed the back of Negan's neck with your free hand, pulling him into a heated kiss. He groaned into your mouth, releasing your wrist just to wrap his arms around your body. One of his hands tangled itself into your hair, yanking your head back, breaking the kiss and allowing his mouth to hungrily devour your neck and exposed collarbone.

"Fuck," you sighed out, holding him as close as humanely possible.

"Mmmm you pretty doll, all nice and all for me," Negan mumbled into your neck, seemingly talking to himself more than you as he pulls you in for another kiss.

Being in a dry spell since you got here, Negan's actions had you soaked in seconds. You pulled at the buttons on his jeans, reaching in and feeling him. He grunted at the sensation as you let out a small gasp in his mouth, happy with the weight of him in your hands. As his own hands explored you, groping your breasts and ass, you began to stroke him. He let out a groan at the contact, before moving his hands to your thighs and lifting you up.

Not breaking the kiss, he maneuvered the both of you so your back was up against the brick wall of the bar, and he was between your legs. He ground himself against your center, your thin panties letting you feel the heat of his cock rub against you.

He placed desperate kisses against your chest, "Pretty doll like you deserves to be taken in a fancy bed and made to cum until you cry, I'm sorry I can't give that to you right now, sweetheart. We gotta be quick."

You groaned, "It's doesn't matter to me. Just wan to feel ya."

"You dirty lil doll," he chuckled, "Alright baby, I'll give you want you want."

The hand not holding you up trailed in between your bodies, reaching into your clothes and feeling your wetness.

Negan sucked in air at the feeling, "Damn doll, you are soaked."

You felt your face flush at that, telling him to shut up and put it in already.

He let out a laugh and traced his fingers around your opening. You bucked your hips, trying to relay the message and he finally sunk his fingers into, pumping them in and out as a steady pace.

His thumb pressed into your clit, causing you to cry out as he tutted, "Now now, baby. Don't want the rest of the party hearing us. Keep it in sweetheart or you won't be able to get what you want."

You whined at his words, the way his fingers curled into you prevented you from forming proper words. He continued to pump and twist his fingers into you, and you could quickly feel the pressure building. Judging by how you tightened around his fingers, Negan could tell you were getting close too.

"Nuh uh, sweetheart. Want you to cum with me," he teased, slipping his fingers out of you and putting them into his mouth as you whined at the loss of contact.

Negan groaned at your taste, savoring your sweetness and moved aside your panties as he freed himself from the confines of his jeans.

"Ready sweetheart," he asked, moving his tip back and forth across your folds.

"Condom," you panted out.

"Ah shit," he groaned, "Didn't think I was going to get myself some sweet ass tonight, I don't have one."

“It's fine," you mumbled, bucking your hips again, "want you in me."

"You sure, baby? I'm here for a bit, we can do it another time-"

Before he could say anything else, with a firmer thrust of your hips, you were able to slip the tip of his cock inside of you.

"Fuck," he exclaimed at the feeling of your gummy walls trying to suck him in.

"I'm sure," you said firmly, "Now fuck me."

Negan gave you the largest smile you've seen out of him, "Fuck me doll, I love myself a woman who knows what she wants."

With that, he sunk himself into you fully as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Negan let out a groan, loving the way you felt around him and began to pump in and out of you like he was never going to see you again. You both began to kiss each other hungrily, teeth and tongues clashing as he continued to move. You tried to move your hips as much as possible but you were quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place, so it was a bit difficult to do so. Negan didn't mind at all, as he began to incorporate grinding into his motions, successfully stimulating your clit in all the right places.

Once again, you quickly began to feel yourself being wound up, this extremely messy but passionate sex was getting you close to finishing faster than you thought possible. The clumsy way you both tore at each other showed your inexperience with each other's bodies but the clear desire you had for one another. Negan broke the kiss, planting himself in the crook of your neck and began peppering you with small hickies. His hips began to falter and you could tell he was also getting close.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he panted, "Out or in baby?"

"Wha-," you moaned, delirious from the pleasure.

"My cum, sweetheart, out or in?"

In response you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him in closer to you, "Fuck, in me please. Please, in me."

"Goddamnit why are you so fucking hot," he growled, fumbling around to press into your clit once more.

With his words and motions, your dam broke and your came with a silent cry. Negan grit his teeth at the way your pussy spasmed around him and pumped a few more times before pressing his hips deep against you, until you were sure you were going to be bruised tomorrow. He bit into your shoulder as he came, filling you up with him cum and officially ruining your panties as it began to dribble out. You could feel him twitch inside of you, sharp bursts of cum hitting your walls as you both tried to catch your breath.

Once he was sure he had nothing left to give, he gave a few more thrusts into you before pulling out slowly. You hissed at the sensation, soreness already kicking in from the position you were in. He pulled your panties over your pussy, gently patting it and making your jump from overstimulation. He chuckled as you gave him a half-hearted glare before gently setting you down. Immediately, you almost fell over, collapsing into his chest.

"Woah sweetheart, don't go falling for me now," he chuckled, supporting you as he tucked himself back into his pants.

You gave him a dopey grin, so freaking pleased that you finally got laid by a hot man. Suddenly the door to the bar blew open and Daryl stormed out, frantic.

You and Negan quickly separated from each other, trying to fix your hair and clothing.

"Jesus, (Y/N) we almos' had a damn heart attack wonderin' where you were at-," Daryl stopped in his tracks noticing the disheveled state of the both of you, "The hell?"

Negan stepped forward, "We were just, uh, about to head back in-"

Daryl charged forward, punching Negan across the face, ”WHA' THE FUCK DID YA DO TA HER?"

You run forward, shoving Daryl away, "Jesus fuck, Daryl! Get off of him!"

"DID HE TOUCH YOU," Daryl yelled grabbing you by your shoulders right as the dimly lit alley lights lit you up perfectly, highlighting your exposed collarbone, and evidently, your hickies and messed up makeup.

"Hey man, get your hands off of her," Negan shoved Daryl away, cradling his punched jaw.

Daryl stumbled back, looking in shock between you and Negan, watching the way you ran to Negan's side to check on him.

"Oh my god Negan, are you alright," you cried out, gently holding his face.

"How can I not be fine when I have an angel like you worried about me," he joked, but upon seeing your clear concern, cleared his throat, "'M fine sweetheart. Jus' took me by surprise, is all."

"Did you two- did you two-," Daryl stuttered in shock.

"Did we fuck? Is that what you're asking right now," you questioned angrily, "Not that its any of your goddamn business but yes! Now leave us alone, Daryl!"

Daryl let out a staggered breath, running his hands through his hair, ", "Darlin... ya shouldn' have-"

"You do not get to tell me who I can and cannot fuck, Daryl! I'm a FUCKING adult no matter how many times you want to imagine otherwise! And you are not going to say one goddamn word about this to my dad otherwise you will never see me again and I will bust up your bike, do you hear me?"

Negan chuckled, "Doll, you're going to have me at your feet, I swear."

Daryl whipped his head around to glare at Negan before sighing and nodding, "You... yer righ''. 'M sorry. I shouldn' have done tha'. I'll, uh, I'll see ya inside. Happy birthday, (Y/N)."

With that, he walked inside like a kicked puppy while Negan wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Well besides the lil interruption, I'd say this was a lot of fun, sweetheart. I hope we can do this again sometime."

You stared at the door Daryl just walked through for a second before nodding, "Yeah, sure thing."

Taglist:

@eternalrose81 @belaballs @lonely-girl2423 @thewitchesofart @theoraekenslover @raininhell

[awkward-halfhug]

probably not the best sedative | eleventh doctor x reader

summary: the Doctor's finally asleep. Which is nice, but you have to pee

chapter 1 2 3 4 5

contents: fluff, cuddles, full bladders being the enemy of cute moments

(also on my ao3)

1.2k

The Doctor is insufferable.

This was the first thing out of your mouth to him when he returned from his half-hour's worth of rest that you had forced him to take. You hadn't expected a full 8 hours from him, but at least one hour would've been nice. 

According to the doctor, he was going to sleep, that was definitely his plan, and he was definitely trying to do so, until he just so happened to remember that Time Lords are physiologically unable to sleep all by their lonesome. Something about cats?

Needless to say, that was one of the most ridiculous things the you had ever heard him say (and you travel with the doctor, so that's saying something.)

And yet...

And yet, you think as you peer down at the Gallifreyan currently curled up on your lap, snoring softly, maybe it wasn't as ridiculous a 'fun fact' as you originally thought.

It has been, not one, not two, not eight, but twelve whole hours since the Doctor came traipsing into your room with what seemed like yet another excuse as to why he was incapable of taking it easy.

Twelve whole hours since you rolled your eyes at his antics and told him, with a challenging quirk of your brow, "Fine, then you should have no problem as long as you're not alone, right? There's a stack of blankets over there, you can sleep next to me while I read." 

Twelve whole hours since he grabbed a blanket, almost eagerly, and settled himself down on the couch, without a hint of reluctance. He had wiggled around until he was apparently comfy, nuzzled his head against your leg where he laid it, and let out a little contented noise that made your heart swell.

Twelve hours that he slept like a baby through, and possibly might even be coming onto thirteen hours, except you really, really have to pee, and unfortunately you think you're going to have to wake him soon or your bladder might well explode.

But a few more minutes won't hurt, you think.

At one point he seemed a bit restless, perhaps because of some dream he was having, or maybe he was just uncomfortable. So you tried to calm him. Hesitantly, you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his messy locks. He calmed almost instantly, and you marveled at that a bit. The more you stroked his hair, the more relaxed he became, and so with one hand you continued petting him (and that's effectively what you was doing; petting him), while you held your book open with your other hand. 

You had to stop petting after a while, your arm tiring of the repetitive task, and immediately the Doctor's sleeping face twisted into the cutest little pout. He even made a little whining sound that you wishe you had recorded, for future teasing purposes, but alas your phone was in the other room.

His head is heavy (must be all that infinite knowledge he claims to carry around) and it's long since cut off the circulation to your feet. But he looks so peaceful that you couldn't bring yourself to move him.

And truthfully, it's nice to be able to look at him this close. To study his features, all the little details that people miss because he never stays still long enough to notice them.

Like, for instance, you noticed somewhere around the fourth hour that he actually does have eyebrows. All this time you had secretly thought his species just didn't grow them. You had thought that was just a feature of the Gallifreyan race, and he would most definitely laugh at you for the assumption, so it's a good thing you realized before you asked him about it.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you had run just the tips of your fingers across his delicate (and near invisible) eyebrows. They were so soft. You did that a few more times before deciding he must be a pretty heavy sleeper when he actually was able to sleep like this.

And so you let your fingertips trail across more of his face. His skin is so smooth, you had noted, as your fingers glided down the arch of the Doctor's nose, across his sharp cheekbones, his strong jawline, his funny chin...his lips. His lips were so soft under the pads of your fingers. You wondered if--

You had wrenched your hand away from him when you realized how creepy all that had been. Had you been checking him out? While he was asleep? Your face had probably turned crimson, you're sure, and you're incredibly grateful that he hadn't woken up while you were doing...whatever it was you had been doing. Just the thought of how he might've reacted to that has you blushing in embarrassment again.

You push the thought from your mind forcefully and attempt to focus on your book, but you're unable to focus with the Doctor snuggling into a different position on your lap. This time, he clings to your knees like they're his favorite pillow, and once he's sufficiently comfortable, a contented little smile on his face, he starts doing something that you would never have expected, even from him.

The Doctor starts purring.

Actually, honest to goodness, purring. You have to stifle your giggles, which only makes the full bladder thing that much harder to ignore. And yet now you really don't want to get up. The Doctor is purring! Again, where is your phone when you need it?

You reluctantly decide to get up finally, when you can think of literally nothing else except your bladder.

You place your book down on the side table next to you and carefully, gently, you unlatch the Doctor's hands from your knees and lift him up enough for you to slip out from under him. You place a nearby pillow under his head and lower him onto it. He latches onto it, and, when he doesn't appear to be waking, you run to the bathroom as quietly as you can manage without sacrificing speed. You really, really, really need to pee.

~~

Returning to your room, bladder no longer crying out for your attention, you find the Doctor blessedly still asleep.

You have a decision to make. Your legs have just regained feeling, and your back is actually aching pretty badly from sitting upright like that for around thirteen hours straight (had you really sat there for thirteen hours? Had the Doctor really stayed still for thirteen hours?), and you desperately want to crawl into your bed and sleep yourself.

But the Doctor said he's a social sleeper. What if he doesn't sleep well without your presence? And besides...you really want to hear him make that purring sound again.

The choice is easy.

Grabbing an extra pillow for your poor back, you make your way back over to your couch. Lifting him up (he really is heavier than he looks), you settle down on the cushions and gently place him back onto your lap, which he takes to like a happy kitten once again.

The Doctor's purring starts back up as he turns towards you and wraps both arms around your waist.

A slow, happy smile blooms on your face, as you brings your hand to his hair for more of those pets he loves so much.

"The things I do for this man" she try to grumble to the TARDIS. But your voice is too full of affection to pull off annoyance, both you and the TARDIS know it, so you give up the pretense with a happy sigh.

The TARDIS hums knowingly.

"Yeah", you agree. "I guess he's worth it."

thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot! ♡

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt5

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Am I happy with this chapter? I think so??? I think I was trying to get it to go somewhere it didn't want to go before but I'm happy with how it ends now. I don't know if the words I'm saying make sense I'm so tired lmao

This chapter was inspired by A Lover's Folly (the chapter Fear of Losing It, specifically) by @tripleyeeet! Please go give it a read it's so fucking good

Warnings: angst, blood, murder, canon-typical violence, swearing, hints to a panic attack, Macbeth reference

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“A mystical and dangerous people, we travel the land, never settling in one place. We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters - your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure.” You look at Astarion from the corner of your eye. Despite his cool, confident demeanor, you can see how tense he is. He’s staring at the man before you like a steak on a silver platter. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I’m no witchdoctor or cut-throat.”

“So what monster are you hunting?”

Astarion pipes in, a devious smirk playing on his lips. You’re shocked the self-proclaimed monster hunter does not take notice of his fangs or the punctures on his neck. Though, Astarion’s are far less prominent than yours - you feel fortunate to have a high collar. “Something terrifying, no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops?” He paused, a teasing lilt in his voice as he adds, “Kobold?”

Gandrel chuckles. “Nothing so dramatic. Actually, this quarry is a bit unusual. My people got word of a missing person, stolen in the night by a vampire. It’s unlikely they’re still alive, but with any luck we’ll find the kidnapper.”

You swallow, but the hunter doesn’t seem to notice. Astarion can hear the spike in your heart rate. “That’s not much to go on.”

“You’re right about that. We do know the victim’s name, though there’s not much work can be done with that save wander around shouting for them.” He tells you the name, and your heart drops. You make a good effort not to show it. Your face is still neutral as before, your body stiffly in position, but with a glance Astarion can see the way your eyes are distant. They flicker over Gandrel’s face, assessing the threat he possesses. You’re trying to work up a plan, an escape route, anything - but fear clouds your thoughts. Astarion can smell the anxiety wafting off you, even through the hunter’s stench.

This shouldn’t be as big of a problem as your mind makes it to be. You could lie, tell him you weren’t stolen, tell him you ran away. Perhaps he would take money for his silence. But what if he chose to take you back anyway? What if she is providing a much higher reward than anything you can offer? You can’t go back. You can’t.

Astarion clears his throat and steps forward. “And if you find them? Where will you be taking them, exactly?”

“With any luck? I’d be taking them back to Berdusk.”

Berdusk. Being able to place a name to the city of your tormentor somehow made it worse. You knew where she resided now - you could simply take a detour from Baldur’s Gate and kill her. But, that would mean going back. Walking within reach of her clutches. You could almost feel her hot breath against your neck. Her nails digging into your skin. You can’t go back to that.

“Are you alright?” Your mind is forced back into your body when the Gur directs his question at you. You search your mind for an excuse, but fall hopelessly short.

Astarion steps in where you falter. “Ah, yes, you remember then, darling?” He speaks, then, to the Gur. “I believe we heard that name along our travels. A mere whisper on the wind.”

The hunter lights up. “Really? Any information you have would be invaluable to my mission.”

He taps his chin, frowning in fake thought. “It’s a bit foggy - we must have crossed paths weeks ago by now. If only I could remember…” He looks at the Gur from the corner of his eye, smirking. “Perhaps I can be enticed to recall just where they went.”

The man sighs. He reaches for his coin purse. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s reaching for a weapon. He knows who you are. He’s going to kill you. He knows what Astarion is. He’s going to kill you both.

When your mind catches up, the man is on the ground. You kneel over him. Two hands hold your dagger within his eye, hilt-deep. The other stares blankly up at you, mouth gaped around a silent scream. Droplets of blood marr your face, mere specks of warmth and wet.

“Shit.”

Astarion grabs your shoulder, but your mind is still consumed by fear and paranoia. You whirl around, bloody blade bared at the vampire. Your grip is all wrong - you’re terrified. He steps back, hands raised. Your eyes flicker across his face over and over again, but you don’t see him. In his place is a stranger. Someone ready to steal you, haul you back to Berdusk, back to your master.

“As much as I love the offer, now isn’t the time,” he quips. He kneels down slowly, getting to eye-level. His whole face is dark. The reference to sex is completely masked by his seriousness. “You’re safe. You’re not going back - not if I can help it.”

Your hands shake. Drops of blood fall off the knife, landing in the dirt without a sound. His blood. This man’s blood.

Gods, what have you done?

You drop the knife like it burns you to hold it. It clatters to the ground with a dull thud. You didn’t notice before the blood staining your fingers, but you do now. It’s all you can notice. Well, that, and the body beside you.

“I-I killed him,” you stammer out, barely a whisper. Astarion says nothing. He realizes the irony in your guilt just as much as you. “I didn’t even think- I didn’t… Gods.”

Your thoughts are consumed by the red stains. You have to get them off. You have to rid yourself of this ever-growing weight in your stomach. But you don’t have much to wipe it off on. Your clothes? Then you’d have to wash the blood out. (Though, little flecks stick to your collar and sleeves already.) The ground? Rub dirt all over until somehow it removes the red? You couldn’t even entertain the thought. But you needed to get it off.

You frantically wipe the blood away with your hands, only serving to spread it further into your skin. But it’s all you can think to do. You have to get it off. You must. If you don’t… If… Would something bad happen? You’re not sure. It feels like yes, something terrible would occur the longer it sat on your flesh. But what? Why won’t it fucking come off?

You don’t even realize you’re speaking. Half-formed desperate, choked pleas to get rid of the blood. Prayers to higher powers to forgive you - even when you’d never prayed for such a thing before. Insults spewed toward yourself, damning you for being so fucking weak.

So you killed a man, so what? You’d killed hundreds to get you where you kneel. What made him any different?

I killed him in self-defense.

You’ve killed loads of men and creatures alike for the same reason.

He didn’t recognize me.

You don’t know that, do you?

All he had was a name. Not even a description of who he searched for. He wouldn’t recognize me.

And why dwell on that? If he’d recognized you, surely he’d drag you back? Tie you up, gag you, drop you on her doorstep. She’d recognize you.

And she’d punish me. Punish them. And then she’d see my scars. What then?

Then she’d gut you. Slowly. Keeping you alive for as long as possible so she can moan to your screams, so she can lick her fingers clean of your adrenaline-rich blood. She’d even do it in front of her spawn. And they’d love it.

I hurt them.

You fucked up and they paid for it. They’d laugh as you beg for mercy. They’d even join in if they could.

But he didn’t need to die. Astarion, he- He could have led him away. I would have been safe.

And when he realized Astarion sent him on a wild goose chase? He’d turn right back around. And by that point his suspicions would fall to you - the leader. He’d know.

He’d know you’re the monster he hunts.

Hands roughly grab your own, snapping you out of your restless trance. Your skin is not only red from blood, but from how much you rubbed and scratched. Small lines beaded with your own blood where your nails broke the skin. It stung. And finally feeling that pain grounded you further.

“Calm down, for gods’ sakes,” Astarion cursed. He hurriedly pressed a white handkerchief into your hand. It was soft and cool to the touch. Gold embroidery danced around the edges, quickly becoming stained and ruined. “You’re going to rip your skin off.”

You felt everything so vividly. You almost wished you were numb to it again. “I’m sorry,” you croaked. “I don’t know what happened, I just… I thought of her. Of what she’d do to me, and I couldn’t think of another way out.”

He sighed, annoyed but all too understanding. “I was going to send him off North. By the time he realized he’s been had, we would already be in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smirked wickedly, mischief twinkling in his eye, despite the tinge of concern underlying it all. “You’ve simply provided a more permanent solution to our problem.” He glanced over, but you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to look again. “No point worrying about it now.”

“He could have helped,” you chastise. The intensity was only directed toward yourself. “If we paid him or explained or- or something, he could have gone back and said I was dead. Then- then she might have stopped looking for me.”

“And if he didn’t?”

You couldn’t let yourself spiral through that argument again. You just shook your head, opening your eyes to watch as he wiped away the blood. Most of it stayed, requiring water to wash it off - a realization that frightened you. What if the blood never came off?

“I know it may seem hard to believe,” he began. His voice was strained, like he was forcing himself to believe in it too, “but you’re not alone in this fight. If she finds you - Do you hear me? If. - we can protect you. And if she takes you away, we know where to find you now.”

“Berdusk.” He hummed, pleased you understood his meaning.

“Karlach would go on a rampage before she ever lays a finger on you.”

You chuckled weakly at the thought. You could almost picture your companion barging down the front door of the manor, everybody else behind her, as she tears through the place to find you. It’s… comforting.

A shiver runs through your body as the adrenaline finally fades from your system. You sighed. And just when most of your guilt has left, another weight finds itself in your throat - a heavy lump of fear. “I’m afraid to go to Baldur’s Gate,” you admit quietly. He pauses to look up at you, red eyes scanning your face. “Berdusk is so close by.”

“If it’s any consolation, Cazador is in Baldur’s Gate.” You hum; he’s told you this before.

“And you’re walking back into arms reach.” You look up from your hands. “Doesn’t that terrify you?”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “Do I hide my fear that well?” he teased. “Of course I’m terrified. I have no idea how well these tadpoles block his influence. For all I know, the moment I step foot in the Gate, he’ll have full control over me again.

“But if there’s even the slightest chance I could kill him, I’m going to take it. I can’t go back to that life. Not after this.”

Not after experiencing freedom for the first time in too long.

Astarion curls your fingers around the handkerchief so you’ll hold it. He picks up your bloody dagger and cleans the blade on the dead Gur’s clothes. You can’t watch, but you can see the sneer on his face as he does so. He reaches forward and tucks it away in your sheath. It feels heavier at your hip somehow.

He holds you by your arms as you stand, continuing to hold your hands in front of you. It feels wrong to let them hand so casually by your side, and just the thought of using them makes you feel worse. He turns you away from the body, directing you back toward camp.

You can still feel the Gur’s blood in your skin, even after you spend two whole hours washing your hands.

---

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[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. viii: Still Falling for You

Chapter Summary: Incapable of finding sleep, both Valeana and Aemond seek refuge in the sanctuary of the library, together. Alone.

Word: 3751

Sneak Peak: “Is this your way of forgiving me, Lady Valeana?”

Warnings: +18/MDNI. Masturbation, P+V sex, Smut. Descriptive anxiety attack. PTSD flashbacks.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aemond was a black and silver mass of fury and rage as he left the training yard. He made a beeline towards the stables so that he could exit King’s Landing and find Vhagar, wanting to put as much distance between himself and Valeana and Aegon as possible. He didn’t trust himself in the castle where he could bump into someone that could set him off. The Keep crawled with crabs. 

But before he was even able to get to the stables, Criston had reached him shortly after he exited. His firm hand clutched the side of shoulder to stop Aemond’s long and fast stride. 

“My prince–” Cole cut himself short when Aemond whirled on him, eye filled with violet fire. The knight let his arm drop to his side and took a step back, but otherwise did not move. “Do not let him get under your skin. Your brother only seeks to provoke you. You let him and he wins.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared, “He did not provoke me.” His words were forced through his teeth.

Cole tilted his head, not believing him, “You lost yourself the moment the two of you locked swords. I saw him whisper something to you, what was it?”

Aemond’s jaw was tight, and his lips were a thin line. His eye flickered down from Cole’s face to a vacant spot over his shoulder. 

“Shall I describe it to you? Her delicious, untouched cunny–”

He shut his eye tightly, trying to rid the image of what Aegon was alluding to; what he implied he had done. He wished to believe that Valeana had far more dignity for herself than the weak-willed female servants that Aegon lured to his bed. However, he did not recognize this Valeana Celtigar – she was a different person. 

“He was speaking immorally of a lady of court,” Aemond surprised himself by the truth of his words, although vague. Alas, He did not think Cole was of a lesser mind to not know who he was referring to anyway.

Before the knight could prod onto why that bothered him so, Aemond continued. “I grow weary of my brother’s depravities. He seeks to dishonour not only himself but this entire family. Should he–” He cut himself off, eye flickering around the corridor they found themselves in. When satisfied that they were alone, he took a step closer to Cole, his voice lowered. 

“Should there be a shift of succession upon my father’s death, Aegon’s reputation will only bolster my half-sister’s claim and make us look like fools.”

Criston kept his opinion on the matter to himself. Aegon wouldn’t be first nor the last whoremonger that was crowned, and that had never given the people a reason to question whether or not they deserved the title of King. He doubted Aegon would for that reason alone, should he usurp his sister’s crown. With that knowledge, Cole could see Aemond grasping on straws. 

“Do not worry about your brother’s reputation, my Prince,” the knight finally spoke. “Worry only of your own mind and what you intend to do with it. It is the sharpest and most lethal weapon on your person. Use it to protect your heart, Aemond, because the moment you let someone commandeer that, they can use it against you.” 

Aemond stared at him in quiet contemplation. There was something behind his words and his dark eyes that the prince could detect, but not make out. Cole spoke as if he was speaking to himself, almost like advice he would have given to his sons so they would not make the same mistake he had done. 

“Do not worry, Cole,” Aemond tilted his head back. He still simmered on the surface, but the inferno in his chest reigned in like a claimed dragon. “I never had any intention of letting anyone close. Not even my own family.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Aemond was with Vhagar for over a day. When he returned to the Keep, it was the hour of the bat. By the time he instructed two servants to draw him a bath, and then got to his chambers to undress, it was the hour of the eel. 

The searing heat of the water burned off the sweat and grime that coated his body. He dunked into the water to wash out the sand and filth from his hair; he had spent the previous night asleep on a secluded beach east of King’s Landing, on the coast of the Narrow Sea just outside the Gullet. The morning after he had found crabs to boil in a stone basin he put over a fire. The screeching of the little creatures eased his mind; the symbolism wasn’t lost on him either. It was cathartic. 

But now in the Keep, boiling in his own basin, his mind wandered to crabs that still live. Namely one with hair as fair as his and eyes as green as wildfire. 

“Her delicious, untouched cunny–”

Aemond growled at the intrusive voice of his brother. He fisted the side of the tub before running his fingers over his temples and down to his chin with his other hand. Then, Aemond shut his eye and leaned his head back, trying to will himself to think of anyone else. One of Helaena’s attractive handmaids, the one with the long legs, hair as dark as a raven, and almond shaped eyes. He’s never had her, but he could. The way she stared at him with intrigue and awe, it was quite obvious that she desired him. 

Heat pooled at his pelvis, and his hand went under the water to inspect. Aemond’s lips parted once his palm met the hardening muscle between his thighs. A small sigh escaped at the first stroke and then his imagination took flight.

He imagined the maid coming into his bedchambers and finding him in the bath. He imagined her hands on his shoulders and chest as she cleans the remnants of battle off his body. Then he imagined her frumpy maids gown drop from her own before she slowly descended into the water. 

Then he was reminded of crabs in boiling water again. And when he looked at her, her hair brightened to a white-gold, and her almond eyes widened into a pair of doe shaped peridot orbs with pupils blown wide. Aemond tried to fight back, forcing the image of the other woman back into his mind’s eye, but ultimately his cock won. 

Pleasure overtook all sense of intelligence for Aemond Targaryen. His imagination feverishly feeds his loins with thoughts of Valeana Celtigar. Her ample tits sleek with soap and water, and his hands grasping and pinching her pink nipples. Her thighs wrapped around his narrow hips, and her pouty lips trailing kisses along the column of his neck. And then how she’d arch her back when she speared herself on him. One of his hands upon a breast, and the other on her buttocks, both kneading the supple flesh with large fingers as she bopped slowly up and down his length. 

“Is this your way of forgiving me, Lady Valeana?”

With her voice lost in his mind, she only nodded like an eager whore, mouth a perfect O as she took his full length down to the hilt. 

He was so close. 

Aemond grabbed her hair and yanked her head back as he leaned forward. His hips jerked wildly under her, water splashing everywhere around the basin. 

“You are mine. You always have been, and you always will.”

“Then claim me now! Inside! Aemond… Please!” 

His arms encased her body tightly against his, and his nose buried in the crook of her neck with his teeth nipping the skin there. As he reached his physical peak, he imagined filling her womb with his seed, and claiming her for once and for all. Like how he was always meant to do. What he should have done if he wedded her more than half a decade ago.

Aemond tilted his head back against the tub with mouth hanging open, thick veins protruding under the tight skin of his neck, arms and hands as he stroked himself to completion. A long, satisfied groan escaped from parted lips as ropes of white seed clouded the dirty bath water. His entire body went limp after, his muscles relaxed, but his breathing laboured. The post-orgasm still clouded his mind, but it didn’t take long until he gained some clarity. 

His eye opened and he found himself looking up at the ceiling of an empty room. Aemond curled his bottom lip under his teeth, and flexed his fingers angrily as he raked them over his face. 

“Fuck!” He shouted as the self-loathing settled in. He was so pathetically weak.

T H E   R E D S

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Valeana and her sisters went to their bedchambers at the hour of the eel, like they so often do. Sharing a room with Shyla left little room for privacy, but the younger of the sisters fell asleep fast. Soon the room was filled with soft sighs and the rustling of blankets and furs as Valeana tossed and turned in her bed, trying to will herself into a slumber. 

It was at the hour of ghosts when she had given up on trying, and promptly got out of bed and snatched her burgundy robe after hastily strapping her prosthetic. Her mind was a cluster of thoughts, namely to questions she needed answered. The old book she had read the other day still haunted her curious mind, and she needed answers to the question that burned at the forefront. 

Did she have a Targaryen ancestor? Did the Targaryens ever marry a Celtigar? 

There had to be at least one with a lineage so long and old. The Targaryens, with all their desire to preserve their Valyrian dragon blood, had many children with each other, and only branched out to very few houses outside of their own. With the Velaryons being one of them, why hadn’t they married a Celtigar? 

There could be many reasons, Valeana surmised, as she contemplated a list of them on her way to the Royal Library. Celtigars weren’t so eager to preserve their pure blood; their ambitions stemmed from wealth and reputation. Valyrian blood is strong, and because of that, many generations of Celtigars still birthed children with fair hair and purple eyes, even though their ancestral features dwindled with every generation. As did their names with every Andal or First Man married into the family. 

Valeana was the first child to be given a Valyrian name in a couple generations, and the choice, surprisingly, was by her mother, a Lannister of all people. She had chosen the name prior to her birth, but her father wanted to call her Lynora. Val supposed that had her mother not died, she would have been called Lynora, but her father ended up honouring his late wife’s wishes and titled his first daughter Valeana. The story, she learned early in her youth, was that her mother had found the name in a book about the houses of Old Valyria. Lysa, though, had mispronounced it at the time. “Val-awna”, she said, when it was supposed to be “Val-ayna”. But when Barty corrected her, Lysa waved him off and said she liked her way better, and thus the variation stuck.

The Royal Library was empty, aside from the patrolling guard outside that merely acknowledged her with a nod. Maester Artos, who usually presided over it, was blessedly gone. Artos was as old as the books that lined the walls, and always treated her like a nuisance whenever she had dared ask for a book. He would pop the vein in his forehead had he known that she was in there without him present, pilfering books off of shelves at the dead of night. Books that he spent his entire life meticulously organizing and keeping clean of dust and oils from dirty fingers. 

The book in question wasn’t difficult to find. It was placed on a pedestal inside an alcove in the north chamber. It was large in dimensions, but not as thick as other tomes she had seen there. The binding was made of iron and leather, embossed with the sigil of the House of Targaryen. It was broader than her shoulders, and one of the heaviest things she had ever had to lift. But, Valeana was stronger than people gave her credit for. She heaved it up with her entire chest and then shuffled to the nearest table and did her best to gently lay it down with the back facing her. 

With a heavy exhale, Valeana fell into the chair and flipped the back cover and blank pages over to get to the latest entry. She was going to begin from the earliest entry, since it would be easy to skim through given her recent knowledge. 

“Visenya, Viserys, Aegon, bigoted from Princess Rhaenyra and her uncle Prince Daemon Targaryen… Silver of hair, and violet eyes,” Valeana read outloud, and pursed her lips. It had been a week since they had taken port, and they had yet to receive confirmation that the Princess and the Rogue Prince were coming. Then after learning about the possible fatal wound Lord Clorlys Velaryon suffered at the Stepping Stones, Valeana started to believe there was a distinct possibility that the King would not get his wish in reuniting the Valyrian houses. 

Valeana hadn’t been able to go to Laena Velaryon’s funeral all those years ago, but her father and stepmother went with Clement. While they had not witnessed what happened at Driftmark on that fateful night, Bartimos was made aware of it the morning after. Aemond had claimed Vhagar, and in a skirmish of just children, he had lost his eye for it. When Alicent did not receive the justice she wanted, she had attacked her step-daughter and former friend in a fit of maternal rage. 

Val wondered if her mother had been still alive, would she have the same rage when she saw what Aemond did to her? Would she reach for a knife and try to take Alicent’s leg in lieu of the Prince’s? 

From what she was told, Lysa Lannister had the demeanor of a contented lioness. Very little angered her; she was patient, listened intently to her husband and friends, and rarely talked in social settings. However, when she did, all listened at the table. Her father said that the only time he had witnessed Lysa’s anger was when Queen Aemma, her closest friend and mistress, had died on her birthing bed, and not long after, the sharks of the small council swarmed King Viserys about remarrying. The tipping point was when Prince Daemon had called the late princeling “Heir for a Day”. After the King had summoned his brother to the Throne Room to confront him about it, Lysa intercepted Daemon in the corridor outside. She slapped him with the back of her jewel adorned hand. then spat in his eye and called him a jealous blackguard with a tiny piece of coal for a heart. Allegedly she had gone to punch him, but a gold cloak had pulled her back with her kicking and screaming.

Valeana wagered her mother would have probably done a lot more to avenge her children. Probably commit treason. The thought of that made her smirk in amusement. 

When the door to the library was pushed open, she had barely gotten through the Old King’s long list of sires and grandsires, and the Targaryen bastards that were worth mentioning. Valeana jostled in her seat, getting ready to spew excuses for Maester Artos, but the person who walked in the door was much worse than the old man. 

It was Aemond. 

He looked equally as surprised to see her there, albeit briefly. Soon his face contorted into one of annoyance. 

“What are you doing here? It is prohibited to enter the library when the Maester is abed,” he looks about the library, seeing no other candlelight other than Valeana’s, confirming that she was, indeed, here alone.

“No-” she cleared her throat when it came out croaky. “No one stopped me. The doors were open.” 

“Hm,” from this distance she could see his lips thin, “Do you allow your guests to go where they please in your home during the hour of the owl over at Claw Isle?” 

Val’s cheeks turned red, though she thanked the darkness for shielding it from him, “Yes.” She lied. Truthfully, it would be strange if the positions were reversed and she found a guest she wasn’t overly fond of in their family’s library in the dead of night. But there was a fat chance she would admit that to him.

“I do not believe you,” he stood still before his eye flickered to the large book that sat on the table and then moved over to the empty podium it once sat. His jaw tightened as he strode over, “That is not a book to be removed from its place. It is not a book to be touched by common– anyone other than a Targaryen.”

Valeana bristled at his tone, but before she could give him a reasonable answer of: “how the hell am I supposed to know?” he slammed the heavy book shut in front of her, causing both the table and herself to jump in surprise. 

“I was reading that!” She stood up as he slid the tome across the table to his side and pulled it up to cradle it against his chest. 

He didn’t say anything as he lifted it with ease and brought it back to its podium. Aemond gently adjusted it to its center, and then inspected it, convinced she had damaged it somehow. 

It bothered her to be ignored, especially after so rudely snatching what she was reading, after all he has said and done. She was bothering no one, especially not him, yet her simple presence was enough to demean her. In her annoyed anger, she swiftly strode towards him, and without thought she reached out and grabbed his arm, repeating herself, “Aemond, I said I was reading–”

Once her hand grabbed his shoulder, his entire body jerked back. His other hand reached over to grab hers, only to shove it back into her, effectively thrusting her away. The shock of being pushed immediately brought back a riptide of memories, one after the other. It might’ve only been a second or less, but it felt like an eternity; it felt like her back was being passed through endless air and then surely be greeted by one sharp edged stair after another.

 Had she been an abled body woman, she would have balanced herself after a step back. Unfortunately, when she left her bedroom, she did not dress her leg properly, nor did she wear secured shoes. Her bad leg gave in to her weight when it found no security in the loose straps, and she slipped, landing flat on her back on the carpeted wooden floor. 

Valeana could feel the sting of tears behind her tightly shut lids. Her tailbone and shoulders were in the most pain, but luckily the soft carpet had absorbed the shock of it. Though nothing felt worse than her face, which burned and twitched as she fought back hard to control the sob that threatened to burst out of her throat. Even with eyes tightly closed, she could feel air on her good leg, which meant her robe and small clothes had left her legs bare, and the humiliating knowledge he could see everything made this all the worse. 

“Valeana–” 

Without so much as a hiccup, she rolled onto her knees and held onto her right thigh as she righted left leg carefully, yet swiftly. She refused to breathe through her mouth, afraid that the sounds of her sorrow would escape from her throat and echo an infinite amount of times in the grand expanse of the library. Valeana fled, at least as much as she could; the pain on her tailbone coupled with her loosened straps made her limp-sprint out of the library and down the corridor. 

She spared absolutely no glances over her shoulder. Her eyes casted onto the floor as she watched her mismatched steps on the stone tiles. It seemed, at some point, her shoe had slipped off, but she couldn’t remember when or where that happened. Her ears were ringing with white noise; if anyone were calling after her, be it a guard or a servant, she did not hear them. All she could hear was the sound of her inner child’s own blood curdling scream. Her left leg suddenly started to burn, a phantom pain shooting up her non existent calf. 

Valeana’s lips finally popped open, and something between a groan of agony and a sob escaped. Gasping, she faltered in her gait, and her eyes shut with a veil of tears that blurred her vision. Then she stumbled forward with a grasping hand at her left knee, chest and shoulders stuttering with each panicked gasp. 

“Valeana? Valeana?” Someone was holding her upright with masculine hands on her shoulders. “Hells, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

She allowed her weight to be pressed against the stranger’s chest as her own shook with sobs of anguish and phantom pains. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, trying to urge her to look up at him. 

“Valeana, tell me what happened. Look at me,” His voice was familiar to her, but his identity remained unknown until the dew from her lids slipped down her reddened cheeks and her vision focused. Aegon’s wide purple eyes examined her face, full of concern and fear, two things she has never seen there before. 

“I hate him,” She finally spoke through gritted teeth. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” 

His eyes searched hers, the creases in his forehead relaxed when he managed to piece the puzzle together with the little context she gave him. Aegon’s thumbs brushed away the tears from her cheeks and then pulled her to his chest. 

“Let’s get out of the hall,” He whispered after a moment. “My apartments are not far from here.” 

He pulled her arm over his shoulder, and slipped his under hers. Taking a brief glance down to her feet, he noticed her right foot was clad in a red velvet slipper, and the other a wooden one.

Note: This was an emotionally taxing chapter to write, so I hope it came out well. I had to channel a lot of personal experience into it. Also, I had to squish in Valeana's name pronunciation somehow XD. So there it is.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[1whore1gang]

it’s the little things🤍

Catch up HERE on their adventures

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! OMG

Please enjoy regardless

i’m so sorry if this is short or shitty lol

this is more of a filler chapter so i can get to the good stuff and set it all up

Warnings: swearing, some sexual innuendos/content, angst

(i can’t figure out taglists so i’m so sorry if your tag didn’t work or if i forgot you! please yell at me or if you know what i’m doing wrong, again yell at me lol)

I LOVE YOU ALL!!

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It’d been a week and a half since John had arrived to your mission site. Since then, he’d done nothing but take care of you and be at your beckon call. You were feeling much better and began to feel like yourself today.

Currently, you were sat in John’s cabin he had on base, waiting for Tia to call so you could see the boys. You and John were anxious to see them and hear their little giggles.

The phone began to ring as John quickly answered the video call. A young girl, blonde and blue eyed appeared on the phone, Tia you came to know. “Hi guys! The boys are anxious to see you!” Her voice was chipper.

John spoke immediately while you gave a small wave. “Tia! It’s good to hear from you! How have you been? Everything to your liking?”

“Hey John! Everything’s been great! You have the comfiest bed ever. I wouldn’t mind sleeping in it forever!” She lets out a laugh. “The boys have been nothing but pleasant, and the accommodations have been so amazing. I love it here and I think the boys love me too.”

As she says that, I hear the familiar playful scream of Soap and I tear up. John speaks again, “I’m glad you’re comfortable and that the boys haven’t scared you away yet.” They continue light conversation, and I hear Soap’s excited little scream again.

It causes me to cut her off, “I’m sorry, can we see them? I’m dying to see my boys.” She apologizes and chuckles, then sets the phone up so we can see the three boys sitting on the ground.

Soap immediately starts flapping his arms and squealing. “Hi Soap! Hi honey!” I saw giddily and he responds to my voice with more squealing and a goofy smile. It makes me heart swell.

“Hi boys!” John says and Gaz crawls to the camera and begins to tear up. “Oh it’s ok! We’ll be back soon! Don’t cry!” John cooes over the phone.

Soap is a giggling mess, trying to grab the camera and put it in his mouth, but before Tia can react or John or me can talk him out of it, two little hands grab it and we are met with Simon’s little face. “Hi honey! How’s my Simon?” He giggled as he held the phone way too close to his face. “I miss you!!” I continue to coo as we hear excited grunts come from him.

“LIEUTENANT!!” I hear the familiar yell of Captain Snyder. I look over to John, and he can tell I’m dreading what comes next.

“Hey Tia, it was great to talk to you, but duty calls. I’ll call to check in later tonight.” With that, John ended the call. “It’s alright, he’s not going to do anything to you.”

Captain Snyder doesn’t even knock, just barges into the door, staring down John and I. “Captain?! What is she doing here? She needs to be-“

“She does what I say and I said she’s on rest until she’s cleared by medical.” John’s tone went dark as he spoke to Snyder, not even allowing him to finish his sentences.

“You do not interrupt me Captain! I am her mission leader and I say she needs to go run laps for each day she’s missed. She looks just fine to me.”

John stood, towering over Snyder easily. Snyder adjusted his posture to try to match John’s height, but alas, doesn’t measure up. “I wonder how you even made it through boot Snyder. You listen as well as a toddler. I am her Captain, and she will follow my orders only, even after I am gone. I said she’s on rest, so that’s what she’s doing. Do you understand?”

“You are not assigned to this mission as leader! You are simply-“

“I said do you understand?” John stayed calm, but was somehow so threatening.

“No! I have a problem with-“

Once again, John cut him off. “If you have a problem, then you can feel free to call General Shepard and I’m sure he will be happy to tell you about how Lieutenant L/N is under my command only. Are we clear?”

You felt frozen as you heard John speak this way. It was both attractive and yet somehow frightening. Snyder took a deep breath before he spoke. “I will speak with the General then.” He turned on his heel and exited the cabin.

When he did, John immediately switched back into the doting partner you’ve come to know. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice was now sweet again.

“Can I be honest?” You chewed on your bottom lip as you began to conceal a laugh.

“Always my love.”

“That was kind of hot.” The laugh escaped you as the words left your mouth. John looked you up and down before he chuckled himself.

“Was it?” He growled.

“It so was.” He swooped you up and laid you down on his bed.

“Hmm, too bad it’s time for us to hit the hay. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” John immediately flopped down on top of you, crushing you underneath him as he pretended to snore.

“John!!” You giggled, “I can’t breathe! Get off!!” You laughed loudly as you pushed him off of you. He fell next to you on the bed as he opened his eyes and stopped the snoring noise. “You’re such a dork.”

“I love you.” John’s change in demeanor took you a moment to adjust to. “I really do.”

“John, I love you too.” You say it back.

“No, I’m serious.” John sat up, and you followed his motion.

“I know you are, so am I.”

“No, Y/N, listen to me. When we get back, I want to get serious about us. Get a place outside of the compound, move in together, start our life. We don’t know how long the boys will be little, or if they’ll ever turn back. I want to put us at an advantage if we ever decide to have littles of our own. I want you to be my wife one day, when you’re ready.”

You couldn’t help but tear up. He’d rendered you speechless.

Your little life with John. A house, married, enjoying the little things. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. “I can’t wait.” You say.

The moon falls and the sun rises quicker than you’d like it to and morning pours into the cabin. “Good morning dear.” John’s voice filled your ears. You hummed in response, burying yourself back into the blankets. “You’ve got a lot on your schedule today, you gotta get up baby.”

With a groan, you sat up and saw him in full uniform. “I don’t want to do this today.”

Today you had to get your health evaluation to see if you were fit to return to work, and you knew they’d pass you. You loved watching the embassy, but you didn’t like being under the gaze of Captain Snyder. You knew he’d work you like a dog the moment you got the green light, with or without John’s protection.

“Oh hold on love, it’s Tia. I wanna make sure nothings wrong.” John answered his phone, a sing-songy voice coming out of him as he spoke to Tia. He excused himself as he stepped out of earshot of you.

Dismissing it, you drug yourself out of bed and got into uniform, preparing yourself for the worst. You hoped that Snyder would take it easy on you after the critical condition you and many other soldiers had been in, but you knew you didn’t have that luck.

Looking down, your watch signaled you needed to go, so you went to go grab John, but he was still on the phone.

You pointed to your watch, telling him you both needed to head to medical. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” He laughs as he noticed you. “Hold on Tia.” He covers the bottom of his phone as he tilts it away from his mouth. “I’ll meet you there honey. Tia needs me right now.” He shoots you a sympathetic smile, and you assume it’s a problem with the boys.

Right?

You walk to medical and can’t help but think about Tia. John has been talking to her a lot, is everything ok? Has somebody found out about the boys? Has Shephard noticed her on base? Were the boys okay?

A million thoughts ran through your mind as you felt the scorching heat of the desert sun against your skin. You just hoped whatever it was, John would handle it quickly. You needed him here with you for this.

Entering the tent, you saw Snyder sitting there waiting for you. “Ah, little miss is alone today huh? No big bad wolf to protect you when they clear you for work?”

“Enough. I’m not dealing with your attitude anymore. I’m going to lead my squad and get the fuck home sir.” Snyder was taken aback from your words, but smirked.

“She’s got her own bite now.” You rolled your eyes at him as the nurse came out.

“Wait, we’re waiting on one more person. A couple of minutes please?”

The nurse hesitated, but she said she could allow 10 minutes. Those 10 minutes turned into 15, then 20, then 25. No John.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to get started now. We’ll be more behind than we already are if I don’t.” The nurse rubbed your shoulder as she spoke sympathetically.

“Okay.” You looked to the entrance, hoping he’d make it at the last minute, but alas, nothing.

Snyder watched in anticipation as you completed each test with flying colors. “Alright Lieutenant, you can return to work tomorrow. I’m glad to see you back to yourself.” The nurse handed you a slip with her signature.

Snyder came up behind you and slapped your shoulder as the nurse walked away. “You’re mine as soon as your guard dog leaves.”

You jerked your shoulder away from him as you glared. “Good luck with that.”

Walking away, you heard Snyder yell one more remark. “You will obey your superior unless you want home base hearing about your disobedience for direct orders? That’s a direct dishonorable discharge, isn’t it Lieutenant?”

You knew he was right. “They’d never believe you sir. I’m getting my mission done.” Standing your ground, you said it over your shoulder.

“Try me little girl.” Snyder had nothing but pride and malice in his voice. Sighing, you turned around and walked out.

Completing a couple of other items on your agenda like weapon expection and ration hand outs, you finally headed back to Price’s larger tent.

His bellowing laugh filled your ears before you even entered. You peeked in to see him holding his phone in front of his face, maybe he was seeing the boys or watching a video.

“I’m so glad I got to talk to ya T. Good to hear from you as always. I hope my room makes a good home for you.” You froze.

What?

It wasn’t super weird for him to say, but it still made you uncomfortable. As wrong as you knew it was, you continued to listen. “Always John. The boys miss you and we can’t wait for you to get back.”

John laughed. “How sweet. It sounds like they might be sending me earlier than we thought. Originally it was going to be 3 weeks, but it sounds like I’m leaving in the next couple of days. I’ll be home sooner than we anticipated. It just gives us more time I suppose.”

He’s going home early and didn’t even tell you?

“Yeah! I’m so excited for you to be back! I can’t wait for everything we’ve got planned.” You hear her giggle.

“Me too, we’re going to have so much fun. I can’t wait to see you.” John and Tia muttered a few giddy goodbyes and that’s when you decided to just go back to your own tent.

What was that? You had to misunderstand it right? There had to be context to that conversation. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe they’re planning for her to be a permanent babysitter?

You wracked your brain for any possible scenario where it didn’t sound like John was cheating on you, and while you came up with a few, something just didn’t sit right with you.

“Hey baby? I’ve been looking for you. What’re you doing here?” John poked his head into your tent.

“You were still on the phone when I came to yours, so I decided to just leave ya alone to finish the call.”

“Oh Y/N, I’m sorry. You should’ve came in anyways! I would’ve hung up, it was just Tia. She was telling me about the day the boys had. Apparently Soap took a few steps today. Simon threw a block at her.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Simon is probably trying to talk to her.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell her he does that though. Our little secret huh?” And just like that, all your worries melted away. There was no way he’d cheat on you, let alone with a much younger girl like Tia.

“Our little secret.” You repeated his words. “You’ll love me forever right? You’d never keep anything from me?”

“I will love you until my dying breath, and even more in death. You are my light, my life. I would never hurt you.” Melting into his words, you planted a kiss on his lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too doll.”

And the world faded away as you cherished this moment with him. Your John was right in front of you, and he had a way to keep your anxieties at bay with just 5 simple words. You leaned into him, taking in his presence.

If only he didn’t have to leave you here in 3 days.

If only he’d told you about it before he left.

If only you hadn’t woken up in his tent alone, with nothing but a note.

[room-surprise]

Dungeon Meshi Anime Review, Season 2, Episode 19 review

Izutsumi arrives! And Marcille has a nightmare.

This is an interesting episode but I know my spouse and I had desperately hoped that they would re-organize things somehow. Marcille's plot in this feels painfully tacked on and unrelated to Izutsumi's introduction, and the concept of the nightmare is so good, it could have easily been expanded to be an entire episode on its own. I wish they'd done that. They could have paired Izu's intro with the ice golem story to have one all-Izutsumi episode and then one all-Marcille episode... alas.

Those are changes I would have LIKED to see, but here's some changes I didn't like:

(MAJOR MANGA AND ANIME SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!!)

Trigger removed Laios' mother's only speaking line in the manga. It would have taken SO LITTLE to have someone read this single sentence, and removing it, in my opinion, has a negative impact on the story as a whole.

It SOUNDS like a generic thing when she asks Laios "When will you give us grandchildren?" But this is actually really important. Laios is afraid of being forced to make a family and participate in society. This is unusual because he's a man, most men in a historic time period of this don't really care about such things, but Laios is so afraid of it, it's a recurring nightmare!

This is also why he acted so weird seeing a loving father/baby scene in the magic paintings chapter. He hated seeing a father talk about how much they love their baby.

Laios is named after a story about murdering your children before they can hurt you. Like an Oedipus Complex supposedly means that a son wants to have sex with his mother, a Laios Complex means a man wants to kill his sons. Kui did not pick this name and then have Laios repeatedly be uncomfortable with children, marriage and fatherhood for no reason.

Obviously Trigger didn't make any of these connections and so they didn't think it was necessary for Laios' mom to speak this line out loud, but I vehemently disagree.

This is similar to my beef with them removing Yarn Floke's only dialog in the story and removing her from the scene with the Island Governor. That moment told us that Mr. and Mrs. Floke were equal partners, and now anime watchers assume she's just his wife who doesn't do anything. That sucks.

The addition of paintings of Marcille's father in the nightmare. Woof. I really don't care for this, if they wanted to do it i would have preferred it if they'd obscured the paintings somehow so it wasn't obvious that Marcille's father wasn't an elf.

I think this makes the later reveal of her half-elf status WAY less surprising.

Also, in the manga, the complete silence around her father created a strong subtext that Marcille's mother was her only parent that mattered. They could still accomplish this but I think it won't be as shocking.

People reading the manga probably thought "her dad was an elf and he died young and that traumatized her" (this is what Laios assumes I'm sure)

People watching the anime will think "her dad was a tall-man and his natural death of old age is what traumatized her" which is true, but they aren't supposed to actually know that yet...

Overall the episode was good aside from these issues. I liked that the nightmare sequence was in black and white, and the transition to color at the end was spectacular and very impactful... But part of me wishes they had done something else to differentiate the nightmare state from the normal animation. The black and white was good, but almost too subtle because the DM palette is already so desaturated.

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 3

< back | next >

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Summary: It's business as usual. At least it looks like it, and that has to count for something. The boys do a bit of arts and crafts. Krupp takes a step back.

A/N: literally the worst part of writing fic for CU is trying to think of pranks. they’re up there with choreographing fight scenes. also these next chapters were brought to you by: me referencing the movie’s art book i got as a gift. Locations And Fascinating Objects section my beloved…

this chapter's scene went through a lot of shuffling-- melvin was supposed to be in this one. but alas, once this was finalized he was pushed back into the next chapter. ideally. at the earliest. its been almost 4 years, i swear he actually has a part to play in this AU, he's technically part of the core secondary cast--

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Back in the present day, the boys snuck into the art room. Even now, there wasn’t a proper class for it in Jerome Horwitz, despite The Prank For Good. But because of it, Krupp never had the thought to put it under lock and key again. The doors still remained unlocked for any kid that needed it. And George and Harold had a big need. In fact, they had been caching away supplies when no one was looking.

Captain Underpants trailed behind them; he looked at the room and gave a small nod, murmuring something about being “back at the start”.

“What will we be doing this time, sidekicks?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh! I could try and ask for a carnival again–”

“NO!” both of them shouted. The hero jumped up in surprise and stayed in a low hover.

George was the quicker of the two to regain composure. “No, no– we’re doing something different.”

“Oh.”

Harold unpacked the contents of his bag. There was a ridiculous amount of flour and bottles around them, along with other plastic pails and shovels.

“Ooh, are we making a cake? Can I decorate it?” Captain asked.

George sighed. “It’s not for a cake.”

“Well, what is it for?” 

Harold dumped a bunch of flour and oil into the largest bucket with the glee reserved for children about to make a huge mixture of stuff. “Sand!”

When the hero continued to look baffled, George cut in. “With Krupp instating the grade-wide assignment gauntlet, we have to retaliate with the exact opposite of that.”

“…Recess?”

“Close!” Harold began to mix the concoction with a plastic shovel. “Summer vacation!”

“And we need to make a lot to really sell the beach vibe.”

“Oh…” Captain nodded with the confidence of someone who had no idea what that meant. He knelt down and gave a curious sniff at the flour sand, catching the faint whiff of some sort of cooking oil.  mix his own bucket the other boy handed to him.

To make a long story short, they managed to create enough of it to create a sizable layer in at least two classrooms. They hauled the first half of it to Guided’s classroom–or rather, Captain flew it over in record time. He began to push all the desks back and started to stack them high up against the edges of the wall. It reminded Harold of that one time he showed George a boardwalk on a faded postcard, tall buildings looming over sandy beaches.

“Why only two?” Captain asked as he stacked some of the desks on the teacher’s desk. “Why not make the whole school a beach?”

The boys perked up from their efforts to place the sand evenly across the classroom floor.

“‘Cause the first big tests are in Ms. Guided and Ribble’s classrooms,” Harold said.

“We’d have loved to do something big," George explained as he scattered the beach toys. "Really put the last big prank that happened here to shame–”

“But we had to improvise. Go for lots of smaller ones for the first part of this plan, you know?”

“First part?” Captain echoed. 

“Yeah!” Harold continued, ushering them all out of the room. Captain followed in a low hover, and George swept over the remaining footprints with a hand. Looking back at their work, it looked like no one was ever in the room.

“The first bit is to wear all the teachers and Krupp down. And then–”

“Bam.” he punched into his own open palm. “That’s where you come in!”

Captain tilted his head. “I thought this was where I came in?”

“What? No– I mean, we appreciate your help, but you have a bigger part to play here.”

“I do?” he asked.

“We figured you’d want to get back at Krupp, right?” George said. 

Captain was silent, his expression dumbfounded. 

“With enough pressure, he’ll back off from you and he’ll back off with all the sudden assignments!” Harold clarified. “It’ll be great.”

“We’re not sure how long he’s planning on making everyone miserable, but we’re planning for the long game.”

That seemed to make things more murky for him but the curiosity still remained. He tilted his head with furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out the connection between the two facts. “…How long, exactly?” 

“As long as it takes.” Harold gave him a good natured punch to the side. “Now come on, let’s get the other classroom set up.”

The boys grabbed his hands and led him back to the art room, chatting about what else they could do.

---------------------

The school didn’t know what hit them. 

Later that day, the fourth graders enjoyed the slices of beaches in the pair of classrooms. They made their sandcastles and moats as the teachers tried– and failed– to get their papers from their desks buried under their own students’ desks. 

And on the day after that, there was the petting zoo in the math classrooms on the same day a calculator-less test on long division was meant to happen. It was no tiger, but the kids enjoyed petting the sheep. For extra salt in the wound, there were numbers drawn in bright colors on their wool. 

Corralling the animals out was one thing. Finding out they were only Sheeps #1-6 and 8 was another, leaving all the teachers to scramble to find the last sheep of the set for the past few hours.

Apparently, the third time wasn’t the charm as George and Harold were called into the principal’s office. When they walked in, he had never bothered to close one of the desk drawers, clearly embroiled in whatever work principals do. Krupp was faced away from them, yelling into the phone.

“How many times do I have to explain it to you, there probably isn’t a Sheep #7– are you falling asleep counting them?” He turned to face them and grimaced. “I’ll get back to you.” 

He hung up the phone, glaring at them as they took their respective seats. 

“Care to explain the last few days?”

Harold shifted in his seat as he gave a glance to the other boy. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We were a bit too busy dealing with the sudden wave of assignments and tests to try anything,” George added with a shrug.

“Don’t play innocent with me. The gaps in my memory are extremely obvious.” He waggled an accusatory finger at them.

“Like we said, we were busy–”

“What– watching him get bit by sheep yesterday?!” He held up his other arm filled with band aids of various sizes.

George leaned over to the other boy and whispered, “Man, they can be really vicious, huh?” 

Krupp slammed his fists onto his desk. He opened his hands. Closed them. Before pushing himself off his seat to look down at them. “Whether you’ll actually admit it, I’ll cut to the chase. Stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“If it was us, why would we? You started it.”

“Oh, hah–” He let out an incredulous, breathless laugh at that. “I started it? You’re one to talk after all you’ve done to me. You should be grateful I don’t just hold you back right now for that comment!”

Harold was unmoved. “Man, you got so much worse– I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, I can do so much worse after your little breaking and entering stunt,” he shot back. “Invading my privacy, looking into things you shouldn’t–”

“So you admit you were talking to him.”

“Now I never said anything about talking, have I?”

George and Harold leveled a glare at him, refusing to give him any confirmation or satisfaction that he was right. “So that is why you cracked down on the entire fourth grade, huh?”

“Or maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m losing sleep over mysterious injuries!” The boys wanted to speak up, but he refused to give them that. “And– and, seeing the school be nearly destroyed multiple times a week.”

“Not like you really cared about the school before,” George grumbled.

Krupp spluttered furiously, turning a new shade of red in the process. “Says the children who keep on endangering it and wasting its resources!"

“We’re saving the school!”

“From problems you made up.” He slowly made his way around his desk to them. “Is that why you made me your little stooge? Were you just tired and wanted to feel important in your little superhero fantasy? Or was getting rid of me the main motivation here?”

George stood up from his chair. “Oh, if we could have, we would have!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it suddenly felt like the office had turned somewhat askew. Gone was the red in Krupp’s face and gone was the anger– if anything, he looked like he had been slapped in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.

The boys were suddenly aware of the clock ticking, now that it was completely silent. George couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he said something that crossed some unseen line with his mom.

And just as quickly as the conversation was fishtailing out of what any of them were used to, the principal clambered for any sense of control.

“I’ll deal with the both of you later.” He put up a hand to rub his temples– and conveniently hid his eyes. “Get out.”

Harold blinked. “What–”

“NOW!” He whipped his arm to point at the door.

They stumbled out of their seats and ran without a second thought.

---------------------

For the rest of the last class of the school day, Harold was sitting on pins and needles as he looked at the clock. While most kids looked at it expectantly for the final bell to ring, right now he was dreading it.  He figured George was doing the same.

Krupp getting the jump on them was a matter of when today , not if, especially when he was as mad as he was earlier.

Five minutes. He glanced to the front of the class. Even Rected was struggling with the new mandate to increase kids’ work. Which, he guessed, made sense– more work for them meant more stuff the teachers had to look at.

Two minutes.

Speaking of work, he was quickly scribbling out some ideas for the next issues. Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to the other prank plans they had– he figured by the way Rected was pulling at his hair, they can bring Captain in for the cherry on top by the end of next week–

The speakers screeched to life. There was a beat of silence long enough for someone to ask if Krupp called an announcement on accident, until–

“Pop science fair, end of this week,” he said tersely. “Hope you can wow the teachers, since this is now a good chunk of your mark. How much? That’s the ‘pop’ part of that.”

The kids began to groan and slam their heads on their desks. Even more heads fell on their desks as another screech echoed through the school.

“You have George Beard and Harold Hutchins to thank for that. That will be all.”

The bell rang. One by one, everyone turned his direction, some shocked, others confused, many furious. Even Mr. Rected gave a baffled look.

After dodging the onslaught of kids ready to hound him or worse due to the announcement, he found George running down the hallway for similar reasons. At some point along the way, the other boy got their skateboards and helmets. With a frantic throw, they skateboarded out of the front yard and down the quickest route to their house.

“George?” Harold said, once they turned to their street. He had been eerily silent the whole time.

The other boy jumped off his own board and pulled his helmet off. He could see how much sweat was on his forehead now.

“Change of plans–” He stomped the end of the skateboard to make it stand before quickly grabbing it. “We’re taking stock of everything tonight.”

Harold stared at him. He knew why– he could still feel a flare of indignation from that announcement.

It was like George read his mind. “What Krupp said– those were fighting words. We’re going to move the Captain Plan up next.”

He gave a curt nod.

[sunnyrealist]

🌶️ Chapter 39: A Delightful Morning 🌶️

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian and Kate are on an adventurous camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. The couple has faced danger, concluded their first fight, gotten to know each other much more deeply, and had plenty of romantic and memorable moments. It is just about time for them to take on the last part of their journey. This chapter features the morning before they move forward into what may be another treacherous foray - exploring the mysterious Blackfold Castle.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI. This chapter features brief references to spanking and suicide, as well as discussion about how to proceed into dangerous terrain and sex in the missionary position.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 39: A Delightful Morning

Kate wakes up to find herself curled up to Sebastian’s back, holding him close. He is still sleeping soundly, and she gazes upon him lovingly with a warm smile. She can tell that it’s still early and the sun has not quite risen yet. She makes up her mind to not wake him; carefully, she untethers herself from his warmth and gingerly moves off of the bed, which only creaks slightly. Sebastian stirs a little but remains in the world of dreams.

While she relishes any opportunity to cuddle with her boyfriend, she’s been waiting for an opportunity to do some drawing. Lighting just a few candles, she summons a robe along with her drawing pencil and sketchbook. Then, she descends down the ladder into her extendable bag to retrieve some of the flowers and leafy stems she had picked earlier in their journey. Slightly waving her wand in a circular motion and whispering a charm, they twist in the air slowly until they have transformed into two gorgeous and full flower crowns. She tiptoes back to the bed and gently places one of them on Sebastian’s head and then the other on her own

When Kate perches at the edge of the bed, a sharp stinging sensation radiates all over her bottom. In a sharp contrast to his dominance last night, now Sebastian looks so peaceful and innocent, almost boyish in sleep. Her pencil begins to scratch against the paper as she memorializes this image. Eventually, it expands into a picture of the two of them, sleeping and spooning in a colorful meadow in the middle of a forest with flower crowns atop their heads. Her tongue peeks out between her lips as she begins to color the picture. She uses her wand to frequently change the color of her drawing pencil, adding as much shading and life as possible. 

Smiling at the finished product, Kate creates a duplicate on the next page. Quietly, she tears the duplicate page out of her sketchbook, leaving it on the bed right next to Sebastian so that it will be the first thing he discovers upon awakening.

Stretching, she decides to begin working on breakfast since, after all, she is awake and feeling energetic. That’s when she realizes they never cleaned up after the previous night, and the table is an absolute mess. It all comes crashing back, and Kate’s hand finds her forehead in frustration. There’s a lot of cleaning to do before she can get the morning meal ready. With a slight headache from her hangover slowly building, she groans in frustration, wishing it could all just be vanished, but alas, it is not an option - not unless she wants to spend her precious savings to purchase all new dishware upon their return to Hogsmeade. After spending a few moments of fruitless pouting, she comes to terms with the fact that no one is going to do the work for her, and thus, she gets to work with a grimace.

A half hour later, Kate finally places new dishes on the table - scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam, honey baked ham, and omelettes with cheddar cheese and spinach. She pours out cold water, adding a lemon slice in each glass to provide some flavor. Since her love is still asleep, she decides to do some reading at the table. Soon, she is engrossed in Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, her imagination conjuring an image of Mr. Rochester begging Jane to not leave him to see her dying aunt. When Sebastian appears, she jumps.

Wearing just a pair of simple linen trousers and the flower crown, he softly says, “Good morning, sunshine.” He seems amused by her reaction after being so deeply engaged in her novel.

Kate grins brightly upon seeing that he hasn’t removed the flower crown. “Did you like my surprise?”

Sebastian chuckles. “Loved it. I’ll treasure that drawing forever.” He gives her a goofy smile. “Though I must say, I never thought I’d find myself wearing a flower crown.”

She rises from her seat, wrapping her arms around him and caressing the expanse of his back, running her fingers over his marred skin. “Well, the moon prince needed his crown,” she whispers playfully, kissing his chiseled chest, then gestures to the spread on the table. “And I’m certain he will also need breakfast after such a strenuous night.” She winks.

“We’ll need strength for the flight and whatever awaits us at Blackfold Castle,” Sebastian notes, quickly taking a seat and digging into an omelette.

Kate generously spreads cream onto a scone. “I wonder what it will look like.”

“Are you excited?” 

“Yes! I’m looking forward to seeing it. I’ve never done anything like this,” she tells him as she adds jam on top of the clotted cream. “So… since you’ve told me how mysterious the castle is, I’m curious - how did you learn of it in the first place?”

“The Kelpies,” he answers with his mouth full, then quickly swallows. “A man I was partnered with for a mission told me about it. When he attempted to explore, he could not figure out how to get past the protective wards surrounding the castle. I was inspired and wanted to learn more. That led to a great deal of research.” He sips his lemon water. “There’s a fascinating history behind the castle, but no one seems to know the full story, and no one has ever been able to access the interior.”

Kate’s eyes narrow. “Then… how are we going to get inside?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Sebastian admits. “It will be trial and error. But clearly, if it’s so well protected, there must be something worthwhile inside. It’s worth trying.”

She takes a bite of her scone. “What did you learn in your research?”

“Basic information about the late history of the castle. It’s quite tragic, really,” he begins. Determining that she is completely engaged, he decides to tell her everything he knows. “Prior to the mid 1300s, Blackfold was a thriving, bustling castle. It was originally built so high up in the mountains to keep Muggles away. Muggles could never access it. There were, in the past, wizarding villages down below, but they are long gone, and truly, nothing remains of them. It seems that when Blackfold Castle became abandoned, the village inhabitants slowly left as well, seeking protection from other Scottish wizarding royals.” 

“Abandoned?”

“Not… quite. The final monarch was someone named Queen Eilionoir. Supposedly, she was forced into a marriage with the prince, who soon became king, and the two were deeply unhappy. Amidst a war between clans, the king made the unfortunate decision to not lead or even join his people in battle. He was afraid to engage in combat without an heir. Eventually, he was assassinated. Eilionoir refused to remarry and soon dismissed all of the castle staff. She was found dead weeks later, and the leading theory is that she used poison to kill herself. The locals considered the castle cursed, as no one could enter due to whatever magic the queen placed over Blackfold. That is all I know.”

Kate’s brow is furrowed. “That’s a terrible history! Why would she harm herself? Why would she seal off the castle? I wonder what would drive someone to do such a thing.”

“No one knows, or at least, no one confessed to knowing anything. Simple as that. She didn’t leave a note. Villagers just… found her body one day, and that was it,” he replies. “There are strong, very strong magical wards at the entrance to the castle. It seems that Queen Eilionoir didn’t want anyone to enter her world of misery.”

“Do these… protective wards… injure people? Or are they simply repellants? I’ve never heard of wards lasting for centuries. Could it be the work of dark magic?”

“Well, the man who told me about the castle was spooked,” Sebastian explains. “He made several attempts to enter Blackfold. Originally, the wards threw him back over and over. When he figured out what triggered that, he pushed past with great difficulty, but then his arm was slashed, and he felt as though he had been punched directly in the heart.” He takes a scone. “He quit after that. He was too afraid after the injury to go further.”

Kate’s heart rate speeds up, already feeling anxious about what could happen. They’ve already been in one dangerous situation on this trip, and she is certainly not eager for another. “I don’t want either of us to get hurt. We’re up here in the mountains alone… That’s worrisome.”

Sebastian’s gaze never breaks as he meets her eyes. “I will not let anything happen to you. I promise. But after doing all of this research, I just… I have to explore. I can’t just let it be until I’ve at least tried.”

Kate nods, contemplative as she cuts a slice of ham into smaller pieces. “Well, it sounds like we’ll most likely be repelled. If that happens, was this trip even worth it to you?” Her eyes are downcast.

Their tent flaps with a gust of wind. The fire in the wood-burning stove crackles.

“No,” he replies, his voice soft as he reaches out to take her hand. “It will still have been more than worth it. This trip wasn’t just about exploration. It was just as much about spending time with you, my sweet sun.”

Kate’s worry melts away. “I’ve loved our time together. That is - other than the terrifying experience in the cave.” She chuckles, thankful she can laugh about it now. “I feel as though we have learned a lot about each other these past few days.”

Sebastian scoots his chair closer to her. He tilts her chin up. “Learning more about who you are is worth far more than treasure, my Kate.”

She smiles sweetly, closing her eyes in contentment as Sebastian caresses her hair. “And you’ve opened up so much to me. Now I know more about your past, and even better, I know what you want for your future. I don’t know how you managed it, but you’ve somehow made me fall even more deeply in love, Sebastian.”

Drawn to each other, their lips meet. 

Soon, they’ve made their way back to the bed, all of their clothing discarded.

Kate settles her head on her pillow, her golden hair flowing in every direction, as Sebastian leans over her. Her soft skin is his addiction - he just cannot get enough of touching her. He allows himself to indulge in this - in her - in the moment. Their breath mingling, his lips close around hers. He lets himself be pulled in deeper as he falls into the softness that is his girlfriend, his entire world becoming Kate.

She sighs as his weight settles upon her. Rather than feeling crushed, there is something so comforting about his body on hers. Kate’s fingers trace over his freckled face, neck, and shoulders. Sebastian’s hair is a wild mess, and yet, she loves it all the more, running her hands through it as they make out. His kisses become more needy as he becomes lost in the touch, the smell, the taste of his lover. 

Kate gasps for air as they break apart momentarily, then begin making out again. His hands are everywhere - her neck, her breasts, her nipples, her hips… Her mind, just like his, is spinning with only one thought: Sebastian. She kisses and sucks on his neck and shoulders, then nips at his warm skin; she hears him let out a moan, sparking her to continue. 

When he pulls back for a second, he whispers, “You drive me insane… you make me so desperate…”

She whimpers as he kisses and licks and sucks and bites at the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. 

“Sebastian…”

His hungry lips travel further south, worshiping every centimeter of her breasts, suckling at her nipples. She squirms beneath him, arching her back. Her breathing is growing heavier, her gasps becoming louder. 

Sebastian’s fingers find their way between her legs. He knows she’ll be dripping, yet still must feel it for himself. He slides a finger over her sensitive bud, tracing circles as she shrieks. 

Kate can feel how hard he is. “Sebastian… please,” she begs. “Please make love to me.”

His heart races at her request. Still teasing her clit, he whispers seductively, “I am going to fill you to the brim. You… You are making me crazy. I want you more than anything.”

Sebastian kisses her lips again, languidly and full of passion. Then, he takes himself in hand, sliding his thick manhood along her slick. Guiding himself, he slowly enters her heat as she moans his name, her legs opening wider for him as she accepts his full length. His eyes never leave her face. Fully sheathed, he leans in to press his lips to hers again. He squeezes her breast as he kisses her, waiting for her to be completely comfortable before he makes any further move.

“Oh, my gods, Bash,” she whines. “Please…”

He begins to slowly thrust, watching her face twist in pleasure. He himself moans, wishing to move faster, and it isn’t long before he makes that change. Picking up her legs, he throws her feet over his shoulders, allowing him to plunge even deeper. 

Sebastian groans. “So tight… so wet…”

His strokes are powerful. Gripping her hips, his fingertips dig into her skin. His speed increasing, he pounds into her as if his life actually depended on the motion. It’s loud. He slaps against the flesh of her arse, still tinged red from yesterday’s spanking.

Kate can’t stop shrieking, not for even a moment. This position is intense, and she feels herself winding up. Wanting to draw it out, Sebastian suddenly changes his pace. After moving so quickly, he begins thrusting slow and deep, over and over. Then, he switches it up again, back to stroking as fast as he can. Kate can hardly breathe; release is coming. Her full breasts bounce up and down, providing a view to her boyfriend that only turns him on more.

“You’re so perfect… so beautiful… Kate… I can’t stop…”

Sebastian cannot think anymore of anything other than fully claiming her as his. His groans grow more frequent and loud as her inner walls tighten around his cock. 

“I’m gonna-” she begins and cuts out, shouting his name as she comes. “Seb! Seb!!!”

There is no slowing down. Sebastian continues thrusting into her tight heat. Her orgasm is long and drawn out, much to his pleasure. Her cheeks are rosy, her body marked by love bites. He wants Kate to only dream of him, to be his possession… This thought and the sight of her lustful release makes him lose control. With raspy breath, he spears into her a few more times and then comes, panting. He moans as an excessive amount of his hot seed spurts out, coating her inner walls. 

As if Sebastian was actually trying to impregnate Kate, he uses his own cock to push his cum, threatening to spill out of her, right back in. The ultimate claim, what he most desires, is for his seed to take root, for life to grow - it is enough to make his heart burst and make him want to fuck her all over again.

Kate’s eyes are blank, as if she is looking at another world entirely. Breathless and trembling, it takes her a while to come down from her high. When she does, she gazes upon Sebastian, his expression both feral and adoring all at once. 

Still inside her, he leans in to kiss her again. “Gods…” he mumbles. “I cannot get enough of you. I cannot get enough of these kisses. All of this - it’s just too short. It needs to be extended for hours.” He presses his lips to hers again, his tongue tracing her bottom lip.

“Oh, my moon,” she whispers, then is quickly pulled into another kiss. “We… We have a lot to accomplish today…”

“But… to do what we must…” Sebastian whispers in her ear, his voice sultry and husky, “Perhaps we should get all worked up again.”

“That’s a terrible idea. There is only so much daylight, and we need our energy for the castle!” Kate laughs. “We can spend whatever is left afterward.” She flashes a flirty smile. “Let’s make our final night of the trip… memorable later.”

“Of course,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing her neck and causing her to whimper as he focuses on a sensitive spot. “Let’s make sure this is the most memorable night of our entire holiday.”

Kate gently pushes him away and speaks playfully. “It’s going to be difficult to top all of the romantic moments we’ve had. Hopefully you have something in mind to make tonight even better.” 

“I have so many ideas - I’m not even sure where to begin,” he tells her suggestively. “I’ll just have to let my instincts take over… and allow myself to lose control…”

“My goodness, Mr. Sallow,” Kate replies innocently. “Is that wise?” She bats her eyelashes. “That sounds a bit dangerous to me…”

“Wise, Kate? I never claimed to be wise… But dangerous? That is precisely the point. I want to just let it all go - let go of my reason and better judgment.”

“If you’re saying you’ve never yet lost control with me, then what on earth will tonight be like?” Kate questions with a sly grin on her face, tracing a finger over his jawline. “But perhaps…” She plucks her finger away. “Perhaps it is best left as a mystery until later.”

Sebastian’s brows raise as she teases him. “Ah, but Kate, my dear…” he whispers in a low tone with a playful smile as his hand reaches out to run through her hair, brushing over her bare shoulder. “Do you really want to leave it all to mystery? You could let yourself imagine… just how uncontrollable your future husband might become…”

Kate chuckles. “I can imagine a lot of things. I have a very active imagination, my moon.” She kisses his cheek. “But come, now, we had best clean up breakfast, gather our supplies, and prepare our brooms.”

He sighs. “You are right, my love. We have a lot to do today…” He turns around, getting a hold of himself. “Let’s get ready to go. We have a whole day ahead of us, and then we can explore your… active imagination.”

Kate stands up, laughing, and then gets to work before Sebastian changes his mind.

[zzoomacroom]

Fic: Golden Hour

Dreamling, One-Shot, Retired Dream, Mpreg, Fluff & Smut, 2300 words

Happy Dreamling Week! Here’s my fic for the Tuesday, June 4th prompts “painting” and “massage,” as well as the Saturday 8th prompt “sunrise/sunset.” Big thanks to the mods @mr-sadman for putting this event together! 💗💗💗

This is part of my Retired Dream Mpreg AU, Love Ain’t for Keeping. As of posting this fic, I’ve only posted the first chapter of “Rain Is Coming Down, but the Clouds Will Surely Pass”, but this one takes place in between chapters 4 and 5, so consider this a sneak preview.

If you haven’t read the other fics in this series, here’s what you need to know: Morpheus is about three years into his retirement, he and Hob are married, and they’re having a baby. Morpheus is six and a half months pregnant at this point, Hob has gained some weight, and they’re both insanely horny about each other. That’s pretty much it tbh.

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Summary: Morpheus paints Hob in the nude, then Hob fingers him and rubs his feet. That’s it, that’s the whole fic.

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags and fic below the cut:

Additional tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Smut, Painting, Massage, Foot Massage, Retired Dream, Human Dream, Trans Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Weight Gain, Chubby Hob, Bear Hob Appreciation, Body Image Issues, Married Dreamling, They love each other, they are unhinged for each other, smut, vaginal fingering, Dream has a vulva, praise kink

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“Stay still,” Morpheus murmurs, his brow furrowing as he glances back and forth between the canvas in front of him and his subject, who is sprawled nude on the sofa.

“Sorry,” Hob replies with a penitent smile. He ceases tapping his fingers on his thigh and relaxes back into the cushions, which have been draped with a velvety burgundy throw that complements the healthy tan of his skin.

Morpheus pauses his task of blending the perfect shade of dusky rose to match his husband’s nipples, setting down his palette and resting his hand on the protruding dome of his belly. There is a flurry of movement beneath his palm, accompanied by a now-familiar fluttering and tumbling sensation. The baby has been particularly lively today, and between that and standing in front of his easel for the last hour, Morpheus is growing weary. His neck is sore from hunching over the canvas, and his feet are swollen and achy, but the painting is almost finished.

It is the golden hour, just before sunset, and Morpheus is determined to finish this piece now, while the light is perfect. Bold rays of sunshine stream through the window of their sitting room above the New Inn, and Hob looks utterly resplendent swathed in the dazzling beams of gold and bronze. The light ignites sparks of copper in his beard and in the forest of dark hair on his chest and thighs. The sunlight adores Hob, kisses him reverently and renders him into something holy.

He is too exquisite to depict accurately, at least not with such insufficient means as oil on canvas. Were Morpheus still the King of Dreams, he would craft a dream of eternal love and beauty based on the vision before him, one that would inspire passion in dreamers and reduce even Desire to tears. Alas, Morpheus is only a man now, and this imperfect likeness will have to suffice.

He layers strokes of sienna and umber over planes of rosy flesh tones, accentuating the shadow of Hob’s belly where it swells above his heavy prick, which rests elegantly against his thick, furred thigh. Hob’s body has changed almost as much as Morpheus’ in the last few months; “sympathy weight,” as Matthew had said. While Morpheus is not altogether pleased with his own appearance at present, he was surprised to find himself feeling very enthusiastic about his husband’s new physique. His appreciation for Hob’s body is something base and carnal, something foreign and yet innate to this new human form—it seems he is hard-wired to crave warmth and softness, safety and shelter, and Hob offers all of those things, freely and in abundance.

Hob has always been a handsome man; Morpheus acknowledges that he has been attracted to him since 1789, at least. The first time they made love, Morpheus had delighted in his strong, solid build and the lush hair that blankets most of his body. He had been mildly surprised, however, to see that Hob was so spare—not as slight as Morpheus, but lean and wiry, with an alluringly trim waist. Now, though...Hob has filled out considerably, and Morpheus...likes it. Very much. He does, of course, love and desire his husband regardless of any trivial physical changes, but he can admit that he has. A preference. For this “dad bod,” as Hob so aptly calls it.

Morpheus continues to paint, hastily peppering in dots of vermilion and amber in an attempt to capture the brilliant blaze of the dying sun as it bedecks his lover in its radiance. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stretches his neck and shoulders, and he sees that Hob is watching him intently while he works, tracking each subtle motion with a flick of his eyes.

“Time for a break, do you think? Starting to get a bit restless here, love,” Hob says with a soft chuckle.

Morpheus is grateful that Hob did not insinuate that he is the one who needs a break, even though he undoubtedly sees how tired Morpheus is. He knows that this is...something he must work on. But it does not come easily to him, admitting that he has. Vulnerabilities. Weaknesses. Human needs. It is difficult for Morpheus to...allow himself to be taken care of. To be loved. But Hob wants only to love and care for him, and he is exceptionally skilled at both. Morpheus is. Learning. To accept this. To accept his own humanity, for all the struggles and joys that it holds.

“I am almost finished,” Morpheus replies, frowning at the canvas. “Five more minutes.”

“Alright, but I’m holding you to it,” Hob smiles. “Can’t believe you still want to paint me, now that I’ve let myself go.”

Morpheus rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. This conversation again. “Beloved, how many times must I tell you that you are more beautiful than ever? I wish you would not speak ill of yourself.”

“You know,” Hob says loftily, with a raise of his eyebrow, “I could point out that we could go tit for tat on that matter. But I’ll be the bigger man—literally and figuratively, in this case—and say that you’re right, darling. And I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Morpheus smiles and huffs fondly, shaking his head as he returns to his work. It is nearly complete—he only needs to fix this swirl of chest hair, that charming streak of silver that runs from his sideburn to his beard and gleams in the rapidly fading sunlight. If Hob will not take his words to heart, then Morpheus must show him, through the painting, how magnificent he is. How splendid, how adored.

“It is done,” Morpheus announces almost precisely five minutes later.

Hob’s face instantly lights up as he leaps from the sofa and strides over to Morpheus. Hob is always so fascinated by Morpheus’ art, so enthusiastic and supportive of all of his endeavors. Even when he does not see the beauty of the work’s subject.

Hob stands beside Morpheus and gazes at the painting with the same look of wonder and reverence that he always has when seeing one of his works for the first time. He looks even more affected by this one, and his voice wobbles when he speaks. “It’s gorgeous, dove. I...I can’t believe this is really how you see me.”

“It is. Not quite what I see when I look at you,” Morpheus replies, rubbing his sore neck and stifling a wince. “Your beauty is too great to be expressed through such a mundane medium. But. I suppose...this does come close.”

“Y’know, it never stops being weird, hearing that from the most gorgeous being in the universe. But as always, I’ll take your word for it, darling.” Hob moves to stand behind him and begins massaging his neck and shoulders, kneading out the tension and leaving behind gentle kisses in its place. It’s so good that Morpheus could cry—the way Hob touches him, like he infuses every caress with all of his love and devotion, is...divine. Morpheus has met gods, has known ecstasy that would shatter mortal minds, and yet nothing compares to the simple bliss of his husband’s touch.

Hob comes closer, pressing himself to Morpheus’ back and hooking his chin over his shoulder. He wraps his arms around Morpheus’ middle, cradling his belly and stroking gently. Morpheus leans his head back against Hob’s shoulder and lets his eyes fall closed. He is nude as well (clothing has become a nuisance at this stage of his pregnancy), and he revels in the warmth of Hob’s skin against his own, the soft cushion of his belly and the pleasant scratch of chest hair against his bare back.

Hob’s hands begin to explore lower, probing between Morpheus’ legs and running a teasing finger down his slit, eliciting a sharp inhale from Morpheus. He spreads open the folds of his cunt and circles his thumb around his clit, humming approvingly all the while.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re so wet,” Hob whispers into Morpheus’ neck. “Is this just from staring at me for the last hour?”

Morpheus has a snappy comeback to that, but it vanishes from his mind and dies on his lips as Hob dips two fingers inside his slick entrance and presses his thumb to his clit. Morpheus moans and grinds backwards against him, wanting his lover as close as possible. He feels a twitch of interest where Hob’s cock rubs against the cleft of his arse, but he is still soft; they had just finished making love for the second time today when Morpheus had dragged Hob to the sitting room to finish his painting. No matter. Morpheus can be patient, especially when Hob is working a third finger inside him, kissing his jaw and whispering sweet praise and debauched filth in his ear.

Hob’s fingers move faster, stroking his g-spot and clit simultaneously, and the wet, squelching noise it makes is absolutely obscene. “You look so beautiful like this. Can you come for me, love?” Morpheus’ head falls back against Hob’s shoulder as he reaches his peak with a shuddering whine. “That’s it, darling. Oh, you’re doing so well. So perfect,” Hob croons. Morpheus sobs and comes again at the praise, and Hob coaxes him through it, soothing and petting his belly with his free hand. He slowly pulls his fingers free from the clenching grasp of Morpheus’ hot, tight cunt and brings them to his lover’s mouth. Morpheus opens eagerly at the gentle press of Hob’s thumb against his lips, and he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a contented hum, diligently licking away every trace of his own spend.

“Mm, just like that, love. So beautiful,” Hob murmurs, turning Morpheus around in his arms and licking into his mouth, kissing him deeply and chasing the salty-sweet taste on his tongue. Morpheus leans into his husband’s embrace, feeling rather dizzy and weak in the knees after all that. Hob takes his weight easily, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him to the sofa. “I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you. Shh, it’s alright. You just lie down and I’ll be back in a tick.” Hob maneuvers him into a supine position on the sofa, and Morpheus’ mind is currently too fuzzy to do anything but admire the view of Hob’s shapely backside as he heads towards their bedroom.

Hob returns moments later, smelling of the jasmine-scented hand soap from the bathroom and carrying the lavender lotion that Morpheus likes. He has also put on joggers, which Morpheus is less pleased about. Hob sits at the opposite end of the sofa and pulls Morpheus’ feet into his lap. Morpheus cannot hold back the decadent groan that escapes from his mouth when Hob starts to rub the lotion into his aching soles, soothing away the pain and pressing tender kisses to each toe.

Before Hob, no one had ever touched Morpheus’ feet. It had never occurred to him, and he never would have allowed it. But he wishes now that he had experienced this when he still had the power to craft dreams; the sensuality and intimacy of this simple pleasure would have made a lovely fantasy. In many ways, it is as enjoyable as sex. Well. Almost as enjoyable.

Morpheus loses himself to the sensation, indulging in the worshipful touch that Hob so lovingly bestows on him. He is just beginning to doze when he hears a snort of laughter from Hob. He cracks one eye open and gives a questioning hum.

“I was just thinking,” Hob says with a grin. “We’re going to have to hide all of these when your sister comes to visit.” He jerks his head towards the corner of their sitting room that has more or less become a shrine to Hob; there are paintings, sketches, and sculptures in various styles and media. Most are nude, and some are merely depictions of his genitals. Though Morpheus was once married to Calliope, it is safe to say that he has another muse these days.

“It is nothing she has not seen before,” Morpheus replies with a lazy shrug. “My sister’s sensibilities are not so delicate; you should see the parties that Desire throws.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not,” Hob laughs. “And I’d also rather not let my sister-in-law see these incredibly accurate and lifelike sculptures of my cock, if you don’t mind.”

“The sculptures do not do the subject justice. And you have never objected to Matthew seeing them.”

“Sure, but that’s different. I don’t give a toss what Matthew thinks. Besides, he’s objected plenty. He avoids that side of the room like the plague, and haven’t you noticed he’s been coming in through the kitchen window lately?”

“Very well,” Morpheus relents with an exaggerated sigh, “I suppose that is fair, my husband.”

“Thank you, darling,” Hob says, leaning over to place a kiss to his husband’s rounded belly.

“But you will have to find a place to store them. Perhaps you can clean out the closet, as you have been promising to do for months,” Morpheus adds, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

Hob groans and slumps over into Morpheus’ lap, like a puppet with its strings cut. “Alright, fine, you win. Damn, foiled by my own modesty.”

Morpheus scoffs and fixes Hob with a deadpan glare. “Hob. You have no modesty.”

Hob bursts out laughing at that and, without warning, grabs Morpheus by the ankles and hauls him into his lap. He growls playfully, and Morpheus’ surprised shriek quickly turns into hoarse, croaking laughter as Hob tickles his sides and nips at his throat. He collapses on top of his husband, capturing his mouth in an ardent kiss. They remain there, locked in a passionate embrace and oblivious to everything but each other as the last embers of the sun are extinguished and replaced with the dreamy glow of street lamps.

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Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

[that-reading-geek]

Broken guitar strings

Crowley x Aziraphale, sugar daddy AU, Human AU

Chapter two

Contains nsfw scenes

Posted on A03

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale spend some quality time together before and after work, Aziraphale learning some more about Crowleys backstory, as well as his body.

Crowley and Bee meet with Muriel at Crowleys gig of the night, and spend the evening together. Crowley gets paid his first paycheck from Aziraphale.

When Crowley woke up to an unfamiliar room and blankets that actually kept him from freezing over night, the initial shock and confusion had him bolting upright and glancing around the room frantically. He stared at the bookshelves and cluttered desk, misremembering where he had accidentally fallen asleep last night. It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door and the smell of waffles wafting through that all memories of yesterday evening came flooding back to him, hitting him like a truck.

“Good morning dear, I made breakfast, I didn’t know what you like so I thought you can’t go wrong with waffles and berries!” Aziraphale said cheerily as he stepped into the room. He placed the tray of food at the end of the bed, before looking at Crowley puzzled. “Are you alright my boy? You’re looking rather frazzled.”

“’m fine Aziraphale... jus’... woke up confused...” Crowley mumbled, trying to smooth his hair down. “Sorry for falling asleep, didn’t mean to stay the night.” When Crowley looked to his right, he noticed the un-slept-in half of the bed, and suddenly guilt gnawed at his chest.

“Oh nonsense, it was quite nice to have your company,” Aziraphale giggled.

Crowley shrugged and flopped back against the pillows, he would go back to sleep if he was in his own bed, but alas he wasn’t, so instead he peered up at the other man.

Aziraphale tutted, “Come and eat your breakfast dear,” he said, although he did silently agree that more sleep would be divine.

Crowley realised that even after his 2 meals yesterday, which was far more food than he was used to on the daily, his stomach was practically clawing at him for food, and the smell of the waffles did seem delicious. He didn’t want to waste them after Aziraphale had clearly put in so much effort for him.

He sat up and scooted to the end of the bed, where Aziraphale had perched. The waffles were a beautiful golden brown, with syrup pooling off of them and a litter of berries scattered on top. He took the cutlery Aziraphale had so graciously offered him and cut a piece, before biting it with a satisfied moan.

With his mouth still full, he stabbed another piece and held it up to Aziraphale, “Have some.”

The other man only scorned him lightly for not finishing his mouthful before speaking, before taking the piece Crowley had offered him into his own mouth and chewing. The two spent their morning eating the waffles together and occasionally feeding each other mouthfuls or some berries, before Aziraphale was gently dabbing at his own mouth with his handkerchief and then doing the same to Crowley, despite his protests.

“Do you have work today my dear?” Aziraphale asked as they finished off the waffles.

Crowley nodded “Mmph, yeah, not till 12 though.”

Aziraphale hummed in thought, “Perhaps we could talk some more, or I could show you around, since we didn't get the chance to yesterday.”

Crowley blushed at the memory, but nodded all the same. The two stayed in bed for a couple more moments, allowing Crowley’s food to settle before Aziraphale was encouraging him out of the warmth and comfort to go on a little tour of the bookshop.

Crowley had his arms wrapped around himself, his button down and jeans were doing little to keep him warm now that he had emerged from Aziraphale’s blankets. He hadn’t changed out of yesterday’s clothes before falling asleep, and he somewhat regretted not bringing at least a jumper.

“Pull this on,” Aziraphale chuckled, handing Crowley a cream, cable-knit jumper from his wardrobe, “It may be a bit big, but no matter, we wouldn’t want you freezing, would we dear?”

Crowley took it gratefully as his lips pulled into an awkward line that was supposed to be a smile, “Well aren’t you an angel,” he teased, before pulling the jumper over his head. It was, as Aziraphale had warned, big on Crowley. But Aziraphale secretly came to the conclusion that Crowley looked rather adorable in his jumper, with the sleeves covering his hands the way they did. The smaller man didn’t pay much attention to it, just rather grateful for the extra layer, and he did have to admit it was rather comfortable.

Aziraphale showed him the whole bookshop, lower and upper floor. The ground level contained the main bookshop, as well as Aziraphale’s office and the small living space that Crowley blushed at the sight of. The blankets laying over the back of the sofa that hadn’t been there the previous evening solved Crowley’s question as to where Aziraphale had slept last night, and the sting of guilt made itself known once more. Upstairs contained the bedroom that Crowley found himself missing as they passed the door. Aziraphale showed him the bathroom, the little kitchenette and dining area, as well as a mini reading nook that was tucked away out of sight, with a window and pillows and of course a reading light. Crowley found himself running his fingers over the spines of perfectly looked after books, reading the titles and not recognising a single one.

“Do you too, have an affinity for reading dear boy?” Aziraphale said softly, coming up behind him to peer at the books he was looking at.

“Ngk, not really, ‘less its sheet music, like plants though,” He glanced up at Aziraphale, who had propped his chin on the smaller mans shoulder.

Aziraphale simply smiled and nodded, “I may have some music books or plant guides you could borrow downstairs, help yourself should the need arise.”

Crowley nodded and thanked him, finding himself leaning into the other man and welcoming the arms that wrapped around his waist. Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder that had Crowley’s face heating up and the tips of his ears burning red. He wasn’t used to this type of gentle touch, but he could sure get used to it if this was what came with their deal. He gasped softly as Aziraphale’s kisses, feather-light and innocent, climbed up his neck and found their ways to his cheek and lips. Aziraphale giggled and he squeezed Crowley’s waist gently, placing one more kiss on the tip of Crowley’s nose before pulling away.

The taller man checked his watch, before humming softly, “May I walk you to work dearest? We have about half an hour.”

“Need to go home first,” Crowley shrugged, shivering at the lack of contact, “Change my clothes and shit, don’t want to make you wait.”

“Oh nonsense, I don’t mind, honestly.”

Crowley shook his head, “I’ll meet you at the shop.”

Aziraphale nodded and gently took his hands, kissing the younger mans knuckles, before the two were making their ways to the front door and Crowley was walking down the street to his apartment.

Crowley managed to make it to his shift with about five minutes to spare. He’d changed his clothes and put his guitar on its stand, promising to practise as soon as he was home. He greeted Nina with a wave and pulled his apron on, hanging his sunglasses over the top hem. He began by cleaning up a few mugs from empty tables and taking orders. Aziraphale was sitting at a table in the corner, waiting for him as promised, but with how busy the coffee shop was currently, Crowley had no time to stop and chat.

About half an hour passed before the foot traffic was low enough that Aziraphale took his chance to join the relatively short queue and order his usual. Crowley had the drink ready just as he approached the counter, holding the cup out without meeting his eye.

“Thank you dear,” Aziraphale said softly, their fingers brushing as he took the cup.

Crowley only met his eyes when he saw Aziraphale put a £20 note in the tip jar.

“Aziraphale!” He hissed, “that’s too much.”

“Nonsense dear, its only £20,” Aziraphale giggled, taking Crowley’s hand that had been previously on the counter.

“Mmph,” Crowley said, eyes now trained on their joined hands.

“I’m going to go find a table, will you come to the bookshop after your shift?”

“Yeah... dinner?”

“What do you fancy?”

“Don’t mind.”

“Think on it, we’ll get whatever you like.”

Crowley nodded and took his hand back as Aziraphale made his way back to his table. Crowley started taking the next person’s order, and soon he was back in the swing of his shift.

“What was that about?” Nina asked Crowley once there was a break in customers.

“What was what about?”

“You and Mr Fell.”

Crowley glared at her, though the blush on his cheeks made it a lot less threatening than he intended. “It was nothing, just chatting.”

“You don’t chat Crowley.”

He huffed and turned away from her, ignoring Nina’s knowing look in favour of pretending to organise the fridge.

The end of his shift couldn’t come any slower, and once he was putting his sunglasses back on and hanging his apron up, Crowley was beyond exhausted. It was 6pm and he’d told Nina she could head home. Locking up gave him the opportunity to catch his thoughts; Aziraphale had left a few hours ago, and he couldn’t help thinking of the other man for the rest of his shift. Crowley found himself glancing towards the bookshop, catching Aziraphale’s eye once or twice, earning a big grin.

The musician wiped the tables and turned off all the lights, double checking everything before heading out and locking the door behind him. He made his way across the road to the bookshop, knocking on the door almost guiltily.

Aziraphale welcomed him in moments later, ushering Crowley into the shop and towards the back.

“Have you decided what we should get for dinner?” the bookseller asked softly, leading Crowley to a sofa, who simply shook his head.

He hadn’t thought about it since Aziraphale had said to earlier, and was regretting the pressure he’d put on himself now that he was sat down in Aziraphale’s home.

Aziraphale sat down beside him, keeping a couple feet distance between them. “Would you rather go out or eat in?”

“In... something quick, please.”

“How about I give you my phone and you can choose whatever you like? No pressure.” Aziraphale said softly, getting his phone from his waistcoat and holding it out.

Crowley took it slowly and curled into the corner of the sofa, scrolling through the food delivery app and seeing what there was to offer.

Aziraphale picked up a book that was on the coffee table, busying himself whilst Crowley found something for dinner. It wasn’t clear how much time had passed; Aziraphale only looked up once he felt Crowley tap him on the arm, the musician holding his phone out with a shy smile on his face.

Crowley allowed Aziraphale to pull him closer, the older man keeping an arm around his waist as he leant on his shoulder. Aziraphale hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, going through to add his own meal to the order before placing it for delivery. Crowley couldn’t help but curl into the others side, absorbing the warmth that Aziraphale’s embrace seemed to practically radiate with.

As they waited for food to arrive, Aziraphale asked about Crowley’s day, the musician telling him about the few memorable things that happened over the course of his shift. Crowley asked Aziraphale his own questions, learning about how the older man spent his afternoon when he wasn’t staring through the window of the coffee shop. He learnt about the book Aziraphale had been reading, the shelves he had organised, the conversations with customers that all ended in them leaving empty handed. He learnt about what Aziraphale was thinking, about where his mind had wandered as the evening drew closer.

“I thought about you a lot too,” Crowley said after Aziraphale told him about how he wished Crowley’s shift would end faster to give him an excuse to hold him again.

“Oh?” Crowley couldn’t ignore how Aziraphale’s hand had migrated from his waist to his thigh, gently petting his denim-clad skin. “Tell me more.”

The musician looked up at him, “just... general stuff,” he said quietly.

“Like? C’mon dear, I don’t judge.”

Crowley blushed and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, looking away from the bookseller. “Like... mmph... meeting people you work with, or what your parents would think, or uhm... like what people will see when we’re.. out...” Crowley swallowed, “and the thing we did yesterday.” He looked up, expecting to see some sort of hurt emotion on Aziraphale’s face, or something more disgusted, but Crowley was pleasantly surprised when all he was met with was a happy smile and red cheeks.

“What do you want people to see when we’re out?”

Oh, so that’s what they were talking about now.

“I dunno... something normal.”

“Normal is rather far-fetched with an agreement like ours dear,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Mmph... I know, just-“

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then another to his forehead, and a final one to his lips. “We can try and do normal.”

Crowley nodded and tucked his head underneath Aziraphale’s chin, an action that was short lived as Aziraphale said: “Now about what happened yesterday...” the older man’s hand was still rubbing his thigh, his voice quiet as Crowley peered up at him.

The two gazed at each other, eyes locked as the musician tried to ignore Aziraphale’s hand on his thigh. Moments passed of simple staring and gentle one-sided touching, Crowley hesitating to rest his hands anywhere other than his lap.

A knock at the door caused Crowley to practically jump out of his skin, leaping away from Aziraphale before attempting to play it cool. He sat back against the sofa, watching as Aziraphale calmly stood from the sofa and answered the door, taking the food delivery and tipping the driver graciously.

As Aziraphale returned, Crowley pretended to be busy on his phone, only glancing up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes before darting back to his phone. Aziraphale only chuckled and pulled the food containers put of the bag and onto the coffee table, before leaning over and pecking Crowley’s cheek, mumbling “come eat,” against his skin.

Crowley nodded softly and slowly put his phone down, noting how Aziraphale remained close as he did so. The musician simply smiled up at him and leant forwards to pick up his food, watching as Aziraphale did the same. Curled into the corner of the sofa, Crowley opened his food and the cutlery that came with it and ate, noticing how Aziraphale left him alone for the time being. The two talked them participated in a one sided conversation, Aziraphale asking questions for Crowley to nod or shake his head to, the musician slowly unfurling and sitting closer to the other.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Crowley looked away from his food to look at Aziraphale, “What?”

“Earlier, when the food arrived,” Aziraphale explained, “I was touching you and now you’re not coming very close, I just hope I haven’t over stepped your boundaries.”

“Oh,” Crowley almost whispered, “no, not uncomfortable, sorry, just uhm... different.” He haphazardly explained. “Not really used to it, but didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief, placing his now empty food container down and turning to face Crowley properly. “How come it’s different?” He asked softly.

“ngk, haven’t had a... relationship for a long time, just hook-ups, nothing serious enough that there’s enough time for casual touching.”

Aziraphale nodded, “Do you prefer that? Hookups?”

“Not really, not most of the time anyway,” Crowley said softly, “I like the personal stuff, having someone look after me for once, I like it... uhm, when you hold me and touch me, all I thought about after you left...”

Aziraphale smiled softly and shuffled to sit closer to Crowley, holding an arm out to the younger man, an invitation which he less than hesitantly accepted. “May I continue?”

Crowley nodded and curled in close, finishing off the last of his food as Aziraphale wrapped his arm around his waist, continuing his gentle touches and kisses. He put his now empty food container on the table and allowed Aziraphale to pull him into his lap, smiling as he leant against the older man. Crowley couldn’t help but let his mind wander and Aziraphale continued his innocent touches, thinking about the other man’s hands all over him, under his clothes, weaved into his hair. Glancing up at Aziraphale, Crowley thought back to their agreement, and then to the burning sensation Aziraphale’s fingers now left on his body.

It wasn’t until Crowley felt the tingling sensation of Aziraphale’s hands on his inner thigh that he recognised his own arousal. He could feel himself leaning into the other man’s hold, wishing Aziraphale’s hand would touch him where he needed it most.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale mumbled softly, smiling at Crowley’s near desperate nod. He allowed his hands to wander further in, cautiously noting Crowley’s reaction as he rested his hand on the younger mans groin. Earning verbal consent, Aziraphale carefully unzipped the fly of Crowley’s jeans, gently sliding his hand into the waistband of his boxers and palming the man carefully.

Crowley gasped softly at the feeling of Aziraphale’s soft hands on him, he keened, tucking his face into Aziraphale’s chest as the other continued palming him gently. The musician couldn’t help but allow his own hands to wander towards the fly of Aziraphale’s slacks, attempting to return the favour, however his hands were stopped short by Aziraphale’s free one, Crowley blushing as the other whispered: “Let me look after you.”

When Aziraphale’s fingers finally wrapped around his dick properly, Crowley let out a moan, hand reaching out to grip onto the older man’s arm. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile as he watched Crowley’s eyes shut in pleasure, back arching in a gentle curve as he began pumping his hand, allowing him to bask in the long overdue pleasure he could supply.

Aziraphale pressed gentle kisses to Crowley’s cheeks, trailing his lips along the younger man’s jaw and to his neck, before pressing a final one to his shoulder and beginning the process once again. Crowley keened against him, hands fisting the sleeve of Aziraphale’s shirt as the movement on his cock sped up. The musician practically melted into Aziraphale’s hold, moans slipping past his lips in a tenor he didn’t know he was capable of.

“Angel!” He gasped when Aziraphale squeezed his shaft, the pet name slipping out before he could even stop himself. The older man simply grinned and pumped his hand faster causing a string of curses and more repeats of the accidental nickname to pour from Crowley’s lips, before he was babbling that he was close, cumming over his thighs and Aziraphale’s fingers with a deep shudder.

Crowley nestled into Aziraphale’s side as the older man ran his fingers through his hair, the two sitting in a comfortable silence as Crowley caught his breath. With cum drying quickly on his thighs, Crowley shifted in mild discomfort, before beginning to stand from his place on Aziraphale’s lap. The older man stopped him in his tracks, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table and cleaning Crowley up before scooping him into his arms and standing from the sofa.

“Mmph-“ Crowley huffed, glancing up at him questioningly.

“Shall we get a bath dear boy?” Aziraphale smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead.

Earning a nod, Aziraphale carried Crowley upstairs and into the bathroom, carefully setting him on the sink counter to run a bath. He added bubble bath and lent a tray across the top, fetching various soaps and scrubs. He set the items on the tray before walking over and standing between Crowley’s legs.

Crowley undressed himself , kicking his jeans off and tugging them of when they got stuck on his ankles. He slowly pulled his shirt off too, sitting in his boxers as he peered up at Aziraphale. The other man in question grinned at the sight of Crowley now bare chest, before allowing Crowley to kick his boxers off before lifting him up and carrying him to the bath. Aziraphale set Crowley in the warm water, kneeling beside the tub allowing the musician to get comfortable. He took a bottle of body wash and pouring some onto a wash cloth, before beginning to wipe him down once gaining consent.

“I don’t need all this Angel...”

“Nonsense, aftercare after sex is necessary.”

“That was hardly sex...” Crowley mumbled, “and I don’t want to be wasting your water.”

“Oh hush, you never have to worry about that.”

Crowley could only blush and allow Aziraphale to clean his body, he turned to allow him to reach his back, relaxing under the other man’s gentle touches.

“This is beautiful,” Aziraphale said softly, running his fingers gently down Crowley’s back, where a tattoo of a red and black snake marked his skin.

“Thanks,” Crowley whispered, “got it for my 18th birthday... I’d like more... maybe on my arms.”

Aziraphale smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to the tattoo, “that would be lovely...”

After the bath, Crowley was wrapped in one of Aziraphale’s robes, sitting in front of the mirror and carefully towel drying his hair. Aziraphale sat on the bed behind him, watching the way Crowley’s hands expertly moved his hair into the position he liked. Crowley glanced at him through the mirror, eyes only catching for a moment before he was looking away again.

When he was satisfied with his hair, Crowley stood and crawled onto the bed with Aziraphale, leaning into his side once the position was offered. Aziraphale carefully placed a kiss to the top of his hair, holding Crowley close and keeping the musician warm. He leant back, laying against the pillows with Crowley’s head on his chest, the two simply cuddling atop the bedsheets. Aziraphale wrapped both arms around Crowley, pulling him closer in order to properly provide after-care cuddles.

“Mmph, can’t stay long,” Crowley mumbled, pressing his nose into Aziraphale’s shirt.

“No?”

“No... got stuff tonight, with Bee.”

Aziraphale hummed and nodded, “then we better make the most of it hm?”

Crowley smiled drowsily and curled in closer, peering up at Aziraphale through his eyelashes. The older man smiled and kissed his forehead, whispering sweet nothings until Crowley began to nod off. The musician fought to stay awake, but soon gave into the sleep that grappled him, finding comfort in the warm that Aziraphale provided.

Aziraphale let Crowley sleep for a little while, he wasn’t sure what time his plans with Bee were, but he assumed that with how fast he had fallen asleep, Crowley deserved that extra nap. He watched Crowley’s chest rise and fall with each breath, watched his lips part and eyelashes flutter gently, watched as a lock of hair fell from its place and into his eyes. Aziraphale gently brushed the hair from his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before laying back and enjoying the quiet closeness.

Crowley slept for 3 quarters of an hour, eyes fluttering open, before he sat upright in a panic, accidentally slapping Aziraphale’s chest.

“Ngk, sorry, wha’s time?”

“About 9:30, you didn’t sleep too long.”

Crowley nodded and huffed, looking down at where Aziraphale was stilling laying.

“What time are you meeting Bee?” Aziraphale queried.

“Uhm.... bout 10... better get going,” Crowley mumbled. He watched as Aziraphale finally sat up, the older man pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Better get dressed then my dear, i'll walk you out.”

As promised, Crowley did pick up his guitar and practise once he was home, he made sure it was properly tuned and practised a couple of chords, before Bee was texting him that they were outside and he had to pack up to go and meet them. He practically floated down the stairs that lead to the pavement, guitar slung over his shoulder as he greeted Bee.

“Ready?” they asked, eyeing Crowley’s restless hands. The musician was flexing his fingers quickly and shaking his hands at his sides.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Crowley said, continuing to stim.

Bee only hummed and started walking, hands buried in their pockets as Crowley trailed behind. They waited awhile before finally saying:

“You good? You haven’t stopped-“ they mimicked his hand movements, -“you’re not nervous are you? You’ve performed here loads.”

“Ngk, s’nothing, not nervous.”

Bee nodded slowly, not convinced, but dropped the subject and continued the walk in silence. The two approached the bar that both had seen many times, it was one of Crowley’s more regular gigs, most people that worked there knew him, and at least he could score a free drink every now and then. Bee held the door open as Crowley stepped inside, throwing a 2 finger salute to the girl working the bar, she smiled back at him with a nod, and Crowley left Bee to go and set up.

Setting up was always his favourite bit, the regulars would come and sit nearer the front to chat and keep him company, sometimes receiving certain requests or that he come and join them for drinks once he was done (which he usually declined). His favourite regular by far was a young person who went by the name Muriel, the first time he’d met them they had been dragged to the bar by some co-workers and promptly left at the table whilst they all went to the bar to get Shitfaced. They had watched silently, but always smiled and waved whenever Crowley caught their eye or in-between songs. It took a couple more nights until the two spoke, Muriel had approached Crowley as he was packing up and introduced themself. Now, whenever Crowley worked here, Muriel was always the first face he looked for in the crowd of tables.

“Hiya Mr Crowley,” they said, sidling up next to him.

Crowley grinned as he out his guitar down, “Hello Muriel, alone again tonight?”

They nodded somewhat enthusiastically, before hopping up to set on the edge of the stage. They kicked their feet lightly and the two made idle chatter as Crowley finished setting up. Muriel told Crowley all about work and what they’d been up to, whilst Crowley nodded long and occasionally let slip a few details of his own. The two continued talking until it was time for Crowley’s set to start, and a small crowd had formed to listen to their regularly scheduled musician.

Crowley felt in his element in the bar, he had people who actually enjoyed listening to him, he felt comfortable to be more open and himself. Having friends only made the experience so much better, he would never trade the memories he’d made here with anything else. He played a couple of songs from his normal set before taking a handful of suggestions, ranging from the classics to some he had to Google sheet music for; no one cared how well he played, they just enjoyed how personal it was, and everyone had fun.

It was almost midnight when he finally finished, wiping the sweat from his forehead and hopping from the stage to join Bee at the bar. A cold glass of beer had been passed his way, which he accepted gratefully as he leant against the counter. Muriel approached the two slowly, before taking a seat on the other side of Crowley.

“Heya Muriel!” Bee cheered loudly, tipsy, “drink darlin’?”

“Just a j20 Bee,” they half-shouted over the music now playing over the speakers.

Bee nodded, “you got it.”

A j20 spritz was soon slid to the sober of the three, and Muriel accepted it eagerly, clinking the bottle with Crowley’s glass before sipping at the drink. The three participated in half-drunk chatter as Crowley worked off the adrenaline from his set.

No one kept track of how much time passed, only leaving when Muriel’s yawns became frequent, Crowley offering his apartment for the night. With Bee leaning on his shoulder, Crowley led the way home, keeping up the soft chatter between himself and Muriel, more to keep them awake and aware than anything.

He gave Muriel his keys once they’d reached the steps leading to the front door of the building, allowing himself a free hand to help Bee up the stairs and then to the next set that led to his apartment. Once inside, Crowley dumped his friend onto the bed, sighing when they groaned and swaddled themself with his blankets.

“Let me get you some clothes and set up the sofa Muriel...” he said quietly, “Could you get Bee some water? Cups are in the top right cupboard.”

Muriel nodded and did as they were requested as Crowley found some clean pyjamas for them to borrow and sorted out the sofa. The two got settled for bed, Muriel offering to take the sofa and Crowley scooting in next to Bee, who had already taken up three quarters of the bed.

“Bee move your ass,” Crowley hissed, earning a simple groan as they shuffled to give him more space.

He laid back and ignored Bee as they rolled over to face him, pulling up his phone to check if the bar had sent him the money from todays gig. When he opened the app, his total was more than he’d expected, confused, Crowley went to check the tab which told him any transfers had been made to and from his account.

“Shit...” he mumbled, causing Bee to perk up and nosily peer at his phone.

They snorted and grinned, “You musta done good today for him to pay you that much, gabe didn’t even pay me £350 our first day together.” Crowley didn’t meet their eye, still staring at Aziraphale’s name on his screen. “what’dya get up to anyway?”

“We didn’t.. fuck or anything,” Crowley whispered, “but we didn’t... keep out hands to ourselves. And he gave me a bath after... and let me nap on him... it was nice...”

Bee laughed loudly, earning a long ‘shhh’ from Crowley, and then rolled to lay their arm over his chest, “Well done Crowley,” they slurred, before dozing off without a moments pause. Crowley sighed and put his phone down, before pulling a blanket around Bee properly, pressing a soft kiss to his best friends forehead, and closing his eyes to sleep. He didn’t miss how they curled in closer, and sighed contently as the two drifted off.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~~Chapter 2~~

(Ao3 link at the bottom, updates Tuesdays)

Ben has been to a fair number of memorably awkward dinners in his life. From soothing the inevitable culture shock of new dignitaries come to orbit the galactic senate, to peace treaty signings that ended in assassinations rather than weddings; between being a traveling jedi master and living on the ecumenopolis that is Coruscant… he has seen a thing or two. 

Yet somehow this dinner was going to make the greatest hits list of phenomenally awkward events.

"Here Ben, have some more topato salad," Beru offers, nudging the bowl toward him.

He isn’t very hungry after all the rest of the admittedly fine meal, but discretion is indeed the better part of valor. The jedi-in-exile takes another two spoonfuls rather than decline. He plans to stretch the two bites to six or seven tiny ones.

"Thank you, Beru," Ben says with a smile. "I must say, your creativity with topato is astounding. I really didn't know you could do this many things with them." 

Across the table, Owen is trying to light him on fire with his eyes. He ignores the other man. He has nothing on Mace in a mood, and there really isn’t anything for it. Either the moisture farmer would come to like him well enough, or he would not .

Besides, Luke is sitting in his highchair, talking baby nonsense and gumming adorably at mashed topatos. How could anyone be in a bad mood around that* ? If Owen manages to keep his snit going, Ben will simply have to write it off as a chronic and incurable condition.

"I think the topato cakes are a new favorite of mine," he throws out, trying to keep the conversation topic of root vegetables going as long as possible, "Although the casserole was a close second. The hass… hmm… what was it you called it? The accordion cuts on the full one?"

"A 'hasselback'," Beru offers, preening about it, and clearly ignoring Owen’s grumpiness as well. "My grandpa taught me how to do that one."

"Ah yes! That was it. The hasselback was particularly impressive, and rather fun to eat."

He means that, too. When half your crop is topatoes and you come up with this many different ways to prepare them, it really is impressive.

Beru pats his hand, "I'm so glad you've enjoyed everything, Ben. Don't worry, I'll send you home with leftovers."

"Don't spoil me too much!" he jokes with a laugh, but speaks from a place of honesty. It isn't like he has a conservator to put anything in.

Luke replies for the room, big blue eyes squinting closed as he squeals happily, just a hair below the frequency needed to crack glass. Beru snorts at the baby, tidying his face and returning several spoons of mash from highchair table to infant-sized bowl. Even Owen's frown pulls up a hint in amusement.

Conversation fails to pick back up after Luke's outburst though. Alas, the root vegetable topic has run its course. Ben focuses intently on his tiny bites of creamy, oniony salad.

The chatter hasn't been dead more than a minute when he catches Beru giving her husband a black look. Owen tries to dodge its potency by hiding behind a mouthful of bread roll, but that only takes him so far. 

Suddenly the man jumps, banging a knee on the underside of the table… almost like someone had stomped on his foot down there.

Ben inspects his shiny, scratched up dinner spoon, and waits.

There's another stint of quiet while they get into it in silence, speaking in the wordless language of couples everywhere. There's eyerolls, pointed glances toward the couch, flat looks, and raised brows. 

Ben can tell that Owen has lost when the man actually speaks more than five words in a row for the first time all night. 

"Say… wizard. There's something I want to ask you," he prods, gruff.

The jedi perks up, trying to exude friendliness. "Certainly, what is it?" 

"Luke's grandma was allergic to somethin' in vizza wheat. Was wondering if you knew how to check for that without doin’ it the hard way."

"Or if you knew if either of his parents had…?" Beru adds. 

Ben rubs his chin thoughtfully, grateful for the regrowth of hair that had somehow come back in much fuller than before, despite no change in habit. Perhaps he was simply acclimatizing?

"Now that I think about it, Anakin would get a stomach ache if he ate too much bread. I would guess it was simply a mild gluten intolerance? Luke could have that as well."

Owen looks down at the remains of breadroll in his hands, skeptical. "He was intolerant of something in all  bread?" 

Ben shakes his head in a negative, hands lowering. "Different flours can have very little or a great deal of gluten. A little was fine for him, like the bread needed for a kebob or fried food? But a bread pudding would give him indigestion for hours, and make him cranky besides."

Beru smiles, seemingly more pleased than the conversation warranted. "Well that's good to know! We'll have to try giving our little man here just a bit, and see how he does." 

"So we do it the hard way after all," Owen grumbles, "You really don't got any fancy wizard tricks to check?"

Ben laments not having the blood test device that jedi used to carry as commonly as most people would keep a datapad on hand. It would have done the trick, and well… he is curious about the boy's midichlorian count. 

"No, I'm sorry. There's a device that could do it, but I don't have one."

Beru waves him off. "A clue from his dad is more than we had to start with, Ben. Don't stress about it."

He nods, and tries not to, going back to his last two mini-bites of topato. 

The conversation wobbles to life here and there, just enough that the rest of the night feels a bit awkward, but not truly stilted or painful. They make it to dessert, where Luke's sweet tooth joy carries the adults the rest of the way until it's time to say goodnight. 

Beru invites him to stay, citing the desert's dangers as the suns disappear, but by that point Ben longs for his quiet little cave. He does not, however, escape without an abundance of leftovers.

It is a long, quiet walk back across the sands to his hideaway. The darkened interior greets Ben with freshly sand-coated floors and the skitter of nighttime creatures. The shape of stone and surface are unlit by the wan moonlight outside, but that’s quite alright. He has long since memorized the form of his space in the dark.

“I’m back!” he tells the dusty air, shuffling carefully in the pitch black to get to the bed. “I had a lovely time at the Lars’. Beru’s topato game is really something.”

The wrapped containers he’d been given are set along the back wall, where a shelf-like protrusion holds a few things. Mostly nice rocks he’s found here and there.

“I’ve more leftovers than I know what to do with…” Ben complains.

He does. They’re fine in the chilly night, but won’t last through the heat of the day tomorrow. “I suppose I shall… simply have to eat as much of them as possible.”

The thought of eating a feast for the second day in a row turns his stomach.

“Or well… perhaps some of the rock lizards would like a bite?”

No one replies, but that’s to be expected.

“Yes, I think I shall share.”

[tieflingfingers]

What and who: Chapter 1, introduction of Thomasin and Astarion meeting and nautiloid aftermath. Summary: Thomasin, a 45 year-old half-drow, awakes from what her body assumed was a nightmare. The situation brings up old, repressed emotions the violinist/courtesan must contend after being spit out onto the coast. While foraging for food, she's pummeled to the ground by a lithe elf seeking answers. Warning/Content: A lot about two elves trying to navigate their feelings and past traumas. Angst, stressed little folks, and a scuffle with an elven man. Part of series. Word Count: 4,200 Ao3 Link

Perhaps the mind would lend itself to fictitious terrors when one became complacent. Where synapses plucked bad memories from within a mimic, its wooden cavity known to be sharp and uninhabitable. Spitting out plumage. Coughing up bare bones. Little reminders that no one was beyond a nightmare. At least, that’s what Thomasin’s body had come to conclude.

It was the answer to wind stinging her face and billowing smoke filling her lungs. She considered whether life in Baldur’s Gate had become formulaic. Too comfortable, even by subjective means. She had found solace in familiarity, even when her biology begged for whiplash. The dregs of boredom must've ravished her brain.

Maybe the nautiloid was simply a figment of every pleasure of the flesh. One created and warped from guilt long since forgotten. The kind of bizarre dream she’d vent about to friends to make them crinkle their noses. Recounting the ship’s floors, slick and organic with each sinking step. How she felt the urge to shudder at the thought of grabbing its structural tendons for support. At least, it was only mere banter to those off their night shifts, enjoying tarts and chipping varnish from their nails.

Too simple of an explanation.

Had her lungs pleaded for a break from smoking? A revelation where she’d wake up coughing in the dark calm of her apartment and brew coffee so strong it could ward off demons. It’d force productivity. A way to leave the fragmented horrors and replace them with what lurked about Heapside Strand. The moss birthed between its cracked stones. Powdered explosives permanently hazing the air from fireworks. The bustling hole in the wall bakery that always somehow cut through like a safe haven.

That felt like wishful thinking.

Surely, her grand descent back to Faerun would be the sensation of her tilted chair hitting the ground once more. The exact moment a tavern owner kicked its leg, only to tease her for never sleeping enough. Even laugh at her for being startled in the same predictable fashion as every other night. It was tough love, but they couldn’t fault the dressing room for being so cozy. The designated corner for entertainers made it tempting to curl up behind its curtain.

Alas, all were deemed too safe to be true. Reality had its own way of plopping her wherever its heart desired.

Thomasin squinted her eyes at twinkling reflections cast against the water's surface. The sand beneath her warmed in direct sunlight and her body beckoned for an ounce of shade. Despite her movements feeling as heavy as the weight of her skull, the half-elf managed to trudge herself against a monolith of rock. A necessary evil, being of partial drow descent. Sensitivities and freckles alike. They’d always unearth to accommodate her surface-dwelling weather and wear.

With her senses ebbing back in, she noticed she wasn’t becoming regulated, but rather uneasy. Distraught, even. The tale of tingling limbs. Adrenaline fatigue. The epiphany that she was nowhere near home. The abandonment of a simple life she sculpted as her own. 

It was no wonder Thomasin had begun to sob.

At forty-five years old, she often regarded this reaction as childish. At least when she did it. Yet, she couldn’t help it under the fear of the unknown. She figured her vulnerable form was long dead as she imagined many of her youth may be.

Although it wasn’t surprising it only took the confines of a ship to break her. As it always did. Abduction and the intrusion of mind flayers had ricocheted her back. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she repeated in the midst of hyperventilation. 

Long fingers fumbled about and patted every inch of her body for clues or signs of injury. Her shawl was still tied around her waist. Boots laced to the knees, dress secured by old leather corsetry, and a violin string popped. Everything was still intact, from what she could tell.

Her backpack plopped into her lap and she pinched the straps that now clung on by bare threads. Inside were essentials for another day: Half a bottle of whiskey, well-sloshed. A few compact books. An empty box that once housed rolled cigarettes. Miscellaneous rouges and pigments. Trinkets wrapped in thin cloth and a bag of cookies her friend had gifted.

Wiping her eyes from the bleariness of tears left golden smudges against her silver-toned hands and specks of glitter embedded within them. She finally remembered. She was walking home from a friend’s house. These were the remains of moving into a new home still packed away. 

Acceptance that she survived the mind flayers felt involuntary and bashed into her frontal lobe. It was an ever-present pressure asking her to embrace the fear. To succumb to an infiltrator wriggling and buzzing behind her eyeball. A sensation she’d attribute to a migraine or brain inflammation if it weren’t for the faint memory of a worm being stowed away.

Once the carousel of hopelessness took its course, wrapping around again and again until it was paper thin, she had no excuse but to push forward. Exhaustion was null. She was alone. Now was not the time to dwell. And so, she rose from the cool silt and unhooked a dented canteen from her hip, spilling what was left between dry lips.

It was enough momentum to begin walking down the coast. The half-elf swept her surroundings for anything recognizable. Flora, herbs, animals, anything of sustenance. Skills she dusted off, but thanked in a bittersweet way.

Survival methods had been honed for decades, but were now more of a hobby than necessity. Her youth had been thrust into adulthood and grown uncultured buds. Pinched bulbs that grew stronger roots, even if on the constant brink of rot.

All around her was the aftermath of rubble and unlucky fishermen. Folks stocking their little wooden vendor carts now intertwined with the local geography. Their limbs had severed yet expressions remained frozen with the last thoughts of wives and children.

It all tainted the soil.

Thomasin pressed on in hopes of less dire sights.

The nautiloid's wreckage scattered and strewn itself about the beach. Its foreign engineering planted into the sand and created a blockade with a massive presence. The body was a bloodied plum that creaked, split, and spilled mechanical gore. Beyond was a view of a blossoming forest out of reach. As much as the thought made her want to quit, she knew she had to traverse through what was left of the ship.

On the soles of her boots, uneven from a constant shifting gait, the half-elf approached a wall's crumbled opening and peeked inside. The landscape appeared mostly barren. An interior riddled with rubble, thick smoke, and the handful of swarming sentient brains that managed to survive impact. Like those she met in the sky, their unidentifiable maws suckled on bodies ejected from pods. Civilians pulled from their slumber and harvested like the innards of shellfish.

Thomasin took in a deep breath, considering it may be her last, and sidled inside. Her back clung to the shadows. Repetition of prayer flooded her mind. Anything to drown out worrisome thoughts.

The half-elf proceeded to creep through the cave, behind support beams and slumped platforms. Her back, unnatural in its arch, pivoted away from the walls for she feared contact might send her lurching forward. The tactility of its organic nature was uncanny and thus threatening on a primal level. Its texture was natural like an organism trying to replicate organic life with offhand references.

Every breath entering and exiting her lungs struck her as the loudest they'd ever been. But, each step got her closer to an exit. Closer to the potential of her life's work being consumed by a hybrid creature scurrying around the ship. Her heart pounded with every sudden movement the brains made, their body language and lack thereof being unpredictable. The longer she stood still, the longer each second stretched and pulled, begging her to simply run. It was as if all the unkempt energy pooled in her feet.

The half-elf clenched her fists and swallowed down a mass of dread, thick and viscous. 

Only a vessel survives.

Thomsin couldn’t quite calculate how long she spent sneaking along those walls, under staircases, and close to raging flames. How long she'd tip-toed around the dead, victims and tentacles alike. All she could concentrate on was the illumination of an exit point on the other side of the room. Her feet hadn't run that fast in years. At least not over anything this dire.

The half-elf threw her body out into the sunlight and crawled with the sunlight now all too welcomed against her back. She scrambled, not sure when to stop moving, until her rush left her in a nestled corner of trees and bushes. With a moment to finally collect herself, she used it to catch her breath and lock her attention on sprouting wildflowers. Anything pleasant to give herself respite.

But, its pops of color caught her by surprise. Her vision seemed to be blurring. Tears were welling with an upheaval she hadn't experienced in a long while. The day had brought forth more than she'd cried in months.  

Get a hold of yourself, she thought.

Thomasin wiped her eyes in diagonals across her lower lashes to clean what makeup smudges were left. Once her body calmed itself enough to focus, she slid from the safety of her hiding spot and back onto the trail beside it. It looked to be heading toward the forest as she figured.

It was an area lush with plant life. A landscape touched but still allowed to thrive. Where she assumed elder and village folk took sparingly and gave back when possible. There were trees, both towering and low hanging, best for shelter in its isolated pockets. Greenery and uninviting edible plants in abundance. Even a stray berry bush here and there, where small animals hadn't picked their meals yet.

As she began her walk, she peeled back leaves of interest and pulled greens from their nutritious roots. Wildflowers of every shape tucked into her belt. Not edible, but still there for consolation. At least there was beauty in the uncertainty of the wild. 

Not too far out, she spotted a bush with near black specks clinging to its branches. Upon further inspection, they seemed to be dried and almost indistinguishable from seeds that fell from trees and crunched under your boots. The type of fruit mother advised their children to not eat out of fear they misidentified its flesh.

It was often easier to tell children to consider most plants potentially poisonous when they ventured out alone.

Thomasin’s mother, however, formed the foundation of knowledge at a young age. The eye wasn’t the only means of finding food. Books on foraging sat in her childhood home. Adults working the farmlands passed down spoken word tips that still rattled in her head, even now at an age older than her mother ever was.

The half-elf cradled the fruit between her fingers whilst they still hung from thin stems. It looked to be one she remembered having a sour and tart finish. Nothing likely to tear through her stomach or close her throat. But it wouldn’t be a misidentified berry that dug into her own soft flesh. 

Before she could process what was happening, Thomasin felt the unrelenting grip of someone's arm wrap around her waist. They were slightly larger, masculine, and she found herself reckoning with the fact her muscles had never been her saving grace.

She was a woman of snake oil.

Lying and appeasing to trump the aggressive.

In a fluid motion, the half-elf's arms were now bound taut to her sides. Pale arms and white knuckles contrast against linen sleeves grabbing her from behind. Their combined weight toppled. Before she knew it, they had plummeted into a grassy patch. 

Thomasin’s neck stung. A familiar pinch. Even with the steadiest hands, she knew the sensation of a dagger’s point. How their tumble nicked her and nestled its metal within thin flesh. Just barely. Her own subtle movements were now as much of a threat as his hostility.

“You know, the jugular is oddly vulnerable out of our most vital veins. No, bones protecting it. No cartilage. Thankfully, if you answer, you won’t drown in a pool of your own blood.” 

Thomasin gasped for air out of reflex, shallow like a land-stricken fish. The dagger unsheathed from her surface wound and trailed the blood up toward her jaw. Sharp edges were on the verge of slicing with any slight pressure. It took careful observations of the veins in her throat and where it transitioned to bone. Up and up until tucked into the soft pad beneath her chin, where her face was tipped up towards his.

The half-elf studied his features. This was an instinct after decades of confrontations with men. Best to know who to avoid at all costs once successfully fled. 

His eyes were feline in shape. A shade of red lesser seen from what could be presumed as a high elf. The quintessential lithe frame built atop a bone structure designed to look down upon his peers. The sort that may pull names of ancestry out of a hat to justify their behavior. Although it appeared the nautiloid may have thrashed through him all the same.

Curls sloppily undulated down his temples and framed a pallid complexion of pinks and blues. It was as if his own veins darkened and faded throughout his system, leaving a perpetually tired gaze. A grizzled sort of handsome that hadn’t slept nor cared to.

Looks were of no value now though. Her tolerance for men’s backlash had worn her thin and what was left had to be protected at all costs. The only concern now was fight or flight.

“Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” he asked. “Nod.”

The question all but fell upon preoccupied ears. 

Between her distant home and sneaking through a den of cartilage, Thomasin hadn't a chance to fully regulate herself. A basis of constant stress meant her body appeared still, but had no intention of stopping. It propelled every primal instinct. Every method of how to escape a captor like the beasts told in scary campfire tales. Ones where men were used as symbols and their presence amplified to beasts. 

It knew monsters didn’t have to look towering and grotesque. They lurked at all hours. Wore all fashions and used all facets of language and brawn. They lived in the daylight just as her and no amount of logic could untwine that coil. 

Without warning, Thomasin inhaled from her diaphragm and began to hum a quiet note. Its melody shook through octaves and bounced about. Whisper-soft until its lilt bled into a cacophony. Uncontrolled. Nearly a scream that echoed off nearby trees.

From her palms, there was a pale blue glow not unlike what wisped like smoke from her lips. It became a faint aura that swirled before them in a matter of seconds before flitting off the tongue. The magic looked benign, yet infiltrated his thoughts. Intangible loose razor blades that pierced and exposed his ego.

“Let go, you foppish fuck! Foul, forsaken, I’d love to see you prick me!” she shouted. Words that fought their way through her panic and spit out like boulders crumbling down a landslide.

The elven man shuddered. Whether the insult’s pain compounded with her shrieking spectacle was unclear, but it earned the daggered hand clasped over her mouth. He shoved its handle between her teeth and silenced her bite. 

“Harpy! Thought we’d speak like civilized folks, but you’re no lady, are you?” he asked with little sympathy in the tension of his muscles. She could feel his grip tightening as did the hook of his leg. 

Thomasin huffed through her nose in response.

“Calm yourself- don’t lie to me. I saw you scuttling about on that ship with those… monsters . What did they do to me?”

Before he could uncover her mouth, the two were stricken by an indescribable ache. Exhilarating discomfort, perhaps. The binding of whatever sat in their eye sockets attempting to communicate with one another. It disoriented them both and blackened their vision, only to be replaced with fractured memories.

Although Thomasin realized these were not hers. They were familiar routes through unfamiliar eyes. Someone prowling the busy streets of Baldur’s Gate, warping what would be an otherwise common sight at night. It was hazy. Blurred. Overwhelmed by a fear of something not wholly present yet hanging over her. 

The man writhed and grimaced. His clutches loosened and body stiffened not out of dominance but from anxiety of remembering an unseen entity. Despite her muffled breathing slowing to an unstable pace, Thomasin knew she had to act. Even with her eyes still wavering between timelines, her joints sprung. 

With a heft only given to those driven by endorphins, the half-elf pulled her arm from his grasp and flung her elbow upward, making contact with his jaw. Her legs flailed and bucked. Hips twisted and turned. A small dagger unsheathed from a band around her thigh and clenched tight within her silver fist. All done in the name of scrambling just out of arm's reach.

“The same-” She protested. Irritated lungs held their breath and coughed in hopes of open airways. “The same happened to me. They took me too.”

From afar, the fight must’ve resembled a pair of frightened animals. The two sat square on the floor for a moment of silence through an unspoken truce. A safe distance between one another to recover from their scuffle and subsequent psychological quake. Their palms were scuffed with dirt and bright grass stains. Blood mixed into soil.

The lithe elf cradled his jaw with slender fingers and broke the solitude by whispered cursing. 

“I think that was- whatever is playing stowaway in our heads. It feels awful,” she groaned.

As his facial features dropped into stern confusion, his eyes darted about the twigs and random bits of nature scattered before them. It seemed as though his questions were branching out further and further, only to introduce a myriad of new ones. 

Thomasin watched as he etched the series of events into a mental chart. Its gaps were all too wide, leaving him to carve never-ending lines in the dirt. A lost cause.

So, she let herself disengage a bit and softened her tone.

“I don’t know what the hell is inside of us, but I did see what they do.”

His eyes flicked up from beneath his lashes with intrigue. 

“What? What is it?” he sputtered.

“I don’t know how long or why,” she hesitated, “but it seems the worms turned people into mind flayers.”

The elf’s eyes lit up and he erupted into laughter. Bewildered, almost maniacal. “Ha! Yes! Of course! Why wouldn’t that be the case? Turning into monsters, ah!” The emotion suddenly simmered down and he clutched his chest as stones nestled in his gut. Reality was sewing the organ shut with a dull needlepoint. “Everything is too good to be true, isn’t it?”

He sighed.

Thomasin’s attention was affixed to his body language. She was quiet, only tense through her fidgeting hands and heavy breath. Her own pain had dulled. Her concerns of a life left temporarily quelled. The half-elf was simply consumed with whether a calming demeanor could diffuse their tension.

“But, it seems like ours might be dormant. Maybe we can find someone to help,” she said with mollified calm. Her thumb pressed deep against the lid of her blind eye, attempting to alleviate the pressure of what lived within.

“Hm…” The man hummed, taking the time to consider their options. Although his eye contact averted as he noticed the thin stream of blood that had smeared down her neck. “There has to be someone that can help. An expert. There are wizards that can conjure up dragons, why wouldn’t they be able to do a light lobotomy?”

His sardonic quip in the midst of their forlorn fates visibly eased the air between them. He rose from his spot, tucking his blade back into its sheath, and dusted himself into presentable once more. An upturned hand leaned in toward Thomasin. A peace offering.

“I suppose, hrm, an apology is in order,” he stated with a simple nod. He could be difficult to read, but there was something wrestling beneath his confidence and combative nature.  

Thomasin glanced between him speaking and the hand presented for her. Even in hesitance, her exhaustion was catching up with her. The inevitable crash peeking its head once her mind had settled.

 “I- I get it. I easily could’ve gutted you too. That’s what precarious situations are made for.”

As he hoisted her off the ground, he snickered and summed her up.

“Birds of the same feather flock together, it seems,” he said in jest.

“I’m Thomasin,” she uttered, only to catch her tilting balance once she stood up. The lacking grace of her stumble peppered laughter from her lips.

“My name is Astarion. But, oh my, little doe having troubles there? Should I have been more gentle?”

Thomasin rolled her eyes. Charisma and coy remarks could get anyone far. She’d seen it a million times. But the theatrics of an ego and verbal power plays were much easier to deal with than physical turmoil.

The half-elf attempted to compose herself as well. Dusting off her blouse. Smoothing her skirt. Wiping the bloody residue from her neck with the back of her hand.

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she grinned before indulging in canned pleasantry. “Was that memory in the Gate? I’m a musician there. Might have crossed paths.”

“I mean, perhaps. I’m a magistrate though, so we must move in different circles,” he said as if the question was uninspired at best. He started to busy himself with his belt and readjusting the small details of his outfit back into proper order. Laces pulled to similar lengths and sleeves cuffed once more. “I do important work, but it's tedious. Nothing to fawn over. Either way, if we can control these worms, we’ll be back in Baldur’s Gate in no time, I’m sure.”

“Control it?” she scoffed. “How are you considering befriending the thing? We need to rid of it.”

”Well, yes. Semantics.” His twirled a hand to gesture the plan as frivolous, obvious even. “I march out into the woods and find a druid or wizard- I don’t know a damned cleric with a magical touch. Until then, might as well try and make it work for me.”

Thomasin raised a brow, suppressing her urge to debate his reasoning further. She opted to assess the situation and their surroundings. What resources the coast provided and how her travels could ease adapting into new territory. 

“Fine. Do what you will. If you keep it together long enough and promise to not attack me again, we can find a village or town. There’s fishermen strung along the beach. Someone lives around here.” She rolled her shoulder.  “Do you have much experience out in nature?”

“Ha! I’ll say, I’ve had my share of academics, street smarts, but plants…” He looked around with the oblivion of greenery melding into basics. Trees were trees. Leaves were leaves. People sent each other bouquets all the time in the name of romance and hate. It couldn’t be that hard.

“I wouldn’t deny a bit of wisdom to refresh my knowledge. Not my usual cup of tea, per se.” 

Astarion felt free to eye her up and down, the twinkle in his red gaze resurfacing. At least he was smiling now. “Are you asking that I join you? And to think, I was ready to spread your innards all over. Well, if you insist.” He bowed in a manner that felt jocular. “I won’t say no to a damsel that can hold her own.”

He paused to punctuate a counterpoint not yet insisted upon. “Not that I couldn’t keep the both of us safe from the dangers of nature. Blades just require such close quarters. Imagine me with a bow?”

Thomasin was searching for the cracks in his facade. Whether he was genuine or boasting his abilities as to not be left for dead. Either way, it all seemed potentially amusing. Safer to travel as well, with the privilege of being witnessed with a man.

“Let’s get you something to shoot with then. I can’t do all the heavy lifting,” she said, offering a hearty pat upon his shoulder like comradery amongst dock workers.

Astarion recoiled, flinched, and made the smooth transition of playing it off with a laugh. It was obvious he was uncertain why she had touched him or how to respond. He leaned aside to grab her backpack from where it tumbled and hand it back to her. But, not without his eye for detail narrowing in on loose stitches.

“You should look into fixing that,” he commented before making his way down the trail.

“Eilistraee, guide me,” Thomasin spoke with whispered breath.

She picked up her pace, doing a short trot, and caught up with him.

[pixies-and-poets]

Music of the Night - Chapter Six

This part is pretty long, and also a bit time-skippy, but I had to do both or else I could easily get caught up writing this fanfic for the rest of my life. But now I can safely say that the next chapter will be the last. Thanks to everyone who's come on this terrible journey with me!

Slight emetophobia warning, and body horror as usual.

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

Chapter Five - Those Who Have Seen Your Face

Chapter Six - Where Night is Blind

Woodrow had made it about halfway back to Palletteville, his mumbled cascade of words seeming to hang in the air and follow him like his own cloud, when another voice cut them short.

“Warden!!” came the urgent hiss. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to find Dryad, her eyes wide and panicked.

The poet blinked for a moment, shaking his head, trying to come out of his poetic reverie and back to reality. “Yes?” he said finally.

“What in the name of all stars is going on?” She spoke rapidly, getting close to his face and inspecting him. “Are you alright? Is the Phantom alright? I heard that awful screaming from clear across the forest! I was just heading to the cabin as fast as I could, but saw you here on my way…”

“Ah,” said the warden, scratching at the back of one paw with the other, nervously. “Yes, Phantom is alright, for now. But…” and so, he went ahead and told her about his efforts with the mask.

Dryad listened to his story in concern, her ears drooping slightly. When he had finished, she nodded. “I see. For a moment I thought you- well, I thought maybe he was reacting to Sweetlopek’s fashion sense…” but her attempt at a joke fell flat, as Woodrow seemed too crushed for levity, and merely twitched the corner of his mouth into a failed half-smile.

“Well, anyway,” said Dryad, waving her paw. “Thank you for telling me. But listen- you mustn’t try that again. We can’t have him screeching to shake all the leaves in the woods. You might attract the minions of Cursa… including… you know.”

Woodrow’s eyes widened. “Oh- Dryad, do you think-”

“I think it’s fine for now,” said the forest spirit. “As for our main concern, he’s been keeping his territory elsewhere the past few days, in deeper and darker parts of the forest. I’ve been using my magic as best I can to lure and keep him there. Still, I will guard this area for a while.”

“Thank you,” said the warden. “I’m sorry for the trouble.” Then he suddenly clasped his hands together. “But oh, Dryad- what’s to be done? About Tom? Do you have any ideas?”

Dryad blinked, recalling that just yesterday Woodrow had claimed to not have the closeness with his patient for such names as Tom. But she only remarked upon it internally.

“Hmm,” she said, frowning. “All I can say is, I don’t think that mask is really the source of his troubles. If you almost had it off, and the darkmess was still being produced, then… the problem is probably internal, I’m afraid. It would be good to remove it, of course, but perhaps we had better concentrate on curing his poisoning first. If we get rid of the darkmess, that thing will likely fall off on its own.”

Woodrow nodded sadly. “I’m not in any hurry to try again,” he said. “But… alas! We still seem so far from finding a cure, for those overtaken by the dreadful substance.”

Dryad shrugged. “It’s hard for me to look into things, when I’m busy protecting the animals and the trees, but I’m doing my best. As are the people of your village. Have you heard from any of the other wardens about any breakthroughs lately?”

The poet shook his head. “Our best bet was Terra Flora, and- they’ve still been silent for about a week. Ever since Bea disappeared… last I heard, Alkementor was too distressed to work, and we’ve lost contact since then.”

“Poor Bea,” said Dryad, her ears drooping once more. Meanwhile, a thought crossed Woodrow’s mind- he wondered if Phantom had heard of her recent disappearance. After all, the two of them… well, he wondered if it would be appropriate to even bring it up. Would it distress him? Would he feel guilty that he had never made amends with her? He had best not broach the subject, when he was already in such a delicate state…

“What about Barrendale Mesa?” asked the nature spirit. “They’re still holding strong out there, right?”

“Indeed, I think so,” said the warden. “But Momma and her crew have been working on ways to purify darkmess from the environment. Medical cures aren’t really their expertise.”

“Well, when there is a breakthrough… whether it’s on this planet, or if we get some kind of shipment from elsewhere…” she looked the warden firmly in the eyes, “remember that the first doses will be given to those who need it most. And those from Palette Prime take priority. They are your people, and this planet is your ward. Don’t you lose sight of that.”

Woodrow closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded.

“And especially… you know who we must concentrate on first. Not only for his own sake, but for the sake of the entire planet he’s been menacing.”

“Of course,” said the warden quietly, opening his eyes again.

And, after a few more moments of discussion and brief goodbyes, the two were parted.

—

Three days and three nights came to pass. In that time, Dryad kept busy - guiding and protecting and caring for animals, laying spells, attempting to protect and restore the trees and other plants where she could, and much more. She heard no more screams ring out across the forest, and in fact was so caught up in her business that she never ventured back by the little cabin. She had no contact with Woodrow, and barely with any other rabbid at all, and assumed things must be going well enough.

As for the people of Paletteville, it took them a little while to notice, but it soon spread throughout the population that something was wrong with the warden. He was even more reclusive than normal, and looked even sadder and more tired on the rare occasions he was seen. It had been the habit of some townsfolk to visit his home and ask for advice; he was respected enough in that regard to have been elected to his position, after all. But in these days, they found he was hardly ever at home, or not answering the door if he was. In fact, as time passed, he seemed to never be there at all. Knocks at his door went unanswered, and no one knew where he had gone.

What’s more, they began to notice the cloud over his house growing thinner and smaller - until one day it was gone completely.

That cloud, of course, was intimately connected with him. With his soul, his curse, his destiny. This was more than a bad omen, to the people of Palette Prime. It was proof.

“He’s gone,” the villagers murmured amongst themselves. “Somethin’ got ‘im.”

“Ya think he was tryin’ to tame the Beast?”

“Maybe. Prob'ly wrote him a poem to try and talk some sense into him.”

“That poor pathetic soul, bless ‘im. He wouldn’t give up on his best friend if he was actively tearin’ the warden apart.”

And so the assumption spread that the warden had met an unfortunate fate, which was- they all admitted- bound to happen eventually. At any rate, it was decided that search parties would soon be sent out to find his body, and give him a proper burial if they could.

“Near the moon. That would be appropriate,” one villager had said, and everyone agreed.

He was the Plague of Palette Prime, the great harbinger of disaster, and on top of that a terrible poet, or so his planet-mates thought.

But he was also their warden, and a good man. And he deserved the respect in death that the Fates had not given him in life.

—

That man was very much alive. And he was good. And any good person who has made a promise in earnest passion, and then failed to keep that promise despite their absolute best efforts, would understand the pain that encroached upon his soul from all sides.

After trying to pull of the mask, Woodrow spent the day checking up on various things in town, using the computer in the post office to send out more fruitless messages to the other planets, and - in his spare moments - scrawling mad snippets of poetry in the journal that he had retrieved from the cabin.

But in the afternoon of that day, he decided it best to check back on Phantom, and the moment he entered the door, found that the ghost’s own assurances of being fine, of being safe, had been proven false.

He lay on the bed, his eye closed, breathing hard. A large amount of darkmess had leaked out from his porous ectoplasm, forming a puddle on the bed, a smaller version of the state in which Woodrow had first found him. The puddle dripped over the edges and corners of the bed, and the ghost seemed to be fused to it now. One of the poetry books lay splayed open on its bent pages on the ground, where he had clearly dropped it- his paw drooping over the bed as his chest shook in a pained sleep.

“Tom!” cried the poet, then clapped his paws over his mouth, remembering Dryad’s warning about making too much noise. He rushed over and stroked the ghost’s hair, then kneeled down, picked up the limp paw that was hanging off the bed, and rubbed it. “Tom- my dear- wake up…”

Indeed, the ghost’s eye opened, then closed again, then opened once more and slowly rolled over to look at his companion. He smiled, warmly but clearly in pain. “Ah… there you are," he said, between heavy gasps. "I’m sorry… you have to see me like this again. Oh! Don’t cry, mi tesoro…”

Woodrow and his eyes, of course, ignored this command. “Tom, I’m the one who should apologize. I should have stayed…”

“Nonsense!” said the Phantom, still weak, but gradually gaining some energy at the other’s presence. “What could you have done? I feared my ailment would reassert itself… that this is a problem we could only stave off temporarily… I just… hoped it might take a little longer.”

“Oh, what am I to do-” said the warden in panic, standing up once more, still holding his darling’s hand with one of his own, and raising the other to his head. “I can’t… all of the soap on the planet can’t clean this…”

Phantom kept smiling, and let his eye close. “Mon chéri, you mustn’t work yourself up like this. If this is how it is to be, then… so be it. Let me lie in it. It will happen, no matter what you do. I just have to keep fighting it from the inside, and hopefully I will win, and then I can be free…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” cried the other, leaning over and stroking his hair again, and his ears. “Come now. I can’t give up so easily, I can’t… I…” he trailed off, as a thought began to creep up from the back of his mind. He was considering how to best dispel a puddle of darkmess, and it suddenly occurred to him that his own home was blessedly free of it, and perhaps he could move Phantom there- but no, there was a reason for that, and wouldn’t it be easier if…

“Jinx!” he said in excitement, looking at his cloud. “Your rain… can it…” 

The cloud gave a little bob, and took position above Phantom. It began to rain over Phantom’s stomach, over the bed. And indeed- it didn’t dissolve the black sludge, but it did push it away; washing it off, so it slid down like oil being repelled by water, over the sides of the bed and onto the floor. Jinx then moved towards the glob, pushing it towards the door - which Woodrow had left open in his shock - and out onto the ground outside.

Phantom sat his upper body up, and watched the process with speechless amazement. “Well,” he said as Jinx herded the darkmess out of the door. “I never would have guessed!"

Woodrow smiled, blushing, but genuinely very happy and relieved. “Wonderful, isn't it? I know water and rain don't normally wash away darkmess by themselves, but... there is something special about my own little storm, here. My theory is that two manifestations of misfortune repel each other, like the similar poles of a magnet."

"Impressive indeed," said the singer with a nod. "But- next time ask me permission before raining on me. It was cold! I should have liked to brace myself. Although, I suppose it WAS energizing...”

Woodrow blushed even deeper, but still smiled. "Apologies. And my apologies too, that you must now lay on a damp bed, but surely it’s better than the alternative.”

“Certamente!” said the ghost. “I hardly mind it at all.”

“Now,” said Woodrow, tapping his foot in deep thought- looking around at the bed and the trail of water on the cabin’s floor, and at Jinx, who was quite depleted again. “Jinx - would you be able to keep watch over Tom, when I’m not here?”

The little cloud, barely visible, was coming back over to Woodrow, but stopped short. Then, after a moment, it shook itself back and forth, and swirled around the poet’s head.

“Yes, I know you want to keep watch over me. But… he needs you more than I do, right now.”

The little cloud roiled turbulently, and probably would have thundered in agitation, but was too rained out to have the ability. Instead she just positioned herself around Woodrow’s ears, where she felt like a light mist.

“Alright, alright, let’s compromise. Can you… convince some of the rest of you to come over? From my home? A little piece of the big cloud can split itself off and come here, how is that?”

The cloud sprang in front of Woodrow’s face again, then bobbed up and down enthusiastically. It then zoomed off in the direction of the warden’s house. Woodrow smiled, and sank down into the chair next to Phantom’s bedside.

“Oh, Tristan,” said the ghost. “You are as clever and creative as you are kind. Truly I am lucky that you of all people found me, my portafortuna.”

And so it was that Jinx soon came back, with a chunk of larger cloud behind her, which took up residence above the cabin, ready to rain down through the holes in the roof when Phantom next went through another burst of darkmess production. And the two rabbids talked for hours, of art and poetry, and imagined themselves in all the romantic spots of a healthy Palette Prime, and spun hypothetical tales of what they would do in better days. All seemed well in the world that evening, when Woodrow lay devoted kisses on his companion’s palm and wrist and the back of his hand, and on his forehead and the tips of his ears, before bidding him farewell.

….But the next morning when he returned, he peered into the cabin to see things much as before, as Phantom had produced more darkness during the night than the poor cloud could produce water to keep up with. And so, filled with determined and anxious adrenaline, and stepping around the goo that now puddled all over the floor to be with his patient, Woodrow ordered Jinx to come back with even more of the cloud.

And at the same time, he decided then and there that he must stay with Phantom full-time, only leaving when absolutely necessary, and to sleep elsewhere in safety.

Thus it went for the next couple of days. And this is where, despite Woodrow’s greatest efforts, he began to falter in the promise he had so passionately made.

The reader need not hear every moment of the chronicle, and indeed Phantom would probably be embarrassed that people were getting even part of it. Suffice to say, that in the coming days, the endless wellspring of darkness inside him started to work harder than ever. He would suddenly ooze out through his porous underside; sometimes he would suddenly, in the midst of softly talking with his dear companion, choke and cough and vomit out a burst of it down his face and chest; and sometimes it seeped out anew, all over his face, from under the edges of his mask.

Ever more of the cloud came, until its entire volume was there: part of it settling above the roof and part of it inside the cabin, forming a stormy ceiling, raining as much as it could, washing and pushing the darkmess out and away. But the cloud needed to rest at times, to gather more moisture from the environment… and the sludge kept coming back. Half the time Woodrow sat there, soaked and shivering, the skin of his paws and ears slightly wrinkled and blue, shadows underneath his wild eyes, as the rain fell on both of them, and he did not seem to care at all for his own health. He had propped his own umbrella up, resting on the bed and against the wall, so that it covered and protected Phantom’s head and chest, keeping that part of him dry. Whenever it was needed, Woodrow reached over with a rag and soap and tenderly wiped off any new ooze that was leaking from under the accursed mask.

The warden lost track of all things besides Phantom. He no longer knew or cared what time of day it was, or how many days had passed. When the fatigue became unbearable, he dragged himself back home, set his alarm for a few hours of sleep, and then came back. All other duties and responsibilities to his planet ceased to cross his mind. He brought back his full store of darkmess-battling soap… every citizen had been given a certain amount, and as warden, he had been given extra, to ration out in case of emergencies. This was an emergency.

Eventually, Woodrow tired of going all the way back to his house on the outskirts of Paletteville to rest; and what’s more, it was a waste of time. Time he should be spending at Phantom’s side. He realized there was a much closer spot, halfway… and thus he found himself, dizzy and half-awake, at Sweetlopek’s door once again. He hadn’t even locked it after his last visit to retrieve the clothes, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed since Dryad left. Everyone on the planet had enough respect - or perhaps fear - to leave it alone.

And yet there was Woodrow, crashing himself onto the familiar couch where he had fallen asleep many a time after an evening spent with his friend, when he was too tired to make it home after a night of wine and games and talking. Now the place was silent, and their laughter rang out no more. Before Woodrow fell asleep in his exhaustion, his eyes fell on a framed picture on the table near the couch. It was the woodsman and the Dryad together on their planet’s famous bridge, hugging each other and smiling in lovestruck glee. He had never noticed this picture before, and indeed, it must have been new… there was only a small window of time in which it could have been taken.

He looked away from it in grief and closed his eyes. Would any couple on this planet ever experience that happiness again? Would any in the entire galaxy?

And he was soon asleep.

—

It was the fourth day since Phantom’s arrival, and dusk was gathering. Dryad was making her way across the forest, floating as fast as she could. As exhausted as she was from her recent efforts, this could not wait. Rumors had reached her, from rabbids she had seen in the woods: the warden was dead. His cloud was gone. But she knew better, for she had heard from the animals that the cloud had merely taken up new residence above a certain tiny shack in the woods. At any rate, she could no longer trust that things were alright with Woodrow and Phantom. If Woodrow had been isolating himself so much that people thought he had perished… well, she could only hope that indeed he had not fallen into a permanent sleep, entwined in the darkmess that seeped from the man he was trying to save.

Before long she heard the sound of rain in the distance, and indeed came upon a cabin with a dark halo of raincloud, dripping down onto its roof and directly into its structure. And, to her horror, from under the door and all around the edges of the cabin, was a thick moat of darkmess. She floated above it towards a window and peered inside, with no small amount of dread.

The scene that met her eyes was so upsetting that she gasped softly, and needed a moment to comprehend what she was looking at.

The warden sat on his chair - both it and him soaking wet - his knees pulled up to his chest, and he was shivering; heedless of his own self-destruction, as the rain poured down onto him and the Phantom alike (albeit the latter at least partially protected by an umbrella). After a moment of observation, Dryad understood what the plan here was… the rain was washing the darkmess away from Phantom, although even now, more oozed out from his stomach as if it were an overfilled, dripping sponge, and the water from above washed it to the floor and then towards the doorway or the walls. Indeed, there was not much of the stuff around the two rabbids inside, but still, they both looked barely alive. The poet was soaking wet, possibly suffering from hypothermia, and the Phantom’s eyes were closed, his skin pale.

Dryad was about to enter the room on a rescue mission, when suddenly the ghost stirred.

“Tristan,” he said, in a low, raspy whisper. “Oh- I can… barely speak. I think… I will lose my voice again soon. It- hurts….”

The warden moved, showing his first real sign of life since Dryad had been observing him. He leaned forward, putting his wet paw on the side of the Phantom’s face. “Ssshh,” he said. “Don’t talk then.”

The ghost shook his head. “I don’t… want to lose it again. Tristan… I want… I want you to read me your poems. Can you do that for me?”

“Darling, you know I can’t,” the other said, with a sad smile. “We can’t risk it. Any bit of bad luck could… could… well… let’s keep your luck as good as possible, right now.”

This was clearly a private moment, and thus Dryad floated off to the side of the window, so as not to gaze upon them - and so they would not see her, as well.

“It’s a lost cause,” wheezed the Phantom. “Look at me, mon cœur. I am dying. And I want to hear your poetry from your own lips before I do.”

“No, Tom, no…” Dryad couldn’t see his face, but could hear the tears in his voice. “You can’t give up like that… you have to hold on, until we find a cure…”

“You have to give up on saving me,” said the other. “Look… you are destroying yourself, portafortuna… give me your words, your precious words, my love, and let me rest…”

“But I promised, Tom, I promised I would save you… don’t talk like that, darling, I-”

“I think soon I shall not talk at all,” he said. “In fact, I-” he coughed, and gagged. “I, Tristan, I- GHH- love-”

At the sounds of Phantom’s distress, Dryad had peeked back in again, just in case. As his voice cut off, his jaw snapped shut, and he motioned to his throat, to his mouth. He could open it no more.

Woodrow leaned his weary head onto the ghost’s chest and lay there, his soaking arms draped over the other in defeat, his body shaking. “No, Tom, your voice…” he was sobbing. “Don’t… don’t leave me without it… don’t leave me… my sunshine… don’t leave me…”

Dryad couldn’t take this scene anymore. She came in, right through the window, which lacked any glass. To Phantom’s astonishment, she went over to the warden and pulled him up. He barely reacted, flopping around like a sopping ragdoll.

“Woodrow!!” she cried, shaking him. “Woodrow! Listen- he’s right, you know. You’re destroying yourself, and you won’t do any good to ANYONE that way.”

Phantom, for all his weakness and surprise, nodded and pointed to her in agreement.

“I don’t care anymore,” he said. “Let me be destroyed, then. What does it matter? I can’t save anyone…”

“Woodrow, go rest,” the nature spirit commanded, the rain now falling on her own leafy head. “Go dry yourself off, and warm yourself up, and get a GOOD night’s sleep. I’ll watch over Phantom.”

The warden stood up weakly, his eyes barely focusing on anything. “But what if he gets worse,” he said, barely audible. “What if I’m not here when he… if he…”

“If he gets worse, I’ll come get you,” said the Dryad.

Woodrow swallowed, then nodded, with no feeling. “I’ll be at Sweetlopek’s house.”

Dryad gave him a look of indignance, but then took a deep breath, and decided now was not the time to argue about it. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s closer. Alright. You go there.”

“Mmm,” said the warden, swaying on his feet, and Dryad was mildly concerned he wouldn’t make it.

“Do you want me to accompany you?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled. “Stay with Tom. Watch him for me. Please.”

Then he turned back to the bed, met Phantom’s eyes, and gently took some strands of his messy hair into his paw… then let it fall.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said tenderly, then turned and left, followed by one small fragment of Jinx, as ever.

He dragged his feet through the leafy bed of the forest, winding as if drunk around puddles of darkmess and fallen trees.

But he did make it to Sweetlopek’s home. He had locked it again last time, and so he reached into one of the inner pockets of his wet coat, and took out a keyring. With fumbling and shaking hands, he managed to eventually get the right key into the lock. But just as he was turning it, he sensed the presence of… something. Something big. As he froze, his eyes blankly staring at the door, he heard a loud THUD and the crunch of countless leaves behind him.

He turned. There in the twilight was a massive figure, a shadow blocking out the trees and the sky behind it. It was a rabbid… mostly… wearing the shredded remains of a flannel shirt. He was huge, and bestial, with claws, and fangs, and wild and shaggy facial hair in which sticks and leaves and gobs of darkmess were jumbled. His entire lower body was covered in darkmess as well, with a line of it running across his chest and back, forming a strap on which a massive axe was mounted behind him. Not to mention the darkmess on top of his head, onto which was welded a perpetually distressed-looking beaver.

The creature’s eyes glowed yellow as he stood there, hunched over, almost on all fours, and he sniffed at the warden and snarled. But Woodrow was too done with everything to be truly shocked, or afraid.

Most of the other rabbids had taken to calling him the Beast. Woodrow was one of the few who still believed it most respectful to use his name. That maybe, buried deep inside, there was someone who would still recognize it.

The warden blinked slowly. “Good evening, Sweetlopek.”