#he does not regret visiting the mansion that day

[lwh-writing]

DC x DP Prompt: Maddie Kane

Disclaimer: I don't know a whole lot about the Kane family. This is mostly my own interpretation based on the wikis I hastily read.

Roderick and Betsy Kane had six children: Martha, Nathan, Philip, Jacob, Roderick Jr., and Madeline.

Now, Madeline was a surprise baby. Martha was already twenty-three and married to Thomas by the time her only sister was born, but that didn't stop her from showering the girl with love and affection. Thomas loved his little sister-in-law just as much, and the two practically raised her as their own. Under the undivided care and affection of Martha and Thomas, little Madeline grows up to be a willful, independent, free-thinking, intelligent girl who is very, very happy with her life at Wayne Manor.

Madeline and Martha's relationships with their brothers are... complicated, to say the least. Martha as a rule did not fully support the Kane Family's arms dealings, and so tried to distance herself (and subsequently Madeline) from them. The Kane boys didn't challenge this overmuch: they were, after all, hard military men and didn't have much interest in raising their sister who would surely just become another socialite married to one billionaire or another. (It's ironic, then, that Maddie would grow up to be the best weapons innovator the Kanes would ever produce, but such things happen.)

Madeline had just turned thirteen when Martha and Thomas had Bruce. Her little nephew was a long-awaited joy for the family, and she would sooner think of Bruce than the Kane boys when Maddie heard the word "brother".

This idea is only solidified when the Kanes, forced to acknowledge their sister after multiple high-society scandals, try to strong-arm her into attending a finishing school in England. (Maddie to this day does not regret hospitalizing Lionel Luthor. If he didn't want a broken fibula, then he shouldn't have gotten drunk at a Wayne Gala and tried to strike his son. The following press release was unfortunate, but the thank you card from Alexander was touching.) The Kanes are not successful in removing Madeline from Gotham, and after much back-and-forth, they give one final ultimatum: either go to England and return an "upstanding member of society," or Madeline would be officially cut off.

Madeline chooses the second option without much further thought, sure to tell her brothers to stuff it in as many ways as she can before she trashes the Kane Mansion for good measure.

Madeline, now almost exclusively going by "Maddie", thrives. She gets accepted into the University of Wisconsin, and so off she goes, with hugs and well-wishes from Martha, Thomas, and Bruce, who are staying in New Jersey.

Maddie is twenty-one when she gets the worst news of her life: Martha and Thomas are dead. She puts her studies on hold for a bit and flies back for the funeral, her research partner/best friend in the world/boyfriend Jack Fenton-Nightingale coming with her.

Not even a week after her sibling-parents are put in the ground, her brother Philip tries to swoop in and seize Wayne Industries for himself. Thankfully, though, Martha and Thomas's wills were very clear: Maddie is to manage the Waynes' estates until Bruce comes of age. So Maddie once more tells her brothers to fuck off, this time for good. Jack, muscled, glowering, and seven feet tall and still growing, makes good to stand silently in the background so the Kanes don't try to pull anything further.

As soon as she is able, Maddie sits Bruce down and they make arrangements. Maddie can't abandon her schooling forever, and Bruce's life has been upended enough; she doesn't want to make it worse by ripping him away from the only home he's ever known. So Maddie signs over custody to Alfred, and promises are made to visit every chance she gets.

Life moves on. Jack and Maddie get married and start Fenton Works. Bruce starts traveling abroad to "further his education of the world." Maddie and Jack have two kids. Jasmine Martha Fenton-Nightingale-Kane inherited the Kane signature fire-red hair, and Daniel James Fenton-Nightingale-Kane looks so much like Martha that it hurts. Bruce adopts a gaggle of children of his own. Bruce and Maddie like to send each other pictures to brag about their respective kids, and the Fenton-Nightingale-Kanes make sure to visit Gotham for at least one week every summer.

Maddie and Jack don't ask too many questions when Bruce hesitantly takes them aside and requests that they make a couple of custom-made, non-ghostly weapons for him. Of course they'd be happy to make him a few odds and ends every once in a while. Goodness knows how dangerous Gotham can be.

The Fenton-Nightingale-Kanes miss their summer trip for the first time ever when Danny comes to them and explains the whole "half-a-ghost-thing" and, well... Jack and Maddie spend the entire summer reeducating themselves about ghosts, working through years of biases, and ensuring that their son knows that they still love him of course we still love you, Danny, there isn't a thing in this world that could stop us from loving you. Dick Grayson is very understanding and assures them that Bruce wouldn't mind. (Dick is very happy to avoid telling Aunt Maddie and Uncle Jack about Bruce's death. Dick is even more happy when Tim finds proof that their dad was just lost in the timestream and not actually dead. That entire summer was very stressful for both sides of the family)

It isn't until Danny is seventeen and hesitantly makes contact with the Justice League that the Waynes learn about ghosts and the Fenton-Nightingale-Kanes learn about the vigilantism.

Maddie is so cross when she and the rest of the ghostly delegation walks into the Watchtower only to come face-to-face with her nephew/brother, and don't you try and deny that's you, Brucie, I have eyes. Who are you trying to fool, young man?

The rest of the Justice League has to awkwardly sit there as the Ghost King and his family have a full-on family reunion, with King Phantom taking the time to finally introduce his partners to his cousins, Princess Jasmine and Nightwing teaming up to try and talk Red Robin into dialing back on the caffeine intake, King Father Jack exchanging fudge recipes with Agent A, and Queen Mother Madeline chewing out Batman for being a reckless idiot and not telling her what he was using his gadgets for. ("If I knew that grappling hook would be actively used every night, I would have installed more safety features! We could've made it more durable! We would've had to put it through more rigorous testing before we deemed it field-ready!" "Why does that bother you now? Isn't your lab safety horrible?" "A private, indoor lab that less than ten people have access to is not the same as the streets of Gotham in every type of weather! Goddammit, Bruce, I swear--")

[presidentbungus]

i’m still trying to decide what exactly demo does after the war. i do think he breaks the degroot cycle and i do think there’s a chance his mum disowns him for it. i think he realizes he’s too miserable to ruin a kid pretty early on in adulthood and decides it’s worth it to sit through every long lecture about bloodlines and grandchildren over birthing a child into a loveless marriage and making it just as miserable as he is (which, he eventually comes to terms with, is exactly what happened to him)

it’s hard. cleaving yourself from your family like that, your clan, the people that brought you into the world and half-raised you and filled your head with all kinds of funny ideas about honor. after the war i thjnk he just shuts himself off from the world and sulks for months and months and months regretting his choice, knowing he can never go back, figuring this is the path of unluck he was following all along, destined to die alone in his thirties to alcohol poisoning in a huge mansion he has all to himself. eventually, though, someone does come along. soldier or scout or engie, in town for a visit and they won’t take no for an answer when tavish tries to tell them he’s moved on and he’s not really in the mood for a drink. it’s just one night, they just go get smashed at a random dive bar off the street and probably end the night in jail, but he wakes up the next morning and realizes that whatever it was tipped the single upright nail barely keeping aloft this whole massive pile of misery and self-pity and for the first time in months he wants to live. he wants to know people. he wants to try to rebuild what he had even if it’ll never be the same again

i think he just packs his bags and moves closer to someone he knows, honestly. makes a few calls and picks up and goes closer to wherever everyone else he knew in the war fucked off to, the closest thing he ever had to a family (even compared to the people that raised him), and starts to rebuild his life from scratch. it’s hard but he’s got at least one friend near him who’s probably in need of a project anyway, and he finds out quickly he had much more family than he thought as his coworkers start becoming parents and uncles of their own, and he never ends up having his own kids but he might as well considering how many times he finds himself godfathered, after everything he’d done for everyone, which turns out to be much more than he thought.

i think eventually he manages to get a job teaching high school chemistry or something stupid like that. not for anything resembling loose change, but it’s something to do, and there’s just a little bit of pride in knowing his mum’s probably doing flips in her grave every time he goes into work. he’s not great at teaching what he’s supposed to, but somehow the kids always come out of the class scoring twice the national average on whagever standardized tests they have to take, and he’s basically paying the school to work there below board anyway, buying buildings and funding school supply initiatives with the millions he has stocked up from all that thankless work in his twenties and thirties. even if he doesn’t have a kid of his own he makes himself a part of so many kid’s lives, not just teaching but building relationships, helping with homework and checking on home lives and showing up on the soccer field afterschool to cause a disturbance. and well it’s hard to feel like you’re a horrible useless person when every student you pass on the way to the teacher’s lounge beams at you and tells you about their day. it’s not much to a lot of people but it’s everything to him, finally something he can do that has a tangible positive effect on people’s lives, and that gives him a reason to stay upright, too, keep on trucking, keep being a positive example for every bright eye that looks up to him. for the first time in his life he feels like he’s worth something, without pretending to be something he’s not, bending over backwards in work he doesn’t enjoy to please someone who never loved him for anything he was in the first place. ok that’s it i think i have to go cry now

[blueparadis]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀

—» content warnings :: afab-reader, character study (I'm warning you) , mentions of unprotected sex, nightclubs; word count— 0.75k LINKS SECTION

—» notes :: this is just a glimpse of how his Bonten life would be in my head & this is for my sweetest mikey lover, robyn’s collab(@fueledbysano ), “the sano collab”

BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA’S day starts with tucking his gun in the valley of his waist and majestically swinging his body while dashing out of his room. And, the first thing he does is to pull Kakucho’s daughter in his strong, firm arms and safely tuck her into his lap. While Kakucho frowned at Izana’s habit of taking his daughter on such a daily local tour but the toddler begs to differ since she thinks it’s her responsibility to carry on Uncle Zana's legacy.

BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA knows his city like the back of his palm. The guy is generally seen with his long overcoat hanging down to his ankles, at arcades with a baby girl by his side. He doesn’t even have to do much; just be sharp enough to protect the princess and with little miss Hitto as his prodigy, he is never a talk of a suspect. He likes his reputation that way subtle and mysterious.

BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA is seen in a lonely corner of a bar enjoying the melodious voice of the new barmaid. He rarely visits sex clubs, night clubs especially after he became an uncle to someone. And Manjiro? He just got another excuse to make him angry enough that he cusses Mikey in Filipino.

There are times when BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA is seen in nightclubs while Manjiro packs a year's deal. No, he is always behind the curtains pulling the strings, thinking which pawn to use while his expensive cigar becomes null. Kakucho often turns a blind eye to the fact that he is a little homely after he married you. Since you walked into his life, he has become a little silent. Manjiro happens to blame your absence for it but Kakucho seems to believe that he is just moody today.

Well, Manjiro sure gets excited whenever he happens to notice his brother sneaking out of the room hurriedly with fidgety fingers upon the phone screen.

“Thought you forgot about me…when I sent you to your daddy’s house. That was such a bad choice. Wasn’t it?”, and you could tell how direly he missed you day and night, how much he regretted turning you down when you nuzzled against his firm naked chest just because he was just tired.

But BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA is sly; sly enough to impress both the parties, you and your father. He will bluntly show up at your mansion and he never takes the easy route. It’s always the balcony.

No one in the town, not even his local subordinates knows where his bonten tattoo is; it’s just you and the quarter members of bonten. That’s why people say, no one knows where his loyalty lies.

And he makes great use of such easily mouldable rumors. He often goes for a little vacation with you just outside the town just because Manjiro does the on-stage work and no one dares to question because spending time with little Hitto has made him whiney. Ask him the reason, he’ll blame it on Kakucho, for ordering him around.

BONTEN KUROKAWA IZANA enjoys the weight of the crown when you’re around him. He never fails you, your desires whether it is to bring you ice cream in the dead of night or to fuck you on the rooftop of the bonten building.

“You see baby”, he rasps as he pulls up your face by wrapping his fingers around your throat giving you a view of the city he owns. “We.are.gonna.rule.over.this. We.are.gonna. Make. something.that.they can never take from us”, his voice slurries as he takes you from the back hitting as deep as he can with broad strokes at the fall of each word. And, all he needs from you is “Yes, yes sir”, with a little smile lacing your lips that always gets him.

But some days, he forgets to make love to you and hence, sneaks through your balcony to make you his while your father is having a very peaceful meeting with other yakuzas. And sometimes, he is so wound up in the shackles of bonten that he can’t even do that.

So, he comes with pleasantries to woo you. No, it’s just not gifts and expensive pieces of jewelry, you already have those. Thanks to Little kakucho who peeks through his long overcoat, soft palms grabbing his legs making you grin as Uncle Zana proudly introduces you to her.

Yeah, he would do anything to protect you from the very shackles that bind him to Bonten and that is why, he likes to keep it subtle, to hide you away from his monstrous world.

+tags — @etheralyonn @manjiroscum @1900-aria @haitaniapologist @em-plosion

+networks — @downtown-roponggi @tokyometronetwork

[ravcns]

My God I’m So Lonely

Batfam x batsis!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Jason thought by now everyone would be on speaking terms, they weren’t. Now it was his job to fix that, he felt bad in a way for letting the problem go this far. Jason understood more than anyone your frustrations and if he were you he would never forgive them, except he needed you to. Hypocritical, he knew.

What Jason could think about is the countless occasions this family has failed one another, believing the legacy of that should end here.

You did miss your family, college life was a bitch. Though you did not regret your choice to leave, the actions felt like constant disrespect and you needed to choose a path in life.

Guilt, a strong feeling which was currently eating you as you tried to finish typing your thesis paper. Across the room your roommate spoke up, “y/n keep that up and you’ll get wrinkles.” At this you realized your face had been locked in a scowl for majority of the time that was spent typing, sitting back you stare at pictures of happier moments on the wall.

“Maybe you should visit them.”

“Who?”

“Your family, everytime you come back from lectures you just mindlessly stare at those pictures. It’s normal to be homesick y/n.”

For the rest of the week that one word occupied your thoughts, homesick. When at the manor you were sick of your so called “home”, so this came as a shock to you. Mind going between the fact that you were crazy to even consider it and how eventually you would end up seeing them again. As hurt as you felt it’s not like you could avoid them forever, subconsciously pushing the idea off until you caved.

How does one go about contacting a family with a nonexistent relationship. You could only think about how you were worlds apart from them. Y/n a regular civilian, besides the fact that Bruce Wayne adopted you. Then again “regular” people didn’t have to cling on to the small strings of sanity they had left in big mansions, the walls closing in. “Stop it.” You thought to yourself, there was no pushing this off any longer. For the sake of Alfred who looked a bit more on the sad side last time he visited, you caved.

It was almost like that day. A small child looking up at a big scary castle that would take her pain away, a scared adult looking at the mansion of her rich adoptive father which caused her the very same pain. The place that was supposed to protect you like a princess locked away in the walls of a castle, drove you over the edge.

The sound of you knocking made you cringe at how quiet it was, straightening your spine at the oncoming chills. Upon opening the door you were yanked into a bone crushing hug by Alfred then he led you inside. Damian was one of the first to notice yelling out, “See father I told you l/n would be back!” Then hugging you which confused you since you didn’t think that he liked you, believing that you were below Tim on his list. Slowly the family trickled into the main room. Dick’s face looked older than he was, as if the stress had finally got to him. “I’m sorry.” He whispered as he pulled you into a hug.

Tim and Bruce were discussing something when they walked in, a boyish smile gracing Tim’s features. He too joined in on the hug. At the end of the day you couldn’t hold him at fault for the real problem.

Everyone stepping away when Bruce came over with a relived expression. This time you were the one who hugged him, it would take time to fix things but this was a start.

From the top of the stairs someone watched the display below with a smile. If it were up to him Jason would have locked you all in an escape room.

tags: @yunho-leeknow @twismare @voldieshorts @slowaluminum @bribris-things @awalkingdisasterbi @bubblybrianna 

i tried to tag others but it would only let me tag a few of you and i have no idea why thank you all for reading <3

[tulipe-rose]

Updated Sayaki info post!

Name: Haga Sayaki

Age: 23

Favourite color: Maroon and Scarlet. (sorry Ron)

Height: 166 cms

Birthday: August 18

Favourite dish: Chankonabe and Shabushabu

Hobbies: Gardening and Reading.

Likes: Her loved ones, her mini library, psychology, her butterfly pin, and star gazing.

Dislikes: Being alone, the room being too quiet, getting disrespected, demons, oranges, and swimming.

Weird habit: She wakes up at 4 am to make herself some tea, mindlessly appreciating her garden until the sun starts to rise, (she's weirdly patient) then she waters her plants. She usually goes off to do some morning chores after that.

Her temperament: Sayaki does her best to avoid fights, but she is not a pushover, and will get down and dirty if she has to. She even dared to visit the Rengoku estate to scold the Shnijirou Rengoku for neglecting his children. He may be a deadbeat father, but he wouldn't hit a woman, especially if she's trying to protect his son from him. He ends up mumbling an unaudible apology before leaving, with his head bowd down. Sayaki didn't feel much guilt, but she hopes he learns. She can get passive aggressive, but that's rare, as she is quite open and straightforward with her feelings.

Favourite animal and pet: Well Sayaki really likes birds, she used to own a baby crow, unknown to her, it was a Kasugai crow. It strayed far from where they raise the crows, and got hurt. Ten year old Sayaki found it, and took it to get treated at the local vet. Sayaki deeply treasured the crow, and named it Tsuki. She took care of Tsuki for over a year before it just flew away one day, and never came back. She searched for days before branding it dead, and made a mini shrine for it. She continues to hold out hope to see Tsuki again.

Fun fact: Sayaki tries to avoid being too sentimental towards objects, but she finds herself cherishing the butterfly pin, lady Kochou (Kanae and Shinobu's mother) gave to her as a child, since their families were always quite close.

A sense she'd go insane if she lost: Hearing. Sayaki is the type of person that really loves music, and rhythmic noise. She loves listening to birds chirp in the morning, and she loves children's laughter, it makes her happy. She never spends too much time alone, and would unconsciously find herself making noises to keep herself from breaking something. She hates too much silence, which likely stems from her fear of being left behind by her loved ones. She might as well go insane, if she ever goes deaf.

Facts about her from the old info post: She got married when she was aged twenty years old. It was a happy marriage, but they've started to get distant lately. Her husband didn't like getting too involved in the corps, since he feared for his wife's well-being.

Sayaki deeply admires the demon slayers, but when Kanae suggested she become one as well, she declined, because she was well aware of her capabilities, and she knew she wouldn't stand the harsh training.

She's a city girl, but moved into the country after the battle. She used to work at a clinic in Tokyo, but after she heard the news of shinobu's death, she rushed over to attend her old friend's funeral. When she heard shinobu's will, she decided to quit working at the clinic she used to work at and become a helper at the mansion. She deeply regrets not visiting more often, and she wished she could've spent more time with Shinobu, but there's no changing the past.

She was able to form good friendships with the hashira, she likes to stroll through the estate gardens with Tomioka, and enjoys having silent tea time with Shinazugawa, it's very calming. Mitsuri and her were able to get close very quickly, they often try out new recipes and restaurants together.

Now that the Kochous were dead, she took it upon herself to take care of the butterfly Girls and the residents of the estate. She's quite furious on how young everyone is, and is ready to adopt the little caterpillars, she just needs an opening.

Sayaki has freckles on her shoulders, she got it from her foreign grandmother.

She'd love thriller mystery movies, and sugary coffee.

She'd enjoy Astronomy and Charms if she were to ever attend Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Design info: Her hair and eye color would change if she were to be written in any other universe than kny. Her hair would be platinum blonde, and her eyes would be Auburn brown.

[eventinelysplayground]

This is my first entry for the #love booth challenge hosted by @queengiuliettafirstlady. I chose Faust along with the prompts given for him which were alchemy and behave for me. This story is NSFW and WC is approx 1183. Faust has been ignoring you in favor of some books for days and you've decided you've had enough and take matters into your own hands.

Long Nights

You walk through the cold dimly lit castle hallways at a determined pace. You had made up your mind earlier and now it was time to act, had you just listened to Leonardo in the first place you wouldn't be here now but it was too late for regrets.

*** Five days earlier ***

“Thanks for helping out Cara Mia.”

“It's not a problem Leonardo. I know Comte said you were drowning in books but I didn't think he meant it literally.”

“Hehe what can I say, I need something to occupy the long nights with. Though the way you looked when you got here, don't think you have that problem.”

You blushed thinking about the marks Faust had purposely placed on your neck before you left. Unconsciously you reached up, placing a hand over one that was still visible and Leonardo smirked.

You continued sorting through the books Leonardo had carried into the library and putting them away. It was no small feat but the two of you were making good progress when a few of them caught your eye. You turn the books over in your hands and flip through the pages as a smile lights up your face.

“Are these books on alchemy?”

“Why, you looking for a new hobby Cara Mia?”

“No, it's just that Johann…I mean Faust studied alchemy and he has a lot of books on it but I've never seen these ones.”

“They're extremely rare, you don't want to know what it took to get ahold of them.”

“Do you think it would be alright if I borrowed them?”

“Go ahead if you really want but I think you may regret it later.”

“Why?”

Leonardo gave no answer instead he just gave you a sly grin as he shelved another book.

You left the next day to come back to the castle, the books tucked safely away in a travel bag. You loved visiting the mansion but you loved it even more when you came home to the castle. You were only gone four days but it was clear you were sorely missed, it ended with a long night spent in your lover's arms and you completely forgot about the books until the following evening. Faust's eyes had lit up when you handed him the four thick leather bound volumes, he looked like a child on Christmas morning. He had spent every free minute he had since then reading through them and taking notes, neglecting everything else.

Stupid grinning Leonardo, I know he knew this would happen! Least he could have done was pack some books for me in there too so I had something to ‘occupy the long nights’.

You come to a stop outside Faust's bedroom door and let out a long breath, straightening and smoothing out your nightgown and nodding once to yourself before reaching for the handle and opening the door.

How does he manage to look that good when all he's doing is reading? At least he's already in bed and changed for the night, that makes things easier for me really.

Faust was sitting in his bed wearing only cotton pajama bottoms. He was on top of the covers and immersed in what appeared to be volume three of the books. You watched him for a moment hoping he would notice you but soon gave up.

“Faust.”

You waited a little while but the only reply you received was the sound of pages turning.

Let's see if you’ll still be able to ignore me in a few minutes.

You walk over to the bed and slowly crawl up it towards Faust's lap. Once you reach his muscular thighs you bend down and slowly trail kisses along one of them through the thin fabric while trailing a hand upward along the other. Your hand reaches its destination before your lips and you can feel him start to harden under your touch.

At least his body is paying attention to me now.

Your lips joined your hand kissing his bulge teasingly through the fabric. You lift your eyes up only to find him still engrossed in his book. Undeterred, you lower your gaze back down momentarily stopping your preferred activity to grip the waistband of his pants between your teeth and pull it down with the help from your now unoccupied hand. Having freed his shaft completely you resume your previous attempts at distraction.

Clasping the base lightly you slowly rake your tongue over the sides of his now fully hardened shaft before enfolding it with your warm lips. You start bobbing your head slowly up and down his full length running your tongue along the slit each time you're at the head again. You hear Faust let out a shaky breath and you pick up speed. Your fingers caress over his balls adding to the stimulation and it only takes a moment before you hear the distinct sound of the book being closed.

Finally!

Getting the reaction you've been waiting for only makes your own need stronger. You clench your thighs together and you can feel the wetness in between them and it spurs you on. This time when you reach the top you twirl your tongue around it then suck on just the tip, a guttural groan escapes Faust's lips as one big hand comes down and grabs your hair. You remove his shaft from your mouth for just a moment so you can get a much needed breath and his grip on your hair tightens sending ripples of pleasure pain down your neck and spine.

“Don't stop.”

Faust's voice is deep and needy and you're more than happy to oblige him. You gently kiss his tip before taking it in your mouth again, tongue passing over his pre-cum coated slit while your hand moves up and down his shaft. You look up at Faust to see he has his head back and eyes closed in pleasure and you can't help but smile at the sight of it. You start moving your head up and down his length again as far as you can when suddenly the hand on your head pushes you down even farther than before and his hips buck towards you as you feel his warm cum fill your mouth. You feel the rapid twitches as more of his cum is released, desperate for any friction you clench your thighs together again feeling how much wetter you've become.

Once you're sure he's given you everything he had you sit back on your heels and swallow the last of his salty sweet cum. Faust's arms reach out for you and swiftly remove your nightgown revealing your naked body and he gives you a devilish smile before leaning back against the pillows.

“This is the way you're going to behave for me after neglecting you? I can't really punish you for it…”

“Johann?”

“So instead, come here and let me ravage you.”

Your body shudders in excitement and you smile brightly at Johann as you make your way up the bed knowing that it's going to be a very long night.

[peachyteabuck]

one for the money // fallon carrington x reader

↪ summary: after years away, you figure it’s time to explain to fallon why you left 

a commission for @devillskettle​

↪ pairing: fallon carrington x reader

↪ words: 3584

↪ trigger warnings: homophobia from a parent (blake is a shitty parent), blackmail, switch!fallon, switch!reader, focusing on top!reader, orgasm control, orgasm countdowns, hatefucking

 Nothing in your life has gone according to plan. Your major? Changed six months into undergrad. Your career path? Abandoned for a graduate offer a few months after graduating. The outfit you planned last night? Peed on by your cat in the middle of the night, requiring you to wear the outfit you wore the day previous. Your breakfast order this morning? Messed up by the drive-thru employee. In your field, with your luck…hoping for predictability isn’t enough. You have to be able to find comfort in chaos or else you’d be screaming into every damn pillow you could get your hands on, and probably on a much higher dose of anxiety medication.

None of this, none of your years of preparation for “times your life has gone off the goddamn rails” seems to matter now. Not a single minute of the quick fixes and pivots and carefully constructed plans dashed could have prepared you for the moment to come. The long drive from your company-provided AirBnB certainly don’t help either – the two hours alone in your car in Atlanta traffic a full one hundred and twenty minutes of silence that have you itching to get out of your own skin. Still, when you arrive and park, you wish you had more time…hoping you could delay the inevitable task ahead of you.

You haven’t been at the Carrington mansion in a long while. Part of you feels it hasn’t been long enough, that centuries could pass between visits, and you’d regret stepping through the front door. Another part of you feels like it was yesterday; like you had merely stepped out for dinner and are returning home after a few hours away. Not much has changed either way, the statue that once sat in the immediate view of the front door is no longer there, and the carpeting in the front room has changed. But the twin staircases, the marble floors, the haunting feeling that settles into your bones…that’s just the same as the day you left. The family scent hound’s there, too, lounging on a dog bed you’re sure was prohibitively expensive while the rest of the world ignores him the same way it does them. You want to pet him, see if he remembers you; but the fear he doesn’t keeps you in your place.

The worst part is, the mansion is nearly silent. Nearly no one is home. Blake and his wife (which one is this? Four? Five?) fucked off to the Bahamas for a week-long vacation at an all-inclusive resort. The older Carrington sibling is similarly gone, his ex-boytoy luckily gone, too. Whether they’re in the same place is none of your concern, all you truly care about is that they’re not here with you. Even Anderson has taken a few days off, returning to New Zealand to do…whatever it is he does. All that’s left are the lower servants, who – if they do recognize you – say nothing as they hurry past to do whatever stupid chores Blake left for them. You are stagnant, listening to the sound of shoes walking past you occasionally. The non-slip sneakers make a distinct, soft squeak, a sound you’re nearly enjoying when you hear the harsh, sharp sound of stilettos. They start far off, a sound you hope is just an impending thunderstorm. As their tight, even pace continues, though, growing louder with every passing click…you know your fate.

So you stand, inert, staring straight ahead into nothingness, waiting for the voice of the woman whose heart you broke to ring through the empty corridor. And, Heavens above, does it ring.

“Get out of my house,” she hisses. You don’t need to see her face, you can imagine her pursed lips and narrowed eyes and brow furrowed with rage. It’s almost cute.

You keep your gaze straight ahead, not giving her the satisfaction of eye contact. “Your name doesn’t go on the deed until both Blake and Steven die and we both know it.” She gasps then stomps down the stairs, and only when you feel her body heat and can smell her signature perfume do you look at her. “Fallon,” you say, looking her up and down. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

She doesn’t respond, anger radiating off of her like heat rays from the sun. “You left me!” she growls through grit teeth. With her so close it’s easier for you to see her, truly, in all her glory. She looks almost the same as the day you left, with perfect makeup and perfect teeth and perfect nails and perfect jewelry that perfectly complements her perfect outfit. Really the only thing that’s changed is her bangs – these adorable, childlike bangs that once covered her forehead and now are gone. Her hair is still the same, slightly curly and a wonderful dark chocolate color you want to twirl around your fingers. If Fallon didn’t look like she’d bite your hand if you tried, you’d be threading your fingers through her locks and pulling her close.

“I-“

You aren’t able to defend yourself for your self-admitted misgivings before she’s pouncing on you like a cat, knocking you to the ground as she screams. “You fucked off to your fancy fucking college and left me here!”

You can’t tell what she’s trying to do, her fists balled but punches reminiscent of a toddler whose animal crackers were taken away. At least she doesn’t want to really hurt me, you think.

You scoff as she grabs ahold of your blazer lapels, shaking you back and forth. You keep your head angled to avoid the hard floors (blood would be very unbecoming on your cream shirt), but allow her to use you like a punching bag. “I didn’t leave you, I left this house.”

Fallon’s eyes narrow, her movements never ceasing. “And I fucking live here, asshole! You can’t leave this place without leaving me in it! You left me alone here!”

Tears – tears you ignore for her own dignity – prick at the corners of her eyes. Beneath her fiery outrage you know she’s upset, genuinely upset with you and what you did. You have no defense, really, and so you let her do what she needs to do until she tired herself out and stands back up. Though her heart races in her chest and her nostrils flare, she calmly moves the hair that covers her face back into its proper place. After a beat, you follow suit, getting back on your feet and facing her once more.

“I,” you sigh as she raises a single brow. Don’t lie to me, it says. Don’t you dare fucking lie to me. Not here. Not now. Not after what you did. “Let’s go up to your room where we can talk.”

Fallon considers your proposal, neither of you acknowledging the awkward housekeeper who dusts the paintings that hang a mere ten feet from the both of you. She doesn’t say anything when she accepts, simply exhales and turns on her heel to walk back where she came from. You follow, equally silently, until you’re both in her obnoxiously large bedroom and standing far enough apart to where you can’t count her eyelashes.

“Come back,” is all you tell her. Your heart aches for you to touch her again, to smell where she sprays perfume on the juncture of her neck, to nose at her hairline. She doesn’t move. “I’ve missed you.”

She merely raises her eyebrow once more. “How much?”

You move closer in the face of her stubbornness, tracing your hands down the seam of her top. “More than Romeo missed Juliet when he found her dead body at that casket…”

She fumes, silently. It’s a good answer, one much better than she was expecting. You take her silence, even as her jaw tenses, as the okay to continue. Your hands travel from her elbow to her shoulder, down the black edge of her cardigan thumbing at the expensive knitwork. You want to tease her, mockingly ask whether it was actually as hard as she wants to make it seem to let you near her again. But she’s skittish, like a newly rescued feral kitten. So you keep your voice low, focusing on small movements and quiet praises. “You look nice.”

Fallon gives you a little snort but doesn’t pull away. A good sign. “If you’re here to butter me up into not being upset, it’s not going to work.”

You shrug, tracing the outside of the matte black buttons. “Nah, honest. You look good in this.”

She’s wearing a sweater set – some knit houndstooth pattern that a cropped cardigan and skirt that falls mid-thigh share. She’s got a black shirt underneath, the style reminiscent of a t-shirt but made of a silk much nicer than any jersey fabric. It doesn’t really matter what she’s wearing, or even that she looks fucking delectable in it. What matters is that it grants you easy access to her pussy. Or, more accurately, the panties that cover it. You move your head ever so slightly, softly pressing your lips to hers.

“These are nice, too” you murmur into her lips, your smile only growing when she scowls.

Her eyes narrow, her jaw setting as she tenses. She doesn’t move away, though, just digs her manicured nails into your bare upper arm. “What did you expect, granny panties?”

You give her a little snort, but don’t stop tracing what you think are embroidered flowers. A small pool of dampness is starting to form, but you don’t give her the satisfaction as the pads of your fingers trace every petal. “No, I just sometimes forget that you’re the kind of stuck-up bitch that wears lingerie on a random Tuesday.”

You ignore your mother’s voice in your head telling you that only hussies forgo pantyhose as you move them to the side. Fallon’s breath hitches as the cool air brushes over her wetness, a similarly small gasp leaving her lips when you tease at her entrance. “How long as it been since someone touched you like this, pretty girl,” you whisper, raking your teeth ever so lightly against the shell of her ear. “Or has the rest of the world treated you like an antique, beautiful but untouched in some climate-controlled cabinet.”

You know the answer. Fallon’s a very particular woman, a particularity that also manifested in who she has sex with. Even the careless hookups were chosen with specificity, people she knew could be trusted (or at least blackmailed into silence if need be). You hadn’t been the first woman who fucked her (and who she fucked in return), but the way her body had reacted to yours during those hours-long sessions had you knowing that you were something special to her. Even if you were more object than human, there’d never be another you.

As you rub at her clit her beautiful sighs fill your ears like an award-winning symphony, her body becoming more pliant as pleasure replaces distaste in her veins. You use her acceptance, her letting herself go just a tad, to flip her around so that you and her both face her ridiculously large closet. Her moans are loud, lewd, like they had trapped themselves inside of her throat and just now were releasing themselves from their imprisonment. They go straight to your core, flint striking upon an already raging fire that burns inside of you. Flames lick at your organs as you rub loose, lazy circles, ignoring the frantic bucks of her hips.

“Be patient,” you tell her. The words are firm even though they have no edge. You’d give her anything she asked for in a heartbeat…you’re just trying to keep her from begging so that you can make up for lost time properly and at your own pace. “I’ll give you everything you need, princess. You just have to be patient.”

She whines, but obliges.

You can’t help but laugh when you go to palm at her breasts, untucking her shirt and moving the cup of her bra aside. A bra you can’t see – but can tell from the fabric and raised pattern matches her panties.

“What are you laughing about?” Fallon huffs, trying to shove her ass back to force your fingers deeper.

You ignore her actions, pulling her up so that her back is flush against your chest. “Nothing, just thinking about how you’re such an uptight control freak you wear matching sets when you know you have no plans.”

She has no retort to that. Partially because it’s true, and partially because you’ve got one hand plunging below her panties to insert a single finger inside of her. It’s not enough – for your little size queen it’ll never be enough – but it certainly has her moaning and chewing at her lip to suppress the desperate, slutty sounds.

“C’mon, baby,” you too. “Be loud for me…” You can tell she isn’t convinced, so you lower your voice just a tad and kiss at her neck as you speak. “C’mon, princess. I’ve missed you too much for my first time back to be so quiet.”

And, to her credit, she moans unabashedly. A smile plays on your lips as you realize it’s because she’s desperate to reach her own peak. No, you think. No, she can’t take the reins back like that so easily.

“You come when I tell you too,” you tell her, leaving no room for argument. “I’m gonna count down from five, and I want to feel you come around my fingers when I get to one. Understand?”

You can practically feel the clever retort forming on her lips, but it dies and is replaced by another moan when you fit three fingers inside of her, the other rubbing tight circles around her swollen clit. All she can do is nod.

“Good, princess,” you murmur. Part of you wants to start at a higher number, but you’ve denied yourself this pleasure for too long. Selfishly, you want to see her fall apart in your grasp – and to be the only thing there to catch her as she does so. “Five.”

She moans, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and digging her hands into whatever skin of yours she can get ahold of. It hurts, the feeling of her nails breaking skin, but you don’t say anything. You deserve that pain – probably more, and she deserves an anchor. All you can do is be thankful she found it in you, and that you were here this time to provide it.

“F-fuck,” her words are strangled, and it’s a struggle to keep her upright. You love it.

“Four.”

You increase the pace of both hands, feeling her stomach tense and watching her hips fuck down onto your fingers. You wish you could record this, and watch it every time you got off. Nothing could be hotter than watching the effervescent, perfectly put together Fallon Carrington fall apart so effortlessly under your touch.

“Three.”

She chokes out a sob, desperate. Whether she wants more to please you or to come, though, is the question.

“Two…” you feel her fight against you, while grinding against the hand that circles her clit. The two parts of her, the one that wants to obey, and the one that wants to chase every bit of pleasure she can find, battle each other. Regardless of who wins, though, you’re determined to reward the champion.

“You okay, love?” you ask. It’s genuine, even if a touch of torture threads itself into your tone.

Fallon nods, breathing harder than you’ve ever seen her pant in her life. “F-fuck you, don’t you dare fucking s-stop,” she threatens through gritted teeth.

All you can do is smile. “One.”

You can feel her clamp down around you, tightening around your fingers like a vice. The most sensitive part her jumps under your fingertips as she screams, spasming under your grasp.

As she comes down from her high you maneuver her to the bed, crashing upon the thick duvet like waves upon a shore. You don’t say anything until her breathing evens out, her eyes closed as she curls around you.

“I didn’t leave you, you know…” you sigh as you say it, the gross feeling of expressing a genuine emotion making your teeth itch. Still, you manage to keep talking – even if it feels like your skin is covered in a thick, wet slime. She turns away, looking straight up as you speak. You don’t try to get her back. “Blake offered to pay for my education through a PhD and said he’d consider funding my research if I stayed away.”

Fallon doesn’t look at you, continuing to stare up at her ceiling. That indignant tone softens just a little as she speaks, her indignant facial expression set in stone. “That’s a lot,” she pauses. “Considering your field.”

You don’t say the quiet part out loud. You’re in engineering, focusing on green technology and environmental justice. Having a world-renowned advocate and scientist on his side would let Black get away with a Hell of a lot more than he is now. It would quell the Steven’s of the world – ones who want to feel good more than they want to be good. Ones who don’t go hunting for grant proposals or know how to use SourceWatch; ones who think straw bans work and bring their own tote bags everywhere they go. In the beginning, you felt guilty, for doing what you did under Blake’s watch. But nothing paid the bills better than oil barons, and when creditors started to come knocking, they didn’t much care for a piece of paper with “I’m doing important environmental research” in reply.

If there’s anyone were to understand what kind of spot you’re in…it’d be Fallon. She’s one of the few people who truly understand Blake’s influence on the world, how hard it is to get out from under his thumb. Which is why she stays silent – doesn’t try to fight you again, or question your choices like friends and colleagues did. She’s just…quiet, tracing your jaw with her right index finger and looking you up and down. “It’s really hard to be mad at you with my father manipulating reality like that.”

You shrug. “Rock and a hard place. Had to take it. Didn’t really have any other options.”

The next question she asks is one you knew was coming, but it still digs the knife deeper into your already scarred heart. “Why’d you come back? Why now?”

Because if I went another day without seeing you I think I’d explode. Because I love you. Because life doesn’t feel worth living if I can’t have you in my life.

You shrug once more. “Knew him and his snitches would be gone, so I took the chance. Figured it’d be better to see you now than at Blake’s funeral.”

She snorts, and you wish you could capture the smile on your face. You don’t want to grab your phone, though, don’t want to risk turning the location on and being found out. And you just burn the image into your memory, praying you see it every time you close your eyes for the rest of your days. “Is that when the contract ends?”

It’s hard not to sigh, to think about the lack of legal protections you have if Blake wanted to fuck you over. “Technically there isn’t a contract. He just checks in on me on the first of every month to hand me a check, ask if it’s enough, and remind me to stay away from you.”

The next question hangs in the air, unasked and unanswered. Why Blake’s always hated you matters less than why Blake wants you to stay away from Fallon. Steven being gay is one thing – he’s already a black sheep, and falls in line when necessary. Fallon’s too…unpredictable. She’s done too much to deserve happiness, to deserve what you can give her. Black would never say this, of course, not to her face or yours or anyone else’s. The excuse you were given was about her focusing on what matters, on restoring the Carrington name. Certainly more flimsy than the truth, but the near-ridiculous amount of zeros at the end of the first check he cut you filled in the gaps for him.

Money talks, just as much as it keeps people quiet.

The both of you are silent as Fallon processes what’s happened, and you watch her face as she does so. It’s been at least eight years since you’ve seen her in person, even if you’ve watched her career closely through a series of Google alerts and trashy magazine email lists. You have no idea whether she’s done the same for you (even though you know she didn’t read either your undergrad, master’s, or doctoral thesis…which you can’t really fault her for. Fallon Carrington is a lot of things, but she is not an expert in mechanical engineering). All you can do is hope she knows you still love her, even after all these years.

Fallon is the one to break the silence, getting up from the bed on shaky knees and opening the safe hidden in her nightstand. “That was a fun conversation. Now get on all fours, because I’m going to fuck you.”

Needless to say, you do as you’re told – even if it’s with a smirk tugging at one corner of your lips and bratty ideas sparkling on the inside of your skull.

[reikatsukihana]

Hey sweetie, I hope you’re doing okay and I hope it’s not too hectic for you with the holidays!! 🫂💖

I was curious if you’ve thought about where you want Reika to be at after Endwalker. How was she handling the final days? Is she resting now? Has she confessed to Artoirel yet? Where is she living? And bonus: any thoughts on Dawntrail yet?

Hello! In general I am thankfully fine. I hope you are well too... and thank you very much for your question. 😊 Well, actually there are several questions~ lol I'll do my best to summarize everything without spoilers of what I've been working on... Here we go!

I think Endwalker was the rollercoaster of emotions for all WoLs, and Reika was no exception. However, all the things she saw and learned during this journey gave her a new perspective, mainly those related to Dynamis. As a Bard it was revealing to see how much of the power was concentrated there, and although she already knew that instinctively from the beginning, being able to experience it in such a tangible way was quite an experience. Now the possibilities expand quite a bit.

There is also the fact of her combat against her "dear friend" Zenos, with whom she has had some resentment since the beginning of Stormblood, remembering what initially happened with her hand and much more and therefore her existential crisis. If it had been up to her, Reika would have fought him instantly and ended everything, but she didn't, for two reasons. First, it would be like rewarding him after all the atrocities he did. Second, simply because there were more important things than having to deal with him. When they finally fight, Reika finally felt like a chapter of her life was closing (even though she almost died), and that she could finally look to the future, HER future.

This brings us to Artoirel. Why? Well, without giving too much detail yet, since I will explain this later *evil laugh* I must say that both of them already declared their love for each other quite a long time ago, with Artoirel being the one who took the first step. However, their relationship does not officially begin until the events related to Profane Fafnir.🤭

Reika spent a few months recovering physically and mentally after the events of Endwalker. Although this time she is in very good company 🥰 She usually spends her days in Ishgard when there is not much demanding her attention. She also bought an apartment in Empyreum, which she often uses as an Art Studio, where she composes music with her lover. Later Reika was almost forced, much to Artoirel's regret, to have a house in Lavender Beds, since she tried to have a greenhouse in the Fortemps Mansion, but many of the plants did not grow properly, so in her limited free time she looks for ways to stabilize them so they are able to live and grow without problems even in the low temperatures of Coerthas.

Phew... That's all for now! 💖 It took a while but I hope you like it.

Oh, I almost forgot... Bonus!

Oh my gosh, Reika is so excited to travel and explore a new continent. So many things to do! Artoirel sometimes jokes about whether he should be jealous of the fact that she'd rather be constantly traveling from place to place than being quiet in the comfort of their home (and his arms). However, he loves that aspect of her and he is fascinated by her stories, they give him perspectives and new ideas for his people. Reika is like his eyes to the vast world, so it would be stupid to want to cut her wings. Of course, frequent visits will be required, and fortunately, Reika is already a master using Teleport.

[serenailith]

the silent sounds of loneliness (best of my love)

for the @dreamlingbingo​ 

Square: c5 - turn over a new leaf (combined with march monthly prompt haunted by regrets) Word Count: 11454 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling, johanna constantine/rachel moodie Warnings: none Additional Tags:  alternate universe - human, age gap, age difference, hob gadling loves dream of the endless | morpheus, dream of the endless | morpheus loves hob gadling, though he doesn’t want to admit it, canonical child death (though in a different manner than canon), recluse!dream of the endless | morpheus, uni student/errand boy!hob gadling, anal sex, rimming Summary:

When Hob lands a job with Helping Hands, it's a dream come true for a poor uni student. He loves what he does, and he likes to think he's good at it. The only thing he isn't so sure about? The client. He hasn't seen nor spoken to the mysterious Morpheus, a reclusive man only doctors have seen over the last seven years. But between a sudden surge of courage and a lot of luck, everything changes.

In only six months, he learns more about life and love than he ever thought was possible.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

Hob stares up at the enormous house stretching before him. Mansion, really. He wraps a hand around an iron picket and lets out a low whistle. Early morning sunlight glints off massive windows, white brick surrounding the glass a sharp contrast to the dark grey masonry of the exterior. Large slabs of stone make up the walkway to the covered veranda. With a slow breath to steady his nerves, Hob walks to the gate and digs the keys from his pocket.

Unity Kincaid had warned him that the client is, for lack of better terminology, a recluse. No one besides his doctors had seen hide nor hair of him in seven years. Hob has no idea why–he hadn’t bothered to ask. What business is it of his? All he needs to worry about is doing a good job and getting paid. And damn, he can almost taste the influx of money from the job. It’s more than he’ll ever have made in one cheque.

It takes three different attempts before he locates the correct key for the front door, but find it he does. Twisting the key in the lock, he glances over his shoulder then pushes open the door. Dimness spreads before him. He inhales deeply before stepping inside.

A shiver races down his spine. A heavy silence lingers in the air, oppressive and suffocating. Hob can smell nothing but the faint hint of a cleanser and disuse. He takes another step, pushing the door closed behind him, and comes to a stop in the centre of the grand foyer.

On either side of the foyer are massive sets of ornate doors. He wonders where they lead, but he knows better than to go exploring. Unity said there would be a tablet waiting for him, and there it is, resting on top of the end newel of the sweeping staircase. Twin banisters curve outward as they stretch up the sides of the stairs until they reach a landing that overlooks the foyer. He gazes up into the darkness for a long moment then decides it isn’t worth trying to figure out what’s upstairs.

He digs out his phone to check the onboarding email Unity had sent, finds the six-digit passcode, and types it in. The only four apps on the device are the calendar, the camera, a photo gallery, and a to-do checklist. The calendar holds a schedule–doctor appointments in red squares, medication pick-ups in blue, his days off in sunshine yellow. The checklist has a list of tasks that need doing and which Hob is expected to do: Shop for groceries and essential items, pick up medications when needed, let the doctors in and show them out whenever the client has appointments. (Here, Hob snorts. What privilege must this man have that he can afford in-home doctor visits?). He’s also to clean the house but never go into two specific rooms: The one at the far end of the upstairs corridor and the one across the hall from it.

Hob’s curiosity grows instantly. What lies beyond those doors, then, that needs to be kept a secret? An urge to find out nearly overtakes him, but he manages to shake it off. Unfortunately, he already has one foot on the third step and is poised to continue up the stairs.

No, you bloody idiot. Keep to the rules. He needs this job too damn much to break the rules already–or ever. Sighing, he straightens his spine and goes back to the email. It says to check the gallery, so he does. The only photo is of a blueprint of the manor, each room except the forbidden ones marked and labelled in squared letters. The forbidden rooms have large Xes overlaid.

He studies the map for a moment longer then points himself in the direction of the kitchen. He might as well explore what he can, while he can.

It takes longer than he expected, but Hob finally feels like he’s memorised the layout of the manor rather well. At least, enough that he doesn’t think he’ll get lost in five seconds flat. The solarium, as notated on the map, had been his favourite room of all. Warm and full of sunshine, it made him want to sit down and never leave.

He makes his way back to the kitchen and plucks a piece of paper off the refrigerator door. He’d seen it on his walkthrough but decided to wait until he was finished to read it. Spidery letters spell out a list, this one of groceries. Hob wonders why this client doesn’t just order delivery. It’s a lot cheaper and faster.

But then again, if they’re as reclusive as Unity claims, of course they wouldn’t want delivery. The delivery people usually want to hand off directly to the recipient. Whoever this client is, Hob is rather jealous. They have wealth, and they have privilege. Too bad his twenty-year-old self doesn’t have the same.

Hob tucks the list into his pocket and heads to the front door. He might as well get a jump on his list of tasks. Whistling quietly, he locks up the house and ambles down the walkway to his car. The beat-up vehicle struggles to start before coming to life with a roar; Hob winces. This is a nice-with-a-capital-N neighbourhood. His lemon of a car doesn’t belong here, and there is no reason to draw attention to himself.

Shopping goes as well as it could. The email had stressed the importance of getting exactly what was on the list, down to the brand name and quantity, so Hob spent an inordinate amount of time comparing product to list. Three workers asked if he needed help, but he’d waved them off politely. How could he have explained his new boss is apparently the most particular person he has ever even heard of?

By the time he leaves five hours later, Hob has done fuck all. He’d gotten the groceries, sure, but there wasn’t much to clean and no medications to pick up. Easy money, he thinks, as he drives home, the wind slipping in through the open window. A bead of sweat drips down his back, pools at the base of his spine, and he squirms a bit in his seat. He really needs a new car, one with air-con. Thankfully, this job will make saving up easy.

Johanna and Rachel are already waiting at the New Inn by the time Hob arrives, freshly showered and ready to relax. Rachel waves him over, knowing full well he’s already seen them in their usual booth, and gestures to Alan for a new round of drinks. It’s a testament to how often the trio drinks here that there are no questions asked as to what they want to drink. Hob slides into the bench across from the women and swipes the pickle from Johanna’s plate. She scowls but doesn’t bother punishing him.

They all know she wasn’t planning on eating it.

“How was your first day?” Rachel asks, all but bouncing in her seat.

She’s been more excited about Hob’s new job than he has, and he’s been damn excited. Mostly about the prospect of money. Maybe now he can pay for nights out with his friends instead of Jo always paying the tab. She never complains, not really. Despite the gruff, acerbic facade, she’s quite a lovely woman, especially when Rachel is involved.

Hob still wonders how the two met in the first place. Rachel is vibrant, open and kind and always quick with a smile. Johanna is the complete opposite towards everyone who isn’t her girlfriend. They’ve never told Hob the story of their meeting, and he’s long stopped asking. Doesn’t stop him from imagining different scenarios, each more unlikely than the last.

Accepting the glass of whisky from Alan, Hob tells Rachel the truth: The day was uneventful, and he hasn’t yet met the client. “Ms Kincaid told me I probably never would, to be honest.”

“How the fuck does that even work?” Johanna asks. “Did he just ring in one day and go ‘Yeah, I need an errand boy to come ’round for a few hours and do what I refuse to do with my own two hands’?”

“I have no idea,” Hob replies with a laugh.

And he doesn’t. He’s new to this; he’d only applied at Helping Hands on a whim. A lark, truly. Hob couldn’t say where he even heard of the agency, but he had decided to throw in an application along with the seventy others he’d filled out. It’s a sad state of affairs when even retail won’t hire a willing applicant.

But Unity had taken a chance on a twenty-year-old with only handyman work on his CV. She’d warned him she was unwillingly, reluctantly throwing him to the wolves: “Everyone else I have has been dismissed by this particular client.”

Hob was–is–confident in his abilities to keep this job. He doesn’t scare easily, and he’s been told he is quite the charmer.

By the time the pub closes down for the night, Hob has spent four hours drinking and chatting with Johanna and Rachel. He goes with a woman named Claudia to her flat and doesn’t leave until half-six, when she kicks him out so she can get ready to go to class. They don’t bother exchanging numbers; they both know what the tryst was. It was merely a way to pass the time and satisfy needs, and nothing more.

Hob has to admit, as he’s walking back to his own rundown studio, he kind of misses the structure of a class schedule. He’d failed due to lack of attendance. Working two jobs made it impossible to have any time for something so trivial as schooling. There’s a small part of him that regrets not trying harder, not asking his parents for any sort of assistance. They would have helped without hesitation, but his pride had gotten in the way.

He wanted to be self-made, to make them proud of how hard he worked to reach the top.

He’ll never make it. He’s not naïve enough to actually think he will. But it’s a pleasant enough dream.

The manor is silent as it was the day before when Hob arrives. He locks the door behind him, just like the list of rules told him to, and checks his email for the day’s tasks. First up is sorting the post that waits in the box at the end of the walkway. He isn’t entirely sure what’s ‘important’, but he sets aside anything that looks like it may be junk. He leaves the legitimate post in the basket by the front door then turns to his next task: Cleaning.

Hob isn’t necessarily an untidy man. He keeps a clean enough home, he thinks. But here in this mansion, he feels as if he is the most unkempt human being on the planet. The only dust that lingers is the barest coating that he hadn’t wiped away yesterday. Everything has its place and is in said place. He can see no signs of life. Might as well be a mausoleum. He wonders if the client is even still alive, or if they’re actually dead and their estate is merely paying for the upkeep.

“Don’t be daft,” he chides himself as he gathers up the supplies. “Of course they’re still alive. The estate wouldn’t pay for groceries just for them to go to waste.”

Would they?

Hob quickly falls into a routine. He wakes in the morning and showers, feeds the neighbour’s cat while fighting to avoid the claws that swipe at him (one would think Shakespeare would warm up to Hob after five months of this, but no. The feeling is mutual, if Hob’s honest), then heads off to the mansion. It’s easy work, really, and he finds himself bored more often than not.

Two weeks in finds him saying “Fuck it” and baking a—quite frankly—absurd amount of brownies in the kitchen. He’s almost surprised that the client has so much cookware; then he remembers—recluse. He doesn’t get delivery. Wondering what the client makes for themself, Hob washes the dishes he uses and puts them away where he found them.

He leaves half of them in the refrigerator and takes the other half home. Johanna appreciates them, eating six in one sitting. Rachel refuses them, but Hob sees her sneaking a few into her bag before she exits his flat.

The brownies are gone from the refrigerator when he shows up for work the next day. All of them.

The job is as he thought—simple and straightforward. Unity emails on Friday evenings for a recap of his week, and his replies seem to assure her that there are no problems. And why would there be? He never sees the client, so there is no clash of personalities. There have been no complaints about how he cleans or his singing as he goes from room to room tidying up what doesn’t need tidied.

By the end of the first month, Hob can afford to get a new car on lease. He’s almost sad to say goodbye to the hunk of junk he’s called a vehicle for twelve years, but the new one more than makes up for it. It has air-con and heated front seats and windows that actually roll up and down as they’re meant to. He feels like a lottery winner as he drives back to his flat in the powder-blue sedan.

Hob finally learns the client’s name a week into the second month. Morpheus. There is no surname given, and Johanna doesn’t seem bothered by that. Hob doesn’t ask how she found out who his employer is, though he desperately wants to. There’s something about the way she can ferret out information that enthralls him; she always refuses to tell, so he’s learnt to stop asking. Rachel has promised to tell him one day, but Hob has no hope of that actually happening. She’s too loyal to her girlfriend of four years.

Hob should feel weird, uncomfortable, about the fact his two best friends are seven years older than he is. Neither Jo nor Rachel seem to mind that he’s only twenty, though. They treat him like the adult he is, though he can live without all the teasing Johanna does. He loves her as if she were his sister, and it’s all done in love, but damn, she can get mean without intending to. Product of her upbringing, he figures. He’s met her parents once. They weren’t exactly the loving, nurturing type.

It’s a wonder she came out as personable as she is.

He leaves the pub that night with a man named John and is unceremoniously shown the door immediately after. Hob doesn’t mind; the sex wasn’t that great anyway. The September night air steals his breath away as he waits for the ride-share to arrive. He shivers slightly at the cool breeze, tugging his jumper more tightly around him, and curses himself for not wearing his leather jacket like he planned. But Jo always takes the piss out of him for it, says it looks like he’s trying too hard to be a badass. Hob only cares that it’s warm.

Finally, he arrives home at half-three. He makes sure to rate the driver for not getting into an accident on the way or chatting the entire time. Hob’s head hurts now, and incessant conversation would have made it worse. He tosses his keys into the bowl on the table by the door, toes off his trainers, and stumbles toward the couch. Making it to his bed isn’t on the agenda for the night.

He falls asleep almost instantly.

Unfortunately, he only has ten minutes the next morning before he has to leave for work. Not showering is not an option, so he does so in icy water. The water’s just begun warming up by the time he steps out of the shower stall. Cursing under his breath, he speeds through getting dressed and brushing out the tangles in his hair. He’s meant to get it cut for the last two months, but something always stops him. He frowns at his reflection and tells himself to set an appointment as soon as possible.

Hob taps in the tablet’s PIN a mere minute before the hour changes over. Unity had made a big deal about him being on time. He hadn’t known in the beginning that the tablet keeps record of when he unlocks it, but he’d found out quick when she called him up to ask why he was late:

“We try to not make our clients wait.”

In his defence, Hob has never even met this Morpheus fellow. He is honestly beginning to doubt he ever will.

The mansion feels more like a mausoleum with every passing day. There is hardly ever anything to really do: An hour every couple of days is spent cleaning, dusting, and generally tidying rooms that don’t appear to have ever been stepped into. More often than not, though, he wastes away the time by lounging on a couch in the most exquisite study he’s ever seen, reading books he never would have gotten his hands on otherwise. Being a poor uni student doesn’t exactly lend itself to a lavish lifestyle. Hob finds himself jealous of this man he’ll never see.

Wealth, privilege, and access to such fantastic reading material… Hob wonders if Morpheus knows just how damn lucky he is. If Hob had this life, he would never take it for granted.

He certainly wouldn’t have to juggle his studies and his job. He’d be able to forgo one or the other, anyway. Perhaps he wouldn’t. He does like gaining knowledge, and he does enjoy working. At the very least, he likes making money.

Thankfully, Unity assures him that the client knows of his schedule and is willing to work around it, except for days on which there are appointments. Those days, Hob is expected to skip class long enough to do as his job requires. It isn’t much of a sacrifice, really, Hob thinks. It’s only one measly class, and he can easily make up for the time lost.

So it goes. August has faded into September which melts into October. Three months without a single sighting of his boss, and a balance in his bank account that he can actually be proud of. Hob decides to take his parents and siblings out for dinner—and doesn’t even sweat when his dad orders a whisky and his mum two glasses of wine. Hob even splurges on dessert for everyone. They have to share, but it’s an extra expense nonetheless.

He makes a mistake at work. It’s a simple one, inconsequential, though he still must fix it: He does the shopping as he’s meant to, but he forgets to pick up the medication refills on his way back to the mansion. He doesn’t realise it until he finishes putting the eggs in the refrigerator and reaches for the pill-keeper.

The bag with the bottles isn’t on the counter like it should be, so Hob bustles out of the house. The quicker he retrieves the medications, the less likely it is that Unity will find out about his lapse in memory. He doesn’t think she or Morpheus would fire him, especially not since he’s rectifying the mistake, but Hob doesn’t want to take chances.

He makes it to the pharmacy and back in less than an hour. It’s a record, he thinks, considering the massive queue he’d had to wait in. But it’s over now. He can fill the pill-keeper then go home to… do nothing, really. Hob is pathetic enough to have no plans on a Friday. Even Johanna has plans, and she’s the type to stay home because she dislikes people so much.

He opens the little box for Tuesday and reaches for the anti-anxiety pills. The hair on the back of his neck rises, skin prickling, and Hob freezes. Is he going to die? Has someone broken into the manor and he just hadn’t heard? It wouldn’t be that much of a surprise, not with how cavernous the house is.

He fists the orange bottle—he could probably use the pills as a diversion by throwing them in the intruder’s face before rushing them, if it comes to it—before turning around. There in the doorway stands a pale-skinned figure. Wide grey-blue eyes stare back at Hob from under a shock of raven hair. The man’s lips part on a quiet, shuddering gasp, then he’s gone from view. Hob listens to the pattering thud of footsteps on the steps before a door upstairs slams.

Hob isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks he just got his first look at the elusive Morpheus.

He takes his time organising the tablets and putting them in the pill-keeper. If he moves any quicker, he will make a mistake. Morpheus may be a grown adult who can double-check his medications before taking them, but that doesn’t mean Hob should be careless. It would be just his luck that he’ll lose his job over it and never get a better look at the client.

Don't be stupid. He warns himself that it’s a poor reason to want to do his job properly. He should want to do it for the sake of doing it. That has to be good enough.

Once he’s finished, Hob puts the keeper away and unlocks the electronic tablet. He taps the square on the to-do list, waits until the checkmark fills the box, then sets the device aside. There is nothing else to do, so he heads toward the door. He’s just grabbed his keys from the hook when he glances up the stairs.

He wonders what Morpheus does all day, why he hides himself away so much. Surely whatever the reason is can’t be that bad, can it?

Shaking his head, Hob steps out onto the covered veranda and locks the door behind him. There’s no point in speculating on something he will never learn. It’s best to just forget his ruminations and that he’s ever seen Morpheus.

Unfortunately for him, Hob can’t let it go. The memory haunts him for weeks. He dreams about seeing Morpheus for those few seconds. He can’t stop wondering if it’ll happen again. Hob is… He’s almost desperate for another look. He likes what he saw. It wasn’t much—even he can admit that—but it was enough to catch his attention. The eyes… It’s the startling grey-blue of Morpheus’s eyes that Hob sees most in his dreams. They held such depth, and Hob wants to drown in them.

He sighs and reminds himself he’s never talked to the bloke. Hell, he’s barely even seen him. It’s absurd to be so hung up on someone he will never know.

I’m sorry for startling you a few weeks ago.

There. Simple, to the point, and professional. Hob sticks the note to the fridge with a handprint magnet before heading off to hide in the study. He’s made it through the entire collected works of Poe and started on Lovecraft. He has studiously avoided Shakespeare (he still has nightmares of having to perform Romeo and Juliet in year nine, and he really detests his neighbour’s cat), but his to-read pile is growing steadily larger the more he spends time in Morpheus’s study.

Thankfully, he hasn’t been found out, judging by the fact he hasn’t been reprimanded by Morpheus or Unity. So Hob continues to push his luck by rushing through his tasks then slipping through the doors of the study, sitting behind the mahogany desk, and sloughing through the stack of books he’d set aside.

He stops by the shops on his way home to purchase a small square notebook and a pack of pens.

Over the next two weeks, Hob leaves notes pinned to the refrigerator door: wishes for Morpheus to have a good day, ramblings about the weather and the latest news (he isn’t sure if Morpheus even watches the news; Hob hates doing so. It’s always so disheartening). He writes about his days. Once, he even apologises for the enormous aloe plant dying. He thought he’d been taking care of it, but evidently not.

He’s putting away groceries on the second day of the third week of leaving the notes, when he hears footsteps behind him. He tenses, hesitates, then turns. No one is there, but on the counter is a folded piece of paper. His head tilts, and Hob frowns. Had it been there before now, or did Morpheus leave it within the last minute?

Hob shrugs and crosses the kitchen to pluck up the paper. In the same spidery letters as on the grocery lists are the words Thank you for your hard work. At the bottom, Morpheus has written Do not worry about the aloe plant. It was an unwelcome gift from a sibling. I should thank you for killing it.

It’s so stupid that Hob beams and tucks the paper into his pocket. He knows the note means nothing, but it’s something.

Hob goes home with a stronger desire to actually meet this Morpheus, to see his face once more.

He writes even more notes. These are more personal, having been struck with the urge to let this elusive man know about him. It makes no sense—Hob doesn’t know this man, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Hob can’t handle the unknown. No, he can’t. He knows that. He likes figuring out everything that life has to offer. His may not be glamorous, but it’s his, and that’s all that really matters. Why shouldn’t he know all there is to know about it?

Dream tells him little in return, though it doesn’t discourage Hob at all. He merely continues writing notes; if he’s become a perfectionist about his handwriting over the last month and a half, no one needs to know. No one needs to know that he spends over an hour rewriting the notes until the words are perfect, letters evenly spaced and legible.

Before Hob knows it, Christmas is on the horizon. He can hardly believe it’s been almost four months since he first began working for Helping Hands and, by association, Morpheus. As he sits in the study a week before Christmas, he finds himself unable to focus on the book in front of him. Does Morpheus have someone coming to visit, or will he spend the holidays alone?

The very idea that Morpheus would be by himself on Christmas is absolutely depressing.

But there’s really nothing Hob can do. It isn’t like he could spend the holidays with Morpheus, though the thought is enticing.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. See you in the new year. Hob pins the note to the refrigerator before leaving the house two days before Christmas. Snow swirls around him as he steps out onto the veranda, and he tugs his coat more closely around him before starting the trek to his car. The heating system kicks on as soon as he starts the engine, though it blows icy air for a few minutes. He grimaces and shivers until the air turns warm.

For some inexplicable reason, he glances through the windscreen toward the house. The upstairs window, more specifically. A figure stands there, peering around the curtains. The man’s skin is pale, and the black his hair blends into the shadows behind him. Even through the distance, Hob can see the way his eyes are narrowed.

He raises a hand and waves at Morpheus. Morpheus lets the curtains drop into place.

He spends Christmas at his parents’ and New Year’s with Johanna, Rachel, and a few of Rachel’s artsy friends. Hob knows he doesn’t belong amongst these people—they’re all older, more sophisticated, more educated—but Jo wouldn’t let him leave even if he tried. So he grits his teeth and tolerates the silent judgement.

He also gets very, very intoxicated.

Thankfully, the new year brings a sense of calm. Hob goes to his classes once they start up again, and he goes to work. He falls into the routine easily and rather enjoys it. Unity compliments his work ethic—and the fact he’s gone four months without a single complaint from ‘the client’. Hob is only thankful it’s a phone call and not an in-person meeting; having his boss watch him preen at the praise would be devastatingly mortifying.

The new year also brings an enormous rise in his courage. Hob leaves another note on the refrigerator: May I see you? If Morpheus says no, then it isn’t surprising, nor would it be disappointing. If he says yes… Oh, but then it’ll be a dream come true for Hob. He wonders if it would be anything like his fantasies, where Morpheus would realise Hob is a decent bloke if a bit young, and they’d strike up an unlikely friendship. Maybe Hob would find out why Morpheus stays locked away.

It’s two weeks into the year when the doctor comes. Hob lets her in and sits in the plush chair in the foyer to wait for her to finish. The hour ticks by slowly; he wishes he’d brought a book, but it’s too late to sneak into the study now. He should have paid better attention to the time, since he knew this appointment had been scheduled for today. Thankfully, before he decides to start counting the wavy lines in the marble floor, the doctor descends the stairs and heads for the door. Her trainers squeak on the floor with each step.

“He will have a new prescription to pick up tomorrow,” she says briskly as she passes Hob. “Do remember to collect it.”

“I always do.”

She gives a succinct nod then vanishes out into the freezing January air. Hob watches her get into her car then drive away, before locking the door. When he turns around, he runs a hand through his hair and gazes around the foyer. Something catches his attention, and he nearly shrieks. Thankfully, he clamps his teeth together in time, though he can’t stop the muffled shout.

There, at the top of the staircase, stands Morpheus. He blinks placidly down at Hob, but something in his expression doesn’t ring true. Hob recognises it, has felt it often enough: Morpheus is nervous about something.

“Oh. Hello.”

“Hello.”

Hob suppresses a shiver at the rich, low timbre of Morpheus’s voice. “I, er, wasn’t expecting to see you?”

“I suppose not.” Morpheus squares his shoulders, adjusts the front of his silken black robe. “I have… appreciated your work these past few months.”

“I’ve enjoyed doing it.”

“And your messages.”

“Ah. Those. They’re nothing, really.”

Morpheus frowns, gaze dropping to the floor. “I do not believe that,” he finally says. “They mean something to me.”

“Oh.”

And isn’t that something. Hob tucks his hands into his pockets and very nearly scuffs the toe of his trainer against the floor. He doesn’t, purely out of willpower, but he certainly feels like a child caught unawares.

“Have you enjoyed my study?”

At this, Hob’s head snaps up, and he stares at Morpheus with wide eyes. He knows? Of course he does, Hob’s brain whispers. It’s his house. Why wouldn’t he know what goes on in it? But then, why hasn’t he said anything?

“I—I’m sorry. I know I probably don’t have any right to go in there, I certainly don’t have permission, but—”

“I don’t mind, Mister…?”

“Gadling. Hob.”

Morpheus’s eyes narrow, and he slowly descends the staircase. “And how old are you, Hob Gadling?”

“Twenty, sir. Why?”

“There is no reason beyond curiosity, don’t worry.” Morpheus comes to a stop on the bottom step and scrutinises Hob more closely. Hob barely manages to not shiver beneath the intensity of the stare. “May I ask why you wished to see me?”

“Curiosity, really.”

Hob mentally curses at himself for the answer. Morpheus isn’t some specimen on display, meant only for people to gawk at as if he’s an oddity of some kind. No, he’s a human being with what Hob can only imagine is a good reason to stay away from humanity. Hob is such an idiot.

But… Morpheus is smiling. It’s barely an upward curve of his lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “Would you like a cup of tea, Hob Gadling?”

“Of—of course, sir.”

The man turns out to be nothing like Hob imagined but so much more. He carries himself as royalty would, though his fingers tremble as he holds his mug. His words falter on occasion, and he frowns more than Hob thinks is normal. His grey-blue eyes rarely meet Hob’s. He may seem unbothered, imperial, but there’s something beneath the surface that says otherwise.

The pair discusses books that Hob has read, his opinions and philosophies. They talk about Hob’s dislike for Shakespeare, both playwright and cat. Morpheus listens as Hob tells him stories of his childhood he never relayed before.

The hours slip away from them. By the time Hob realises what time it is, he was meant to go home nearly two hours ago. His tea has long gone cold, and he hurriedly swallows the dregs before rising to his feet. Morpheus’s lips turn down in the corners as he gazes at Hob. Hob gives an awkward shrug.

“Sorry, I just—I have to go. I have schoolwork I haven’t done yet.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Hob.”

“Thanks, sir. You, too. And… Thanks for talking to me.”

As Hob exits the kitchen, he thinks he hears, “Thank you for seeing me.” He wants to turn back, to confirm that Morpheus actually said it, but he wasn’t lying. He has too many essays to write and worksheets to fill out. So he clocks out on the tablet and heads to his car.

No one stands in the upstairs window to watch him leave.

Morpheus is waiting for Hob when he returns to the mansion with the medication the next day. Hob hides his surprise; he’d assumed it was a one-time thing, seeing Morpheus. Today’s conversation occurs while Hob puts the pills in the keeper. Hob thinks it should be awkward, doing his job with his boss at the island counter behind him, but it’s easy. It’s easy to let the words flow, more stories of his youth and his family.

Morpheus swallows up the tales eagerly. It’s almost as if he desires to hear about wild escapades and siblings and—

Does Morpheus even have siblings? Hob aches to ask, but it’s outside the realm of professional. Then again, so is chatting with Morpheus like they’re even friends.

Who cares about professionalism when you’ve finally got the chance to talk to the man? Hob cares, so he bites his tongue to stop the questions. He doesn’t ask after Morpheus’s family, he doesn’t ask about Morpheus’s life. He only tells Morpheus what he wants to hear and lets the enquiries fester in the back of his mind.

So it goes. Each day Morpheus is waiting, and each day, Hob has more memories to recall. He tells Morpheus of the time he and Johanna were arrested for public intoxication despite the fact they were only walking to the next street to get to Rachel’s SUV. Of course, the arrest probably had something to do with Jo getting into a physical altercation with a man who was pestering a woman just trying to go about her way. Hob was merely a victim of circumstance, and he paid the price for his best friend’s chivalry.

It isn’t until the week of Valentine’s Day, three weeks later, that Hob finally acknowledges what he’d been trying to deny since he first spoke with Morpheus: Hob is absolutely, undeniably falling for the enigmatic man. There is still so much he doesn’t know about Morpheus, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He yearns to spend more time with the man and to actually hear about Morpheus, though he knows it will never happen. Morpheus is too much a mystery, with too many closely-guarded secrets that Hob will never know. He wants to hear Morpheus’s laugh and know his hopes. Hob doesn’t even care if Morpheus ever tells him why he stays hidden away. He just… wants Morpheus.

He’s woken too often in the night, aching to phone Morpheus or to hold his hand as if they are sweethearts in primary. He dreams of what it might be like to kiss Morpheus, even with the knowledge that it would most likely not be like his dreams. It’s worth the loneliness, Hob thinks when he wakes after a night of imagining far more than filthy kisses with his boss. He at least has enough respect to not stroke himself to completion on the mornings after those dreams.

He only takes cold showers and wills his libido—and desires—to calm.

Everything comes to a head, as is wont to do. Morpheus and Hob sit in the study, both reading to themselves but occasionally reciting passages to share with one another. Hob rises to his feet and makes his way to the shelf that contains the collection he’d read a week ago, the poem that says what he wishes he could say in his own words.

“‘I crave your mouth’,” he begins, ignoring Morpheus’s sharp inhale, “‘your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day. I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps’.”

Morpheus closes his book and sits back in his chair. His voice is rough, low, when he says Hob’s name. Hob closes his eyes against the shiver racing down his spine and waits for Morpheus’s next words. Instead, he gets footsteps padding across the room, a soft, cool hand against his cheek.

“You know not what you say.”

“I know enough.” Hob finally meets Morpheus’s gaze. “I dream of you. Nearly every night, you haunt me. I… I don’t know how else to tell you that…”

“That what, Hob Gadling?”

“That you’re what I want.”

Morpheus’s fingers cradle Hob’s chin, then his grip tightens until Hob clumsily rises to his feet. They’re the same height, but Hob feels so much smaller. He shudders when he sees the heat in Morpheus’s eyes, the want in the bow of his mouth. Then that damned mouth is on Hob’s, and the world explodes around him.

With a low groan, Hob presses closer only to be forcibly turned to walk backwards toward the door. The two part only to stumble up the stairs together. Hob registers that they’re tumbling through the door to one of the forbidden rooms, but he gives less of a damn than he thought he would. He’s no longer curious about what lies inside—at least, not at the moment. That’s liable to change the instant Morpheus isn’t causing his blood to boil with nothing more than a tight grip and fervent kisses.

Morpheus wastes little time in steering Hob toward the bed; the two men fall to the mattress in a tangle of limbs. Hob whimpers into the kiss when Morpheus nips at his lower lip. HIs cock twitches in the confines of his jeans, and he wonders if this is how he will die—in the throes of desire and need while his boss (fuck, his boss) devours him whole.

“Are you sure?” he pants as soon as Morpheus pulls back for a breath.

“More than you could know” is the response given on a harsh rasp.

Hob shifts, slides his thigh between Morpheus’s, and drags the older man down for another kiss. This one is just as graceless and filthy and begging for so much. Promising even more. Hob will not leave this house until he’s given Morpheus all he will take. He has been called greedy dozens of times in his life, but this? This is one area he refuses to be selfish in.

So like a teenager, Morpheus ruts against Hob’s thigh, his hands locked in Hob’s hair, and he gasps when one of Hob’s hands slides along his back to dip under the band of his pyjama bottoms. There’s nothing underneath. Hob groans against Morpheus’s mouth and lays his hand flat against Morpheus’s arse, pulling him even closer.

“Fuck, love,” he nearly whines when Morpheus gives a rough tug of his hair.

Morpheus lifts his hips long enough for Hob to slip a hand between them; his cock is hard, leaking, by the time Hob wraps his fingers around the length. He rests his weight on his elbows, fucking into the circle of Hob’s fist as he buries his face against Hob’s throat. He lets out a long keening sound as his hips move faster, and Hob stretches his arm further to press a finger against Morpheus’s hole.

Morpheus comes without warning, with a cry of Hob’s name.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mutters moments later, though he doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled atop Hob. “I…”

“It’s okay. Not a problem at all. I’m taking it as a fucking compliment, thank you very much.”

Hob releases Morpheus’s softening cock and pulls his hand away. Morpheus lifts his head in time to see Hob licking his fingers clean. The whimper he lets out would force Hob into orgasm were he to have been focusing on himself at all. As it is, he wants nothing more than to continue pleasing Morpheus. His own pleasure can wait.

Except it can’t, judging by the fact that Morpheus is sliding gracefully along Hob’s body. He glances up through thick lashes as his hands make quick work of unbuttoning Hob’s jeans; Hob barely gets his hips lifted before Morpheus is tugging down his jeans and boxers. His hand presses to Hob’s stomach, fingernails scratching lightly, then he takes Hob into his mouth in one smooth move.

“Fuck!”

Morpheus hums around Hob’s cock, and Hob has to clap a hand over his mouth before he shouts again. There is no one else here, no one else around, but it feels taboo to bring attention to what he’s doing right now. With his boss, no less. Maybe that’s what makes it feel so right despite being so wrong. He moans when Morpheus slides a hand between his thighs. Presses against his hole before slipping just the tip of his finger inside.

Just before Hob can leap over the edge, Morpheus pulls away and stares through the dimness at Hob. “Roll over.”

And who is Hob to argue with that voice, the one that brooks no argument? He does as commanded, yelping when Morpheus's hands tug on his hips. Morpheus nips at the curve of his arse before whispering an order for Hob to place a pillow beneath him. The cool silk of the pillowcase feels wonderful against his overheated skin, and he melts into the chill. Of course that’s when he loses all sense of anything but the press of Morpheus’s tongue against his hole, thumbs holding Hob’s arsecheeks apart. The heat of his breath ghosting along Hob’s flesh, the sparks lighting up along his spine.

Hob has never, never, never been on the receiving end of this, though he’s given plenty of times before. He never imagined it could feel so great. Perhaps, he’d thought, his former lovers had been merely attempting to make him feel as if he was better in bed than reality. He whines and moans and clutches at the bedsheets as Morpheus’s tongue mercilessly fucks into him.

It takes two strokes of a cool hand on his cock before Hob is spilling a release all over Morpheus’s fist, the pillow, and the bedsheets beneath him.

He collapses to the mattress as Morpheus runs a soothing hand down his flank. “Shit, love, I think you’ve done it. I think you’ve killed me.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Well, I can guarantee you��ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“And I’ve not even fucked you properly yet.”

Hob’s cock gives a valiant twitch, and he groans at the words. That’s all he can think about now. How it would feel to have Morpheus fuck him as roughly as he had with his tongue. How amazing it would be to be filled with Morpheus’s cock for as long as he can. He aches for the stretch. He is, as an ex-boyfriend claimed, a slut for a good cock, and Morpheus? Well, he’s got the best one Hob has ever seen.

They lie there together for the next hour, silent and still save for Morpheus’s index finger running up and down Hob’s spine. Hob, for his part, is struggling to keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t want to push before Morpheus is ready; it’s taken months to get to this point in the first place. He’d hate to ruin it by being selfish and demanding.

In the end, it isn’t Hob who demands. It’s Morpheus who leaves burning kisses across Hob’s shoulders. It’s Morpheus who reaches toward the bedside table and extracts a tube of lubricant. He bites down where Hob’s neck meets his shoulder, grinning against the skin when Hob lets out a sharp cry. It hurts, and God, does Hob love it. He wants more. Probably more than Morpheus will give him. Definitely more than is appropriate.

Five minutes of meticulous prep later, Morpheus helps Hob roll onto his back before pushing into him with a tenderness that is at odds with the throbbing in the bite mark left behind. Morpheus gazes down at Hob steadily; the gentle glow of the moon casts stars in his blue eyes, and Hob reaches up with one hand to tug him down for a kiss. It’s softer now, more tame. They share breaths for a long moment before Hob nods once. He’s ready.

He needs it.

He yearns for it.

He craves it, and it hasn't even truly begun.

His legs tighten around Morpheus’s waist, pull him in with each thrust, and Morpheus exhales slowly—unsteadily—as he shoves his hips forward. With a soft sigh, Hob lets his head fall back to the mattress, and he closes his eyes. Morpheus’s cock drags along his prostate, and Hob knows he won’t last. Not with as much as he wants this.

Morpheus moves slowly, a tantalising pace that is just enough to keep Hob on the edge. Hob moans and scrabbles to cling to Morpheus. His fingernails find a hold in the pale skin, and Hob bites down on his bottom lip when Morpheus lets out a bitten-off gasp. His hips move faster, though still too slow, and Hob could cry with it.

Pleas spill from his lips—a litany of babbled desire that hardly makes sense even to himself—and Morpheus leans down to kiss away the words. Hob’s hands slide along the warm body until they press to sharp shoulderblades. One hand continues, cupping the back of Morpheus’s neck, and a burst of hot breath gusts along Hob’s cheek. The laugh goes ignored.

Hob was right, he thinks when Morpheus pulls back, straightens his spine, and fucks into him with a rough thrust. Hob will never find anyone to make him feel like this. Morpheus has ruined him. Sex is good and all, but it’s different with Morpheus. It could be everything, if Hob lets it.

He wants to let it.

He curses when Morpheus wraps fingers around his cock, stroking in time with each thrust that rocks his body; the crooked grin Morpheus sends him brings a boil to Hob’s blood. He groans and bears down on Morpheus’s dick; he’s never cared much one way or the other, but now… Now he wants to feel Morpheus filling him up.

He isn’t disappointed. Not even seconds after he comes across his own belly, he feels the hot spurts of Morpheus’s release. Another splatter of cum drips from the head of his cock at the sensation.

“You, love, are a dream come true,” Hob murmurs shakily before dragging Morpheus down for a kiss, disregarding the mess between them as Morpheus rests over him.

“You are more than I imagined,” Morpheus whispers against his lips.

Hob huffs out a laugh at that. If anyone is more, it’s Morpheus. Morpheus has proven himself better than Hob’s fantasies. He’s starred in many a dream, but none of them have come close to reality. This… This is something Hob will remember for the rest of his life.

He remembers to clock out on time, but then Morpheus drags him back up to the bedroom.

Hob doesn’t leave Morpheus’s bed until near dawn the next morning. He drives home in the grey dark of early morning, aching and devastatingly satisfied. His mind replays the night, the hours spent in Morpheus’s bed, the touches and kisses that lit his nerves anew. He gets home, locks the door behind him, and falls facefirst onto his couch.

He falls asleep to the memory of being full of both cock and love.

A woman stands just outside Morpheus’s front door when Hob climbs out of his car only hours later. She takes a step forward into the weak February sunlight, and he eyes the envelope in her hands. Her wire-rimmed glasses glint golden in the sun; on her face is a severe yet unreadable expression. Hob feels much like a chastised child with no clue what he’s done.

“Mister Gadling, I presume?”

Hob nods then clears his throat. “Yeah. What’s, er, what’s going on?

“Mister Emrys no longer requires your services. Consider this your severance. If you would please return to your vehicle and leave, it would be appreciated.”

Hob gapes but doesn’t take the envelope she holds out. What? Morpheus… Morpheus doesn’t want Hob around? Hob can’t make heads nor tails of the situation. Everything had been fine—had been great—when he’d left. He can still feel the aftermath of everything they had done. But now he’s being unceremoniously evicted from the property for a reason he can’t find.

“Sir?”

He finally pinches the edge of the envelope with two shaking fingers and turns away from the woman. There is no point in arguing, he knows it. She looks like the type of woman to phone the police if the situation calls for it, and Hob refusing to leave Morpheus’s home is definitely a situation that warrants a police presence.

He’d had plans for today, damn it. He wanted to read more with Morpheus, he wanted to—let’s face it, he thinks. He wanted to make love with Morpheus, be the one to push into him so carefully and make sure Morpheus could feel the depths of Hob’s feelings. A month of constant talking, months of notes passed back and forth, and one perfect night is all Hob gets from this ordeal.

He glances through the windscreen. Morpheus stands at the upstairs window. Hob wants to get out of his car. He wants to storm inside and shake Morpheus until he gives answers, until he explains what the fuck is going through his head.

Morpheus lets the curtains drop into place, and Hob feels his heart stutter. Collapse into nothingness.

He manages to drive home and get inside before the tears win the fight. Hob throws the envelope onto the counter before stumbling to his bedroom. He sits on the edge of his bed, head in hands, and lets himself feel all the pain he’d hoped to never feel again. He thought it was bad when he broke it off with Eleanor because he knew he couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship, but this… This might actually be worse.

Jo finds him later that night in the New Inn, already six beers and two shots of whisky in. She takes one look at his face, orders another round, and drops onto the stool beside him. They drink in silence; she doesn’t want to hear his problems, and he doesn’t want to talk about them.

The next morning, he doesn’t remember how he got home.

He phones the Helping Hands office and quits.

He spends the next week looking for a new job during the day and his nights at the New Inn, drinking until he forgets even his own name. Unity sends one final email congratulating him on such hard work, promising a recommendation should he need it for his next job, and apologising for how abruptly his employment with the agency ended: You were such a wonderful employee, and I know the client appreciated all you did for him. Yeah, Hob thinks, Morpheus appreciated it so much, he fucked me and ditched me. The pain starts all over again.

His mum is less than pleased that he lost his employment at Helping Hands—“You worked so hard and did so well, what happened?” His dad only tells him to keep his chin up—“You’ll find something, lad.” Nothing will compare to the job he had. He loved working as what amounted to little more than an errand boy. Even before he ever started writing notes to Morpheus, Hob enjoyed what he did. It was easy work, and it was nice to not have anyone pestering him to work harder. What happened with Morpheus was only a bonus, even though it turned out to be one helluva beautiful mistake.

It takes another two weeks (and asking his parents for rent money), but Hob finally manages to get a job as a courier for a solicitor’s office. He still drinks every night, but Johanna only joins him less than half the time. After the fifth night in a row of destroying their livers, she’d snapped at him without remorse.

“You’re a grown man, Gadling. Either deal with the shit that happened, whatever it is, or keep drinking yourself into a hole. But don’t expect to drag me down with you.”

Rachel perches on the stool next to him one evening, nearly two months after his night with Morpheus. She asks for a martini then crosses her arms on the bar-top. He ignores her and finishes his beer, gesturing for another.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she starts, rolling her eyes when Hob interrupts her with a derisive snort. She continues without acknowledging the interruption further, “I don’t know what happened, but I’m here if you need to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about,” he snaps.

“Yes, because that was so believable.” Rachel sighs and accepts her drink with a smile at the bartender. When he moves on to the next patron, she takes a sip before setting the glass down. “Have you not noticed that nobody wants to be around you when you’re like this?”

The words hit Hob like a punch to the gut. He squeezes his eyes closed, but the tear slips free anyway. Rachel murmurs low in her throat and tugs on his hand. He stumbles after her to the corridor leading to the toilets. Her arms wrap around his neck, and he lets her pull him into a tight embrace. She doesn’t shush him, doesn’t say a word except ‘That’s it, sweets, let it out’ as he cries. He should feel pathetic, sobbing like this in his best friend’s arms so long after he got his heart broken, but he knows Rachel would never judge him.

Not even Johanna would.

Hob finally manages to blubber out the story of what happened, of how he stupidly fell in love with his boss, slept with said boss, and was pushed aside as if none of it mattered at all. Rachel’s grip tightens, and her voice shakes as she tells him everything will be okay.

“You just need some time, and I need to find this prick and—”

“And nothing, Rache.” Hob pulls back and wipes at his eyes with his palms. “He showed me what I meant to him, and… I can’t change it. I can only accept it. You kicking his arse won’t do a damn bit of good.”

“It’ll make me feel better. And it might even cheer you up.”

“Doubt it, but thanks.”

Rachel sighs and brushes away a stray tear with her fingertips. “Look, Hobsie. No matter what he made you believe with this shit, you deserve better. Okay? So forget him. Stop drinking so much, focus on your schooling and job, and everything will work out. I promise.” Hob only nods in response. She smiles and laces their fingers together. “Good, now let’s go finish our drinks and go home. Jo won’t mind if you stay at ours tonight.”

Jo doesn’t mind at all. However, she makes Hob swear that he’ll make pancakes and waffles in the morning. He does so willingly.

His studio flat is a mess when Hob walks in the next day. Dishes clutter up the countertops, and mugs and empty beer bottles spread across the coffee table. He sighs and heads to the kitchen. He might as well follow Rachel’s advice to get his life in order, starting with this bullshit.

By the time he finishes clearing out the rubbish, scrubbing filth from plates and forks, and washing three loads of laundry, the sun has begun to set, and he actually feels better. Less like he’s on the verge of falling apart, as if one wrong move will shatter him. He finds himself thinking of Morpheus without the agony from before. It’s a dull ache, the ghost of want that has plagued him since After. He finishes sorting through all the post he’s let collect in a pile on the counter, frowning when he sees an envelope with a blank face.

Hob tosses the junk mail into the bin before sliding his finger under the flap. Inside is a cheque and a folded sheet of paper. He doesn’t recognise the handwriting on the cheque, but he remembers now. He recalls the woman handing him this very envelope: Consider this your severance. Hob sets the envelope and cheque on the counter, clenches one hand into a fist, and squeezes his eyes closed at the wave crashing over him. He’d somehow forgotten, in all his drunken hours and time spent working and in school, exactly how that morning had gone. After a moment, he pulls out the folded paper.

The spidery handwriting forces open the rift in Hob’s chest, and he chokes on a broken sob even as he reads Morpheus’s words.

Hob, I am truly sorry for this. You do not deserve what I am about to do. You have been a tremendous help in more ways than you shall ever know. Your kindness has helped heal a wound that has been festering inside of me, eating away at the very heart of who I am. I will never be able to find the words to show my appreciation for all that you are, all that you have done for me and will do for this world. My sincerest apologies for hurting you the way that I am. Forgive me, though I have no hope of ever deserving that forgiveness.

I hope you have stopped dreaming of me. Much like your forgiveness, I am not worthy of it.

Yours, Morpheus

“What a load of shite,” Hob snarls though he can’t drag his gaze away from Yours. “Mine, are you? Mine? Then you better fucking prove it, you prick.”

Deciding that action is better than standing around shrieking curses at the unresponsive air, Hob storms out of the flat and down to his car. Yours. Yours. Yours. God, does he hope it’s true. He hopes it isn’t too late.

He hopes that Morpheus will forgive him should he be compelled to actually punch the man in the face.

A beat-up two-door sits in front of the house when Hob pulls up. He parks behind the compact, turning off the engine with a vicious twist of the key. Praying no one notices him, he stomps up to the front door and reaches for a key he no longer has. It’s an attempt borne of desperation, but he tries the knob anyway.

The door is unlocked.

Someone is going to get fired, he thinks even as he quietly slips inside. The foyer looks the same. Nothing has changed, and that alone hurts Hob’s heart. He’d hoped, before everything went to shit, that things would be different for Morpheus. That he’d make different decisions and do what he could to make himself happy.

Hob had hoped it would be him to make Morpheus happy.

He sneaks up the stairs on near-silent footsteps and stops just at the top. He remembers clearly which door is the one he seeks; he just needs to find the courage. Now that he’s here, confronted with his own stupid idea, Hob isn’t so sure he can follow through. What if Morpheus turns him away again?

“How did you get in here?”

Hob turns to see a young Black woman with a rainbow in her hair. She frowns and walks closer, closing the door to one of the guest rooms behind her. Hob swallows thickly and glances back at Morpheus’s door.

“You can’t be here, sir.”

“I’m not leaving without talking to Mor—Mister Emrys.”

“Leave, or I’ll phone the police.”

Hob closes his eyes at the quiet squeak of hinges. Rose’s gaze cuts to the space behind him, and he stifles a broken sob at the achingly familiar voice.

“It’s quite alright, Rose. I will handle this.”

Rose’s frown grows, but she takes a step back. “Of course, Mister Emrys. I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

As soon as she’s disappeared with one last dark look at Hob, he turns to Morpheus’s door. It’s still open, but the man has retreated further into the room. Hob glances at the staircase, though Rose doesn’t reappear, before slipping inside the bedroom. He closes the door behind him and blinks in the sunlight that pours in through the window.

“That was a shit thing you did.”

Morpheus’s shoulders tense; he stares out at the garden as he says, “I did what I thought best.”

“Your thoughts fucking suck, then.”

“You do not understand,” Morpheus replies, though it comes out a plea.

“How could I?” Hob scoffs, throwing his hands into the air. “You’ve told me nothing. I don’t know whether you have siblings, what your dream job is, anything. Hell, I barely know your name! I literally just learnt your surname the morning after you fired me.”

“And that’s the way it should be. We should never have…”

“Yeah, well, it’s a bit late to take it back, isn’t it?”

Morpheus sighs, raises a hand to press his fingertips to the glass, and keeps his gaze on the world outside. “Would you, if you could?”

“No. Never.”

“You are young.”

Hob snorts, crosses his arms over his chest. “As if you’re some ancient being. You’re only a few years older than I am.”

“A few?” From where he stands, Hob can see the curve to Morpheus’s lips, though he knows it isn’t a kind smile. It’s wry, sharp. Cold. “Hob, I am fourteen years older than you are. There is a wealth of experience I have that you do not.”

Hob gapes for a second. Fourteen years? Shaking himself from his disbelief, Hob approaches slowly and comes to a stop at Morpheus’s side. Neither man looks at each other.

“I don’t care,” Hob finally says. “I enjoyed spending time with you. Being with you. Quite a lot, actually.”

“Though you know so little of me?”

“I like a mystery. Tell me, don’t tell me. It’s your choice. I won’t push. But no matter what, it won’t change my mind about you.”

Morpheus turns his head away, hand falling to his side once more. The drag of his fingertips on the glass causes a squeaking sound to break the silence. After a moment, Morpheus speaks.

“Then sit, Hob Gadling. Let me tell you a tale.”

Hob frowns but takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Morpheus still won’t turn around, and Hob aches to force the man to look at him. To see him, to know that Hob is here and not going anywhere. But he doesn’t. He only listens as Dream talks about growing up in a family with loveless parents who had no time for their seven children. The third oldest ran away at seventeen, and no one has heard from him since. They don’t even know if the brother is still alive after all this time.

“I haven’t spoken to my once-favourite sibling in nearly a decade. We had a massive fight. I hardly remember the cause now, but it is too late.”

“It’s never too late, love. You can—”

Morpheus continues, speaking over Hob with ease, “I met a woman eight years ago, beautiful and kind. Intelligent. We married within the year, and our son was born only ten months into our marriage. Our struggles only grew worse. The distance between us widened.”

Then, Morpheus says, tragedy struck. Their little boy, only four years old, died in a car accident in which Morpheus was driving. Morpheus and his wife could hardly stand the sight of each other after that. Their fighting grew harsher, more frequent. They spoke words they will never be able to take back. She left him three months after the funeral with an empty house and a heart full of blame.

“She has blamed me since. If I am being honest… I have blamed myself.”

“This whole time?”

“Losing a child is devastating enough. To be the cause of that loss, it is unforgivable.”

“It was an accident.”

“I was scolding him, Hob. My attention was no longer on the road, and the last thing I ever said to him were words of anger.” At this, Morpheus finally turns to Hob. His eyes are filled with tears, and some spill over. “Tell me, how does one move past that?”

And that’s a question too difficult to answer. Hob has no words. For once, he is utterly speechless. He can do nothing, say nothing, to assuage the guilt that still wracks Morpheus. He rises to his feet and moves to embrace Morpheus, but the man takes a large step back.

“It is my fault that my son died. It is my fault my marriage dissolved—no, imploded. There is nothing of me to care for.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Hob pleads. “Let me make my own damn choices.”

Morpheus grins that same cold grin. “And when we end in disaster? What then, Hob, would you feel? Would it be resentment towards me for taking so much of your time, your affections? Would it be the same hatred and blame that Calliope has carried in her heart for seven years?”

“Oh, Morpheus… It will always be love.”

Morpheus flinches bodily, shoulders coming up around his shoulders as if to guard himself against Hob’s words. His expression turns from defiant to wounded, to frightened.

“Leave.”

“You said you were mine,” Hob counters. “In that letter. You said you were mine, Morpheus. So fucking prove it.”

“I wish—”

“I know, I know. You wish me gone. But I wish you to know that I don’t give up on what’s mine. Now prove that you are mine as I am yours.”

“I know of no way to do so,” whispers Morpheus; his voice shatters in the glow of the sunlight spilling across his pale face.

Hob lets out a slow breath. “I do.” He cups Morpheus’s cheek and presses their foreheads together. They share breaths for a heartbeat, two, three. “Let me love you the way you deserve.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Then I’ll love you anyway until you can. I’ll love you enough for the both of us.”

Lacing their fingers together, Hob pulls Morpheus toward the bed. Morpheus goes willingly, lying down under Hob’s insistent hands, and Hob sighs in relief when Mropheus curls into the comfort of his arms once they’re both stretched across the mattress. Morpheus lets out a shuddering breath, and Hob stifles tears of his own as the man he loves falls apart. Sobs shake his entire body; Hob imagines he has nearly a decade of tears to shed, of remorse and agony to work through.

Eventually, long after Hob has stopped keeping track of time, Morpheus calms. His breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep, his head on Hob’s chest. Hob presses a kiss to the crown of Morpheus’s head and makes a vow to always be there, every step of the way. Fourteen-year age difference be damned.

Hob can be what Morpheus needs.

[james5-doe]

Forward: I've combined some of my older work to create this tale, which features new writing and art. Not sure if I'll post this spinoff on FF.net.

SMD Side Story

"The Third Bearer"

Flash had visited about twenty-two worlds. Maybe twenty-three; he couldn't be sure. In any event, he'd seen all manners of civilizations, spotted great advances in architecture. Among all the places his eyes beheld, few lands compared to the Netherworld. The Golden Realm was incredible, even more so than when he'd viewed it last. Jedda was adding her personal touch, making the kingdom her own domain. Long red banners draped ivory walls -- banners displaying the kingdom's crest. Video screens hung above the streets, ones Jedda used when she made an address. The land looked a little like ancient Rome, with the conveniences of Central City.

"So what does a typical day entail?" he asked while walking beside the queen. What did his son's routine involve?

Jedda held her gaze on the long pale road, a number of guards marching up ahead. "The realm is divided into multiple lands. Tensions are arising between a few. We're monitoring shipments. Preaching peace. Making sure the people don't fight for supplies." She paused a moment. "Aside from that, we've stopped radicals who want other lands, villages outside their territories."

Flash couldn't help but feel a little conflicted. Jedda's report made him proud of her. Another part of him felt something else. "J..." He paused, his voice softening. "Do you ever long for a normal life?"

She chuckled a bit. "I've never exactly been a 'normal' girl."

"I know that you haven't. That's my point. I wonder if it's something you still desire." He smiled a tad. "Remember when we talked about this back home?" Flash regretted his choice of word. He shouldn't have labeled the mansion home. That might make Jedda start to long for it -- assuming she wasn't longing for it now. He cleared his throat. "Back at Mandrake's place, I mean."

Jedda went quiet for a number of seconds. Her gaze grew firm as she studied the ground, the little tiara shining in her hair. Just as it seemed she was about to speak, the sound of footsteps arrived behind.

"Highness!"

Flash turned and spotted a servant. The guards at the rear looked curious.

The man knelt down a few yards from her. "Raiders have looted your shipment to Alyn."

"Raiders from where?" Jedda was scowling.

"According to footage from Nethernet..." He made a long frown. "They seem to have approached from the village of Oris."

Her fists clenched up. "Damn it," she whispered, turning away.

Flash touched her arm. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Those two lands are on the brink of battle." She heaved a sigh. "The leader of Oris wants more supplies. He thinks that Alyn gets a bit too much. As soon as word spreads of what he's done, Alyn will take the goods back by force."

A voice called out. "Not if I can help it."

Flash spun around, seeing his son. Rick was approaching in a suit of armor, a number of troops marching at his back.

"Lend me your cape," Rick said to Jedda.

Jedda flinched a little. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to head out and retrieve the supplies. A knight wears the colors of his lady in battle."

She scowled again. "Have you lost your mind? I can't have you running into battle, Rick. You're about to sit on the throne with me. I need you here, where you won't be hurt."

"This isn't a risky battle, J. It won't demand any real effort."

"Then why are you going?" She narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you leave this fight to the troops? Why do you need to be out in the field?"

Rick looked down at his boots for a moment. His fists were shaking with anxiety. It seemed he couldn't wait to head out to the fray.

Jedda glanced off. "You don't need to go -- you want to go."

Flash felt awkward as he watched them both. He wasn't surprised that it'd come to this. Rick was a Gordon. He longed for thrills. Action and adventure were in his blood. This could be an issue for years to come.

She turned back to Rick. "We're not Defenders. Not anymore. You're supposed to be King Richard now."

Rick sighed a bit. "I'm not on the throne. Not just yet. Until I am, I'm going to go out there and serve our kingdom." He walked to Jedda and gave her a kiss, then he patted Flash on the shoulder and left. All of the soldiers followed him.

Jedda looked on, quietly.

"He'll be okay," Flash murmured to her. "He's the best." The mission didn't sound very dangerous. If it had, he would've gone too.

Jedda kept staring, holding silent.

"I'm going to head back," Flash announced. "I'll call here later."

Jedda made a nod.

Flash stepped away.

----

Two Hours Later

"Finally," April exclaimed, seeing Rick's face on her video phone. "What in the world is going on down there? I couldn't get anyone to take my calls." Then she paused, fidgeting. Her brother appeared rather shaken up. He was in a thin suit of tattered plates. "Are you okay?"

Rick heaved a sigh. "We just had a battle."

"Obviously. Everything all right?"

He shook his head. "Jedda was there. She lost the necklace. Everybody's scrambling to get it back. We're trying to chase the two culprits down." Rick punched a wall. "It's all my fault."

April shivered. Not again. She really hoped that she hadn't heard him right. The necklace contained unbelievable power. She didn't like the thought of it being misused, as it had been before Hadea had changed. Her fear became anger as his words sank in. "A queen shouldn't be on the battlefield. Why was she out there anyway?"

Rick looked down. "She came out because she was concerned for me. Jedda never wanted me going there..."

"But you decided to go anyway." April scowled. She knew him well. "You had to go getting your little thrills."

"Don't pretend you never do that too."

"I'm not the head of some royal land."

Rick paused a second, touching his ear, holding what looked like a listening device. "Wait a minute...I just got word that the necklace was found! Both of the raiders have been subdued."

April felt a flutter of intense relief.

"But not by our people...by Minako's."

April squinted. "Minako..." She recalled all of the recent events. Hadea had given Minako a land, letting her replace a very negligent queen. Minako had sounded uncertain at first, but gradually declared that she'd give it a try.

Now she had the Necklace of Oros with her.

----

Jedda scowled. "What do you mean you can't give it back?" She took another gander at Minako's chest. The Necklace of Oros was glistening there. Jedda intended to retrieve it now, to take it straight home to the Netherworld. Minako had other plans, it seemed.

Jedda eyed Rick, who stood at her side. He seemed every bit as perplexed as her.

"Jedda..." Minako released a moan. "I didn't say I wasn't going to give it back. I said that I can't give it back today. I have to keep it for a little while."

Jedda took a breath. "Why is that?"

"It could help a lot in my kingdom now."

"You think I don't need it in my domain?"

Minako paused. "Honestly no. Can't say that I do. The Netherworld is a prosperous land. Mine is still struggling to find its feet. I need the power that the necklace brings, the power to expedite the growth of crops -- crops we can trade in for currency, money that will buy us technology, tech that will help better people's lives."

Jedda resisted the urge to glare. Minako hadn't been a queen for long, yet she was thinking so far ahead. She was moving faster than Jedda had.

"As soon as I've gotten my land in shape, I'll give the necklace right back to you."

Jedda stepped forth. "I need the necklace to protect my home, just in case the raiders attack again."

"We both know it's highly unlikely they will." She quieted a moment, then squinted a tad. "There's more to this than you're letting on."

Jedda twitched a little, trying to hide it. Her fellow ruler was smart indeed. It seemed she recalled a discussion they'd had.

"This is about what you said before." Minako stared. "You think you'll lose Hadea if you lose the land. That's the real reason why you serve as queen. And that's the main reason why you want the jewel. You waited so long to have a mom in your life. You think the Netherworld is the key to that."

Jedda knew this wasn't entirely true. She sensed that it wasn't wholly false either. "Give me the necklace." She stepped in closer.

Rick got between them, extending an arm. "Jedda," he whispered, touching her shoulder. "Let's head home now, and think this through."

Minako eyed them regretfully.

Jedda watched the girl, then walked away, letting Rick lead her to the palace's door.

----

Minako stared at the video screen, wrapping her call with Hadea up. "I'll give it back to Jedda when the time is right. No one will decide when that is but me." She rose from the seat, adjusting her robe, then glanced at the jewel resting on her chest. "It's my necklace now."

Hadea paused, then smiled a bit. Was the queen proud of the stance she'd taken? "Goodnight, child," Hadea said. "We'll speak again soon."

Minako nodded. "Goodnight, Hadea." She tapped a remote, ending the call, then took the necklace off and crawled into her bed.

----

Based on Sailor Moon Defenders by @amandamultifandoms

Art by Plustina and Neldorwen

[sins-of-the-sea]

With that said, the Seven REALLY DO NOT APPRECIATE anyone bringing up what happened in their childhoods to bring upon pity, belittlement, and especially derision. Not only because much of them were out of their control (especially if it's a historical event), but because it insinuates that these grown-ass adults never 'grew up', so to speak. It doesn't just deprive them of their dignity, but their autonomy--which is already incredibly limited due to their souls belonging to the Master. There are some notes to take with a few.

This is especially true for Giovanni, who, as far as everyone knows, is still stuck in the cellar and struggling to survive against the yearly acqua alta for ten. cold. dark, and lonely years. And modern day therapy, counselling, and medication does not exist during the 1500s-1700s. While he has a loving and caring support system now, they--especially Josep--have a nasty habit of infantilizing him. Even Ruixiong, his biggest advocate and proponent on him becoming his own man, treats him more like a little baby brother instead of acknowledging the fact Giovanni is over 100 years older chronologically and 2 physically. The only reason Giovanni allows this is because, by becoming the Crew morality pet, it discourages them from wanting to abandon him as he fulfills a role absent in many of their lives. But GOD, he can't stand being coddled and treated like a kid, or worse--a prisoner. He's not even allowed to grow a beard, so his babyface is somewhat enforced.

Rashid is the only one without any notable childhood trauma--his anguishes based on childhood were all slow-burn sadness and regrets from not having developed better relationships with his father and brothers rather than any real life-changing event or events. The youngest you can go to something 'life-changing' is when he first met Sukhbir at around 16 and then deciding to obssess and devote his life to just around her. But he would tell you that was a joyous event, not a traumatic one. The Fucked Up Moment (TM) was ten-ish years after marrying her, and it was that point that everything turned for the worst.

Of the rest of the Crew, the most emotionally well-adjusted from their childhood traumas are Abena and Phoebus. Though this comes with an OOC precedent. Besides balancing out the number of people among the Seven with debilitating childhood trauma, this is also to try to have their Sin Stories come from their personal, human, autonomous actions rather than JUST on being victims of the Atlantic Slave Trade and antisemitism in Renaissance Avignon. In other words, their Envy and Sloth is NOT just on being black or Jewish. It's their actions--or lackthereof--that set their Sins in stone, with their traumas as a contributing factor but not the dominant one.

Really, the only characters whose childhood traumas RULED their lives is Ruixiong and Josep. And in their defenses--Ruixiong was still very young when he sold his soul to the Master and lived on his own without any real parental figures throughout much of his life until he met Rashid at age 19. Josep, meanwhile, is subjected to the most mistreatment by the Master, who gets his jollies tormenting him (as Captain) if the Crew fucks up in their missions, so the trauma is frequently reinforced. In the modern day, Josep would have been diagnosed with C-PTSD and likely would require regular visits with his health professional team for the rest of his life.

.....so that leaves out Guy, lmao. Well, he IS the most (literally) volatile member of the Crew, arguably more than Josep, and Josep’s Sin is Wrath. I suppose he’s a little bit of all of the above--childhood trauma based on his identity and historical events, never given a chance to heal or grow. Poor, Jewish, AND gay. It’s no wonder he burned down an entire mansion full of rich partying people with little provocation. Josep may be angry and ready to throw down a fight at any given moment, but Guy won’t hesitate to incinerate anyone for seeing him lesser than human. We can laugh at him being 100% Horny on Main, but there are times and places for it. Guy’s volatility is no different from that of a rutting animal who can’t find release and relief. No release? No relief? No way of having a healthy means of simple human needs met? You get a man who’ll explode at any given moment, and I don’t mean through a sexual climax.

[solartranslations]

AF2 Pace Epilogue 3: Happiness in Regalo

~*Scene: Lord’s Mansion Inside*~

Pace: Hey, Fel!

Felicita: Yes, dear?

Pace: Ahh, it’s such a critical hit when you say that

Felicita: Critical hit?

Pace: A critical hit to my heart

Felicita: …Don’t you have somewhere to be?

Pace: Oh right, I got a letter from Agata

Felicita: About the upcoming conference?

Pace: Yeah, about increasing the influence of the Dono family

Pace: She wants to see Alberto too

Pace: Let’s go everything we can

Felicita: I’ll be sure to support you

Pace: I can’t wait! We’ll do this together

Felicita: Yeah

Felicita: [Even though his fate hasn’t changed, Pace remained cheerful, positive…and smiling]

Felicita: [If we want to spend the rest of our time happily, I can’t think negatively]

Felicita: [We could only look forward to our bright and peaceful future]

Felicita: [Even if our time is short—]

Felicita: [But, maybe if I had made different choices…]

Felicita: [I still would have had that familiar smile beside me]

~*Scene: Mondo’s Office*~

Alberto: Excuse me. Oh? Were you working?

Felicita: No, it’s fine

Alberto: I don’t really have a reason for visiting. I just wanted to see you

Alberto: It’s been a year since…

Felicita: A year…

Alberto: Does it feel long?

Felicita: …Not really. I’ve been busy

Alberto: You’re leading the Family as Donna now, after all

Alberto: I wondered why Mondo decided at that moment to retire and make you the new head of the Family…

Alberto: But it was the best way to help you after losing Pace. Your father is a wise man

Felicita: It’s why I was able to keep my promise to Pace. You have too, right?

Alberto: I’ve taken on the lord’s position, yes. Now that you’re Donna, my father fully recognizes the changing of the guard

Alberto: My mother sends her regards too

Felicita: Your mother?

Alberto: I remember you became good friends while living at our mansion

Alberto: Even my mother’s pride was softened with Pace around

Felicita: Pace really is amazing

Alberto: I still can’t compare to him. But I will grow using the courage he gave me

Alberto: I’ll move forward without hesitating in the way I want. I’ll remember him, and do my best

Alberto: I hope we can support each other in making Regalo a better place

Felicita: Yes

Alberto: See you, then

Felicita: […My last promise to him, was to “smile”]

Felicita: [It’s was a difficult promise to keep with Pace no longer around]

Felicita: […But I still keep struggling not to lose my smile]

Felicita: [All while remembering his—]

Felicita: It’s done…my letter to Pace. About how I’m feeling now…

Felicita: (Pace…the time we spent together was short, but it was the time of my life that I treasure the most)

Felicita: (I’m who I am now because of it)

Felicita: (I’m really glad I met you. I wish I could see you again, but it’s not the time)

Felicita: (I have to experience a lot more so I can tell you all about it. So please, wait for me)

Felicita: (I’ll think really hard about what I want to tell you, and hear about from you when we next meet)

Felicita: (—But for now, can I ask you one thing?)

Felicita: Do you still love me, Pace?

Pace: Do you need to ask? …Of course, I L-O-V-E you!

Pace: I wish that could convey all of what I’m feeling, but I guess it’s not enough

Pace: You might have some regrets

Pace: But I think it’s important how you live your life, and not how long you live it

Pace: I’m happier than anyone because I got to meet you. So I have no regrets

Pace: You’ll be a wonderful Donna…

Pace: The one that I love will be able to protect the place that I love

Pace: Nothing could make me happier

Pace: And you’re still keeping that smile that stole my heart

Pace: If there ever comes a day where it’s too hard for you to smile, then let your tears out under the Regalo sun

Pace: …The sea breeze will wipe them away, and the sun will dry them

Pace: So please, be happy

Pace: And keep smiling. My—

Pace: Felicita…

~*End of Scene*~

(Back to Directory)

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: The Hyades (Kingdom of Ichor)

*from left to right: Coronis, Phaesyle, Cleea, Phaeo, & Eudora

Nicknames- The Blue Sisters by Aphrodite

The Rainmakers, The Maidens of Rain by the people of Olympius

Age(s)- 22 through 17 (immortal)

Location- Corfu, Olympius

Personalities- They all have a strong sense of sisterhood & they're calm, stoic, & introverted. Coronis (the oldest) is the most loving and maternal with Phaeo being the most sensitive. Cleea is uniquely individual & artistic. Phaesyle is the bookworm intellect while Eudora is an old soul.

As goddesses of the seasonal rains, they all have the standard abilities of a goddess- except shapeshifting. Because their mom is an oceanic nymph, they all inherited the trait to breathe underwater, but they don't form tails. Other shared powers/abilities include hydrokinesis or water manipulation in all its forms- ice, snow, vapor. They can use water for healing & they can also generate rainstorms as well as tidal waves. They also have limited aerokinesis and nephelokinesis (cloud manipulation).

The sisters' main address is in the state of Corfu where they all live in a gorgeous mansion built out of marble & moonstone with their mother Aethra (an oceanic nymph). They also have a property in the Underwater realm built out of pearl & sea stone. The Hyades often spend time in Corinth where they visit their father Atlas (Titan god of strength & endurance). They have also visited Olympius' capital, New Olympus, where they often spend time in the Lunar district. The inside of the main house gives off a starry night vibe (with dark blues, purples, silvers, & gold). There are lots of floor-to-ceiling windows, a skylight, opal and obsidian countertops, velvet & satin furniture, and a grand chandelier dripping with white diamonds & blue sapphires. The sisters and their mom own many pets including hamsters, guinea pigs, chinchillas, bichon frises, & bernese mountain dogs.

The sisters & their mom have a strong close relationship with the shared grief and trauma they all went through. Their little brother Hyas died several years ago, but sometimes it feels as though it was yesterday. He was an adventurous precocious young kid who was the center of their universe. The sisters (Coronis especially) treated him more like a son than a little brother. They loved spending time with him as a family- doing activities like stargazing, cloud surfing, hunting, surfing, camping, and visiting aquariums. The day where their mother gave him permission to go hunting alone fills them all with regret. Hyas was only 10 when he died, attacked by a lion. It was said that they all (including their mother) continuously wept for an entire year. Now, they all have some comfort with knowing that his soul is in Elysium, probably cloud surfing with his wide toothy grin. The sisters & their mother all wear silver locket bracelets which contain some of his ashes.

It's safe to say that the death of Hyas led to the fracture of their once tight knit family. Their father completely shut down emotionally & metally and their parents eventually divorced. The sisters now check on him from time to time- bringing him food, doing household chores, & making sure that he's going to his appointments with his therapist. Coronis does water healing treatments, mellowing out Atlas' mind fog whenever he has nightmares about Hyas.

They all like their mother's aguapanela (a sugarcane drink). Cleea loves the toasted marshmallow chocolate milkshakes from The Frozen Spoon while Eudora likes the coconut tres leche milkshake. Coronis' go-to drink is a blue sapphire while Phaesyle likes the aqua pearl & Phaeo likes rum punch. They all like the olympian sized blueberry açaí splash from The Roasted Bean.

They have a big breakfast with their mother every morning. Some go-to dishes include strapatsada (scrambled eggs cooked with tomatoes), avocado toast, rizogalo, cayeye, gialetia (corn pancakes topped with powdered sugar, cinnamon, & honey), and changua (egg & milk soup). The sisters also likes their dad's blueberry french toast!

The Hyades are distant with their extended family. They haven't seen their paternal grandparents Clymene (Titaness of fame & renown) and Iapetus (Titan god of mortality, pain, & death) in almost a century. They also haven't hung out with their older half sister Calypso in a while, but they're still kept in the loop with her on Fatestagram. They don't hang out with their cousins Aidos (goddess of shame, modesty, humility, & respect) Deucalion (Deuce), Prophasis (goddess of excuses) or Pyrrha. The sisters barely know their uncles Epimetheus (Titan god of afterthought), Menoetius (Titan god of rage, violence, & rash actions), and Prometheus (Titan god of forethought).

Phaesyle helped her dad with the development of his aerospace engineering school. She loved seeing the excitement on his face & hearing the enthusiasm in his voice. For a moment, it was like how he was before his punishment & their brother's passing.

Cleea admires Selene (Titaness of the moon) & even sometimes babysits her youngest kids. She's also a member of Urania's (muse of astronomy) stargazing club.

Eudora once had a crush on Astraeus (Titan god of dusk). She even had dreams of him becoming her stepfather.

The Hyades are head of a festival held in Corfu around the middle of autumn- The Monsoon Festival. It celebrates water itself (specifically the rain) as a blessing from the gods & giving thanks to the rain for the plentiful harvests. The festival includes a massive swim race in the ocean, a boat race, food, live concerts, and fireworks. They also enjoy the Blue Moon festival in the Underwater realm.

Some of their favorite desserts include the blueberry macarons & coconut baklava from Hollyhock's Bakery, cholados colombianos, cocadas blancas, and merengon de fresas.

They're friends with Aetna (goddess of volcanoes), Nephele (goddess of clouds), Aerin (goddess of the ethereal), Eos (Titaness of dawn), Neféloma (goddess of space & dark matter), Nerissa (goddess of jellyfish), The Muses, and Pasithea (goddess of hallucinations & relaxation). They're also cool with Calypso's mother, Coralie. The Hyades admire The Pleiades as well as their mother Pleione (Titaness of sailing & stars), The Ourea (esteemed mountain gods), and Tethys (Titaness of freshwater & clouds)

The sisters like their mom's new boyfriend Evangelos who's a merman. The sisters have weekly dinners with him and their mom. They are huge fans of his imperial lobster tails with spicy seaweed & kale salad.

They're aware that their father is seeing Hesperis (goddess of the evening & sunset). When they try bringing up the topic about their relationship to him, Atlas shuts down, not wanting to talk about it.

The sisters are also in business together- they have a jewelry brand, specializing in minimalist astronomy themed designs called Stella Ferrea. They have also released a make-up palette called Celestial Dust.

As far as the sisters' romantic lives, Eudora has a girlfriend- a nephelai named Zoë. Phaeo has been talking with a cyclops named Elio on Fatestagram for a few weeks. She really likes him. The rest of the sisters aren't dating & Coronis recently ended things with her long term boyfriend Hylas.

Some of their favorite foods include aborrajado (fried banana dumplings filled with cheese & guava), mondongo, chorizo con arepa, mole de queso, & patacones.

In their free time, they all have shared interests like swimming, surfing, deep sea diving, dancing (ballet and merengue), yoga, cloud surfing, & stargazing. The sisters also have separate interests. Coronis is taking mixology classes (taught by the god of wine, Dionysus). Cleea's into fashion & make-up, so she checks out the classes at the community center in downtown New Olympus that is taught by one of The Graces, Thalia. Phaesyle loves science (astronomy) and writing, being a huge fan of the goddesses Astrape & Bronte's science fiction books. She sometimes writes short stories in her journal and has thought about attending the goddess Philyra's writing workshop for aspiring writers. Phaeo (aside from jewelry making) has also gotten into tech & blacksmithing. Eudora has gotten into amateur bodybuilding and even runs a fitness vlog on PanopTube.

"There's a difference between just getting wet and feeling the rain."

[hottataru]

1,2, and 3!

1)What does their bedroom look like? 2)Do they have any daily rituals? 3)Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

[[Gonna do this for Hots and Varon :3c]]

Hots first:

Hots' bedroom is a cluttered place. He'd tell you that it's clean, if you asked him. However, he is a magpie. The man collects anything he likes or that draws in his attention and immediately scoops it up. Weird ass looking dolls, shiny things, pretty rocks.... - >>.....Stolen things, usually from Ven. Books, clothes, pillows. Ven recently found out about this, and traded the books for some more clothes and blankets that Hots thoroughly rubs all over him. -

Before Endwalker, Hots mornings would start with him getting up, making food, taking a bath because he doesn't like being sweaty at the start of the day, exercise, and then lay around for an hour. It was on clockwork, everyone would always know when he would be actually up and available for the day. - >>After Endwalker, and after he hooks up with Ven, things get a little tossed up. He exercises a little less, lays around in bed for a while just basking in his lover's presence, and makes food for two people since someone's shit at eating by themselves. Not that he minds, he loves it actually. His days have a little less scheduling now, he just goes with the flow. Though, he is starting to spar more often due to some weight gain that makes him terribly embarrassed LMFAO. -

As stated before, Hots exercises pretty frequently. A little less nowadays, but he likes to do Dragoon training exercises that Estinien showed him. Pushups, squats, jumps, handstand pushups, more squats, weights, lance throw exercises. He usually does them in the morning or around noon, always before lunch- for one or two hours usually. He loves exercise, it makes him feel good. - >>Plus, should he get to spar with someone as a capstone to a nice morning of working out? It really makes his day. He loves fighting, even not serious fighting. Or competing. Who can jump the highest, who can sprint the fastest, who can wrestle with him and not get pinned within the set time-limit? He can't use his fists much, and if he overworks his hands they ache like a fucker. But that won't stop him from making him live in regret (unless someone who loves him very dearly treats his hands)

-----------

Varon now:

Varon keeps everything exactly in a certain way. He is meticulous to the nth degree. He keeps his shirts even in an order in his closet, his shoes and boots lined up in a specific way, so on. Everything in his room is luxury- he refuses to settle for anything less than what utterly satisfies him. - >>However, he also has a lot of... antiques, and things he finds beautiful in his room. Statues, textiles, tapestries, a cupboard full of teapots and teacups he really likes, dishware. His room manages to look 'full' without looking 'cluttered,' and it really is a mystery of how he even pulls such a thing off. -

Every day, Varon looks up at the clock at about two bells before noon. He stops whatever he's doing, and goes to Ul'dah to peruse the streets. It always takes him an hour to walk there from his mansion's location, but he considers it good for himself to get up from the desk and move around so. - >>By the time he arrives to the markets, it's optimally busy. The marketers like to have him visiting their stalls, because his very presence attracts attention- whether that attention is because of his unusual height, his reputation, or his looks varies day to day. It usually leads to him getting discounts or invitations to parties and such, however. And Varon... loves parties. -

Exercise is a necessary evil. He is naturally strong because of his stature and incredible aptitude with aether, so he doesn't seek to exercise for strength purposes. Mostly, he does it to stay healthy. He walks to Ul'dah every day like clockwork, and walks back. He fucks... a lot. Is that exercise? He'd tell you that it is. He likes to manhandle his partners, after all. ...Needless to say, he doesn't do much beyond that.

[emyslavenderlibrary]

Call Me By Your Name

Title: Call Me By Your Name Author: Andre Aciman Pages: 248 Genre: LGBT contemporary romance

Synopsis:

Call Me By Your Name is the story of a sudden and powerful romance that blossoms between an adolescent boy and a summer guest at his parents' cliff-side mansion on the Italian Riviera. Unprepared for the consequences of their attraction, at first each feigns indifference. But during the restless summer weeks that follow, unrelenting buried currents of obsession and fear, fascination and desire, intensify their passion as they test the charged ground between them. What grows from the depths of their spirits is a romance of scarcely six weeks' duration and an experience that marks them for a lifetime. For what the two discover on the Riviera and during a sultry evening in Rome is the one thing both already fear they may never truly find again: total intimacy. The psychological manoeuvres that accompany attraction have seldom been more shrewdly captured than in Andre Aciman's frank, unsentimental, heartrending elegy to human passion. Call Me By Your Name is clear-eyed, bare-knuckled, and ultimately unforgettable.

A Short Summary:

"Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine."

'Call Me By Your Name' is set in Bordighera, a town in northwest Italy in the summer of 1987, and it follows the story of Elio Perlman who is spending his summer days with his family in their villa. Elio soon meets Oliver, a handsome doctoral student who is working as an intern for Elio's father, who uses the estate to lodge the student to assist in his research. Elio tends to dislike this arrangement since it means he has to move out of his bedroom to make room for the guest, who often acts cold towards him. However, when Oliver arrives, Elio is surprised to see that he is different from the previous students as he is laid-back and amicable, which seems to pique Elio's interest. Oliver is also Jewish, which draws a special affinity between him and the Perlman family.

Initially, Oliver ignores Elio's attempts to start a friendship. But, one day, after a tennis match, Elio realises that he is attracted to Oliver but does not think that he would ever return the feelings. Some experiments with his sexuality ensure, and that leads to Elio telling Oliver of his feelings and they kiss. Elio does begin to grope Oliver, which is rebuffed quickly. Over the next few weeks they lose touch slightly and Elio begins to have sex with Marzia, a girl in town near his age. However, since he still wants to come to terms with Oliver, he leaves a note under Oliver's door asking that they meet at midnight. They meet and they have sex, but Elio feels that he has done something wrong so resolves to end things.

The two continue their relationship up until Oliver leaves to go back to the US. Elio joins him for three days in Rome before Oliver leaves. After they say goodbye, Elio returns home and converses with his father, who tells him that he know about his relationship with Oliver. He expresses his admiration towards Elio being able to form such a strong male bond, and suggests his own regret that he never managed to.

During Christmas of 1987, Oliver visits Elio's family and reveals that he is engaged and plans to marry the following summer. After this, Elio and Oliver do not speak for more than a decade. Around 2002, Elio visits Oliver at the university in the US where he now teaches. He refuses Oliver's invitation to meet his family, telling him that he still has feelings for him. Oliver tells Elio that he has remained interested in his life and has kept the postcard he received before leaving Italy. They meet again at a bar and come to accept that people often live dual lives: one part fantasy, one part reality.

The novel concludes in 2007, twenty years after their first meeting. Oliver visits the Perlmans in Italy again, and they reminisce about the summer of 1987. Elio tells Oliver that his father passed away and he spread his ashes across the world. At last, Elio turns to the reader. He declares that if Oliver truly remembered the summer together, he should "call me by your name". The novel ends on the question of whether the fantasy of a past, dual life can be resumed in the reality of the present. Aciman ultimately suggests that the boundary between what is real and what is fantasy is always being renegotiated, and offers hope that the individual's will can influence this movement.

My Thoughts:

This is one of the rare cases that I read the book after I watched the film. I watched the film when it first came out at school on a friend's laptop and remember falling in love with the setting, the characters and the storyline. It wasn't until a few years later that I realised that it had been based on a book, and so I made my way to my local Waterstones and bought it.

I think the first time I read this book, I devoured it in a day. The movie did not do it justice in just how beautifully it was written and how well that style of writing went with the story. It is the perfect summer read and I am telling the truth when I read it every year just to get that perfect summer vibe.

I feel like Aciman managed to capture what it's like for a teenager to fall in love with someone older than them, and how they should pursue the relationship. The silent pining which slowly got more and more intense to the point where it became noticeable was captured really well. I fell in love with their love story. It was so tragically beautiful and doomed from the start, but the way it was portrayed made me want to experience something similar.

Another thing that I loved about this book was the style of writing. I think this is a book that I read more of the style than for the actual plot because the writing and language used is just so beautiful and philosophical. It fits so well with the theme of the book because it was set in the Italian Riviera which genuinely looks like something out of a Pinterest picture of a dream holiday destination, and all the characters had a strong interest in archaeology and philosophy and history. I love it when writers do this because it makes the book all that more immersive, which allows you to form a deeper connection, in my opinion.

The final thing that I loved about this book was how tearjerking and heartbreaking it was. I am a stickler for a fluffy summer romance, but the ending with Oliver getting engaged to someone else and them not speaking for a decade or so made me feel so bad for Elio because it seemed like Elio was experiencing his first proper relationship and that is always something very special for a person, whereas Oliver was older and more experienced so had been in relationships before so this one was just for the summer, and was only going to be for the summer. That contrast honestly broke my heart because you could see how much Elio wanted their relationship to have some sort of chance in the future, which was not what Oliver wanted at all.

This is one of those books that I wish I could read again for the first time, so to anyone who hasn't read it yet and wants to, you are in for a ride. I will say this though as a forewarning, there is a scene that involves a peach - we don't speak of that scene. It's just a bit weird and I tend to skip it out when I read it now. But it is part of the whole 'Call Me By Your Name' experience. Enjoy everyone!

Playlist:

Change by Lana Del Ray Cellophane by FKA Twigs Art Deco by Lana Del Ray Vanilla Baby by Billie Martin Sweet Creature by Harry Styles Peach by Kevin Abstract Give Me Something by Seafret Another Love by Tom Odell Humming by Turnover Golden by Harry Styles Paris by The 1975 Indie Film Lovers (feat. Kerri) by Lyss Sunflower, Vol. 6 by Harry Styles Futile Devices by Sufjan Stevens Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens Visions of Gideon by Sufjan Stevens Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Ray Strawberries and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan Une Barque Sur L'Ocean From Miriors by Andre Laplante From the Dining Table by Harry Styles All I Want by Kodaline Amore Mio Aiutami by Piero Piccioni Call Me By Your Name by MICAH Falling by Harry Styles Never Let Me Go by Florence and the Machine Ribs by Lorde Take Me To Church by Hozier Inside Your Mind by The 1975 A Dream of You and Me by Future Islands BITE by Troye Sivan What A Heavenly Way to Die by Troye Sivan

[merakiui]

MERA I HAVE TO SHARE THIS BATSHIT INSANE IDEA I HAD

YANDERE KAMISATO AYATO AND EX-WIFE DARLING

The divorce is the Kamisato clan’s worst stain on their pristine reputation, even if Ayato and Wife had been in complete agreement to divorce each other. They didnt love each other, they could barely stand each other, and Ayato would rather be labelled a man with one failed marriage under his belt than a man who’s in an unhappy one. The scandal of it all eventually dies down after some years and Ayato’s consolidated his power as the Yashiro Commissioner and one of the top dogs of Inazuma, and he’s... well, satisfied seems too strong a word but he isn’t... its not like he regrets his divorce too much, ya know? Their personalities clashed, they couldnt be what the other needed or wanted, it just didnt work out. Sure it hurts when he wakes up in the morning and he goes through his daily routine in the complete silence of his solitary chambers but its not that big of a deal? He still has Ayaka. He even has Thoma! And the Kamisato servant... even if they’re forced to attend to him bc he’s their lord... ah uhm, he has Itto, sometimes, when he can make time in his schedule. And uh, Miss Ann is quite kind, she’s always willing to lend an ear to him when he dines at her shop, rare as it may be. He has... he has...

Fine, he’s lonely. It hurts to wake up to an empty and cold bed and its sad when he has to have his tea alone and its worse when the few times he can return to the house its empty aside from servants who dont dare to be too familiar with their lord, and his sister and Thoma are out doing whatever it is that they do. At least when you were there, no matter how much you two argued, you’d greet him and ask him about his day or offer him a snack. At meals you’d regale him with tales of your day or some petty ongoings in Inazuma. Light hearted things that never fail to take his mind off of his heavy burdens and he can relax as you fill the silence with chatter.

He knows he misses the good times, the memory of you, more than he actually does you, because there were just as many fights as there were good days, but for seven’s sake the loneliness can just really wear down even the most resilient of pillars.

Maybe thats why, years after the divorce he seeks you out. He doesn’t even know how he ends up in front of your humble but quaint home, but he’s quick to spin a lie when the door opens to show your unsurprised but bemused all the same face. A lie that he was just out for a walk and decided to deliver this month’s alimony to you personally. You invite him in easily enough, and Ayato marvels at the warmth your home exudes. It’s homy and lived-in, a great departure from the ornate and grand halls of the noble mansions both of you grew up in as children, and you chuckle at his amazement and remind him that your family had disowned you for the dishonor of being a divorcee and he cant help but wince. You had taken on the heavier social stigma with the divorce but you had bravely accepted it and laughed in the face of the consequences as you built up a cozy life for yourself.

He envied it, your freedom and courage to do something so... independent. He could only ever envision something like this at his lowest of low points when the burden of being the commissioner and lord kamisato overwhelmed him. He would never turn his back on his people, but it doesnt mean that he never felt tired.

It’s the warmth of the tea cup you press into his hands that shakes him out of his thoughts, and his brain hyper-focuses on the warmth of your hands enveloping his before you pull away and he almost almost chases after you.

You’re calmer now, he thinks. More mature, gentle in a way he doesn’t really remember aside from the times you’d help him into the bed after a long day of work and bundle him up in the sheets back when you were married. You wouldnt have welcomed him in and served him tea if he had visited you unannounced in the past, and you pointedly remind him you were both children then. Angry, emotional children who were caught up in political schemes they had no choice but to follow.

And yet you managed to escape. Ayato cant help but sneer in his heart, but its forced to remain an internal statement by a pointed look from someone who knows all the best and worst sides of himself. A look he knows well from years of experience and he holds his tongue as he drinks his tea. Sweet, with a mellow taste that reminds him of the strange milk teas he hears so much about being sold in the city. He should take you there, sometime, it would be nice—

Ayato stops his train of thought right there, wondering why it even came to mind. You didnt even like sweets all that much, and he knows how weird it would look to everyone to see the Lord Kamisato setting aside time in his busy schedule to get drinks with his ex-wife. Does that even make sense? The divorce happened because you two could barely stand each other, but here he is time and again seeking you for comfort.

It’s a pity that you two had been forced together so unnaturally, like roughly chopped blocks of wood, the friction between you burgeoning into a raging fire that ruined much of your early history together till it razed down the marriage alliance both families had been so hopeful for. Its ludicrous, when you think about how you two almost seamlessly work with each other now, that there had ever been a fight between you two. Even with his unannounced arrivals you let him in and let him complain or rant or stare off into space as he lets himself be Ayato and not Kamisato Ayato. And in this house (that he secretly helped you make, he wasnt a monster to just completely abandon you after the divorce), you thrive in the freedom of being the sole master of your own destiny and blossomed into someone who no longer had to bite her tongue when someone tried to talk over her, who no longer had to pretend to be diplomatic when she was enraged, like you had been when you were married to him.

Maybe if you got together now instead of then, he wouldnt have to wake up to an empty bed. Maybe if you were together now instead of then, he wouldnt have any memories of that bed containing more than just himself to begin with. Maybe if you two got to be together as Ayato and (Name) it wouldve worked out.

Maybe thats why he lets his feet take him to your house more and more as the days go by, and your continued graciousness to let him into your home and let him be Ayato contorts his mind into believing that you feel the same way. You were once his wife. You know every part of him, good and gracious and bad and terrible, and you still accept him. Its not like the mask of a kind if mischievous older brother he puts on for Ayaka, the playful but hardworking master Thoma knows him as, or the cunning and handsome lord of Kamisato he puts on for the populace.

You were his wife. Were. But whats something as flimsy as a piece of paper splattered with ink against the might of the most powerful man in Inazuma? He could just erase the records. Order the Shuumatsuban to destroy any proof of the divorce and subtly implant the idea that it was just a very, very bad lover’s spat in the mind of the populace. After all, who would dare question him about the details of his own marriage and risk the consequence of such an insult? Not even your family would dare to disagree with his version of events, they’d be delighted for any connection to him and it would salvage their honor.

After all, who would believe you were divorced when he disappeared to your home everyday? A home he helped you procure and build, a home you never rejected him from entering, a home that many people of the Kamisato clan knew of and would periodically visit, whether it be the servants who liked to chat with you, the samurai who helped ensure the safety of the house, that Ayaka and Thoma had even sat down and dined in with Ayato on your birthday? No one would believe you two were on such bad terms as to be divorced when you fit so well together now.

And anyone who dared to remind others of that... well, the Shuumatsuban were under confidentiality agreements for a reason.

:O your brain is so galaxy!!! This idea is incredible!!