#i found some gems i had forgotten about!

[awkward-walking-potato]

I’ve said it once. I’ll say it again. I love how you write Logan, and I have another request for you:) I’m thinking Logan from Deadpool 3 because he’s like the most serious one out of all of them. But for this I think the reader is his complete opposite, like they love to laugh, are affectionate, likes to talk, are short, etc. but you can tell that he really loves them. I’m taking inspo from Jenna marbles (if you haven’t watched her TikTok videos, I highly recommend them, and this will make more sense) but what if reader will be sitting on the couch or their bed, and Logan will walk into the room and they will just be sitting there cry-laughing at some dumb TikTok. Like it could be 1am and he’d find them laughing uncontrollably until they’re crying. Logan just kind of rolls his eyes, or shakes his head but will go and sit with them and watch the TikTok they’re laughing at because he loves them. I don’t think he’d find it funny at all, but I think he would find it a little funny at how hard the reader is laughing

Laughter at 1 AM

Logan pushed open the bedroom door, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows across the floor. It was late—well past 1 AM—and the Apartment was quiet, except for one unmistakable sound that made him pause in the doorway.

Laughter. Specifically, your laughter.

Logan stood there for a moment, one hand on the doorframe, watching as you sat cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, shaking with laughter. You were a small thing, especially compared to him, and right now, you looked even smaller, curled up in an oversized sweatshirt that probably belonged to him. Your face was lit up by the glow of your phone, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried—and failed—to stifle your giggles.

He shook his head, a low sigh escaping him. This wasn’t the first time he’d found you like this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. You had a knack for finding humor in the most ridiculous things, a trait that was both baffling and endearing to Logan.

It was one of the many things about you that were so different from him. Where he was gruff and reserved, you were bright and affectionate, always ready with a smile or a hug. You loved to talk, filling the silence with your stories and thoughts, and you laughed often, your joy as infectious as it was sincere. And though he didn’t always show it, Logan loved that about you. Loved that you brought a lightness to his life that he hadn’t known he was missing.

He watched as you let out another snort of laughter, clutching your sides as you doubled over, your phone almost slipping from your grasp. Whatever you were watching had clearly struck a nerve, and you were lost to it, the rest of the world forgotten as you gave in to the hilarity.

With a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, Logan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He crossed the floor with slow, deliberate steps, the bed creaking slightly under his weight as he sat down beside you. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in the video playing on your screen, but when he reached out and gently plucked the phone from your hands, your laughter faded into a breathless gasp of surprise.

“Logan!” you exclaimed, trying to catch your breath as you looked up at him, eyes still sparkling with mirth. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, well,” he grunted, glancing at the video that was still playing on your phone, “you were kinda distracted.” He held the phone up, squinting at the screen as some ridiculous video played out—a woman sticking mirrored gems to her face from the looks of it. He didn’t get it, not really, but that wasn’t the point.

He looked down at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes watery from laughing so hard, and something warm and unguarded softened his expression. “This what you’re up to at one in the morning, huh? Laughin’ yourself to death over some damn video?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another giggle, but the way he was looking at you—half exasperated, half amused—only made it harder. “It’s funny, okay?” you said defensively, though there was no real heat behind your words. “You should’ve seen it! I—oh my God, I can’t even—” And with that, you were off again, collapsing into another fit of laughter, your head dropping onto his shoulder as you shook with giggles.

Logan just sat there, letting you have your moment, though he couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. It wasn’t the video that amused him—he still didn’t see the humor in it—but seeing you like this, so full of life and laughter, that was something that never failed to make him feel… well, something warm and unfamiliar in his chest.

When your laughter finally subsided into breathless chuckles, you looked up at him, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Sorry,” you said, still smiling. “I know it’s late, but I just couldn’t help it.”

He shook his head, sliding an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. “You don’t gotta apologize for laughin’, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s good to see you happy.”

You nestled into his side, resting your head against his chest as the last remnants of laughter bubbled out of you. “I love you, you know that?” you said softly, your voice warm with affection.

Logan’s heart did that thing it always did when you said those words—fluttering slightly in a way that was still new and strange to him. “Yeah,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough. “I know. I love you too.”

You sighed contentedly, nuzzling closer to him, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there in the quiet of the night, the only sound the steady rhythm of Logan’s breathing.

But then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you reached for your phone again. “Okay, but seriously, you have to watch this one,” you said, your eyes lighting up with excitement as you pulled up another video.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he didn’t protest, letting you lean against him as you played the next TikTok. He didn’t get it, and he probably never would, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way you lit up, the way your laughter filled the room, chasing away the darkness and bringing a little bit of light into his life.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Mythic Phantom

This is a little something I whipped up over a while thinking about merging the DP and Riordanverse universes together, and I thank @geraldmariaivo for helping me think my way through it. If you want the ao3 version you can find it here, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Most Underworld Gods felt it when Vlad’s current permanent Portal opened, but they all Felt it when Danny’s accident happened. A child’s death throes is hard to ignore after all. Pantheons world wide decided that was America’s problem, and Hel decided it was Persephone’s problem, and Haides felt it would close on its own. No gate to Khaos can stay open for long after all.

When Ember went globally live, Muses and Music Gods and Hypnos heard the way she sang, called out to the mortals to never be forgotten. Danny and Tucker dealt with her swiftly enough that she was remembered, noted even, but disregarded.

When the Fright Knight’s sword was drawn, many Fear Gods turned toward Amity, but Danny dealt with it swiftly. Most regarded it as an anomaly but Phobos and Deimos sent subordinate spirits to investigate the town and report anything interesting.

Hades and Persephone noted the invasion of Ghost Cops and saw that Danny had it handled in only a few days, which they would count as a quest fulfilled. Clearly, Amity Park was a contained issue, and the Master Bolt had gone missing by now so they have other things to deal with. The House of Life have some reservations but agree.

Then Pariah Dark got out, and the Gods scrambled to do something about that. In only a week however, He was dealt with too.  A closer eye was warranted. By everyone, not just the Observants.

Whoever these agents were, be they half-bloods or spirits or even minor gods, most wouldn’t see Young Blood and thus would fear Danny was losing it too. When he calmed down, they’d sigh in relief. The two future Ghost Villains who show up outside of the do-over would raise alarms at how fast ghosts can progress, but hey, it’s handled.

When the Hellenic spies are pulled back home for safety during the winter solstice, pleasantly surprised by Ghost activity dying down at the same time, Artemis and Luna, Khonshu and more felt something wrong happening as the Ghostwriter possessed the moon to speak.

When Duul Amon returned to the land of the living, the House of Life sent agents to the town, and Tucker Foley was immediately offered magic lessons. His is power over stone and steel, glass and gems, as well as an ear for the voices of machines. Between terrakinesis and technopathy, Tucker’s limits with his staff became only what he understood about technology.

Then entire copies of the Ghost Boy (Prince? King?) appear, attacking him, manipulating him for the elder, but he lets her go free after he’s rescued? Truly fascinating. Psychopomps keep an eye on Elle wherever she goes - she’s always very close to melting after all. The titan army also keep an eye on her, a powerful being both like and unlike the Gods, much the same as a Titan, Giant, or Monster.

Then the Reality Gauntlet is found by a mortal man, a rogue Magician, while the boy is busy trying to stop it and save the world, Lydia is keeping House of Life magicians and even Odin’s Ravens from finding Freakshow, so some Camp Jupiter heroes are being sent on a quest to deal with him. Then he gets the fucking gems and turns the world into a circus for 10 minutes.

Before the Boy tricks him, takes the Gauntlet, resets the world to before his identity was revealed to the world, (though perhaps not quite fooling the memories of Gods, who Are the world) and destroying the Gauntlet and gems in a single blast.

An artifact presumed by the Ghost Investigation Ward to be powerful enough to destroy the Infinite Realms, reduced to molten ash by one burst of power.

What to do about the young Phantom is a matter of discussion during the solstice meeting on Olympus.  Hades is sent to investigate the boy and finds that he is a godling of Kaos Themself, which sparks yet further debate on what to do when Artemis goes missing.

But then the Son of Hades stumbled upon Elmerton and witnessed a duel between Gods firsthand.

Danny Phantom faced off against Vortex, the ghost of all weather and sky and storm gods who had faded over the millennia, all on his own.  Even in defeat, Danny stole half of Vortex’s power, and less than a week later, he defeated the calamity that even two pantheons worth of gods could not.

The Titans would be horrible for humanity as a whole, and the Olympians were bad for half bloods as well.  Danny Phantom, however, could be just what most half bloods were after.  He needed training in mortal form, clearly, but that could be an angle for Nico to use.

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni.

your planet was known for its sapphires.

the mines dried up a handful of years ago. the ipc scraped the deposits down to the marrow, until not even the smallest glint of crystal existed.

most of the sapphires were off-planet, now, adorning the arms of the elite throughout the cosmos, shining brilliantly even in the dimmest light. they gleamed dark blue, like where the ocean meets the sun, all shimmering waters. the fathomless depths.

aventurine wears a bracelet made of them.

technically, it's yours.

you lost it to him under the two moons of a planet you've long forgotten the name of. you only remember the blushing rose of its sky reflecting off of the bone dice.

it was a stupid thing to put up as collateral. but you were stupid, back then, high off of innumerable victories.

your hands were shaking too badly to undo the clasp; he had to do it for you. he slipped it onto his own wrist, his expression unreadable, and you wondered if the gems still carried the heat of your skin.

he showed up again six system months later, with a smug little secret tucked up in the corner of his easy grin. he'd slung the bracelet into the pot without even glancing at you.

he only looked at you after you'd won it back.

"i don't lose often," he told you. "how about a drink?"

you should have declined, but you didn't. you let him buy you one round, and then two, and by the third, you'd said some things you shouldn't have.

the ipc acquired that planet a few weeks later.

you moved.

aventurine found you again in epsilon, reigning over a poker table. you'd scowled at him when he sat down across from you; he'd just smiled.

"nothing personal," he said. "just business."

"fuck off," you said, but he hadn't.

he won easily. you pushed your chips over to him and he caught you by the wrist.

"wanna chance to win it back?" he asked.

"i don't have anything left."

he tapped a gloved fingertip over one of the sapphires.

"no," you said.

"shame," he said. "i liked that."

"then buy one."

he tilted his head. "we both know i can't."

you flinched. you couldn't help but cover the bracelet with your hand, as if doing so would make his knowledge disappear.

aventurine smiled. "alright then," he said. "next time, maybe."

"there won't be a next time."

"we'll see."

there was a next time. you don't have the money you lost to him, and he ran a thumb over the sapphires. he left the table with them glinting on his wrist, night-sky blue.

the time after that, he traced his fingers over the delicate skin of your inner wrist after clicking the clasp shut. the stones were still warm from his body heat.

you left before you did something stupid.

it went like that for a long while, the bracelet constantly changing wrists. you knew you shouldn't be betting it, but you couldn't quite help yourself.

"ambassador," aventurine said. "imagine meeting you here."

you didn't glance up from your game. "stoneheart."

"so cold," he said.

the bracelet has been yours for the last eight system months.

"you started it," you said, because he's never called you by your title.

he laughed. "i suppose i did."

at your gesture, the other players left the table. aventurine settled next to you. you dealt him in without a word.

he lost.

you eyed him over the rim of your drink. "you're off your game."

"am i?"

"seems like it."

"my apologies, then."

you watched him for a moment. his smile curled at the edges, something smug tucked up between his lips. it didn't reach his vivid eyes.

you sighed and unclasped the bracelet.

he pulled back as you reached for your wrist, his eyes sharp. "i lost, you know."

"yeah," you said. "now hold still."

he hesitated for a moment more, but then he let you put the bracelet on him. you clicked the clasp closed. he twisted his wrist, the facets of the sapphires catching the light, the ocean's reflection. your mother had carved them perfectly.

"don't lose it," you told him. "i'll win it back next time."

he studied you, his gaze slipping beneath your skin like a knife. then he smiled, carefully carefree.

"wanna bet?"

[silkjade-archived]

alhaitham x mermaid! reader (5) / epilogue

⤀ warnings: fem!reader, no pronouns mentioned, reader has hair long enough to be pinned, kissing ! a/n: recommended to read the previous parts first, since this is a direct continuation. tiny reference to a sumeru hidden quest prev ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

For the first time in months, alhaitham returns to the little cove out by the waters of port ormos. He tosses a chunk of crystal ore, testing the weight—once, twice—before catching it again in the palm of his hand. It skips thrice before sinking below the surface, and internally, he's quite pleased with this exceptional display of muscle memory.

The cyan stone sinks, further and further down into the darkness of the midnight sea, until it lands softly into the palms of your hands, weightless. Despite the long pause in your correspondence, you've never forgotten how the waves shift in response to his disturbance. So when you had sensed that familiar movement rippling through the water, you swam towards the source, smiling because you knew.

“Drown anyone in my absence?”

“No, but that can change depending on what you’ve brought for me today.”

Emerging from the shallows, you sit yourself atop a nearby rock. The water droplets clinging to your skin and tail catch like crystals in the moonlight, and alhaitham has half a mind to pinch himself and confirm that you’re neither a dream, nor another desert mirage.

“Zaytun peaches. Your favorite,” he begins, “and golden roses from aaru village.”

You brush the tip of your finger along the flower’s velvet petals, so brilliantly gold, as if he’d stolen the sun right out of the sky.

“The desert was too harsh an environment for sumeru roses to grow, so an amurta researcher set about cultivating one that could.”

Voice softening, alhaitham continues as his hands unfurl to reveal the hairpin he had once gifted you. “As promised…”

You can feel the lingering warmth of his touch on the metal as you wrap delicate fingers around the piece, re-admiring the florid craftsmanship. It's still as beautiful as you remember, maybe even more so, considering how you've longed for this moment to come.

You brush your thumb over the mysterious symbols carved on the centermost gem, pulsing with a soft ember's glow.

“It’s a protective rune I discovered in the desert. As long as you wear it, you won’t have to worry about needing to return to the sea.”

Perhaps that would explain why it somehow feels sturdier. Or why the nagadus emeralds appear to shine brighter, and more vibrant. You purse your lips in an attempt to quell the thrumming in your chest. He really did it. He really found a solution to something so seemingly impossible.

Alhaitham clears his throat, snapping you from your thoughts. "May I...?"

Nodding, you turn around as he takes the accessory, shifting his fingers through your hair before pinning it in place, a vast improvement from his very first attempt.

"Well, how does it look?"

"It’s beautiful on you.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks, taken aback my his forwardness. His reply hadn’t missed a single beat, answering as if he’d stated a fact rather than an opinion. Sure, you had expected some sort of witty remark tossed into his words, but rarely did he ever outright compliment you so directly.

Turning your head, you successfully avert your gaze; it's the only way you know how to deal with this sudden bout of bashfulness, but his fingers brush your chin, and you follow as he leads you back to him. Alhaitham closes a large hand over your own—his grip steady like his heartbeat, firm like his resolve.

Teal eyes bore into yours, shifting only to linger on your lips for far longer than he should've. How he longs for another taste... The faint glow of a blush dusts across his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He must pull himself together before his mind has the chance to stray further.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, leaning in.

Your breaths mingle in the little space between your face and his, but you pull away at the last minute—just the slightest bit—so that his lips catch the air instead.

“Why should I?”

Alhaitham straightens, taking in your look of feigned apathy, clearly given away by that playful layer of expectancy brocaded in your expression. Of course you want to hear him say it; he's made you wait long enough.

The corners of his mouth lift into that phantom of a smile, one you’ve come to adore so much: small and sly, daring and charming in a way unique only to him.

“Because I love you.”

“And I’m yours, if you’ll still have me,” he adds, confidence unwavering.

There's no hiding the delight and relief that breaks across your features. Your heart soars, and the single breath exhaled during this time-frozen lull, lifts it to impossible heights. Finally.

You don't shy away this time when he comes in to kiss you, grinning at how right it feels. His hands grab at your waist, pulling you closer, eager to deepen the kiss. He's missed you, missed your touch, and of how you taste so sweet, like nectar from the garden of the gods... but you break away.

"Can you say it again?" Your soft laughter rings through the air, and alhaitham rolls his eyes, indulging you nonetheless.

"I love you," he repeats, stealing another kiss in the process. And then once more, for good measure, during the quick moment of air between his barrage of kisses, interrupted only by your yelp of surprise, as he scoops you up into his arms.

“Well?” He looks at you expectantly, a brow raised and a smirk dancing on his lips. You giggle as your hand curves along the side of his face, guiding his mouth to yours once again.

“I love you too, haitham.”

a/n2: the golden rose is actually a reference to a hidden quest in aaru village! i thought it was a cool metaphor hehe ^^ it’s a super easy quest chain + u get a pretty teapot decoration at the end :D

a/n3: and that’s a wrap ! i hope you’ve enjoyed this lil series as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it hehe tbh i was a bit nervous since the last part flopped, but in the end it doesn’t rlly matter ^^;; cus i read every single one of your comments / rb tags and i rlly appreciate them all so so much (இ﹏இ`｡) && while this is the end of this story, my ask is always open for more brainrots ‘n whatnot ! who knows i may write xtras lol ANYWAYS tysm for reading & sticking around ‘til the end ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Three - Swan upon Leda

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: things are warming up between princess and benji :)

warnings: the king is a terrible dad, mentions of complicated childbirth

song: Swan Upon Leda - Hozier

Marion is exasperated. Her hands fling through the air like a nervous little bird, desperate to get their point across and yet failing all the same. 

“You are out of your mind,” she cries. 

The jewels she’d been threading through your braids are long forgotten, a sparkling disarray on your vanity. You pick up a dark red ruby and roll it back and forth between your fingers. “If I don’t go, they’ll think I’ve abandoned them.” Your lips, painted a lush berry colour, pull into a pout that once worked exceedingly well on Ser Rodrick. “Please, Marion.”

Your handmaiden shakes her head. 

“It was a risk under the watch of Ser Rodrick,” she leans in closer, nervous eyes flitting to your door. “But with bloody Ben as your protector? He’ll have me impaled when he finds out.”

She whispers his name with fear, as though he would appear like some mirage at the mention of it. 

You’ve grown quite tired of this whole bloody Ben debacle. Benji, as he’s allowed you to call him, is less of a sword pointed at you now, but he still sulks, barely speaks. 

He doesn’t pose a threat, in this state he is in. You wonder if he would even notice if you let somebody else take your place. 

“He won’t find out,” you say, determinedly, even though you know it is to no avail. Marion is loyal and sweet but she is headstrong enough to not give leeway to every idea of yours. You love that about her, even if right now it is giving you a headache. 

She takes the gem from you and loops it into your hair with her magically talented fingers. “Maybe in a moon or two, when that lad doesn’t give me the collywobbles anymore. If that does ever happen.” 

“Alright then. But will you get word to them that I shall return soon?” You ask. Whenever you ask for things with Marion, you feel a bit childlike and silly. 

She smiles at you, the little scar in her lower lip stretching as she does. “Of course, your grace.” 

And then after a moment’s silence. “I am certain they forgive you.” 

You nod, but still you decide on a plan. A stupid one, irrational at the very least but a plan nonetheless and you were not really the kind of woman who enjoyed changing your mind. 

Though you had on Benji. In some ways. But that is different. 

You throw a glance at your reflection, decorated and done up. Your father is slowly losing it these days, his festivities growing in both frequency and size, one more ridiculous than the other and you cannot stand it.

You’d be a fool to live so lavishly and in such luxury and turn a blind eye to continue the pursuit of the only thing of substantiality that you’ve ever done in your life. 

Rubies to match the fiery shades of your dress today. 

Rubies found somewhere far away and shipped across stormy seas to find their place somewhere as ridiculous as your hair. 

You cannot stand it, your presentation at the high table next to your family, for everyone to gawk at and soon to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. 

As though she reads your mind Marion pipes up. “The son of Lord Whent is here tonight,” she says. “I hear he has great hair.” 

You scoff. “Yes, great hair and a great hunger for the brothels of the realm.” 

“You may find my lady, that such behaviour may prove itself of use to you.”

A low laugh rumbles from the door and both of you snap around, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. 

Benji stands, hands resting on the pommel of his sword and looking rather amused. 

“I do believe that is an improper topic of conversation,” he says. 

Your arm wraps around Marion’s midriff. “That you should speak of impropriety of all people,” you say. 

He is still a mystery to you. You do not know if he would not go and tattle on your friend if given the chance. 

But he shrugs. “Your brother says that you are to meet him in the court before sunset. Your sister is arriving.”

You gasp, sharp and loud, the quick inhale like a whip to your lungs. “Cordelia?!”

Your maid claps her hands together in excitement.

Benjicot looks a bit confused but he doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes so you presume that he really has decided to move on from his rather aggravating bit. 

“My god, she will hate my dress,” you say but the sheen of joy your face is dipped in betrays the negative nature of your words. 

“Out, Ser Benjicot. Womanly work is afoot in here,” she orders him, too fast with her tongue to worry about fearing him and forces you the other way again. 

He obeys. You see him bow in the mirror and  a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be the biggest of your worries. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Marion is done with you at a speed that should be deemed witchcraft. 

Your hair is neatly pulled out of your face and braided, gleaming with red jewels like a dying fire. 

In general, you look like the roaring fireplace in the banquet halls, layers of shimmering red fabric falling around you. 

There’s a nice breeze today, it tickles at your neck and kisses your cheeks softly, as you await your sister’s arrival at the castle’s main entrance.

Your father is not here, occupied with what he claims to be kingly duties but you suppose is more likely related to the royal wine cellars. 

Your brother speaks in a hushed tone with one of the council members, no longer an oddity with the king occupied so frequently.

Your feet hurt in your new shoes.

Benji shuffles a little bit next to you.

You’ve noticed that he’s never still, a consistent motion in your periphery.

“How do you like my dress?” You ask him, quietly enough that your brother wouldn’t hear, though you doubt he would care to listen.

Your knight hums a little, almost laughs. You expect the jab, twist the sigil ring on your hand, pull yourself together waiting for it but it never arrives. 

“Red’s my favourite colour, Princess.” 

It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement and he says it with all the nonchalance he should have, because it isn’t a compliment. 

But the little flutter it sends down your spine has all the characteristics of being complimented. 

You almost thank him but then you think better of it and just nod to yourself. You would tell him what your favourite colour is, or that you enjoy red as well but it feels too friendly. You’re not even sure if anybody knows your favourite colour. You’re not too certain if you have one at all, now that the matter has crossed your mind. 

But you are certain that it is not the colours of your house, as it is the case with Benjicot. 

What a foolish thing to be racking your brain over, you think but luckily the horn serves as salvation from your faults. 

The gates creak upon to reveal your sister and her entourage, all of them in a royal shade of dark green. She married into the neighbouring kingdom, her blood now runs in their colour. It has been over half a decade but you cannot get used to the sight of it, her days spent draped in your house’s symbols are all gone. 

The courtyard is almost empty. Good. No need for formalities.

You fiddle with your fingers as the carriage swings open, lightning running through your veins. 

Her face is just as it always is and your sister, after stepping down with caution, at the sight of you, immediately opens her arms. 

Your brother laughs, wholeheartedly as you plunge forward, like a horse nudged on, gravel flying up beneath delicate heels. 

She smells different and she is older but she feels all the same to you, just as she had when you were a little girl hanging onto her skirts. 

Your giggling melts together, a vibration of both your chests. 

“Oh darling girl, how I have missed you,” she whispers, soft kisses pressed into your hair. “You’ve grown into a wonderful woman.” She cups the side of your face and you lean into it. 

“Alright, what about me,” Tristan calls out, arms out by his side. 

Cordelia grins at him and steps past you. “I imagine the heir to the throne gets enough attention as is,” she taunts but she greets him nonetheless, with the same affection she had for you. 

“There is never enough,” he says, before he says something into her ear. Quietly and quickly. 

She nods and then she regards your knight, now solely left behind, waiting to accompany you. “Ser Benjicot Blackwood, I gather?”

He bows his head, looks at her through that tousled mop of hair of his. “Yes, your highness.” 

She laughs. “Goodness, such decorum. I am Cordelia here. My queenship leaves me within the walls of my home.”

Benji nods but he does not correct himself. It would be odd, you suppose. He doesn’t even call you by your first name, why would he do so with a Queen. 

Cordelia gives your side a nudge with her elbow. “Quite handsome,” she says, much to your dismay loud enough for him to hear. 

Your cheeks begin to burn. “He is sworn to protect me, sister.” 

She just shrugs, indifferent to your embarrassment as siblings tend to be and then steps along. 

“I do hope there won’t be a scene made over my arrival,” she calls over her shoulder, you and Tristan hurrying along. “The maester recommended I do not subject myself to much ruckus, at my old age.”

It would be slanderous to refer to your sister as old. Your brows pull together. “What do you mean? Are you ill?” 

She whirls around to face you, one hand clutching her belly. “You could say so.” 

Your jaw drops and Tristan recoils next to you. 

Her face drops a bit. “Well, at least pretend you are happy for me.” 

“But with your last-.” Her hand flies up, in hopes of silencing your brother. 

“I will not dwell on the past. My husband wishes for an heir, as any king, any noble man would and I can only pray that this one will be a boy.” 

The sweetness of her visit is immediately tainted, it itches on your tongue to utter something at the monstrous prospect of having to witness your sister bear more children for the King of Arbormere near torturous but you do not speak it. 

You clear your throat. “It is good news. And we are happy that more babes will come into the world carrying your kind nature, are we not?” 

You look at Tristan, whose face has drained of colour but he nods still. 

Such is the fate of noble women. Made to squeeze out heirs for their highborn husbands. 

And such will be your fate one day as well.

Cordelia presses her lips together and inhales deeply. “Yes, I shall stay in our kingdom until delivery. My king thought it might help for an easier birth.” 

The good in this gleams through and you find it in you to be joyful. “At the castle?”

She nods. “Yes, a few weeks and then I thought I might go north, to mother's home.”

You clasp your brother’s arm. “Might I go with her then?”

Benjicot shuffles. Sometimes you think he is trying to speak this way, as though encoded. 

“No. Father won’t allow it. There are no suitor’s to be met in the north.”

You roll your eyes. “There are no suitor’s to be met,” you mimic, voice squeaky and high. 

Behind you, you can hear Benjicot fail to stifle a laugh. 

Cordelia extends her hand toward you. “We have a few weeks together, don’t we?”

Not enough. Never enough. 

“That dress of yours is ridiculous,” she adds, but she says it fondly. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The atmosphere at the banquet is odd. You cannot quite place it, but your brother won’t cease his whispering with various members of the court. 

Cordelia, though you’ve spent the better half of the evening dancing, has now begun watching everything the way a predator may watch its next meal. She does not look happy. 

Though, your father is as reliable as always. King Alexander is doing a wonderful job as presenting himself as the drunken decadent rake he is known to be, though Lady Cathcart has been brazenly replaced with what you can only assume is a common whore. 

You feel bad for her, you cannot imagine that it must be fun to spend one’s days entertaining men, let alone men such as your father. 

Benjicot is excused from his services for the night at your father’s command, he had lingered in a corner of the room for a while but he disappeared a while ago. 

You are pining for a good moment to slip out of the room, Cordelia’s power to protect you from annoying princelings and highborns only going so far. 

Lord Whent, despite having stayed true to Marion’s promise of having great hair, had spent his time talking to you staring down your corset and otherwise seemed to like himself a bit too much. 

“Cordelia?” You whisper.

She does not look at you when she replies, eyes still trained on someone in the crowd. You cannot figure out who it is when you follow her eye line. “Yes?”

You get up. “I shall be right back.” 

She nods. 

You do not stop for the formalities of bidding goodbye or greeting anybody you pass, the doors close behind you and with one quick scan, you begin to run. Your foot is bleeding, warm liquid gathering and you curse the cobbler behind your pain. 

Your feet carry you deep into the basement of the castle, the scent of darkness and dampness strong in your nose and then you finally reach your chamber.

Marion’s fiance had helped you set it up over the course of the past few years.

Scandalous as can be, you reach into your cleavage where your key is hidden and swing the doors open. 

You must hurry. It is much more difficult to find your way out of the castle without your maid by your side to guide you and you cannot waste time. 

You are a flurry of red rushing around the room, collecting all the herbs you need. A jar bangs to the ground and you wince at the noise it makes, wince even more when you realise that the last of your melted bear fat now seeps into the dirty floors. 

“Bollocks,” you curse but you cannot do anything, except hope that there will be a hunt soon. Though Ser Rodrick would no longer be able to retrieve it. 

“What in the name of god is this?” A voice rings through the small room and you almost cause more distraction, just quick enough to stop yourself from screaming. 

Your knight stands in the door, looking at you both confused and enticed. 

You swallow thickly. “Uh.”

Words have blipped from your head, your mind suddenly a blank sheet of paper.

Benji walks in, looks around behind him and closes the door. “I can’t imagine that this is part of your royal duties.”

Surely, there are some words you could say now. Anything really, would do. Just anything to defend yourself. 

He snorts. “Not in the talking mood?” He looks around. 

Dried plants hang from the wall, a cauldron stands in the middle of the room, jars are filled with various concoctions.

Oh this looks horrible.

“I do not practise witchcraft,” you croak out. 

“Sure does not look like it, princess.”

You set down the ingredients clutched to your chest. “It is medicine.”

He picks up a small vial, admires the brown liquid in it. “For who?”

“Nobody. For fun.”

He doesn’t believe you. “It gets boring.”

“So you go after your hobbies after nightfall? During banquets?”

You nod and go to take the vial from him, but he is quicker, arm raising above you. “Does the king know? Your brother?”

A scowl etches onto your face, your arms crossed. It is quite annoying how tall he is. “I don’t believe it is proper to keep my belongings from me, Ser Benji.”

“Is it proper to brew potions in the dungeons?”

“Why would you follow me?”

He shrugs. “You looked quite distressed. And it seemed unnecessary to spend a moment longer with those highborn leeches.”

You raise your eyebrow, grasping for some sort of higher ground. “Not even the ladies?”

Benji chuckles, a low rumble. You are close enough to think you feel it. “Do not take it to heart, princess, but I do not care for those puppets who care for nothing but appearances.” 

You huff. “Only a man would make such rude assumptions.”

“And yet it is a man who has discovered your secret.” He tilts his head. “Now who are you making this stuff for? Your maiden?”

You attempt to jump for the vial but it is no use. “I do not trust you.” 

“Who would I tell? I do not wish to have your surveillance become more intense. It’s annoying as it is.” 

The broken blister hurts now, and you are glad the shoe is red, otherwise you’re certain it would have been ruined by now. Frustrated, you step back and sit down on the nearest chair, lean back, arms dropped at your side and legs stretched out. 

It is a question of luck, but you don’t think he would let these matters rest without plausible explanation. 

“There’s a family on the outskirts of the city. I met them on one of those horrible charity visits. They couldn’t afford to pay for these aids and so I took matters into my own hands. And then they told people that there is a way to help and it kept going.”

You meet his eyes and you are suddenly struck by their warm hue of green. 

A beat of silence passes. “So you are…a secret apothecary?”

You shrug. “Maybe not adept enough to call myself such. Sourcing knowledge about it is quite tiresome and tedious. And I must do it in secret. It is frowned upon for women, but even more so for a princess. And I do not wish to be accused of doing devil’s work.”

“Well, the dungeon isn’t doing much to alleviate that connotation,” he says. 

Is he joking? 

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I suppose so.” 

You draw in a breath. “Please do not speak of this with anyone.” 

He nods and gives the vial back to you. That one is for Marion, womanly matters. You are glad now, that you’ve never taken up to label the things in here.

“How do you get them to the people?”

“Ser Rodrick and Marion.” The lie comes to you quick and easy. It is only half a lie. 

You bend down and take off your shoe. Normally, you would not, but having exposed perhaps your most vulnerable secret, you do not see any reason to feign dignity and suffer for it. 

“I must finish this tonight. There’s a case of colic rushing through town.”

He is watchful, like your sister had been, but with much less disdain, as you go on with what you had started. 

Diligently you powder up anise and cumin and add it to the broth that you had let simmer over the last few days. You do not have cormorant blood at hand but alas one must make due with what they have sometimes.

You walk barefooted, careful to mind the shards and to your surprise, Benji begins gathering them, lips curled as he does. “What the fuck did you keep in that?”

You offer him a bemused hum. “Fat from a strong bear.”

“Has it been there since the dawn of time? Why does it smell so terrible?”

“Only since the last hunt. Four moons ago.”

He shudders and tosses the gathered glass into the fireplace. Remnants of its content sizzle in the heat. 

Silence befalls you again and he stands closer now, right next to you, as you begin to fill five separate flasks. 

“Should I take it to them then?”

A stray hair falls into your face, like a curtain between the two of you. “That would be wonderful.” 

You don’t like the idea. It is not a happy freedom you got by sneaking out of the castle to tend to the frail, but it was a taste of true freedom nonetheless. And you do not like giving out the medicine without clear instructions. 

But there is no choice for you to make. 

“The last chapel before the city walls, behind it you will find Theo. He will distribute it. Tell him they who receive it, must take three spoons in the morning with a bit of bread. And then the same again at night, until they feel better. And if they have some left even though they are healthy, they can keep it, in case the disease returns. There’s wine in it, it won’t turn bad.”

“As you command, princess.” 

You tuck your hair back. “If you wish, you can call me by my name.”

Benji steps back and leans against the wall. He ignores your offer. 

Too soon. Too friendly. 

“Take that satchel. We don’t need the court thinking you’re a drunkard as the king is.” With the nod of your chin you point to where it rests on a shelf. 

Something flits across his features, the shadow of something left unsaid but it is gone before you can place it. 

He takes it and slings it across his chest. You hand him your work and the tips of his finger brush across yours but this time it feels different.

You stand before him barefoot, vulnerable, your faith put into his ability to be true to his word. It makes your skin feel raw. 

If he recognises the delicacy of the situation, he does not show it. 

“I should accompany you to your chambers,” he says. And you want to protest, but you do not. Instead you lean forward, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his breaths and pull at the bookshelf behind him. It swings open and reveals a narrow staircase. 

His brow raises as he turns his head. “Impressive. Though I am less and less convinced that you are not a witch.”

“Do not make such jests,” you chastise, but you say it with warmth. 

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@jhepolie

@knight-of-flowerss

@majoso12

@rebeccawinters

@poppyflower-22

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@xlittlefiend

@vqmpyrecult

[maddragon15]

Finalized design for my version of Etho for hermitcraft s10!

Warning long infodump ahead about the decisions made and general lore

So I've had this idea that redstone is like uranium. Powerful, can be used for energy + various machinery and scientific discoveries, used to increase the value of the everyday lives (uranium girls ref) but with the major cause of life deletion/life altering affects. I believe that it would cause more mutations within redstoners over the course of time they are exposed to it and the varying degree that they're covered in it. But redstone is a fairly new resource that has been discovered in the world of minecraft/hermitcraft. So the research behind it isn't as strong nor as known as it should be. Therefore every effect that happens to the pioneers of redstone is completely new and unheard of. Which might be the reason why some builders like Grian, Scar, Ren, Gem, etc are hesitant to fully learn redstone mechanics due to the unknown nature of it but still aren't fully opposed because of the benefits it has.

In my world of hermitcraft for season 10 it's built off of the fact that there's quite a few people leaning into that cybery, technological, sci-fi theme. Like the Punks, then Ren's Gigaverse and of course the nature of Doc in general. So the main story is that this world of hc2410 is that it's a world that was much similar to earth. It went through the usual set of technological feats bit by bit, culture by culture.

For a long time their main power source which fueled everything was glowstone, a semi renewable material exported from the Nether and harvested from blazes and the blaze rods. Blaze rods were grinded down then compressed into glass like bilets which were then heated, strained, and forged into various forms that were needed. For a while it was small 2x2 inch cubes mainly used in lamps and later 6x6 foot cubes for lighthouses. But as the age of the iron wore on, technology looked much like the era of the vacuum tubes.

Thus began the swap of simplified forms of glowstone into the complexities of tubes and the requirement of more materials and longer time to create these specialized parts. Though that didn't stop what pioneers were part of that era, these guys being Etho, Tango, Doc, and Mumbo. Now these guys were very basic hybrids, Etho an arctic fox, Tango a nether born blaze, Doc whom was a rare specices of creeper, and Mumbo who was actually just a human. It took long and multiple days worth of work to even produce what would be a 4 part machine in modern redstone technology with glowstone. Though these guys were at this point young and determined to optimize their creations.

Glowstone in itself was a relatively safe material to work with unless of course consumed, if consumed it would wear down the lining of the stomach, cause holes in the intestines, and heat the user to an unbearable degree akin to the infamous iron bull method of torture except it was your insides and only your insides being subjected to it. To the person that found this out would never be credited and largely forgotten in most history records. Mainly because he died such a painful death and most didn't want to remember it. So when Etho was working on the mines with his crew and discovered redstone there was a guess and perhaps a hope that it would be as safe as glowstone. Therefore safety percautions that were used with materials like obsidian and diamond were thrown out the window. Instead it was instantly collected into glass cylinders and brought back to the workshop to be played around with.

Thus the reason why for most parts of hc2410 many will be seen with previous and malfunctioning innovations or straight up tech from the glowstone era. One of these people is Mumbo who still uses comms from the glowstone era as a way to keep his small hometown economy running because any way to help Big Ron was a win in his book. Pearl is also another example user of older innovations or at least less redstone heavy variations. Rather going into the world of solar, and botany side of technology dubbed leafstone. Other variations of older innovations would also have to be old port towns who used wind and small hydroplants to keep their town running and connected with the rest of the world such as Gem's & Grian's hometown.

With Etho being the main guy who really played around with it and pretty much like at it like ate it like it was sugar was thee very first to experience the mutational effect of redstone. At first his left eye would begin to flicker with rapid involuntary movement, then followed a set of what would be dubbed "chromatic abberation" (etho would be the only one to experience this and no one can confirm what he saw was accurate due to the mental state he was in), and the onset of vision loss. But this wasn't the first and last effect, he would begin to develop a second tail and unusual pelt coloring akin to the color of the newfound material. Much like the later steps of his changes the second tail development was not a pain free one. As the months continued his mental state worsened, this was due to the psychoactive effects of redstone and already altered vision. He would begin to see things that weren't there in a translucent red glow often accompanied by intense localized migraines behind the left eye. It would get so intense and unbearable that in the middle of developing the infamous etho hopper clock he began to claw at his left eye but the fingernails weren't enough and instead used a screwdriver to try to get it out. However Doc and Tango would find Etho moments before a prosthetic eye would take the permanent place of a redstone scarred eye.

Although Etho did wear a mask during the initial stages of redstone development and technology it wouldn't be enough against the sheer intake the 4 went through. Therefore under the careful guise of Xisumavoid, who'd later become the main caretaker/medic and manager, and Doc they would make several changes to how redstone was regulated. Making a mandate that all personnel, consumer, mechanic, and who ever else would have to wear a respirator and gloves during the usage of redstone. You'd think this would be easy to get the crew to swap into using respirators at the very least but it was met with much hesitation and backlash due to the blukiness that came with them. It was already tough to pack around the canisters of redstone, glowstone tubes, and iron baseplates and now they also had to squeeze into tight spaces with a clunky mess? But again Doc and Xisuma found ways to make sure that each member found a way to have their own variation of resperation based upon needs. It wasn't too hard to make one for Etho because he already had a mask but his stubbornness rivaled Doc, and took a near fatal pass out due to lack of blood production, aka just more extreme anemia, and bloody nose to convince Etho to finally add that respirator onto his mask.

Despite however the apparent dangers of redstone it sent the world of hc2410 into a new world of technology seemingly overnight, from clunky 60s-70s style tan and heavy clunk switches into an age more similar to thin touch panels and streamlined designs of now but with the flair of the iconic synthwave/cyberpunk style deemed by the 80s-90s. Yet it was met with strife due to how time consuming redstone was even with several engineers helping out on one project and most innovations were only available to the richest before being thrown out for the latest and greatest.

Also you may recall, if you've made it to this point, that I mentioned that the 4 were basic hybrids. Well much like Etho the effects on the rest weren't simple nor painless, and varied quite differently from each other. But those will be covered once their designs are finished.

I thank you if you've made it this far and I'll see you on the next hermitaday posts! :3

Edit: I also want to include that one of the main design inspos is actually Snakeyes from Gi Joe because that man is absolute gender to me. So why not combine my two favorite guys into one character.

Edit #2: Added more text breaks bc I no longer have 5 am involuntary eye movement. Which is odd because you'd think I'd need more text breaks but it's the opposite.

[rosescarlette]

-> Zhongli being a girl dad!✨

-> Zhongli being the type of dad that's absolutely overprotective of his daughter, he wouldn't let any guy come close to his daughter. Always protecting his precious gem.

-> One day you even found Zhongli in a ridiculous state with your daughter which you couldn't help but laugh about.

"Daddy! Can we play princesses and tea parties please??"

"Hm. I am still in the middle of finishing something."

"Aw.. :("

Seeing your daughter's sad face he couldn't refuse.. so he decided to play for a while. He spoke with his signature smile.

"Alright. I will play then. But only for an hour."

"Really?! Yay! I'll go get my dollies and stuff!!"

He heard her footsteps running to her room to grab her stuff. He couldn't help but give a hearty chuckle.

"Alright I've got my things! But.. there's something missing.."

"Hm? Missing? Like what?"

"This party was only for princesses but you're a guy!"

"O-oh is that so?.."

"But that's okay! We can dress you up!! Follow me!!"

You were out shopping for stuff while your daughter went to your bedroom and opened your closet. Zhongli was beside her all along.

"Why are we in your mother's room? She would be quite mad at us if we broke anything."

Your daughter just ignored him completely and was still searching in your closet until she found a pretty dress.

"Okay put this on! This is very gorgeous! Mommy has so many pretty dresses.."

"Ah I remember gifting her th-"

"No lectures put it on!!!"

"Alright alright."

As both of them were playing in your daughter's bedroom. You had come home from shopping and seen that zhongli is not at his usual place. Which is quite odd. However there was indeed a lot of noise coming from her room so you decided to check it out.

"What's going on here?"

Both of them immediately froze. Not only that, the bedroom was quite messy.

"Wait a second. Is that my dress?"

Zhongli was in a tough spot. He didn't know what else to do. And your daughter immediately told what happened with joy.

"Mommy! Isn't daddy looking good?"

"Hm.. let me see."

That's when you saw zhongli in a ridiculous state. Girly makeup which was not well done. But he was very proud of how he looked. So he immediately became serious.

"What?"

"Nothing.. just wondering how you look so fine today."

"Yes. I am very pretty."

"Yes!! See!! He looks very beautiful as a princess!!"

You died out laughing that moment.

"Ah yes.. I suppose he does look gorgeous. In my dress that too. So how was your tea party my dear? Hm?"

Zhongli would never forget that smirk of yours ever since. He was quite proud of how he looked because his daughter had done the makeup but none the less he sighed and spoke up.

"Yes it's very good. Now if you don't disturb us please."

That's when you noticed.. that they weren't playing with the toy tea set. But with the actual tea set. They had a real tea set.

"Hm? So you made the tea?"

"Yes. Would you like to have a cup of tea?"

Still seeing him in that attire, you still broke out laughing and gave in to his offer.

"Alright fine. I'll join in. However would the two of you like to have some cake to go along with it?"

"Cake?"

"Yay cakes! I thought you had forgotten mommy! Thanks!"

"Ah no big deal."

"Yay now there's one thing missing.."

"And what that might be?"

"You! We need you to be properly dressed!!"

"o-Oh?"

Before you know it you had also worn a pretty gown and make up done by your daughter. Zhongli had a smirk the whole time you both were spending time with your daughter. And now it was his turn to quietly laugh at you.

Rather that it was quite an enjoyable day.

-> Like I said again he also hates when some boy likes his daughter. How dare that person!

"Dad I am officially a grownup!!"

"HUH?! WHEN. HOW. WHERE."

"Calm down zhongli. I mean she's nearly a teenager now-"

"I TOLD YOU DEAR! ITS THE CHICKEN. NOW WHAT-"

"I got a letter!"

Both of you were confused.

"Whats the letter supposed to mean?"

"It means someone loves me mom!"

Is it a love letter my dear?"

"Yes!! I-"

"Who's the guy."

"Zhongli cool down it's just a letter."

"My absolute dearest. I just want to talk to that guy."

"Zhongli you're out to kill him aren't you?"

"..."

"Answer the question."

"..."

"Zhongli?"

"Yes."

"Come on love it's just a letter.."

"No."

"I am not gonna talk you out of this am I?"

"Yes."

"Zhongli no killing."

"Ok dearest."

"..."

"But you didn't say not to hit him with a meteorite."

"ZHONGLI NO-"

-> Let's just say it's a chaotic night.

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

Note: IVE ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS AND I DIDN'T EVEN SAVE IT AS A DRAFT SO IF YOU NOTICE THIS AGAIN.. YES IT HAS CHANGES 😭😭 AM SO SORRY😭😭

[suppose-i-was-worm]

By Virtue of Being a Frog

**it's not great, but here's my birthday fic for myself. Enjoy!**

Look, Danny wasn’t sure what happened. First he was just Danny, hanging out in Gotham on a school trip, and next thing he knew, he was a frog. Now, he didn’t know much about Gotham, but he figured frogs weren’t… common.

He could probably turn back- enchantments didn’t tend to stick on ghosts, but where was the fun in that? With a ribbit and a hop, Danny was off and away, fleeing with the rest of his be-frogged classmates. Except that his fleeing was with purpose. He wanted to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. He knew the class had been in the Diamond District- near a place called Robinson Park, and that Robinson Park was the last place any of them wanted to go.

So there he went. It wasn’t often he was able to get away from his classmates on school trips, so this was a prime opportunity. Even at the age of 18, he wasn’t really allowed to leave the group. But now, escaping in a city that had it’s own guardian ghost? Sign him the fuck up!

Danny dodged between feet, turning himself intangible a few times in order to not get squished, and soon the musty streets turned into lush grass. Croaking, he hopped further into the park- it was gorgeous, all overgrown and blooming. Sam would love it.

Part of Danny wanted to keep this gem in the heart of the darkest city in America to himself, though.

He heard some rustling in the foliage as he hopped through the jungle-like park, but paid it no mind. There was too much to see and to smell to worry about some wildlife.

Except for the frog thing. He’d forgotten about the frog thing.

An honest-to-Ancients hyena lunged out of the bushes and snatched him up. Danny croaked in surprise, feeling himself become dizzy as the canine beast started to shake him about.

It didn’t occur to him to drop the transformation, not until after a young man caught up to the hyena and made it drop him.

“I am very disappointed in you, Bud. We have had this discussion before- if you continue to attack small wildlife every time Harley lets me visit with you, I will not visit again. Do you understand?”

The hyena yipped and bounded off into the foliage, and the young man knelt down to inspect Danny.

“My apologies, he gets excited. Why not come with me and I will get you patched up appropriately?”

There was something to the cadence of the man’s voice, the soft accent, and the emerald eyes that made Danny freeze up.

He allowed the man to scoop him up, and felt himself be carried away. Something in him said that this man was the safest option for him now or ever. The stress of the last hour finally took it’s toll, and Danny felt unconsciousness wash over him.

~~~

“It’s a frog, Damian.”

“What is your point? I found it injured and it has not woken up. Fix it.”

“I’m not a miracle worker!”

Danny woke to a heated conversation over his head. He was pleasantly moist, surrounded by soft things, and overall, fairly content. The safe man was still here, and still safe, and Danny felt better than he had for the last four years.

Or the last… thirteen? How long had it been since he’d been adopted?

“Timothy, please.”

There was a pause, and Danny cracked open one eye. He was nestled in a small damp towel, and the two voices were coming from above him.

“Hey, it just moved!”

Danny opened his eyes fully to look up at his savior. Getting a much closer look at the man forced a startled noise out of his tiny froggy body.

“It is scared, Timothy, back away.”

“You back away! You’re the one frowning down at him from point-blank range!”

Both men started to move away from Danny’s nest, so Danny croaked another protest.

His big brother’s face was looking down at him, older and alive, and even if it was a doppelganger or a dream, Danny wouldn’t let him get away. Not this time.

It finally dawned on him that he could transform back, so with a leap (assisted by some flight and minor intangibility), he sprung from the cardboard box and into the air, where he allowed the enchantment to slough off, landing feather-light on his feet.

He turned to find a sword and some sort of projectile weapon aimed at him.

“Oops.”

“Who are you, and how did you come here?”

Danny raised his hands quickly, his eyes darting around to look for possible exits. Sure, he knew he could just vanish, but even a decade after the fact, he couldn’t get rid of the habit.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I was a frog? And now I’m not. Not that I was a frog to start with, I was visiting Gotham with my school and we were all suddenly frogs, and then there was a hyena so now I’m here? Wherever here is?”

The person who was not his brother put away the projectile.

“There was a magic user attack in the Diamond District yesterday- he was pretty passionate about amphibians.”

“The others who were affected returned to their normal state within three hours, Timothy. I do not understand why this one did not.”

Timothy shrugged, opening his mouth to answer, but the man who was not not Danny’s brother continued.

“Or why he looks like someone who ought to be dead.”

It was Danny’s turn to shrug.

“I mean, in all technicality, I am? But also, did you say it’s been a day? My friends must be worried. Can I… go?”

“You are what?”

Timothy was looking at him curiously, and maybe!Dami was glowering. Ah, familiar.

“Dead. Technically. Oh, wait, you gotta promise not to tell. The Anti-ecto Acts would have my hide on a stick.”

Probably!Dami grabbed Timothy by the arm and pulled him away from where Danny was standing, muttering something in a low voice.

Too bad, Danny had enhanced hearing. Thanks, death!

“I suspect this is a League plant. He looks too similar to- He looks familiar, and in only the way one of Talia’s ruses to kill me would.”

Damn, okay, upgrade from probably to definitely. Except… Damian had been the Demon’s Heir, he would never address their mother by her first name.

Danny chose to feign cluelessness when the two turned their attention back to him.

“What are you here for?”

With a shrug, Danny continued his charade.

“I’ve never understood that question. What are any of us here for? That’s like asking what a prisoner did to get jail time. Crimes.”

“You have come to commit crime?”

Whoops, here’s to forgetting that League trained assassins were generally literal.

“No, that’s how prisoners get jail time. I’m here to live fast, kick ass, and eat grass. Veganism isn’t a phase.”

Ancients, what was he saying? Time to make an exit- but he would be back. He couldn’t live without Damian now that he knew his brother was alive and no longer under Grandfather’s thumb.

“Anyways, I gotta jet- smell ya later!”

Before either of the other men could react, Danny turned intangible and invisible, sinking through the stone floor and zipping his way back to the hotel he was supposed to be in.

It didn’t sink in until after the lecture from his teacher.

“Wait, was that the Batcave?”

[literary-motif]

hii vic, I love your writings sm, they’re extremely detailed and you write the skv characters well in-character 🫶🏽

nsfw (or sfw, up to you) fic idea for Isaac getting jealous after meeting a client who’s checking out/flirting with pickle? 🤭

Jealousy

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

“Isaac, something's wrong with the—” you began, pushing open the door to his study only to find him sitting behind his desk, raising an eyebrow at you as the man in front of him turned in his seat to look at you. 

You had completely forgotten about the client and you cleared your throat, ducking your head in embarrassment at the disturbance. 

“Pardon me, the meeting slipped my mind. I apologize again—”

“Now who’s this gem?” the man asked with a smile, walking up to you and offering you a hand to shake. He was charming, his dark green suit dotted with specks of gold that betrayed his somewhat extravagant taste. He could not have been older than Isaac. “No worries, we were just finishing up actually.”

You took his hand, desperate to salvage what was left of your pride and stop this interaction from being awkward. You could feel his eyes on you, checking you out, and you cleared your throat, dropping his hand and taking a step back. 

The scrutiny of his gaze and the embarrassment of having barged into a private meeting had turned you shy. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Isaac scowl as he stood up. If looks could kill, you were certain the two of you would need to cover up a murder now. “This is my partner, and yes, I believe we are done. Allow me to accompany you—”

“You should join us next time,” the man said to you, giving you another once over before smiling kindly again, “I think my case could profit from your skills and I would love to see you again.”

“Allow me,” Isaac’s tone was sharper now, catching the man’s attention, “to accompany you to the door.” He was nearly glaring at him now, holding onto the last shreds of his professionalism to keep himself from snapping at him for daring to look at you, his partner. 

The man looked surprised for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and Isaac before he hummed in understanding, slightly nodding his head. “Ah, I see,” he said, inclining his head towards you, “Pardon. I shall leave you to it, then.” 

“Good day,” you replied politely, holding the door of the study open for him as Isaac saw him off.

“He had some nerve,” Isaac muttered once the door fell shut. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” you answered, letting out a noise of surprise as he crashed his lips to yours, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you firmly against his chest. One of his hands found its way to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss. You were breathless by the time you broke apart. “What was that for?” you panted. 

“A reminder,” Isaac said, continuing to look at you with dark eyes. His stare made you shiver.

Deciding to amuse yourself, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Reminding me of what, exactly?”

You did not need any of your training to see that Isaac was jealous, but as you looked at him, cheeks faintly tinted red and lips almost in a pout, you could not help but enjoy this newfound side of him.

“That you’re mine,” he whispered, reaching up a hand to caress your cheek. “You’re mine as long as you want me, Pickle, and I hope that message came across.”

You chuckled, brushing your lips against his hand. “I think it did,” you said, laughing at his self-satisfied hum. “It could not possibly be that the great Isaac Rhoades—”

“‘The great?’” 

You shushed him, keeping him from interrupting you by placing a finger on his lips.

“That the great Isaac Rhoades, renowned PI, and my beloved partner, as well as my most dashing knight” — you could see the amusement in his eyes as he kissed your finger — “is jealous?”

He took your hand, intertwining your fingers as he tilted his head, a teasing smile on his face. “What if I am?” he said.

You laughed, shaking your head fondly before squeezing his hand and pulling him into another kiss. “Then I would tell you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about,” you said, smiling warmly at him and making sure he understood your sincerity. 

“I know,” he said softly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I don’t want to risk losing you, to anyone or anything.”

“You won’t,” you promised before taking his arm and guiding him into the kitchen, clearing your throat as you pointed towards the stove. “Now take a look at this, my knight. I wanted to tell you earlier that it’s not working and I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it’s jealous of the oven,” Isaac said, glancing at you.

“Do you want to eat dinner or not?”

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 14: Rebirth

Contents | Part 13 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Ellis is beginning to learn that what is meant for her won't pass her by.

Word Count: 6.4K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult and sexual themes. Descriptions of periods/menstruation, financial struggles and money talk, discussions of death, grief & loss. Readers must be 18+

Soleil's eyes were the deepest blue, like two shiny, round gems of Lapis Lazuli. You found yourself staring at them in awe as you flicked through photos of her on your computer; even the clumsy editing and dull colour grading unable to diminish their shine. 

Still, Mara was right, the pictures were bad. So bad you couldn't fix them. You huffed and leaned back in the desk chair, staring up at the ceiling of your office, the weird piece of dangling plaster in the corner that hadn't moved the whole time you'd worked there. You hadn't been able to focus in days, couldn't keep still; your mind and body overwrought with a sense of uneasiness that left you with bitten nails and a pain between your shoulder blades.

The chair almost tipped back. You jerked forward and caught yourself before you fell, looking around the room in embarrassment despite there being no one there. You cleared your throat and went back to work, sipping on lukewarm coffee as you typed out a disgruntled email.

There was an ache in your lower back as you sat up straight, a heaviness in your pelvis that made you squirm in search of comfort. You ignored it at first, the pain nothing more than a niggle. But after a few minutes you paused, wondering if it could be something more.

You grabbed your bag and left the office, making your way down the corridor and into the women's bathroom. You locked yourself in a cubicle and hastily unbuttoned your trousers, relief pouring out of you in a heavy sigh when you saw blood in your underwear. 

"Oh, thank god," you whispered to yourself as you sat on the toilet, head falling into your hands. 

You'd only been three days late. But those three days felt like an eternity. Waiting for something, anything; a cramp or the slightest twinge, for a spot to appear on your chin, for your breasts to hurt when you squeezed them. You'd driven yourself mad, checking the foil packets of your pills for one you might have forgotten to take, scrolling back through your period app to work out when you would have ovulated. It would be just your luck - your punishment - the consequences of your sacrilege.

"Thank god, thank god, thank god," you muttered as you rummaged through your bag for a tampon, instead finding a single pantyliner and a packet of paracetamol. 

You huffed and put on the liner, buttoning up your trousers and stepping out of the cubicle. You walked over to the sinks where the free tampons usually sat, breathing out a laugh in disbelief when you found the large basket completely empty.

Dawn was sat behind the reception desk, the empty foyer echoing with the sound of her nails clacking against the computer keyboard. You rubbed your washed hands on the sides of your trousers as you walked over to her. 

"You alright, hun?" she asked, glancing up at you briefly. 

"There's no tampons in the toilets," you replied quietly. 

"Oh yeah, there was a problem with the supplier, something to do with that time I ordered a million by mistake. Delivery won't be here 'til next week I don't think." 

You closed your eyes and sighed. "Okay, I'm going to be out of office for about twenty minutes." 

"Okay love. Get yourself some dark chocolate too; good for cramps." 

You rolled your eyes and laughed. "Thanks." 

The country was five days into a heatwave. The thick, sticky air so close and suffocating you practically had to wade through it as you walked down the street. You hated it; how it made your clothes feel wrong on your body, made your eyes itch and your hair stick to your skin. You would walk past people sitting in pub gardens, their faces glowing as they laughed and drank together, and wonder if the sun somehow felt different to other people. If, to them, its smothering heat was more like a warm kiss.

There was a Boots a few streets over from work. You walked there quickly, stepping inside the air-conditioned shop and sighing as the cool, refreshing air soothed your burning skin. You dawdled down the aisles, basking in the relief from the sun, looking at body washes you didn't need and makeup you already had at home. When you got to your aisle, there was a young woman already there. She was looking at pregnancy tests, a different brand in each hand as she read the boxes carefully. You caught each other's gaze for a moment as you picked up your tampons, exchanging polite smiles, neither knowing whether to be happy or sorry for the other. 

You stood in the queue as a single cashier worked behind the tills. You didn't mind waiting, much preferring to look at the summer weather through a window than be stuck outside in it. There was a man standing over the road that caught your eye; a smart navy blue suit, shirt, tie and full dress shoes. How was he not melting? You watched as he hovered outside the building, straightening a tall signpost that had tilted slightly to one side. 

The queue shifted forward. You took a step closer and looked back out, taking more notice of the building behind him. It was three stories, victorian, ivy climbing over weathered brick and stone. The small front garden was plush and green, with flowers and a wooden bench beneath the front window, a path leading up to the pale blue front door where three separate letter boxes sat beside it. It was flats. 

"Who's next?" the cashier called out. 

You walked up to her, barely able to keep your eyes off the suited man as he took a leather binder from his car and walked back towards the signpost in the front garden. 

"Do you need a bag?" the cashier asked. 

"Er no, no it's okay. Thank you." 

She handed you your receipt and you took the box, walking out of the shop and making your way across the road. 

You stepped up onto the kerb and wandered closer to the building, gazing up at it, trying to figure out which floor held the vacant flat. 

"Hi, are you here for the viewing?" asked the man as he approached you. 

You turned to him in a slight daze, lips parted slightly before letting out a simple "Yes." 

It was like a compulsion. First Father Benedict, now him. Had you not learned your lesson?

"Oh okay great," he said, mopping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "Sorry, my colleague called in sick this morning so I'm looking after her properties for the day. Haven't got any of her appointment info. I'm Aaron." 

He reached out to shake your hand, his eyes falling on the box of tampons you were holding. You looked down at them, then back up to him, pressing your lips into an awkward smile. 

"Right, well," he said, clearing his throat. "Shall we?" 

You followed him up the path and waited as he unlocked the door. He stepped aside to let you walk in first, closing it behind you.

"We'll be viewing 336C, which is the top floor," he said, pointing up the stairs. 

You looked around the entry hall, at the pretty tiled floor and cork board on the wall pinned with friendly messages and posters, a cute frog-shaped doormat outside 336A. He started up the stairs and you followed, taking in every detail as he continued to speak. 

"So the property is comprised of three flats. One on each floor. It's a converted house so it's had quite a bit of refurb done to alter the layout." He paused on the middle landing to catch his breath and mop his brow again before continuing, flicking through the notes in his folder as he went. "The owners say the neighbours are lovely, they take really good care of the place, as you can see. Area's also great; you've got the high street, bus and train station nearby, low crime, great schools - if that's something you're concerned about." 

You reached the top floor landing, still holding the box of tampons as he unlocked the door to the flat and gestured for you to follow.

"So it's listed as a one bed, one bath," he continued as he wandered into the flat. "But my colleague's written here that there's another room that could be used as a second bedroom if needed. It's just quite small so it's currently being utilised as an office. If you come this way you can see we enter straight into the living space..." 

He was still talking, but you could barely hear him anymore; your mind slipping into a state of awe as you laid eyes on the place for the first time. Your lips parted slightly as you drew in a soft gasp at the sight of a large stained glass window flooding the living area with shafts of iridescent light. It made you think of the church, of Father Benedict, but most of all, it made you think of serenity, of joy and of home.

You walked over to it, running your fingers over the lead ridges separating the pieces of coloured glass, how they swirled into flowers and hearts and ribbons, soaking in the sun's rays and turning them the most stunning shades of greens, pinks and gold. 

"It's a really lovely property, very unique," said Aaron. "Open but still cozy, lots of natural light. If you come through here I'll show you the kitchen." 

You turned around as he opened a door on the other side of the room, following him into a small kitchen and listening as he reeled off information from his folder. He took you through to a small alcove at the back of the flat, the bedrooms and bathroom neatly tucked away inside, letting you wander around as he spoke.  

"You've not said a lot," he laughed nervously as you walked back into the living area. 

"Sorry, I'm just... I wasn't expecting to like it this much."

"Oh, well that's good to hear. It is a really nice place. Would it just be you living here or is there a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Kids? Flatmates?" 

"It would just be me." 

He nodded. "I think it's the perfect size for one. Can just see you now, sitting by that window reading a book, coffee in hand." 

You smiled, pausing for a moment and swallowing hard. "C-can you just remind me how much it's going for... per month?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry it's er- This one isn't a rental. It's for sale." 

Your heart shattered, falling to pieces in your chest. You licked your lips, keeping your face straight. "Right, sorry, I don't know why I said that. I've been looking at rentals as well, must have got mixed up." 

"That's alright." He smiled and flicked a page in his folder. "This is listed for... £175,000." 

And just like that, the pieces in your chest turned to dust. 

"Okay, great, thank you," you said. "Well, I'll erm, I go away and y'know, speak to my... people and... yeah." 

He nodded and took a business card from his pocket, handing it to you with a smile. You placed it on the box of tampons, holding it there with your thumb as he began to walk you out. You turned back, taking one last look at the place before the door closed, a strange feeling of homesickness coming over you. 

"Can I just ask how much mortgage payments would be?" you asked as you followed him down the stairs. 

"Well I'm sure your broker will know better than I would," he replied. "But usually if you put up a 10% deposit, let's say 25 years, you're looking at something quite reasonable. Depends how good your mortgage is." 

"10%... So... £17,500...?" 

"Yep." 

"Right, okay, easy enough."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not," he laughed. 

"Everyone says that." 

You couldn't stop thinking about the flat. Every day after work, you would walk past it, just to check it hadn't been sold yet, as though there was any way you would ever be able to buy it. You would daydream about sitting at the window, just like Aaron said, book in hand, watching rain patter against the multicoloured glass. You furnished the place in your head, chose paints and tiles and cushions, imagined people coming over and saying 'wow, Ellis, you're so lucky to have such a beautiful home'. 

But you weren't the lottery-winning type. Weren't the kind of person to come up with an idea that made millions, or meet someone so rich that £17.5K would be like lending someone a fiver. It was unattainable. A dream. Another reminder that you were so far behind where you thought you would be by now. 

A car horn beeped, then beeped again a few moments later. You checked your reflection in the mirror and opened the front door. 

"Mum, Mara's here, I'm going," you shouted. 

"Okay, love," she called back from upstairs. 

You ran down the path, opening the passenger door of Mara's big, pristinely white car and climbing inside. She hated the heat too, the air-con blasting so strong it raised the hairs on your arms. 

"Hi," you said.

"Hi," she replied, eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. "Seatbelt." 

"Yes, yes, I know." 

She waited until you'd strapped yourself in before pulling away, the car engine so smooth and quiet you could barely hear it. 

You glanced over your shoulder into the back. "No baby?" 

"No, funnily enough I am allowed to leave the house without her," she replied sarcastically. 

You rolled your eyes and looked out the passenger window. "I take it you're still pissed off with me for convincing you to come today?" 

"Yep." 

You laughed halfheartedly. 

She looked over at you for a moment, then back to the road. "What's up with you?" 

You sighed, hesitating to speak.

"Tell me," she insisted. 

"I just..." You took a deep breath. "I'm losing hope that I'm ever going to get on my feet again." 

She pulled into traffic, taking extra care to look around before speeding up. "What do you mean? It's only been, what, like a month?"

"Yeah I know. Just feels hopeless though. Like, I found a place. The perfect place. Beautiful, safe, quiet, walking distance from work. Only to find out it's for sale, not to let." 

"Well that doesn't make it hopeless. Nathan and I have a really good broker, I can ask him to do the numbers for you, shop around and see if anywhere would offer you a mortgage-"

"Unless you can find a way of pulling £17,500 out of my arse, there's honestly no point." 

"Is that the deposit?" 

"Mhm." 

She paused before huffing to herself. "This fucking economy. Ridiculous." 

"It's fine. I went and viewed another flat yesterday which is to let."

"Oh, well see, there you go." 

"Mm. It's right round the corner from where that girl got murdered last year, which is nice. The hallway smelled like piss and weed and it was so small I could cook my dinner, take a shit and watch TV all at the same time. But beggars can't be choosers, so..."

She stifled a laugh, trying to hide it with a cough. "You're not actually going to take it, are you?" 

"I don't know. I can't get that other place out of my head, but I can't stay with mum forever. It just made me feel so shit how out of reach it is for me. Like my future is just so bleak and..." 

You felt yourself getting choked up, the lump in your throat catching you by surprise. You never cried, especially not in front of your sister. You rubbed your mouth to disguise your trembling lip, clearing your throat and turning away from her. 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, adjusting her sunglasses as she drove. "What's meant for you won't pass you by," she said. 

You remained quiet for a while, inhaling through your nose, filling your lungs to the brim and letting it flow out again slowly. 

"Oh, I looked at Soleil's photos for you," you said, changing the subject.

"And? I'm right aren't I, they look like shit." 

"Yeah they're fucking awful." 

"I told you. I'm fuming, Ellis. I danced around like a twat in that studio just to get her to smile for the camera." 

You laughed. "I've sent an email to the head office to get you another session for free." 

"Oh... Thank you," she said with a grateful surprise. "Can I request you edit them? I don't trust anyone else." 

You smiled to yourself but didn't dare let her see. "Yeah, I'll make sure they come to me." 

You pulled up into the church carpark, climbing out into the sickly heat with a synchronised groan. Mara walked around the car to meet you, fixing the straps of her maxi dress and hoisting her bag on her shoulder. 

"I can't believe I agreed to this," she mumbled. 

"It's fine, I've been before, they're not that bad," you replied, beginning the walk towards the parish pub.

"Not that bad? I couldn't think of anything worse than doing circle time with a bunch of miserable people moaning about their problems." 

"You're so compassionate, Mara." 

She growled, fixing the strap of her dress again. "I'm telling you now, I'm not speaking at this thing. I'll introduce myself and that's it. And if anyone mistakes me for your mother I will walk out." 

You made it to the pub, walking inside to find it bustling with regulars, familiar faces you'd come to know from church. 

"My god," said Mara, leaning in to talk quietly. "It's a Tuesday afternoon, why aren't people at work?" 

"We're not at work either..." 

She pushed her sunglasses onto her head. "Fair point." 

You gestured towards the back. She walked through a small group of people near the bar, the crowd parting effortless in her presence. You'd always found her aura fascinating; how commanding yet charming, terrifying yet charismatic she could be. People always said you looked alike, how similar you were in some ways, and you couldn't help but wonder if Mara was who you could have been if you hadn't spent so much of your life scared to be noticed. 

She stopped at the door to the back room, reading the sign and turning to you. "Do we knock?" 

"No, just go in," you replied. 

She opened the door and stepped inside. The circle of chairs was almost full, their eyes all glancing up at you in unison. You walked in behind her, your gaze immediately falling on Father Benedict, the corners of your mouth pulling into an involuntary smile.

"Sorry we're late," said Mara. "We can leave if we're interrupting." 

"Not at all," he replied cheerily, standing up to greet you. 

"Nice try," you muttered. 

She elbowed you in the side before smiling at him kindly. He shook her hand and directed her to a seat. Then he turned to you, taking your hand in his and shaking it like a perfect gentleman. 

"Ellis," he said, eyes creasing at the corners.

"Father," you replied, stifling a smirk.

"I believe many of you know Ellis already," he said, turning to the group. "And this is her sister Mara." 

You sat next to each other on the far side of the circle, saying hello as everyone greeted you quietly. 

"You haven't missed much," he said as he sat back down opposite you, crossing one leg over the other and brushing his hair back away from his face. "We were just talking about how our weeks have been since the last meeting. Sandra, would you like to continue what you were saying?" 

The older woman nodded and cleared her throat. "As I said, my granddaughter asked me if I could make some cakes for her school bake sale. Usually I'd have just done them for her and dropped them off, but I thought about what you said Father, about not shutting ourselves off. So I invited her to come and make them with me." 

"Oh, that's lovely," he said, a genuine smile on his face. 

"It was. She came 'round and we baked and talked about Harold. She remembered stories about him that even I'd forgot, it was a wonderful afternoon." 

There was a murmur of kind words around the room. Mara sat quietly. 

"Could you have imagined a few months ago you would've been able to do that?" asked Father Benedict.

"I know," she giggled proudly.

"I suppose that's another reason why these groups can be so helpful," he said. "We're not all going to be at the same stage in our grief, sometimes it can be encouraging to see people who may be further along than we are. It can provide us that hope that we will get there too." 

You loved how confidently he spoke. How easily he could lead a group of people and have them listening with such intent. It was a charm that didn't come with the job; it was innate, as natural to him as breathing. You envied it, almost as much as you admired it. 

"You brought up something interesting there, Sandra," he continued. "Something I actually wanted to touch on today. And that is remembering those we've lost through speaking about how they lived. When we talk of Jesus Christ-"

"Fucking hell," Mara mumbled under her breath. 

You turned to look at her, laughing quietly. 

"Yes we talk of how he died for our sins," he continued. "His death is important and we celebrate and give thanks to him for his sacrifice. But if we think about the size of the bible, the amount of stories we have of his life starting right from birth, the words he shared and the incredible things he did, those are abundantly more significant to his memory and why we choose to serve and follow his word." 

Everyone nodded in agreement while you and Mara remained still. 

"And we tell the stories of his life freely and openly and happily. We are eager to share. So why not do the same with those we actually had the privilege to know and love and be loved by." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "Why don't we go around and share one fun fact or story about our departed loved ones? Marion, would you like to start?" 

Mara glared at you from the corner of her eye. You shrugged awkwardly. 

"My dad loved practical jokes," Marion began. "I remember one time my mum was in the kitchen and my dad started screaming from upstairs 'Mary, get up here quick! There's a huge leak in the bathroom!' She ran up the stairs so fast she fell up them. Only to get to the bathroom and find my dad laughing his head off because he'd put a big leek from our vegetable patch on the toilet. Y'know... Leek, leak..."  

Everyone chuckled. 

Father Benedict gave a warm smile. "Sounds like he had a great sense of humour." 

"He did. Drove my mum mad, though." 

"That's the best kind of relationship." 

You glanced across the circle at him. He caught your eye, just for a moment, before moving onto the next person. 

Mara grew more and more irritable with every person who gave a story, Father Benedict's attention like an avalanche tumbling further towards her.

"Mara," he finally said. 

You stilled, waiting with a mixture of curiosity and concern. 

"You're new here today," he said. "So before we hear your story, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?" 

"Oh no, that's okay," she replied. 

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, creating deep lines in his cheeks, a curve in his cupid's bow. "Are you sure?" He kept his eyes on her, unwaveringly confident.

She cleared her throat. You turned your head to look at her, brow furrowing in shock. 

"I'm Mara," she said reluctantly. "I am Ellis' older sister. I have a husband and a daughter and I work for a large car manufacturing company."

"Okay, good, we're glad you're here, Mara," he said. "Do you have a story you'd like to share?" 

Her mouth tightened, and you began to feel like this was a mistake. He said this would be good for her, but he didn't know her like you did. He didn't grow up scared to utter your brother's name in case it upset her. You wanted to grab her hand and tell her you were going. She was right, this was a stupid idea.

"No, that's okay," she said. 

"I know it can be daunting, speaking about such a sensitive topic in front of strangers. May I ask who you lost?" 

She crossed one leg over the other, resting her hands on her knee. "My brother," she muttered. 

"How long ago?" 

She cleared her throat, glaring at him, knowing full well he already knew. "When I was twenty-one. He was twenty-four." 

Your eyes fell to your hands as you picked at your cuticle to avoid looking at her.

"Were you close?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I get the feeling you still find it difficult to talk about him..."

She didn't respond. You peered up to find them staring at each other in a silent standoff. 

"It can be helpful to examine why we struggle to reminisce about those that are no longer with us," he said, addressing everyone. "Is it anger? Guilt? Are we uncomfortable when confronted with feelings of sadness and grief? We talk a lot in these sessions about acceptance, about trusting that God has wrapped his arms around our loved ones and will reunite us with them one day. But that doesn't necessarily fix the sorrow we feel while having to live without them."

He stood up and walked to the table at the back, picking up a bottle of water and unscrewing the lid. 

"When I lost my brother," he continued, taking a large sip. "I built a wall around myself for a long time. I believed that wall was there to protect me from the pain, from the guilt and grief. But in protecting myself, I realised all I was really doing was diminishing his memory. It wasn't until I accepted it was okay to laugh and smile when talking about him, that I began to heal. I realised it was still okay to take the mick out of him and call him an idiot and say how much he got on my nerves, because that's who he was, those were the parts of him that lived on." He sat back down, placing the bottle under his chair. "Which is why I find this a great opportunity for us to speak positively about those we've lost." 

"I have a story," you said. 

He turned his attention to you and smiled. "Let's hear it." 

"My brother Cain..." you began tentatively. "Our brother. He was twelve years older than me so by the time I started secondary school he was already in his early twenties. I erm, I suppose you could say I was a bit weird in school..." 

Father Benedict's mouth twitched with a smirk, he rubbed his lips with the tips of his fingers to disguise it.

"There was a group of girls who'd been picking on me, and I let it slip to Cain. He was... livid. So the next day, school finished and as usual, these girls were standing at the gates saying nasty things to me. Next minute he pulled up in the car, walked over to them and told them if they ever so much as looked at me again he'd beat up their dads." 

You started laughing, the image of him comically shaking his fist at a group of eleven-year-olds still so vivid in your mind. You looked over at Mara to find her chuckling quietly, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I should say the church doesn't condone violence," said Father Benedict, making everyone laugh. 

"He was usually so gentle," said Mara. "He'd never hit anyone in his life which is why it was so funny." 

"And it worked," you said. "They never bothered me again." 

"Mara...?" said Father Benedict. "Any other stories come to mind?" 

She sighed, thinking for a moment. "Cain was... really funny. But what made him endearing was how comfortable he was in his own skin." 

You looked at her from the corner of your eye, scared to move in case it made her stop talking. 

"He er- We... We went on holiday to Spain one year. I was fifteen so he must've been... eighteen?" She turned to you. "You were about to turn six. Do you remember it?" 

You shook your head. "Vaguely." 

"Anyway, he erm- We were staying in one of those hotels that did entertainment at night, they'd get guests involved, all that. We'd just had dinner and we'd sat down for the show and realised Cain still wasn't back from the toilet. Mum sent dad looking for him, he wasn't in there, not in the room either, he literally couldn't find him anywhere on the complex. So they were just about to go and tell the hotel staff he was missing, when the entertainment started." She paused, laughing slightly to herself. "It was... a drag night. The host came out, started doing a routine to RuPaul's Supermodel, and out came a group of male guests in full drag. And there was Cain, dancing away; wig, dress, high heels and the worst makeup you've ever seen."

She was giggling now, her face bright, glowing with the memory. 

Father Benedict gave a deep, throaty chuckle. "Do you see parts of him in yourself?" 

"God no- Sorry, didn't mean to take the lord's name in vein. Just... no. I'm pragmatic and stiff and ordinary. He was vibrant and insouciant, clever and charming and unbelievably gorgeous yet so... weird." She turned to you. "You remind me of him. A lot."

Some may have taken that as an insult, a backhanded compliment. But to you, it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said. 

"You're not ordinary," you said.

"More ordinary than you," she replied.

You laughed. "I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing." 

The heatwave had yielded, like a fever that finally broke. The air was still warm, but the sky was grey, the scent of minerals and musk rising from the pavement as rain threatened to fall. You got off the bus and made the short walk to your mother's house, thankful to be done with another week of work. 

Nathan's car was parked on the street outside the house, and you groaned at the prospect of another 'family dinner'. The first drops of warm rain began to spit. You titled your head back, letting it pepper your face, soothing the slight burn across your cheeks. 

You opened the front door and stepped inside to find Mara and Nathan sitting in the living room, furrowing your brow when they both fell silent. 

"Have I interrupted something?" you asked.

Nathan stood up. "I'll leave you two to talk."

You narrowed your eyes as he disappeared into the kitchen, giving Mara a dubious look as you sat down on the couch. 

"What have I done?" you asked. 

"Nothing," she said. 

"Where's mum?" 

"In the kitchen with the baby."

"Has something bad happened?" 

"No, fucking hell Ellis just relax." She laughed as she sat up straight, crossing one leg over the other and turning her body to face you. "Nathan and I have been talking."

"Are you breaking up? That's a shame, I like him." 

"No." She sighed. "We're not breaking- can you just... let me talk?" 

You stayed quiet, relaxing back into the couch and waiting for her to continue. 

"We've been talking with our broker and he's managed to get you an agreement in principle for a mortgage."

You stared at her in confusion. 

"He can't go any further until he speaks with you, obviously, but he's confident he can get you accepted." She cleared her throat. "Of course, you'll need to put in an offer, he recommends going straight in at asking price, then we can-"

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" 

"The flat." 

"M-mara." You sat up, leaning forward slightly. "I appreciate you doing all of that, but... It's pointless. I can't afford-"

"We're going to give you the deposit," she interrupted quickly. "It won't be a loan, it'll be a gift. So you don't have to worry about paying it back. We'll also cover any fees and help you with furnishing if you need it." 

You sat there in silence, lips parted, eyes glassy with confusion.

"Ellis...?" 

"How rich are you?" 

"Fuck sake, mate, focus." 

"Sorry, I just- It's... Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why would you do that for me?" 

"Because I'm your sister," she said firmly. 

You paused, your breathing shallow as you tried to quiet your racing thoughts. "Mara, I can't accept that." 

"Why not?" 

"Because it's too much. It's... So much money. I can't take that from you." 

"Yes you can." 

"No, I can't." 

"Do you want to live with mum forever? Or in the pissy murder flat?" 

"Obviously not, but-"

"Then here you go, we're giving you the fresh start you need." 

"Mara, I can't," you said, your voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. 

"Yes. You. Can. Let me do this one thing for you." 

"I... I need to think about it."

"What is there to think about?" 

"I don't know, I just need to... think. Thank you, honestly, thank you. But I need to..."

She sighed, leaning back into the couch. "Okay. Then think about it. But just know the longer you take, the more you're risking the flat being snapped up by someone else." 

You stood up but your legs felt like jelly, almost giving way beneath you. You walked slowly to the stairs, clinging to the banister as you climbed them. You were dreaming, you had to be. 

You made it to your room, closing the door and pulling out your phone with shaking hands, pressing Father Benedict's name and holding the phone to your ear. 

"Hello?" he answered.

You hadn't seen him since the grief meeting four days earlier, his voice a welcomed comfort as it melted through the phone. 

"Hi," you said. "Are you busy?" 

"No, just catching up on some paperwork in the office. Are you alright?" 

"Do you think I could come and see you? I could do with some... guidance?" 

"Really? Is that code for something?" 

"No," you exhaled a laugh. "I just need an ear, maybe some advice." 

"Okay," he said sceptically. "Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Yeah. I'll be there soon." 

The taxi pulled up outside the church. You climbed out and made your way onto the grounds, walking down the rain-speckled path as the warm breeze carried the scent of flowers and damp earth.

You walked around to the side door, tapping your knuckles against it and waiting, looking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one saw you. He pushed open the door and let you inside, greeting you with a handsome smile. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbows, but his collar was still fastened tight around his neck. His hair was curlier than usual, a slight sunburn across the bridge of his nose.

He took you into his office, sitting back down behind his desk and returning to the mound of papers in front of him. You dropped down onto the couch facing him, watching his fingers grip the pen as he scribbled his signature, the veins protruding in his forearms as he moved.

"So what's wrong?" he asked. "You sounded worried on the phone."

"Not worried, just confused. I don't- Does the bible say anything about accepting big gifts?" 

He stopped writing and glanced over at you, brows coming together over his pale eyes. "You're not being bribed, are you?" 

"No," you laughed. "My sister... She's offered to give me money for a flat. A lot of money." 

"Well that's great." 

"Is it?"

He leaned back in his chair, fingers clasped together in his lap. "The bible says 'God loves a cheerful giver'."

"So..."

"So why do you care what the bible says?" he laughed. "You're not catholic, you don't believe in any of it." 

"I know but I... Sometimes I just think it would be easier if I had some sort of faith, y'know, something to live my life by, to consult when I need to make big decisions." 

"You don't need to be religious to have faith." He stood up, walking around the desk and leaning back against it. "Faith is about dedicating yourself to something bigger than yourself. There are no rules to say that something has to be a god." 

"What else is there?" 

"I don't know; community, philanthropy, love, justice, fucking extraterrestrials." 

You dropped your head and laughed. He walked over and sat down beside you.

"If faith is what you need in order to live your life then you'll find it," he said.

You looked at him for a moment, before sighing and rolling your eyes.

"Was that not helpful?" he laughed.

"I just want to be told what to do." 

"You want me to tell you what to do?" 

"Please." 

"Take the money, Ellis." He said softly. "Why punish yourself any further?" 

"Because how do I ever repay her for something like that?" 

"I'm sure she's not looking for repayment. She loves you, she wants you to be happy." 

You stayed quiet, looking around the room for a moment before rolling your shoulders with a tired groan.  He reached out and placed his large hand on the back of your neck, massaging it with his fingers. You closed your eyes and relaxed into the firm pressure.

"Do you want to stay while I finish my work?" he asked quietly.

You nodded, eyes still closed. 

He gave one final squeeze and let go, standing up and returning to his desk. 

You curled your legs underneath yourself, resting your head on the arm of the couch as you watched him work. It was hard not to imagine the two of you in that flat; you relaxing on the couch while he worked at the table by the window, bathed in light from the coloured glass, comfy clothes and a cigarette in his mouth. 

Your eyelids grew heavy as you imagined him pulling you to your feet, kissing you and laughing as you danced around the flat to Van Morrison. And you wouldn't have to leave if you didn't want to, because it was yours.

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @hiddendiary @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter @gordorio @shjl15 @thedaredevilsgirl @howardtonypotts @ceccille @wllsfer @thelostsmiles @vi0letdaze @stanfanfiction @king-kongbebe-blog @sof38 @doctorscarletwitch @rmoonstoner @intrappolatatrairicordi @ehuether @dragonqueen89 @estheticwh0re @Lfp10836 @kanyewestest @star-girl-05 @theothersideofthescreen @battledress @chaosdorito @vlqueen @erratica47 @happybunnyclumsyduck @bloggerbatch @bimrwolf

*If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

[justmediocrewriting]

“Loose Lips,” {v.s} {preview}

‘“Nami,” you hissed, your grip on her arm tightening until you were sure it had turned border-line bruising. “Nami, what did I say?”

Nami’s shoulders shook as she attempted to reign in her laughter, sunlight reflecting off of straight, pearly white teeth when she spoke through a smile.

“I believe it was something along the lines of, ‘I want him to split my legs open and eat me like a clam.’”

Oh, gods.

“And he heard me say it?” You nearly squeaked, rendered completely aghast by Nami’s recital of your drunken words — and the feeling deepened to bone-chilling mortification at Nami’s shaky, amused nod and airy giggles.

At this point, you were quite certain that the sun would be incredibly jealous by the amount of heat your face was putting out.’

Or, you get completely shit-faced and air out some of your deepest, dirtiest desires — and, unwittingly, you do so in the direct earshot of the object of said desires.

Hey, all, Mama K here. Slowly but surely trying to work myself out of that hiatus status. I found the motivation (bravery) to open my drafts today and I just happened to spot this little gem that I had, admittedly, forgotten about and thought I’d share a sneak peak with you guys to see how you feel about it.

I am currently working on the draft of this one, and, honestly, I’m quite invested in and amused by the direction it’s taking. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to finish precisely, but my little fingers are working out the kinks so hopefully I’ll be back in the swing of it soon.

I love you all, thank you so much for your patience ❤️

[sxffrxn]

When love strikes OP81

An Oscar Piastri x reader, enemies to lovers story

Part One Part Two

Summary: Oscar Piastri and Y/N L/N have a long-lasting feud, nobody knows why. Do they themselves know why?

Warnings: swearing, Oscar and Y/N literally act like children, grammar mistakes, messy

Word Count: 1.4k

~~

Arriving back at home was like a blessing from the Gods. As soon as Y/N stepped foot in her apartment, her coat was thrown off as she leaped onto her bed, luggage forgotten. That night, she had the best sleep she had in a very long time, despite still being in her travelling clothes.

When she woke up and checked her phone she found her instagram was blowing up. Panic coursed itself through her body. Was she cancelled online? Has someone made up some bullshit to spread about her?

But, alas, it was her interview. It had gone viral. Some people were speculating about Oscar and Y/N’s relationship, and some had compiled an entire 30 minute video of the pair being downright unpleasant to each other. Although Y/N did in fact watch the whole video - in 3x speed, she wasn’t watching a 30 minute long video - she has to admit some of these were a stretch, I mean there was one scene where they simply walked past each other, opposite sides of the walkway may I add.

Both Lamborghini and Mclaren’s PR teams were going to have a field day with this one.

About an hour later, Y/N got a call from her assistant, Gemma,

“What have you done Y/N, the internet is in shambles!” she started.

“No, Hi how are you? Are you well rested? Why yes I am thank you for asking.” Y/N replied.

“Y/N I don’t think you understand the severity of this. We have had Mclaren on the phone all morning trying to sort this mess out.”

“Gem, I replied the way I was supposed to, I can’t think of another way I could have handled that without it turning into a brawl!” Y/N answered in a less polite tone than she should have used.

“Y/N” she started, “I know you handled it the best way you could. I’m sorry this is just so stressful. I don't know how to say this..”

“Say what? Surely it's not that bad. I mean they’re not kicking me off the team are they? I’ve only done one race an-“ she was cut off by Gemma again.

“They want you to act as though you are civil. Friends even. And I’m not talking, not sending glares at the other. I mean they want you to do all sorts of things with him.” Y/N’s heart dropped, she could not do this. Did this tiny altercation have to resort to this? No. But was Y/N a petty bitch? Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Gem, I’m not pretending to date him or anything like that, I’ve read a lot of books with that in and I hate it.”

“No, Y/N, you do not have to pretend to date Oscar Piastri,” she let out a sigh of relief, “You will, however, have to go to many events with him to show you guys are really just friends off track and rivals on.”

“Ughhhhh. Do I have to? Like what’s the significance of this?” Y/N tried to bargain.

“The significance is,” Gemma started, “not fucking up the internet more than you have - and yes, again, I know it’s not your fault for the interviewer’s question but we need to uphold the reputation of this team. Unfortunately women are always the problem in the media’s eyes.”

Y/N sighed rolling around on her bed and taking a big sip of water,

“Fine, but don’t expect me to apologise to anyone for anything. I hardly did anything wrong!” Maybe the last part was a little fib but Y/N stood her ground.

—

It was media day for the Saudi Arabian grand prix. Y/N sat in her hotel room completing a round of sudoku on her phone - her newest favourite past-time. She was waiting for a knock at her door from Gemma to explain the plan of action for today. Today commenced the ‘sort shit out with Oscar bloody Piastri’ plan, she was given minute details about how they would be miraculously saving each of their reputations. I mean, Y/N could hardly see the problem with rivalry on track, I mean look at Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon, they had some issues - Y/N thinks so anyway - and nobody batted an eye, well I guess they weren’t as hostile with each other as Piastri and Y/N are.

A knock resounded through Y/N hotel room.

“Coming!” she went to the door and was met with the smiley face of Gemma,

“Gem you’re,” she checked her watch, “20 minutes early!”

“Yet you are all ready, what happened to ‘Little Miss constantly 10 minutes late’?” Gemma responded.

“Shitting bricks Gem.” Y/N patted Gemma on the back as she stepped out of her room and locked the door, “Let’s get this over and done with, yeah?”

Gemma filled Y/N in on the plan for the start of the day, Y/N would meet Oscar in the foyer of the hotel, have a few laughs and then head to the paddock, they would re-evaluate from there.

Y/N could feel herself gagging as she stepped into the main entrance, yes she was being very dramatic, but this was more stressful than telling her mum she had forgotten to take the chicken out of the freezer to defrost when specifically asked to. Oscar turned and scowled as Y/N walked up to him, this was going to be way harder than he thought. Gemma gave Y/N a firm pat on the back to usher her towards the aussie. They had fake paparazzi stationed just outside the hotel to get the best angles of their positive encounter. When Y/N felt a hand on her back, it was like a switch had been flicked and she grinned at Oscar as though they were best friends, she really channelled the 9 in her drama GCSE for this one moment.

She waved at Oscar as she got closer and he got the memo to sort himself out and act. They began walking out the door and to the shared car they would be taking (Y/N screamed into her hands and nearly punched a hole in the lift door when she found out they'd be car sharing), Oscar opened the door for Y/N to climb into the back seat before he got in. Both Oscar and Y/N had practically begged Gemma to be the peacekeeper and sit between them, but she claimed that she ‘needed to sit in the front because she gets motion sickness’ Y/N called out her shit and said that they had spent millions of car rides together in the back.

It was hard to not grab Oscar by the throat and throttle him into next week but Y/N kept her composure - and kept her hands to herself. It was almost peaceful at first, if you ignore the massive amounts of tension between the two, but that all soon changed as soon as Oscar opened his mouth,

“Do you know how long the car ride is?” he asked, directed to literally anyone in the car who could give him an answer.

“Longer than your F1 debut race” Y/N muttered under her breath, she did mean for him to hear it as she thought it was a pretty good joke. Turns out, it's probably not best to joke about race finishes - in this case, race not finishes - with someone who despises you.

“What the fuck, that’s not funny” he said turning to her.

Y/N stayed staring at her phone but let out a little giggle at his response. Oscar huffed and practically threw himself back into his seat.

“It’s about a 45 minute drive, Oscar” The driver, Kim (also Oscar’s performance coach) answered for him.

‘45 minutes with this bellend’ Y/N said in her mind before rolling her eyes and rotating her phone to watch a show on Netflix.

Oscar was in the same boat ‘No fucking way am I spending 45 minutes with her’ he thought to himself.

A loud ding sound echoed through the back of the car,

“Are you playing sudoku? What are you a fucking child?” Oscar commented. Y/N just scowled at him and stuck her tongue out. Oscar gave her a pointed look, then she realised, huffed, and pushed herself further into her seat.

This was going to be one hell of a car ride.

A/N: Hey guys sorry for the late update, I didn’t drop off the face of the earth. I’ve been so stressed out with schoolwork recently so updates will be scarce 😬 Thank you guys for all the support on the first part I literally love you all!!! Still working out the ropes to tumblr but i promise I will get there in the end.

Taglist: @chiliwhore (comment or lmk to be added i guess!!)

[searchingforserendipity25]

Diplomatic Concerns. (russingon, on ao3).

When they did at last come together, it did not feel like an inevitability to Maedhros. Far easier it was to believe - to contrive - ways in which they might betray themselves, and allow their understanding to betray their people.

This, they both agreed, could not be permitted. Maedhros would have loved Fingon less, if he had been willing to brave the storm of opposition and defiance their open courtship would cause.

His people had cause, just cause to stand against it; and Maedhros had his own brothers and vassals to rule over, in less official fashion, without the benefit of official authority to put them in place if it prove needed.

They pledged their troth under the stars, a wordless promise with no bitter oath to mar it; and thereafter took the greatest care and discretion that none guessed at it.

-

It was some effort, Maedhros admitted, if only in their very secretive correspondence, written on hidden wink in the back of their official missives.

His mouth ached, his arms felt emptier - poetry, he found, spoke to him beyond the pleasure of precise meter and rhyme.

It was absurd; it was dangerous. Always he kept Fingon swept from his mind, lest some of his heart bleed through enough to be perceived; and always it was work, to keep Fingon out of the forefront of his thinking.

And it was mortifying, too. To be infatuated, to have a joy to hide, to know himself cherished and desired - he could not have bourne it to be known, not easily.

It was only some consolation to know Fingon found his pining ardor very pleasing, being that he was at too great a distance to do much with that. As a matter of fact, it made it all the more torturous.

This lasted all through the first fortnight of the autumn summit.

Maglor looked at him indulgently. “How many horses can Fingon possibly need? Nay, not at all. You must give him the best foal, and rear it by your hand, and drape it in Fingon’s raiment and colours, and teach it the signals he favours. Quality, not merely quantity! Do you hear me wasting breath on too many love songs? There must be a measure, by which things are made precious.” 

“You were song-wed by proxy fashion to an ascetic zither-master you knew from correspondence only, and met thrice every ten yéni,” Maedhros told him. 

Maglor shrugged. “Once every ten yéni was enough. It made the anticipation all the sweeter.” 

Maedhros raised all three colts to perfect training. If some of his braids were chewed away, and much of the fur of his best coats, then at least Fingon was suitably impressed.

-

None guesses at our affections, Maedhros amended on his next letter, besides Maglor, and his silence is our boon. Fingon was swift to tease him for that - and in truth he had barely bothered to hide it from Maglor.

There was little use; therefore he worried little. All the rest of his brothers held their own domains, were occupied with their duties - if it became pressing, he could always invent a new task to distract their tracks.

He had forgotten Caranthir. Caranthir never needed to be given new directions; if anything, he excelled at taking attentive initiative, especially on matters of international commerce.

“I,” Maedhros said. “Have never offered any thing, to lord or vassal, besides gifts of friendship, and diplomacy, and cunning morsels of what might attained with a better trade arrangement.” 

“Explain to me how Fingon’s newest gem-crown counts as a diplomatic expense,” Caranthir demanded.

-

Besides Caranthir and Maglor, none noticed. 

The next time they met - a well-prepared hunting retreat, and the anticipation did have a certain strain of pleasure in it - it was only some time after the first enthusiastic greetings that they found time and patience to speak at lenght about their dealings, those small or great matters they had not trusted even to set to hidden writing.

 "Did you -”

"I told none. Besides those who know."

“Are you entirely certain. Amras and Amrod keep sending me cured meats? Excellent sausages for my table, and lovely truffles. For some reason; they did not last year.”

"They are not poisoned," Maedhros assured automatically. Then hesitated. "They do like to experiment with spices and certain powders, however."

"I noticed," Fingon said, mouth curved. It was a lovely smile, better for being not amused; Maedhros suffered the rather stupid instinct to kiss his cheek. "Around the time the sugared mushrooms caused an apparition of a great mammoth grazing upon my father's head as we sat in public Council. It appeared purple to my eyes, the mammoth; also my father."

Maedhros had suffered great torments of the flesh and spirit; the image made him wince with genuine feeling. Fingolfin kept a very eclectic conjunction of lords near him, Sindar and Noldor and Avari, all of them clever, cunning, far-seeing people with an unhappy habit of keeping a wide awareness to every stray thought that they might fish out slyly round them on a wide range of space. It made Maedhros feel unusually warmly towards his straightforward, stone-silent dwarves and the fierce, scarred, closed minds that came to serve Himring. 

"You need to string them up from a high tower," Maedhros concluded. "You shall have their apologies in a season."

"Need is a strong word," said Fingon. But his mouth was twitching, more genuinely.

Through the place where their spirits pressed together he passed on the faint, kaleidoscopic memories of that afternoon - Maedhros had stifle his own crinkling eyes. It was impossible not to admit Fingolfin did look rather fetching in tints of purple; and the mammoth was very realistic.

"If you want them to redeem themselves, have them send more next year. I would rather have enjoyed them in privacy. Lalwen thought it was very amusing. Eventually; she stole the rest of the bounty, and left me none at all, which was very like her and rather a disappointment. If your brothers are found wandering the wilds naked and intoxicated, you shall find no way to prove it was her work."

"They will enjoy it too much." Maedhros thought of when the twins's nonsense had been joyful, once. And involved less paperwork. The worst of it was that they likely thought it a good gift.The twins had ever liked Fingon well enough, as much as they liked anyone outside their enclosing understanding.

Fingon turned around, with that sweeping grace that made him deadly. In a moment he had rolled them over. His hands dug into the loam around Maedhros's head; his legs tangled in him, pressing down, delicious.

There you are, he thought, directly at Maedhros. No distance at all, and his laughing mind dizzying like a windfall, a sweeping rush. You stay away too often, Russandol, even here.

"Let them," he said, voice low and warm, close enough Maedhros could feel it thrum in his own throat. He was so very warm. Maedhros's whole body felt alive under him, as if he were fresh from a battle; as if it could feel alive and joyful with no violence. "I mean to enjoy myself with a clear mind. I mean to recall you perfectly while we are apart."

-

Maedhros, rather wisely, he thought, kept any commissioned tokens away from familiar forges.

It was a marvel, the inspiration which which Curufin could contrive as an insult. In this he truly was Fëanor's heir.

I will not have any of our Father's house be known for offering substandard works, he wrote, a stiff note of parchment atop a casket.

Inside the casket was a treasure - elf-made emeralds, and rubies, fine gleaming garnets that caught the golden light from the candles and would assuredly shine beauteously strung around golden ribbons, and on the chained earrings Fingon favoured.

 Keep those Dwarven pieces away from Fingolfin and his ilk, lest he rethink our work agreements. Have you lost your sense, along with your shame? Findekáno's not the least suited to Belegost's blue-steel and sapphires, they wash him out terribly, I do not know how Fingolfin can be so tasteless in his heraldry as not to consider it.

-

Maedhros recalled a time when his brother at least pretended to attend to elvish mores, those small contrivances of decent conduct. Such as pretending at ignorance. Pretending at ignorance had been a good habit, one Huan's master remembered these days merely when it was convenient for him.

Celegorm only looked at him in a flat vulpine fashion, nostrils flaring. Worse than a smirk, worse than mischief. Maedhros had seen it turned on others often enough; he could not say he enjoyed the very unpleasant awareness with which it remind everyone of all the passionate embraces they may or may not have indulged in the wild, where a little bird might carry gossip, or a finicky squirrel pass on mockery.

It also made him rethink the wisdom of wearing Fingon's undershirt under his tunic.

"Not a word," he ordered.

Celegorm only whistled in wolf-like fashion and darted away from his swing.

The next time Fingon dared him for a swim after a lengthy ride up the hills of Barad Eithel, Maedhros quite ruined the romance of it all by insisting on raising a tarp-and-leather tent beforehand.

-

Huan had the good grace to wait until they passed each other on an empty corridor before stopping to block his path.

Oromë's hunting hound looked at him with those terribly knowing dark eyes and let out a soft snorting sound. It was not a very approving woof; a little mournful, perhaps. Maedhros did not speak Hound.

"Do not you start also," Maedhros said. His tone held little effort, as it ever did in these cases.

He had to fight the instinct to cross his arms. He refused to be easily biddable or intimidated. As a matter of principle; he had few of those, and it tended to be better to keep to those he did maintain.

Woof-woof, said Huan.

"We are all Doomed regardless," argued Maedhros.

A sniff, rather pointed. A little charming, perhaps - none of his brothers had offered, so far.

"It is very generous of you to offer," Maedhros said. "No biting will be necessary. I would rather Fingon whole as he may."

Huan licked his bad arm. Shifting ears, which, in all honesty, were insulting. 

"I am not letting myself be carried off as a mate to establish a new collective dynamic as pertaining previous intra-community competitions," Maedhros said, rather stiffly. "No, not though I was stolen from the Enemy for that purpose."

Maedhros did not speak Hound, as such; but Huan and him understood each other a little. If anyone was going to look at him with the knowledge that Maedhros would have let himself be carried off as a prize, and possibly did not dislike the notion, he would rather it was him.

"I will bring you some of that good hind meat from Dor-Lómin," he conceded, eager to bribe him away.

Huan's dog-grin finally widened. Maedhros, relieved to be free from evaluation, scratched his chin until his wagging tail was thumping the carpet. Some relatives, he thought, were harder to please than others.

-

"We have failed at every avenue," Maedhros concluded, as displeased as he could stand to be just then. "Let this be not a sign of our joined efforts to come!"

Fingon was rather less moved at their failure than Maedhros would have expected. Possibly that was the effort of the long ride to the fortress, and their - reunion. Maedhros did not want him alarmed and on his feet, as such; but he did eye his complacence a little.

"Brothers are not Balrogs. It could be worse," Fingon said, very confidently.

Maedhros lifted his head from Fingon's chest. His own eyes were growing half-lidded; his muscles too felt weary, suffused still with satisfaction. Himring's walls, warm within like a living body, rumbled faintly with the noise of their gaseous pipes. He was warm, and sated, and all in all quite in accord with the form of the world, at least for the foreseeable candle-mark.

It was only that he had not trusted messengers to pass on the news; and he had felt an urgency to share the state of affairs with Fingon for months. They had determined to be fully discreet.

"How?"

"Turgon and Aredhel might return," Fingon said promptly. His voice showed he had considered the matter at great length, and was very amused by the way Maedhros went still against him. "And be less generous with their blindness than the rest of my - our kin."

"They might not have noticed. Your father has not."

Fingon lifted himself on his elbow, and looked at him, a little pityingly.

"Beloved," he said. "Whom do you think invented the art of invisible writing?"

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Five

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5129

Warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of food, language, sexual innuendos, two dumb dumbs who lack communication skills, working on sobriety, failed relationships, loneliness, references to hookups and bad dates, I think that’s it but like always please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Reader gets her nickname!!!!! This was a fun one to write! I got stuck in parts of it, but over all I’m so happy with it. I don’t want to give too much away by setting anything up. Big thank you to my dear @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her constant support and beta reading through this whole thing! She’s a gem! Everyone who’s been reading, reblogging, commenting, liking, lurking— THANK YOU! 💕

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous / Next

“So, I take it things are good then? You both seem to be pretty, chummy with each other lately.”

“Yeah, since our talk, things have been—good.” 

“Good?”

“Yeah, Good.”

The waitress stops by your table, refilling each of your water glasses, the clinking of the ice filling the silent break in your conversation. 

“Thank you.” Diem’s sickly sweet voice offers gratitude to the waitress before the young girl is carrying on about her work and then Diem redirects her gaze to you, her overly generous smile morphing into a questioning smirk, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow. 

“What’s that look for?”

“Good?”

“Uh yeah, that’s what I said.”

“So, now that you and Dieter are good, as you say, we’re just going to pretend what you said didn’t happen?”

“Would mind clueing me in on the conversation that’s happening right now, ‘cause I’m so fucking lost.” 

“That night at my house, what you had said about Dieter.”

“Ugh, Diem! We’ve already hashed this shit out. Plus, Dieter and I’ve been on good terms for a couple weeks now, let’s just not discuss what I said that evening.” 

“No, I’m not talking about that— the other thing you said that we have not discussed at all since you said it because the two of you were, and frankly might still be, idiots.”

“Oh my god, Diem! When I told you I was into edging, I didn’t mean like this— for fuck sakes woman, spit it out!” Grabbing for your glass of water, you take a sip to cool off your annoyance that is starting to simmer. 

“The part where you said my brother was attractive—“

Diem doesn’t even get a chance to finish the rest of what she is saying because you nearly choke on your drink, water spraying from your mouth back into your glass at the remembrance of what you had said. 

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Wiping the water droplets with your napkin. 

You had honestly forgotten about it. Forgotten about what you said, not about the thought— honestly, it still rang true. 

The more time you spend with him, even if only for brief periods of time as you both got to know each other, you undoubtedly found Dieter Bravo attractive— he was caring, sweet, funny, and his almost chaotic personality only added to your growing attraction for him. 

“So?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that.”

“So you do then— find my brother attractive.”

“Sure, whatever.” You hope your nonchalant response is enough to outwit the surge of questions she’s hurling at you. 

“You know, for someone who works with kids regularly, you’d think at some point you’d learn how to lie better than them.” 

“Fine! Yes, I think he’s attractive. There I said it, are you happy now?” 

The check is dropped between the both of you, your hands quickly grabbing for it to avoid the back and forth on whose turn it is to pay this time, you place your card in the designated slot and place the receipt book on the edge of the table.

“You know this means I have to set you two up, like it’s my duty as a best friend to you.”

“You do it, and your best friend title gets revoked! Do not say a word to him, I am begging you! This isn’t middle school, I don’t need you playing matchmaker. Plus, we’ve just barely started talking, so just leave us alone.”

“You’re no fun. I’m sure he’d be into you though, I can always ask—“

“You are insufferable.” You chuckled, signing your scrawled signature on the receipt. “Seriously though, please don’t. I’m good with just being his friend and getting along like we are— we don’t need to throw feelings into the mix.”

She nods in agreement, but the scheming look she is giving makes you think she’s plotting something. 

“Oh, I just remembered— I won't be able to bring Wren, something came up so Dieter is going to be bringing her to art class this week.” 

“What something?” 

“Something— when I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.”

“I hate you!” Tossing your crumpled napkin at her, Diem’s laughter rising as you roll your eyes, grabbing for your to-box and purse. 

“I love you too!”

*

The chorus of a slow ballad hangs in the air of the empty gallery room, the euphonious melody sandwiched between poetic precision, eliciting a longing for a tangible moment you weren’t sure you would ever experience. 

Relationships never really seemed to work in your favor, not for a lack of trying on your part, you just seemed to always find the ones who never really wanted to advance into the seriousness that comes as relationships progress. 

You still kept your mind open to the possibility of finding someone who had the similar interests and desires as you, never really closing the door on relationships as a whole. Dating gave? you great conversations with potential partners, and hookups satisfied that carnal itch your vibrator couldn’t touch. 

You threw yourself into your work at school and your art to keep your mind off the fact that it had been over a year since you were last in a relationship, or had sex for that matter. 

Settling into a new town, it was intimidating to put yourself out there, every one of your dates had been disastrous setups that ended before the dinner checks ever came. 

For now, you were relying on fate to decide whether you were destined for a lifetime of solitude or not. 

You sailed through setting up for an evening of painting. Brushes laid out next to a plastic tray filled with tiny squares, dried chalky pigments begging for thirst and attention. Dense papers, laying neatly on top of two family style tables, waiting for imaginations to spill over onto its textured surface. 

Every class was a mixture of locals who were looking to further their own skills, tourists trying to immerse themselves into the happenings of the town, and a few who were convinced to be there against their will not realizing they would be leaving with a new hobby. 

The attendees slowly started to meander in. A few browsing the art on display as they enter the front of the gallery, a tell-tale sign they are the tourists of the group this evening, while the others don’t hesitate to find a seat pulling out their own personal art supplies and setting up their space. 

“We’re here! We’re here!” Wren zooming in like a tornado , little voice echoing off the cement floor of the building as she announces her arrival. 

“Hi!” Dieter trails in behind her, a shy wave and gleaming smile directed at you. 

The nervousness you had felt when Diem said he would be taking her spot tonight, now replaced with something more substantial, an awakened warmth penetrating through every wall you had built up over the years. 

Your breath catches as he makes his way closer to where you’re standing, his smile shifting into a toothy grin, suddenly making your knees increasingly weak with every step he takes— what is he doing to you?

“Hey!” You manage to croak out. 

“So wild to see it like this.” He looks around the open room, as if to recall all the memories that had been etched onto every wall over the years. “It was a general store growing up. My buds and I would scrounge up enough change in the summer for ice cream cones and a coke. Then we sat out front on the curb, planning what kinda trouble we wanted to get into.”

You can see it too. 12 year old Dieter, all gangly limbs with his wavy dark locks a tousled mess. A buoyant young soul, not knowing what it’s like to be broken and blue. You know though that 12 year old Dieter would be proud to see how hard he’s worked to be where he’s at right now. 

You’re looking forward to seeing this side of him tonight, Dieter the artist, to observe the way he’s able to construct a visual representation of what ambles about in his mind. 

“Looks like you got a good turn out tonight, this should be fun.” He says as he looks around at the now filled seats. 

“Y-Yeah. Don’t be fooled though— Betty and Marilyn,” Casually pointing to the two older ladies, all set up and straight faced waiting for your instruction. “They take these classes way more seriously than blackout bingo. No one’s allowed to talk or ask questions, otherwise you’re on the receiving end of their threatening glares.”

“Huh— Well, tonight’s gonna be interesting then.”

“Uncle Dude! I saved you a seat by me!” Wren shouts at Dieter, her hand frantically smacking the table, indicating the vacant seat next to her. 

“I guess that’s my cue. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.” He seals it with a wink as he gives your arm a squeeze, the gesture has become a sort of regular thing for him. 

“Fuck!” It’s barely a whisper as you turn your back to everyone, mentally putting yourself in check.

This budding friendship between you and Dieter was refreshing, and the last thing you would have expected. The both of you had become so intertwined, mostly through the connection of Diem and Wren, but you both were beginning to thrive while in each other’s orbit. 

You just needed to get a grip on these spontaneous feelings, before it was too late. 

“Welcome friends! I see we have some familiar faces, as well as new ones tonight. For those who are new, tonight is a basics in watercolor. I’ll show you some techniques for the first half of the class, then in the second half you’ll be able to paint freely using the techniques. If there are any questions at any point in time, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Your eyes quickly scan over everyone’s faces, taking in the varying degrees of excitement, but lingering a bit when they land on Dieter. His head cocked to the side, attention undivided, taking in every word that fell from your lips. 

“We’re going to prep our paper first.” You grab a larger brush, dipping it into a cup of water. A few swift swirls around before lifting and allowing the excess water to flow back into the cup, then placing the brush directly onto the stark white paper. “This is a soaking method, not required, but it helps prevent buckling of the paper— some will soak longer, but this will do for tonight.”

As instructed, everyone sets out to prep their papers, drips of water litter the table’s surface as brushes move about. 

“Umm, ma’am? I have a question.” Dieter’s hand raised, stone face as he awaits to be called on. Betty and Marilyn’s brushes halt for a moment, side eyeing Dieter, before continuing the sweeping motions. 

“Uh, yes. I’ll try to have an answer for you.” You can’t fully read his expression, but you sense a playfulness in his voice. 

He takes a quick glance over to the two old women, then back to you. His movements calculated, forearms rest on the table as he leans forward, his question primed and ready. 

“In your opinion, do you find allowing more time to prepare and properly produce a precise wetness, helps with the stamina of the— paper?” Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, his focus never wavering from where you stand. 

The question so flagrantly sexual in its delivery, you assume a fluke with the way he asks it so flippantly. But you don’t miss the way his words unlock a needy appetite for more. Your body’s tragic lack of foreplay halted, now buzzing with enthusiasm at such an erotic statement. You do your best to control your heady thoughts and not allow his words to affect you in the slightest. 

“Well, I guess that would be dependent on if it’s worth being quick and simple, or whether the job requires to be drawn out and deliberate to get the desired results.” 

Dieter is surprised at how quickly you counter your response— touché. He has to avert his eyes, looking down instead at his hands as they fidget with the dry paint brush, fighting back the urge to laugh. 

“Now, we want to load up our wet brushes with pigment and you can play around with brush strokes. Smaller strokes, known as stippling, the paint will stay in place and pool up. Longer strokes will drag your paint around the surface of the paper, leaving a wash of color from dark to light. The results will also vary depending on the pressure you use, so feel free to mess around with them.”

You give a few examples of the different ways pressure can affect the flow of paint and the proper ways to angle the brush against the paper, everyone eagerly waits to apply the same techniques to their own work. 

Swirling your brush in the water to clean off the remaining color, the pigment suspended within the clear liquid. Blotting the brush on a towel, you take a few seconds to breathe, your face still warm after Dieter’s earlier comment. 

“Ma’am! I have another question, probably a silly one.” 

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle the choking laugh that tries to escape your throat. You hold the brush in both hands, rolling between your fingers as you turn around to see Dieter’s hand raised yet again. 

“I’m sure you know this, but there’s no silly questions. Please, let’s hear it.” 

Your encouragement provokes annoyed huffs from Betty and Marilyn. 

“Yeah— so these, uh, strokes. Are we talking like long, steady strokes or— hurried and—“

*Snap*

The brush you were holding, now in two pieces. 

“Okay! I think that’s plenty of time spent on the basics. Go ahead and get started working on your own thing, I’ll be available if needed.” 

Tossing the now broken brush in the nearest trash bin and wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans, you make your way back to the tables. 

You make a point to stop and admire what each person is working on, commenting on their progress and giving assistance when needed. 

There’s a weird wave of emotions that overcome you, thinking about how this will all come to end with the closing of the gallery. Sure, there were other galleries in town, but none of them offered classes or had the space to do so. But, you were grateful to have been able to share this space with others who were just as excited about art as you were. 

Another reminder that you also don’t have a single thing ready for the final gallery exhibition, your own showing— mentally noting to start brainstorming ideas. 

Dieter and Wren were still working away as you made it to their end of the table, the best for last in your opinion. 

“What are you painting Wren?” Trying to decipher the colorful blobs sporadically placed, her little hands diligently picking up more paint than needed. 

“It’s flowers, see.” She picks up the sopping wet paper to showcase her work, the upright angle causes the paint to run downward resulting in endless drippy hues puddling onto the table. “They’re poppies!” 

“Oh! I see it now. Poppies are my favorite flowers too.” 

“I know.” Wren, clearly more observant than any other 6 year old you know. 

“Well, it’s beautiful. Your mom is going to love it!” 

Shifting your attention over to Dieter, your breath hitches at what he’s been able to execute in a short amount of time, but your heart nearly stops when you really focus on what he had painted. 

“Dieter—“

His brush stills, hovering over the inky black and white portrait. 

“You like it?” 

“Dieter, is that— me?”

“Umm, yeah. Sorry, I was just watching you up there and you were talking about everything— I could see this light in you, I don’t know, just felt really inspired by it.”

You’re speechless at his admission. 

“I— I don’t even know what to say. It’s incredible.”

“Thanks. I’ve never tried watercolor before, only ever used oil and acrylic paints. This was fun though.”

He feels slightly embarrassed, hoping he didn’t make things uncomfortable between the two of you. 

“Well, I think it’s beautiful. And would have never guessed this was your first time using this medium.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, a soft squeeze letting him know you’re touched by what he did. 

Once the classes have commenced, supplies cleaned and put away for the next time, you wait by the door to thank everyone and bid them goodbye. 

Dieter and Wren hung back a bit until everyone had left before making their way over to where you’re standing at the front of the building. 

“You two outta here?”

“Yeah, this one’s getting hungry, best get some food in her before she gets angry. Sorry about Betty and Marilyn earlier, they seemed to leave in a hurry too.”

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be back next week.” You wave off his apology. “Thanks for coming tonight, I know it’s not anything special—“

“No, it was great. You could see how much everyone enjoyed it. Makes me miss when I used to paint regularly.”

“I have some extra things at home. I could throw together a little kit for you if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course! What’s your number? I’m just realizing I don’t have it.”

He recites his number for you, you promptly enter it into your contacts and save. 

“Uncle Dude?”

“What? What else am I supposed to call you? Friend?”

“Uh, Dieter…”

“Eh! Kind of boring.”

“Yeah, that’s boring Uncle Dude!” Clearly her ears work better than any other 6 year old too. 

“Okay, give me your number then, it’s only fair.”

Keeping the screen hidden as he types it into his contact list. 

“So, am I worthy enough of a fun name or not??” You playfully push at his shoulder.

Turning the phone around so you can see the screen, you see your number placed in the appropriate location and where your name would be, a nickname instead. 

“Poppy?” 

“Yeah, like your favorite flower.” 

*

Diem’s sitting at the counter, enjoying warmed leftovers, when Dieter and Wren walk through the front door.  

“We’re home! Birdie’s starving, insists she could eat the? a? whole restaurant.” 

Wren runs into the kitchen and climbs onto the counter height chair, dramatically lowering her upper body onto the counter. 

“Mama! I’m so hungry!”

“Here baby, eat this.” Diem slides her plate of pasta to her, her hand smoothing over her messy head of caramel colored hair. “Did you have fun at least?”

Dieter grabs a plate for himself, listening to Diem and Wren chat about the class, noticing Wren already peeking up after a few bites of food. 

“Lots of fun! We painted this time. I’m going to be the flower girl at Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding!” 

“Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding? Who’s Poppy?!”

“You know Poppy, Mama. She’s your best friend!”

Confused by what Wren is saying, Diem blinks in confusion in Dieter’s direction, he shrugs not having a single clue as to what Wren is talking about. 

“And why do you think Poppy and your Uncle are getting married?”

“Because! They did that thing that people do in the movies!”

Dieter eyes widen as he nearly chokes on the noodle he’s eating, his fist covering his mouth as he coughs loudly to hopefully change the subject away from you and him. 

“And what— t-thing would that be?” 

“They talk and look at each other a lot. You know, the way they do in the movies when they’re in love— duh!” 

“Hmm, well— that’s not how that works baby. Your Uncle and Poppy are just friends.” Trying to not break Wren's heart over the fact that she won’t be anyone’s flower girl at the moment. 

“But after you're boyfriend and girlfriend, you get married.”

“Technically true. But Wren, baby, Uncle Dude and Poppy aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend either— they’re just friends, that’s it.”

Wren tilts her head ever so slightly, her brows furrowed in contemplation. 

“But they have each other's phone numbers, like boyfriend and girlfriend’s do.” 

This is not what Dieter had expected when they arrived home, he had plans to relax and catch up on a show he had started recently. Instead, he’s listening to his niece conjure up wild stories about a nonexistent impending marriage and being romantically linked to you— yet the more he listens, he realizes you’re someone he could see himself with.

At first he only thought of it as a normal attraction towards you. From that first day at school, he was drawn to your beautiful smile, how you instantly lit up when your students waved their ‘good mornings’ as they entered your class. 

And if Dieter is truly being honest with himself, that night in the kitchen didn’t stall how thoroughly mesmerized he was by you. The more he thought about it, he realized you were the only one, aside from his sister, who called him out on his bullshit, something no one had done for a long time. 

After talking with his Sponsor and really taking the time to sit in his feelings and reflect on the situation. And the only conclusion he could come to, and the only one that made sense, was he needed to figure out how to make it up to you. 

He was thankful that you were receptive to the idea of still being around him, the amicable morning ‘Hello’s’ at school, fleeting glances from across the room during movie nights, tiny moments cementing these feelings for you. 

When you shared your past and reasoning for being so put off by him, he knew that was a turning point in the mending process between the both of you. Coming from two very different backgrounds, yet your upbringing’s weren’t all that different from each other. 

Tonight, watching you so absorbed in your element of teaching something you love, Dieter knew he needed you in his life anyway he could have you. 

“Okay, but friends give each other numbers too. Doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship, just friends.”

“Then why did Uncle Dude paint a picture of her in class tonight?”

“Okay, I think it’s bedtime for you little miss. Go brush your teeth and I’ll be in for story time in a minute.” Wren’s shoulders dropped at that, but Diem took Dieter’s silence for mortification and decided it was best to put an end to it. 

“Night Uncle Dude!” Wren shouted as she ran off to prepare for bedtime without any hesitation or arguments. 

“Night Birdie!”

A lull hung over the room. Dieter now leaning back against the counter edge, head down and arms folded over his chest, nervously chewing at his bottom lip. Diem still seated in her chair, glancing up at the ceiling, letting all of what Wren had shared settle for a moment. 

“How long?”

“How long, what?” His gaze shifting up to Diem, a line appearing between his brows as he waits for an explanation. 

“How long have you had feelings for her?”

“I don’t know what—“

“Dieter! I’m not dumb, and definitely not blind. It didn’t take a 6 year old stating the obvious to see how much you like her.”

A grin forms as he shakes his head and laughs, of course his sister would pick up on something like this. 

“I-I don’t know. I guess awhile at this point. Don’t know exactly when to pinpoint the time.”

“You should tell her.”

“Well, that’s not happening. Why? So, I can look like some fuckin’ idiot who’s been secretly falling for his sister’s best friend— yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Wait— Dieter, are you in love with her?”

“I, umm. Fuck! I don’t know— I think I—“

*BUZZ*

An incoming text message saves him from revealing exactly how he feels about you. 

Dieter pulls his phone from his pocket to see your name along with a message, up on the screen. The way his stomach flips, smiling from ear to ear, completely affected by a simple text message from you. 

Poppy 💐 - I hope this isn’t too late. I found those paints I mentioned earlier. Bringing them over, I’ll leave them on the porch. 

Uncle Dude - Not too late, just finishing dinner. Text me when you get here. 

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Diem’s smile mirroring his. 

“Mind your business.”

*BUZZ*

Poppy 💐 - Here!

“Gotta go, not a word out of you about any of this! Got it?”

“Okay, okay!” Diem’s hands thrown up in comical fashion heading for Wren’s room, then tossing one last punch before rounding the corner. “I’ll start looking for my Maid of Honor dress tonight!” 

Pushing off the counter in pursuit of the front porch, his eyes rolling at Diem’s lighthearted comment, Dieter finds you waiting for him— armed with a box full of tiny tubes of paint in every shade imaginable, paint brushes in an array of sizes and shapes, all curated by you for him. 

“Hey! Sorry again— I was just, excited to get this all together for you.” You say as you lift the box towards him. 

“It’s fine, Diem was just getting Wren into bed when you text. You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Grabbing the box from your extended arms, scanning over the contents, noting that you took the time to intentionally choose every item. 

“I wanted to. If there’s something you need that’s not in there, just let me know and I can check my supplies.”

“No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He takes a good look at you as you stand before him, deciding there isn’t any lighting that doesn’t look good on you, the moonlight being his favorite so far— even in the twilight, you’re the most stunning thing ever. 

“I have an extra easel too. I just have to pull it out of the attic, but you’re welcome to use it.” Your fingers pick at the cuffs of your sweater, feeling flustered and warm as you try to remain calm, but the way Dieter is looking at you makes it hard. 

“I can come by whenever to grab it.”

*BUZZ*

Another notification comes through Dieter’s phone, placing the box down on the ground, he fishes his phone back out of his pocket. 

It’s an email, one he’s shocked to be receiving, his reaction baffled as he reads through it. 

“Is everything okay?” You can’t get a good read on his hushed state. 

“Umm, yeah— Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s from my agent. He said a director sent him a script, asking for me specifically for an upcoming project. Said he’s going to be sending over the scene lines for me to read over.”

“Oh my gosh! Dieter, that’s amazing!!” 

Your body launches at his, arms thrown around his neck, pulling his solid body against you. 

Instinctively, his own body begins to relax into yours, his hands slowly moving around and up your spine, taking a mental note of how perfect you feel against him. 

“Y-yeah, I guess it is.” He murmurs, but his response sounds less than thrilled. 

“Are you okay?” You pull back, still wrapped in each other's arms, so close, studying his features in a way you hadn’t done before. 

He thinks he is. Dieter had planned to be here, in his hometown, for a few months. Take the time to enjoy his time here with his family and lean fully into his sobriety. He thought it would be months, maybe a year, before he would hear from his agent about any potential parts, let alone be a top pick for a role and be sent a script. 

This was all supposed to be temporary, short lived and then move on with his life. 

That was until he met you. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

*

It’s the drag of his upper lip down the column of your neck, your head angled back to allow the slow pleasing movement. Brief pauses allow his tongue to delicately dance about, taste the warmth of your dewy skin. 

“Dieter—“ His name soft as  it falls from your lips. 

His large hand settles at the base of your neck, pulling you head back upright, thumb dragging across the apple of your cheek. 

Your body is buzzing, an ardent energy building through Dieter’s stimulating and capable advances. 

Dieter’s pillowy lips crash into yours, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip, begging for more of you— you oblige, licking into his mouth with earnestness. 

A tingle runs down your spine, gradually turning into a throbbing sensation that settles at your core. Needy and breathless, grabbing off anything you can reach for. 

Your hands clutching loose cottony fabric, your grip never faltering as you try to ground yourself in this mind-blowing moment. 

“Dieter, please!” A throaty whine carries through the air, a plea for anything to help careen you towards a blissful peak. 

“Dieter—“

Silence. 

Nothingness. 

No movement. 

Fleshy desires abandoned. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The jolting sound of your alarm blares from your nightstand, you shoot up in a panic. 

Your room, your bed, alone. 

Your body depleted, pulse racing and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, you fall back into the wall of pillows. 

The third night in a row this dream, nightmare, has plagued you. 

One minute he’s there, with you, surrounding you in an all-encompassing manner. 

Then he’s gone. 

Darkness. 

Alone. 

That night he got the email about the potential job, you were so happy for him, truly. Instinctively, you wanted to praise him, tell him how proud you were of him. There was a moment, a stillness, between the two of you. A spark, a flicker of something— gone when Diem’s voice called out for his help.

The truth was, Dieter is going to get this job, and then he’ll be gone. Back to his movie star world.  Enveloped in the same world that created the demons that he’s fought so hard to keep at bay. 

And you’ll be here. Alone. Like always. 

Throwing the covers off your sticky body, you pluck yourself from the comfort of your bed. Mindlessly, you find your way over to the chair in the corner of your room, your hands grabbing for the brown fuzzy coat that’s been draped over it for the past few weeks. 

You pull it on, nuzzling your face into the fluffy fabric, his musky scent still vibrant and sharp as it hits your nose. 

The floor is cool against your bare feet as you pad your way down to your sunroom that doubles as your art studio. 

Finally having inspiration for your exhibition.

Next

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 18 Hackneyed

“This is,” Thancred began, waving the thin paperback carelessly. “Quite possibly one of the worst things we have yet read.”

Aeryn snatched the book from him before it slipped—purposefully, the dexterous bastard—from his fingers, glowering. “You liked the characters.”

He grinned at her indignation. “I liked a character, and how she makes the others come to life when sharing scenes, but one well-written character who is quite likely the author’s self-insert cannot make up for a trite and tired plot. Which you said of it first.”

“I said it employed some hackneyed tropes that did weaken the climactic moment,” Aeryn said, trying to smooth the spine and cover again. “You’ve gotten crumbs in the binding, how in the world…”

“Anyroad,” Thancred said with a dismissive shrug. “I think we can agree that even for a cheap yellowback, it’s a stale and clichéd tale that was produced for a quick gil and will be forgotten just as easily.”

Aeryn nodded, shaking the last of the crumbs out and fixing a few dog-eared corners. “It’s the sort of novel that lives up to the stereotype of purchases from those wandering book stalls. Yet you never fail to let them stop you and sell you some tawdry affair.”

“When we were young, Fourchenault once called them a plague in the city streets, and thus did they become my favorite places from which to purchase reading material,” Thancred replied cheerfully. “I have in fact found a few rare gems among the muck, now and again.” He gestured at the tattered tome Aeryn was attempting to clean up. “This is not one of them.”

“Highly readable, though,” she mused. “You know it’s drivel, and yet keep going because it simply moves along.”

“Oh, the author has a way with words, certainly. Neither of us stumbled or grew tongue-tied whilst reading aloud. Excellent craftsmanship. Now if they could only extend that to plot and characters.”

“Perhaps they do,” Aeryn said. “The bookseller said this is an early entry in a series.”

“No!”

She nodded. “A dozen and counting, all around that one shining character and her exploits.”

Thancred rubbed his chin. “Hrm. This may bear further investigation, then.”

“You said you hated it.”

“I said it was among the worst things we’ve ever read. That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. And so did you.”

“Well. Sure. But do we really want to read more?”

“Now that we are aware of the possibilities, I say we unfortunately need to. It’s become an imperative.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes.

“I’m quite serious,” Thancred said, getting up and meandering to the door. He looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Especially since some of that authorial talent with wordplay during the sex scene had quite the impressive effect on you.”

Her blush instantly darkened her cheeks as she opened her mouth to retort, snapped it closed again, and resorted to glaring and fuming about how mad she actually wasn’t. She would not throw the book—for various reasons, chief among them her tendency to baby anything bound—but it was probably one of the closest baits he had managed yet.

“Come along,” he urged, nonchalant. “Let’s find that bookseller and see if they have more of these wretched things, and if they do in fact improve with the writer’s practice.”

She did join him, and arm in arm they made their way out to Sharlayan’s streets and plazas, searching out cheap and terrible reading material.

[zooophagous]

Grey filtered light crept into the room softly, by degrees. Artemis crinkled her nose and shut her eyes tight as it gradually replaced the comfortable darkness. She opened her eyes and let out a startled gasp- only to shut her eyes and inhale in annoyance at her own reflex. Strauss lay facing her in bed, still sleeping deeply. In his “dream state,” as he referred to it. It wasn’t quite the same as being asleep, though he did report dreams. 

His eyes were slitted open slightly, though glassy and sightless. His thin lips were retracted to show the tips of his fangs. The muzzle had come off at some point in the evening. He looked older like this, and as much as she hated to admit it- quite ugly, when he wasn’t able to disguise his appearance with polite mannerisms. 

She slid out of the bed and into her pajama pants. Strauss was still nude, and she would leave him to sleep. He’d need it. She took the comforter and draped it over his prone form, protecting him from whatever sunlight might come in through the window. 

Sufficiently robed, she quietly exited and softly shut the door behind her. Hopefully auntie wouldn’t go poking around and ask any awkward questions about why Mr. Strauss was in the wrong bed. Auntie, for her part, was blessedly silent. Her pain medications had locked her in a deeper dream state than Strauss’ own, and Artemis found herself in possession of a rare gem: A moment to be alone in peace.

This called for a celebration. Coffee would have to do for it. In their anxious hunt for supplies, they had forgotten sugar and cream, so it would have to be choked down without niceties. She brewed her cup and sipped it piping hot. The heat wrecked her taste buds and burned all the way down. At least she couldn’t taste how bitter it was like that. And honestly, something about the pain was therapeutic. Better to externalize that sort of thing. Better on the tongue than on the brain. 

“Don’t drink it all, dear. I’ll need it if I’m going to shoot straight.”

Ursula yawned and toddled into the room to claim her own cup. 

“Mornin’.” Artemis nodded at her aunt. “How do you feel? How’s the leg?”

“Bad. As always. But I did at least get some sleep. Are you about ready to go?”

“I can be very shortly. Not like there’s a lot to pack. Where exactly are we headed?”

“I found an affordable hotel a little closer to the city. Would be a decent place to park a car and start looking for Mr. Cunningham. I’ve managed to speak to a few of our operatives. Most of the clerical staff have been released, but none of the slayer team or security wing has been heard from. Officially they’re still missing persons, the fire department is looking for bodies.”

She sighed heavily. “With any luck, they won’t actually find any bodies and the team members are still alive somewhere. But you know, it was a very nasty fire.”

“I’ll say. Their families must be losing their shit. Have the released operatives started talking to anyone? Police?”

“The ones I’ve spoken to are quite insistent they haven’t blabbed to anyone about anything. Personally I think it’s because I’m still scarier than the Witchfinders.” Ursula smirked. 

“What about us? I suppose we’re missing persons too at this point.”

“Yes, and presumed dead. The building itself is currently sectioned off and not safe to enter. Luckily it seems most of the library survived, but the rest of it is a near total loss. That medical wing is going to be very difficult to replace.”

“Assuming we’ll even replace it. Assuming the Institute even has a future.”

“It does have a future.” Ursula set her mug down with an authoritative clunking sound. “So long as I’m around, and the director is around-” She poked her finger at Artemis’ chest, “-There is an Institute, and it has a future. It’s just not clear what kind of future yet.”

“I wish I could be so sure.”

“Break it down into manageable steps. One task at a time. First things first we get to town, find a few emergency bolt holes, collect who we can and try to keep our people from getting hurt any more than they already have been.”

“If I turn myself over they might barter for the release of the slayer team-”

“Absolutely not. I’ll give them Strauss before I give them you.”

“Strauss isn’t yours to give. But something tells me he’d also give himself up before letting me take responsibility for my own mess.” She groaned and rubbed her face.

“Our mess, dear. Don’t take credit for all my hard work.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The two women froze. Artemis felt her heart plunge into her stomach and radiate a sour coldness through her body.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Ursula set her jaw and let out a stiff sigh through her nose. 

“I suppose that’s the door.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad.” She shook her head. “I really hoped we’d have a little more time.”

“What do we do?”

“We cooperate. We’re not in any shape to fight at this point and even if we tried, we’d only make it worse.”

Ursula made her way to the front door. A male figure darkened the window. “Stay behind me dear. If they come in shooting I’d rather it be me.”

She opened the door carefully and blinked in confusion at the not so strange face that appeared on the doorstep. A ruddy face, haloed in white hair. Neatly dressed and smiling.

“... Vicar Martin?” She stuttered. “You’re here? Have the Witchfinders exhausted their supply of fighting personnel already?”

“Miss Harker. I wish I could say it was good to see you, but the circumstances really could be better.”

“How did you find us? Did someone rat us out? Where are the guns? The police? The navy?” Ursula craned her head to see past his shoulder. Vicar Martin only laughed in reply. 

“No, just me. You were expecting maybe Mel Brooks? Can I come in?”

“I feel like I ought to pat you down for weapons first.” Ursula quipped, but stood aside to let him in. “What do you want?”

“Believe it or not Miss Harker, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m sure you’re having a hard time believing that, but I’m here to warn you. All three of you are in very real and pertinent danger.”

“Not as much danger as you.”

A deep voice snarled from the stairwell. Strauss descended with a jump and landed heavily in the foyer, making the floor shake. He stuck his landing and stood on his feet, bristling in front of the vicar, teeth bared, and still completely stark nude.

“Oh DEAR GOD!” Martin put up a hand in surrender and covered his eyes with his other hand. “Why… why are you naked?”

“Why are you here?” Strauss tilted his head. “You have a moment to answer before I literally disarm you.”

Artemis stood in open mouth shock. Ursula turned bright red and began to sputter. 

“MISTER STRAUSS! I can’t… why… just…”

“It’s ok Luther.”  Artemis found her voice in the chaos, and used his first name to distract him from his own rage. “Vicar Martin isn’t with them.”

“For his sake, that had better be true.” Strauss hissed. “You haven’t said why you’re here. Very foolish to follow a scared vampire, Martin. Animals are more dangerous when cornered.”

“Just… give me a moment. I’ll explain, I just need a minute to collect my thoughts.” Martin let out an exasperated sigh and pointedly avoided eye contact. “I wasn’t expecting to see a vampire’s penis today.”

“You are one of the privileged few. Enjoy it.” Strauss sneered.

“You should get some pants on Strauss. We’ll all talk about this together when you’re dressed. Now, please?” Artemis asked shakily.

“The Van Helsing Institute has poked and prodded at my nude form at its leisure for this long. When I appear nude of my own free will it is a problem. I see how it is.” He snorted, but still made his way up the stairs to find a pair of pants. Artemis’ gaze lingered a moment on his backside but she quickly corrected herself to talk to the vicar.

“Sorry. He ah… he sleeps nude and he must have heard you come in. Let’s talk over coffee? Please.”

“Right.” Martin followed her into the kitchen. “Your pet vampire is very protective of you. That’s a good thing.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. You’ll hurt his feelings.” Ursula snorted. “If you are not here to throw us in the clink, what is it you do want?”

“I am here to warn you.” He looked at her very seriously. “Miss Harker. The violence perpetrated upon the institute was not something I recommended, or approved of. The Witchfinders have already overstepped their boundaries and then some, but I doubt they plan on stopping just because they get a disciplinary notice in the mail. And real help may come too late.”

“Tell us something we don’t know.” Ursula rolled her eyes and set to work dusting off a mug to pour the poor frazzled vicar a coffee. “I suppose if you can find us it’s only a matter of time before the Witchfinders do.”

“Yes. It was a bit foolhardy to move into a property that still has your name on it and expect to stay hidden.”

“What choice did we have?” Artemis asked. “It’s not like there are a lot of dedicated shelters for homeless vampires.”

“That is true. And your list of supporters has recently shrunk.” Martin sipped his bitter coffee and settled at the table. 

“A creature of the night is used to operating with very few friends.” Strauss’ voice crept up the vicar’s spine and made him shudder. The vampire reappeared, mercifully dressed. He was now a little overly covered, draped in a blanket over his head and shoulders to hide from the light pouring in from the kitchen windows.

“You aren’t entirely without friends. Without staff, maybe, but what happened back at the institute… the raid, the arson…” He shook his head. “It isn’t what this is supposed to be about. Even if you were a dangerous creature- not saying I think that’s true- abducting all of those people and nearly killing several more with fire and flashbangs is hardly the way to neutralize a single threat.”

“So you claim to be on our side?” Strauss asked coolly.

“I didn’t say that. I need to finish my own personal investigation first. I told you before I am not your enemy, I’m not here to try to trap you or trick you. But I do need to be an impartial judge. And I simply must ask, therefore, Mr. Strauss.” Martin turned and made very tense eye contact with the vampire.

“Did you kill Gregor White?”

It was Strauss’ turn to feel uncomfortable. He broke eye contact. 

“No. Gregor White saved my life. I owed him a debt. I would not have harmed him.”

“Why is he dead? Why does it look like a vampire did it?”

“A vampire very likely did. He was on Sylvain Pietra’s hit list.”

“And you know this how?”

“She told me. She tried to feed him to me. I refused.”

“So you have been associating with her? A known murderess, and shortly thereafter White is dead, and you claim you have nothing to do with it?”

“If you must know.” Strauss bristled. “I was assisting with YOUR investigation when it happened. I took the initiative to find Sylvain when your ilk could not, and question her about the male victim found in the park. It was both easier and safer for me to attempt to interrogate her than any human vampire hunter. I stuck my own neck out for your sake.”

“And Gregor White wound up dead?”

“Yes. I regret it. I tried very hard to prevent it. At the cost of my own skin. I am sure if you searched his apartment you found a good deal of my DNA on the floor. I was sloughing it off quite liberally when he let me use his bathroom.”

“Was it a fruitful venture then, Strauss? Did Gregor’s death at least give you any information about the case?”

“Ehh. Yes and no. Sylvain told me she was not responsible for the death of the young man found in the park.”

“And you believed her?”

“She had no reason to lie to me.”

“So she’s innocent of that murder, but guilty of killing Gregor?” 

“It would appear so.”

“Your story seems very flimsy and unlikely.”

“Your neck seems very flimsy you accusing underhanded little-”

“Strauss.” Artemis interrupted. “He’s right. This entire thing looks very bad for us. It will look even worse if you tell the only impartial observer in all of this that you have a violent temper.”

“Apologies.” Strauss pinched the bridge of his nose and folded himself into a chair, looking defeated. “I am very tired and under a good deal of stress and I am very upset at having to continuously defend myself. Asking to exist peacefully should not be treated like an unreasonable request.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Mr. Strauss.” Martin folded his hands. “I don’t actually think you are the killer of either party.”

“No?”

“If you truly were a violent monster, and these two women under your unholy sway, you would have fallen on me and torn me to pieces as soon as you saw I was alone instead of inviting me in for coffee.” Martin sipped his now room temperature drink. 

“I told you before and I repeat it now. I am not your enemy. I’m on the side of the truth. Whether it comes from a smiling priest or a snarling vampire is not my concern.”

“So what do we do now?” Ursula interjected.

“Our church runs a halfway house in the city. It’s been closed for renovations for some time, but it is most of the way habitable. You’ll need to pardon our dust a bit, but your name isn’t on it and nobody will be expecting us to shelter you. Officially, I’m supposed to be helping with the effort to track and capture you.”

“It will do. We can leave immediately and we should.” Ursula pushed herself up from the table to gather her things. “I do have a question for you Emille. Have you… heard anything about anything else being captured from the institute?”

“If you’re referring to the lycan, no. He’s still at large. Still considered a dangerous, kill-on-sight target. He’s not the big ticket item. It’s Strauss they really want, but if they see your friend they will kill him for revenge.”

“He is alive. That is all I care about.” Strauss turned and faced the vicar. “I have misjudged you, Vicar Martin. Vielen dank für die hilfe.” He extended a claw to the vicar to shake. 

“No dead mice this time?”

“Not unless you want one.”

The two locked hands in a firm shake. Ursula set her mug in the sink. 

“It’s settled then. Grab your things. I’ll start the car.”