#i’ve had this concept(?) in my head for awhile

[sleepytownzzz]

the rise and fall of a midwest princess

[nuumbie]

BRIGHT STAR

Prompt: And so live—ever or else swoon to death. Dain, what does that strand of hair mean to you? Someone you must kill? Or an object of your penitence?

Author’s Note: The Road Not Taken Trailer stuck with me. Abyss Prince/Princess ! Reader. Something overtook me while writing this… I wrote this so I’ve officially have proof of writing for all three fandoms this blog writes for… but at what cost… ( my sanity )

Trigger Warnings: Depression and not being mentally good is pretty heavy handed, the idea of “missing” someone, grief and loss, just generally upsetting mental concepts. And of course. Genshin Spoilers…

Codependency, babes!

Cursed to live as an immortal. His life no longer belonged to only him. For every life which could no longer speak. He would live in their place. Until his body had decayed. Until he could no longer move. Until he had lost all vigor and passion to try.

That day would never come. Even now. He’s never lost focus from his dream.

When he meets you all he's managed to save is the sky.

The sky to the world which has taken everything from him. He wondered if his brethren would be happy to continue the shared existence of this world even after they’re gone. To care for the soil which they once lived. The same world that had taken everything from him was once his home. For every beauty, there was a sadness. He was still preserving its existence. Because. If he hadn’t there would be nothing left of him.

Yes, he was a traveler back then — directionless and without a purpose. Without meaning. A wanderer without a home to return to. Only memories.

Such different lives. Yet you met at the same road at the same time. Khaenri'a Land. He remembers the destruction, the screaming, all the lives lost while he watched helpless.

You share those memories. Why was it. That fate chose to let you both live? Was it destiny’s cruel game? That you both found yourselves in the same world with the same matching wounds.

He wonders when you changed paths?

The world moves on while you both stand there. Firmly rooted in that place and time. Perhaps, he could have stayed there forever.

He remembers— you’re the one who broke the silence. The memory grows farther and farther. But his time with you is something he’s yet to let go. He holds onto it. The memory is similar. It brings him comfort and pain. That’s why it’s meaningful.

“The Gods.” you walk next to him, you’ve already seen to found your answer as you tilt your head up towards him. You’re the first pair of eyes in a long time who’s peered into him to acknowledge his existence. To stare at him. To see him. He hasn’t communicated in awhile. He can’t remember how long. So, it’s somewhat affirming to have someone stare at him. To see him. “Are the worst.”

He stares out at the fallen rubble before meeting your gaze. There’s a burning light behind your eyes. Something that rivals the force of the sky. “They are.”

“The Gods look down at the people all the same, yet they meddle with their lives and twist them so.” you laugh. “It’s just not fair. Why is it out of my control?”

Dainsleif’s eyes catch the bodies underneath the rubble, crushed fingers grasping for things they’ll never reach. “It’s not fair. You’re right.”

“Hey, you’re traveling too, right? I know you are.” You glance over the fallen wreckage as if that’s proof enough that he’s lost. “I’m a traveler too… I’m looking for my sibling.”

He can hear the yearning in your tone. You have faith unlike him. You still have a chance.

Your voice says you believe that so firmly with all of your heart. Dainsleif glances at the gathered proof there’s nothing left for him at his feet.

“…”

“Come with me.” You finally say. “Travel with me.”

“Why?”

“I’m lonely.” Is your only reply. You don’t look at him. A life-long regret. He’ll never have gotten to known what you were thinking.“You seemed lonely, too.”

Did he?

He hadn’t noticed. He hasn’t seen his own face in a long time. At that time — it felt so simple. There wasn’t truly any deep, meaningful, reason to accept your request. He could have easily parted ways there. What difference would that have made on your journey?

But… perhaps he was lonely. For he had so far to walk. And he had nothing else to do but to live.

“500 mora.”

“Huh?” You squint your eyes somewhat baffled by how quick of a response he shoots ought. “I— that’s too cheap. Why? Is this a weekly payment or something?”

“In a way it is.” He sighs while turning his back and already beginning to walk. “500 mora every week.”

“It should around as much money needed to buy the ingredients for sticky honey roast.”

You give him the stink eye.

But you’re lonely enough to begrudgingly take the mora out into his hands. You make a point to showcase your discontent as you scrounge through your wallet. You don’t have very much money on you at all.

But you pay the fare so you both go on a journey.

People change lives. You’ve changed the impact of his.

-

Your first stop is Mondstadt. He’s buying the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. He has a bit extra change to spare. Mondstadt’s prices are cheap.

It’ll get harder to save when you reach the other nations. So, it’s better to save up now.

He realizes you’ve escaped his side a little too late. He looks around— when he isn’t looking you’re already a distance away from him. Even though you’re the one who asked him to walk this path with you. You’re always walking ahead or too far behind.

You’re staring at the Mondstadt Fountain. In hindsight. It’s a very pretty fountain. Simple but effective. But you’re staring at the water a bit too closely. He walks up from behind you and stares at his own reflection which looks back at him. You’re rather enamored by your own face.

You both do look strange in comparison to the locals. People have been giving you both odd-stares. He makes a face at the water and tries to smile.

He doesn’t look very accommodating nor welcoming at all. His smile drops rather quickly when it looks strange on his face. Unnatural.

Dainsleif is secretly glad that your eyes are always directed everywhere but him.

Glancing towards you. You don’t look at the water like it’s a reflection of yourself but someone else looking back at you.

You finally notice his staring though it’s far too late. You jump up a little — but you pretend like you weren’t so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed him sneak up on you. Like always. He doesn’t tell you he knows. You’ve fallen into a pattern like that.

“Do you have a coin?” You glance at him and try to change topics quickly while holding out your palm. “Dain.“

“Ah.” He looks at you and blinks as he realizes what’s going through your head. Though, he wonders if it’s something else. You were staring at your own face. “Oh… that is a Mondstadt Custom. Making wishes… I see. Are you curious? Then…”

He takes out the coin. The leftovers. It’s a meaningless gesture. But, you stare at him like it’s what matters most in this world. So he indulges in you.

The borough keeper does not have anything to wish for. He realizes rather quickly. He glances down at the coin in all its glory. And there is nothing in the world he can realistically get that he truly wants.

His hand grows a little shaky at that thought. Nothing to wish for. So he instead directs it towards you and drops it into the palms of your hand like it’s precious.

“You should do it, then.” His voice is impassive as usual. “You’re the one who has a wish. So, why should I?”

Somewhat dumbly you take the coin in your shaky palms as he gives it to you. “Huh? Seriously…?”

“Fine… I guess I will then…”

You think— it doesn’t take that long. The coin hits the water with a somewhat disappointing ‘thump’.

Not nearly as long. You’ve already have your mind up. You glance at the water. “I’ll have to make it come true myself in the end. I’m still going to work as hard.”

“Then, what’s the point of the wish?” Dainsleif asks.

“It’s insurance.” You sigh. “It’s comforting. You seriously have no trace of romance in your heart.”

“What did you wish for?” Dainsleif looks at the coin sunken at the bottom of the fountain. ( It will be gone when he comes back to reflect on the memories. A world which people resort to stealing wish money from wells. )

“If I say it then it won’t come true. You’re meant to keep it a secret, Dain. That’s how wishes work.”

Is that so?

He knows what you wished for. But he doesn’t say it.

Some things are better kept never never said.

-

He's growing older.

You travel to a Liyuan Village, Quingce. It's the perfect day. You’ve both arrived at perfect timing. They’re holding a small festival to celebrate the living at the time with bright lights and fireworks in the sky. Momentous and bright.

The joy they experience is vibrant. Savory smells wafting through the hair. A memory which will be long-lived in each villager’s mind. In comparison. The both of you stand out. Throughout the laughter, the joy, you both sit there in relative silence alone together. Two unhappy people painted against a happy scene.

The sky being dyed in such unnatural colors reminds him of the day the sky was bathed red. Do you see the same sky as him when you stare up at such flashing lights, too?

You're whispering. Do you expect him not to hear? The sound of the fireworks is loud. Each with a loud snapping pop. He wouldn't expect you to be paying attention to him instead of the loud bursts of flashing lights. So he assumes you’d have the same line of thought. Somehow, Dainsleif’s eyes always find his way to you.

"We don't belong in this world." Are the words that leave your mouth. He doesn't respond. You repeat it quieter. "We don't belong here."

You’re looking at the children who dance among the bright stars together. He notices a pair of children holding the other’s hand tightly.

You’re curled up in fetal position. Your knees pressed against your chest. It looks painful.

l. You stand at a ten foot distance to him.

You don’t say anything else and continue to watch the fireworks. Not once does a smile ever cross your face.

When you walk back to your hotel room your voice is weak and you’re clutching tightly to your own shirt.

“Dain.” You make conversation. “Do you think we could be happy?”

He doesn’t know.

“There’s still a long way ahead. Don’t lose hope.”

“I know I can’t.” You sigh. “I know that.”

“It’s just hard sometimes.” You look outside your fingers brushing against the glass of the window against the painted sky and the people packing up. “They don’t know a thing.”

“It’s just unfair.” You laugh. “Why can’t I live like that?”

“But that’s how it is.”

“…”

There’s a silence which lasts only a little. It seems you don’t wish to continue down this line of thought. You give.

“Guess so.” Your eyes meet his and you smile sheepishly. “I’m glad I know you. I’m not alone.”

But you are. That’s why you asked. Because you felt there was nobody who could understand.

And, perhaps, he still doesn’t know you either. No. He’s sure he doesn’t.

When you bring a topic up. It’s very likely you never bring it up again.

He doesn’t usher it out of you. The next morning you wave the children and all the adults goodbye wishing them happy lives. They’re kind and wish him and you both the very same.

They’re younger than you both yet you’ll both grow to outlive them. You’re fundamentally different. He will never be able to understand them.

Dainsleif presumes that’s the same case with the two of you as well.

-

In Inazuma you take a quick resting stop before you reach the grand island You plan on camping that night among the dangerous but beautiful land. You seem enraptured that night. You’ve gone into the slow flowing river. It seemed clear. So he hadn’t stopped you from dipping your feet.

You reach your hands towards the bright sky and the stars above.

You’re in a far off place. He wonders if he could reach you if he had actually tried.

He doesn’t bother.

Dainsleif sits there and watches your distant figure watch the stars.

He watches after you. Some days. Just bystander in your life.

You stay like that for awhile before you finally return to him. You’re holding your shoes in your hand— you drop them before awkwardly plopping yourself next to him.

“They told me if I was ever lost. All I needed to do was look up to the stars because we’d be looking up at the same sky.”

"I wonder what they'd think if they saw it. The stars are beautiful here. Even though the sky itself is the cause of all my problems. I still love the stars. This place won’t ruin it for me.”

“Dain, what do you think?”

You’re not really asking him.

“It’s nice.” He responds. “I think they’re beautiful, too.”

You rarely talk about yourself he notices. You rarely think about yourself. About this sibling he doesn’t know. About their interests and likes.

“Do you like it?” He asks gentler than he intends.

“I do. But it hurts. Does that make sense, Dain?”

“It does.” He replies and he hopes that gives you some ounce of peace.

You smile a little. He wishes it could last.

You’re someplace far away. He looks down at you and making a move for the first time he offers you his hand.

You take it and fall asleep against his shoulder.

He clings to your warmth and holds you closely thinking little of it.

When he wakes up you’re already gone.

You revert back to your normal and neither of you bring it up. But even if it’s left unspoken.

It’s already been said.

-

In Sumeru while exploring the wilderness you’ve sunken to your knees. The sight of something has caught your attention.

It's rare to see you stray from your goal.

You gaze down at the white flowers for a few seconds. Most often your eyes dance around but you keep walking forward. It's very rare that something strikes you enough to linger on. To hold still for just a moment in time.

It's rare that you let anything hold you back. Each nation. You grow a little faster. A little more distant. A little ahead.

You glance up at him wordlessly as you go to kneel to clutch the flower between your palms, it's rare that you do things just like this. Ask him to speak up on the matter and info-dump so you can understand the world better. It's the little conversation you both have.

“Dain, what is this?”

"It's a flower native to Kharenri'ah." His heart winces a little at the word. It appears that the wound has not mended itself. It won't ever. He's made peace with that. He merely wonders when he'll learn to live with that truth. "It's called the Intreyvat. It has 2-weeks before it wilts. It's aligned with elemental energy as for why it glows. Elemental Energy isn't edible nor does it taste very good for those who've tried it. So please do not eat it."

You don't respond. So he continues with other facts assuming you're not satisfied. "It's called the wanderer's flower for it's properties which--"

"I'm not going to eat it, idiot. I'm not insane to eat flowers. You're my emergency food rations." Contradiction. He thinks that cannibalism is more insane than eating flora. But, he chocks it up to either sarcasm or a testament to your oddities. It's likely the former. Your face warmed up. Embarrassed that he’d even imply it. Melanin rushing straight to your face to the tips of your ears. you whisper, hushed, as you cradle the flower delicately in your hands. Like it can hear your argument. It can't. It’s not alive in that sense. a fact he would point out. But he knows it’s not the time for that. He opts for silence as he usually does. "They just grew these back home. My actual home. Before it got destroyed."

You have a deep longing in your eyes. All-consuming devotion. "Some things remain constant through different worlds. There's likely another you somewhere on one of the many worlds that exist."

"I saw these with my sibling when I first arrived at Teyvat. The flower were the first thing we saw. A field of them." you churn out. your grip on the flower grows tighter. it's petals crush beneath your fingers at how tight you hold it. you don't seem to notice. " All things meet similar fates. So, of course these flowers were meant to fade away in this world too."

"It’s okay. These aren’t actually my homeland’s flowers. It’s not mine.” You laugh as you let go of the flower. leaving the crushed white petals lay dirtily discarded on the floor. "It was never mine. But the sight of it regardless bought me joy."

It's left in the dirt. You stand on wobbly knees. He thinks to mention it but you have enough to worry about already.

Dainsleif knows it’s better not to linger as well. So he chases after you. At some point it changed from him walking meaninglessly.

He drifts after your footsteps. Behind you.

-

You’re always changing. Slowly, bit by bit, the person he met so long ago becomes a stranger distant in his mind. The current you is just as much of a puzzle.

Time is passing. He doesn’t keep track of how many days that have gone by. Some days blur.

When you’re at Fontaine you finally let yourself break.

It would explain why you finally go mad. The process of traveling place to place without ever stopping.

It must have been draining.

His hand curls around your face as you lay at your camp. You’re both doing an odd-job for money to travel so often from place to place.

You’ve both finished killing another hilichurl camp which stood in the way. Wiping the splattered blood from your cheek. Too little distance but you don’t seem to mind how close he is. “Is it yours or theirs?”

You don’t answer. Which does nothing to ease his worries. He goes to wipe the rest of the blood to see if you have any injuries. This isn’t like either of you. To dote on another like this. These moments are sparse few and far between in your own words until you’re at a certain breaking point — nothing more than travel companions until you need someone to catch you before you fall. That’s why you called for him.

Because you were alone. Because he was alone.

It’s transactional.

It should be, anyway. You tremble and bite your lip hard enough that it bleeds. What you have feels heavier than that.

“I don’t want to ever kill another hilichurl again.”

Ah.

“We’ll never have to kill another one again.” He tries to soothe you. “We can stop taking requests like this.”

It must be bad. You’re holding still. Barely reacting to the feather-light touch. He squeezes your face.

You react at that. Your eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He lets go once he sees that’s enough to rouse you out of your own head.

“We should take a break.” He finally says. “We haven’t had one in awhile-“

“I don’t want to stop.” You reply back. “It gets worse when we stop.”

You‘ve been tired for a long time.

Wiping the rest of the blood on his cape. He doesn’t struggle. But that doesn’t mean he’s entirely indifferent to the process. But he never struggles against you. So he doesn’t even budge. He just looks at you with that prey animal stare reserved for only you. “Ah.”

“My cape.” He holds the tassel and flops it around. As subdued and subpar as it is. “Isn’t a napkin.”

“We’re both dirty, now.” That brings an odd joy he’ll have to worry about later because those words are not happy. They’re sad. You should both be clean. But, there’s a certain joy to sharing your lows. You ramble as you use it to wipe your tears away as well. “Now we both need showers and…”

“…”

“Dain.” You ask quietly. “Why do you stay with me?”

Oh.

You’re not yourself. You’ll regret this conversation and feel nothing but regret about it later. He comforts you now and answers regardless because he would regret leaving you unanswered now even more.

“I care about you even if it doesn’t seem that way at times.”

You stare at him like his words are hard to believe. Your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Is it so hard to believe he cares after you’ve spent so long together? He can see the thoughts racing behind your eyes. But, what you settle on is— “You’re so stupid.”

You don’t seem entirely unhappy with his answer despite the words that you say considering you’re laughing. It’s an oddly sad laugh. A laugh which threatens on a sob.

He tries to ignore the pink color that rises to his cheeks.

“So stupid.” You cry a little harder and hug him. He caresses you and lets you cry into his chest.

He knows you wish someone else could hold you.

It isn’t the same nor will it ever live up to the real thing. But you always pretend.

-

You both never kill a Hilichurl again.

He does his best to avoid them on the roads. Whenever you see one a deep sadness falls over you. So he does his best to stifle that grief and ease that burden by avoiding every chance he has.

You haven’t asked as much questions lately since arriving at Natlan. You’ve quit speaking entirely at some points in time. Some days he wonders if you’ve forgotten to speak at all.

The light behind your eyes is a distant memory.

“Dain?”

“Why do you travel at all?”

He stares at you through a mouthful of mushroom-chicken skewers that he’s cooked. They’re burnt. He’s not very good of a cook.

You’ve never asked before. You’ve asked all sorts of questions. But never that.

“It was sort of implied at the fountain that you didn’t know… I remembered and got curious… so I asked.l

“Did you figure it out, Dain?”

…

Maybe he did.

He thinks about keeping it to himself. Holding on to that answer just this once. You’ve done the same to him.

But maybe it’s something worth saying.

No, maybe it’s something…

He just wants to admit. To say out loud. Just once.

Even though he knows you know.

“I want to see your journey to its end.”

You instantaneously groan like he’s said something embarrassing.

“I’d thought you’d answer that.” You pout with crossed arms. “When did you grow so obsessed with me?”

He doesn’t know himself. He doesn’t know why or how. He doesn’t know if he should.

“You should live for yourself.” Hypocrite. “Beyond Khaenri'ah and beyond me.”

Dainsleif sighs and…

He continues letting his judgement not get the better of him.

“I really like you.”

Time stops.

He’s a little surprised the words actually came out of his mouth. But they did.

He can’t take it back now that it’s been said. That’s how it works.

“Huh?”

He could pretend that his words had a different meaning. He could create some lie. And you would just eat it up.

But he chooses not to. Why is that?

“I like you. That’s why I wish to see it through with you. I wish to see you happy. Typically. You wish to be with the people you like happy.” He repeats. Louder. So you can’t misinterpret it or pretend you’ve heard him wrong, He chews on the mushroom skewer. Feeling his face heat up. Some days. He wished his mask covered the entirety of his face. It feels like he’s gone as crimson as the moon.

He feigns how okay he is with these words leaving his mouth. Pretends like he isn’t pouring a deep part of himself out to you. “Don’t mind where. I just wish to be by your side.”

“You’ve been my reason for awhile now.“

And he continues. A little too much. He realizes. He stops and looks at you to use as measure for how much he’s talked.

Quite a lot. You stare at him in abject horror.

“I— don’t repeat it!” You yell and look around like somebody can hear you both. There’s nobody for miles. In the end. It’s always you both alone. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You asked.” Dainsleif points out and bites down on the shame. “I answered.”

“..-!?”

“It wouldn’t work.” You stumble. “You and me—“

“It doesn’t have to be as lovers. My… current goal… the… reason I’m traveling with you… what I want most is just… to see you be okay.“

“Your terminology was confusing! It’s not my fault—“

“But if you want to entertain the idea… of… us being partners and such. I wouldn’t mind traveling with you. To see other worlds. If you could bring me.” He can’t bear to look at you. “Though, I have a task as a Borough Keeper… I…”

“You wish for me to live for myself. Is that not proof I am? Willing to find a reason to live past that role?”

“T-Travel with me…” the room grows hotter. “Wait, that’s not the point!”

“It still doesn’t work!” You yelp. “Just…”

“…”

“Maybe at the end of the road when I reunite with my...” You mumble. “I… no…”

“No… I don’t think… you… we should.”

…

“We shouldn’t.”

You don’t explain why.

Dainsleif flushes… and looks away. Understanding. He tries to be understanding.

Even if he’s not very good at it. Understanding other people. He tries to emphasize and nods his head.

“I understand… I told you. I just… wish for your happiness.”

“You shouldn’t.“

…

And you don’t elaborate. You never really do.

He doesn’t understand how bad it gets until it’s too late.

-

Because you were right.

Thinking about it now, it was an omen, a warning more than anything. You likely should have thrown him loose a long time ago.

Did you not think about that? Or was it now when everything’s finally proved that this was where your path must lead? Were you hoping that there was another option?

Was this your last choice?

Well, it’s already history. You must have known that. That’s why you were so insistent on it. To limit the heart-ache. The tragedy. If you held on even tighter. Then the pain of separation would hurt even more.

You should have never offered your hand to him at all then. But it was this journey it was knowing which made you into this, wasn’t it?

He was there to witness your unraveling. And he didn’t do a thing to stop it. He allowed it.

The sword has pierced through his stomach and severed through. He’ll survive. That’s what he was cursed to do. To eternally live and grieve until there was nothing left to lose. You know that. You aren’t actually trying to kill him. You’re sparing him and leaving him to live with this loss. And that’s even more painful.

There’s no light in your eyes. You’ve chosen the road ahead. It’s a road you cannot travel back from. You will destroy everything. And you will repeat the endless cycle of bloodshed. And then you will most likely die against the weight of the heavenly principles.

This is the second time his reason for living was entirely stolen. How fun. How grand. How sick. But he should have known, too. Even if you’re immortal as well—

The things he loved were bound to get torn from him. His life will forever be a game of give and take.

“There’s nothing else.” You glance out into the darkness. “For me to see. I’ve seen it all. And it’s driven me mad.”

“I understand now. You don’t have to follow me anymore. You’ve done your job of seeing me through to the end. And I thank you for that. You’ve been a good guide. I’ve cherished this time together.”

Like this isn’t it. As if you aren’t severing your paths entirely. You dig the sword deeply into his stomach like you’re cutting whatever has connected you both all this time to each other.

But it did matter. Everything mattered. It mattered so much to the point where you’ve come down to this. He holds the sword and tries to push it out.

You’ve detached. When was it when you pulled yourself away from him entirely? He never noticed the gap between you had grown as deep as the abyss.

“Dain.”

“You’re not joining me are you?”

“I’m not.” He responds from the floor. He chokes on his own blood. It isn’t the first. Nor will it be the last time. He can see his future from here. Because life refuses to let him live languid life. He could never agree with the tragedy you intend to cause. The world you wish to ruin— still belongs to him. “You’re right. I can’t agree. I could never agree.”

And more than that, you’re likening yourself to a monster. This path. Paved in blood. If you walk it you will be no better than them. You’re making a mistake. You’re so much more than this. And he knows. Because he was there for you for so long.

“If this is the path you plan to take. I will oppose for eternity.” He spits.

For some reason that gets you to share with him a rare smile.

The way you smile at him then still haunts his dreams.

“I knew you could do it.”

It is your hands which he trusted so which push him and led to his fall. The hands which he had done his best to have lovingly hold. It is his first betrayal.

And yet he still tries to have faith.

Your paths diverge…

But regardless of that.

You’re not out of reach.

He can still save you he thinks with grasping hands.

Is this how you’ve felt all this time? With a flickering inch of hope? Given so little yet still believing in that faint chance of reunion?

He’ll force your paths back together himself.

-

Mondstadt.

He’s begun to try to count the time.

He just measures it against the day which took everything.

500 years.

He's come here before. The bar called Dawn Winery’s-- it's peaceful in comparison to the other worlds. Though so dreadfully close to Celestia. You’re close. He knows you are. Thus why he’s here to begin with.

The bartender has changed again since he was last here. He’s witnessed many faces since that time so long ago. He almost got mistaken. It seems it’s the previous incarnation’s son? He wears his father's skin, has his bright crimson hair, the only thing lacking is the life in his eyes. He must not be have taken the loss well.

Dainsleif's taste buds have faded with time. But the wine goes down as easily as he remembers. He relies on his sight to enjoy it. It’s changed over the years. The bottle itself. The liquid’s color isn’t as he remembers and it never is the same—

Footsteps.

A familiar voice.

He can feel time pause.

“Hi… I’m an adventurer from the adventure’s guild!”

He doesn’t respond.

The voice is insistent despite him clearly ignoring them.

“How do you do… I’m an honorary member of the Knights of Favonius!”

If he turns around, if he wants so deeply, then it feels as if it’ll be even farther. If the very act of wanting will make it so Celestia tears it away from him.

But the voice continues. A different one. There’s another. There’s two?

“Wow… he has no intention of paying us any mind.”

“So… uh… I’m a traveler.”

Two people, one pair of footsteps. This isn’t an ordinary person.

…

Dainsleif doesn’t look back but he repeats a question. A question from a long time ago.

“A traveler you say. Why do you travel?”

He can feel the awkward smile tugging on the other party’s lips. There’s a light. Unending. Unendurable.

“Well… looking for my lost relative… could it be possible that you’ve seen them?”

[loveshotzz]

There’s a place for me

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Chapter 1/?

Summary: On the run for wrongful murder charges, Eddie finds himself stopping in a sleepy ocean side town far enough from Hawkins where he can lay low for awhile. Running from the people that want him dead, his only hope is that his past doesn’t catch up to him. Especially when he meets the pretty eye’d waitress up the street.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: slow burn, angst (Eddie hates himself for running) eventual smut, strangers to lovers. My blog is 18 plus.

A/N: this concept was sent as a request by my irl friend @elthreetimes and as soon as I read it, there was no way it could just be a one shot. It needed to be a series. I feel so lucky that you trust me to bring this story to life, and I hope you enjoy this. Also I couldn’t have done this without my hellfire crew @myobmaya @boomhauer @subparwritersuperbreblogger @sweetsweetjellybean for bouncing ideas and characterizations with me. I seriously couldn’t have written this with out you guys. This is the most ambitious story I’ve ever tried, so here goes nothing. Also bonus points for anyone who guess’s who which character Ron is based off of.

*comments, likes, and reblogs would mean so much if you enjoy my work 💘

For days it felt like all Eddie did was drive, the passage of state signs was his only measurement of time. The hours blending together like the lines on the highway, tangerine skies bleeding vermillion the colors remind him of Chrissy eyes after they exploded inside her head. The beauty of it all being taken away as the image of her crumpled body replays over and over in his mind. With no destination he was driving on auto pilot, only deciding where he was going the third night in.

Hair dripping from the storm outside, his fingers feel bruised from switching out his plates for the third time. Sitting in the back of his van tucked away on the side of a dirt road somewhere in West Virginia, it was the first time in his life he was thankful his dad had taught him a thing or two about evading the law. Stripping off his wet jacket he knew he needed to find somewhere to go. He couldn’t keep driving aimlessly, he didn’t have the money for that. The only cash he had was whatever he’d gotten from his deals earlier in the week, thankful he didn’t spend it on the re up that was suppose to happen the night before everything changed.

He’d never seen the ocean, an elusive place he could only visit in his dreams. Stopped on the boarder between West Virginia and Pennsylvania he wasn’t that far from the east coast. Using his lighter to illuminate the road map he’d found stashed in a messy wad in his glove box he guessed it was maybe a 10 hour drive from the coast. Throwing the idea of sleep out the window with wet clothes making it impossible for him to get comfortable he decided to do what he’s done this whole time, drive.

Watching the early morning sun slowly seep into through the storm clouds the grey sky fades to a more comforting cerulean. Eddie drove with the kind of determination that he wish he’d used to pass high school. Maybe he wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d just graduated when he was suppose to. Convincing himself he would have been long gone playing guitar in any city that wasn’t Hawkins, he lets himself wallow in self pity till his tires bring him to the ocean.

——

Finding his way into a nameless town that wasn’t even listed on his map, it made Hawkins look like New York City. A small strip set on top a broken battered road - he swerves to miss the never ending onslaught of pot holes. The few shops they had were attached to a single grocery store, the sides of the buildings eroding away from the misted wind. Snorting to himself - of course this is where he ends up, a beach side ghost town. Eddie catches the Help Wanted sign hanging in the window of the diner that lay nestled at the end. Sticking out from the rest, the way it’s lit almost makes it look like it glowing against it’s drab surroundings. It was also the only place he’d seen with any sign of human life.

The lights of The Sleepy Hill motel greet him like the four seasons, when his tired van pulls into the mostly empty lot. The flashing vacancy sign is a promise of a bed, his bones worn down and sore the weight of everything finally kicking in. When his dirty white Reebok’s hit the ground his arms reach for the sky in a kitten stretch of his whole body, eyes closing he relishes in the pops he feels in his spine.

Inhaling a deep breath the salt in the air stings his nose, the mist off the shore making his bangs stick to his forehead. Pulling a runway strand of hair from his cheek he finally takes everything in. On one side of him there was nothing but an endless expanse of tumultuous waves raging against the shore line. The storm clouds he had out run were making their way back through, the lingering bitterness of winter still hanging thick in the March air. It wasn’t like the kind of warmness he’d seen on the postcards, or the in the stories that Rick told, this wasn’t Venice Beach. The sight of a light house in the distance brings a slight feeling of comfort when he watches the strobes of light break through the purple hues of the darkness starting to set in over the horizon. Eyes lingering he lets himself sit in it for awhile watching the waves crash into the broken brick holding it up from falling into whatever laid in the water beneath it. When he turns his attention back to the town that took him less then a minute to drive through, the red “EAT HERE” sign that spun on top of the diner mocks his stomach when he realizes it had been almost a whole day with out any real food.

Slamming his car door shut, he takes quick strides to the back making a mental note to drive to the next town over at some point tomorrow to switch out his plates again, it was too risky to try to do it with any car in a town like this. Eyes darting nervously he opens his back doors with shudder that rings out over the sound of the waves. Furrowing his brows in concentration he starts digging though the blankets in the back searching for the outfit he’d found balled up a few nights ago. Forgotten about after a sleep over at Gareth’s, the memory of a time where his life wasn’t like this hurts in a way that he can’t explain. Maybe he wasn’t as miserable as he thought he was — all the little things he took for granted now at the forefront of his mind.

He hadn’t let himself think about Wayne. Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept his mind from going there, or that thing he’d heard about when your own mind blacks things out to protect you, but he hadn’t thought about what that must’ve been like for him to come home to that.

A life less mangled girl he didn’t know and a nephew that no one was going to find. Eddie just ran without a single thought as to what that would mean for him. Scowling to himself he blames the Munson blood that runs through his veins. Images of his Uncle slumped over with tired shoulders, shuffling into the trailer in the early morning hours when the sun is just peaking through the trees. Boots heavy from another double at work, walking right into the nightmare that Eddie left him with.

Eye’s burning he holds back his tears grabbing the balled up shirt and jeans giving them a sniff. They didn’t smell clean but they smelt better then what he was wearing now and that was just going to have to do. Fingers crossed the motel clerk would let him rent a room with out an ID, he was desperate for a shower. Shoving the garments into his backpack he takes another deep breath ignoring the sting this time, closing his eyes he fights away all the emotions that are ready to spill out. Clearing his throat he cracks his neck before slamming the metal doors shut.

Half way across the pavement Eddie stops in his tracks when he see’s the guy behind the counter. Not much older then him there was something oddly familiar about him, when he glances up catching Eddie in his line of sight. Shaggy brown hair parted down the middle and big teeth protruding from below his upper lip, his beady eyes squint as he tries to figure out what Eddie was doing. The sound of a distant boat horn is what makes his feet finally move again, the boy behind the counter standing up as Eddie closes the distance.

There’s a small chime when the glass door swings open, the warmth of the lobby heats him in a way he hadn’t realized he missed until its hits his skin. There’s an awkwardness that hangs thick in the air when the door closes behind him. Eddie hadn’t talked to another living soul in days besides mumbling the amount of cash and on what pump at gas stations. The man behind the desk who’s name tag said ‘Ron’ was staring at him like he was trying to pin point something familiar about the metal head, and it was making Eddie’s palms sweat. The anxiety of being caught tightening in his chest. Scratching the back of his neck he clears his throat.

“Hi — hey, man I’m uhh- I’m looking to get a room?” He tries to hide how startled he is at his own voice having not heard it in hours.

Ron’s silence doesn’t break much to his dismay as he takes in Eddie’s appearance. Dark eyes trail over his disheveled form before flicking back towards his van in the parking lot. It wasn’t just his palms that were sweating now.

“What’s your deal? You some kinda rockstar or something?” Ron finally breaks his silence, stunned it takes Eddie a minute to comprehend what exactly he’s being asked. When he finally wraps his head around the question he has to actively stop the snort that threatens to come out.

Looking down at his wrinkled hellfire shirt, the cotton is stained with a mixture of dirt and grime from the nights in his van. The whites of his Reebok’s barely visible under the dried up mud from last nights storm. Having caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the door on his way in, he knew his wild mane looked like a bird had laid nest in it.

“Excuse me, what?”

Ron sucks his teeth shrugging.

“You just look like that Van Halen guy, but there’s no way you’d be here if you were actually him I’d reckon.” He says matter of factly before sitting back down in his desk. “And he wouldn’t look like he just rolled around in a pigs play pin. Or maybe he would? I don’t know the life style of a celebrity.” He adds with a wave of his hand.

Stunned and completely unsure of how to respond to the man in front of him, the conversation was not going a direction Eddie had even seen coming. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he finally finds his voice again.

“Yeah, not Eddie Van Halen. My name is Eddie though, Eddie umm Henderson.” He winces internally when Dustin’s last name leaves his mouth.

“Eddie Henderson? That’s not very rock and roll.” Ron tuts before looking up at Eddie from his computer.

Feeling his frustration start to reach it’s tipping point, his fists clench at his sides before they release. Running a hand over his face he exhales sharply through his nose mustering up enough self control to answer politely.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Eddie pointedly looks at his name tag before adding with a curt smile. “Ron.”

Arching a brow, the man at the front desk brings his attention back to the computer screen with a hum. The awkwardness from before becomes almost suffocating in the small room. The growing silence between them lasting long enough that Eddie starts to panic.

“Look man, I’m just trying to get a room for a few nights then I’ll be out of your hair okay? I’m not some rockstar who’s gonna trash the place. I’m a nobody.”

Eyes never leaving the screen the sound of the mouse clicking is the only noise filling the space.

“Got an I.D. Eddie Henderson?” Ron’s tone is flat when finally looks up at eddie through the hood of his lashes, his own irritation clear on his blemished face.

The question he knew was coming still stiffens his body when it leaves his mouth, but the thought of another night sprawled out on the damp blankets on the metal floor of his van is enough for the burning sensation of tears to sting his tired eyes again. Shuffling on his feet, he readjusts his backpack.

“I’ve got cash, I can pay for at least two days up front.” Stepping closer to the desk his fingers drum against the counter top nervously, doe eyes pleading to show him a shred of mercy.

“No, I.D. No ro—“

Digging the 200 of the 250 he had left from his pocket, he slaps it on the desk in a crumpled lump. His survival instincts kicking in with a new level of stubbornness he didn’t know he had. He wasn’t leaving until he had keys to a bed and a shower.

“Please, man. I’m begging you.” The tears that had been threatening fall finally breach his strong hold, a single droplet landing onto his bottom lashes. He wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand, sniffing he closes his eyes collecting himself again. “I’ll keep to myself, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Ron’s eyes soften at the desperation is Eddie’s voice, despite policy there was something sincere about the mysterious stranger standing in front of him.

“200 will get you three nights.” Reaching over the counter he grabs the crumbled up bills before standing up, turning to the wall of keys behind him.

Relief floods his body as he watches Ron’s fingers skim over the glistening metal dangling from the dark blue wall. Blinking back tears the tense muscles in his shoulders release some of the stress they’d been carrying for the last 700 miles.

“Room 10, it’s at the very end. No parties rockstar.” Handing over the single key, it hung from a round burgundy keychain, a faded gold 10 stamped onto the plastic. Eddie can’t help but actually laugh this time, his mood lifted for a fleeting moment.

“Seriously, thank you. You won’t regret this I promise.” Snatching the key before he had a chance to change his mind, he clasps both hands together in front of his face bowing slightly in appreciation.

“There’s free coffee in here every morning. If you bring your key to the diner up the road you get a ten percent discount. We don’t have laundry but there’s a laundromat next to the grocery store, it’s open weird hours you’ll have to check the sign.” Ron prattles on, his voice becoming more professional now that Eddie was a paying guest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Walking backwards Eddie kicks the door open, the chill in the air sending a shiver down his spine.

“Nice to meet you Eddie Henderson.”

—

The walls of the motel room match the ones in the front office, the sapphire paint chipping at the edges of the ivory trim. The single bed in the middle was covered in a crimson duvet, two fluffed pillows propped against the black head board tempting him enough that he almost throws the idea of a shower and food out the window. Toeing off his shoes, the socks that should be a crisp white are the color of ash and it reminds him just how dirty he really is. Dropping his bag on the floor he starts peeling off his clothes making his way to wash off the last 72 hours.

A satisfied groan falls from between his chapped lips when the heat of the water hits his skin. Tilting his head back he lets it run through his thick tangled waves, pooling at his feet the water is tinged brown. Turning he faces the stream with closed eyes letting it wash over his face as he tries to find peace in his thoughts. The fear seeing Chrissy suspended in the air every time he closed his eyes was what prevented him from the sleep his strained body needed.

After spending longer then he should wrapped up in the warmth of the shower, he can’t ignore the growling in his stomach, remembering the discount at the diner he forces himself out.

The cheap blow dryer makes his hair frizz with more volume then he was used to, holding it down with both hands on either side of his head he sighs exasperated when he lets it go and it bounces back with more force.

Whatever, he didn’t know anyone here and he wasn’t going to be around long.

Changing into his cleaner clothes, he pats down his jeans feeling something in his back pocket. Reaching behind him his fingers come in contact with the thin plastic foiling of a crumpled half full pack of cigarettes he’d left in a drunk mess one night.

“Fuck. Yes.” He mutters to himself feeling a little more like a person rather then just a passenger in his own body for the first time in the last three days.

Grabbing his jacket off the bed nimble fingers search for his lighter once the leather is wrapped around his shoulders. Smirking when he finds it, he heads for the door grabbing his key off the off the dresser. Turning around before he leaves he takes one good look at his new home for the next few days. It wasn’t much but it was better then hiding off on the side roads begging to get caught.

——

The rocks crunch under his feet as he walks up the wounded asphalt towards the diner, the mist in the air taming the poof in his hair as he struggles to get the cigarette lit. The hint of tobacco on his tongue teasing him as the gust off the shore snuffs out the flame every single time.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” dangling in his lips he stops for a second to switch positions so his back was facing the direction of the wind. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Grumbling he snatches it out of his mouth in a huff before shoving it back in his pocket. Keeping his hands dug in into his jacket his face is set in a hard glare as he hits the parking lot of the diner. The inside gleams brightly and it’s the stark contrast to the dark moody-ness of his thoughts and the outside.

There’s families gathered in the windows laughing in the warmth of the light and he does his best to ignore the pang in his chest. Shoving down the realization of just how alone he really is now, he wasn’t ready to mentally unpack that yet.

Opening the single glass door of the entrance, the sound of the oldies station plays under the low hum of everyone’s chatter. Red vinyl covering the seats, a row of booths line the outside, the white walls barely visible decorated, covering almost every inch in various collectibles. The long bar attached to the kitchen extends down the length of the restaurant lined with stools.

Unlike the booths, the bar was filled with truckers and waderers. Hunched over their food alone in their thoughts. Taking a seat where he belonged the chain of his wallet clinks loudly against the metal of the stool.

The menu was already laid out on the formica counter top, just a page long the corners of the lamination are creased after obvious years of use. His eyes strain to read the red words that pop out against the white of the paper, the sleepless nights slowly catching up to his body. He tries pulling it further from his face to get a better look completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching him.

“Need some help with the menu?” A melodious voice breaks his concentration. Looking for the owner he comes face to face with you.

Almost as if someone knocked the wind out of him the softness of your features stuns him enough that he can’t find his voice. The dress you wear as a uniform wraps tightly around your curves and he fights his eyes from wandering. Hand on the counter in front of him you lean into his space, the smell of maple syrup hits his nose — sickly sweet he wants nothing more then to close his eyes and bask in it. Your warm gaze lands on his face and it feels like he’s looking up at the bright sun on a summer day. You didn’t look like you belonged here.

Realizing he hadn’t answered you, he clears his throat trying to shake his nerves. He was never good at talking to girls, especially not girls that looked like you and definitely not under these circumstances.

“You’re new around here.” You grin eyeing the slightly disheveled boy in front of you.

“Do you have burgers?” Blurting out his question he closes his eyes embarrassed when he realizes he’s ignored your observation too caught up to think straight. “Sorry.”

Laughing sweetly you take the menu from his hands finger tips brushing against his, the connection making his cheeks blossom pink.

“Sure do, how do you want it?” Pulling out your pocket sized note book from your apron, his eyes catch the red of your nail polish and for some reason it makes his cheeks deepen to match.

“Medium is —uh, is fine.” Scratching the back of his neck he watches the way your pen swoops gracefully against the paper.

“Fries okay?” Looking up at him from under your lashes his breath hitches loud enough for you to hear, the reaction making you bite your lip in a smile.

“Yeah, fries are, fries are great.” Exhaling loudly he gives you a tight lipped smile wishing he could bury his head in the sand.

“Anything to drink?” Ripping the page you turn around slipping it through the small window of the kitchen behind you. The line cook grabs it with a curt nod before you bring the full force of your stare back to him.

“Water is fine.” The sentence is short but he gets it out with out a hitch at least. Rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs he catches the mischievous glint dance around your eyes.

A small knowing smirk plays on your lips before walking away to the drink station at the other end of the long bar.

“Real fucking smooth.” Eddie grumbles to himself catching the attention of the trucker seated next to him.

“If that makes you feel any better son, I think she thought it was cute.” The gruffness of his voice reminds him of his Uncle, the few moments with you had made him almost forget about why he was here in the first place. Guilt slowly starting to eat away at him as he tries to re focus his thoughts, the familiar sting coming back to his eyes.

Before Eddie has a chance to respond your sliding the glass in front of him, eyes never leaving his as you pull out a straw from your front pocket. This time he’s strong enough to hold your gaze even if the red on his cheeks spreads to his neck.

“It’ll be like 15 minutes, Freddy’s pretty quick.” Nodding back towards the kitchen, Eddie tries to listen to you but he’s too focused on the sheen of your lip gloss. A sharp elbow to his side snaps him out of his trance, his new friend trying to help him out.

“Oh— okay, thanks.” Dropping his eyes down he brings all of his attention to unwrapping his straw, silently scolding himself for being even less smooth then the first interaction. The only reason he knows you’ve walked away is the loss of sweetness that settles in the air in your presence.

Shoving the straw in his drink, the ice clinks loudly against the glass before taking a big gulp. When the water washes over his tongue in a wave of rejuvenation, he closes his eyes humming in satisfaction sucking more then half the glass down before pushing it away with a wipe of his mouth. He can feel what the needed hydration does for him in his finger tips, his brain function starting to sharpen.

Chocolate eyes finding you again, he watches the way you move around the restaurant with ease. Everything you were doing seemed second nature, bending down to meet the kids at eye level he watched the families stare up at you with the same adoration on their faces. It wasn’t just him you effected like that, it was every one.

Cleaning off one of the booths, he watches you bend over the table — selfishly letting his eyes wander your body in the way he’d fought off before. Expertly stacking the dirty plates in your arms, you shove the cash tip they’d left in your apron. Turning on your heel you catch his stare, stopping for a brief moment before your lips tug up in a way that makes him avert his gaze — but even he knew it was too late. He’d been caught.

Closing his eyes when you walk by he inhales deeply, chasing the comfort your scent brings. You smelt like Sunday mornings with his mom, the only childhood memories he was fond of. He watched as you disappeared through the double doors of the kitchen, loud voices greeting you once you were hidden in the back. It was obvious you’d been here for awhile. The urge to try and piece together your story is a welcoming distraction from his own.

You aren’t back there long before you push back through with a toothy grin, shaking your head in amusement. An irrational hint of jealousy settles deep in his gut at whoever was making you laugh like that. The high pitch ding of the kitchen bell brings his attention back to the small window, a burger and fries so warm he could see the steam coming off the bun sit waiting for you to collect. Brain going empty he can feel himself start to salivate, his hunger taking front and center in his mind now.

Too focused on his food he has better self control of his eyes when you go to grab it. Sliding the plate in front of him Eddie mumbles a thank you before snatching the burger, ignoring the way it heats under his finger tips.

Taking a giant bite he immediately opens his mouth at the shock of the burn, his initial reaction to spit it out is stopped when he looks up to see you watching him with crossed arms as you lean against the back counter.

“I would have told you to give it a minute, but I thought that was obvious.” Teasing him, Eddie fans his open mouth searching for reprieve only swallowing it when the pain subsides. Taste buds inflamed and seared he takes another gulp of water basking in the way it soothes his mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t really eaten all day.” Grabbing a fry he dunks it into the small ceramic cup filled with ketchup before tossing it into his mouth. Curious eyes land on yours making him wonder what’s keeping your attention as he eats with out manners.

“So, what are you running from?” Choking on his food at your question his eyes go wide, maybe the news had made it’s way over here.

“W-what do you mean?” Swallowing loudly his appetite suddenly disappears.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you before. People either move here to run from something or they’re just passing through.” You shrug as if your question was nonchalant. “So are you a runner or a wanderer?”

“What are you?” Eddie counters back arching a brow before taking another sip of water.

The smirk you give him is almost devilish when you push yourself off the counter invading his space again. The smell he can’t get enough of swirling around him in a dizzying effect.

“I’m a runner.” There’s something hidden behind your eyes that he can’t decipher when you give him your answer unashamed. “I told you mine, it’s your turn now.”

Of course you weren’t from here, how could you be?

“Runner.” He says simply already nervous he shared too much. Averting his eyes he plops another fry in his mouth before he remembers that this 15 dollar meal was gonna put a significant hole in his remaining funds.

Looking back up from his food he sees you’re already half way down the bar walking he hasn’t even asked you about the Now Hiring sign dangling from the window.

“Hey! — I mean wait.” Eddie’s outburst catches you and half the diners attention and despite his embarrassment he doesn’t miss the way your lips curve up when you make your way back to him.

“Yes?” Raising your eyebrows in question you plant both hands on the counter top in front of him leaning forward a stance that keeps his Eddie swimming.

“I saw your help wanted sign in the window.” Clearing his throat for more confidence “How would a runner apply for said job?”

“You haven’t even told me your name, and you don’t even know what we’re hiring for.” All valid points leave your mouth and he nods with a scratch of his head.

“It’s Eddie, Eddie Henderson.” He said it once and now he just has to roll with it, he’ll apologize to Dustin if he ever sees him again. “I’m not picky, I’ll do anything. Just in desperate need for some cash.”

“Well Eddie Henderson, I guess that means you’re planning on staying here long enough to get work huh?” Tongue poking the side of your cheek he can tell there’s ideas bouncing around in your head.

“Yeah, for a little bit.” Eddie didn’t want to tell you that his time here was numbered in the single digits or that he needed the work so he wouldn’t become completely homeless in the next few days while he ran from the law.

Blowing out a loud breath, you drum your hands on the counter before turning around towards the white board behind you with various names and schedules scribbled on it. He wondered which was you. Grabbing an application from the stack that was pinned on the board you turn back around around pulling a pen from your pocket. Clicking it open you set it down for him to fill out.

Eddie wastes no time in scribbling out his fake information, chest swelling with excitement. He didn’t think it would be this easy and despite your stare making him nervous he could feel his own smile pull at his lips just for a moment.

“I’m just gonna need an ID to show my boss.”

The sentence leaves your mouth and Eddie wants to fucking scream, his grip on the pen becoming so hard he was close to snapping it in half. It was an issue at the motel why wouldn’t be an issue here? It’s not like he didn’t have one, it just had all of his real information on it. Information that had the potential to get him caught.

“I- I don’t have one.” It’s quiet when it leaves his mouth voice shaking and defeated. Meeting your eyes again he notices how they soften as if you could read his mind.

“You moved to a new town without any ID?” You question is gentle when it comes out watching the way his shoulders slump. The first smile you’d seen grace his handsome features slowly fading away.

“I’m afraid I can’t give this to him with out some kind of proof as to who you are.” It’s lame when it comes out of your mouth and you wish it could be different when you watch his big doe eyes glass over.

“It’s fine, I’ll figure something out. I appreciate the help none the less.” Eddie gives slight nod pushing the application away, his brain already starting to reel with no back up plan lined up. He feels fucking stupid.

Unsure how to comfort the cute mysterious stranger you shove your pen back in your pocket giving him your most apologetic look. The air shifting into something that felt like you should give him privacy— you walk away as he digs for his wallet.

Throwing a twenty on the table, he’s too embarrassed to even ask for the discount. He takes one last big bite of his burger before goes to stand up, the sudden urge to sleep becoming over powering with the hope a better idea would come to him tomorrow.

“Hey, actually.” Your honeyed voice drips through his very obvious despair.

Stopping him before he had a chance to leave, Eddie’s chestnut eyes meet yours in question.

Biting at your bottom lip, he can tell your nervous to ask him whatever was bouncing around in your head.

“Do you know anything about cars?” The thought of your late grandmothers car sitting motionless in your drive way comes to mind and how desperate you were for a pair of working wheels.

“I mean I’m no mechanic, but I can do the basics.” He offers back with a shrug.

“Good enough for me, I live by the beach not far from the motel down the road, it’s a shitty yellow house you can’t miss it. I’ve got a car you can come look at tomorrow, if you think you can fix it I’ll hire you myself.” Eddie doesn’t know why you’re being so nice to him but he’s not going to turn you down the offer. Even if he can’t fix it, he sure as shit was going to figure out how.

“Alright, sure yeah, I’ll come by.” Trying to contain his excitement the smile you’d already missed comes creeping back to his face.

“Perfect, I’ll see you around 10? I’ve gotta work at 4 so that should be plenty of time for you to come take a look yeah?” Not wanting to tease that six hours is plenty of time to do a normal check up on a car he just nods instead.

“I’ll be there at 10.” With a nod of his head and the first genuine smile on his face in days, he pushes back out into the developing storm.

——

Head swirling with the events of the day the cheap motel bed moans under his weight as he stares up at the water marks on the ceiling tile. The feathers of the pillows underneath him bring back the heaviness of his eyelids as all the muscles in his body finally relax. The fear of sleep slowly slipping to the back of his mind when the softness of your smile replays on a loop behind closed eyes.

——-

Taglist: @newlips @bimbobaggins69 @munsonology @triplethreat77 @edsforehead @manda-panda-monium @emotionaldreamer @eddiesprincess86 @micheledawn1975 @lil-graveling @b-irock @munsonmunster

If I missed anyone please let me know!

[tanix-dragon]

To Be the Dragon: Living as Tanix lei Dramon ak Hyuukii

For many years now (about 6!), I've been in the alterhuman community, thinking about how I want to write about my dragon kintype. I’ve never written much, though, despite being fairly comfortable doing so. This isn’t out of lack of things to talk about—it’s more because I have such a basic run-of-the-mill spiritual dragon kintype (in my mind) that I wasn’t sure that writing about it would do anything for anyone. Besides, it’s all so normal to me. It’s hard to write about your life when it feels so utterly mundane that to pick each piece out of it feels ridiculous. I have a dozen concepts for essays in my Tumblr drafts, but in the end, I’ve just decided to write something big. I’m going to go through it all, all I can think of, because I don’t know if I can pull it apart enough to write about each piece separately. It’s all so intertwined that it’s just easier to write a big one.

Strap in. This is going to take awhile. I’m a wordy bastard and despite how little I actually go into it, I do know a lot about this kintype.

Awakening

This is where most people start, and I’m sorry to disappoint; this is a short one. When I was a kid, I loved dinosaurs, and when I discovered dragons, and I mean really discovered them, realized how cool they are, I felt some kind of deep resonance. As a kid, I figured that it was just because they were the coolest thing of all time. In reality, this awakened phantom limbs (I think? Or just strengthened them. I don’t really remember very well; “I” as I’m known didn’t quite exist at the time, system stuff, you understand) and set me on a path of self-discovery and overwhelming draconity. I was known as the “crazy dragon kid” at school, even for years after I stopped talking about them, and I’ve always been very recognizable, even at a distance, even for people that barely know me, because I “move differently.” A friend once told me that I move like someone put a lizard or a bird in a human’s body, that I have a dragon’s walk cycle, that I have the wrong animation set for my skeleton. That was a very nice thing to be told.

I don’t know. I spent a lot of years with constant phantom limbs and sort of figured that they were normal, more or less? I didn’t think about them. They were just a part of me. Only once I tripped over a dragonkin’s blog completely accidentally in early 2018 did I start putting pieces together, and then it hit me like lightning: oh. I’m a dragon. I’m actually a dragon. And I’m not alone. I started my Tumblr kin blog and that was that. No questioning, no kinsidering, no “am I really?”--I had known that the thing was dragon, but I hadn’t known how it applied to me, and the second I did, I knew it was right. I am a dragon, and that was that.

I’d wondered off and on for a while if someone could have a past life as a dragon, but had never mentioned it to anyone (at least as far as I remember), because I was worried about the response I’d get. Once I realized that I was otherkin, though, I embraced that wholeheartedly: I had been a dragon, and that had rolled over so powerfully that I still am a dragon. It fits, and I love it.

What��s it like?

“What’s it like being a dragon?” my non-kin friends ask me sometimes. It’s kind of almost exactly the same as being not a dragon, except my mental image of myself is a big blue dragon instead of a human. Chronic pain flaring up? Dragon curled up and complaining about it. OCD lashing out? Dragon resting head against the wall with shut eyes and half-bared teeth. Someone annoying me? Dragon with exposed teeth and fangs all puffed up to try to make them back down.

My dragon body maps onto my human body to produce feeling like an anthro dragon most of the time, even though my dragonself isn’t even bipedal. It’s the happy medium my brain can settle on between what I feel I should be and my physical reality, although, again, mentally, most of the time when I imagine myself, I’m as I should be. In headspace where my headmates can see me, I’m quadrupedal unless I’m doing something that requires me to be bipedal. (Our headspace is pretty flexible, don’t worry about it.) All of this evens out to me moving kind of oddly—toss in how stiff and sore I am all the time (it’s some kind of unknown but disabling condition, hooray), and you get someone who moves very oddly. I turn my head like there’s significantly more weight to it than there should be, I visibly squeeze through spaces that are plenty big enough for me as if trying to accommodate great wings, I walk with a slight adjustment to my hips to compensate for a heavy tail, and I lift my shoulders to flare or gesture with my wings. I have slight head movements that correspond to how I move my ear fins, expressions that call for me to bare my teeth, gestures that only make sense with wings, tail, and claws, and a dozen other little things I probably don’t even notice that I do.

I don’t get a lot of species dysphoria anymore. I’d prefer to be able to switch in and out of dragon form (ideally with that anthro dragon that my brain has invented for me as an option too! I do love it as a middle ground), but I can make do as-is. I spent untold centuries as a dragon, I can handle some decades as a human. I’m here now, and I have a different life to live, and frankly, I love humans. I love the things they do, the cultures they have, the things they make, the ways they act, and I feel really lucky that I get to be in one of those human cultures and witness others. I have a minor in anthropology—I promise I’m not about to become a misanthrope anytime soon. I believe that humans are inherently creatures like any other, and can be driven to great good or great evil. I don’t believe that’s a reason to hate them, and besides, some part of me identifies as human as well as my kintypes. Not everyone does, but I do, and it’s comfortable for me.

I do have a few draconic instincts I have to juggle, but none are terribly maladaptive or troublesome. I know exactly how to breathe fire and want to when angry or struggling to keep a fire going in winter, and I know that there’s something in my chest and something else in my throat that are missing, structures that allow firebreathing, but I have phantoms and can mimic it okay, so I can huff and puff and burn nothing down. I have a prey drive that kicks in hard watching squirrels or, worse, rabbits out of my window, but I don’t ever actually chase anything (not that my slow ass could catch anything even if I did). I want to sharpen my claws, curl up in the sun, growl and threat-display with my wings (and do flare my phantoms when I’m in the car and another vehicle does something I don’t like), and a bunch of other small things I can’t think of right now. Again, it doesn’t bother me—it’s just affirmations of my draconity, and most are subtle enough that I can do them in front of people and they don’t notice, or, if they do, they don’t think much of it. 

What’s it like? What a question. What else do I say? Sometimes my chronic back pain reaches into my rhomboid muscles, which is where my phantom wings connect, so it registers as wing pain, I guess. That doesn’t usually happen, but it can. I walk on my toes a lot because I naturally want to move digitigrade. Shocker, I know. I don’t know—what’s it like being a dragon? What’s it like being human, or anything else? What’s it like to be who and what you are?

The Dragon Driik’lor

Tanix lei Dramon ak Hyuukii. Tanix of Fire and Breath. What a name—and one I have known parts of for a long, long time. As a kid, I’d sign off messages and emails as Tanadin of Fire and Air. When choosing a name for myself when I came out as trans (Tanix), I knew that I wanted something with the nickname ‘Tan’ still, derived originally from my username “Tanadin,” because it felt right. Was my name truly Tanix? I don’t know. It feels right, or at least, right enough. I swapped out “air” for “breath” because Tanix lei Dramon ak Voron didn’t feel as right. I guess the question is—who is, or was, this Tanix, and what language is that?

(I'll occasionally be referring to my dragonself as Tanix and myself as… me, I guess. I know, I’m sorry, that’s confusing, but that’s driiv name as far as I know, and calling driik anything else feels weird.)

Tanix lei Dramon ak Hyuukii was a mature adult dragon of a sapient and extremely intelligent species with its own language. My noemata have provided me with pieces of this language—individual words and ideas on its structure, some suffixes, some sounds and pieces of what a sentence should sound like. A few letters, even, for the written version. For the past fourteen or so years, I have worked on uncovering as much of this language (that, as a kid, I called Dranonic, and I haven’t changed that) as I can, and have made up much of the rest. I will never reconstruct an entire language from noemata alone, and I know that, so I just do what doesn’t feel wrong and change things if I get an inkling that I’m off somewhere.

Tanix’s species had some extremely complex social rules and dances that driit largely didn’t do much with. Dragons could be either solitary or live in clans, and driit was pretty solitary. Driit was also fucking annoying. Sorry, but it’s true—Tanix lei Dramon ak Hyuukii was a pretentious, self-centered, prideful, overconfident bastard that had other dragons going “oh gods here comes Tanix again, just smile and wave.” Driit was a bulky, powerful, physically imposing dragon, and driit knew it. (In this human life, my family is actually fairly dense and stout despite being quite tall, so that’s free species euphoria.) As far as I can tell, given driiv five horns and larger stature, driit was female. (I talk about horn count and dragon gender more in my essay Counting Horns and Making Assumptions, or, Draconic Age and Gender, if you’re interested.) However, pronouns in Dranonic are based on age category, not gender, so the fact that Tanix and driiv mate have different pronouns is because of a difference in age, not gender.

Oh, Selkhenar. Selkhenar of the Darkened Swamp. I wish I knew more about you. Muut seems to be the only dragon that Tanix wasn’t a huge bitch to—and let me tell you something. Driit was vain as fuck. My dragon instincts know what driit did and did not find attractive in a dragon, and Selkhenar was considered, in that society, to be a kind of dumpy little green and black swamp beast with a weirdly long face, short ass legs, and kind of weird proportions.

And driit loved muut more than anything. Every time I think about Selkhenar, I get holdover fuzzies and butterflies from my time as the dragon the first go-around, and man, driit was gone for this swamp dragon. I have flashes of memory of much more impressive-looking dragons trying to woo driik and getting passed up, but accidentally tripping over Selkhenar in the swamp just beyond the edge of driiv territory was apparently what driik needed.

They had at least one clutch of eggs together. I remember guarding them ferociously, even growling at Selkhenar once before recognizing muuk. I remember them hatching into the cutest little whelplings of all time, and I remember them being a mix of blue and green and red and black. I remember teaching them to fly, throwing them over the ledge outside of the cave and off the cliff. Selkhenar was below, ready to catch if they didn’t figure it out, but still, uh, not the strategy I would recommend, necessarily. I remember hunting for them, both land animals and skimming the lake outside of our cave, down in the evergreens at the base of the mountain, for fish, even though… Selkhenar was a water dragon and therefore better suited to fishing…. I think it was a pride thing. Tanix was a ferociously prideful dragon and I suspect driit was like NO, MY LOVE, I WILL HUNT FOR YOU, YOU TINY THING… YOU GUARD THE BABIES WHILE I PROVIDE FOR YOU…. and then proceeded to accidentally driik’lor (Dranonic for him/her/themself) into the water. Repeatedly. Over and over. I have very firm noemata of hunting fish, eating fish, and fucking up while hunting fish and fouling my wings and falling into the lake. I was an okay swimmer and was mostly just glad that no one saw, but like… come on. Let the swamp dragon do it. I mean, I’m sure muut did, but I don’t have memories of that.

What’d This Dragon Look Like, Anyway?

Good question! That’s something I have the firmest grasp on. I’ve been drawing this dragon for as long as I’ve been super aware of dragons, and driit has been through a lot of iterations, but I think I’m very close.

Tanix lei Dramon ak Hyuukii was approximately fifty feet long from nose to tailtip. Driit was a deep, intense blue (take a peek at any art I’ve ever done of driik/myself) with bright red stripes along driiv midline—basically, along the spine, down the tail, and along the face. The stripes also appeared on driiv legs and maybe wings, but I’m not sure about that one. Driit had five horns that were either darker blue or slightly purple that curved slightly back and were slightly offset from one another, with each set being slightly smaller than the last and a bit further back, with the single horn being the smallest and furthest back. Driit also had a single nose spike that matched the horns. Driit had big (kind of disproportionately big) ear fins, a more recent discovery of mine and out of date on most of my art, used for communication and showing of mood, mostly. Driiv “hands” had three fingers and a thumb, driiv back feet had three toes and a dewclaw, and driiv wings had four “fingers” with membrane stretched between them and a fifth “finger” that seemed to serve little to no purpose. This wing membrane connected pretty low down on the body (near or on the tail), providing a large area for lift. I believe this membrane was a lighter color than the scales around it, and I have the distinct feeling that I could flush blood into it to make it change color—red, I think? Maybe it was just some markings that could appear. I’m not sure.

Along driiv back were spikes or spines, of a similar color to the horns, lined up perfectly with the stripes. I know that driit had some kind of dangerous weapon on the dip of driiv tail, and I know that this thing had three sharp points, but its exact shape and color, I’m less sure on. I know that the tail itself was fairly flexible, especially near the tip, but was most assuredly a powerful weapon when needed. Driiv belly was lightly plated, providing protection for the vital organs. Driit also, of course, had sharp teeth and a forked tongue, although two of driiv teeth were elongated and poked slightly out of the mouth when shut, which I tend to call driiv fangs.

The Binding

Back in August of 2023, I tripped over an image that made dragonbrain click on and triggered a fear response as well as a flood of noemata. The post I wrote at the time of that discovery is here, but I’ll write it out in a more comprehensible format, both for your convenience and so that I have a more organized version in general.

Some kind of humanoid species (not humans) on my planet found and trapped me when I was quite young, and dragged me to a structure not dissimilar to the image I found, not far from or in one of their cities. My limbs and jaws were chained so that I couldn’t fight or escape, and I so clearly remember feeling my claws and scales scrape over that rough, coarse stone, and the sound of the chains dragging across it. Some of the humanoids rode other dragons, who were clearly enslaved and, in many ways, broken. They had no choice but to obey, or face punishment. Their eyes were dull and they passed over me without registering me, because to acknowledge that such a young dragon was facing their same fate was, I imagine, too painful.

For the record, I was so young that I thought I might be able to carry one of these humanoids, maybe, and not all of my red markings had come in yet. I was very young.

For some reason or another—maybe I was misbehaving, maybe this was protocol with all new dragons, I don’t know—they dragged me to a dungeon underneath a great arena where they made some dragons that they figured they could never turn into mounts fight for their amusement. I was chained up down there, fairly tightly, barely fed and barely able to move. There were a couple of other dragons down there with me, in the dark and the damp, curled up on those horrible stone bricks just like I was. I could barely see them, it was so dark, but they could see me, their eyes more adjusted due to years or decades down here.

My primary companion was a dull red dragon, an adult male, as far as I can figure. I don’t remember muuv name, but it started with an Ez- or an El- with a z in there somewhere, and ended in -iel or something along those lines. Elaziel, Ezkhaliel, Ezkerial, Elzariel? I don’t remember. I wish I did. I remember muut being as reassuring as muut could be, trying to do muuv best for this poor scared youngling. Muut was beaten and broken but incapable of either fighting or being a mount—one or more of muuv limbs were gone or broken and healed incorrectly. Muut couldn’t fly and I think muut struggled to walk. I don’t know why the humanoids kept muut alive, but I do know that I reinvigorated muuk, and muut decided to do whatever muut could to get me out.

I don’t remember what happened, really. All I know is that, at some point, there was an escape, and multiple dragons made it out, or at least tried to. I remember the red dragon shouting “Mor anor axid, mor anor axid! Mor anor axid veran!”, which is Dranonic for “Let them fly, let them fly! Let them fly away!” with “anor” being distinctly plural—you would never call a single dragon “anor,” indicating that there were multiple dragons trying to get away. I know muut wasn’t among them—muut would never make it out, and I’m sure that the humanoids killed him after. I never looked back. I never saw.

I know that there was a light green dragon involved in all that, a female, I think. Muut was chained down there with myself and the red dragon, and maybe others. Maybe muut was the other one in “anor.” I don’t know. I don’t remember much about muut.

I do remember part of the escape—the red dragon’s shouted pleas, the hesitation of the dragon mounts, the sting of the dragonbone arrows fired from the humanoids that pierced my scales (because of course they harvested the bodies of their spent slaves, why wouldn’t they, the bastards), the screaming of my underused wing muscles as I tore out of that place and never looked back, not once.

I never returned. Not even as an adult, not even once my fifth horn came in. I flew far, far away, and never drew closer again. I never wanted to see that place, never wanted to fear it, never wanted to risk it. My two fears as a dragon were that place and the ocean, and the second, I feel, had some kind of horrible dragon-slaughtering beast in it that was a long, instinctive, genetic terror. That horrible place beat it out by miles.

A Couple Other Memories

I remember other things, too, not just that whole… sequence, or what I talked about before. I know that there were some kind of “dragon mimics” out there, some kind of insectoid things that looked like dragons at a distance but revealed what they were close up. They’d either do displays intended to anger a dragon and draw them close, or courtship displays to interest a dragon. Either way, once a dragon was close enough for the mimic to strike, it was too late. A lot of insectoid dragon designs set off my dragonbrain’s “mimic alarm,” and it’s kind of interesting to play with and see what triggers it and what doesn’t. I’m sure I had personal experience with them—I have too clear of a mental image of one trying to lure me in for anything else—but I don’t know the specifics.

One of the memories that I’ve had, crystal clear, for a long time, is my death. I was falling from a great height, wings too damaged to hold me, uselessly streaming behind me as I fell. Selkhenar flew down with me in a panic, knowing muut could never catch me (I was far bigger than muuk), trying to talk me into getting my wings sorted out and at least slowing my fall or something. I remember there being wounds all over me—I’d been losing some great, horrible battle—and peering at Selkhenar, thinking it was very sweet of muuk to be so worried about me but I was clearly lost, muut needed to get out of here—and then a sharp pain at the base of my skull, where it connects to my spine, and nothing. I feel like it was some sort of projectile, well-aimed, that took me out instantly.

I’m still afraid of heights without my wings.

Wrap-Up

There’s more, I’m sure. More specific essays that I feel like I can write now that I’ve gotten most of it down. I could write an essay on draconic courtship, or what little I know of rearing offspring, or whatever else comes to mind. For now, though—that’s most of it. That’s The Everything. I’ve been meaning to put this together for a long time, and now I have, and I hope it’s helpful to someone—either in understanding me, or in understanding yourself. I know that, when you’re questioning something, reading about someone else’s experiences helps a lot. I’ve never felt like talking about my dragon kintype was ever going to be terribly helpful in that regard—after all, there’s a dozen other similar essays out there—but I decided, well, it’s not for other people. It’s for me. And no one’s written four thousand words detailing my kintype before.

That’s the thing about writing like this. It’s for you, and if it helps someone else, that’s just a bonus. Write what will help you, what will let you figure yourself out and document it so that, if it changes, you can pinpoint when that was and track your own growth and change. I wonder what, in a few years, will be inaccurate in this essay? I wonder what I will add, what I will change, in a theoretical future version?

I guess we’ll find out together. Thanks for reading.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

i can see you (up against the wall with me)

(i haven't slammed repeat on a song in awhile, I Can See You from Speak Now (Taylors Version) is a certified banger and this...slipped out.

please enjoy a slytherin! sirius, wolfstar au)

-

Remus had initially approached this Herbology assignment as a business arrangement, nothing more, nothing left, completely annoyed and frustrated at being paired with Sirius Black. But in a NEWT class so small, many of his classmates dropping out after sixth year and realizing the work required and that Herbology wasn't, in fact, an easy O as they had anticipated, leaving the class nearly empty.

Just Remus

A few Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw by the name of Turpin.

and Sirius Black.

With his stupid handsome face and dark curly hair and casually cool, effortlessly aloof expression. Sirius looked as if he had never worried about a damn thing in his life and Remus pulled at the threads of his uniform every opportunity he got. Though, it was much harder to do so with his arms elbow deep in a potted plant, Sirius beside him writing up the report due within the next few days.

"How does the soil feel?" Sirius asked.

"Like soil, bloody disgusting..."

The corners of Sirius's mouth turned up slightly, not even enough to make a crease in his face. Barely there. But Remus saw it, and oh.

"Clay, sandy, loam..."

"That's a made up word," Remus said, trying to focus on kneading the bottom of the plant gently to check for any stray moving roots or insects, cursing himself for taking Herbology in the first place. Even if the years of gardening with his Mum had paid off finally.

"We've been learning about loam for two weeks."

"I said the word sounded made up, not the concept," Remus countered and the corners of Sirius's mouth twitched again. He shook his head and Remus's heart flipped, watching a stray dark curl fall out of the ponytail Sirius was wearing and fall in front of his eyes.

Oh.

"So conceptually, is it loam or...?"

"Clay loam," Remus told him, gently setting the plant back in the pot, and wiping his hands on a nearby towel. He watched as Sirius's eyebrows drew together softly, as he concentrated on the questions in front of him, writing out each word carefully in neat cursive. Despite wanting it to be a business arrangement--Remus assuming the worst from a boy in Slytherin with the last name Black who scarcely spoke to anyone in school and hadn't given anyone a reason to trust him, half of his peers walking around with marks on their arms--the plan had failed miserably. Not only did Remus realize Black was exceptionally adept at Herbology, but he was pleasant. He was easy to work with. He was exceptionally good looking and Remus found himself staring every moment he could, desperate for more. Imagining what it would be like to have Sirius's clipped fingernails and broad hands palming the back of his neck and touching his hipbones.

I’ve been watching you for ages and I spend my time trying not to feel it

Remus was beside himself, and delusional, trying to find excuses to talk to Sirius once the business arrangement was over, and feeling foolish as he did so.

Except.

Sirius would brush past him in the hallway, a broad shoulder skimming against his during passing periods and Remus wanted to taste the aftershave on Sirius's neck.

Sirius would send him whisper smiles in Herbology.

In Potions.

Every opportunity for a glance in each others direction became an opportunity for a secret smile, or a wink, grey eyes twinkling with nothing but trouble. Thats all Sirius Black was. Trouble. Not someone Remus wanted to mix himself up with in his final year, in the beginnings of a war. There was already talk of secret societies being orchestrated by Dumbledore; already reports in the Daily Prophet and resources for people who wanted to help. Remus knew he already had a target on his back as a werewolf, people unsure whether to trust him and getting involved with Sirius Black wouldn't help the cause any.

But then Remus would look up from his textbook in the library, and see Sirius Black at a table alone, looking straight back. A quick tilt of a dark eyebrow, asking--no daring-- Remus to move. Remus tapped his fingers on the desk, not breaking eye contact, the two engaged in the staring contest of the century, both determined not to break. He was just about to swallow his pride, his ego, and surrender to bravery when Sirius stood up from his table, casually walking over to Remus, silver and green tie loose around his neck, somehow still managing to look refined and not disheveled like the rest of the population.

Remus opened his mouth when Sirius got within earshot, to attempt a greeting. A hey. A I'm losing the ability to control myself. A stop looking at me like that, please.

A what would you do if they never found us out?

Sirius put his hand flat on the table, looking down at Remus, tilting his head to the side, "Hey."

"Hello."

"We make a good team."

"What?"

"We got an O on our Mimulus aurantiacus."

"Oh. Yeah," Remus said lamely, scooting back in his chair to avoid having to strain his neck to look up at Sirius. It was too close, it was too much. Remus could see every dark eyelash and the beauty mark below Sirius's left eye; his crooked eyetooth and the planes of his face and the warmth of his skin. Remus would put money on Sirius's expanses skin being able to keep him warm, thaw every chill in Remus's body, imagining what it would be like to be pressed into a mattress underneath Sirius.

What would you do if I went to touch you now?

And then Sirius gave him that smile, the corner raising higher than it ever had and Remus's breathing hitched at the sight. This boy was beyond intoxicating, more potent than any shot of firewhiskey had had ever taken.

"Don't want to talk to me anymore, Lupin?" Sirius asked, as teasing tone in his voice, "Project over and you can't be seen with me?"

"I..what...do you want to talk about?"

"I don't. Not really."

"...So I should...mind my own business?"

"Not that either," Sirius said, and bent down lower, leaning all the way across the table and Remus could feel his face flush. It was late enough that the library was nearly empty, close to curfew and students had mostly cleared out. Madame Pince was likely in the back and closing for the evening. And then there was Sirius, with his lips skimming the shell of Remus's ear as he spoke. "Can you be quiet, Lupin?" he whispered.

"I think so."

What would you do if we never made a sound?

"Good, because Merlin knows I have not stopped thinking about you," Sirius said, standing up once more. "I'll see you outside."

I can see you, waiting down the hall for me.

The next day, Remus turned the corner out Ancient Runes, instantly spotting Sirius leaning one shoulder against the wall, his expensive leather bag over the other. The whisper smile that first caught Remus's attention flickering, as if the other boy was unable to stop it at the sight of Remus, both of them remembering the night before.

An abandoned hallway, just shy of the library, hidden behind tapestries and staircases, the two of them ignoring both bells of warning for curfew.

One of Remus's hands above his head, plastered to the wall with the rest of of his body as Sirius kissed him roughly. Endlessly. Wanting to steal every attempt at conversation and word Remus could possibly offer and Remus let him. Sirius Black did not kiss nice and Remus wouldn't have had it any other way.

I can see you, up against the wall with me.

It was bold.

Exhilarating.

Remus finally answering Sirius's eyebrow of a dare and pushing robes off the other boys shoulders, throwing them to the ground, their feet caught in a heap of dark fabric. Stepping on toes and unable to get enough of each other.

"How quiet can you be, Lupin?" Sirius asked, his voice low. His hands on the buckle of Remus's belt.

"Very."

"Let's see about that..."

They keep watchful eyes on us

It's best that we move fast and keep quiet

Remus inhaled as he walked by Sirius with his friends, shoulders brushing, fingers touching for the tiniest of moments, the two of them lost in a fantasy together. Sirius cocked his head to the side, just enough for Remus to see the deep red bruise on his neck poking out of the top of his shirt collar.

What would you do, baby, if you knew? That I can see you.

[thefurriestofchows]

woah psychonauts art in 2024

if u just wanna look at the art and scroll ur good to do so :] if u wanna know where i’ve been, read below!! 💖

soooo, hi!!

i know, its been awhile since you’ve properly heard from me. i’m sorry :((

i got into psychonauts near the end of HS / beginning of college, and between COVID, graduation, and all the major changes in my life, it was an amazing place to just make art i loved and explore stories with the characters i love :]

as time went on, i began to step away from here to focus more on college and my work

i also got into different things since then! Barry, HLVRAI, just to name a few

i haven’t ever forgotten my love for psychonauts, not for a second, in fact, my inspiration for coming back here was watching a play through by a new streamer i found

watching someone react to it for the first time just made me fall in love with it all over again.

and now, here we are

i graduated, and now i’m fresh in the world trying to figure out what to do with my life

I’m currently figuring out a job and all that gross adult stuff, but even now in time of great change, i’m drawn back to the world of psychonauts

now the big question — what about the riptide au?

i’ll be honest: i reread riptide, there’s parts i like, parts i didn’t, and parts i completely forgot what i was setting up for

ive matured as a writer and storyteller since riptide’s conception, and i think it needs a refresher / boost

i think you can already see that from tholomew’s design — i tweaked a few things while i was drawing it (especially his shoes oh my god i had no idea what i was doing with his shoes before)

i haven’t forgotten any of psychonauts, even as my life heads in different directions. i think, right now, i’m gonna clear out my inbox for a fresh start. if you have any questions about the new riptide au, i’ll try to answer them when i have a spare moment in my day 💖

but yeah, i’m not dead, just got so busy and caught up with life i disappeared for a bit

but here i am again! four years later

but yeah, thats about it, thank you for sticking around :]

[inherstars]

Prospect | Ten Questions (More or Less) | (2 of 2)

What am I even doing with my life. Previous section here.

Cee woke to coughing.  Not hers but Ezra’s, an ugly cycle of shivering, asthmatic inhales and wracking, sputtering hacks that he couldn’t stop.  She sat up enough to see him across the half-dark room, his body bent over the edge of the cot, good arm thrust stiffly to the floor to keep from toppling out of bed.

He wasn’t kidding.  That came on fast.

She threw off her blanket and stumbled barefoot to the sink, fumbling a plastic cup from the dispenser and filling it with water.  She set it aside long enough to help him get sorted upright, though he continued coughing, desperate for air.

After an eternity he caught his breath, and Cee coaxed the water into his hand.  He tried to shake his head but she manually forced his fingers around it until, reluctantly, he drank.

She didn’t quite know what to do here.  Her father tended to his own wounds and maladies and shitty moods, rejecting her every suggestion or attempt at ministration.  This was uncharted territory… probably for them both.

Cee plastered a hand to the back of his neck.  Across his forehead.  He gulped and closed his eyes and murmured in his throat.

“It will pass,” he croaked.

“Yeah, but you’re still going through it right now.”  She left him for a few seconds, stealing a thick stack of tri-fold paper towels from the wall dispenser and soaking them thoroughly.  When she came back to the bed she laid it across the back of his neck, and he shuddered in relief.

“I… I apologize for waking you.”

“It’s fine.”  She resettled alongside him, hip to hip, hands dangling between her knees. “My internal clock isn’t off, like yours.”

“That’s a relief, actually. Only one of us should be this incapacitated.”  He sighed, finishing the rest of the water in a few long, sustained swallows.  That was a good idea.  She was a smart kid.  He exhaled and set the cup down on the table. “However, I think I am done sleeping for the time being.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

They sat in silence for awhile, Ezra’s whole body seeming to rise and fall with each labored breath.

Eventually Cee asked, “...do you want to play a game?”

He didn’t reject the idea outright, but it was obviously a novel concept to him.  Most of the things he’d once done for fun could be counted on -- and executed by -- the hand he’d left behind in The Green, and he doubted that’s what she had in mind anyway.  What the hell kind of games did teenage girls play?

“Are we… wagering?”

She looked at him strangely. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s the last sort of game I played.  Well.  On a technicality, I suppose that was actually Russian Roulette.  In which -- in the event you are unfamiliar with the specifics of that particular game -- I was the victor."

“No, I… I was thinking, like… twenty questions.”

He looked worried.  “Twenty is a lot of questions.  May I make you a counter-offer of ten?”

Cee sighed.  She adjusted the wet fold of towels on his neck.

“Okay, ten.  But I get to start.”

He gestured at her gallantly.  Be my guest.

“Why do you talk like that?”

He sat back, thrown.  “Like what?”

“Like…” God, where did she even start?  “I don’t know, you’re like… a walking, taking Terms of Service contract.”

He huffed.  “Might be you’re just unaccustomed to to the vagaries of speech from someone who’s been so long--ohhh.  Oh, alright, I hear it now.”

In rare form, Cee actually cracked a smile.  Ezra settled back into a slouch, thinking it over.

“Well.  What are we but a sum of the people and places we surround ourselves with.  I have always been surrounded by the type of people who… sound like me.”  He looked at her.  “Can’t say as I’ve ever had it pointed out before, and we’re blind to the things we see and hear every day, so.  There you are.”

She nodded, seeing the sense in that.  “Okay.”

“Is it my turn now, is that how this game of yours works?”

“Sure.”

He squinted.  “How old are you?”

Well, that was easy.  “Sixteen.”  When he sat up again in surprise she pressed, “How old did you think I was?  You called me a little girl back on the moon.”

“I didn’t mean anything either improper or untoward by that, it was merely an observation.  There are no children in The Green.  Or, at least, that was my experience until we ran into the Sater boy.  I suppose it escaped me that they were… interbreeding out there, to horrific results.  You also were not, to my initial impression, excessively womanly in your appearance or carriage.”

Cee squinted at him.  “What does that mean?”

Ezra was immediately uncomfortable.  “...can we just skip to the next question?”

She gave him an odd sidelong look, then asked, “When did you start going gray?”

He suspected this was a roundabout way of asking him how old he was, but opted to be evasive.  His palm passed alongside his head, smoothing the sparsely silver-flecked black.

“I am a few years out from my last beautician appointment…”

“No,” Cee corrected, and reached out to tug the little white lick of hair at his right temple. “This.”

“Oh, this?” He brushed it thoughtlessly with his fingers.  “I forget that’s there.  No, that’s not owing to my advanced years, that’s always been there.”

“Always?”

“Near as I am aware, I was born with it.”  He smiled.  “I always thought it made me look distinguished.  It’s my turn again, no?”

Cee nodded.  While he gathered his thoughts she took the towels from his neck and went to drench them again at the sink.  She nearly missed his question under the sound of running water.

“Where is your mother?”

Cee twisted shut the spigot, standing there for a moment.  She could feel the precise spot on her back where Ezra’s gaze rested.

“Uh.  Dead.  She died when I was still pretty little.”

“Any other family?”

Returning to his side, settling on the cot’s edge, she carefully laid the towels back into place.  In spite of himself he closed his eyes and let out an indulgent breath.

“No.  None that I know of, anyway.  My Mom died while we were living on Cavaria.”

“How did she pass, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Are we stacking questions?”

“I am in no condition to count right now,” Ezra said.  “So take that as you will.”

Cee sighed.  “My Mom got sick.  The doctors never figured out what it was from.  They were still running tests, trying to diagnose her when she just… died.  Pretty suddenly.  It left us -- my father and I -- in a lot of debt.  He decided to take up prospecting to help settle everything.”  Her eyes slipped sideways to him, vaguely surprised to find him still focused on her, serious and soft, actually listening.  She wasn’t used to that.  “That’s why we were on The Green.”

Ezra breathed in deeply, deeply, facing forward again, his exhale so long and slow and soft that Cee couldn’t even hear it.

Her father had a plan, before he and Number Two intervened, throwing her world and everything in it completely off axis. Perhaps it was their fate to strike it rich.  To fill their proverbial pockets with aurelac and jet for the open skies.  It should have been them, the two of them, father and daughter, sharing this little berth, celebrating the changing winds of fortune and making ready to head home.  Wherever home was, these days.

Oh, but then he had to sidestep into the picture, didn’t he?  Enter, stage left.  As he always did.  An unwelcome visitor who wouldn’t leave.  A splinter embedded under the skin too suddenly and too deeply to be excised without a lot of bloodshed.

He made a difficult sound in his throat.  “Cee, I…”

“It’s my turn again.”

Ezra checked her hesitantly, but her face read the same.  Even, calm, consuming volumes just by by staring.  His head dipped in one small, solitary nod.

“Okay.”

“What about you?  Any family?”

Fair was fair.  It was moments like this one where he missed the ability to rub his hands over each other like a kinesthetic pacifier.

“Ah… if I did at one time, I assure you, none of them would claim me any longer.  No… similar to you, I am an orphan, and -- at least in my case -- probably better off for it.”

“Do you remember your parents?”

“My father, yes.  I lost my mother at a similarly young age, though mine fled out of necessity, and not to Gabriel’s divine bugling.”  He shrugged his shoulder.  “I don’t know the specifics of their courtship, nor too deep the grisly details of their matrimonials, but what I do recall of my father… well, let us just say that I do not fault the haste of her flight.  I also ran like hell the very instant I had the chance.”

What she didn’t ask -- what Ezra hoped against hope she woudn’t ask -- was whether or not he missed her.  In truth, he didn’t remember her enough to miss his mother in any appreciable way, and despite his assertions there was still a thread of underlying resentment for leaving him behind, making him the sole focus of his father’s disapproval and abuse and -- when he was very lucky -- neglect.  So… miss her? No, not precisely.  But he still felt the absence, the pain of missing what she represented, not unlike a phantom limb.

Cee didn’t ask the question, perhaps reading his discomfort in the back-and-forth shift of his eyes.

What she said was, “I’m sorry.”

This turned his head more abruptly than anything else could have.  For a second he didn’t know how to respond, unexpectedly moved, unexpectedly humbled.

“Thank you. I’m… for what it’s worth, I’m… sorry, as well.”

About her mother.  About… God. So many things.

But once again she wasn’t moved.  She didn’t needle or fish for an apology.

“It’s my turn again, isn’t it?” he asked.  She nodded.  “Feel free not to answer this…”

“Okay.”

“Did you, Cee… cry for your father?”

It caught her off guard, to be sure, but not in a way girded by anger or grief.  She had to look away for a moment, actually unsure of her answer.

Did she?  She must have, right?  She should have.  What kind of daughter didn’t cry for her father?

But in reviewing the events of the moment -- the crack of the gun, Damon’s body collapsing into the ferns, the report of Ezra’s own weapon as he ended her father once and for all… there was nothing.  And then later on -- crashing through the greenery to get to the Pod, trying and failing to ready it for flight, floating in a pleasant, chemical delirium… she still can’t actually remember breaking down into tears.

But she grieved him, didn’t she? After the initial shock wore off, surely…

Didn’t she?

Once again Ezra waited, watching her, unmoved by anything else.  Cee looked at him uncomfortably.

“Perhaps we’ll come back to that one,” he said softly, decisive.  She nodded tightly.

“Um. Me again?”

Another singular nod. “You again.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, licking her lips. “Be honest?”

“Me?”  Ezra sat upright. “I am always honest.”  At her look he amended, “I am occasionally creative with some of the unimportant details immediately surrounding the truth, but I am still, nevertheless, technically honest.”  He gestured at her.  “Ask your question.”

Cee said, “Were you going to trade me to those… people?  The… what were they called?  Saters?”

“No.”

Immediate, abrupt, unwavering.  Against her better judgment she believed him, but -- as usual -- he didn’t let it rest there.

“It’s a fair question you ask, make no mistake.  I would wonder it myself, in your diminutive, decidedly womanly shoes--”

A whole-ass eye roll. “Okay, okay.”

“--but, despite occasional appearances to the contrary, I am not a monster.”

“But you hesitated,” she pointed out.  The source of her doubt.

“I did.  Longer than I would have liked.  We were outnumbered, and I was in a bad way.  I needed to figure out how to get us out of it with the least casualty.”  His head tilted lightly, thoughtful.  “Your abrupt exit was probably exactly the turn of events I needed.  So.  Thank you for that.”  Without missing a single beat he said, “My turn again.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you come back for me?”

The two questions were an odd dovetail, to be sure.  Cee struggled with her answer.

“I… I couldn’t leave you.”

“Certainly you could have.  But you didn’t.”

“No…”

“But why?”

Sighing, she reasoned, “Probably for the same reason you wouldn’t have left me with those people.  I’m not a monster.”

“Yes, but I told you to leave me.”

Cee leaned away from him, disdainful.

“You have a lot of bad ideas.”

“Hm.”  He reached back to fix the damp stack of towels. “That’s a fair assessment.”

“Did you think I would leave you?”

“Is that your question?  I’ve lost track, admittedly.”

“Sure.”

He sighed and sank into thought.  “Well.  Yes.  I did.  And it isn’t because I thought you were a monster.  To the contrary, I just… didn’t assume I had earned such mercy, let alone that level of salvation.”

Although she already knew the answer, in part, Cee murmured, “Have you done terrible things?”

“I killed your father.”

Well, there it was.  Plain black and white, no technicalities, no creativity with the details immediately surrounding it.  He killed him.  The bullet came from his gun.  Willingly, with premeditation, with compete knowledge of what he was doing.

When Cee still didn’t acknowledge the admission, Ezra continued, “Everyone has done terrible things for which they feel unworthy of being forgiven.”

“I haven’t,” she countered, but blandly.  A reflex reaction.  She was sure, given enough time, she could think of something.

“You saved me,” Ezra pointed out.  “And if I’ve done terrible things -- and am capable of continuing to do them, of which I don’t think there’s any doubt -- doesn’t that mean, by extension, that you are perpetuating the terrible things I may one day do to others?”

But she wouldn’t be tricked into hating him, even in a circuitous fashion.  Him or anyone else.  She was done with all that.

“No. I plan on keeping you in line.”

Ezra smiled.  Wholly and without reservation.  He had so hard a time losing his smile that he finally had to look away, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Well. I like that.”

Cee reached out, laying the backs of her fingers to his forehead, then gathered the towels from his neck.

“I think the fever backed down.  You should try to sleep while you still can.”

“I will do that.  And you as well, alright?”  He scooted back onto his cot as she stood.  “I’m aware you don’t have the same need for temporal realignment as I do, but I don’t trust you not to go through my things while I’m indisposed.”

Another eye-roll.  Oh yeah, she was definitely sixteen.

Cee consciously waited until Ezra’s breathing evened, becoming more sawing and restful, before she stretched out on her cot.  She was attuned to his gentle shifting as he rolled and tossed, unable to find a position that didn’t either make him cough or press uncomfortably on his limbless shoulder.

Somewhere around the time she tried to make a mental list of all the ways he’d need to learn to acclimate to life without it, she too drifted to sleep.

It wasn’t coughing that woke her the next time, but the stuttering and shivering of his breath, and the dice-rattle chattering of his teeth.  Again she propped herself up, squinting through the dim room, and made out his huddled shape as he hugged his blanket around him, quaking with chills.  Sleep had deserted him, and the fever was back.

“N-no--” he objected when he saw her stand.

“Shut up,” Cee sighed.

“Just--g…go back to sleep.  It has to pass on its own.”

But by then she’d already grabbed her pillow and blanket, dragging them across the room to his cot.  She tried the switch on the kotatsu but, as expected, it wouldn’t even turn on.  Silently she climbed over his legs, tossing down her pillow, and billowed the blanket to fall over them both as she laid down behind him. There was a nice hollow right at his back, and she snuggled into it, relishing the sense of being near to someone again, connected more intimately than just an enviro-suit tether.  Ezra sighed so deeply that for a split second she worried he’d breathed his last.

“You are… a good egg,” he said.

She was stunned to silence for a good minute.  She hadn’t cried for her father, why now did her eyes burn and well?

“...Am I?”

“Undoubtedly.  The finest little bird.”  His breath caught, and he lolled his head back toward her.  “Oh. I nearly forgot.”

“What?”

“A gift.  Can you reach my bag on the floor?”

She sat up, reaching over his outstretched legs, and delved hand into his bag.  She knew by touch which of its contents was for her, hand closing around the old paperback and dragging it out.  Even in the dark she knew its dog-eared cover, its velvet-soft corners, its foxed spine.  

Cee sat back excitedly, paging through it, overwhelmed.  This was not just a copy of Streamer Girl, this was her copy. Her notes were still in the margins.  The tiny thumbnail photo of her mother was still tucked like a bookmark between pages.

She looked at Ezra, his head still turned back enough to smile at her.  He couldn’t have been more pleased with himself.

“Where did you get this?”

“Well,” he began.  “I recalled that you said you had lost your copy, and that your father was happy about that.  I believe in coincidences.  But I did not believe in that particular coincidence.  After I was dispatched from the infirmary, and before I beat a hasty retreat to the commissary, I paid a visit to the ship’s lost and found.  Funny thing, isn’t it, that they’d have one?  But you’d be surprised what goes missing, on a ship this big. Sometimes by accident, and sometimes… well.  There you are.”

Cee looked at the book again, stroking her fingers down the cover.  She pinned it to her chest as she eased down, inching into the warm space at his back.

“Thank you.”

Ezra faced forward again, gazing off into the room.

“It’s not an entirely unselfish gift.  I would like to read it.  Or perhaps to have you read it to me.  I am notoriously bad at concentrating.  Afterwards… perhaps not immediately, but some day, you will share with me your continued adventures with your ‘friends’.  The ones you yourself have penned.  I admit I’m much more curious about those, specifically, but I can be a patient man when the situation warrants.”

Cee folded her arms, book pinned to her chest, and cuddled into his back.  He sighed again in tired relief.

“One more question?” He asked.  “I can’t recall whose turn it was…”

“Sure.”

“Would you like to stay with me, little bird?  When we fly this place?  I cannot promise luxuries, and of course there will be hard work involved, but -- as I am a man of my word -- I promise I will try to make it worth your while.  I am even open to negotiation of the finer points of such a partnership.”

She too stared into the dark, overwhelmed, though her face revealed little.

When she was too long silent, Ezra added, “If you need more time to think about it--”

But she didn’t.  She wormed in close against him, cheek pressed to the back of his shoulder blade, and loosened one hand from the fold of her arms to lay gently on his ribs.  His fingers found hers, resting lightly overtop.

“Alright, then.  Seems we have ourselves a deal.”

[maddiviner]

I saw you had posted about angels. Do you know anything about Angel Numbers? I see 888 and 555 a lot recently. I never saw them before moving to the east coast for school. Now they’re everywhere.

I’m not trying to upset or offend, but I’m very critical of the whole “angel numbers” concept.

Don’t get me wrong. Synchronicities can hold great meaning for a magical practitioner, and these synchronicities can involve a series of numbers that repeats in your life. I’ll even tacitly admit that these synchronicities could sometimes be a spirit’s handiwork, trying to get your attention.

The angel numbers thing oversimplifies this to an extreme. I’ve looked into it, mostly because everyone was pushing it so hard back in 2017-ish. It all just… seemed like platitudes. These folks would see the numbers, rush to the internet and google the “meaning” which was usually something like “Good things are coming,” or “you’re raising your vibration,” etc. It rarely provides actionable information.

This image was circulating on Facebook awhile back, to give you an idea of how angel numbering works in practice. The majority of these angel numbers apparently mean that your life is awesome, good things are coming, angels are all around you, and you’re very special. There’s a few that waffle around about how the person needs to “finish something” or “reconnect with spirituality.” Very broad statements, none too bad, and even the vaguely negative ones end with something upbeat like “things are getting exciting!”

I prefer systems of spirit communication (or divination) that account for the full spectrum of human experience. Imagine trying to do a Tarot reading with all the possibly-negative cards removed. You would receive an incomplete, sugarcoated picture of the situation, likely to do more harm than good.

A few sites out there do give negative (or at least less-than-positive) meanings for these numbers. The few negative “angel number” definitions I’ve seen are equal to the positive ones in their vagueness, and, again, usually give no real actionable information. All in all, the “angel number” concept often amounts to toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing. Ignoring the negative aspects won’t make them go away, you’ll miss a lot.

In my earlier Enochian reading list, I linked to a magician’s memoir of magic in the late 1980s. There’s a particularly disturbing moment described therein where repeating numbers (particularly 333) appear.

Rather than being a sign that “the ascend masters are nearby, you’re in great hands,” it was the prelude to absolute chaos. In the Enochian system of angelic magic (which the magicians in the memoir work within), the number 333 has a more sinister meaning. In fact, it’s associated with the demon Choronzon! I screenshotted part of that book - pretty ominous, eh? It’s a far cry from being in great hands! (Pardon the Wikipedia link. It may be a Wiki but it does give a good overview.)

(Sorry for the weird highlighting all over the book. I started doing it in college and never kicked the habit. It’s the best way (for me) to absorb what I read. Typically I use OpenDyslexic, too, which helps, but I changed the font so that it would be more legible for y’all.)

Goes to show you that the “meanings” of these repeating numbers are going to vary depending on what system you’re working in and what symbolism rattles around in your head. The lists and websites about “angel numbers” won’t acknowledge that, though. In fact, very few give any references as to where these meanings are coming from at all. With that in mind, why trust “angel numbers” as a concept?

I can see on Google that a could of sites are claiming that “angel numbers” is an ancient concept dating back to Pythagoras. Yeah, no. Pythagoras had nothing to do with “angel numbers.” Rather, Pythagoras is the founder of a school of numerology. While I’d consider the “angel numbers” concept to be a a (warped) form of numerology, it’s utterly unlike what Pythagoras actually taught.

In reality, of course, Pythagoras was a philosopher, mathematician, and a legit mystic. He conjured a complex system of numerology, and it endures today in some circles. It’s way different than those angel numbers, though! Have a look! This particular page, by the unbeatable Benebell Wen, focuses on using numerology to find your “life path” number, which can then be analyzed alongside other numerological values,

Notice that the meanings are compartmental, meant to be understood within a wider context. They also have both positive and negative aspects of each number listed. The negative aspects are actually negative. Life path numbers are described in terms like arrogant, bossy, argumentative, codependent, egocentric.. and yet, also with positive qualities, such as leadership skills, a nurturing mindset, a strong work ethic, a propensity to help the less fortunate, etc. Other life paths get described as artists, fighters, leaders

Pythagorus’s numerology proper gives the spirits a lot of vocabulary for communicating with you. A spirit trying to warn you of something, for example, might do it more easily with this traditional Pythagorean numerology than through angel numbers.

Above is a clip from the article on Pythagorean numerology, discussing various “life paths.” You’ve got the good, the bad and the ugly traits listed for life paths one and two. The rest of the nine paths are treated with an equal degree of balance. While this particular numerology page doesn’t provide as much info on Pythagoras himself, it’s obviously a far cry from “the microwave said 3:33, it means the ascend masters are around me,” or the usual “good things coming soon” vibe of most angel numbers.

In other words, Pythagorean numerology has little to do with angel numbers and the New Agers should probably stop saying he “discovered angel numbers” or trying to link him to them in any way. He was a mathematician in addition to his philosophical work, and he did teach that the universe could be reduced to numbers ultimately, but that’s a far cry from the angel number mythos.That site I just linked has a lot of other good information, too. I really like Benebell’s work.

Ironically, as I’m writing this, I see that the clock says 3:33 am, but I doubt I’ll post it until later today. I recognize synchronicities are real and may even be messages from specific spirits, but I don’t believe this angel number concept is the best paradigm for approaching them. There’s nothing challenging about it, nothing to get your blood flowing, no liminal push, no impetus to grow. Just “expect the highest good,” and “your vibration is rising,” etc.

Again, I hope this doesn’t offend too many people.

I’m not trying to be mean or insult people who actually do like the angel numbers concept. I just really dislike it, for the reasons I’ve given. If you’re fond of it, it’s just something we’ll have to agree to disagree about. I gotta admit, I question the discernment involved. I don’t think indulging in the concept makes you a bad person or anything like that.

After all, you’re not exactly harming another person by fiddling with these angel numbers. I’m just saying that from my perspective (which was requested), angel numbers can sometimes promote toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing. And I do think there’s better paradigms for learning numerology out there. I’m sure there’s books on numerology in various cultures that give actual details unlike angel number memes.

Most of my numerology studies (smallish, my main interests are elsewhere) came form books that weren’t about numerology, but had a section or two about it.

If anyone else has any thoughts, feel free to reblog with them…

Anyways, my personal favorite angel number is 420 I guess. 🤣

[countrymusiclover]

7 - The Waring Battlefield

Part 8

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons

A Few Weeks Later

The tent flap got pushed opened revealing Chezney coming inside my tent. She was wearing a light blue cloak over a darker blue dress. She had her hair loose and two pieces pinned up. “Haelesa. Let’s go exploring.”

“We’re in a war camp, Chez. I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” Sitting upright on the edge of the bed in the tent. I was in a red lion tunic and trousers having my hair completely loose falling down my shoulders.

She put a hand on her hip scowling at me. “We can’t remain in our tents forever. So I’m going with or without you.” Her hair got thrown once she spun around on her feet leaving me until I briefly decided to follow her regardless.

Jaime and I had only spoken briefly since his father had put him in charge of the Lannister army. I took great appreciation in the fact that he had allowed us to come along with him for whatever reason I wasn’t sure yet. My assumption was to hide the fact that I was still a maiden and not soon to be with child. This concept was a lovely thought, I still had doubts that was his plan. Chezney and I had our cloaks tightly around us walking through the camp until I saw there was an escape hole and most of the camp was busy preparing for the wounded coming in and the new soldiers going out. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to see some of the battle.”

“Haven’t you seen the battle plans?” My best friend asked me.

“Believe me. I’ve attempted but wasn’t allowed in. Now keep your head and voice down and follow me. Quickly now.” I warned her to hurry as quickly as possible. Throwing my cloak hood upwards to shield my head bolting towards the entrance before anyone could catch us and she met up with me.

Stumbling into the side of a large tree slightly on the hill side my vision could see the flat battlefield of Stark and Lannister men running straight towards the other. Weapons drawn from all sides and the red blood scattered across the grass. “This might be a bad idea. What if Jaime gets killed or captured?”

“Aren’t you the same person who told me repeatedly that he’s the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms. He’ll probably be fine.” I glared at my best friend turning my attention back on the battle before us.

We remained watching for awhile sitting on the ground until Chezney heard some twigs snapping behind us. “What was that?”

“It’s probably nothing. Just a squirrel or something.”

She began panicking. “No. I heard something, Hael’s.”

“You’re being ridiculous. We are in the middle of a forest. There’s tons of different noises and things out there.”

Chezney got to her feet frantically looking behind us. “You don’t think they would send out scots to come capture some people from the Lannister camp would you?”

“Do I look like a battlefield expert to you? Now pay attention we don’t want to miss them - seven hells they have Jaime!” I instantly saw some men manage to grab Jaime and manage to shove him into the mud. "Jaime!”

“Haelesa! They’ve got me.” Chezney suddenly screamed with someone dragging her away from me.

“Chezney, let her go - ugh!” Reaching for my sword I attempted to draw it out and attack whoever it was until someone began shoving their rough hands on me. I thrashed around feeling someone shove their hands over my mouth. Whoever my holder was they managed to shove a bag over my head and bound my hands in metal restraints.

The person holding me dropped my body into some mud speaking to whoever was in charge of this. "I found two girls watching the battle from the treeline. One wears the Lannister cloak." The hood is yanked off my head tousling my hair around and in front of my eyes where I have to blink a few times before my vision clears. Another guard dropped Jaime beside me where I see he has cuts of blood and dirt on his hair and in his golden hair.

"By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened." Blinking my eyes a few times I recognized my brother's voice following his movements to see him standing beside my mother wearing full armor. "Haelesa. Chezney, what are you doing here?"

Jaime tilted his head interrupting our conversation before I could reply. "Lady Stark. I'd offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it." I could hear his breathing was uneven from the fight.

"It's not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband." Lady Stark spat towards him eyeing me while I was still chained on my knees.

Jaime dropped his gaze to the mud slumping his shoulders. "I've lost them too, I'm afraid."

“We simply wanted to watch the battle, Lady Stark. We never thought we’d get captured even though I told you something was watching us.” Chezney snapped at me on her knees locked in chains just as Jaime and I were in the moment.

Rolling my eyes I met Lady Stark’s eyes. “Not the time, Chezney!”

“My lady wife just couldn’t bear the thought of being away from me.." Jaime teased her with a smirk as I gave him a death glare, he wasn’t helping the situation. Neither of them were.

Robb knitted his brows together looking like he might try and kill the lion right at his feet. He rested a hand tightly on the handle of his sword angered for a reason I couldn’t place. “Robb, please don’t hurt me and Chezney. He asked us to accompany him but we weren’t meaning to spy I swear.” I exclaimed holding up my bond wrists pleading that he would release me.

"What are we going to do with them?” Lady Stark eyed her eldest son.

Theon Greyjoy suggested staring down at him while he still held onto the rope connected to my chains. "Kill him, Robb. Send his head to his father. He cut down 10 of our men...you saw him."

"He's more use to us alive than dead." Robb trailed off drawing his sword walking over and cut the chains off my wrists.

Knitting my brows together I was taken back by what he had just done. I suspected I would have been a prisoner just like the Lannister lion at my side. “You’re letting me go?”

“You and your friend, yes.” Robb moved a step over sliding the restraints off of Chezney too. He offers me his freehand, bright eyes pouring down into mine so gently. "Take my hand. I’m not going to hurt you, Haelesa.”

Lady Stark tugs me away from Jaime looping my arm through hers speaking to the guards holding him. "Take him away and put him in irons."

"We could end this war right now, boy, save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords or lances, teeth, nails ... choose your weapon and let's end this here and now." Jaime leaned forward attempting to persuade my brother before the men locked him away in chains.

Robb stands beside my side putting his sword back in its holder. "If we do it your way, Kingslayer, you'd win. We're not doing it your way." He snarled down to my husband watching the guards drag him off towards the cells

Chezney asked the young one once his men had dispersed and his mother had gone along with them. “So you aren’t going to put us away in chains?”

“No, this war is not between you and Haelesa.” He explained gesturing his head in the direction of his camp and some tents that they had set up. “Come with me. I’ll show you to my tent and we can have one made up for the two of you to share.”

The three of us walked through the camp stopping outside of a tent before a man with a completely white beard came over in our direction addressing him. “Lord Stark?”

“Lord Umber, please inform some men that I need a new tent to be pitched up for Lady Haelesa and her friend Chezney. They will be staying in our camp now.” Robb gestured between the two of us.

The elderly lord nodded, walking off. “Of course, my lord.”

“Thank, Lord Stark.” I curtseye to the young wolf and Chezney did the same addressing him.

Shifting my attention to the young wolf I sent him a half smile joyed to see him after months of being apart. He was different than the last time. He now was working on growing a nice stubble on his chin and his natural curls were a lot more curly. “I thought we made an arrangement, Haelesa.”

“My apologies, Robb.” I felt my face turning red missing the way my name sounded coming from his lips.

Chezney nudged my arm pulling us from our comfortable silence that had fallen between me and the young lord. “Hey I’m getting hungry. We should look for some food.”

“Uh yes. There should be some food being prepared for the evening.” Robb shakes his head pulling himself from his daze. His gaze lowered down to our still interested hands before he finally separated from me. “I'll see you later, Haelesa.”

Chezney wisseled for my attention seeing as I hadn't moved away from him. There was a comfortable feeling that I could sense between me and Robb. A comfort that I hadn't felt with Jaime since I had met him. “Robb, I…Could I see you later if you've got time?”

“Absolutely.” He answered me back with a half smile. Nodding my head I spun on my feet looping my arm with my best friend, feeling a bright smile grace my lips.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[authurials]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ... 1/2

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you had worked too hard to lose aemond to the pathetic whispers of a pious court

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . two​

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 . @holy-minseok​

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations, referenced sexual situations, referenced violence/mild gore, language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . took me awhile to get this out because i’ve been struggling with a chest infection but i’ve finally recovered enough to get back to writing; this isn’t the best thing i’ve written in my opinion, but i think it’s a good start to getting back into the swing of things--remember to like, comment and reblog if you enjoy reading! do not repost/claim as your own please

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 burned in your ears as you made your way down the halls of court, head held high and hands folded together primly in front of you. Although ladened with the regalia of the Seven, you did not allow the stone walls that surrounded you to intimidate you into submission. You were the eldest daughter of a king, who though a monarch of a smaller and lesser known kingdom than Westeros raised you to be cunning and prideful–to never accept less than what you deserved; and you deserved better than what the cunts of King’s Landing and possibly beyond were saying about you. You were a princess, wife to the king of Westeros’ second eldest son, and you would not bend or break to the ugly rumors being levied against you.

Even if there was truth to their whispers, you thought, smiling tugging tightly at your lips; flanked on either side by knights of the Kingsguard, you obediently allowed yourself to be escorted to the small council who no doubt wanted to discuss the validity of the  ‘concerning’ words being spoken about your name. Even before your carefully crafted facade had begun to slip in the eyes of those at court you had begun to put into place your defense, plotting it carefully so that you might have a better chance at salvaging all your hard work. And hard work it had been, you thought irritably as you recalled the first time you had made the acquaintance of Aemond Targaryen.

Right from the start you had intended him for your husband, having found him to be a suitable and advantageous match that would bring future notoriety to your house and grow your father’s influence. When your father was invited to attend King Viserys in court in hopes of creating a bond between the two kingdoms, you knew that this was your chance to put your plan into action. From your first meeting though, when the second born prince had gazed at you with barely a hint of interest in his one pearlescent blue eye, you knew you had your work cut out for you. He proved to be a pious boy you observed within your first few days in the capital; watching as he attended services in the sept with his mother, and how he dutifully carried out grace before each feast could commence between the two families.

Your attempts at seduction would not work, that much you knew for sure; if anything, any sign of loose morals would only have served to draw the prince’s ire and disgust. He had not wanted a whore for a companion, but someone who concerningly resembled his mother in her piety and devotion–so that is what you gave him. Luckily, pretending to be chaste was not an unknown concept for you; high morality was a character trait you had pulled upon quite frequently in the past, using it to titillate many of the men and even women you had welcomed into your bed over the years. There was something alluring about the debauchery of innocence, and to be the one to take it you had found was a prize not many were willing to pass up–except for Aemond, you came to find out.

You had been tending to the homeless and downtrodden of Flea Bottom when the pair of you engaged in your first conversation, one that was not forced by the close proximity of your families’ shared suppers or the everyday required pleasantries. Though the lesser work of caring for those who could not care for themselves in part disgusted you, you did not let it show that day as Aemond forwent his responsibility of finding his drunkard brother in exchange for escorting you through the lower rungs of King’s Landing. It would become the first of many ‘coincidental’ encounters with the prince in which you were able to show off how unconcerned you were with the finer things of royal life, and instead wished to dedicate your time to those less fortunate; not only that, but how interested you were in familiarizing yourself with the Faith of the Seven, as your own kingdom had no such dedicated religion. And the prince was all too happy to be your tutor, though he always made it a point of the pair of you having a chaperone–lest your virtue be called into question.

The questioning had not begun until recently, many moons after the consummation of yours and Aemond’s marriage; it had been the prince’s first time, that you were certain of. You recalled the way he had clung to you as he reached his completion, hips stuttering into yours as he panted and eventually held himself there inside of you–allowing his seed to take. Though you had found your own pleasure in the act it paled in comparison to some of your other lovers, one of which had taken up within the Keep as part of your family’s holding of servants. Ultimately, this servant–a man you had bedded many times over the years–would be your downfall. He had been the one to let your affairs slip from drunken lips, cockily expressing how he had managed to bed the prince’s wife, whose lips were not only made for the hymns of the Seven but also to service a cock. You had managed to take his tongue before your incarceration into your bed chambers, ordered by the Queen Mother while she sorted everything out.

And what a shame it was, you recalled spitefully, it was a very good tongue after all.

You stopped outside the double doors to the council room, the guard posted outside entering beforehand to ensure the council was ready to receive you. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders, determined to hold your head high and meet their eyes–you would give them no reason to doubt your words. From within you could hear the guard announcing your presence, and the proceeding muffled voice of who you gauged to be your good mother, Queen Alicent. The guard returned, this time holding the door open as the knight on your left side gently prodded you to move forward. Resisting the urge to spew venom at him for treating you in such a manner unbefitting your station, you stepped forward into the room to face the people that were your judge and jury.

As expected, Alicent sat in the middle of the congregation, flanked on either side of the table by the men of her husband’s small council–including the Hand and Alicent’s father, Otto Hightower. The man had never liked you or your family, and the feeling was mutual; he was as much of a snake as you, and it took one’s own kin to see through the facade both sides had been crafting for their own benefit for years. You saw each other as threats, and this proved true as their judgment of you began and Otto stood in opposition of showing you mercy. All the while your husband stood quietly in the corner, head bowed and hands folded behind his back; his lack of eye contact with you made it clear that you would stand alone today, that it would be up to you alone to clear your name and salvage what you could of this mess.

“You stand here today accused of impropriety unbefitting of your station,” Alicent spoke, clearing her throat; you made note of how uncomfortable she looked to be there, to have to be the one hosting the proceedings against her son’s wife–perhaps you could use this to your advantage. “What say you, good daughter?”

“I say….” You put on your best face, hands gripping each other nervously as you bowed your head as if in prayer. “I say that these accusations have wounded me deeply, and I cannot fathom as to why anyone would speak such horrid things about me into existence.”

“Exactly,” Otto hummed, “what reason would anyone have to create such a story if there was no validity to it, my lady?”

“That is a fair point,” another man of council interjected, nodding; you lifted your head to gaze at him coolly before bowing your head once more. “This volume of rumors cannot be ignored. Not to mention your quick dispatching of the first man who spoke out against you-”

“His vile words are the reason I stand before you!” You found yourself spitting out, lifting your head; you could feel the fire burning in your eyes, quickly squashing it as you blinked and took another deep breath to calm yourself. “Apologies, I find the reminder of that disgusting man too much to bear. It is he who disparaged my good name, bringing into question my purity when I have always been and will continue to be….loyal to my husband, Prince Aemond.”

You once more found yourself glancing over at Aemond, hoping he would’ve been looking up and your eyes would lock, allowing you to soften his doubts about you; mayhaps then he would speak out in your favor, squashing the awful questioning of his family and the council. Alas, your hopes were the only thing squashed when all you saw was the tightening of his jaw as he continued to look down at your feet.

“Your words prove pretty as always, my lady,” Otto continued, a smirk discernible beneath his beard, “but they will do nothing to repair the damage that these accusations have caused. You have brought shame upon the Targaryen name, and have left us with no choice but to-”

“Who are you to judge me?” You interrupted him, finding that fire within growing once more; you had always prided yourself on maintaining your coolness in situations such as this, but Lord Hightower’s cockyness was proving too much for you today. Truly, who was he to judge you? You were not blind to his own transgressions against the crown–the way he puppeteered his own family for his own personal gain. “Who are any of you to judge me?”

You looked at each small council member in turn, daring them to meet your eye but none other than Otto were brave enough to do so; Alicent herself could only muster up a look of pity as your gaze fell on her, it was only a brief stare but you saw it plain as day. Your good queen mother pitied you, being the only one in the room who understood the precarious position of a woman in court–how delicate a balance it was, how one false step could lead to a downfall.

“The only judgment I see fit to pass upon me is that of the Seven,” you spat out. “They are the ones who see me as I truly am, my soul having been bared to them since my good mother and husband were so kind to teach me their ways–is that not right, my husband?”

Finally, Aemond had no choice but look upon you, his one eye scaling up your figure, watching the way your hands now gripped at the skirts of your dress and how your chest lifted with each breath you took; you willed him to see the woman he had fallen in love with, the one you had made him worship like he did at your false altar. Yet, there was nothing there but the pain of betrayal, the tight set of his jaw as he looked away from you and towards his grandfather, to whom he gave a stiff nod. It was then that you knew you had lost him, that there was nothing more that you could say or do to repair the damage your own hubris had created; the game you had so eloquently played over the past several moons was over, and there was no victor but that of Otto Hightower as he passed down your sentence–

An annulment, that was the only course of action anyone on the small council saw fit to take; it would leave Aemond open to a more suitable match Otto claimed as you still stood there in that room, finally stunned to silence, no ally in your room unless the sympathetic glance of the queen counted for anything. You would be sent back to your father’s kingdom in shame, where the grasp of the court’s whispers had surely already reached, leaving you with little other prospects in terms of another marriage other than a low ranking lord or even worse a merchant with no titles. It was truly a fate unbefitting of your natural born status as princess, a fitting punishment in the eyes of the men of the council.

You said nothing as they passed down your sentence, simply standing with your head held high and hands now folded behind your back. There was no need to pretend anymore….

So you simply smiled and began to laugh.

Your laughter stopped Otto in his tracks as he made plans to write to your father, and instructed his daughter to ensure the servants began packing up your belongings that day. They all looked at you in confused silence, even Aemond who had a frown on his lips as he looked upon you.

“Is something funny? Or have you simply finally gone mad?” Otto asked, standing from his seat at the council’s table.

“Oh, I am surely mad,” you laugh, shoulders shaking, “but not as much as you are about to be, lord hand.”

“What nonsense do you speak of, whore?” A council member spat out.

You noticed Aemond instinctively lay a hand on the pommel of his sword ready to defend you, and in that moment you did feel something akin to affection for your husband; maybe there was a chance of saving this union yet, but first you had to deal with the council of idiots before you.

“Did you really think I would just allow you to take away everything I worked so hard for?” You hummed, walking towards the table they all rested behind. The guards on either side of the table stepped forward, hands on their own swords much like Aemond but you paid them no mind, simply stopping so that you were eye to eye with the Hand. “Then we have gravely underestimated each other, Lord Hightower.”

“What position do you believe you have to stand on, girl?” Otto smirked. “You are nothing more than what your cunt allows, and it appears that even its luck has run out; even my grandson wishes to be rid of your poisonous wiles.”

“Father-” Alicent began, looking pale and faint.

“Even if he has no love for me,” you tilted your head, a pleasant smile on your lips, “I’m sure he would not allow for the mother of his child to be sent away.”

The silence that proceeded settled warmly in your stomach, satisfaction clear on your face as you looked from Otto to his grandson, whose hand had fallen from his sword to hang limply at his side in shock. For many moons the pair of you had been trying for a child, for Aemond Targaryen wanted nothing more than to be a father and you wanted nothing more than to solidify his loyalty to you. It had been a precarious thing to accomplish, ensuring his seed was the one to take root and not one of your lover’s, but you were certain that the child you carried was of no stock but that of the Targaryens.

“How do we know you are simply not spreading more falsities?” A member of the council expressed what everyone else must be thinking. “Or that the child is even Aemond’s?”

“Do you really wish to take that risk?” You pout, lips curving into a smirk. “Especially when I have already told the good news to his grace, the king.”

Easy to manipulate in his current state, King Viserys adored you as his good daughter, believing you a fitting match for Aemond. You had spent many a day by his bedside, lending him your ear as he spoke fondly of past memories, or your voice as you read to him from his favorite books. He was the first you told when you found out you were with child, and at the prospect of another grandchild the good side of his face had lit up with such happiness; it was then that you knew that if Aemond’s loyalty could not be secured then his father’s fondness would have to do. You were all but untouchable as long as you remained in the king’s good graces, and you knew from his eldest daughter and the whispers that followed her that Viserys was not the kind to let rumors sway him.

“You scheming cunt-” Otto grounded out, making it as if he were going to lean over the table and grab you.

“That is quite enough, father,” Alicent finally spoke, raising her hand to silence any further objections. “It appears as if our hands our tied–”

She looked up at you, and the pride was clear in her eyes as she continued.

“We have no choice but to allow her to stay here, at least until the babe is born; we will know for sure if the child is my son’s.”

“You can’t possibly think to allow her to stay here, daughter-”

“As your queen,” Alicent bit out, “this is what I have decided. I will hear no more of annulment or sending my good daughter away until the patronage of the baby is confirmed. Am I understood?”

She looked around at the men, and you noted the uncomfortable way in which each man shifted under her gaze–leaving no room for questions; each of them nodded stiffly before being dismissed, even Otto was given no choice but to take his leave, eyes holding a promise that this wasn’t over as he gave you one last look before he left. Your satisfaction was short lived however as you found yourself alone with your good mother and husband, both of whom had their eyes on you. It appeared you still had your work cut out for you getting back into their good graces, but it was no worry–

You had many moons ahead of you to prove yourself once again worthy of them and their false gods.

[sleepytownzzz]

an eye for an eye.

[kusur1uri]

touch

a/n: this is just something i’ve had sitting in my notes for awhile. this concept made me weak ngl.

warnings: nsfw. fem reader. unfinished, probably a lil rushed. teasing. praise. guided masturbation. use of “good girl” and pet names (dear, angel).

word count: 371

"tell me, my angel," he whispers into your ear as his fingers find your clit, sliding his tongue across the tip of your ear while you melt deeper into him, "did you touch yourself while i was away?" 

you shudder, feeling his fingers glide across the wetness that gathered in your core, whimpers escaping from your lips as his slickened fingers begin to circle your clit, hips lightly jolting to swallow his touches. you moan, throwing your head back into his chest. his grip tightens around your neck, fingers pressing gently to the sides to coax an answer.

you whimper, the sounds of your wetness brought to your ears, "yes." you moan, gasping as his pace quickens. 

you feel a smile against your skin, writhing against his strong hold, arching as the incomings of an orgasm begins to burn within you—then he stops. your hand falls to the sheets, a whine forming in your throat.

“show me.” kusuriuri says, his voice low, fingers rising from your cunt to rest upon your breast, “touch yourself.”

you hum softly, turning to face him with a look of question, your cheeks burning with heat at his command. he’s serious—lips curled into a subtle smirk, his eyes exploring the expanse of your shivering body—all while his hand remains wrapped around your neck. your hand rises, fingers grazing your abdomen, lowering slowly to your aching cunt. a deep inhale enters you as your eyes close, leaning your head back into him as you start to pleasure yourself. heat overtakes your entire body as it burns against his, soft moans slipping out of your mouth as his words of encouragement—“good girl” “just like that, dear” “show me how good it feels”—spill into your ear, prompting you to hasten your touches. his hand travels down to your clit in favour of replacing yours, which you gladly retract as it flies to grip the sheets, surrendering under his fingers. a wave of pleasure washes over you, gasping as an orgasm arrives. the medicine peddler is intent on driving you mad with pleasure as he continues circling your delicate pearl, but your trembling hand seizes his wrist, whimpering with a weak effort to bring a pause to his pace, "kusu." 

[loveshotzz]

I have an idea in my head and I’m going to try and get it out as best as I can and then if you want to run with it go ahead :) so female reader was attacked 2 years ago in the upside down by demobats and turns into a vampire which is a gruelling process but robin helps her through it. Jump 2-3 years and female reader returns to Hawkins when robin calls her to tell her about the ordeal with vecna. Eddie somehow makes it out of the upside down after his attack and starts to change but he doesn’t understand what is going on and female reader spots the signs while they’re at a party and takes him upstairs to a room so she can try and help him. She ends up letting him feed off her which is an extremely intimate moment between the two of them.

Hopefully this makes sense or whatever lol

This is such a cool concept of the reader AND Eddie being vampires. I couldn’t not try and do it considering the bath tub scene in Queen Of The Damned was my sexual awakening.

Warnings: Vampires, blood play, blood sucking, dry humping, spicy.

Author’s Note: sorry if this sucks! I’ve been in my head all weekend. I hope you enjoy! And Happy Halloween!

You watched the way Eddie’s eyes kept darting to the protruding veins on everyone’s necks. They way they turned almost black when he’d lean forward for what he thought was a subtle sniff anytime someone would brush past him a little too closely. You knew the signs, having been through them yourself. You knew exactly what was happening to Eddie Munson.

You had already suspected it when Robin gave you the frantic call a few weeks ago. Voice trembling when she told you about the havoc that was being released onto the tiny town you left years ago.

Feeling like a burden to your best friend, you had to leave. She deserved to live a normal life. Durning your change Robin was always so consumed at helping you through every new discovery. She made it her personal responsibility to take of you, and you couldn’t keep watching her miss every opportunity life was throwing her way.

You had to leave to teach yourself to control your urges, make yourself seem more human. Still hanging onto the pipe dream of getting a resemblance of your old life back.

But when she told you that despite seeing his dead body with her own eyes, Eddie wound up on Dustin’s door step a few days later. You knew you had to go back.

Confused and with no memory of the attack, the scars and bruises that should have been littered all over his body were non existent. The only thing wrong was the incurable burn that tortured the back of his throat no matter what they tried.

Eddie was changing.

Leaning against the side of the drink table with long legs crossed in front of him, his laid back appearance was just a facade. Ringed hands clasp the edge of the wood so hard you can see the whites of his knuckles. You watch his resolve dwindle dangerously low every time someone leans over the punch bowl. The position giving him the perfect view of everyone’s pulses taunting him to sink his teeth in.

It’s when Steve walks over with his empty cup you can feel your feet start to move towards them. Steve smelt better then everyone else, you’d learned that awhile ago. Some people just had something about them, something different in their blood. The way Eddie’s eyes fixate on the large vein when Steve’s long neck presents itself to him you can see the internal battle written all over his face.

“Eddie, hey! It’s been awhile.” You break his concentration right as Steve goes to walk away unscathed.

The specks of brown start to show themselves when his eyes meet yours. Nostrils flaring you can tell he doesn’t understand why he can’t smell you.

“I’ll tell you why, but we gotta get out of here. You’re not gonna be able to hold off much longer.” As if you could read his mind his eyes widen as he processes the words that leave your mouth.

Holding your hand out, you watch him search your face for answers he won’t find. Chocolate pools darting back and fourth before he hesitantly takes it, trusting you.

Your grip is iron clad as you lead him through the packed party. If he hasn’t fed since the change started you can’t trust him not to try anything. The close proximity of everyone was even making your throat itch and you’ve been doing this longer than him.

Pulling him into the bathroom you finally let go locking the door behind you, the sound of his voice breaks through the muffled music outside.

“What’s going on with me?” Barely above a whisper his tone has a hint of fear behind it and it makes your heart break if that’s even something it can do anymore.

You knew how scary this was for you, but at least you had someone like Robin by your side when it was happening. Eddie had no one to help him while his body turned into something he didn’t recognize.

Turning around, you press your back against the door. Ignoring how his close proximity makes your stomach do flips and give him your most apologetic look.

“Those fucking bats, they change you. Their bites.” You finally give. “I know cause it happened to me.”

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission of knowing about the upside down, but it takes him a moment to process the fact that you said they change you.

“Kinda like.. vampires?” You hated calling yourself that it still felt silly. But if it barks like a dog, and acts like a dog it probably is a dog. Or at least that was Robin’s logic when you were trying to figure it all out.

“Vampires?” His face contorts in disbelief before running a nervous hand through his unruly waves.

“You need to feed.” It’s your turn to talk in whispers, this being the part of the conversation you were dreading the most.

“Feed?” There’s a tremble in his voice when he repeats the word he hoped he misheard.

“Eat. Like a human but only not food? God, I’m explaining this badly. I still can’t really believe it myself.” Shaking your head you rub the back of your neck nervously.

Deciding to show him rather then tell him you bring yourself to the porcelain sink. Pushing yourself up, you spread your legs when they dangle off the edge.

“Come here.” Pushing your hair away from your neck you turn it to the side presenting its full length to his hungry eyes.

“What? You want me to feed off of you? No. I don’t want to hurt you.” Despite his words, he licks his lips at the sight in front of him.

“You won’t, don’t worry. This won’t completely satisfy you but it’ll do the job till we can explore your options.” Scooting yourself closer to the edge you reach your hand out inviting him to come closer.

“Options?” His tone is incredulous as his rough calloused hand meet yours.

“Yeah, If you want them. There’s just things that work for me that I’ve figured out.” Invading your personal space you can’t control the heaviness of your breathing.

“What if I can’t stop?” Mumbling his doubts he still brings himself to stand between your legs. One hand on your thigh, the other moves to support your neck, fingers weaving through your hair.

For the first time tonight his focus is on your lips rather then your neck.

“You’ll stop. If not I can stop you. Trust me. I’m not scared Eddie, just let me help.” Your eyes are pleading under his gaze.

He searches your face for any trace of apprehension one last time before he gives you a small nod.

You feel his breath against your skin first, washing over you in hot waves. Hovering just above the nape of your neck his lips drag slowly across the curve. Inhaling sharply you lull your head against his hold, completely opening yourself up to him.

His tongue flicks out tracing the line where your pulse point should be, and you have to bite back the moan that’s threatening to spill out from between your lips. There’s a low growl that rumbles from his chest that goes straight to your core before his teeth finally sink into you.

“Fuck- Eddie.” His name sounds sexual when it comes out of your mouth, so much so that Eddie pulls himself closer. The grip on your neck tightening, his body becoming flush with yours as he continues his assault. You can feel the strain against his jeans when he presses against you.

Completely taken over by the intimacy of it all your legs wrap around his waist on their own accord. Self control becoming non existent as his tongue licks the wounds his teeth inflicted before sinking into another spot on your neck.

Your own fingers tangle in his hair pulling him even closer to your neck. It was like something had ignited inside your body. You had never let someone feed from you before. The intensity of it all becoming overwhelming.

A growl erupts deep in your own chest and you feel your fangs start to come out. Your blood connecting you both in a way that made you feel like you were becoming one person. All your thoughts and desires spilling into each other.

Ripping his mouth away from you, blood smears across his full lips. Small droplets dribble down his chin as he tries to catch his breath.

The sight is enough to make your heels dig into the small of his back pressing your heat firmly on the bulge that hadn’t stopped growing in his jeans. Leaning yourself back your tongue glides across your fangs that were now on full display. This wasn’t about feeding anymore.

Eyes never leaving yours his hand moves from your neck finger tips dragging lazily down the curve and swell of your chest. Stopping once they hit the top of your shirt curving under the fabric.

Rocking your hips you push yourself towards him, encouraging whatever was going on in his head. There was no going back now.

His other hand leaves it’s home on your thigh to meet at the top of your shirt ripping the fabric with so much ease you almost don’t notice till the chill air of the bathroom hits your skin.

Animalistic instincts completely taking over, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Your desperation for him growing ten fold as you jut your chest out for him to take as he pleased.

Skimming his hands up your sides his breathing sounds ragged as it comes out of flared nostrils. Palming aggressively at your breasts once he meets the material of your bra.

“Bite me.” You moan, impatient with all of his teasing. You didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, but the mixture of the crush you’d been harboring for years and the carnal desire that was coursing through your veins you couldn’t help it.

The corner of his lips twitch up at the whine in your voice, the scared man from before completely gone. Pulling one of your straps down he exposes your pert nipple when he move’s the cup out of his way. Leaning his head down your breath hitches when his tongue darts out to tease your hard nub. Your hand slams down hard on the counter next to you, your impatience starting to get the better of you.

Grabbing a fist full of his thick waves you yank his head up with the full power of your strength. When his eyes meet yours you know they are just as black as his.

“Stop. Fucking. Teasing. Me.” Your bitter tone makes his face twist in anger. A rough hand to your wrist he frees himself from your grasp with ease holding your hand firmly back against the counter.

Despite your best efforts to break free from his hold he’s stronger then you right now. The thought should scare you but it only makes the wet spot in your panties grow. It had been so long since you were able to be intimate with someone.

A smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you finally give up and succumb to his whim.

“Good girl.” His voice comes out like silk compared the harshness from before, your blood helping to fully complete his transformation.

Licking the blood from his lips, his eyes roam all over the newly exposed skin. He sucks in the bottom one when he sees you both conjoined at your core. Despite your fighting, the hold on his hips with your feet never eases up. Pushing himself into you again he watches the way the action makes your eyes roll in the back of your head making him repeat the action only harder.

The low whimper that escapes past your lips is enough for him to bring his mouth back to your chest. Full lips encase your nipple in the heat of his mouth, tongue pushing out to draw lazy circles around your areola before his teeth sink back in.

“Jesus - fuck” throwing your head back you ignore the pain of hitting your head against the glass of the mirror.

His hold leaves your wrist to grip your sides, holding you in place as he continues to lick and bite across your breast. The feeling of your blood meeting his fangs sends your body into over drive every time he takes a taste.

So lost in each other you don’t notice the knock on the door until Robin’s voice breaks through thick haze.

“Are you- is everything okay in there?” The slight hint of panic in her voice doesn’t go un noticed.

Breaking away from your chest, the bottom half of Eddie’s face is covered in your blood. His eyes no longer black with hunger, the chestnut you’d always loved slowing coming back with Robin’s voice anchoring him to reality.

You clear your throat in hopes the shakiness of your voice doesn’t give away what actually transpired in the bathroom.

“Uhhh, yeah Robin. Everything is good. Just getting cleaned up is all.”

Eddie’s looks down at your shirt eyes going big like he wasn’t the one to destroyed it. Raising an amused eye brow at him you roll your eyes before calling back out to Robin again.

“Umm Robin?”

There’s a moment of hesistiation before she answers with a nervous “yeah?”

“Can you steal me a shirt from Steve’s room, I spilled my drink on this one.” Biting your lip you know she’s not going to believe your story by the way she snorts on the other side of the door.

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

[comingyourlugubriousness]

Order up! *ding*

Took me awhile to finish it but I made it just in time for @twst-the-night-away DisOrder Up! Fan event! The event story is so fun, intresting, and in character! I hade a great time reading it and wanted to draw Yume in a cute lil waiter outfit.

Yume super clumsy so their falling horribly in the roller skates, luckily their brothers and friends bandage them up. Their duo magic is with Sebek because they are both struggling on skates. Usually they don't get along to much. but I think would actually be a really funny comedic duo under the right circumstances.

Extra concept art doodles and Voice lines under the cut! (Click for descriptions):

Set Home: Order up! *ding*

Home Idle: Don’t tell the owner, but…I’ve been letting Grim eat the leftover food customers leave. It’d just get thrown away otherwise! It’s not good to waste food…

Idle 2: Ugh! I had to break up another argument between RSA and NRC, like geez at least take it outside.

Idle 3: *whining* I tripped and spilled a milkshake on my head, oh how embarrassing…!

Idle Groovy: The boss saw my camera and wanted me to take a staff picture for the restaurant to commemorate all of us working here! Are you going to join in?

Home Login:  *muttering to self* I can’t believe these things are part of the uniform. I swear I’m gonna fall and bust my a-ah! Hello! I didn’t see you there, welcome to the Sage diner!

Tap: Hm? Oh the bandages? I’ve had a couple of nasty spills is all. Don’t worry, my brothers and friends will take good care of me! *smile*

Tap 2: When Ortho works the register it’s so funny! He does all the calculations internally! Customers get so confused haha!

Tap 3:  Ace was making fun of me tripping over myself, but he also took the tables further away so I can hold on the counter… He’s alright in his own way, y’know?

Tap 4: Epel said Sebek and I look like “new born calves on ice” in our skates…big talk for someone who needs our help to reach the top shelf.

Tap 5: Cater is so much better at talking to customers. *whining* Please Diamond senpai take all my tables and let me work in the back! 

Tap Groovy: Idia came by to see me and Ortho, I was so surprised! Maybe it’s not that big of a deal to everyone else, but we’re both really proud.

---

Duo Magic

Yume: Sebek, on my mark!

Sebek: Hmph, just this once, human!

[cloveroctobers]

A/N: this is a concept that’s been in my head for awhile now and I just wanted to put it out there since it’s been not only sitting in my head but also in my journal lol. These are just some quick hc’s and you can tell I’ve went back into the twilight hole based on the casting but hey fall season is among us, shut up!

Added this prompt to the mix based on the random content that occurred into my head and I’m using: 11. Discovery.

WARNINGS: more family trauma? + language.

Go back and read my previous September anthology prompt here if you like.

MEET THE BERZATTO’s !

Far as Carmy can remember of his dad: Aldo Berzatto, is that when the man bothered to get dressed up, he cleaned up well.

When he went out with uncle Jimmy back in the day, you can almost always guarantee the night would turn for the worst.

Majority of the time it would be Aldo’s fault since when he got that liquor in his system, he became loud and sometimes ready to take on the world with his violent tendencies opposed to his calm stoic behavior.

That landed him in jail lots of times and Donna grew used to it, letting his ass stay there most nights.

Aldo was originally supposed to go into some boring shit like accounting since he was always good with numbers, had a photographic memory, and used to do taxes for people around the neighborhood at just sixteen for cash.

His mind set was he didn’t come from much so he wasn’t sure how the hell he even thought he was getting into college.

He even still did it on occasion until the original beef took off and Donna became pregnant with Natalie.

Aldo and Donna were high school sweethearts who everyone expected to grow old together, however they didn’t know what was underneath the surface of the prom queen and casual baseball star.

He was decent on the team but it definitely wasn’t Aldo’s passion.

They were pregnant with their first, Michael a year or two after graduation which put their potential aspirations on hold.

Donna grew up with a younger sister, Lydia [who I’ve casted as Jennifer Coolidge in my mind] who Donna always felt like she had to compete with since Lydia was deemed the “more attractive sister but just chubby”

Her looks and personality got her everything apparently.

Her parents started the comparisons from a young age so Donna always felt like she had to do more to make sure she was seen too.

She was involved in everything in school, participated in most of the clubs, got fantastic grades, had a solid group of friends and was a fantastic dancer — it’s what she wanted as a profession but her parents shitted all over that. “Its not practical. How are you going to support yourself…by dancing on stages? You might as well go on the pole.”

And when she got pregnant? There was no hesitation from her parents on kicking her out and so she lived with Aldo + his family, who seemed to like her, got a job until she couldn’t stand anymore — got fired from her job for calling out sick too many times not long before she gave birth to Michael and thus Aldo and Donna were brought into adulthood.

There’s not too much Carmy even remembered about his dad besides him making the best sandwiches, dressing well, having the same high bridged nose and not being around much.

Carmy was young when he passed.

He died at the wheel from a heart attack at just forty-three years old.

The same age as Mikey.

It was always more questions than answers when it came to the berzatto household.

Like when exactly did Donna start drinking and smoking more? When did she stop caring about hiding her prescriptions from anyone that entered the house? was it before or after Aldo’s death?

How long was she aware that he was stepping out on her and had twins right before Natalie came along: Jett and Ruby?

There was a nine year age gap between Michael and Natalie and a eight year age gap between Michael, Jett, and Ruby.

Maybe that caused her to pick up bottle after bottle, cheeks hollow after each pack of Marlboro’s

and her pain wasn’t just chronic from a old dancing injury, it was also because of Aldo’s infidelity

Which is something Natalie sympathized with after this news was brought to the table but Carmy was done making excuses for his mother like Nat and Mikey liked to do.

Jett and Ruby showing up at the bear, a month after everything transpired—was the shoe carmy was waiting on.

Michael knew. He had to.

and Carmy was ready to kick his headstone in if he ever bothered to visit, which proposed the question of: did Michelle know? It was clear Nat had no clue. Did Richie also know?

Did Lena?

Since Richie was Michael’s best friend he had to at least know something but they weren’t speaking—that was more on Carmy’s part since Richie did try but carmy was struggling to turn the dissociation off

and Carmy’s gut told him that Richie had an idea about the whole situation.

That’s what sugar said anyways.

“We should talk to mom,” Natalie says sitting outside of the bear with carmy who’s keeping a safe distance and fidgeting with a cigarette but not lighting it.

He’s trying not to be an asshole just yet to his unborn niece!

“You think we’re ever gonna get any answers from her that makes sense, Sugar? Those people came in here and told us about a man I didn’t even really know, it adds up doesnt it?”

Nat jokes, “well your math isn’t always the strongest…”

Carmy’s pacing but the look he sends his older sister lets her know his mind is spinning just as much as her’s is. “What the fuck are we even supposed to do with this? What do they want from us?”

“Maybe nothing? Or rather a relationship with us? I mean we don’t know them so it could be anything. I told Ruby we should have a sit down for dinner and she can bring her mom if she wants.”

“Jesus, Nat! Why the fuck would you do that? Did you invite mom too?”

“Hell no, not this time! I mean would she even show? Like you said, we won’t get much out of her before she goes on her tangent so it’s better we get a conversation from Jett and Ruby’s mom instead.”

‘She was the other woman, what exactly did sugar think she could tell them that would sit right with them?’ Carmy thought to himself.

“Well I don’t know if I’ll be there.”

“What? No fucking way are you leaving me to do this by myself.”

“Take richie with you.”

“He’s not a berzatto, Carmen.”

Carmy stops tapping the cigarette against his fingers then.

Richie’s not a blood berzatto but he might as well be with all the shit he’s seen and nat was aware of that but carmy also knew what she meant.

“When and where is this taking place?”

“I was thinkin’ Either here or my place. I can make a green bean casserole—

If they had it here they’d have to close the bear down for at least an hour and thirty minutes, send everyone off for break time and you never know where this dinner might end up…possibly making break time longer for his staff since things might be said you know?

The best choice would probably be at sugar’s??? although they’d have to deal with Pete—it might be the only option.

“No the fuck you’re not.”

“Well excuse me bear, what the hell do you think we should eat? It’s my best dish.”

A side dish.

Carmy pinches the bridge of his nose already dreading giving into this, “I’ll figure it out, something from here that’s prepared will do. I got it, you just relax.”

“I’m pretty chill, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do this, nat. I don’t want to sit at a table where those two get to tell us how much better their upbringing was with dad.”

“They’re our siblings, Carmy.”

“Right…but what exactly do we owe them?”

Natalie’s eyes soften as she takes in Carmy’s words and pushes herself up to hug the younger man, “nothing. Nothing at all.”

Carmy’s on time to Natalie’s, arriving one hour before to rewarm the food in the oven and have pete help him carry the food in.

He’s in a daze but knows he has to keep moving and he notices that the house not only smells like lingering cleaning chemicals but also something else.

“What is that?” Carmy’s face is scrunched up

“Oh one of Nat’s candles, she’s super ready for fall!”

“It stinks, Pete. I don’t know if it’s the nutmeg or the apple that’s making my eyes fucking burn.”

“Oh no man, maybe you’re allergic.”

“I’m not, the scent is too much almost insulting and you need to get rid of it.”

“Me? I’m not doing anything to piss the pregnant woman off, who also happens to be my wife by the way.”

Carmy feels his eyes twitch before he lets out three sneezes back to back, giving Pete a dry look, “it’s going in the garbage.”

“Okay buddy…don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Natalie’s got music going that sounds like some beachy tune to ease the anxiousness that’s swirling around and she calls out, “Ruby’s texted! They’re five minutes away! Where the hell is my candle?”

“I don’t know.” Pete says, “the house still smells great though, babe.”

Natalie’s waddling into the kitchen giving Carmy a raised brow but he just shrugs, unbothered and playing coy.

[Kathy Najimy plays Jett and Ruby’s mother]

And she’s as sweet and motherly as can be, with warm squeezes and complimenting the home.

She brings a dish ofc and it’s damn good, carmy notes.

Nat barely slept about this and she couldn’t blame it on her sciatic nerve this time!

She was tossing and turning just wondering how this woman would be, if she would have this vile behavior opposed to her daughter—Nat and Carmy’s half sister?

Who had this bohemian aura about her. Would their sister’s mom be a witch by defending her actions and bashing her mother and would nat have to throw her out?

Instead…She takes a liking to Pete but it doesn’t seem like she’s not taken a liking to anyone so far!

Nat’s not sure how to take her at first. Was it genuine? but she matches her smile and welcomes her to her home silently praying to the gods above that this didn’t get back to her mother thanks to some nosy neighbors

Yet Donna barely left the house unfortunately

while Carmy is more quiet and standoffish—which they expected.

They get through the basics, some small talk where they learn more about Jett and Ruby first

Jett’s older by six minutes, he’s a vet (army man) and a mental health counselor—which definitely surprised Carmy + he’s married to a boutique owner named Anna, who’s away in Greece right now.

Ruby’s younger, she’s also in a band in her free time that sounds like it’s influenced by Fleetwood Mac and a little Janis Joplin, she’s in a devoted relationship to a burly man named Emil that’s an FBI agent, and they adopted Anna’s niece since Ruby was unable to have children

As for their mother she’s a herbalist now but used to be a pharmacist for many years and gave it away that she saw Michael come into her place of business once or twice, instantly recognizing him but wouldn’t say anything but knew he figured it out the second time around (when he was much older)

That’s when the conversation turned heavy

“So when did you know our dad was married?” Carmy came straight out with it, making sugar almost choke on her seltzer water while his eyes were in a daze as he stared down at his plate.

Pete cleared his throat, “Anyone need refills?”

The twins shook their heads as Nat suddenly slipped her hand into Pete’s underneath the table, squeezing.

Ruby says, “Mom you don’t have to—

The woman shakes her head, “no I do. You two went off to introduce yourselves and Nat and Carmy were gracious enough to invite me as well when they didn’t have to. They have questions so it’s only right I answer them.”

“I didn’t know at first. When we met…Aldo didn’t have a ring on or anything. I originally didn’t want to give him the time of day with the way he was looking at me, like he could see a future I couldn’t see and that he wanted to be part of it with me. Yet he was great at disappearing for awhile and I told him he should have went into magic instead of business. Everything about Aldo was a red flag, I knew he had a business but I could never stop by. He was three years younger than me—I like my men older but that’s not important. I didn’t find out until i saw a much younger Michael, he had to be about seven or eight leaving the store with a bag running off to a car on a rainy day that looked so familiar to me. I never had the greatest of eye sight. I tried to see over the counter but the car quickly pulled off and I knew but I ignored it. It wasn’t until I found out that I was four weeks pregnant that I decided to follow Aldo to the original beef… did I see him arguing outside with your mother, Donna. Nobody is just going to be screaming their head off unless someone did something to them. A woman always knows and I thought about leaving him alone after Donna stormed off but I had to tell him and hope that he cleaned up his act, to be a better man.”

Nat exhaled, “Did you want him to leave our mom?”

“No. I couldn’t take the back and forth from him, one minute he would be loving and then the next distant. It wasn’t ever constant and I slowly grew tired. I told him that he better tell your mother because my pregnancy was about to change everything in their marriage and more than just the cheating.”

Carmy asks, “And how did that go over?”

“It didn’t. I don’t want to bash the dead but your father was a master manipulator and a liar. He had issues just like everybody else but the problem is he liked to ignore them because it was normal to him. He was used to it, almost like he found comfort in it. I just wish he knew that he could have fought for better for his kids. You all deserved better than what he gave.”

“You mean to tell me it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for you two?” Carmy folds his arms, his round eyes focusing on his older half siblings.

Jett holds Carmy’s stare, “I think as kids we want to see the best in the people that raised us and hold onto the better parts—if any—and block out the rest.”

Natalie’s eyes are on Carmy’s now as he take in the words of the bits they’re discovering of their late father.

“We understand that this is a lot and will probably always be but we felt like we couldn’t go on any longer when we’re in the same town and not at least speak considering that you just lost Michael.”

Those last words echoed in Carmy’s ears.

Pete winces while nat flicks her eyes back to Ruby.

Carmy frowns, “Sorry but I uh—I don’t know how you two can possibly think you’re gonna fill that void.”

“Oh That’s not what I mean—

Natalie adds, “And this now feels a teeny bit opportunistic.”

Ruby’s scrambling over her words now but her mother reaches out a hand over Jett and towards her daughter to halt her

Jett swoops in now despite his mother’s movements, knowing their intentions and says, “I understand how this may feel like that truly but we felt like it was time to acknowledge the truth and just come right out with it. That’s not how mom raised us because the truth will always come to light. We’re related by blood sure but we don’t have to be close if this is something you don’t want, we can leave this as simply a tough conversation if that’s what the both of you want.”

Ruby raises a finger, “I don’t want that.”

“It’s a lot to process so we can give you guys time if that’s what’s requested but we also don’t have to move forward with a relationship either.” Jett boldly repeats, “so…thanks for dinner but I’m going to head out now.”

Scrapping the chair back, he excuses himself leaving Pete to gasp and for Jett and Ruby’s mother to also excuse herself to talk to her son who’s voice could be heard from outside the home.

Ruby inhales, “this isn’t how I expected this to go but I also didn’t have unrealistic expectations. I’ve wanted to get to know the both of you…the three of you for the longest but things just didn’t work out that way. I’m sorry for making this weird but thank you for inviting us, I’ll see myself out.”

Nat turns to Carmy then as Ruby also exits, her eyes swimming with emotion and all Carmy can provide her with is a simple shrug, hiding his shaky hands.

He told her he didn’t want to do this anyway.

𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ

Continue along with my September anthology prompts here.

[redheadspark]

Hey love! 💓

I’m hoping for your soulmate prompt you can do 1 and 7 with Druig? 👀

💕🙏

A/N - PERFECT! I like this for Druig, thanks for requesting it my friend!

Technicolor

Summary - You always thought you were going to be alone for all your life with visions of gray. But all it took was one fleeting moment to give you color

Warnings - Just some cuteness in this one :)

Grey was the worst color. You hated it.

All you life you saw gray and different shades of gray. It was meant to be that way, according to your mom and dad when you were younger and trying to understand why you couldn't see color. You were sat down as a child, sitting in front of your parents when they finally told you the reason.

"You're meant to have a soulmate,"

You had no idea what that meant when you were little, all you knew was that you were only seeing gray when the rest of your friends and family can see color. You were rare, only a 4th of the human population had Soulmates and only saw grey until they met their soulmates. You didn't understand why you would be one of the lucky few to have to deal with thus, and although the rest of your family saw it as a blessing and a gift, you never understood it too well when you were a child.  It was when you got older that you felt a closed heart come over you about the thought of someone being your soulmate.  

Maybe you were jealous that others were finding their soulmates and were happy with the joy of seeing color, maybe you were just sick of being alone.  There were many reasons for your heart to see too tough in your teenage years and into your adult life. 

You’ve read blogs from others who never met their soulmates, those who died with broken heart because they never got a chance in seeing color and meeting the love of their life.  Inwardly, it was killing you because you were then assuming it was going to be you.  Were you going to grow old with only seeing gray, with only a part of your heart feeling loved and full?  

Were you ever going to have someone love you?

One afternoon on a rainy day, you were walking out of the coffee shop and heading over to you friend Seri’s house since she was having a few friends over for dinner.  She wanted to throw a house warming party with her new husband Dane, another good friend of yours and they both were soulmates.  Sersi gave you comfort and moments of hope when you would vent to her every once in awhile, telling you not tog I’ve up on the concept of getting your soulmate.

“Whoever it is, they will be beyond lucky to have you in their life! You wait and see, let it happen naturally,”

Naturally, such a Sersi thing to say.

You threw on your jacket to tuck it more around you to keep the cold away from your skin.  Your eyes were scanning the area, the darker grey cars rolling by and the grey street below it, the light grey building high above you with the rolling grey skies that were dumping out the rain.  You let your mind wander, trying to picture what it was like to see the colors there right in front of you.  Your did this from time to time, imagining the green trees from the forest near the highway where you drove to ad from work, the red velvet cake that was brought in for a work birthday for one of your favorite co workers, and the orange rays of the sun coming through your morning the first thing in the morning.  It ached your heart, yearning to see the colors you only dreamt and learned about in school. 

If only you were paying attention to the ongoing traffic you were walking into.

It happened so quick, your foot being on the street of the crosswalk and another car driving past a stop sign.  You heard the car coming and you looked, instantly knowing that you had no way of getting out of the way in time.  Yet there was a hand, grabbing the back of your jacket and roughly yanking you back before the car could touch your boot that was out in front of you. You screamed out, the tire screeching as the sound of cars cashing was heard as you fell backwards on the sidewalk. 

So close to dying, yet someone saved you. 

You banged your head, yelping from the pain as another being was perched over you.  Your eyes were slammed from the pain that was blossoming on the back of your head.  People were rushing over to the scene of the car crash, you could hear them rushing over and sounding like they were in a panic.

“What happened to her?  Is she okay?!”

“She’s fine, I think,” The voice above you was a soothing voice, an Irish accent for certain but a rumble in the tremor of his voice. It was almost like a voice you’ve heard before, or you thought you heard before.  A tentative touch was along your neck, near your jawline and the back of your head and you sighed almost in a tingling sensation there where the hand was against your skin.  It wasn’t painful, but more like a dull ache that you’ve never experienced before.  

“Hey, hey you okay?” You heard above you, the tingling from his fingers along your skin was long gone as you slowly opened your eyes. Once your eyes were adjusted to the light, you saw a face right in front of you.  A young man, maybe your age or maybe a but older, was perched over you on his knees and looked rather concerned as he was staring at your intently.  HIs angular face and cheekbones, his distinguished nose and the brightness of his eyes entranced you. He was not like anyone you’ve ever seen before.

But then….then you saw it in his eyes first.

Grey morphing into another color, bright and pristine in his eyes as you gasped out in but shock and revelation.  Blue, the most beautiful blue you have ever seen.  Then his hair was turning dark brown, almost like chocolate and the deep rooted soils from your old childhood garden.  The his skin was a softer pale with a pink tint of his cheeks,  He was in color…..he was all in color.

He was your soulmate. 

You shot up a bit too quickly, he moved out of the way to not knock your head as you were looking around him in shock and with some tears in your eyes.  The red and Green car that were in a collision not to far away, the ambulance with blinking red and blue lights driving down the street to the scene, the yellow lines on the road and in the little child’s shoes and he watched the car wreck with his mother in her right blue raincoat.  Color was now everywhere around you, and that wave of relief and joy was seeping through you in such a way it freshened you.  You were grinning, even with a massive headache forming and covered in wet from the rain, you looked like a mad woman. 

All from meeting your soulmate. 

You looked back at him, seeing him give you the same look of shock you were giving him. It felt like a sick dream, seeing this man kneeling next to you and saving your life in more ways than one.  He smiled, making your heart burst in a thousand pieces.  All that talk about love, falling in love instantly with your soulmate from a first glance, you never thought you would experience it yourself.  But now you were, and it both scared you and made you happy.  Perhaps he was thinking the same thing too, reaching out to take your hand in his.  Your fingers laced, and you felt like the last piece of this puzzle you were trying to solve was finally clicked in place. 

“Hi,” he breathed, “I’m…I’m Druig,”

“Hi,” You replied, back, seeing him grin so wide as you gulped, “It’s…it’s nice to meet you finally,”

“It’s nice to finally meet you too,”

1 Year Later

The shower to your joined room awoke you first, then the new rays of light coming in from the curtain drapes in your bedroom.  You stretched out your back, feeling a few pops here and there along your spine and curling into yourself under the sheets to stay warm. Although you were no early riser, you did like to wake up a pinch early to get your day going.  Though it was the weekend, you had no real plans for the day until later in the night when you and Druig were due to go to a birthday dinner for Sersi.  

Druig, your soulmate and the true north in your life.  

Finally peeling the sheets off your bed and ruffling your hair, you moved out of the bed and headed over to the bathroom, seeing the door was left ajar and the soft sounds of the shower running was heard.  Once you poked your head into the bathroom, you were greeted with a rush of steam along your skin and the silhouette of Druig in the shower, you grinning as you started to strip off your clothes.

Ever since you ran into Druig and you both found each other, life was picked up quickly and with no hesitation.  Even when he saved your life by stopping you from being hit by the car, you felt your own heart growing to make room for him to be nestled in and with no signs of leaving.  After he made you get check out by the EMTS who were on the scene, you took him with you to Sers and Dane’s housewarming, never once letting go of his hand and Druig willing coming with you.  He too was not willing to let you go as you both stood in front of Sersi’s front door, seeing her open the door and notice your joined hands.  She grinned widely and clasped her hands together.

“Finally!  I knew you would find him!” She beamed.

Ever since then, you and Druig were inseparable.  You both wanted to go as slow as you could when it cam to building your relationship, getting to know each other so easily and smoothly.  He loved to hear you talk about yourself and what you liked, and you hung on his every word.  It didn’t scare either one of you that you both were falling for each other so easily and without any bumps, yet you were still willing to take your time with one another and have your relationship grow like a seed.  

Before you knew it, you both were head over heels in love.

Druig was gentle and kind to you, sensing that hard shield you had over your heart and was willing to strip away bit by bit to love you fully.  It took him some time, knowing you were less prone to fall so easily, but you still fell for him none the less.  He loved you with all of him, showing you everyday that you were worthy of being loved and adored.  It was the little things:  fresh flowers on days that you were stressed,  dates one a week to keep your relationship alive, and simple giving you space to love him back.  

Two weeks after you met, Druig noticed the mark on your neck, the same mark that looked like his hand on your neck where he touched you for the first time.  You went to your local doctor, and he instantly knew what it was after he questioned you and Druig being soulmates.

“There are cases with soulmates which conclude that a mark can be left behind after the first physical touch.  They are very rare, but there are studies of a deeper connection amongst soulmates that leave marks on one another.  Those soulmates have a higher chance of staying together in fulfilling relationships, even expanding their life spans.  So I would consider you two lucky, since only 1 in every million soulmate pairing can produce a mark like yours,”

Not only you were destined to have a soulmate, you then were destined to live a long life with a soulmate.  Luck seemed to be coming your way after all.

Finally, you snuck into the shower seeing Druig bare in front of you, facing the tiled wall and leaning on his forearms against the tile to let the hot shower go down his back.  You instantly wrapped your arms around him from behind, feeling him mold against your hold as you pressed kisses along his shoulders blades.

“You tryin’ to seduce me on our anniversary?” He asked you, though you grinned against his shoulder.

“What give you that impression?” You asked back, hearing him chuckle as he then moved you swiftly and without you falling in the shower.  You then were facing him in the shower, your own back against the tile wall as he had you in his arms and breathed you in.  No matter if you were both still under the hot water that was no turning lukewarm, or that you were still a pinch sleep from waking up early in the morning, you are only thinking of the man who was hiding you both intimately and gently at the same time.  

You never thought you would be here one year ago, never assuming that you would be this happy and this in love. It was an intense love and a deep love that surrounded you and brought you to your knees at times.  Druig never once showed you that this was a trick, nor did he give you any less love he was willing to give.  You both were solely meant for one another, and you knew deep down you could never let him go.

At times, when you two were alone together, Druig would place his hand right over the mark on your neck.  It was his reminder too that you were his soulmate, mirroring the very moment he left his mark on your as a sign to two were meant to be.  Whether it was when you two ate dinner together or when you were in bed, he loved placing his hand on your neck to simple remind himself that you were real to him, that what you two have was real, and his love was beyond words. 

He did the very same in that shower, placing his palm against your neck to mirror the mark that you wore with pride.  You grinned at him as he was staring at his hand lovingly, almost replaying that moment in his head as his eyes then moved to you to make your heart melt.

“I love ya,” He hummed, you leaning up to press kiss after kiss against his lips.  Druig showed you how to love for the first time, driving away all of those doubts you had long before he came in the picture.  

Thanks to him and his love for you, your life was now technicolor. 

The End.

Soulmates Promp Session