#its so interesting how they seem so worn down by blue

[mishapen-dear]

Baghera said she just wants a home... ohhh holding both teams so gently. holding them up against each other. blue didnt have the people until recently, but theyve always had a home. bolas have always had people, but they keep being run away from their homes...

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Nothing Compares 2 You

Pairing: RockstarEddieMunsonxReader

Request: Thank you to @munsonfire for this request and for allowing me the use of her edit! I love emotional drama and you are very good at it (as you are very good at everything else). Eddie has to leave town because he's becoming famous and they break up. They still love each other after all these years, but they've never spoken to each other. Eddie may have had many girls in his life, she may have always followed him in the tabloids and thought he had forgotten about her. somehow, by chance, they might see each other again... when she thought she'd never see him again?

Word Count: 7.5K

18+ ONLY

“I don’t understand why we’re going to Rockefeller Center in October,” you mused, walking along with your best friends, Nancy and Robin. “Isn’t seeing the massive Christmas tree and ice skating the whole point of Rockefeller Center?”

Nancy sighed, looping her arm through yours, “Yes, but the whole area is full of shops and great restaurants. We can do a little shopping and grab a late lunch.  And how can we travel to New York City and not see Rockefeller Center?”

You shrugged. The three of you were having a girls long weekend in New York City. Only Nancy would want her bachelorette party to be a weekend of Broadway, culture, and history. The three of you had seen Anna Kerenina last night and it had been amazing. You’d also gone to Central Park, gone to the top of the Empire State Building, seen Times Square, and gone to The Met. Tomorrow was supposed to be the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. 

Jonathan had popped the question last Christmas and your two friends were getting married in November. They were keeping the wedding fairly small. You and Robin were the only bridesmaids. Jonathan’s brother, Will, and his friend, Argyle, were the groomsman. The guys were doing a camping weekend, inviting along the rest of the crew. Jonathan and Nancy were not interested in the usual partying or strippers and while it may seem odd to most, you thought it was actually kind of refreshing.

As you approached Rockefeller center, you smiled. It was a perfect fall day, a world of color and warmth. The leaves were changing, the trees blazing in shades of red and orange. The sky was a clear, bright blue and you could sense the excitement in the air, the city vibrant and full of life. It felt like walking through a painting, every corner you turned a new picture full of beauty and wonder. 

“Oh!” Robin squealed, darting away from the two of you. “They have thrift stores!”

“Oh boy,” you laughed, you and Nancy shaking your heads at each other as you followed Robin into ‘The City Opera Thrift Shop.’ 

Robin looked like a kid in a candy store as she perused the mish mash of clothing on racks, sorted by size and then color. Robin was not a shopping kind of girl unless you got her into a thrift store. The girl loved nothing more than quirky and cheap. Growing up in a family that had to pinch every penny had taught her to be frugal. You loved her sense of fashion because it was so uniquely her. 

You meandered over to a rack of concert shirts, pushing them back one by one. Band tees were your go-to on weekends and oversized ones made the best pajamas. Used ones already had that soft, worn, washed feeling, leaving you from having to break them in. You pulled out a Black Crowes one, holding it up to yourself and your entire body froze, as if ice water had been dumped over your head, when you caught sight of the shirt that had been hiding behind it. 

A strangled sob lodged in your throat, cutting off your air supply, your hand moving on its own in slow motion. Your fingers gripped the side, running over the black cotton. Your eyes devoured the jagged lettering, like words carved into wood. You knew it intimately because you’d been the one who had drawn it years ago in high school. 

It was from their first tour, four years ago, in 1988. Your eyes slipped closed as you swallowed hard, forcing the sob down, locking it back into the dark box you tried to keep everything that had to do with him trapped in. But the image of him, those big brown eyes pleading with you to understand that he had to go, begging you to come with him, flashed behind your lids and your eyes shot open against the assault to your heart. 

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Robin called from the front of the store, a large bag hanging off of her arm. 

“Uh…yeah…” you cried out, shoving the Black Crowes shirt back in front of the shirt you wished you’d never seen, covering it up the same way you’d covered up everything to do with him. Out of sight, out of mind. At least that was how it was supposed to work.

Who were you kidding? That had never been how it had worked. How could it when he was everywhere you looked? His music videos were all over MTV, he was on every show doing interviews and performances, and forget about going to a store. That face that had haunted you for five years was plastered across every magazine. 

He clearly wasn’t thinking about you. He’d moved on, being pictured with a different woman on his arm every week. Making out with some supermodel at a party, having lunch with the hottest young actress in Hollywood, or catching some groupie’s panties on stage. The man had gotten what he’d always wanted. He was a rockstar, known across the world. He was the guy every woman wanted to fuck. He was the guy every guy wanted to be. He’d gotten out of Hawkins, away from their small minded ignorance, away from you. 

“Hey, you okay?” asked Nancy, her eyes narrowing in concern as you followed them out of the store. 

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile on your face, “I’m good. So, what’s next?”

“More shopping, obviously,” giggled Nancy. “I need to find something for my mom. She’s always wanted to come to New York so I want to get her something very New York but not like the silly tourist stuff, you know? No snowglobes or keychains. I want to find her something cool.”

“Okay, well, then let’s get on it,” you stated, relieved to have a mission to focus your energy on to keep you from slipping down into that dark hole. That dark hole you’d disappeared down for six months after he’d left, that dark hole you swore you wouldn’t allow to swallow you anymore.

You spent the next hour and half in and out of stores, Nancy insisting nothing was right for her mom. You’d pointed out hand painted bags, shirts, paintings of the skyline, but nothing seemed to be right. Just as you were getting ready to give up for now and grab some lunch, Nancy gasped, pointing ahead. 

“The NBC Studios shop!” she squealed. “My mom loves Jay Leno. Her and Dad were so upset when Carson was leaving but they wound up loving Leno. They watch it every single night. I bet I could find her something there.”

She grabbed onto yours and Robin’s hands and dragged you through the doors of the shop before instantly abandoning you to peruse all the merchandise. You looked over at Robin and shrugged, the two of you splitting up to browse yourselves. There was an entire section of merchandise just for popular shows on the channel.

You picked up an X-men mug, thinking Dustin would love it but you quickly put it back. If you bought him something that would be an avalanche of spending you couldn’t stop or afford. You couldn’t get him something without bringing something back for all of them. You’d never hear the end of it from Mike, Lucas, or Max if you got Dustin something and not them. Will would be gracious about it. El would probably be confused as to why she should care. Steve would definitely give you shit, offended, claiming you loved Dustin more than him. 

Just as Nancy walked over, triumphant, with a mug and a shirt, you turned, your attention caught by a cavalcade of dark SUVs pulling up in front of the building. Your two friends spun to see what had caught your eye and Nancy sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Oh…I bet it’s someone famous. Someone who’s going to be on the Tonight Show or something. Who do you think it is?”

You shrugged, “How would I know? I don’t want it. Do either of you know who’s supposed to be on tonight?”

Robin shook her head, “No idea. Nancy, you said your parents watch it every night.”

“They do, but I don’t. I mean, I have here and there when someone I like is going to be on. But I haven’t watched tv all week so I haven’t even seen a preview. I was too busy with wedding plans and getting ready to leave for our trip.”

You watched curiously as a big guy in a suit with an earpiece came around the side of the SUV and pulled the door open. A familiar mop of curly dishwater blond hair appeared first, followed by the sweet face of one of your favorite people in the world. It should have filled you with pleasure to see him again, the guy who’d always treated you like a little sister, but instead a sense of dread seeped into your body. No. It couldn’t be. Because if he was here, then that meant…

You were falling, slipping sideways, as your world tilted on its axis at the sight of him climbing out of the SUV. Those coffee hued eyes were concealed by a large pair of sunglasses but you didn’t need to see them because they were forever imprinted on your brain. He looked so damn good, of course he did. In place of his usual ripped jeans and leather jacket, he wore a fitted brown suit, a white dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to provide you a peek of his chest.

“Oh shit,” muttered Robin. 

“Hey…hey…” Nancy called out next to you, her hand holding your bicep in a vice grip, as if she were scared you’d collapse which was a very real possibility at this moment. “Hey, you okay?”

You couldn’t answer. You had no air. Your throat tightened, your lungs were paralyzed, unable to pull in precious oxygen. You were trapped, suffocating under the weight of memories, memories you’d buried deep but that now broke free, flashing before your mind like a slideshow of pain. Eddie winking at you from the stage at the Hideout, him leaning against your locker after class, lying in the back of his van sharing a joint, sitting on his bed as he worked on a new song, dancing at prom, the day he left…image after image attacked you, a knife slicing into you over and over, leaving you bleeding and helpless. 

“I…no…I can’t…” you whimpered, shaking your head, taking small steps backwards as if you could run from him, as if he wasn’t about to come through the exact entrance you would need to escape. 

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay,” Nancy urged but her words fell on deaf ears. 

You were drowning, everything muffled, the lights were too bright. You couldn’t breathe. Your hands clawed at the neck of your shirt, a v-neck, which was in no way hindering anything but it felt like it. Your clothes felt restricting, too tight, caging you in. 

One of the large men pushed open the door as two others flanked Eddie, leading him through it. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant came behind him, each with their own bodyguards. Jesus, there must have been twelve guys with them, covering them on all sides, the front, and the back, ensuring no one was getting close to them. That was fine. There wasn’t anything you wanted less.

As they passed in front of the gift shop’s floor to ceiling windows, you took two more steps back, bumping into a mannequin, sending it crashing to the floor along with a display of drinking glasses. A clerk glared over at you with a sigh, coming over to assess the damage. But that wasn’t what you were focusing on as Eddie’s head turned toward the sound. He stilled, pulling the sunglasses off his face, and there was those eyes, going wide as he took in the sight of you standing in the middle of the shop. 

“Shit…no…no, no, no, no…” you pleaded, eyes darting from one side to the other, desperately seeking a way out of this situation but there was none unless you were willing to run past him.

“It’s okay, just breathe. It’s okay.” Nancy’s hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe but only succeeding in making you even more agitated. 

You shrugged her off as Eddie leaned into one of his bodyguards, whispering something in his ear. You were frozen, your feet stuck to the floor as the burly guy nodded and followed Eddie, pulling the door open. Suddenly the man you’d only seen in pictures and on television for the last five years was standing in front of you and you wished the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Princess? Robin? Nancy? What are you three doing in New York?” Eddie asked, his sunglasses held between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, as if you were a mirage. 

“Girl’s weekend before my wedding,” answered Nancy when you hadn’t responded. 

“Wedding?” Eddie’s eyebrows lifted, but still he didn’t look at her, his eyes glued on you as if you would disappear if he looked away. “You and Jonathan?”

“Yeah. He popped the question last Christmas,” she replied. “So, how’s the rockstar life?”

“Huh? Oh…uh, you know.” He shrugged. “Very rockstar.” His head tilted, those brown eyes threatening to pull you under, to consume you entirely. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t. “I can’t believe you’re here. I, well, I have to do this Tonight Show thing. It could take a few hours but would you want to come to my hotel after?”

His hotel? Was he serious? There was no way you could trust yourself alone in a room with him. Your body reacted to him, remembered him, his fingertips an imprint on your skin. This man who had known you more intimately than anyone else had in your entire life. This man who had been your first. This man who you’d thought would be your only before he shattered your heart. 

Robin’s hand wrapped around yours, sensing the distress your body was under as Nancy stepped in front of you. Your friends who had been there, who had witnessed that dark time in your life, who had been the ones to pull you back from the edge just as you were ready to plummet into the abyss. 

“How about you give us the information and let her think about it?” Nancy offered.

“Princess?” Eddie asked, concerned, his face peering around Nancy to find you again but this time you looked away. “Look, I just want to talk. I haven’t seen you in…god, it’s been…”

“Five years,” you mumbled, shocked at the sound of your own voice. 

“I know,” he said softly. “Trust me. I know exactly how long it’s been. Look, if you tell me where you’re staying, I can have my driver pick you up. Or if you’d prefer, I can come to you. Just tell me your hotel and room number and I can come over after. I can bring dinner or we can order something or we can go out somewhere if that would make you more comfortable.”

“Look, Eddie,” Robin began, stepping into him, forcing him to step back. “She’s a bit overwhelmed at seeing you. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I can because I feel exactly the same. I just want to talk.”

“Well, maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t but maybe you need to take a step back and give her some time to process all of this,” Nancy suggested calmly. “Give us your information and she can have a couple hours to decide what she wants to do.”

But you knew what you wanted. Of course you knew. There hadn’t been a choice from the moment you’d seen Gareth, knowing Eddie was not far behind. Seeing the man you’d been hopelessly in love with years after he left left you in a flurry of mixed emotions. You were both overjoyed to see that face you’d adored so much and overcome with old memories and thoughts of what could have been if he’d never left. A tug-of-war between the past and the present, battling for your heart with such force you feared it would rip in two. 

Yet, even with all the conflict inside you, there was never any doubt of what you would do if given the choice. Wasn’t this the exact kind of situation you’d fantasized about endless times? Running into him, him missing you, him telling you that you’d always been the only one for him, that he still loved you.

“Room 1562 at The Mayfair,” you said, all three heads turning to look at you as you inhaled deeply and brought your eyes back to his face. “And you can bring food. That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours then,” Eddie said, giving you that smile that swept your feet out from under you every damn time. “I can’t wait. Thank you, princess.”

Blinking back tears, you walked past him, past his slack jawed bandmates, ignoring Gareth when he called out to you, and out of the building. You weren’t trying to be bitchy but you had to get out of there. If you didn’t get some fresh air to your brain, you were going to pass out. Stopping on the sidewalk, you gulped in precious oxygen, wondering what in the hell you’d just gotten yourself into.

The door flew open, your two best friends flying out and running over to your side. Nancy’s hand came to your back. Robin’s arm locked around yours, the two of them guiding you away from the building, understanding that you needed distance. 

“Holy shit…holy shit…” Robin gasped. “I cannot believe that just happened. Are you okay?”

“I had no idea. I am so sorry,” Nancy crooned, her hand making soothing circles over your back. “Who would have thought of all the weekends in the year, the one we chose to come to New York, Eddie would be here?”

“Not me,” you managed, a nervous giggle, frantic and squeaky exploding from you. 

“Honey, are you sure you want to do this?” Nancy questioned. 

“Yeah. If you’re rethinking this, we can go get our stuff and check out right now. We can switch hotels. He’ll never know where to find us,” Robin told you. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”

“No…no…I do,” you assured them, slowly coming down from the very near panic attack you’d just experienced. “I do. I want to see him. I want to talk to him. It’s okay. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be painful but maybe it will also be good.”

“Good? Do you remember how you were after he left? Because we do,” Robin commented, one eyebrow lifting. “You don’t have to subject yourself to that again.”

“I know. I know. But he’s not a bad guy. He didn’t try to hurt me. He had an amazing opportunity and he couldn’t pass it up. And I am happy for him. Really, I am. It sucked but he’s not the bad guy. There is no bad guy in this story. It was an impossible situation. I’ll be okay. I was just taken by surprise. It was unexpected but I am expecting him to show up later so it will be fine.” Her two friends eyebrows lifted, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Seriously, it will be fine.”

____________________________________________________________

It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine. You paced across the floor of your hotel room as you’d been doing for the last hour. You had no idea when he was arriving. How long did a taping for The Tonight Show take? Why would you know that? You had no experience in the world of celebrity. Maybe he wasn’t coming at all. Maybe he’d thought about it and realized that he didn’t need to waste his time seeing you. He had gorgeous women throwing themselves at him all the time. Why would he sacrifice an evening with a supermodel to hang out with his average ex-girlfriend from small town Hawkins?

This was ridiculous. Why had you agreed to this? What good was seeing him going to do? Just the sight of the man had brought on a panic attack, a shirt with his band’s name had sent you spiraling down the rabbit hole of sadness. Didn’t you know this? How many times had you lost track of time, disappearing into memories when you’d spotted his face on a magazine cover at the store? 

No, you definitely should not have given him your hotel information. You should have said it was nice to see him, good luck with his appearance, and then left. Polite but keeping everything casual. You hadn’t been anything to him for five years. Five years was a long time. He’d obviously moved on. What did it say about you that you hadn’t?

Sure, you’d dated. You had that thing with Dylan that lasted for a year but it ended eight months ago when he confronted you, demanding to know if you were in love with him and you couldn’t give him the answer he wanted. You wanted to be in love with him. You wanted to be able to give someone else your heart fully but it had never belonged to you. It wasn’t yours to give. Your heart was currently touring the world and maybe it was time you got it back. Maybe that was what this meeting would do for you. You could finally sever that string, take back what was yours so you could move on and give it to someone else. 

A sharp knock on your door paused your thoughts, your feet skidding to a stop on the carpet. Your entire body responded to the possibility of Eddie on the other side of that door, heart racing, lungs rushing, the hair on your arms raising. Closing your eyes, you took in a slow inhale through your nose and then calmly walked over, opening it. 

“Oh!” you shrieked in surprise to find one of the large bodyguards standing on the other side. He pushed past you and began looking around the room, checking in closets, under the bed, and in the bathroom.

Eddie shrugged, smiling sheepishly at you, “Sorry about this. They’re very serious about my safety.”

The bodyguard appeared content that nothing was lurking in your room to attack his charge. He gave Eddie a small nod, saying, “Jack and I will be right outside the door.”

“How about just down the hall, man?” Eddie suggested. “A little privacy, maybe?”

The big man did not appear happy about it but he nodded, “Just down the hall. We’ve given very strict instructions that no one is to be allowed onto this floor until you leave, unless they are being escorted by James. He’s down in the lobby.”

“Got it. I feel very safe,” Eddie assured him, closing the door behind him. He turned to you, eyes rolling, hooking his thumb toward the door. “These guys are so fucking annoying but management insists. I had a stalker situation last year and ever since then, I’ve gone nowhere without Mr. Tall and Surly.”

“You had a stalker?” you asked, a weight weighing heavy in your stomach at the thought of him being in any danger. 

Eddie shook his head with a snort, wild brown waves tossing around as he began unpacking a large brown bag onto the table, “It was nothing. Seriously. Some twenty year old who had convinced herself that we were destined to be or something. She sent notes and flowers. It was all harmless at first until she managed to figure out where we were staying and I got back late one night to her hiding in my closet.” He chuckled darkly, opening containers, the smell of Italian food permeating the room. “Scared the shit out of me, let me tell you. But she didn’t have any weapons or anything. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. She just wanted to convince me we were soulmates. Hotel security showed up and escorted her out. Poor thing was clearly struggling with some kind of mental illness. I tried to convince CJ, our manager, that it wasn’t a big deal but ever since then he’s been adamant that we have a security detail.”

“Well, better safe than sorry,” you sighed, moving over to sit across from him at the table as he took a seat. “I mean, stalker situations can be very scary. You’re lucky she wasn’t out to hurt you.”

“I guess.” He held up a container of chicken alfredo. “This still your favorite?”

“Uh…yeah,” you nodded, smiling as he scooped down on your plate, along with garlic bread. “Thanks.”

“Well, I was trying to figure out what to grab and then I remembered how much you love Italian food. You always picked Enzo’s for your birthday dinner. You still go there every year?”

“No. I don’t. This past birthday, I actually went out of town for my dinner to a new Thai place in Indy. Dylan didn’t really like…” You stopped, pressing your lips together. Shit. Why had you mentioned Dylan? And no, you hadn’t stepped foot in Enzo’s in five years. That had been your and Eddie’s place. You couldn’t stand the thought of going in there without him.

“Dylan?” asked Eddie, not missing a beat. He sat up, leaning back in his chair, legs spreading wide, those ring clad fingers running over his thighs as he looked at you. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“He was.”

“Was? What happened?”

You swallowed hard. This was not a topic you wanted to be discussing with him. But you’d been the one to open the flood gates, to stick your big old foot in your mouth.

“We broke up,” you replied with a shrug. “It wasn’t really going anywhere, you know? He was nice. I liked him. But he asked me if I was in love with him and I just…I couldn’t lie. So, he ended it. It was probably for the best anyway.” You needed to change the subject before he had you admitting things you did not want. “So, anyway, who cares about me? I’m still living the same boring life in Hawkins. I want to know about you, the big rockstar.”

Eddie flushed, those cheeks turning bright ride as he grabbed onto his hair, bringing it across his mouth. Your heart tugged, remembering how he did this when he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. 

“It’s not as amazing as it sounds. I mean, it is. I love playing music for a living. I love being in the recording studio, working through the kinks with the guys, that moment when we finally get it right. There is nothing like standing on that stage, a sea of people screaming for you, singing your songs back at you. That part is…there really are no words. But the rest of it, all the interviews, the photo shoots, the required appearances at different functions, that’s just all the extra shit that I have to do to keep management happy. Sleeping in a different town every night gets exhausting. Sometimes I really do lay back at night and dream of my simple life back in Hawkins…sometimes I dream about that last night, laying next to you under the stars. I’ve missed you, princess.”

You swallowed, emotion threatening to choke you at his words, “Eddie…”

“What?”

“Don’t, okay? Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you that I miss you?”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, closing your eyes and shaking your head, tears building up behind your eyelids. “I can’t. You have no idea. You have no idea what it was like for me when you left. You have no idea how hard it was.”

“But I do know how hard it was,” he argued, reaching for your hand but you pulled it back quickly. “I know exactly how hard it was because it was hard for me too.”

“Really? It was hard for you,” you challenged, eyes opening to glare at him. “It must have been really hard to have those models suctioned to your lips, to have your hand up the skirt of beautiful actresses you were dining with, to be sleeping with a different girl every night. I saw all the photos, Eddie. Your epic love life has graced the pages of many magazines.”

His eyes widened, nostrils flaring, “Yeah, okay? I’ve had a pretty healthy sex life since I left. I was a goddamn mess for a while. I was burying myself in other women because I was trying to forget you.”

“Well, good for you. I’m glad that worked for you! Because nothing ever worked for me!” you cried, jumping up so hard you knocked the chair back.

“It didn’t work for me! And how can you be so pissed off at me? I begged you to come with me and you refused. Do you really hate me for chasing after my dream? You knew I wanted to play music when we started dating. You knew I would go for it if I could.”

“No. I don’t hate you. Fuck, I wish I could hate you because it would make things so much easier but I can’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t fault you for chasing your dreams. And look at the life you have now. I’m proud of you, Eddie. I really am, but I…I never thought I would recover when you left.”

“Neither did I but I begged you, princess! I begged you to come with me!”

“I know you did but what would that have even looked like, Eddie? What? Me waiting in hotel rooms while you trekked from place to place? Me becoming the third wheel that was dragging you down because your focus wasn’t solely on the band? I couldn’t be that person. I couldn’t become someone you resented because I was standing in the way of you getting what you wanted. And obviously you’ve gotten it. You’ve moved on! Good for you. I can’t. I’m still stuck in that town where memories of you assault me on a daily basis. I can’t get away from you!”

“You think I’ve moved on?” he demanded, rising from his chair. 

“You obviously have. I’ve seen the evidence. I know about you and that starlet. It’s been five years. Of course you moved on. You have this exciting life, traveling all over, meeting all kinds of people. You should have moved on but then you don’t get to come in here and give me those damn eyes and tell me you’ve missed me. That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Eddie’s eyes flashed as he began moving forward, backing you up with each step until he was so close you could feel his breath fanning your face. “Moved on? Princess, I have never moved on. You crawled inside me. You’re in my blood, my fucking skin. No matter how many women I’ve fucked, I never moved on. You want to talk about not fair. Not fair is your face haunting me everytime I’m fucking someone else, wishing it was you beneath me. Not fair is you suddenly being in my town, finally within reach, and you telling me I don’t get to tell you how much I’ve missed you. Not fair is how badly I want to bury myself inside you right now even knowing it will destroy me because it will have been worth it.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back again, the backs of your knees hitting the bed and sending you toppling onto your back on the mattress. Those brown eyes darkened with lust, the only warning you had before he was on top of you, fists on either side of your head, gazing down at you with such desire that you were sure to drown in it. 

“This is a bad idea,” you managed to choke out, knowing his words were true. Allowing him to consume you would mean the end of you but you didn’t have the strength to stop it because you wanted this. Jesus, you wanted this so badly. 

“Yeah, it probably is,” he rasped, ducking his head down, his nose trailing over your cheek and down along your neck, inhaling the scent of you, sending shivers racing down your spine and straight between your thighs. “But I don’t fucking care. Let me have you, princess, even if it's only for one night.”

“Yes…”

You barely had the word out before his lips were on yours, devouring you like a man starved. Your lungs expanded as if this kiss were breathing life back into you. Your heart jumped, responding, coming back from being dormant for so long the moment his lips touched yours. Your soul pulled, reaching for him, recognizing in him the thing it had been missing for too long. 

“I’ve missed you,” he growled, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before his tongue slid past and over yours. You met it, the two reacquainting themselves, dancing to a tune you both remembered the steps to as if it had just been yesterday. 

A large hand slid along the outer edge of your thigh, up your dress, cool metal pressing into your skin as he gripped your ass through your panties and you whimpered at the feel of those hands on you again. His lips moved, exploring every inch of your face and neck, leaving no part of you untouched. 

“You smell so damn good,” he whispered, tongue snaking along the column of your throat. “Taste good too.”

Your body shuddered. His other hand grabbed onto the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder and arm until the cool air hit your exposed breast. 

“Fuck, no bra, baby? Was that just for me?”

You could not formulate words as his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard. His tongue lazily swirled, lavishing it with attention as he ground his erection down into you, fingers digging into your ass, pulling you as close as possible. His teeth raked over the tender bud and you cried out, back arching, pressing yourself against his face. 

“You like that, baby?” he crooned, doing it again, grinning when he got the exact reaction he wanted. “Feel good?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you whined, your hands grabbing at his leather jacket. He pulled back just long enough to pull it off and your fingers latched onto the hem of his shirt before he could stop you, needing to feel his skin. You sat up, his thighs straddling your, lifting it over his head and tossing it to the floor. 

Your eyes greedily ran over every inch of him, your fingers tracing the familiar tattoos inked over his skin before moving to the unfamiliar ones. He sighed at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed, his body exhaling as if in relief. There was a dragon running over his ribcage and a familiar guitar on his arm. Fuck, he was beautiful. He was still your Eddie, a bit more toned, but still lean and pale and just as perfect as you remembered. 

You pressed your lips against the black widow on his chest. Eddie moaned, one hand cradling the back of your head as your mouth explored his chest just as he’d explored yours. You teased one nipple and then the other, nibbling, enjoying the hiss of pleasure that escaped between his clenched teeth. And then you paused, your head snapping back, tears burning your eyes when you caught sight of the small black letters just to the left of the demon head he’d gotten when you were juniors. Your fingers reached out hesitantly, running over the letters.

“Is this…?” you breathed.

He glanced down, a soft smile curving his lips as he took your fingers, pressing a kiss to them, “Yeah. It’s a copy of the carving I put in that tree of our initials senior year.”

“But why? Why would you get that when we weren’t even together anymore?”

“Because,” Eddie began, those hands coming down on the mattress, leaning into you, forcing you to lie back as his mouth scorched your skin, trailing over your collarbone. “My heart is yours. It always has been. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are or if we’re together, it’s always been with you, sweetheart.” His hand slid under your dress again, palming your pussy over your panties and he hissed. “Fuck…your panties are already so wet. Is that all for me? Did she miss me?”

“So fucking much,” you whined, rolling your hips toward his hand, needing to feel his fingers on you, inside you. It had been so long and only Eddie knew how to bring you to earth shattering orgasm. No man since had made your toes curl the way he did.

Eddie’s nose ran over your hair, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. His hand slid under your panties as he stretched out next to you, fingers slipping through your slick to find your aching clit. Your body bucked and you keened, arching as his thumb brushed over your clit. Small circles teased the sensitive little bud as two thick fingers pressed into you, your body immediately pulsing around them. 

“Mmm…she remembers,” he breathed against your ear, pulling your earlobe between his teeth. “She knows who she belongs to.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, his words sending shockwaves of pleasure rocking through your body, your hips rolling to meet the pumping of his fingers. 

His fingers began scissoring, spreading you, preparing you for him just the way he used to. The pleasure coursing through you was like your own sweet little oasis. You had opened the door to a world you’d long hidden from yourself and any stress or worry about what this meant, what happened after this, disappeared. Eddie, his fingers, his words, his body, was all that mattered in this moment. 

He curled his fingers within you, hitting that spot that only he had ever found, that spot that had you seeing stars, that had you hurtling through the universe toward a never ending void. You screeched, eyes rolling back and then closing, chest heaving with every single gasp of air, knowing you weren’t going to be able to hold on much longer. 

A strong grip on your chin turned your head toward Eddie, “Open your eyes for me, beautiful. I’ve waited far too long for this. I want to see you lose control.”

It was a struggle, your body fighting back against you as it thrashed around in the waves of the storm that was your approaching orgasm. You finally opened your eyes, finding those brown ones that reminded you so much of perfectly melted chocolate staring into yours with such intensity that your stomach coiled even more. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, princess?” he asked with certainty. “I can feel it. Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

You screamed his name as your body trembled violently, your back arching, that knot in your stomach loosening. And then he was dragging your underwear down your legs, pushing his own pants and boxers past his hips. His lips were on yours and your hand slid between you, fisting his cock and the groan he released sent a whole new shock of pleasure through you. 

“Fuck baby, yes…” he moaned, his forehead rolling over yours. “Feels so good…missed you…missed your touch.”

His tongue slid into your mouth once again as you worked him in your hand and then teased him, guiding his cock through your slick, up and down. Each time the head of it bumped over your clit, you whimpered, the sound swallowed into his mouth. 

“Love when you use me to get off,” he growled. “Need to be inside you, sweetheart. You still on the pill?”

“Y…y…yes…” you stammered.

The word was barely out of your mouth before he thrust into you, pressing until his pelvis was flush with yours. You groaned simultaneously at the feel of your bodies connecting once again. Your pussy fluttered around him, as if welcoming him home, everything feeling as it should be for the first time in far too long.

“Jesus, baby, you feel so fucking good. So fucking good,” grunted Eddie, his body still, nose bumping over yours and you blinked when something wet fell onto your eye. Looking up, you saw he was crying and your heart squeezed as if in a vice. 

Your hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over the drop, collecting it. He smiled softly, pressing his lips to yours as he began to move his hips slowly, rutting within you each time until he was bottomed out. His arms came around your back, crushing you against him, melding your two bodies until no inch of you was untouched by him.

“Eddie, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you…” you breathed, fingers moving into his hair, your foreheads stamped together as he thrust into you as if he were trying to climb into your body.

“Me too, baby. Me too. This is how it’s supposed to be. You’re mine. You were always meant to be mine.” His mouth fell on your neck, biting and sucking, marking you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…yours…” you cried, feeling as you climbed toward release once again. 

“And I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Just yours.” He growled, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your upper shoulders. “I’m gonna, princess. Cum with me, baby.”

It wasn’t a choice. You were barely hanging on by a thread. He buried himself deep within you, his body stilling as he cried out your name, his cock twitched, filling you with his release. Your head pressed into the pillow, legs locking around him, joining him in sweet ecstasy as you peaked once again. 

Eddie shuddered above you and then collapsed against you, his face buried against your neck. Your fingers toyed with his hair, tears burning your eyes. Fuck, you were going to pay for this. How long would you bury yourself in that miserable dark hole this time after you inevitably parted, after he headed off to be a rockstar again?

“Jesus H. Christ, princess…that was fucking amazing,” he sighed, nuzzling against your neck. “I love you.”

Your entire body stilled, completely rigid at his words. That vice around your heart tightened, threatening to crush it into a million pieces. No. You’d never recover from this. The sex would have been hard enough to get past but those words…this was too much. Silent tears slid down your cheeks. 

“Hey, hey,” Eddie soothed, his mouth pressing where the tears were. “Why the tears, princess? Why are you sad?”

“I can’t…I can’t do this,” you mumbled, attempting to sit up but his arms came around, pulling you back down to the bed, cradling you against his body. Tender kisses pressed against your forehead and you sunk into the safety and comfort of him, knowing it wouldn’t last. 

“Can’t do what?”

“What are we doing? You’re just going to leave again and I am going to have to try to get over you again. And I didn’t do a great job the first time. Why do you think I wasn’t in love with Dylan? Because I’ve never been able to get over you!”

“Baby, I never got over you either. I tried. And yes, I do have to leave again. That’s my job. But come with me.” His fingers brushed your hair back from your face, his eyes begging you the same they did five years ago. “Come on tour with me. You belong with me. I know it and so do you. Don’t make me have to live without you anymore.”

“Eddie, I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t. You were worried the band wouldn’t take off if you were there distracting me but the band’s already taken off. The guys have missed you too. They would love to have you come along. Gareth’s got a girl and she travels with us. Nobody cares. Besides…” he grinned, teasing your neck with kisses, “you are the best kind of distraction.”

“I…I mean…”

“You mean what? I’ve been miserable without you. Are you telling me you haven’t been miserable without me?”

“No. I have,” you admitted. 

“Then come with me. Be with me. Let’s be happy.”

He was right. All of the reasons you’d had five years ago to not go on tour with them were mute at this point. Corroded Coffin was the most popular band in the world. You weren’t going to stop them from becoming big because they were already big. You tried picturing it, traveling the world with Eddie, seeing and experiencing things you never had before, sleeping next to him every night, getting to watch him on stage again. And you realized, you wanted it. You wanted it badly. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His eyes lit up. “You’re going to come on the road with me?”

“Yes. I’m so tired of trying to be happy without you. I just want you. You’re what makes me happy.”

“Oh sweetheart, I am going to make you happy every day for the rest of forever, starting now,” he grinned, and then his lips were traveling down your body and your head was humming with bliss.

[sotwk]

The Task of Living (Thorin x Reader one-shot)

Love Confession feat. Thorin Oakenshield 

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.

Prompt: “You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.”

Requested by and Dedicated to: @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady. Thank you for the request, the follow, and for letting me do a little something to help you feel better! This definitely turned out longer and more detailed than I had planned, so I hope it brings you some joy and comfort! <3

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

The Task of Living

Third Age 2943

Dunland

“Is she… is she yours?” 

You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don’t remember her."

His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. “And how is she?”

“She is dead,” you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. “Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both.” You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. “Why don’t you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?”

“She needn’t have bothered, truly.” His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling’s small size and worn-out shabbiness.

“Of course she had to,” you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. “What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?” 

Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head. 

“A caravan is on its way here,” he said. “Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because…” He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. “...because I could not wait to see you.”

Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, “Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk.”

Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin’s hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.

“If I may say so, you look well--” 

You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?” You grimaced and corrected yourself. “Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?”

“Thorin,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You need not be so formal with me, not after so many years of friendship between us.”

Friendship. That word could not have burned you worse than a glowing hot iron straight out of the furnace. And suddenly it was thirty-five years ago, when you stood before each other in similar surroundings all the way in the shadows of the Blue Mountains, and Thorin told you with utmost conviction, that he could not accept your marriage proposal. 

And you exploded. All the grief and pain and anger that you had shored up behind a wall inside your heart flowed like fiery lava on the slopes of an awakened volcano. 

“Are you trying to hurt me?!” you cried. “Is that why you have come? Now that you have accomplished your great destiny to regain your throne, you thought it might amuse you to return to your former haunts and toy with the commoners you used to dwell amongst? Are you already so weary and bored of counting all the gold in the great Kingdom Under the Mountain?”

Thorin squared his shoulders and set his jaw against the accusations, incorrigibly stubborn as you had always known him to be. “I came to help. Both you and your kin.” He gestured at the house behind them, and the others beyond. “This land was also my home once.”

“It has not been your home for a very long time, Thorin.” You wrapped your arms across your chest, whether to shield yourself from the winter chill or from the dwarf who had shattered you irreparably, you weren’t certain. “Allow me to refresh the King’s memory since it has been so long: you abandoned it for the Blue Mountains. I was there. I left my own family and moved across Eriador to follow yours. But a humble life at the Lune would not satisfy you either, and you refused to settle and put down roots.”

At least not with me. You swiped at the corners of your eyes, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop their descent. "You should not have come back here. We will manage well enough without Erebor's charity."

The old Thorin might have exchanged your rejection with biting words of his own; such was the pride that ran through the Durins' veins. But the face of the dwarf-lord before you softened as he continued.

"I came for you. To tell you I have not forgotten everything we shared together." The tone of his voice had changed; it cracked with desperation, pleading with you to accept his declarations. And then he uttered your name, and hearing it on his lips roused an ache inside you that was too much to bear. 

You started walking again, stomping over the thick snow, following the line of naked trees along the frozen brook. He kept up with you in determined strides, raising his voice to a near shout as his passion grew.

"I have thought of you every day since we parted. Every memory I had of you, I kept close, even though it burned me as often as it kept me warm, because I refused to surrender hope that this day would come for us."

You shook your head wildly and pressed your hands over your ears, as though these gestures would be enough to make him stop. 

“Amrâlimê, please...”

"Do. NOT. Call me that!"

You whirled around and punched him, slamming your fist into his chest, stopped by a wall of thick leather and muscle. While you considered yourself strong for your race, your strength fell short against a Durin. Thorin did not budge an inch, or even wince. Perhaps your predictable temper was the part of you least easily forgotten. So you hit him again. And again. Until you were pounding both fists repeatedly against his torso, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you thought you could get him to feel just a small fraction of the agony he had put you through for over thirty years. Still Thorin refused to move or throw up any kind of self-defense. 

How dare he! How dare he address you as such, in the tender manner that haunted you for decades even after you left the Blue Mountains to escape the unbearable sight of him. The precious endearment he would whisper into your ear on occasions of stolen intimacy, sigh into your hair in moments of peaceful contentment, moan against your skin whenever he made love to you.

Through your rage, you sensed the guards approaching to rescue their lord, and instinct prepared you to turn around and fight back like a cornered animal. But Thorin raised his hand at them in a signal to halt, and he finally reached out to catch your flailing wrists, easily ending your assault.

"I love you. As Mahal is my witness, my heart has ever belonged to you alone." He encased your hands tightly within his and held them against his chest, tugging you to him. "And you love me still, I can see it, however wretchedly undeserving I am."

You could not even think of struggling. It was too late. He was too close now, close enough for you to feel how real he was--his piercing eyes, his strong, calloused hands, the scent of smoke and steel that clung to the very hairs of his warm skin. These were not just a fantasy conjured by delirious longing, or a dream from the nights you cried in your sleep. Thorin was here. Alive and well, and here. 

“I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Amrâlimê,” he murmured hoarsely, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping down the softness of your jaw. “If I can have nothing else from you, I beg you to grant me that last kindness.”

That single moment of exposed vulnerability, of breathtaking sorrow and regret that radiated from him, reached you more than any of his expressions of passion. How much have the years changed him? The Thorin you knew could never bear to admit he was wrong about anything. Was it possible that rising to his kingship finally taught him humility? 

“You have my forgiveness.” As you spoke this pardon, the remaining flames of your anger blew out to nothingness.

And Thorin smiled, his sweet, gentle smile, rare as the most precious gem but many times as beautiful. Your own smile felt like it would break your cheeks. He pulled you into his embrace and you sobbed into his neck, wondering if it was possible to die of happiness. 

Drawing back, Thorin cradled your face between his hands, smoothing your tear-streaked cheeks, and rested his forehead on yours. “May I…?” Your breaths mingled in the soft whisper, and his eager lips already brushed yours even as he waited for permission.

"I may only ever kiss My One, whom they call Oakenshield," you said softly. "Where can I find him under the fine trappings of this great King?"

In response, Thorin gripped the heavy golden crown on his head and lifted it off. It slipped carelessly from his fingers and fell to the snow-covered ground with a dull thud. 

"Let me show you," he said, and waited no more. He kissed you with the hunger of years of longing, deeply and greedily, pausing only when you whimpered for breath you could not catch. He backed you up underneath a tree, which you leaned against to aid your weakening balance as Thorin pressed on, his mouth leaving your swollen lips only to descend your neck, worshiping every inch of skin he could access.

"Durin help me," he growled into the curve of your shoulder, exposed where he had nearly torn your sleeve off. His chest still heaved from exertion and barely restrained lust. "I must have you again." He raised his eyes to meet yours, and the look in them made you swallow hard, conscious of your own depraved desire for him. "But it should be in the proper way you deserve."

"You are the only one I would ever have," you said, combing your fingers through a section of his thick black hair, now beautifully mixed with silver stands. 

He took your hand to his lips, kissing your palm repeatedly before saying, "So would you return to Erebor with me?"

Your hesitation made him wrap both arms tightly around you, his entire body tense with the lingering fear of being separated from you again.

"You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."

"Do what?" you asked, caressing his beard to calm the anxiety you regretted causing him. "What task is it that the great hero of Erebor needs a humble peasant's help in accomplishing?"

"The task of living." Thorin cupped his hand underneath your chin and gazed at you with soft, earnest affection. "A life with you was the only treasure I ever desired, but duty forced me to deprive myself of it. But no longer. I have avenged my family and restored our honor and our house. I have led our people back home. The time has come for me to pursue my own joys and pleasures, and those exist only in you."

"But my lord. My love," you whispered, once again moved to tears by the gladness his words roused in you. "Am I still a suitable match for you now that you require a consort to rule a kingdom by your side? I am not fit for the legendary grandeur of Erebor." You gestured at your attire, from your unadorned hair, your plain brown wool dress with a patched up skirt and worn, dirt-caked boots. "Just look at me."

"Indeed. I look at you with great pleasure," Thorin said, with a smirk that immediately made you blush. "When I look at you, I see my dreams fulfilled. I cannot imagine providing Erebor with a braver, kinder, wiser, or more radiant Queen."

"If you would still have me, that is." He held out his open palm to you, revealing an item he produced from the folds of his robe. Fading sunlight bounced off the high polish of the small, silvery-grey stone. You gasped when you recognized the betrothal bead you had offered him so many years ago. He must have rescued it after you had flung it away in your heartbroken grief, and kept it safe with him all this time. 

"I fought through dragonfire and armies of orcs so I may live to see this day, so I may get a second chance to accept and wear this." Hope and fear battled in his intense stare, which bore down on you with heavy anticipation. "But now the course of my fate rests entirely upon you. Will you have me?"

He held his breath in the brief silence before you closed his fist around the bead and smiled. "I will have you for the rest of my life and whatever else lies beyond, Thorin Oakenshield." You placed a tender kiss on his knuckles. "So let us go home and see to this task of living… my King."

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse; @undeniableadrenaline

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[murdocking]

„ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ”

- a chishiya series. intro ch2

masterlist

warnings + notes: since theres a few canonically known games within the manga that were not depicted in the adaptation, i will have to concoct my own version of these for the purpose of being entertaining before having that slow burn begin when chishiya and the reader properly meet within the games😈😈fun fact that i adore escape rooms so this show and the idea of me coming up with my own versions is making me giddy

this shit is so long guys sorry its truly just a filler i promise

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ:

- TWO OF DIAMONDS

in your mind, you thought you looked bad. the blazer you had worn just hours ago to your first big-girl interview was thrown somewhere on the train tracks in shibuya station. your face was covered in sweat, and patchy makeup. your sandals were feeling the wear and tear of just simply walking- and your button up shirt was stained with some dirt and sweat as well. despite that, laying eyes on the man in the corner made you believe you were a model in comparison.

his shorts seemed to just be burnt pants whose threads gripped onto the pieces of fabric for life, and his blue shirt was dark brown on the right side of his body- where you seem to notice his patched up arm. you can only assume that the brown spots scattered amongst his attire was his own dried blood, and he scratched at the other drying cuts littered on the arm with urgency. his face was stiff, covered in thick mud and grime, and his eyes were dark with fixation.

he was not the person you were interested in approaching.

to the left of you was a woman, her short hair seemed unintentional- matted and torn as though a child had taken scissors to it then rolled it in the one-armed man’s blood. besides this, she was focused, staring at the table in the center of the entranceway. you even notice her eye twitching slightly, and how her shorts seemed too loose for her frame and her shirt too big.

you follow her stare at the table, and notice what it is that has grabbed her attention so well.

walking over, its an array of phones- and dark bracelets, with the little white sign saying “take one”.

you decide not to test this gathering, and grab a phone and put on the thick metal band that snaps to your wrist snugly. you start flipping the phone around searching for an on switch- just for it to do it on its own. it brightens up and says the word SCANNING before saying WELCOME.

you turn to the woman, and inquire, “what is this supposed to be?” and you think she has truly lost it when she meets your eyes.

she stutters throughout, but chuckles maniacally regardless. “have you never been in a game before?” and your shaking head and puzzled face gives her the sign to continue. she motions for you to get closer and she grips onto your shoulders tightly, leaning towards your face.

“this is your childhood fears come true! here… death chases you like a goblin… and he sends his demons to torment you in these games… don’t you know?” she stares at you crazily and you immediately regret not entertaining the idea of asking the man for information instead. “we play… naïvely to live.. see look.” she clicks on her own phone- pressing the words VISA and the app presents 6 hollowed out club symbols.

“we play.. to live and stay here longer… or else…” she points up at your forehead and then quickly brings her hand down pointed to the floor with a ‘WOOSH’ sound. “death takes you himself.”

she didn’t exactly reassure you, but as another person joins, you politely thank her and decide to speak to someone more sane.

a girl, seemingly about your own age, speaks to you. “shes right.. is this your first game?” her brown lashes flutter when the doors to the entrance way suddenly shut- but she never even flinches from the action. “every game is different, and it tests different parts within you. i suggest if you’re not the athletic type,” she scans you briefly, and you feel a bit small because of the action, “be careful of spade games. those test your physical endurance the most. diamonds need quick wits, and clubs require effort from a team. but hearts games.. those will leave you to yourself every time… it will cut you raw inside.”

you look at her, and you see she is quite serious. “thank you.”

GAME REGISTRATION CLOSED!

DIFFICULTY: TWO OF DIAMONDS

RULES: SURGICALLY REMOVE EACH ‘TUMOR’ FROM THE BODY INSIDE OF YOUR DESIGNATED ROOM LABELED ON YOUR DEVICE. EACH ‘TUMOR’ REMOVED WILL GRANT MORE TIME, BUT WILL DEPRIVE YOUR FELLOW PLAYERS OF TIME, AND LIGHT IN THEIR ROOMS. REMOVAL OF ANYTHING ELSE WILL RESULT IN INDIVIDUAL PUNISHMENT. THE FIRST TO REMOVE ALL ‘TUMORS’ WILL HAVE A GAME CLEARED.

surgical removal..? though you encouraged the idea of medical school, blood wasn’t really your thing- neither was biology. you look around, theres only four of you, and you’re starting to become painfully aware of the band on your wrist, is it getting tighter or is that your mind?

the man with one arm sighs, and fixes his posture, and makes way to a door with a heart imprinted on it. you look at your phone, it has given you the spade shape- and you take your place to the third door. to your left, the girl you spoke to has been chosen for clubs- and the woman has been designated for diamond.

you each enter your respective rooms and the door shuts behind you. it seems to be an office, a television is placed on the wall in front of you- though it seems to be off. a single industrial light illuminates the room, hanging off of the cement ceiling. there are bookcases and a rolling chair placed naturally as well. but what catches your eye is a sheet placed over a silver table. your patient is waiting.

the tv lights up, and the 2 hour countdown has begun.

you see a patient file ontop of the chair, and open it up. there, you find the odd names for several tumors diagnosed to the hopefully fake body. there are four, and you’ve never cut up a person before. the idea of it starts to make you gag harshly- but the overbearingly loud ticking from the tv brings you to your senses.

each listed tumor has a card symbol beside it, and the pale dead man in front of you begs for your attention. the first you decide to go for is the angiosarcoma, linked with a heart symbol.

you browse the books behind you, searching for anything on anatomy- until you finally spot one in the top shelf. you continue your rapid search, the time going down more as you look for health science information. scoring it and shakingly looking for the desired cancer amongst the table of contents. flipping to the page, its detailed and graphic in every nature, but its enough to tell you what you need to do to get out. you sit up straight and lift the sheet completely off of the man- seeing the deep purple and black spotting on his right hip and grab the scalpel amongst the tools next to his body.

getting to work, you disgustingly plunge the scalpel into his hip, and cut jaggedly like a true amateur. the idea of mixing his still blood with your dusted and dirty hands makes you cringe, but you still pull the flap of skin back to use the tongs to grip onto the tumor that comically is shaped most definitely like a heart. cutting it out, you throw it onto the silver plate between the man’s legs.

3 more to go.

the tv stops the time at 1 hour, 23 minutes, and 57 seconds. looking up, it flickers to a 3-way split screen and you can clearly see all of the other players, the lights dim for all 3, but you don’t lose sight of how the one-armed man has a woman in front of him, her serene frame degraded by his lengthy and bloody cuts on her ribs, his hand and shirt has her freshly dead blood on him and you see the frustration is rising in him. he doesn’t notice he’s being watched, and you wished he did so maybe he would stop. but he doesn’t, and he claws out a chunk of her and throws it into the bin. suddenly, he starts screaming- thrashing around as you see the bracelet on his arm expand and push wired needles into his forearm. they’re electrocuting him and hes gargling on his own spit and blood.

you look away quickly, and notice the older woman simply staring at the bookself, the cloth on the dead patient has not been touched. you assume she gives up.

the girl however, has books littering the floor, shes hunched over the female body given to her- and you can see her using her knee to pin down spots of flesh so she can remove her selected tumor.

your light dims.

this is incredibly real to you, and you rapidly start to move on to the next tumor. merkel cell carcinoma listed has a diamond placed against it, and you search his whole body for something you saw in the textbook. and it takes a while, before your light dims again. you look up- but the tv has stayed on the time, the playing broadcast has ended for you.

its harder to see now, and you rely on your fingers to feel the smooth but protruding bumps on the backside of his neck. within ten minutes, you have thrown the diamond tumor into the plate. and the tv flickers back to the broadcast- pausing your time once again at 48 minutes.

you notice the woman’s light is completely out, her figure is practically invisible to you. the man twitches with every movement- the volts have traumatized his body. but the girl is relentless. she’s aggressively tossing the dead woman in her room, bending her neck over a pile of books as she uses the butt of her scalpel to feel down the woman’s spine.

you’re wasting time staring at them. you need to finish.

the third, melanoma spotted on the back calf of his left leg, was simple- but its removal was difficult and has left you with 19 minutes remaining.

you’re eager to get this over with, the last tumor however, is blanked out by black marker and has the spade symbol against it. how are you supposed to solve that? you would be able to see it maybe if your light was fully lit, but its near pitch black in the room. panic seeps in.

you search for anything in the two books- but there are no special indents, pages out, bookmarks- nothing. you just stare at the time, at 7 minutes, you know you won’t win.

until you stare longer at the tv, and see the barely visible reflection of your door. you quickly turn- and see the ribbed detailing on the flatly grey door thats shut against the walls. on the other side, spade was imprinted into the door… why has the imprint not gone through? you trace the ribbed door, feeling its curves.

curves?

you feel the detailing once more, and it feels like its forming an eye. eye cancer.

you rush to the book, and you can sense the light beginning to flicker again.

you search among the various eye tumors listed, and reach over the poor man you are about to deface and see nothing wrong in his eye, until you lift the lid of his right eye.

its pupil is pale with grey and yellow.

retinoblastoma.

but you cant remove it without taking out his eye, and you remember what happened to the man. but if the lady was truthful, you did not want death’s demons to bring you to your end so quickly.

with bravery you grip onto the edge of his socket, speaking a desperate apology before popping the eye out and the light flickering out.

how are you to see this now? the eye had not ripped its nerves so you were not yet punished. yet.

the only light is from the tv screen, turning your 3 minutes into 2. you begin to jump off the table, and push it closer to the wall with the tv, grabbing the man and slumping him against it as you lift the face towards the television where the light gracefully points out the yellow matter in the back of his eye.

once removed, your light comes back on, and its nearly blinding. you did it

the broadcast begins again- the woman is still in darkness, but the screams she makes are noticeable regardless. all three get injected by their bracelets- the man is sobbing and weeping like a child because he has already known the pain. the girl screams, kicking the silver plate across the room as her arm tenses and burns against the needles. she stares at the camera, shes found it. and she stares into your soul with hate.

she joins the dead body when the needles dig completely into her.

GAME CLEARED! CONGRATULATIONS!

you can feel the bile rising in your throat as the tv shuts off and the spades door opens and greets you with the now empty entranceway- with a single white table holding a two of diamonds playing card.

they’re really dead.

[suddenly-stickmin]

It Wasn't My Fault.

A heavy sigh filled the dimly lit kitchen of a shared apartment. A shared apartment that was filled with the bare minimum; a microwave, a worn down welcome mat with its words long since scraped off, a couple of mugs, old towels that hung from the fridge’s handle, the sort of items that should’ve been thrown out long ago, but yet they remained. It wasn’t like the occupants could afford to replace them.

They couldn’t even afford a proper ceiling cap for the lightbulb in the middle of the kitchen. It stuck out from the gray ceiling like a sore thumb. Its occasional flickers and its hum were a tad annoying, but it’s what made the apartment feel like home, unfortunately.

Dave Panpa sat at the round, crooked kitchen table surrounded by his… Friends? Could he call them friends?

He brought his head up, looking away from dark brown wood of the table to the man who sat next him, Johnny Panzer.

He's someone Dave's worked with for a couple of years now. They’ve never done anything too thrilling together, mostly just training sessions where Johnny showed him how to prepare for certain emergencies, and how to defend himself from criminals. Great information that Dave could’ve put to good use had he not lost his job over forgetting to check a prisoner’s box.

Johnny shifted around on the black folding chair he sat on. His posture wasn’t stiff, but it didn’t seem relaxed either. He adjusted his blue police hat, the dim, white light from the bulb bounced off his golden badge and made it shimmer. He then put his focus back on the day old newspaper in his hands.

He’s already read through that paper twice. Surely it couldn’t have been that interesting.

Or maybe it was.

Or maybe it was Johnny’s way of avoiding Dave’s stare.

Dave felt his face get hot. He has been staring for a while, hasn’t he?

He went back to looking at the table again, feet digging into the cold, dusty beige, tiled floor as he listened to the hushed cusses of Rupert Price.

Dave didn’t feel like looking at Rupert.

He never did.

And Rupert didn’t like it when Dave stared at him, so it worked out for the both of them.

Regardless, Dave didn’t need to glance at Rupert to know what he was doing. It was the same thing he did every evening after a long day at work: Make a pot of coffee.

He could never make a pot of coffee normally though, no. He could never just turn on the machine, chat with the two people who lived with him as he waited, then pour himself a cup, no. His ritual consisted of stomping through the kitchen, throwing open the few wooden cabinets they have as he complained about his day at work, then when he’d finally find his bag of coffee, he’d then rant about how dingy their apartment was.

The lights were never bright enough for him, the beige counters were never spacious enough for him, nothing in this apartment was good enough for him.

Dave would be lying if he said he didn’t understand where the hatred for this apartment came from, but it’d be nice to hear something positive from Rupert every now and then, or at the very least, a neutral observation.

“Here.” Rupert’s voice cut Dave’s thoughts off. He sounded exhausted, more so than usual. His voice was a bit more hoarse, and there was an extra ounce of bitterness to it that Dave didn’t like.

Rupert slid a cup of coffee in front of Johnny before walking over to his own seat, the pistol in his black holster clicking with each step he took. When he sat down, Dave gripped onto the edge of the table.

Johnny lowered his newspaper and stared at the white cup before him. He then glanced over to Dave, his eyes lingering on him for a moment before he set the paper down and pushed himself up.

Dave listened to Johnny open a cabinet and rummage through it. He grabbed a cup, filled it with coffee, and placed it by Dave, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement.

Dave nodded back, thankful yet embarrassed.

Rupert grumbled.

“What’s th’matter?” Rupert asked, “Legs broken? Can’t move your arms?”

Dave curled his fingers around the lid of his black security hat and pulled it down, trying to block Rupert from his vision as much as he could, “Sorry, I was gonna get it myself, but John--”

“I know what Johnny did. I know. I’m right here. I saw him.” Rupert scoffed as he flicked up his swamp green army hat, it’s golden badge not nearly as polished as it usually was. “You think that sad face is gonna do you any good? You think that’s gonna constantly get you outta trouble? Just cause it works for Johnny over here, does not--”

Johnny suddenly put his hand in front of Rupert, silencing him.

Dave glanced up to see the stern, disapproving head shake Johnny was giving, all while Rupert wore a look of confusion and annoyance.

Rupert let out a ‘Tch’ and took a sip of his coffee. Johnny finally put his arm down and went back to the paper.

Dave brought his cup to his face and hesitated.

Black coffee.

He couldn’t help but frown.

He didn’t have anything against it, but he missed sugar and cream.

Maybe when they have enough money again, they could buy some.

Dave peered past his cup, and when he locked eyes with Rupert, a spike of fear shot through him.

He forced his head to the left.

He stared at the living room instead, studying every inch of it as if he hadn’t seen it a million times before. He stared at the beaten up red couch that was pushed against the rough, dark gray wall. Its cushions had a couple stains on them from the times Rupert got upset and--

Dave shook his head. Don’t think about Rupert.

He looked over to the TV that sat a couple feet away from the couch.

They didn’t have a coffee table to fill in the space between the TV and the couch, so there wasn’t anything to place cups or snacks on, save for the armrests and the cardboard box on the left side of the couch that Johnny loved to use.

Something was playing on the TV. A show, a movie, who knew, but the quality was fuzzy, and the volume was so low that Dave couldn’t make out a single word. The screen provided just enough light to illuminate the couch and the old black rug under it, but the rest of the room had been shrouded in darkness.

“Had a crappy day at work, by th’way. Thanks for askin’.” He heard Rupert say.

He wasn’t sure if that was directed at him or Johnny, but he felt a twinge of guilt hit him.

“Had to stand around all day in front of some stupid tent. General said he was worried bout intruders, but--” A bitter laugh left Rupert’s throat, “We’re at a secret base—like, it isn’t called a ‘secret’ for nothin’, right?” He gave a playful nudge to Johnny, only to get an unamused glance in return.

Dave just kept staring at the living room, trying desperately to look through one of the two windows on the far back wall, wanting nothing more than a comforting glimpse of the outside world, but it was too dark.

Rupert slumped over and combed his black hair with his fingers before he went on, “I swear, I think they’re givin’ me the easy stuff on purpose. They know I can do more than stand around, they know it, but they won’t let me.” He took another sip of his coffee, “I’m not built to stay in one place—I’m just not! I need to do things. If I see a problem, I wanna take action.” His hands curled to fists, “Johnny, you remember what I was like back when we worked at that prison, don’t ya?”

Johnny just raised his brows before turning a page of his newspaper.

“Do you remember that one big prisoner who escaped? The uh, the--” He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the prisoner’s name, but he gave up and swatted at the air, “The big guy! He had a big scar across his face and that eyepatch! Do you remember who was the first person to chase after him? Do you remember who fired the first bullet at him? Me.” Rupert brought his cup to his chest, spilling a bit of coffee across the table.

Johnny quickly moved his paper out of the splash zone.

Dave wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak or not, so he took a sip from his cup. His face scrunched when he felt that bitter beverage spread across his tongue and trickle down his throat.

“And it didn’t stop there…” Rupert went on, “Anytime there was a bank robbery, or a hostage situation, or the chief needed someone to patrol a dangerous part of the city, I was always the first one to volunteer. Eventually, I didn’t even need to ask bout any of that, I’d be the first person the chief would turn to for help.” For a brief moment, Dave heard nostalgia weave itself between Rupert’s words instead of frustration, and though he couldn’t see him, he knew there was a smile on his face.

Rupert gently set his cup down, “I had a perfect record.” He said with a pleasant sigh, “I was getting recommended to the best of the best, everyone was relyin’ on me, and I was one of the youngest there, you know.” Despite the lack of response from the other two men, he kept going, “Chief told me I had a bright future, that I was one of the hardest workin’ men he’s ever seen.” His voice dwindled, “And then I got fired. By somethin’ that wasn’t even my fault.”

Dave stiffened.

He didn’t move. Even with the hot coffee burning his lips, he didn’t want to move.

The impatient tapping of fingers started to make him sweat.

The longer the silence went on, the faster his heart got.

There was an uncomfortable rustle of the paper from Johnny.

Dave finally tore the cup away from his face and looked at Rupert.

“Do you remember how I got fired, Dave?” Rupert asked with a scowl, “Because—it’s funny—I’m strugglin’ to remember. I know it was over somethin’ stupid.” He hissed as he leaned closer.

Dave shakily set his cup down, “Yeah, no, I was—It was something stupid. Yeah, it was real stupid.”

He hated how his voice sounded. He hated how much it shook. He hated how it cracked. He hated how Rupert looked at him.

“Right.” Rupert nodded, “Do you remember anythin’ bout that incident either?”

Dave’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

His eyes darted over to Johnny for help, but Johnny had buried his face deep into the day old paper, bracing himself for the argument he’s heard a thousand times.

“I—” Dave started, “It was so long, you know? And—and I think if—I remember--”

“Hey, you know what, I think some parts are coming back to me.” Rupert forced a grin on his face.

Dave shrunk back. He turned his body towards the kitchen and forced down another sip of coffee.

“I remember workin’ at the West Mesa…” Rupert said.

Dave stared at his warped reflection in his drink.

“...I remember I had a partner with me…”

His gripped on the cup’s handle tighten.

“...And I remember he brought in a box for a certain prisoner…”

His hands started to tremble.

“...And when I asked him if he had checked th--”

Dave immediately got out of his seat, catching both Johnny and Rupert off guard.

“I need to--” He looked over to the two, “I’m… I need a refill.” He plastered on a weak smile as he pointed to his cup. It wasn’t even half empty.

He shuffled over to the kitchen and set his cup down on the counter. He heard Rupert huff.

Dave fiddled with the coffee machine, he kept shifting his cup a few inches back and forth, he did whatever he could to seem ‘busy’ just to avoid sitting back with Rupert.

Rupert wasn’t done though.

“You know what else is funny, Johnny?”

Johnny pressed his lips together and flipped another page.

“It’s funny that—even though it was my partner who brought in that stupid box, and it was my partner who didn’t follow any basic safety procedures, or at least check the dang thing, we were both fired. Isn’t that a knee slapper?”

Dave grabbed the coffee pitcher and ever so carefully refilled his cup.

“It’s also funny that even though I wasn’t the one who forgot to check what was in the box, the chief told me the reason I was getting fired was for being ‘careless’.” He slammed his fist on the table as he let out a cruel laugh.

Dave wrapped his hands around his cup. It was burning.

“Like, c’mon, how was I careless? Was I careless for trusting my partner? For thinking he had half a brain and could actually do his job correctly? should I have ripped the box out of his hands and checked it for him?”

Dave turned to the old, stained microwave that was shoved in the far back left corner of the counter and swung its door open. He slid his cup inside, not caring for the splatters that hit his hand, then he slammed it shut, momentarily blocking out Rupert’s voice. He turned it on for a minute.

“And you know what turns that situation from funny to hilarious?” Rupert leaned close Johnny, a smirk on his face.

Johnny looked back at him with a twinge of worry.

“It was the fact that I had to explain that stupid incident to every place I applied to.”

The hums of the microwave started to merge with Rupert’s words.

“I had a perfect record—I had it. I had the recommendations, I had the training, I had all those missions I excelled at and more…”

The coffee started to bubble.

“But when it came to those interviews—those stupid interviews—you know what they always asked me?” He got even closer to Johnny.

Johnny raised the paper in an attempt to make a barrier between him and Rupert.

“Why aren’t you a part of the police force anymore?”

Dave watched as his cup started to shake. Drops of coffee started to sputter out.

“I mean, no one would wanna leave the West Mesa of all places—especially when they were at such a high rank like me.”

Johnny watched as one of Rupert’s hands slipped underneath the table.

“So I’d tell them. I’d be honest, because that’s what good people do. I’d tell them that my partner and I failed to check a box, and that lead to a prisoner escaping.”

Dave’s breathing got faster. More coffee spilled out.

“Then—then! They’d tell me ‘Oh! I heard about that on the news. Wasn’t Henry Stickmin the prisoner? Didn’t he nearly tear that place apart?’ Then they’d tell me that they couldn’t hire me, because if I can’t check one stupid box, why would they trust me with anything else?”

Johnny heard a click.

“Even though it wasn’t my fault. Even though I wasn’t the one who brought that box in.”

As the microwave reached its last few seconds, Dave grabbed its handle.

“But apparently it doesn’t matter! Apparently, I’m just some incompetent, lowlife idiot who can’t do anything right! Apparently I deserve to have all my hard work and all those amazing opportunities ripped away over something that wasn’t my fault--!”

Right as the microwave beeped, Rupert kicked himself out of his seat and tore his pistol from its holster.

He aimed at Dave, finger curled around the trigger.

And just as he pulled it, Johnny shot up and grabbed Rupert by the arm, throwing him aside just as the gun went off.

A loud BANG filled the air.

Dave covered his head.

Rupert screamed.

The bullet hit the microwave—bright, orange sparks flew.

Then the power went out.

And then it was quiet.

Dave never took his hands away from his face. He just stayed there, hunched body pushed against the counter as he trembled.

The kitchen light started to flicker.

The room was lit again.

Dave peeked through the cracks of his hands, Rupert’s face framed between his fingers.

He was on the floor now, his hat beside him. Johnny kept a foot on his chest as he pried the pistol from his hands. The only sounds coming from Rupert’s mouth were nothing but grunts and quiet curses as he tried to keep a hold on the gun.

Once Johnny tore the pistol away, he stepped off of Rupert and kept it held high into the air.

He unloaded it. He was quick, sloppy, but he didn’t care.

The golden bullets scattered across the floor. Rupert cussed and pushed Johnny aside, scrambling onto his knees and picking up as many as he could.

“You…” Dave finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny and Rupert looked to him.

“You just—you tried to—” He felt like he was going to throw up.

Rupert tossed the bullets into his hat and held it close, “I didn’t.”

“You were aiming at m—”

“I wasn’t.” Rupert hissed.

Before he could take a step closer, Johnny grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.

Rupert didn’t protest.

Johnny adjusted his cap and turned back to Dave, whose eyes were still wide, and his body still shaking.

He reached out to Dave, whether it was to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder or pull him into a hug, neither of them knew, but Dave flinched at the motion and stumbled back more.

His head went from the door then back to the two men.

“I need to…” Dave stared at the ruined microwave, watching as small sparks spilled from the wires and darted across the growing puddle of coffee.

His throat tightened, “I need to pick up some sugar for the…” He pointed to the puddle, “I’m…”

He swallowed.

He hurried over to the door, slipped on his shoes, and left the house.

With nothing more to do, with nothing left to say, Johnny stormed to his room, pistol held firmly in his hand.

Rupert got to his feet and went back to the table.

He sat back down and placed his hat in his lap. He took a sip of his coffee, resentment brewing within him over what Dave made him do.

[doodles-of-a-nerd-kid]

*Warning, this is gonna be a ridiculously long post...

So, some of you reeeeally wanted to know just a teeny weenie bit more about my weird boy huh? Well, here ya go:

Yeah, where do I freakin' start with this--? It was not only hard to put together despite the very simple (and more obvious) inspirations... but I had to mega ponder whatever the heck I was on when creating this character, LOL

Lets break it down all over again:

It is extremely obvious (I think) of which characters Tilde's appearance mostly stems from... our funny scout robots from Cave Story: Mr. Traveler and Curly Brace themselves. (Which heehee geddit he has a punctuation naem TILDE ~~ xdd)

I'm pretty sure some of you have probably assumed (Especially with how much I pair them together...^^") Tilde is... well... their kid somehow--

Not... quite? It's... much more complicated than that, don't worry about it! Anyways, I basically chucked them both into a blender to combine their appearances together as much as possible; an example of this is Tilde's hair! It's a blonde color like Curly's and straight; but has a waviness, spiking up at the ends like Quote's hair.

Tilde's antenna earphone things are green, and his eye color is also that bluescreen blue that Curly has as well, lol.

So Tilde's outfit inspirations! Tilde is actually wearing Sue Sakamoto's sweater, along with someone's long green scarf. Its a bit old and worn out... but it's very shnazzy, dontcha think? ^^ In earlier drawing drafts of Tilde back in 2021, his sleeves were actually much more sprite accurate to Sue's-- But then I played OneShot and drew them droopy like Niko's once and it... stuck. idc its staying too. I think I wanted to give him a cuteness bonus, so I gave him hairpins thanks to Chase from Harvest Moon lol

Underneath Tilde's sweater he is wearing a simple black tank with magenta shorts, like Quote's tank and sprite Curly's pants. His shoes I unfortunately don't have a direct correlation for their colors, but they're inspired by Cave Story 3D JP Curly's shoes.

A much more rare appearance, but this is what Tilde looks like as an adolescent-- Don't question why, just roll with it-- I have my reasons and I won't tell you :^) When I was drawing him, my brain just handed me Basil from Omori. Literally, just Basil's energy and a bit of the Mother series protagonists for outfit design... I tried to swishing it around a bit and ended up with a very puntable looking guy, which was the exact vibe I was going for~ >:3c

I gave Tilde a sweater turtleneck and called it a day, then Lucas came to mind again when I was coloring-- Which overall made this particular bit of the outfit more interesting ^^ Tilde here is also wearing Toroko's pendant. Not really much else to cover here, since the many traits from Tilde's youth carries into here. Continuing...

Oh boy, how the times have changed and he's all grown up now T_T

Tilde when he's older takes almost all the liberties from especially Quote, wearing his infamous deadpan expression naturally... but he still remains extremely expressive like Curly ^^

Tilde's outfit is very obviously influenced by them, from their cargo pants to their color schemes (which are also admittedly being carried from his youth as well.) Quote's Blade Strangers design (If you ever heard of it.) was definitely an influence for him as well--

BUT to keep him looking a bit more fresh, I devised to use even more of that special jrpg sauce i love to throw on my characters lmAO

Y'all should already know from my previous post that I'm a weeb a Japanese culture enthusiast, not gonna explain that again

Specially for his outfit Tetsuya Nomura's character designs immediately come to mind, i cannot tell you which one specifically.

While imagining the "cool rpg boy outfit" all these characters blend together in my head, probs because they seem to have similar vibes LOL (very cool Nomura-san)

100% CERTAIN Felix from Golden Sun had an influence on Tilde's outward appearance. I actually drew older Tilde before teen Tilde, and I gave him long hair partly bc of him-- lmao

(While Soren from Fire Emblem is not a main influence for Tilde, he is simply here because I hate him for making me realize long haired dudes are just,,, peak character design idk what to tell you.)

So that's Tilde's sheet

goes very crazy I know

If imma do a Tilde sheet, i gotta do it properly-- He's the best(est)

I'm very tired I worked on this for almost a whole week lol imma sleep or something

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“I’ll admit,” Percy Weasley starts. He’s hardly paying attention to anything outside the documents he’s perusing, throwing occasional glances at the small, constantly updating graph shimmering in the air beside him. “When Granger came to me with this idea, I thought she had finally gone mad.”

He snorts to himself and flips to another page, “It’d be about time, honestly. Dating my brother really should have done her in sooner. But Granger is smart. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. So, even though I thought the time had finally come to declare the one sane addition to my family, insane—I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

Someone off camera clears their throat, “Mr Weasley, could you clarify what idea Ms Granger had that you’re referring to?”

Percy looks up with furrowed brows. He tilts his head and asks, “What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

“It’s obvious to us but not to the audience.”

“Ah,” Percy nods sagely. “I understand. Right. I am referring to Hermione Granger’s idea of filming a documentary about life inside the Ministry of Magic in an attempt to raise recruitment across various departments, of course.”

-

“The ministry gets a bad rap,” Hermione Granger says while walking briskly down the halls of Level One. “People think we’re secretly dark. They think that underhanded things are happening in the underbelly of our ministry. As Junior Undersecretary to the Minister, I oversee many finer details of our departments here. And, lately, overall interest to work for the ministry has suddenly declined.”

She pauses before a door, one hand on the knob before she turns to address the camera head-on, “Each year, more and more students graduate from Hogwarts. The wixen population in England has flourished, but we’re not seeing an influx of resumes.”

A paper bird flaps its folded wings and lands on her wrist, pecking at her sleeve for attention. She glances down at it and plucks the bird, her magic smoothing out the folds until all that’s left is a small piece of blue paper with a brief note.

She reads it as she continues, “That’s where you all come in. PR is Percy’s job, but with the Minister’s upcoming reelection push, he hasn’t got the time to spare. So I’m counting on this inside look on the ministry to soften our public image and make us more approachable….” She pauses.

Her head lifts slowly and carefully. “As an aside, please do not speak with the Head Auror until further notice,” she stresses and enters the doorway leaving the crew behind.

-

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head Auror Harry Potter, stands casually in a training hall, overseeing the strict regimen for the sparse few new Aurors. His robes are draped over his shoulders and not quite worn in accordance with uniform regulations. But no one has the guts to tell him.

He replies to the quietly asked question simply, “Hermione doesn’t want you speaking with me because she thinks nothing shifty is happening in the ministry and wants this documentary to go off without a hitch.”

Before he continues, Harry carefully shrugs, “Whereas, I’m the opposite, really.”

Silence lingers before someone is brave enough to ask, “The opposite, Head Auror Potter-sir?”

Harry catches the eyes of the cameraperson who spoke up—they flinch with the intensity of his stare—but he just smiles and says, “Yeah. And Harry is fine, please.”

There’s a brief moment where it looks like Harry is contemplating how to word his following sentence, but his straightforward attitude seems to win out. “Our Minister is a Dark Lord in disguise, clearly. So anyone with half a brain cell would be smart to keep away. And if we’re going to have a whole documentary trying to prove otherwise, I plan on doing everything I can to stop it.”

The camera still zooms in a little on his pleased face even though no one knows what to say for a long, long while.

-

Ron Weasley adjusts himself in the tall folding chair the crew set up for him in the Auror Break Area. He’s holding a small bag of crisps and slowly makes his way through it before straightening up in his seat.

He looks very concerned and a touch manic when he says, “Harry is obsessed with the Minister.”

-

The Minister for Magic is yet to be available for an interview.

-

[sjsmith56]

The Fae Elements, Part 1 - Courtship

Summary: The appearance of a mysterious man at Sage’s father’s funeral has her intrigued. When he shows up at her law office and invites her for dinner her curiosity pushes her to accept the invitation.

Length: 6.1 K

Characters: James Barnes, OFC (named but not described other than 31 years of age), assorted other minor characters.

Warnings: I’m not really much into the fae world of literature so this story may not follow traditional fae lore or plots. I have borrowed from other mythologies to build this world. If you’re into fae fiction please forgive me if it doesn’t meet those expectations.

Author notes: The AI image of James Barnes was created by the author using Microsoft Copilot app, in Designer mode. This first part sets the stage for the fae king to appear, realize the importance of the OFC, and to begin the courtship. Although he appears to take no for an answer, it’s not as straightforward as that as the next parts will show. A fae king has a reason for everything he does.

⭐️ 🌕 ☀️

All things have a beginning and an ending. We’re born, we live then we die. It is inevitable for all living things. It didn’t make it any less hard to bear while Matthew Hawthorne, beloved husband and my dear father was being laid to rest in a shady spot of Forest Green Cemetery, on a cool day in the middle of April. Two years of fighting cancer had taken its toll on the family but especially on my mother, Fern, who had nursed him until it was too much even for her. Now he was gone, and she was widowed, after 42 years of marriage, at the relatively young age of 63.

It was me, Sage, their only daughter, and the youngest, who first saw the incredibly beautiful but strange man watching from the edge of the mourners, standing under one of the oldest trees in the cemetery, a gnarled oak rumoured to be hundreds of years old. The man, wearing a dark but expensive suit had long, dark hair that was distinctive, but seemed as if he had always worn his hair this way. That, combined with the strong shape of his jaw, sharp cheekbones and muscular build gave him an aura that was both compelling and mysterious. His deep blue grey eyes were fixed firmly on my mother who had yet to see him. Neither, apparently, had my two older brothers.

I kept watching him surreptitiously until he switched his gaze to me briefly, making me look away in confusion at how his notice made me feel. Perhaps I was staring at him too much in a way that felt too bold. But there was no judgement evident in how he looked at me; rather, it seemed he was surprised and maybe a little intrigued by my interest in him. As the minister finished his closing remarks and our family said goodbye to Dad before the casket was lowered into the ground, I risked another glimpse at the man, who once again, focused his attention on my mother. The other mourners came forward paying their respects to her, and she accepted their words with the grace she had always displayed in both her personal and public lives.

Suddenly the man was there, next in line to speak to Mom, who gasped when she saw him.

“Buck,” she whispered. “How did you know?”

“I do pay attention to the world,” he replied, in a voice that sounded like the softest rainfall. “It was far too long since I last saw you both. He was good to you.”

It was said as a statement, not a question.

“Yes, he made me happy,” she replied. “I’ll miss him, terribly.”

“Of course you will,” he replied. “He was everything to you.”

Then Mom did the strangest thing, touching his bearded cheek with her palm, in a way so gentle that it startled me. I looked at my brothers, but it felt like no one else could see the familiar yet reserved way he accepted her touch. I almost felt ashamed for being witness to something so soft and private. He bent down and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, whispering in her ear so quietly that only she heard. Yet I swear that I heard a sound like the flutter of an unfolding wing as he hugged her. A brief vision of her being enclosed in the gentle embrace of a set of giant wings flashed in my mind as Mom smiled and nodded her head to his words.

“I will miss you,” she whispered back. “Thank you for being here.”

He stepped back then turned to look at me with eyes that felt like they were centuries old. Again, I felt I was being assessed. Perhaps he saw things in me that I was unaware of, even in the space of those few seconds. For a brief moment I could smell the rich fertile petrichor scent of a forest after a rainfall, clean and full of the promise of life.

“You’ve grown since I last saw you,” he said, in that soft voice again, offering me his hand. His gaze was steady on me. “You also appear to have your mother’s gift. Perhaps I will see you again.”

With those words now spoken, he released my hand, leaving us to return to his spot under the oak tree. Other things caught our attention then and when I looked once more at the spot, the man was gone.

“Who was he?” I asked my mother.

“Hmm?” Mom looked at me blankly. “Who was who, dear?”

“The stranger with the long hair,” I replied. “He was watching from under that old oak tree.”

Mom shook her head. “Sage, I don’t know who you’re talking about. We have to get back for the reception.”

I turned to my closest brother to ask if he knew where the man was, and he looked at me strangely.

“What man?”

I wasn’t about to go through that again, so I let it rest and attended to our guests at the reception, receiving more condolences. It was late when I finally arrived home and parked my car in the underground parking of the apartment building, I lived in. On the elevator up, I slipped my shoes off, rubbing my feet with my hand as it was the world’s slowest elevator and my feet hurt after spending the whole day in those awful heels. Holding the shoes in my hand as I walked down the hallway, I dropped them on the carpet outside my door and fished out my keys, sliding them in the lock, then wearily picked up the shoes only to drop them again on the floor in the entryway. Immediately, I could smell that scent of the forest again and I turned on the light, stepping warily into my living room.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

I felt stupid for asking it, as an intruder wouldn’t answer. That’s when I saw it, an orchid, a pale pink lady slipper, at least that’s what came up on the image search after I took its picture with my phone. Planted in a small pot that was filled with moss, it sat on the coffee table. A small card was next to it, written in the most beautiful writing I had ever seen, saying to take good care of it. It was unsigned but somehow, I knew it had been left there by the mysterious man, an assumption based on the forest smell still lingering in my home. The orchid was unexpected, unsettling, and unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life, but I wasn’t afraid. After seeing how gentle and kind he was with my mother somehow, I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. So, what did he want?

In the month after the funeral my brothers and I helped my mother with the necessities of settling our father’s estate. He had a will, leaving almost everything to her, except for some disbursements to the grandchildren, my brother’s kids, as I had never married. Each of us children received a part of his legacy, enough that we could clear debts, live better, or just invest for the future. We went through his personal things, taking pieces of his life that meant something to us. I took some flannel shirts to wear when I went camping as it was something I did with my father often, and some photography books showcasing the natural wonders of the world. In many ways my love of the outdoors came from him, as he showed me how precious life was. After all of us kids made our choices, Mom chose her favourites, packed everything else up and gave it to charity. Slowly, we got used to living without my dad around, although the grief we all felt clung to us in varying intensities, some days bearable, other days overwhelming.

I had never been in love, not the type of love that my parents had, something deep and trusting. Perhaps in wanting that kind of love I wasn’t too forgiving of perceived slights. That wasn’t to say that I hadn’t been hurt because I had, several times. But at least, I never had to go through a divorce, having never loved anyone enough to marry them. It led me to believe that I was destined to be the maiden aunt that people always talked about in hushed tones. Most people had at least one such person in their family; either a sorry individual who insinuated themself into the lives of their siblings because their own life was so lonely; or someone who gave every indication of living a free and easy life, unencumbered by the obligations of spouse or children. Since I had an intense job as an environmental lawyer, in a law firm working for various environmental organizations in the never-ending battle of protecting the environment against corporate interests, it was a trade-off that I was willing to make. But a part of me still longed for the gentle touch of at least a caring lover, one who could see past the façade of what I was and instead see the real me.

After a particularly gruelling preliminary appearance in court trying to stop a mining company from polluting a watershed that fed into one of the national parks, I went back to my office to finish some paperwork. Our secretary looked up at me as I entered the reception area.

“You have a visitor, Sage,” she said, motioning to one of the seats across from her. “A Mr. James Barnes.”

I turned to see the man, startled that it was actually Buck, the man who knew my mother, sitting there in his expensive suit, calmly reading an environmental magazine. I could feel my heart beating in my ears but pulled myself together.

“Mr. Barnes?” He looked up and once more those blue grey eyes pierced my soul. “Please, come with me.”

He stood up effortlessly, reminding me of a dancer in how he moved, as if he walked without impacting the surface below him. It was graceful, sensual, and just the physical act of moving sent a waft of that forest scent my way. I was self-conscious as I walked ahead of him, wondering if he was looking at me, at how I moved. When I opened my office door, I stepped aside to let him in first, but he refused so I went in ahead of him and went around to my chair, while he sat in the armchair across from me. For a moment my mouth went dry, and I couldn’t say anything, but he spoke first, in that soft voice that soothed me like a gentle rainfall.

“I apologize for my sudden appearance at your office,” he said. “I was in Washington for a hearing on some applications to drill for oil in the national parks, when I heard your name being mentioned. Since it’s been a little while since I last saw you, I thought we could get reacquainted.”

“I didn’t know you knew my name,” I replied. “Mom never introduced us.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, “but I did meet you several times as you grew up. It was also in the obituary of your father, and on the program at the funeral. It appears we have a common interest in protecting the environment.”

“When did we meet?”

“Several times when your parents took your family camping.” He smiled slightly as if the memories were good ones. “I’m fond of the outdoors. I think the last time I saw you was when you and your family went camping in the Adirondacks on one of your family weekends together. You were swimming so I doubt you noticed me.”

Considering how young he looked I could honestly say I didn’t as he must have been a teenager himself. Before I could ask him more, he spoke.

“I am with Gaia Life. Perhaps you’ve heard of us? It’s named after the Greek goddess of Earth, who was the mother of all life.”

I had heard of them, supposedly funded by a secretive billionaire who wished to remain anonymous. Considering the mystery behind Buck, or James Barnes as my secretary called him, it seemed fitting that he worked for Gaia Life.

“So, what is your name, exactly? Mom called you Buck, but my secretary called you James Barnes.”

“Both,” he said. “To my friends I am Buck, but to the public I use my given name. Gaia Life is my organization, my reason to exist; my contribution to saving the world.”

“You’re the founder?” I almost choked. He was one of the richest people in the world and he sought me out. He was sitting right across from me. “I thought he was an anonymous billionaire, someone older, trying to make himself look good with an environmental angle.”

“I am him, except I’ve only been involved in environmental issues. The making money out of it has been more fortunate than designed.” He grinned. “Not many people make the connection but I’m older than I look. I have … good genes, I guess. For the most part, I live a pretty reclusive life attending to the workings of Gaia Life, but I manage to come to Washington when I’m needed.”

“So, what do you want me for?” I stammered as he made me feel all flustered inside. “I mean, what can I do for you?”

“Would you go for dinner with me? I want to catch up on what your family has been up to.”

My mouth was dry again and I felt warm, too warm. His gaze was level, betraying nothing. It was just a request, nothing more, right?

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I replied.

“Why?”

“I don’t know you.”

He smiled again. “You just don’t remember meeting me. You’re Sage Hawthorne, 31, one of the best environmental lawyers around. I know you work hard and that you’re passionate about your career which is more of a vocation. I know you’re not married, because there was no spouse listed on the program of your father’s funeral and you haven’t dismissed my request for dinner with the information that you’re involved with anyone. I know we have more in common than you think. It will be in a public restaurant, and you can come on your own, leave when you want. Please, indulge a fellow environmentalist and have dinner with me.”

It was a little unsettling that he knew so much about me, considering there was little known about the elusive James Barnes. In fact, I don’t think there were even any pictures of him. The man was a mystery, virtually non-existent in a public sense. Yet, he showed up at my office and my mother knew him, apparently very well … until she didn’t.

“How do you know my mother?”

“I’ll tell you at dinner.” He smiled that enigmatic smile once more. “I knew your father as well. I respected him very much.” His gaze on me was direct and even though I knew I should be listening to my brain in keeping him at arm's length there was something about him that was … intriguing. “I’m no danger to you, Sage. Your secretary has seen me and has my name and contact information as she very professionally vetted me when I showed up here. I just want to have dinner with you.”

That refreshing forest scent was prevalent, and I couldn’t help but breathe it in. It felt like I was transported to the humid environment of a temperate rain forest, like the ones on the west coast; a clean and earthy scent, it seemed full of life and mystery.

“Alright. Where and what time?”

Barnes reached inside his suit and pulled out a business card. Borrowing a pen from my desk he wrote the name and address of the restaurant, Ardian, and the time on the back. It was the same handwriting as the card that came with the orchid, meaning he or someone working for him, had been in my apartment. I should have been angry, or at least concerned, but all I could think about was seeing this through. Then he stood up and offered me his hand. I went to shake his but instead he raised my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. Slowly, I pulled it away, lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin.

“Until later,” he said, then he left; quickly, quietly, taking the scent of the forest with him.

I was aroused, almost literally. When I started thinking about being with him, I couldn’t get the image of him hovering over me out of my head. Especially when my hand reached up and undid a tie holding his long hair back, allowing his tresses to flow over his shoulders like the sensual waterfall I knew it would be. With that vision playing on repeat in my head, I struggled to get through the paperwork before finally finishing. I had two hours before the time I was meeting Buck to get ready.

Much of that time was spent going through my closet to find the right dress to wear. Black was too severe, metallic was too fake, anything in a pastel was too summery and frivolous. I wanted to be taken seriously, not just as a woman, but as someone with a profession and a mind of her own. Then I saw it, a Diane von Furstenberg dress that I recently found in a resale shop, never worn, as it still had the tag on it. It’s presence there had surprised me and after trying it on I bought it. It hugged my curves in the right places, showed just enough cleavage to prove I wasn’t a prude, and the shade of green complimented my coloring. I put it on, smoothing it out over my body as I looked in the mirror, my hand going to the silver necklace with a tree pendant I always wore. Yes, I felt pretty in it, but I also felt empowered, and something told me that James Barnes liked empowered women. With that necklace around my neck, and small white gold hoops in my ears, I slipped on my nude heels then grabbed my purse and jacket.

The doorman hailed a cab for me, and I gave the driver the address of the restaurant. I had never heard of it before and wasn’t sure what to expect but when the car pulled up to it, I was mildly surprised. It was visibly exclusive, but not in a way that exuded wealth or excess, as it was tucked into a small building that seemed dwarfed by the towers around it. Its simple red brick façade was broken by a door and single large window that displayed a cozy ambience inside. Entering, I stood at the entrance, waiting to be greeted. A woman in black came out from the back, smiling kindly at me.

“I’m meeting James Barnes here for dinner.”

“Yes, Ms. Hawthorne, he told us to expect you,” she replied. “He’s been delayed but if you don’t mind waiting at the table, we can provide you with a drink.”

She led me past the other booths, as there were no tables in the open space. Glancing at the other people already there was strange in that many of the patrons reminded me of Buck. Handsome men, all with faces that seemed to come out of a model’s catalog, except I couldn’t even begin to guess their ages. Their dates, some men and some women, were just as beautiful, but in a natural way as if they came into their beauty on their own, and not with the intervention of a surgeon. Their gazes seemed to assess me as I passed, almost like I was being presented to a waiting court. Some of them nodded their heads subtly, as if acknowledging my presence. It was a little unnerving. We went through a door at the back into a conservatory. Filled with plants I noticed several species of orchids, including the same one that ended up in my apartment. Their scent filled the air with a perfume that was exotic. The golden glow from several candle-lit lanterns provided the only illumination, giving it a sense of intimacy. The woman stopped at the only table in the space, holding the chair for me.

“May I get you a glass of wine, Ms. Hawthorne?” she asked.

“White, any kind, please,” I answered.

She disappeared and I was left on my own for a moment to take in this small oasis. Returning quickly with a glass, she placed it on the table, then left me alone again. Nervously, I picked it up and took a sip, savouring the taste. Truly, I had never tasted any wine like it. Although it reminded me of a Chardonnay it’s floral notes indicated it was something else, something I liked.

“My apologies for being late,” said a voice as Buck entered the conservatory. I began to stand, but he put his hand out to stay my movement, slipping into the chair next to me. “Even I’m not immune to a flat tire. Is that the Viognier that you’re drinking?” I shrugged. “It’s a good choice. We own a vineyard in southern France that produces it. It’s all organic, no pesticides or artificial fertilizers of any kind. I think I’ll start with the same.”

The server came out and he gestured to my glass. She nodded, left, coming back quickly with a glass for him. He picked his up then waited for me to do the same.

“Here’s to the beginning of a friendship,” he said. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to say more but he smiled and sipped the wine instead. “I like your dress. It’s a Diane von Furstenberg, isn’t it? One of her signature wrap dresses. Beautiful colour on you and it goes well with your necklace.”

His words flattered me, more than I was willing to admit. A man that knew designers? It was making me feel a little floaty, with the romantic atmosphere, the impressive wine, and the total attention of this beautiful man in front of me. I almost forgot this was supposed to be a platonic dinner then the server came out with a salad for each of us and I realized I hadn’t ordered. With some confusion, I looked at him.

“Oh, it’s a set menu,” he said. “Vegetarian mostly, although we occasionally provide alternative protein if they’re from a sustainable and cruelty-free source.” My mouth must have been hanging open because he looked apologetic again. “I’m sorry, Gaia Life owns this restaurant. Most of our … staff eat here when they’re in Washington. When they’re not we charge exorbitant prices to the politicians we occasionally allow here, who want to court the environmental lobby. If we can’t change their mind, we make them pay one way or another.”

The salad was good, as far as salads go. So was the entrée, a pasta with a wild mushroom sauce that was unlike anything I had ever tasted. A thought came to me as our dishes were cleared and we waited for dessert.

“I’m in the environmental lobby.” We made eye contact. “But I’ve never heard of this place before tonight.”

He nodded. “That’s not unusual. It’s a special place, really. Something to remind us of what’s important.”

“You say us as if you’re something different,” I stated. His look bored into me. “Are you?”

Picking his glass up, he sipped the wine again. “If I said yes, do you promise to stay until I’ve told you everything?”

“As long as you start with how you knew my parents.”

He tilted his head. “That’s not the beginning though. Perhaps, I should start at the beginning.”

It looked like I was going to have to sit through something that was important to him. I nodded and he smiled, then said nothing. A moment later, dessert came out, a vegan chocolate cake with icing that I wanted to take home with me to have at two o’clock in the morning with a glass of milk. I must have said it out loud because Buck laughed, seemingly amused by my declaration. When our dishes were cleared, he looked at the server meaningfully.

“We’d like privacy now, Maria, please.” She nodded and we were finally alone. He breathed in, then out, and picked up my hand, seeming to inspect it. His touch was again gentle and somewhat sensuous. “I guess I could tell you how I know your parents, since you asked so nicely. I first met Fern when she was 21 years old, and on her honeymoon camping trip with your father, Matthew. I fell in love with both of them quickly, but they had already given their heart, body and soul to each other, and there really wasn’t room for me as well.” Wait, he met them 42 years ago? I wanted to ask for clarification, but he put his hand up and kept going. “Still, we became platonic friends and if anything had happened to your father when they were younger, I would have been there to comfort her. Their love stood the test of time, until your father moved on.” He hesitated for a moment. “Your mother will choose to move on with him soon.”

“She’s going to die? How do you know this?”

Buck’s face was sad for a moment. “All things die as all things have their time. Some have longer, some shorter. Humans, mortals have shorter. I have longer.”

Okay, that was cryptic.

“What are you? Please, don’t say vampire.”

I meant it facetiously, but he laughed heartily; a sound so joyous that it sounded like he really needed it. Then he became serious. “I'm part of something much older, more primal, bound to nature by bloodline and time.”

He stopped to gauge my reaction to his declaration. It should have shocked me, but my parents were quite the free spirits in many ways. We grew up being read all sorts of stories that had mythical and magical creatures in them; Minotaurs, fairies, elves, and the like. They were as much a part of my world as human fictional characters were. Except, I think that Buck was something more. When I didn’t get up and run out of the restaurant he continued.

“The forests in this world are all part of my home. I am the king of them, for they are part of the Earth. Those who you passed in the restaurant are some of my princes and their consorts, who can be mortal. One of them was one of my children. In real life and literature, I have been called a demon, or a spirit but we call ourselves fae. We are more than mortal but less than gods. I am the forest, and every forest on the planet is my responsibility but I fight a losing battle and when the last one burns, I’ll fade away. I will have failed because in our greatest time of need, I was unable to find a queen.”

The last part was said with such painful harshness that I saw the sadness laid bare within him. His pain and loneliness were suddenly evident in his voice and his eyes. After all the small but remarkable things I had witnessed connected to him in our short acquaintance I realized he had been preparing me to hear his story. In many ways we fought the same thing only he felt like it was his fault the environment was under assault while I knew it was the fault of others. Tentatively, I reached for his hand, then stopped. He faced me, with darkened eyes, a longing evident on his face.

“What happened to the last one? Why do you need one?”

“Even though I have been here on this earth for a long time I still have only so much time before I move on,” he replied. “My last queen moved on as the pain of what was happening to our kind pierced her soul. You see, not just any mortal woman can join with the one who is king. She must be one descended from the first woman, at least the first one according to most religions and beliefs.”

“Eve?” I asked.

“No, Lilith is what she is most commonly known as.” Buck sipped his wine. “She was before the Eve of Genesis and left the first mortal man who was written about, because he didn’t see her as his equal. He wished to control her as he wished to control nature and rule over it, not with it. Since then, the mortal men who write down the laws of many religions and belief systems have belittled and demonized her. We embraced her as our equal, as we were there before the religions, before the beliefs were ever written down. We just were. They called us evil because we saw the preservation of the natural world as more important than the comforts of ourselves, realizing that you didn’t have to sacrifice one to acquire the other. Although we were powerful our kind weren’t aggressive and we found it necessary to either retreat into nature, or to live as men do, hiding our true appearance. The female descendants of Lilith, had to hide themselves even more, taking mortal men as protectors and mates, which shortened the lifespan of their descendants. At various times they were hunted as evil. The history of this country has its own time darkened with the stain of their spilled blood.”

“Are you talking about Salem?” I watched his face closely as the pain flew over his face again.

“Yes, but every area populated by those who coveted wealth and influence had the madness. Even when refuge was found in certain communities once they came under attack we were forced to leave.” His voice was low and his eyes darkened, as if he had his own memories of the times. “They saw my kind as demons, servants of the dark one, when they were truly the ones with the darkness within. Even now their greed rules them, blinds them to the damage they cause. We are the guardians of the forests, the protectors of nature, and are not meant to serve alone. We’re meant to have a mate with us. But I’ve been alone for so long. My last mate, Daere, lost a sister to the madness, and it broke her. She faded away and I’ve been alone since, hiding my true self because most would see it in another less favourable light. Although I have searched for another queen, many of the current descendants of Lilith are unaware of the power that resides in them, or they choose to deny it, as they’ve been taught it is wicked and unnatural.”

“What do you really look like?”

I was intrigued by what Buck was telling me and although I had an idea in my head I wanted to know if the expectation met reality.

“Not entirely human,” was all he said. “But not as frightening as we have been portrayed in literature and religious texts.”

“Did my parents ever see you as you really are?”

“They did and were not frightened,” he answered. “But they were very open-minded and receptive to something different than them. Even though we didn’t see each other often, every time we did our reunion was full of joy. I watched you and your brothers grow into the people you’ve become now but it wasn’t until you saw me at your father’s funeral that I realized you had the gift, as I kept myself hidden to all there except your mother. You shouldn’t have noticed me, but you did. You have the blood of Lilith running in you.”

“She didn’t remember you,” I said. “After you whispered in Mom’s ear then left, I asked her about you, and she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about.”

He breathed out audibly then appeared somewhat sad and resigned. “I took myself out of her memories. It’s better that way. Her memories should only be of Matthew as she prepares to move on.”

It seemed like an admission of his love for them that he wanted her to think only of my father as she approached her final times. Which still left the question of why he sought me out. It was obvious but I wanted to hear it from his lips.

“What do you want of me?”

The words came out of my throat as my hand ached to touch his cheek. Almost as if he knew what I had just thought he picked my hand up, leaned into it as he placed it on his cheek, then he pressed his lips into my wrist.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he said, in little more than a whisper. He looked so vulnerable in the soft glow of the lanterns, the flicker of the candles sending shadows over his face. “I seek a queen, from the bloodline of Lilith, who is unattached to any other man. I wish to court you, in the hopes that you’ll agree to becoming my mate. I tell you this truthfully so that you know I have no hidden agenda, no desire to conquer you or control you. In exchange, I will give you extended life, longer than other humans, eternal youth while we are together, children who should reap the benefits of both of our bloodlines, and an opportunity to help heal this world of the damage done to it by greed and ignorance.”

Everything Buck offered to me was valuable, and desirable but there was one thing he didn’t say, and I pulled away. He knew immediately what I desired above all else and smiled apologetically.

“I can’t offer you love,” he said truthfully. “I have loved several mortal women in my lifetime and remember each one with great tenderness but also great sadness. Every time I have to say farewell to one of them, as they move on to the next realm, a piece of me goes with them. After Daere, I grieved for a long time and although I eventually accepted that I had to seek a new mate, I hoped not to find one, not wanting to hurt like that again. I should have faded away myself after a time, but I didn’t. If your mother hadn’t been married already, I would have courted her, but finding her too late just reinforced my belief that perhaps I was already too old for this world.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly was. “I’ve never been in love with any man, not enough to marry one. Still, I’ve been hurt, and I just feel that if it’s not possible to feel love for me, then the relationship is not a true one, not like my parents had. That’s what I’ve been holding out for, and I can’t compromise now, not when you want a commitment for so long.”

He sat back, clearly not expecting this response, as the disappointment was evident on his face. I did feel bad, but it was not something I was willing to work around. If he wanted a marriage that was also a partnership it would have to have an emotional component to it. It would be a lie, otherwise.

“Well,” he finally said, a grim smile on his face. “You are a woman of strong convictions. I admire that about you.”

“You don’t have to take my memories away,” I said. “I will not betray your trust and tell anyone a word of what you’ve told me.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, standing up and offering me his hand. He clasped my hand with both of his. “My sharing of information with you was freely given but your promise of discretion is greatly appreciated. May I offer you a ride home?”

“No, I’ll take a taxi. May I split the bill?”

Buck’s smile was amused and genuine. “No, I invited you as my guest. Thank you for coming, Ms. Hawthorne.”

The formality of his farewell was a little unexpected but, in a way, it was an acknowledgement that a barrier was in place between us. He helped me on with my jacket and watched while I left the conservatory. As I walked through the restaurant there was silence as the people who had been there when I arrived watched me leave. The woman who greeted me when I got there, handed me a small box, a piece of the chocolate cake, then opened the door for me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. With my hand raised I hailed a taxi and went home, certain that I would never see James Barnes again.

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[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 6x04

Sorry this has taken me a bit longer than normal to get out but oh boy do I have a lot to get through this week - so much costume goodness and its full of interesting things, so pull up a chair and settle in with a beverage of your choice because this is a long meta!!! I even managed to somehow get round the 30 image limit and get 34 pictures into this post - I told you I was going to make full use of the increased limit 😂

I also have a question for you all -are you interested in me sharing with you where you can buy the clothes worn and how much they cost?? because I can do a separate post if you’re interested? I can’t always find everything, but I can usually find a good chunk of the costumes (especially the women’s clothes!) and I’m happy to share it if you’re interested! anyway let me know and let’s get to talking about the costumes in Animal instincts!

No Chimney this week as we didn’t see him out of uniform! 😭

below the cut as its very long!!

Bobby

Bobby has reverted to the green and brown colour palette we tend to see him in most often after blue and the choice is perfect for this episode - we start off with this /brown polo shirt which has a slightly greenish tone to it.

before we get the light green (almost army green) tee while he’s alone at the Grant-Nash house

before we finally end up on this forest green button up shirt

it’s an interesting pattern of colour for Bobby and the sleeve lengths are also telling. If we start with the brown polo, I’ve spoken before about how brown is stable and reliable, but what I haven’t spoken about is how brown is also seen as the colour of dependable friendships and good counsel and how it offers support and protection - in my opinion all perfect things to describe the scene Bobby has with Hen - him being a good friend to her and giving her some sound advice. the greenish tint to the polo also hints at the idea of renewal - in this case Bobby returning to the firehouse (and seemingly rejuvenated despite the circumstances from the previous episode) and in great spirits.

The green tee - which is almost an army green - similar to the ones we’ve seen Eddie in - hints at the battle against loneliness in an empty house. its a pretty neutral choice and continues to show a relaxed Bobby who seems to be fairly at peace with himself - but the choice of green here could also be hinting at the internal battles bobby faces - against his addiction - because an empty house could be a dangerous place to be. It doesn’t mean anything here in the context of this scene, but it could very well be planting seeds for the future!

And then there is the forest green button up shirt - with its sleeves rolled down one turn further that Bobby usually wears them - a sign that he is hiding something - in this case its obvious - Bobby is hiding Hoover the dog. the renewal and growth symbolism of green is very much pertinent here - Bobby and Athena find themselves empty nesting and Bobbys solution is to steal get a pet (once Hoover wind Athena over of course!!) which grows their household a bit!

Athena

Two Athena costumes to talk about this week and they are fairly contrasting, we have the blue knit top with the white collar and a plum ribbed top with a bronze longline belted cardigan.

We can’t talk about the blue top and not compare it to the one Buck wears n 6x02 - because they are remarkably similar. Athenas is a slightly brighter and darker shade of blue, but its hard not to draw a parallel between them and its yet another example of Bathena being paralleled with Buddie (because Eddie and Bobby are semi paralleling each other as well but I’ll talk more about that when I get to Eddie!). 

Like Bucks struggle to understand the secret to happiness in 6x02, Athena is struggling to be fully happy now she finds herself with an empty nest - it’s yet another connection to lev and the idea of life passing you by if you don’t appreciate the moment. Athena has made her family and especially her children such a massive part of her life, that now she’s faced with the next stage, she’s struggling to understand where to find her happiness. this isn’t to say Athena is unhappy, just that she’s in the next stage of her life and having to grapple with what that looks like. It’s such a clear connection to Buck - who, now free of Taylor is grappling with where he goes next and how he finds what he’s looking for. I love the wardrobe department for making this parallel between Buck and Athena- because although they are at different stages of their respective lives, the answer is in the same for them both - its in their partners.

then we have this plum and bronze combination - which looks incredible on Angela - this woman would look good in a bin bag!!!!

Plum is a shade of purple with black undertones. it is a rich colour and is associated with royalty, wisdom and compassion. While Bronze is both a colour of strength and support, warmth and comfort. they are rich jewel like tones and we continue to see more and more of Athena in these colours this season  which I am loving - yes the black is still ever present and I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of her in army greens as the season progresses, but we are witnessing a shift in Athena which began in season 4, but is really gaining pace now and is being shown through her costumes - I might be getting my hopes up, but it really is all pointing towards an Athena who is increasingly less about work and her position as a police officer and more about who she is as a person without that. I might have to do some adding up and compare the screen time of her in uniform compared with her out of uniform if I get the chance because I think it will back up my thoughts!

Maddie

Green blazer and tee with ‘we are the new hippies’ logo (available from Saks fifth avenue if you’re interested and have a couple hundred dollars to spend on a t-shirt!!

we continue to see Maddie in tees with blazers - not a leather jacket in sight - it really shows how far she has come. I spoke about it in my 6x01 meta - blazers mean Maddie in a good place based on her wearing them in previous seasons. the emerald green one is a great colour on Jen, but more importantly green means growth and renewal - the renewal of her relationship with Chimney and family life and the growth associated with that. 

The orange dip dye tee with a white zip front hoodie and a blue double breasted blazer with brass buttons and a peak lapel is an amazing choice. we have the navy (military not colour) undertones of the coat with the double breasted brass buttons and its navy colour. The use of a military style suggests an element of protection, but it also suggests the idea of ‘ship shape’ - and by the book - which is something we witness Maddie doing in this scene - she learnt from the Tara situation and has gone about providing help in the right way this time. 

Then we have the orange tee. Orange is a colour of enthusiasm, warmth and joy - it is also a colour of emotional strength, so to have Maddie in orange at the end of an arc which will have hit very close to home for her and to have her showing such emotional strength really does relay just how far she has come. 

Hen

Hen’s first costume is this army camo jacket with a black tee and a green pair of trousers - which we see again later on when she goes to see her neurology professor to ask for a second chance. I found it really interesting and clever to have her in the same costume at the start and the end of the episode - just with a change of jacket - going from camo - something you wear when you’re in hiding or trying to go unobserved - so here we have Hen, in a scene where a large chunk of the conversation is about lying and keeping secrets. She is essentially trying to go unobserved - in the sense that we don’t know if the firefam know about her failing her neurology test

in her last scene and after her drunk conversation with Buck, Hen has decided to stop laying low and confront her failure by asking for a second chance - the use of a tiger pattern for this is wonderful to see - tiger stripes in fashion are meant to convey self confidence, courage and ambition - very much Hen in this scene! I also want to take a moment to talk about the use of a cardigan with a large Aries logo on it (fashion brand Aries) in red. Aries is of course a constellation and star sign, but did you know that in greek mythology, Aries is the ram that provided the golden fleece, which not only connects to Athena, but also to the other god of war (and courage) - Ares. Now the reason this is interesting and pertinent here is two fold - first is the fact that Athena is the one who helps Jason (and the argonauts) claim the fleece so that Jason may claim his rightful throne. The second is that Ares god of war, is the embodiment of the brutality of war, and he is often on the wrong side of battles in greek mythology - being outsmarted by his sister Athena - who uses strategy to win her battles (the trojan horse is a perfect example of this in practice in the greek myth) so putting Hen in an outfit connected to the ‘failure’ god of war is hinting that this endeavour of hers will fail (because she has picked the wrong side - pursuing being a doctor) and that it will be brutal on her in the process. This all ties in with what we know about ‘Tomorrow’ and I love hte fact that it also connects into the idea of the universe screaming at Hen - what could be more universe screaming than a constellation of stars - and when theres going to be a space lab involved!!!!

The other thing I want to point out is the colour matching of this outfit when Hen makes her bid to be given a second chance, and the outfit Buck is wearing when Connor makes his ‘second’ bid to Buck for him to be his and Kamerons sperm donor - russet - which is a reddish brown! the choice to tie those two things together through colour is so indicative of the fact that both will ultimately be the wrong choice in some way.

Then we have this fabulous D&G jumper (retails at $2,795 if you’re interested and have the budget of a major tv show!!!!) tv test card jumper. I love the fact that Hen is wearing something that resembles the tv test card, because that is what you’d see on the screen when the channel wasn’t broadcasting, or when there was an issue with the signal (this is back in the 1960′s to the 1990′s for those of you too young to know what one is!!) Hen in this scene is in waiting mode - she’s not ‘broadcasting’ without work or study to do and is at a loss as to what to do with her time and I think this is a neat bit of costuming to portray this. there is also the fact that checkerboard is synonymous with the idea of pieces moving into place and a symbol of duality and achieving balance in ones life - something Hen doesn’t currently have but is trying to figure out how to achieve!

Connor and Kameron

Ok so I don’t normally do meta for guest cast because if I did then they’d get way too long and it would take me all week, but Conor and Kameron feel too relevant and there is some interesting stuff going on.  

When we meet them, Kameron is in a long dress with a pale blue chintz print on a white background I found this a really fascinating choice because this kind of print immediately makes me think of 3 things - 18th century women's fashion, wallpaper and porcelain (from the same period). 

This is intriguing to me because throughout the episode she is presented as this almost non entity - I don’t mean it as a negative, because this storyline is about Buck and his growth etc and she has a very specific purpose in this narrative. This is about Conor’s inability to have children so Kameron is there for storytelling purposes and so she has been deliberately written as inoffensive. The reason I find this son fascinating is because the use of a pattern that calls back to the feminine world of the 18th century is a really clever one - it places Kameron in the same ideology as the world they occupied - a world where the expectations for women was to make a home and provide a family. We even textually get a confirmation of this concept when Conor explains that it was just expected that Kameron was the problem - that it was her who was infertile - a common assumption for women in the 18th century as well - and it shows us how little we’ve moved on from 18th century misogyny.  

Her next outfit had me very 👀👀👀 and it still does if I’m honest - Pink cardigan and a white tee

because of this from 5x04 Home and Away;

and also (this ones for you @kitkatpancakestack​ ) because of this from 4x08 Breaking Point;

yeah - are you seeing what I’m seeing?? I know the lighting is a bit yellowy in the first shot which is making it look a slightly different colour, but we basically have her colour matching Buck at two moments where he is caught in the middle of someone else’s relationship - when he makes mistakes that prove costly (not only to him but also to those in the respective relationships).

We have Buck getting involved in Maddie and Chimneys relationship - involving a child - by keeping secrets and inadvertently doing more harm than good both to himself and others (long game foreshadowing anyone?)

And then theres Breaking point my absolute beloved - in a costume that is even closer to the one Kameron is wearing because of the white shirt Buck is wearing beneath. We have Buck having a conversation with Albert about Veronica and their relationship and the conversation is about Buck not being a third wheel in Albert and Veronicas relationship if he has dinner with them. This scene is also the set up for the end of Albert and Veronica - because she doesn’t like his friends - but also for bringing Taylor back into the equation - something that ultimately made him incredibly miserable! But the thing to take away from this scene is the comment about not being a third wheel - which is exactly what Buck is essentially going to be if he was to go through with this sperm donation - that unwanted third person in a relationship - always present but unwanted and not included (because its worth remembering that they might ask him more than once so they can grow their family - heaping more pain on him in the longer run!). 

Conor is playing very nicely into both my check theory and my stripe theory and actually the combining of them both on one character within one episode has me salivating, because I can’t (off the top of my head and I don’t have the time to go check) remember any instance where we’ve seen both used in combination before. 

Checks being the portender of trouble and stripes being the bringer of change in direction. To combine them in this way is prophetic (IMO) that Buck won’t go through with the donation - because while the stripes being worn in the scene where buck says yes to being a donor highlights the upcoming change in direction, the check being worn twice in the prior scenes seemingly without any problems arising for Conor is suggestive that the trouble is only delayed and that the fallout will have a larger impact than a singular use of check clothing would present - because this storyline isn’t over yet and I wouldn’t be surprised if the next time we see Conor he’ll be wearing more check - especially if we see him when Buck either changes his mind and tells them he can’t do it, or if Bucks medical history intervenes.

Buck

Okay - Buck has a fair amount going on in this episode from a costume perspective - we start off with this lightweight blue sweater;

which is pretty much the same shade as the one he wears for a different conversation with Maddie...

(Again the lighting makes the colour look a bit different but it is pretty much the same colour). The fact that we have yet more colour paralleling (because Maddie is also in green in that season 2 conversation!) for conversations that are about similar things - Abby was off ‘opening herself up to possibility’ and finding herself in Europe and now we have Buck planning on doing the same thing - just while staying in LA. The fact that Abby had ended her relationship with Buck (without telling him grrrrr) before she wen’t off to ‘find herself’ and Buck has just ended a relationship himself (actually making it clear its ended)  is loud - whats even louder is that we know that Abby came back from that finding herself adventure with a fiancee (and future step children) and that implies that Buck will end his ‘finding himself adventure’ in a similar position - do we need more proof that Buddie is going canon - because this right here is it - you don’t call back to a conversation both thematically and from a costume perspective unless it means something - the wardrobe team would have been told that the conversation in 6x04 was mirroring the one from 2x01 and they would’ve picked those colours intentionally!

There isn’t a lot to say about the black knit polo, other than to say that it is meant to reflect Bucks charming nature, while concealing his vulnerabilities - because we can see from the dialogue and acting choices in this scene that Buck is  surprised that Connor has settled down etc - its the very thing Buck has been searching for and here it is presented in front of him - he would be feeling vulnerable about not having the same thing, but we see him concealing it - the entire conversation is about Connor and Kameron, Buck really doesn’t say much about himself in that scene at all - its all one sided.

I’ve already spoken above about the choice to have Hen and Buck in the same russet colour for their respective scenes so I won’t go on about that again here, but I will talk a bit about the colour russet - because it’s interesting, especially when combined with texture - Russet has come to mean honesty, but also seriousness and regret. the perfect choice for both Hen and bucks respective conversations.

Russet was originally a term used to describe a type of coarse cloth rather than a colour and it was cloth usually worn by the poor in the medieval period - it was even enshrined in law in England, that people working in certain trades could only wear russet cloth! We do get patterning through the  weave of Bucks bowling shirt, which again, like it did in season 5 hints at Bucks confused and uncomfortable state of mind - this is a Taylor situation all over again in essentials. We also get a white tee, so sound the klaxon as it means trouble ahead for him!

hopefully you can see the patterning of the weave in the below picture!

Thing is we’ve seen Buck in this colour before - in 5 x07 Ghost Stories - and connected to a story about a guy caught up in the drama of a married couple (and a big warning sign for Buck about the fact that Taylor will go after the truth no matter what!) and someone asked to do something for each person in the marriage. This is yet another call back to a scene where Buck is involved in something pertaining to either himself or someone else being or getting involved in a relationship where they would be better off staying out of it.

The dark navy knit polo with tan and white collar, is indicative of where Bucks head is at - the darkness of the navy shows  we also have the white trainers - if we needed any more proof that Buck is on a journey to discover love, then this is it - he wears the white trainers when he’s in scenes about love - both familial and romantic and those scenes provide important markers on this journey. you can read more of this theory here, but we should take note of what was said in that scene because it is important in Bucks search - can he be a ‘donor not Dad’ is the key takeaway here.

Bucks blue vertical striped short sleeve button up shirt is a doozy of a costume choice - its yet more Buck wearing blue in season 6 (we’re not totalling a ration of 2 non blue outfits to 6 blue ones!!!)

I’ve seen a few gifsets going around showing the above shirt in parallel with the below one, and it’s a very important connection to make. The gaps between the stripes is wider on the one from 4x14 and like I spent many of my s5 metas talking about, the tighter the patterning the more it represents inner turmoil and confusion. the difference between the gaps is telling - Buck was done with being the one doing the chasing when Taylor turned up on his door, but the Eddie situation was beginning to resolve itself at that point in time - he was awake and on the mend - hence the wider stripes. This new shirt shows the narrowing - there is more confusion going on and it continues the theme of Buck wearing vertical stripes in this season so far as well - we’re totalling 3 vertically striped shirts now in 4 (technically 3) episodes. there is a further connection to make with this shirt and its with Past is prologue and the most uncomfortable I love you of all time. Its the one other time we’ve seen Buck in blue with vertical stripes and i don’t believe his yes to being a sperm donor was any more genuine than his saying I love you to Taylor was - oh he’ll try hard to convince himself its true and he’s okay with it, but in the end he’s either going to turn around and say no (in the same way he said no to Taylor in 5x18 when he broke up with her) or he’s going to be unable to donate and eventually feel relief that he didn’t have to go through with it (in the same way we saw his relief when Taylor handed back her key and walked out of his life).

Eddie

Eddie is wearing a green long sleeve tee when Christophers school phones him. the green is a darker army green - indicative of the fact that Eddie is ‘at war’ with Christopher in this episode, (maybe a strong term, but thats what it feels like to Eddie!) but the fact that the colour is both brighter and darker than many of his other army coloured t-shirts shows his progress - its not truly army coloured and its not washed out like his other army tops have been. this is bolder and cleaner - it is yet more proof that Eddie is in a good place - it connects him to his past, but also shows he can grow beyond it - we no longer identify him as a solider (in fact it will be interesting to see if we see any more army tees now he’s in a better place and finding himself without the identity of soldier - I think unless he spirals backwards we might not!)

Eddie’s watch was very prominent in this episode - we get to see it in the above scene as well as in the conversation with Ramon. Both scenes are obviously connected through Christopher (as does the fact that there is yet another timepiece connecting to Christopher in the tank top scene - we see Eddies clock on the bedside table when Chris has snuck out of bed to chat with his friends online!) and, as I have theorised that watch is a representation of his st. Christopher medal, as well as connected to Buck we have an interesting pattern emerging. Although we didn’t get to see Eddie and Buck talking about whats been going on with Christopher, we did get Buck being connected to whats been going on when Eddie asked him if Chris had confided in him - Eddie tried to involve Buck in the matter, but Buck was too much in his own head to be able to contribute. 

As a quick aside - I’m truly enjoying the fact that Both Eddie and Ryan have the same colour phone case 😂

The scene above has Eddie in a black trucker jacket and a tan top and boots - all very nicely colour matched with his watch strap as well and it bares a striking resemblance to this outfit from 5x18;

Not the same outfit and the jumper is lighter in the 6x04 scene, but close enough to draw a parallel - and interestingly both scenes involve conversations with parental figures - and both are conversations that encompass the concept of healing from trauma and being saved. the lightening of the brown to tan and the switch from suede to cotton are indicative of the fact that Eddie is continuing to make progress on his healing journey (because even the boots go from dark brown to tan!), in this case the black jacket is about Eddie attempting  to conceal his vulnerability - while the tan top is a mixture of brown yellow and white. The meaning of brown is stability, comfort and protection, while yellow is communication, optimism and clear thinking, then there is white - balance and new beginnings.

Eddies Black tank top proved my theory correct - if you haven’t read it then you can by clicking here  and the fact it came in a scene after the bike incident - insanity and I’m still not over it! Eddie is in an interesting place emotionally, and we get to see a little of his stress response - his authority, before he reins it back in and breaks the cycle.

Christopher

Sassy Christopher (I love his sass!!) in his navy and white stripe short sleeve rugby polo also playing into stripe theory - his life is about to change - because he has been found out - gotta admire his plan though - not sure I’d have thought of doing what he did to get a bit of freedom from my parents when I was his age!

and finally we have his blue and green pyjama top. The patterning on this top is great - its kind of like clouds passing across the sky or even the Aurora borealis, calming and balancing green the colour of growth and the blue of trust, security and support - all things we see in the way Eddie handles Christopher in this scene - all things that show how fare Eddie has come and how different his relationship with Chris is compared with his own relationship with his father when he was Christophers age. Its a beautiful to see - just like the aurora borealis!!!

I hope you enjoyed reading and thank you as always for your likes, comments and reblogs - I love reading your thoughts etc in the tags - they make my day!

As always tagged people below (and hopefully they work as they’ve been a bit temperamental!!

@mistmarauder​ @theladyyavilee​ @loveyourownsmiilee​ @leothil​ @girldadbuddie​ @kitkatpancakestack​  @bucksintheroom​ @lemotmo​ @trashendence​ @elishareads​  @clipboardsandstethoscopes​ @comfortbuddie​ @fiona-fififi​  @name-code-black-widow​ @prettyboyandthekid​ @callanee​ @calyssmarviss​ @alwaysme​ @pbandjeremiah​ @batgrldes​ @piningpettyeddie​ @bi-moonlight​ @spotsandsocks​ @projectabc​ @livingwherethesidewalkends​  @idontshitpostbuttheolympicpark​ @diazboysbuckley​ @sweettsubaki​ @jordxnhennessy​ @shortsighted-owl​ @sherlocking-out-loud​ @ekstasisandangst-main​ @favouritealias​ @hearteyesdiaz​ @gossamerglob​ @ktinastrikesback @adamrparrrish​ @princesschez75​ @bucksbuddie​ @oneawkwardcookie​  @leatherat @moniquekatie @wanderingwomanwondering  @trickster-archangel​ @outrunningthedark​ @asharadaine​ @ajunerose​ @wolfybuckley​ @neon-d0rk​ @boohooweewoobuckaroo​​ @talespinner230​

[curseoftheundeadraven]

From Within Two Prisons

Part One

Male monster x female protagonist

NSFW

(I would really appreciate some feedback if there is anything I could improve on. Thank you!)

I am unsure how or why I descended the dungeon stairs with so little fear but descend I did. My fingertips slid effortlessly across the cool stone walls as I breathed in the scent of damp earth and moss, but it was interlaced with a more repugnant aroma. Quinn had been entrusted with guard duty and his general disdain for such assignments and penchant for falling asleep at any opportunity granted me the chance to proceed undetected. Silently, I ventured further into the depths, my senses attuned to every sound and shadow.

Peering into each cell, being careful to tread lightly, my expectations were met as all of the cells were empty. Even King Jasper, notorious for his apathy, deemed this place unfit for human habitation. Yet, it was not human life that compelled me to travel to such a place.

Eventually, I rounded a corner and encountered a cell fair larger than the others, standing alone at the end of a desolate hallway. A shiver traveled down my spine, though some part of me still thought the other maids surely were playing a joke on me, thinking me naive. Perhaps I was, or perhaps I was so incredibly lost in the exhaustive nothingness that was my life any chance at something interesting was worth looking into.

Drawing nearer, the realization dawned upon me that I had indeed stumbled upon something truly captivating. A dark blue figure perched upon a worn wooden bench within the cell gradually came into focus. The creature possessed a striking feature, impossible to ignore—a magnificent set of wings, nearly black, adorned with hues of deep blue and interwoven with scattered patches of dark purple. Yet, it surpassed any avian comparison in sheer enormity, likely almost twice my own size. It was not solely composed of blue feathers. Towards its face, a patch of grayish skin emerged, contrasting the vibrant plumage. Its feet bore imposing claws, each talon a force to be reckoned with, while its hands exhibited a semblance of human form, the feathers receding along the back of its palms.

"Bumbling humans, deluded by your self-perceived mightiness," mocked a shrill, almost metallic voice, piercing the air. Startled, I nearly leapt from my skin, a surge of fear coursing through me. I had never anticipated encountering a creature that could speak.

"I... I don't consider myself mighty," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The creature abruptly lifted its head, granting me a glimpse of its face—a surprising mix of human and avian features. Dark feathers extended down its sharp nose, its features angular and pointed, accentuated by piercing white eyes. After a moment of silence, I somehow found the courage to inquire, albeit awkwardly, "You... can talk?"

The creature sneered, mocking my own voice with shocking accuracy though in a twisted, distorted tone. "You can talk?"

An indignant huff escaped my lips as I retorted, "There's no need to be rude," while the creature observed me, tilting its head in curiosity. "Though, I suppose I'd be rather sour if I were trapped down here..."

"Did you merely come to gawk at me?" it snapped, its voice laced with a mix of anger and frustration.

"Oh, no, absolutely not!" I hastily defended myself, feeling remorseful for my unintentional staring. "I apologize if it seemed that way…” I added sheepishly. I didn't mean to gawk...but he was truly remarkable. I had never beheld such beauty before. I could only imagine how his feathers would shine in the light...

"Why have you ventured into this place?" he demanded, his voice rough yet tinged with curiosity.

I confessed, "There's a rumor circulating about you... that the king has captured some... being of sorts." I chose my words carefully, not wanting to say anything unkind. He scoffed dismissively.

"Just what I needed," he sneered, disdain coating his words, "a swarm of bothersome humans sneaking down here to pester me." I approached his cell, raising my hands.

"I'm sorry. I didn't consider that. Would you like me to refute the rumors…so no one else disturbs you?" I offered, my gaze locked on his face, attempting to discern his reaction.

"I've had enough encounters with humans to know their words hold no weight," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, each syllable burning through the air. I paused, contemplating his bitter response.

Then, in a delicate yet sincere tone, I asked him, "Have you ever encountered anyone named Analise?" His gaze lingered on me, his pupils contracting. I straightened my posture, nervously rubbing the inside of my palm with my thumb.

"No, I haven't. What does that have to do with anything?" he replied, curiosity mingling with the remnants of his earlier hostility. I shrugged lightly.

"It means you can't assume I'm like all the other humans," I responded, a faint smile gracing my lips. I continued, "Oh! I apologize, I never asked for your name." I awaited a response in silence, but none came. "...I can give you a nickname if you'd like."

"Nyka..." he finally uttered, the word trailing off as he muttered something about my being a nuisance.

"Nyka. I like that," I said, repeating the name softly. Then, searching for the right words, I asked, "So, what kind of creature are you?"

"What do you think?" he countered, in a tone that made it clear he expected a certain response.

"Well, many of the staff believe you might be a demon, but I know that's not the case," I replied confidently.

"And how do you know that?" he inquired.

"Demons are supposed to be terrifying, purely evil creatures. You, on the other hand, aren't like that. Though you are undoubtedly intimidating, you're not scary," I stated, nodding in affirmation. I witnessed a look of utter disbelief cross his face.

"Right," he said sarcastically, averting his gaze. Slowly, I approached his cell, my hands wrapping around the chilling steel bars, determined to prove the honesty of my statement. He turned to face me, briefly taken aback before shaking his head. Then, he stepped off the wooden bench, rising to his full, towering height. He stood before me, an immense figure nearly seven feet tall, body strong and muscular. Feathers adorned his form, leaving his chest bare, while his lower half was concealed by pants. Not that I cared about such details. He wore a scowl, anticipating my recoil, yet I remained rooted in place, my mouth agape, awestruck by his commanding presence.

"You... you're... wow, I mean... you're just incredible," I managed to babble, my cheeks flushing crimson. He lowered his face, drawing closer to mine, studying me intently. Then, as if struck by a notion, he reached toward my face, his massive hand cupping my jaw, tilting my head upward. He simply stared, his pupils dilating and contracting rapidly, while I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. His touch evoked something within me, a magnetic pull. I yearned to run my hands along his magnificent wings.

"Not the slightest bit of fear…you are an oddity, aren't you?" he mused, his tone causing my stomach to flutter.

I didn't linger for long, fearful of irritating Nyka, and my nervousness only intensified with each passing minute. It took me a few days to find an opportunity to sneak back in. When I did, I was extra cautious, my apron filled with provisions. If a single item fell at the wrong moment, I would surely be caught. Approaching his cell, I could see Nyka immediately perking up as he caught sight of me. He stood and walked toward the bars.

"Okay, so I probably should have asked what you eat, but I brought whatever I could," I explained to a bewildered Nyka. Awkwardly, I held out my apron, offering him the food I had brought. He eyed me for a moment before reaching out to grab what I had offered, then settled on the ground. I followed suit, a wide grin on my face as I fought the urge to bounce up and down with excitement.

We sat in silence, and I allowed him to enjoy the food while I studied his figure and the mesmerizing beauty of his feathers. Occasionally, I caught myself staring a bit too much and quickly averted my gaze, nerves getting the best of me. After a while, he finished everything I had brought, and we locked eyes in silence.

Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with uncertainty, "Thank you," as if still questioning the reality of the situation.

"I figured they aren't feeding you much, but I'm not sure how often I can do this without risking punishment," I admitted.

"Are you a maid or something?" he inquired.

"...or something. I'm a servant, similar to being a maid…but not by choice," I replied quietly.

"Why?"

"To repay a debt that is not mine," I stated grimly, not wishing to delve into the details. It was a topic I preferred to avoid.

"Can't you escape?" he asked.

"I've witnessed enough failed attempts to know better. It's nearly impossible. Perhaps if I were as big as you I’d have a chance” I chuckled softly.

This routine continued for two weeks. Each day, our conversations grew more extensive, and each day, Nyka's demeanor warmed toward me. He even allowed me to touch his wings, which proved to be incredibly silky to the touch. I had developed a habit of reaching out to him whenever I could, whether it was grabbing his hand or touching his knee. At first, it startled him, but he quickly grew accustomed to my gestures.

"Do you know why they are holding you here? What their plans are?" I asked one day. His body slumped, and he hung his head.

"No, though whatever it is, my chances of survival are dubious," he mumbled grimly. A knot formed in my stomach that was nearly painful as I gripped the bars so tightly my knuckles turned white. I stared at his dejected figure, desperately grasping for any way I could help. I swore to myself then and there that I would find a way.

I hurriedly made my way down to Nyka's cell one fateful night, the darkness filling the corridors. The hour was so late that it was nearly morning.

"Nyka, I have a way to find out," I blurted out, causing his head to snap up in surprise. Though accustomed to my appearances, the urgency in my voice caught him off guard. He rose from where he sat and approached, his eyes filled with confusion.

"Find out...?" he questioned, his gaze fixed on me as I gripped the bars, standing on tiptoes to get closer.

"What they have planned for you," I explained breathlessly. He recoiled slightly, his expression shifting to a mix of disbelief and resignation. After a moment, he sighed and reached out to gently tousle my hair as sadness flickered in his eyes.

"How?" he asked, his voice tinged with dejection. I was reluctant to tell him the truth. I feared his reaction and the burden of guilt it might place upon him.

The truth was, I had a connection with one of the king's sons.

Prince Edgar, the second eldest, in his late twenties, was known for his... affectionate nature. While he wouldn't openly admit it, he had been involved with several female servants in the past that acted as his mistresses. Although this arrangement granted them better treatment, Prince Edgar was a drunk whose fondness faded fast, quickly tiring of the women.

"How?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing as his hand moved to cradle my chin, “…you don’t want to tell me…why?” He inquired in a stern voice. I froze, scrambling to find a more palatable explanation, one that would spare him from worry.

"...I fear you'll disapprove and try to dissuade me," I mumbled softly, unable to meet his gaze.

"Analise..." he growled suddenly, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I believe I can extract the information from one of the princes if I... play my cards right," I admitted before he recoiled, shock and disappointment etched on his face.

"You can't possibly—"

"No, no! Well, not if I can avoid it..." I sighed as he approached the cell once more. "He has tried to entice me into becoming one of his servants in the past. My intention is to feign consideration, suggesting we share some drinks together. Once he's suitably intoxicated, it shouldn't be difficult to extract the information I need."

"What if—"

"It will be fine, don't worry. I can handle myself," I asserted as confidently as I could muster, even as a pit formed in my stomach. I saw his mouth open, ready to argue, so in an attempt to divert his attention, I added playfully, "No need to get jealous," hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

"My jealousy is not the primary reason I find this plan utterly disdainful—"

"So you admit to being jealous?" I interjected with a small grin. When our eyes met, I knew I had successfully diverted his focus. He looked at me with a longing that intensified, drawing closer. The silence that had consumed us seemed to last eons as he seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"If I were not confined to this cell, I would ensure you never desired another human lover again," he whispered in a low voice, avoiding eye contact. My entire body flushed with heat, and my breath caught in my throat. He studied me for a bit before he reached out, gently cupping my cheek, "You would like that, wouldn't you?" he murmured seductively, causing me to tremble. Unable to form coherent words, I nodded fervently, eliciting a chuckle from him.

He drew me closer until I stood right beside the bars of his cell. Bending down, he tenderly pressed his lips to mine, his hand entangled in my hair. After a moment, he pulled away, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Wait—" I called out, gripping his wrist. He looked at me with a slight smile, his eyes full of lust.

"And here I was afraid you might recoil from me," he said, inching closer once more. This time, his hands reached out, firmly grasping my hips and pulling me flush against the cell, our faces mere inches apart.

"Never," I whispered softly.

“...Perhaps I could please you more than any human man could even from in this cell,” he teased as a hand drifted down to my rear.

As our lips reunited, the sensation momentarily eclipsing the weight of his impending fate. The world around us dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the electric connection between us. With each passing second, his kisses grew more fervent, his lips grazing mine with a mixture of tenderness and desire.

As we kissed, he nipped at my bottom lip, a gesture that sent a surge of anticipation coursing through me. The feeling of his lips and his hands roaming my body ignited an indescribable ache deep within me. It was endlessly frustrating being separated so, able to kiss and touch but never in a way that would be enough. I was unsure if anything would be enough to quell the desire burning me to the core.

I pinched my thighs together as I felt myself growing more aroused, more desperate. I had wished for so long to feel his touch and it was just as enchanting as I had imagined it to be. Sliding his hands lower still, Nyka began to pull at my skirt and without hesitation I aided him in hiking it up. The moment the chance presented itself his hand slipped into my underwear, a small, gravely moan escaping his lips as we kissed again. He ran a finger over my clit and I whimpered.

“So wet, so quickly,” he chuckled, “you’re going to have to be quiet, can you do that?” He questioned and I frantically nodded, “good girl,” he whispered as he ran his thumb over my bottom lip before leaning back in to meet me in a kiss once more. As he did so he began to draw agonizingly slow circles on my clit as I squeezed the bars that separated us.

His touch ignited trails of electricity along my skin. He was strong and possessive. His free hand roamed my body with an insatiable hunger, seeking to claim every inch of me.

I surrendered myself to the allure of his touch as I felt more alive than I knew was possible. Soft moans escaped from my lips as every inch of my being begged for more.

“It’s not enough,” I whined as he began groping my breasts and teasing my nipples. As I felt two of his fingers press against my entrance a shiver coursed through me. He pushed them in at an agonizingly slow pace, but one I was grateful for as my body had to stretch to accommodate them. I gasped as he curled his fingers inside of me before pulling out and repeating the process. Nyka groaned, rutting against the bars.

“So tight, I’ll break free just to feel your pussy stretching around my cock,” he said as he slowly pushed them all the way in. My face burned, I had never indulged such vulgar language but hearing him say it electrified me, and I wanted more.

“Nyka,” I moaned as I began to be consumed by pleasure. He cursed under his breath as he began to pick up speed.

“Do you like it when I say such things? Like how badly I want to taste you and explore every inch of you…gently and slowly, just to fuck you hard and rough, making you cum until you can’t think straight…”

The struggle to remain silent became more and more challenging as waves of pleasure surged through my body. I fought to suppress the sounds that threatened to escape my lips, but struggled. He tenderly cupped my face, his touch both comforting and commanding.

"Sweet girl," he whispered softly, his voice dripping with desire, "though I yearn to hear the sounds of your pleasure, you must contain them. Cover your mouth, tightly," he instructed, his tone gentle yet firm.

I followed his command, pressing my hand against my face, determined to obey.

In that moment, as I surrendered to his whispered instructions, I felt a kind of intimacy I could have never imagined. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto mine, silently conveying the depths of his longing.

With sudden fervor he picked up his pace, roughly fucking me with his fingers. I could hear the noises of my arousal and reached out, clinging to him in any way possible, attempting to keep myself afloat as I was flooded with such intense pleasure

I watched as Nyka rubbed his groin against the bars of his cell, desperate to get friction, to be freed and find purchase inside of me. It was completely overwhelming, my mind solely able to focus on him, how badly I needed him. He began stroking my clit and I could help but pull my hand away from my mouth.

“D-don’t stop, please d - fuck,” I whimpered as quietly as I could.

“I’d fuck you until sunrise if I could,” he stated before kissing me again. I felt tension gathering inside me as my mind started to become hazy, electricity coursing through me with increasing intensity. I covered my mouth again as I felt myself getting closer to the edge. I started erotically thrusting my hips against the bars as he continued to relentlessly finger my tight pussy. Nyka tangled his hand in my hair and pulled slightly, staring into my eyes with all consuming lust.

“Such a good girl, go on. I want to watch you cum for me,” he ordered in a sweet tone, which was my undoing. It felt as though the building electricity finally crescendoed as my eyes rolled back into my head. I pressed my lips together so tightly it nearly hurt. My mind was spinning, unraveling. Pleasure coursed through my veins as I knew he was right, I would never want a human lover again.

It took me some time to regain my footing in reality as I stood there attempting to catch my breath. But I wasn’t done, once he had licked his fingers clean I grabbed his hips once again. With one hand I slowly moved to stroke his clothed cock, looking up at him with desperate eyes. He stared back at me, nearly in awe, as he slowly moved to pull down his pants. I assisted as much as I could and though part of me was overwhelmed by its sheer size and girth another, much stronger part of me, yearned to give him the limitless

pleasure I had just experienced. I wrapped my hand around his length, which I couldn’t entirely grasp, slowly pumping up and down. I whimpered as I pulled his face towards me, kissing him greedily. It was then Nyka’s turn to try and maintain silence as he bucked into my hand, a deep moan escaping his lips.

“Someone’s eager,” he breathed out. I watched as his eyes widened when I began to dip lower, sitting down on my knees. I stared at him, how massive he was, and perhaps I would have been more hesitant had my entire essence not been consumed by my desire for him – as though it was my sole purpose. I licked the head of his shaft, tasting the precum that had begun to leak out. He groaned, gaze filled with an insatiable hunger, a testimony to his overwhelming lust.

“Perhaps you should cover your mouth,” I teased as I swirled my tongue around his head again.

“Perhaps,” he gasped out as I traced my tongue up the length of his shaft before slowly attempting to take his cock into my mouth. The stretch nearly hurt my jaw, but I was determined. His hand tangled in my hair as he rutted forward, his cock suddenly hitting the back of my throat. I moaned around his length, feeling that familiar electricity throughout my body, as my eyes met his. I silently begged him to go on, to use my mouth for his own pleasure and after some hesitation he pulled out before slowly plunging back in, hitting the back of my throat again. He began to create a rhythm, his eyes never leaving mine. I held onto the bars as saliva began to drip from my mouth.

Nyka's teeth clenched, as he fiercely battled his own desires. It was undeniable that his longing for me mirrored my own, an all-consuming force that bound us together. The touch of his hand in my hair and the feeling of his shaft on my tongue was perfect. In that moment this overwhelming passion became my purpose, my reason for being. Nyka, with his intoxicating presence, became the embodiment of my everything.

He released me momentarily, allowing me to catch my breath.

“Please,” I begged, “I want to make you feel good…I want to taste you,” I confessed.

“Everything about you makes me feel good,” he whispered, wiping some of the tears that had collected around my eyes, “I’m going to take you, some day. I’m going to fuck you as though I am dying and you are the only cure,” he promised in a low growl as he moved my head towards his cock again.

He began thrusting harder and with more speed. I did my best not to gag, not to make any noise too loud. I felt how wet I was growing once again, being used by him a sensation nearly too alluring. That feeling was not aided as he whispered sweet praises to me while he used my mouth. Eventually his thrusts became more erratic and sloppy as he held back his animalistic noises to the best of his abilities. I looked up, meeting his eyes and his grip on my hair tightened. Throwing his head back he nicked a few more times, his cum filling my mouth and gushing down my throat. Even his taste filled me with a great need for him, swallowing as he pulled out. I wiped off a small drop that had spilled onto my lips, sucking my finger clean.

As I stood he extended his hand towards my cheek, his gaze soft.

"I yearn for nothing more than to embrace you, to break free from this cruel confinement," he confessed, his voice laced with longing.

A quiet resolve swelled within me, and I responded, "I shall make it so," I promised. He looked at me with such powerful affection that it made my stomach flip. Our lips converged once more, a kiss that brimmed with tenderness. A fire had been lit within me, and I would stop at nothing to fan the flames.

[grlquartz]

enjoy this little thing because i can't seem to get through writers block right now <3

1.9k words of primo and theo (oc) being cute about an old picture of him; a few drug mentions and a bit of suggestiveness under the cut but nothing too crazy hehe

Comfortable silence had blanketed the sunlit study for a while before either of them realized that the music had stopped playing. Another record had spun to its conclusion.

“Why don’t you put something on,” Primo said eventually, giving a slight gesture towards the general direction of the record player without taking his eyes off of his book.

It was only polite of him to offer, Theo thought, since he had chosen the last few. She yawned deeply as she sat up off of the chaise lounge and set her own book aside. Flipping through the illustration books of old botanical studies had been interesting at first, but now she was glad for something else to put her mind to.

She stood and wiggled from side to side to stretch out her back, then padded over the soft rug in her stocking feet over to the far wall where the turntable and speakers were. Primo had a fairly modest system- not that she really knew much about them anyways- but she thought his collection of music was rather impressive. The bookshelf next to the player supported multiple wire racks of records, each one stuffed to the brim. It was always a treat to discover what he might have hidden amongst the classics.

The sunlight warmed the floor in front of the shelf, where she plopped down criss-cross and began to ghost her fingertips along the ridges of the record sleeves. “Anything in particular?” she asked him, and he answered with a simple hum from his place in the wingback chair.

“Your choice, cara mia.”

Satanas, that narrowed things down. There was so much to choose from… she began to thumb out a couple at a time, sliding them down to get a glimpse at the covers. Some she knew by sight alone. A few familiar covers made her smile to herself- they had almost worn out Rumours, mostly thanks to her. His beloved collection of Tina Turner’s discography was neatly organized in its own section, in the rack that she preferred to peruse; where ABBA and Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles were just a few among some of her frequent picks.

The other shelf was a trip to the wide expanse of hard rock spanning the decades, and from the dawning era of metal; Led Zepplin, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Blue Oyster Cult… just a sampling among countless other artists, many she wasn’t quite as familiar with. Hmmm… maybe she ought to close her eyes and just pick one.

She did, trusting her intuition as she smoothed her fingers over the thin spines, and out came one of her favorites. She gave a little huff, though; she didn’t think he would really be in the mood for it today.

“How about Foreigner?”

He was quiet for a long moment- must have been deliberating- and then he answered somewhat nonchalantly. “Mmm, maybe not.”

She was right. So much for her choice. With a little private roll of her eyes she put the record back on the rack and put her intuition to another test.

Ah, that was better- a Pink Floyd album seemed a much more fitting soundtrack for this lazy, comfortable afternoon they were sharing. When she slipped the record from its well-loved sleeve, something happened to catch her eye; a corner of something, maybe a note, had almost come out with it. No reason to stifle her curiosity…

Oh, it wasn’t a note, it was an old photo. She set the record and its cover down beside her on the floor and flipped over the photo; it was hardly bigger than an index card, and the image quality wasn’t the clearest, but the subject matter instantly made her stomach flip in surprise.

“Hey, ah…” she started, entranced by what she was looking at. “What were you up to in seventy-three?”

From behind her she heard him turn a page slowly before he answered, a little facetiously. “Hmm… a lot of sex and drugs, I imagine.”

Satanas in fucking hell, she could imagine, too. In the picture he absolutely looked like a god of the former and someone who knew his way around the latter. He must have been in his late twenties, she calculated quickly, and she found herself stroking her fingertips over the papery surface of the photo as she stared down at it. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh… just…” she couldn’t keep her train of thought on the right track. Holy fuck. She had wondered about what he might have looked like as a young man, and she had some good guesses, but to see it for herself like this was so exciting that she could feel her face starting to flush warm. Whoever took the picture must have caught him at an interesting time, because his expression looked a little sour. But his face, fresh and bare of any paint, was unspeakably handsome- his angular jaw, strong nose, and piercing eyes set under his brow made her heart flitter even now. His skin looked so youthful and more tanned here- she thought she could even notice the shade of a few freckles across the bridge of his nose- and he seemed to glow in the bright sun, maybe from sweat. 

And if that wasn’t enough to draw her attention, then his outfit had captured it. A silver earring sparkled in his earlobe, since his long, wild blonde hair had been tucked behind his ear on that side. A cropped, sleeveless shirt hardly concealed his lean arms crossed over his chest, where he dangled a joint lazily between his fingers and a hairtie clung to his wrist. Or his midriff, where a trail of light hair down his belly caught the sun and led the eye to the low rise of his red athletic shorts, which… left absolutely nothing at all to the imagination. Lucifer almighty.

“Um,” she managed finally, enraptured with the image of him. “Do you still own these?”

“Own what?” he questioned, and now with the record momentarily forgotten she got up to bring the photo over to him.

As she approached he flicked his mismatched gaze up to her, and noticing the telltale color dusting her cheeks, he put his book down. She could only smile shyly as she handed it over to him.

He looked at it for a while as recognition sprawled slowly over his painted features, and eventually his wrinkles creased deeply with a knowing smile. “Where did you find this?”

“In the Dark Side sleeve.”

“Ah.” She could tell that he seemed amused, both at the memory the picture stirred and at her reaction to it. “Yes, that makes sense. Terzo took this,” he explained. “I remember he was so insistent. He was in quite a phase with that camera of his.”

“Oh, yeah?” That piqued her interest- maybe that meant there were other pictures like this one, hidden away in Papa Terzo’s office in a forgotten photo album or dusty storage box… maybe she could sweet-talk someone into getting a glimpse at them, a peek into the past where her amato was experiencing life as a young man. A very, very attractive young man.

But for now she was happy to soak up the image of him in this one; sweating away the heat of some long-passed summer, in shorts that would make even a most devout sinner blush and glance away. What that would make her, she couldn’t say.

He kept smiling, taking in the details of the old photo before finally holding it back out for her to take. “He would tell you I made a terrible subject. But, in my defense, he always picked the worst moments. I believe I had just finished repairing something here, I don’t recall what… look, you can see how filthy my hands were.”

She took the photo again and sure enough, his hands were indeed dark and smudged with the remnants of whatever work he had been doing. She hadn’t even noticed at first glance- an understandable miss, considering what other details there were to admire.

“Satanas,” she finally murmured to herself. “You were so…”

How exactly could she describe him? It was like seeing him at his truest; unhindered here by the slow marching of time. This was the man she knew, unfiltered by age or responsibilities or the hardships she knew he had experienced as his life had gone on- and perhaps much more uninhibited in his self-expression. It only added another level, formed another facet of her attraction to him. In the simplest of terms- he was so fucking hot. Holy shit. She thought she could stare at this forever. Maybe he’d let her keep it to put on her bedside table.

He waited patiently for her to come to her conclusion, and when she didn’t he let out a deep chuckle. “Oh, Theo.”

“Seriously,” she insisted. “I… I think you should let me see the rest of Terzo’s pictures.”

That really made him chuckle then. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“The ones of you,” she said with a little giggle of her own, and now she moved closer to sit slightly against the arm of his chair.

“Maybe one of these days. We can take a little trip down memory lane, yes?”

“I’d like to,” she answered, smoothing her thumb carefully over the photo she still studied thoroughly. “I really like seeing you like this.”

“Young?”

“Well, yeah, but also just… yourself.” She was trying to convey her meaning- how she truly loved learning about his life as himself, as Primo, not just as Papa, and seeing him for who he really was… she wasn’t quite so articulate, but he got the jist. His hand came to slide around her back, settling at her hip, and she let her hand rest against his. The creases and wrinkles in his skin were so pleasant to trace with her fingertips, and she did so absentmindedly.

“You flatter me, dolcezza.”

“Oh, come on. You look amazing. And you still do,” she continued, turning to smile down at him, and when she noticed his eyes softening she felt her own heart do the same.

“I’ve changed a bit.”

“Well, yeah. Haven’t we had this conversation already?” She quirked her brow at him. “Something about aging, and wine…?”

He smiled again, that magnetic smile that even when hidden under layers of dark paints could light her up with excitement and affection. “Oh, yes, you and your metaphors.”

“Oh, pfft. You know I mean it.”

“I do know.” His hand, settled against her hip, squeezed softly around her flesh there. “And I appreciate it very much. You are awfully sweet to me.”

She felt fresh warmth blooming in her cheeks, and to that she didn’t know what exactly to say, so she just squeezed his hand. They sat like that for a few moments- the room still blanketed in that comfortable silence, the honey-gold sunlight still illuminating the space- until she glanced back down at the photo one more time, and couldn’t help but smile.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Mm?”

“Do you still have these?”

He looked slightly puzzled at her, until he realized exactly what she was referring to, and now he really laughed. 

“Theodora.”

“What? I just want to know.”

“Even if I did,” he countered, rumbling with deep laughter, “I doubt they would fit.”

“I mean... we could at least just see if they do.”

“Mm. Certainly you have no ulterior motive.”

She couldn’t defend herself against that, and he knew it. At her slightly sheepish-looking smile, he laughed again and took her gently to pull her down for a kiss.

[theycallme-thejackal]

Pairing: Lenny Bruce & Midge Maisel Rated T Warnings: Season 5 Spoilers, Major Character Death

(This is deeply, deeply sad - I cried while writing it. I swore I’d never write anything like this. Just call me Rachel because I’m eating my shorts right now.)

She has an army of people in her home, helping to empty her closet, label the career-defining outfits, and move the clothes to the auction house to raise money for her foundation.

It’s time.

Being on the outs with Susie is the final nail in the coffin of the Mrs. Maisel that used to be. Her naïveté is long gone, as are the fashions of the 1960s.

And she’s alone.

She’s tried. She’s tried so hard to be a good mother. A good wife. A good friend. But nothing has turned out the way she’d hoped. Even her career has had hellish stumbles. It’s been a decade since her Carnegie Hall debacle, and it’s still one of the biggest regrets of her life. She still kicks herself every day for that fuck up.

The biggest regret of her life, though, has nothing to do with her career.

“Mrs. Maisel?”

“Yes?” She asks.

“We’ve been going through your archives, and there’s one dress that hasn’t been catalogued,” Amanda explains.

“Which one?” Midge asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise. She thought she’d been very thorough with the staff, but it appears she skipped over...

Oh.

When Amanda shows her which dress, Midge swallows thickly, tears burning the backs of her eyes. “Oh,” she whispers, standing from her desk and reaching out. Her fingers graze over the bright blue waistband and skim down the burgundy skirt.

It’s not that she forgot about this one. She could never forget the luckiest dress she ever wore. The one that was peeled from her body with such care and reverence one snowy night over twenty years ago.

“Is there a story for this one?” Amanda asks, tilting her head with interest.

“Um...yes,” she whispers. “But it’s...” She inhales deeply. “It’s a story for just me.”

The other woman nods her head. “Shall I add it to the - ”

“No,” Midge immediately interrupts. “No, I...I’m going to keep this one. No one else will have any interest in the story, so I would just feel sorry for it,” she lies.

It’s the story that made her press-shy in the first place. The story she has refused to confirm or deny for the last twenty years.

If she told the story, if she finally revealed what happened between her and the late, great Lenny Bruce the night before his triumph at Carnegie Hall, this dress would probably be considered the most valuable of them all.

But no amount of money could ever surpass its personal value to her.

She takes the dress gingerly from the other woman. “Well,” Amanda says. “Everything else seems to be in order, so we’re going to transfer everything over to the warehouse if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine,” Midge says, putting on a brave facade. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Mrs. Maisel.”

Midge closes the door between them and sits back down, holding the dress tightly. She misses him. She misses him and has missed him every day of her miserable life.

Despite three marriages since that night and countless suitors, she has never loved a man like she loved Lenny Bruce.

It’s masochistic and maudlin, but she finds herself slipping out of her clothes and into the dress she hasn’t worn since November of 1960.

It’s tight. She’s not twenty-eight anymore. Hell, she’s pushing fifty at this point and eighties undergarments don’t cinch her body quite like the show corset. But she manages to get the zipper up with sheer determination.

And then she cries.

She cries for the man who was so full of love but could never find it in himself to let her love him in return. For the man whose coffin she shoveled dirt onto in 1966, whose daughter she held while she cried over her daddy’s grave. She cries for her kids, for how hard it must have been to grow up with her as a mother. She cries for Susie, who despite their estrangement is still the best friend she’s ever had.

She cries and cries until there are no tears left in her body.

That night she dreams of him. Of that night in his blue room. She remembers what it was like to feel well and truly loved. To have someone with her who chased the loneliness away.

For a brief moment before she opens her eyes, she hopes the last twenty years were all a horrible nightmare. That she will wake in her apartment on Riverside Drive with a hot pack on her head and a black toe. That she will be able to move forward in a better way. Maybe she’ll run into him at the airport and this time she’ll tell him. She’ll voice that one thing neither one of them was ever brave enough to say out loud. And maybe - just maybe - he’ll say it back.

But when she opens her eyes, there’s no Lenny. She’s just...all alone.

[aldbooks]

Random little scene that popped in my head this morning…

—-

Gwyn sighed as she gave into the urge. The faint tugging around her heart that inevitably drew her towards to small chest that sat atop the corner of her dresser.

It had sat there since she first arrived at the library, a fine layer of dust covering its surface, mostly undisturbed but for a set of fingerprints on either side of lid from the handful of times she’d given in to that urge to break her own heart when she opened it and stared at the contents inside.

Taking a fortifying breath, she lifted the lid once more and stared down at the two objects inside: a small, velvet box, and a brilliant blue stone, still attached to the headpiece that had once adorned her beloved sister’s forehead. For over two years, the stone had been the sole occupant of the chest, until the box had been left for her anonymously last Solstice, with a small note in Clotho’s handwriting that simply said “from a friend.”

At first, she’d stared down at the tiny necklace nestled inside in bewilderment. A stained glass rose, delicate and beautiful, and she’d wondered who might have gotten her such a gift. To her knowledge, no one she knew had the means to purchase such an expensive gift. Also, anyone who knew her well, knew that she preferred lilies to roses…

Then she had lifted the thin chain from the box and watched in wonder as the small charm caught the light, reflecting a dazzling array of light and it became clear that someone had put a lot of thought into the gift and she’d been awed at the sheer beauty of it, even if she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to wear it.

A little deductive reasoning, and perhaps a bit of wishful thinking, had brought her to the rather insane conclusion that the only person who could have possibly left the gift for her was the Shadowsinger, Azriel, with whom she’d had a rather- interesting interaction with the night before the gift had been delivered.

It seemed to make as much sense as any other theory, and yet, at the same time, seemed to make no sense at all. Why would he ever give her such a thing? Let alone put in the time, money, and effort to select such a gift for her? They had barely broached the surface of a friendship at the time, no matter how close they’d grown in the intervening months. A year ago, they’d been nothing more than teacher and apprentice. Strangers with a rather traumatic shared history neither had dared to acknowledge. Even now, after all the healing she done and the progress she had made, even with as far as their friendship had progressed, that night was perhaps the one subject they had not approached. Though it hung between them both during every interaction like a silent, unseen ghost.

She’d never worn the necklace, despite the handful of times she’d taken it out to admire it, staring at it for hours as she watched the light dance from the gently spinning pendant. It was too beautiful, too precious, and seemed to represent something so fragile, she’d been terrified to allow herself to imagine it real. Though her feelings certainly were.

She’d dreamt of the strange, fierce male who’d rescued her nearly every night since she’d first seen him. Had seen those haunted golden green eyes in her dreams. Could swear she still smelled his scent on the dark cloak that hung at the back of her closet, despite the fact that it had long faded. As absurd as it was, particularly given the circumstances of their meeting, she had felt an instant connection to him the moment their eyes locked and it had stayed with her ever since.

Then, he’d walked into the training ring that morning and she felt that phantom thread between them flare to life again and knew she hadn’t imagined it. Hadn’t imagined him.

The Shadowsinger had been a source of fascination for her from that moment on, even when he frustrated her to verge of tears with his cocky smiles and teasing. He pushed her to work harder, to be a better version of herself until she barely recognized the girl she’d once been. Timid and shy and blissfully ignorant of the horrors this world could offer to those without the means to protect themselves. He’d offered her safety and security and a shred of dignity she’d thought lost forever in those brief moments when they’d first encountered one another, and she was now determined to offer that same kindness to the other priestesses who deserved that peace of mind every bit as much as she.

She didn’t often let herself indulge in her fantasies of the darkly charming male who seemed to be a mystery to everyone but her, but sometimes she couldn’t quite help but allow that quiet flicker of hope to bloom just a little brighter.

Carefully avoiding the blue stone that tore open the fissure in her chest where her sister had once been every time she looked at it, Gwyn gently flipped open the little velvet box and lifted out the necklace, allowing it to dangle in front of her face. As she watched, the charm rotated, the flickering candlelight catching the on the colored panes of glass, sending shimmering spots of green and pink light dancing across her skin.

She’d never worn the thing, almost afraid of what it might mean if she did. What she might be accepting if he saw her wearing it. And in any case, she often managed to convince herself that it wasn’t actually from him, that perhaps it had been given to her by mistake. After all, why would he give her something so beautiful?

Surely not because he held any sort of tender feeling for her. At least not beyond the warm regards of friendship. They’d barely known each other when she’d received it, and no matter how many restless nights they’d shared on that rooftop, talking until the early fingers of dawning light touched the sky, there was nothing more between them than that. Even if she wished it otherwise.

Why would he want her? The quiet, damaged priestess who’d been too scared to leave the library (with the brief exception of attending her sisters mating ceremony) for three years? Why, when someone as handsome, and charming, and well respected as he was, could likely have any female he wanted, choose someone like her?

But he’d asked.

It still seemed unreal to her as she thought back over the conversation they’d just had a few moments ago, sitting in their usual spot on the roof, when he’d asked her to attend a small gathering with his family and friends at the High Lord and Lady’s residence in the city. She’d almost said no, reflexively, out of habit, and then she’d seen the hopeful look in his eye and found herself saying yes.

Surely she was reading more into it than was really there. It had been almost an entire year, to the day, since he’d given her that necklace- if in fact it had been him who’d given it- that he must have forgotten about it entirely by now.

Still, she carefully laid the necklace out on her dresser, intending to wear it the following evening as she moved to her closet and sorted through her meager possessions for a suitable dress.

—-

Azriel had in fact forgotten all about the damned necklace until Gwyn had removed her cloak when they’d arrived at Rhys and Feyre’s house and had seen it hanging around her throat.

Everything around him seem to come to a screeching halt as he laid eyes on it, the delicate charm lying against her pale skin, the colors matching well to the soft green dress she wore, one he’d been surprised to see she’d owned, having only ever seen her in her priestess robes or leathers before. After he’d given her the invitation to accompany him tonight, almost without thought, he’d had a brief moment of panic, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable around his well dressed friends and had almost asked Nesta if she might lend Gwyn one of her own gowns to wear before realizing the two females were of entirely different build. He knew enough about feminine fashions to know that would not work. But then, he’d decided he’d also rather not face the eldest Archeron’s scrutiny as she questioned why, in fact, her friend was in need of a dress and had said nothing.

Now, he stood frozen in the foyer as he watched Nesta hug her friend in delight, not even seeming to notice they had arrived together, as she led her into the living room with everyone else. Gwyn threw a nervous smile at him over her shoulder and, just like that, his feet were moving as he helplessly followed behind them.

It was a phenomenon he’d never quite been able to explain, the way he found himself constantly seeking out this female, drawn to her very presence like a moth to a flame. The times he’d found himself wandering halfmindedly into whatever room she was occupying, or even subconsciously seeking the gentle comfort she offered when he was feeling unsettled. Even if she was not aware of it herself.

He’d forgotten all about that necklace though, damn him and his foolish pride. Why hadn’t he just returned it to the shop? If he had, he might not now find himself in this situation, that felt like some kind of fever dream as he caught sight of Elain, who was sitting across the room, offering him a timid smile before doing a double take at her sister’s friend.

He saw the moment she registered the necklace Gwyn wore, recognized it as the one he’d given her- and she’d returned- a year ago. They had never spoken of that night. Had barely interacted at all since then, a stifling sort of awkwardness stretching between them whenever they were in the same room. The intense attraction and desire he’d once felt for her had faded into a faint flicker as he remembered his brother’s words and the disappointed look on Elain’s face as he said those four stupid words. “This was a mistake”

He knew they’d hurt her, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to take them back, not when every time he looked at her, he’d recalled Rhysand’s words, the anger and authority he so rarely displayed that Azriel had- after a fair bit of sulking- taken seriously. He’d not touched Elain since that night, had not even tried, and she’d kept her distance just as well. He’d thought maybe she’d moved on, even if she still did not offer her mate anything more than polite, distant smiles.

But now, he could see the way she flinched and quickly turned away from the sight of that cursed necklace on another female’s neck. He knew how it would look to her. A clear transference of his affections to another, even if it were not true.

Isn’t it? His shadows whispered. You care for the pretty Valkyrie.

That is not the same, he responded as he glanced around, grateful no one had noticed Elain’s change in mood. Gwyn is-

Just then, he turned back to the Valkyrie in question. She was engaged in conversation with Nesta and Feyre, though her gaze kept darting across the room… towards Elain. As he looked closer, he saw the faint tinge of red along her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The slight sheen in her eyes and the tightness of her smile.

And he saw her reach up to touch the necklace hanging from her neck.

Azriel’s heart fell to the floor.

—-

… sorry not sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

[kindofsortofmaybe]

I'll get you home when you are tired

(a huntlow fic)

link to fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43407147

word count: 1904

Willow Park had many talents: plant magic, flyer derby, lending an ear… the list wasn’t short. Near the top of it had always been sleeping. She dozed off quickly, slept deeply, and had no problem taking up all the space she needed to get comfortable. It was concerning to her, then, when she found one night that she could not sleep at all. 

It wasn’t necessarily surprising. After the events that took place a few weeks prior, with Belos and the Collector… Well, sleepless nights weren’t uncommon among Willow’s friends. But while their worries kept them awake, Willow had always been able to escape her problems by 11:00 PM at the latest. 

Well, until tonight.

Willow blinked at the ceiling. Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one… one, two, three, four… She finished and then restarted counting the glow-in-the-dark stars on Luz’s ceiling for the sixth time. It wasn’t helping. 

She looked to her left and saw Amity sleeping peacefully on the other cot, Ghost curled up at her side. At least Amity’s sleeping, she thought. Most nights, Willow fell asleep to worried whispers between Amity and Luz and awoke to dark bags under both their eyes. But at the moment, Willow seemed to be the only one awake.

Quietly, she climbed off the cot, dragging the blanket with her. It was a colorful quilt that Luz said her abuela made a long time ago, and Willow liked the soft, worn feeling of the material. She wrapped it around her shoulders and carefully left the room, her feet padding softly on the carpeted floor. 

Everything was tinted blue. The Connecticut night sky peeked through the windows and its melancholy light followed Willow down the stairs and into the kitchen. She liked the kitchen. Camila always left on a light, the one above the stove, bathing half the room in a warm yellow. And at this time (looking at the microwave, Willow saw that it was 2:36 AM), when everyone was asleep and the house was still, she could hear the low hum of all the appliances, and there was something comforting about it. (Appliances was a word she learned from Vee. However nightmarish their circumstances were, Willow was still interested in just how much there was to learn about the human realm.) She pulled a chair out from the table. Its wooden legs scraped against the floor in a way that made her cringe, but it wasn’t loud enough to wake anyone. She lowered herself into the seat and propped her chin up on her hands. There was no real reason for her to have moved from her bed to the kitchen table. Maybe she felt better having stretched her limbs a bit, or maybe she just wanted to see that warm yellow light, or maybe… Well, she wasn’t sure. She was just as tired there as she was in Luz’s room, and just as worried, and just as sad. 

Willow missed her dads. She tried really, really hard not to miss them; she thought that somehow it would be easier to not think of them at all. Like if she didn’t miss them, it would mean they weren’t really separated. And if she didn’t miss them, she wouldn’t have to wonder how long that would last, how long it would be until she could go home.

But Willow’s heart was big, and extraordinarily tender, and she missed her parents like crazy. She wanted Dad to wrap her up in a safe, warm hug and Papa to sing her a lullaby and stroke her hair like she was a child again. She wanted to go home so bad that she thought her heart was going to burst. But she was hesitant to admit this to anyone. If thinking about her family was hard, talking about them could only be worse. And besides, she wanted to protect her friends as much as she could. They had all suffered so much, and adding her stress to their lists of burdens was the last thing Willow wanted. Her friends were trustworthy and caring, she knew, and she knew that bottling up her feelings wasn’t very smart, but… well. Gus was so young, and Hunter was processing so much, and Amity just looked so tired and Luz was always so far away, even when she was sitting right next to Willow. So if sitting on her hands and clamping her teeth shut was what it took to protect them, then that’s what she would do. 

“Willow?” Her train of thought was broken by a soft voice. Looking to the doorway, she saw Hunter and couldn’t help but smile at his messy hair and cardinal pajama pants. “What are you doing up?”

“Just… thinking. I couldn’t sleep” she replied, beckoning him over. After a moment’s hesitation, Hunter walked towards her and tentatively sat in the chair beside hers. 

“What about?”

Willow didn’t respond right away. Instead she gazed at Hunter, noting the way that half of his face was illuminated by the stove light while the other remained in shadow. It almost made his eyes look like two different colors. She looked at him and saw his earnest eyes, his open expression, his brows just slightly furrowed in what she thought was concern. She looked at him and saw her friend, and she smiled a little.

“I’m… thinking about my dads, actually,” she replied, averting her gaze to the table. She picked at her fingernails and didn’t see the way Hunter’s expression softened.

“Oh.” The room was quiet for a moment. Willow didn’t expect Hunter’s next words. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

She looked up at him. “Oh. Sure. Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” he said, rising from his chair. “Camila taught me. She made me some, um, carmo— cam—” he struggled to remember the name of the tea as he rummaged through a cabinet, but eventually found what he was looking for and read the label on the box. “...chamomile tea. She made me some chamomile tea the other night when I, uh, couldn’t sleep. She said it relaxes you, I think.” Hunter filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove before setting out two mugs. One was plain and red, and the other had a pattern of mushrooms. 

“Well, thank you. Maybe it’ll help.” Willow’s expression was fond as she watched him. Hunter was extremely interested in human customs and culture, and he was a fast learner, making him one of the most functional members of the group. Willow liked watching him learn and carry out human tasks. It reminded her how smart and capable he was, which relieved some of the worry for him that had permanently settled in the back of her mind. He was just so, so good, and he had been through so much already. She couldn’t help but feel anxious over his wellbeing. 

Hunter returned to his seat while he waited for the water to boil. He started to say something, then stopped, but after a few seconds he quietly said, “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Gazing out the window rather than at her friend, Willow frowned. Did she?

Hunter saw the look on her face, saw the gears turning in her head, and he knew that she was calculating her response carefully. He knew she was considering every possible factor: how it would make him feel, whether she would sound whiny, how she could say no without being rude or yes without oversharing. True, he had only known her for a short time, but she was one of his best friends; he knew that she was caring to a fault.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly after a moment. “I just—” The whistling kettle interrupted him. Hunter hurried to the stove to quiet it and returned a few moments later with two steaming mugs of still-steeping tea. He set the one with the mushroom pattern in front of Willow. Again, the room fell to silence, until they both tried to speak at once.

“I didn’t—”

“I was—”

“Sorry, you go first,” said Willow. She stirred her tea idly.

“I was…” Hunter looked at her with eyes full of worry and sympathy and good intentions. “I was just going to say that you must be so, so tired.”

Oh. Well, that did it. His words made Willow feel seen and cared for and they cracked her right open. She stared at the table and a few warm tears slipped down her cheeks. “Um… yeah. Yeah, I am. I’m really tired.”

Hunter reached for the hand closest to him, which was resting on the side of her mug. “Can I…?”

Willow didn’t say anything, but she took his outstretched hand in her own and squeezed it tightly, their fingers woven together. He felt warm and solid and comforting, and it anchored her.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes and trying to smile. “Sorry, I—”

“Please don’t say sorry. You… you don’t have to say sorry to me, Captain.”

Willow smiled at the nickname and this time, it was real. She looked up at Hunter. He was already looking at her, his expression sympathetic and his cheeks tinted red. 

“Okay, I won’t apologize. But can I say thank you?”

“Oh, um, I— what for?”

“I don’t know. For making me tea. For holding my hand. For being my friend.”

“Oh. Well… consider me thanked.”

Willow laughed a little bit. She took her hand from his and hoped she didn’t imagine the look of disappointment that crossed his face at the loss of contact. It was short lived. Using her freed hand, she grabbed the side of the quilt and wrapped it around Hunter’s shoulders so that they were side by side in its warmth. Slowly, cautiously, she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s— Yes! I mean, yes. Uh, I mean—” Willow laughed softly, cutting off Hunter’s flustered stuttering. She fit her arms snugly around him and rested her head on his collarbone. 

“I just need a hug.”

Hunter gingerly returned her embrace, allowing her a few seconds to change her mind before tightening his hold on her.

“Yeah. I… I think I do too,” he said. Willow hummed in response. His arms felt warm and safe and comfortable, and she decided that she should hug Hunter more often. She listened to the hum of the refrigerator and he watched the steam rising from their mugs. They were both still.

“I… miss my dads. A lot. And I want to go home,” Willow whispered. Hunter tightened his hold on her momentarily in a gesture of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly. “We’ll get you home to them. I’ll get you home. I promise.” Hunter placed a gentle kiss on the top of Willow’s head. “I promise.”

This time, it was Willow’s cheeks that were red. Oh, she thought. That was nice. 

They stayed in each other’s arms for several minutes. Willow’s leg was sort of falling asleep, and Hunter’s arms were kind of tired, but neither of them wanted to be the first to move away. So they stayed there, wrapped up in each other and in an old, well-loved quilt, illuminated half by the yellow stove light and half by the silver moon, and Willow thought that she felt a little closer to home than she did before.

------

(i haven't published a fic in a very very long time, so let me know what you think!)

[koolkat9]

Royal Red Bros Week 2024 - Day3

@royalredbrosweek

Prompt: Day 3: Spirits/Ghosts || Secrets

Rating: T

Relationship: England + Canada

Word Count: 841

Read on AO3

Bumps in the Night

It was an old house. There were bound to be creaks and thumps from old plumbing or animals that had made a home in its walls. But the longer he stayed there, and the more he listened, he started to hear laughter along with what sounded like a child running.

Arthur was freaked out at first. As much as he had an interest in the occult and supernatural, actually experiencing it made him tremble. But he didn’t have the funds to move, and it wasn’t like it ever went beyond sounds. So Arthur stayed put and eventually got used to the strangeness.

But still, curiosity remained.

“Hello?” Arthur called out one night, just before going to bed. The spirits seemed most active in the night. “I know you’re there. We’re going to be stuck together for a little while it seems, and well…I figured we should know each other a bit.”

There was no reply. After a few more tries, he went to bed. There was no thumping or laughing that night.

Weeks went by, and each night, he called out to the spirits only to get no answers and a quiet night. He was about to give up when his last call was answered by his closet door swinging open.

Arthur jumped. Cautiously, he rose from his bed and made his way over. In the closet, on the top shelf, an old rag doll with sandy yellow yarn for hair and blue button eyes sat. How had he not noticed it before?

The poor thing was worn, dirty, one of its legs barely hanging on by a thread. Having always had a soft spot for dolls, Arthur decided to fix it up. Perhaps it could be a peace offering for the spirit or spirits in the house.

His next few days off were spent working on this doll, giving it a wash, replacing its split yarn hair, making it a new outfit, and most importantly stitching that leg back up. It almost looked good as new when he was done.

Having worked late into the night on the finishing touches of his project, Arthur started to node off at this desk, body too heavy to drag to bed.

“Um…S-Sir…?” a voice called. The voice of a child.

Arthur groaned, burying his face into his arm.

“Sir. You should get to bed.”

Arthur bolted up, his sleepy brain remembering that he was supposedly living alone. “Wha–Where?”

“Sorry…S-Sorry,” the voice whimpered.

“It’s alright,” Arthur drawled out, looking around groggily. “I assume you’re one of my surprise roommates.”

“Uh…I-I guess?”

“Can you show yourself or…”

“I’m down here.”

Arthur quirked a brow, looking around once more until his eyes landed on the doll.

A whisper came from the doll: “My name is Matthew.”

Arthur blinked. He shouldn’t have been so shocked considering he had been aware of the spirits for over a month now.

“Wh-What’s yours?” Matthew continued.

“Uh…Arthur.”

The two stared at each other in silence. Or at least, Arthur thought Matthew was staring. Though the boy’s voice emanated from the doll, it remained in a slouch position, mouth still drawn in its stitched smile.

“I-I’ll try to get my siblings to quiet down for you,” Matthew finally said. “S-S-So you don’t have to leave or anything. It will be like we aren’t even here–”

“Slow down lad.”

“Sorry…I’m sorry…”

Arthur smiled softly. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You can just relax. I’m not mad at you or your siblings. I have just been curious about what exactly has been going on. How many of you are there?”

Matthew hesitated for a moment. “Four of us. Including me.”

“I see. Brothers, sisters?”

“J-Just brothers. I-I don’t know if I should be speaking about this.”

“Why not?”

“I…I-I…”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay," Arthur sighed, rising to his feet. "Well anyway. I should get to bed.”

“Oh…right…”

“Don’t sound so down. You can always talk to me whenever I’m around. I’ve always wanted to meet some ghosts actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Arthur collapsed onto his bed. “Now I don’t know if ghosts need sleep, but I do, so you should rest a bit too.”

“O-Okay…I don’t have to go back into the closet do I?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Silence rested over them once more. Arthur continued to watch the doll, and though it did not move and its expression never changed, it was as if he could feel the sadness of the boy possessing it. He got up and picked up the doll, laying it on the other side of the bed.

“There,” Arthur gave a triumphant huff, “I’m sure that’s far more comfortable than a hard desk.”

“Really, I’m fine. It was far more comfortable than the–”

“Shhh. Rest. Now that I’m here, I’m going to make sure you're comfortable. Spirit or not, everyone deserves that.”

Arthur tucked Matthew in.

“Goodnight Matthew,” he murmured.

“Goodnight…”

There was no more argument from the little doll.

[cherrysoulth]

THE GLANCE

💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader 

📝Summary: A little piece of smut from a bigger plot

✏️Genre/au: Smut, Canon, Idol x Idol

✏️Rating: 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 2766

⚠️chapter warnings: explicit smut

Hii! Did you stumble a cross this work? Glad yo're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

The camera moves between the members as you perform on stage since their reactions are the ones to get more views and are most of the time priceless. But it stops on him the moment you kiss Juhan after you share a very well-practiced body roll, the chemistry between the two has already landed you a ship. He has to make use of his whole strength to not react, feeling the stinging green poison of jealousy run through his veins. Still, the camera records his glance. The feeling that transfers to his demeanour, as he looks away. So much gets registered in such a short space of time, in just seconds, the performance will always have that reminder in it; Jimin's glare. 

When you sit down with your group, Mirror, on the other side of the seats facing BTS, Jimin keeps an eye on you. Looking as if you hadn't just been on stage, giving your best: the porcelain blue dress adjusting to your body against the skater black trousers, white crop top, and black zipper hoodie with a white hat that you'd just worn on stage less than fifteen minutes ago. The proximity of your body, to the male he knows for your friend but whose lips have met yours just then, sets his nerves on edge.

When your eyes meet you immediately straighten and look away but he doesn't. Against all that was agreed with management, about keeping your relationship a secret, he keeps staring. Showing an interest that will blow the fandoms’ spaces if it is noticed and Army has a sharp eye for these things. Erika sitting behind, with the portion of Nomad that misses Juhan, warns him of his indiscretion for what you can tell of her way of leaning over as if picking up something dropped on the floor. Her lips move with the prune lipstick that makes her look like a vampire and her unbothered expression accompanies. Jimin just keeps on his wheel, as if he heard nothing and Erika shoots a glance at Namjoon who was looking back to see what his wife was up to. 

Then you understand he doesn't care. You know him enough to guess this is his way to claim you. Jimin is purposefully setting his attention on you, for everyone to see, and it has its effect. You hear the whispers behind you from another group but you can only manage to hear his name and him being called handsome.

"He's being reckless." points out the older member, Kazuo, and Juhan vows slightly to switch Jimin’s attention. You are not surprised when Jimin bows back and looks away as if he has been daydreaming. He has been; thinking about how to set a point straight once you are back at your dormitory, or his. Your lips have to touch only his skin, no one else's.

Things are kept unsettled after the event because both groups have to go separate ways, the evening far from over, and you both are too tired to speak about it over the phone once you get home later at night. The only interaction being a message of good night to him and him responding cordially, more than you had expected.

The next morning, you roll up the white-sheeted bed with a guilty conscience. You have never spoken about stage kisses or skinship, although the last one seems to not be much of a bother to him. His attitude is perfectly understandable but at the same time, the whole thing doesn't make sense; he seemed mad at first but now he does not. Something is off and needs to be clarified.

As if the synchronisation you have in your daily life works also with your thoughts, your phone vibrates with a message from him and you hurry up to read it.

You freak out as if he has never seen you in the morning and you want to cause a good impression, running to the ensuite bathroom to take a shower. You do it in record time and start brushing your hair as you keep yourself wrapped in the towel walking back to your room but he is already there. Leaning at your desk, two cups of coffee sitting at his side.

He looks like the star he is, with the newly dyed silver hair giving him majestic visuals. As if he is crowned in white gold. His black suit makes him look even more out of reality in his ethereal beauty. You gasp, keeping your lips parted as you take in the vision of him, making him smirk.

"I'm glad he had the decency to apologise when he opened the door." he points out, referring to Juhan, as he picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

“It was a sensual dance. It made sense to kiss him!” you object to his scold. Not really knowing why you had let your stage persona take over like that when he was in the first row nonetheless.

"There was no reason to do that.” he hisses, smirk gone, feeling the jealousy pulse through him again. Jimin knows you wouldn't cheat on him but he still feels betrayed that you have, out of nowhere, unscripted, kissed your bandmate.

"It's acting, Jimin." you point out, calmly. "Nothing more. No big deal. When Hyuna does it, no one gives a damn about it."

"They're supposed to only be mine…" he mutters, lowering his tone, eyes set on the view outside the big window of the penthouse room. Then he gives you a sideways pained look that pulls you towards him. What seemed like the start of an argument, about to meet an end.

"And they are. Only yours," you say, also lowering your tone, pleading for his understanding. Hugging him from the side, your hand rests on his chest and you kiss his right shoulder searching for his glare from that lower point.

"Better be. Or I'll punish you," he grunts, making your skin crawl, and puts his hand over yours, pulling it to kiss. 

"Why? Are you going to spank me, daddy?" you say in a playful tone and he suddenly tilts his head to meet your eyes, eyebrows raised and pouting with humour to your choice of words.

"Maybe," he says, sassy. Any drip from the previous 'argument', is gone with the new play available. You both laugh and he hugs you relaxedly. "Right now, I want you on your knees, though," he whispers jokingly but taking the lead of the situation.

To his surprise you let your body slide down against his, making sure he gets the feeling of your whole through the clothing, then slide with your knees in front of him without meeting his stare. You can already tell what is written in his demeanour when you place your hands on his hips and he rests his on top of them the next second. Your fingers draw the shape of his already waking member, which responds to your touch by swelling and growing. You keep on rubbing him like this, gently, lovingly until he lets out a closed-mouth groan and you kiss it, eliciting another one. His hands travel up your arms as you keep with your ministrations over his sensitive girth until they rest on your nape and shoulder to take a certain control over the situation. 

Then you nibble him, making him rest his weight at the edge of the table with a deeper and longer groan, while his eyes roll. “Fuck…” he grunts between his teeth the second time you do the same and this time you look up at him, with his form still trapped gently between your teeth. His breath is ragged, eyes hooded in lust while he holds his lower lip between his teeth and you feel your slick drenched pulsate for him. 

Letting him go with a kiss, your fingers undo his belt and zipper with expertise, although the set of clothes is new; you could taste it on the fabric. You take your sweet time pulling them down to his calves and then rub your fingers on the engorged flesh prominent in the matching black boxer shorts. “Oh, come on,” he complains, impatient, and pulls down that last set, making his shaft spring in front of you and you look up at him. Tilting his head, he raises his eyebrows, demanding without words. 

For some reason you can’t just comply because of his attitude and you stand staring at him directly with a frown which makes him frown in confusion. Then you try to walk away, “No fucking way.” he grunts pulling you by the waist against his his body, undoing the towel and separating just enough for it to pool at your feet, he rubs his bareness against your cheeks. “Don’t just make me get this hard, to walk away… What are you playing at...?” he whispers against your ear, with one arm above your breasts and the other over your tummy. The whole skin-to-skin and the want in his voice makes you drip against your thigh and when he slides his hardness between your thighs to rub against you, trying to ease himself a little bit, it moistens his velvety skin. 

“Fuck… You are so wet already… How long has it been?” he whispers, pressing his chin against your nape before kissing it soundly, dragging his member against your slit. 

“Seventeen days….” you mutter, following the movement of his hips in the opposite direction, making both of you moan. “What a crime…” you whisper in a breath when he pinches one of your nipples to stimulate it between his digits making you accompany his tip against your nub. 

“Easy to solve,” he grunts against your ear using the form in which your hand holds him to bend you slightly over and push in the tip which makes you immediately move away. Turning around to face him, he looks at you in wonder and you try to run before he has the chance to stop you at your nightstand, pulling out a box of condoms at the same time he crawls from the edge to your side and pulls you over it.

Playfully wrestling you, he places you on your back and holds your wrists over your chest as he rests his shaft over your stomach. “Yeah, we need this.” he then adds, holding both hands with one arm and taking the box in his hand. You can clearly see him taking a quick look inside the box before leaving it on the side. “But I think I want you to do something for me first,” he explains.

“What do you need?” you ask him, stopping any intention to fight him back.

“Get your head at the other edge, I wanna try that…” he says, expecting you to know what he is talking about. You don’t but still obey, resting your neck on the edge and letting your head hang. It’s as you do that, that he stands and surrounds the bed holding his shaft, wiping the sudden precum with his thumb, and getting in front of your face. It’s then you figure out what he wants and open your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long. If you want me to stop, slap my legs and I’ll pull out,” he says, sliding the tip as you nod shortly.

The grunt he lets out and the salty flavour hitting your tongue as his tip drags through it promises just that. Then you feel him get past its end, filling your throat and stopping at the same moment your upper lips touch his ballsack. You place your hands on his thighs sliding them up and down before his hands take hold of your breasts playing with your nipples again, making you press your thighs together. The sight of it sending him on overdrive thrusting into your throat and realising just how good your hold of your gag reflex is. 

He fucks your mouth at a constant pace and you drag your hand down to rub your knob, moaning in between the lack of air and your sensitivnes, making him go relentless. The groan hitting the air from his throat so quickly that when he pulls out it takes you an extra second to realise he is cumming. Spilling against your tongue, as you keep your mouth open, he pumps himself, throaty on his release, until he’s fully empty. You drag yourself down to lie your head on the bed as you swallow and he moves to lie down next to you, breathing fast as he tries to recover from his high.

You try to recover yours, your esophagus used, still feeling his form in it, the plumpy tip leading the invasion. You are in love with his dick almost as much as you are in love with the man himself and you find yourself starting to play with it distractedly before he chuckles. “I love when you do this,” he whispers as you look at him, his smile sweet and eyes full of tenderness, his arm circling behind your thigh caressing the inner side distractedly. There’s nothing really sexual in what you do: you just like the feel of his manly parts, his skin in general and you caress him gently up his abdomen too. He groans contentedly as he closes his eyes, making you smile widely. 

“If you give me just one more second I’ll make you scream with my tongue,” he promises with his smile still present on his lips, pulling your knee towards his lips.

“We still have an hour before I need to go to the studio,” you reply, after looking at your digital clock over the table. 

“Plenty of time to make you cum multiple times,” he confirms, biting on your thigh before opening his eyes and glaring at you sharply and you can only swallow.     

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Thanking @abitjess for the beta work 💜

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