#like i feel like just saying. oh its to not distract from their devotion to starclan with earthly pleasures or something like that.

[matchingbatbites]

Inspired by this post by @callmeloverr This wasn't what I planned on doing tonight but oh well

When Steve pulled up to Family Video for his 8am shift, he had expected a few things. The dark, closed store, maybe some trash on the sidewalk he'd have to pick up or be bitched at about, you know, normal things to expect for the opening shift.

He hadn't been expecting to see Eddie Munson sitting up against the side of the building with one hand shoved into the overnight return slot. The guy looks half asleep, although he jerks fully awake when Steve closes his car door a little louder than normal.

"You know," Steve starts, smiling as he approaches the other man, "most people drop off their movies without sticking their entire hand into the slot. Just for future reference."

Eddie flushes and scrubs his free hand over his face, and Steve just barely hears something about hands and tight spaces before the man says "Look, this is so fucking embarrassing, but I've been stuck here since last night and I really want to go home and sleep. Are you gonna help me or what, Harrington?"

Steve hums and crosses his arms. "Normally when you want something from someone, it helps to be nice to them, Munson. Why don't you try a 'please' and we'll see how I feel after that?"

He watches as Eddie rolls his eyes heavily before looking up at Steve from under his lashes. Steve's heart skips a beat under the full force of big, brown, puppy dog eyes - an established weakness that Dustin loves to exploit - and it only gets worse when Eddie says "Please, Steve? I've been stuck out here for so long, can't you please help me out?"

Fuck, now Steve is the one blushing.

He turns to unlock the door, hoping to hide the red he knows is covering his cheeks and ears, and he slips inside to the sound of Eddie's indignant "Steve? Hey!" Steve ignores it and goes to the drop off box, unlocking it with the key and opening it to reveal Eddie's stuck hand.

"Hang on, don't get your panties in a bunch," he says, grabbing Eddie's hand and coaxing it to relax from the fist it's currently curled into. He hears Eddie's soft "Oh," as the hand unclenches, and says "I think your rings are keeping you stuck, I'm going to take them off, okay?"

When he gets the OK from Eddie, he starts slipping off the rings one by one. It feels intimate in a way, as Steve devotes his attention to each ring as he pulls it off, and he wonders if Eddie feels the same way. He wonders if anyone else has done this for Eddie in a different setting, takes the thought I wonder if he leaves them on during sex and shoves it into a dark corner.

There's always been something about Eddie, something that made Steve curious, made him question himself during the darkest parts of the night. He feels the full brunt of it now as he kneels on the floor of the Family Video, slender fingers wrapped in his own and unfamiliar metal weighing heavy in his palm.

Steve tries to focus on the task at hand - take off the rings, get Eddie unstuck - even as he finds himself distracted by Eddie's fingers. They're shorter than his own, and a little skinnier, and they're rough and calloused in certain spots. Something about Eddie playing guitar flickers in the forefront of Steve's mind, and he thinks he'd like to see that, to watch these fingers glide over the instrument with an expert touch.

He expects Eddie to pull away when the last ring is gone, but he doesn't. The hand stays in Steve's, and Steve can't help but to brush his thumb over Eddie's knuckles as he pushes away the brief thought he has of brushing his lips over them instead.

Steve swallows hard and gives the hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it as he says "Try- uh, try it now." Eddie's hand slides free from its prison and Steve doesn't move from his spot until he hears the bell on the door chime.

He turns to face Eddie and genuinely prays that his own face isn't as pink as the other man's as he holds out the rings. "Uh, here you go," he says lamely, and Eddie gives a soft "Thanks," as he takes them and slips them back on.

They stand there for a moment, the air between them a little awkward until Eddie jerks his head towards the door. "I'm gonna, uh, head home. Get some sleep. Thanks for helping me out, Steve."

"Yeah, it was no problem, Eddie," Steve replies, smiling when Eddie's face gets pinker, and the man nods once before heading out the door. Steve watches him go for a moment before he catches himself, and he shakes his head quickly to get his thoughts back in order.

He goes to start his opening duties, trying his best to put brown eyes and slender fingers out of his mind, but it's only a few minutes later when he hears a thunk from the return box, and he goes over to it, curious.

Sitting on the stack of returned tapes is a little ball of paper, and when Steve unrolls it, one of Eddie's chunky, silver rings falls into his palm. On the paper is a slightly rushed phone number along with a 'Call me tonight?' and Steve grins. His day is shaping up to be better than he expected.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: In honour and love. 2562 words.

Author’s Note: We pick up where we left off.

1986

“You’re welcome…”

Your feet were planted so solidly on the ground it was as though you’d grown roots. He took the few steps needed to almost close the space between you.

“Why… why are you helping?”

Oh.

Your body had an almost visceral reaction to his voice. It was more than a familiar sound; it felt like home. You wanted to cry. “I... I… Uh- That’s hard… to explain…”

He looked you up and down, then accepted your answer with a nod.

“I need to… need to bury him,”

“Let me,” the man moved faster than you, scooping the dog’s body up and holding it against his chest.

“Oh… No… He can’t be dumped somewhere. I need to bury him. He deserves to be honoured.” You could feel embarrassment bubble up, something you weren’t used to. It was easy to talk about the craft around witches. It was easy to hide it from humans with clever language. It was entirely illogical, but you needed him to understand what you were saying. You were afraid he’d laugh or deny you this rite.

The man looked from you to the dog. “I know where to go. If you’ll take us,”

“How… Do… Do you remember? Being a bat?”

He nodded. “I am… starting to.”

As the vampire dressed in borrowed clothes, ones that fit more poorly than the last, you picked the best apple in your fruit bowl and a piece of Apache Tear obsidian from your crystal collection, stashing them in your bag.

You checked outside the trailer for nosy neighbours. The coast was clear and you walked to your car. The man had never been in a car. He’d seen them. Knew, in theory, that he just had to sit in it. Still, it presented a challenge.

When you unlocked the passenger side door and opened it for him, he stood awkwardly for a second. “Unless it's close enough to walk?” you asked him. He shook his head and got into the car, holding the dog’s body like a security blanket.

As you drove out of Forest Hills, you stopped at the main entrance. “Which way?”

The man nodded north.

You turned the radio on to fill the silence, assuming there was no conversation to be had.

“You do not belong in this place,”

“No. I don’t,” you agreed. “I used to be. Before the town, before… this lifetime… I lived here with my sisters,”

“They are not here now,”

“No. I’m the only witch here,”

“A witch,” he repeated, nodding to himself.

“Do you know what that is?” you asked.

He looked at you, his eyesight unaffected by the night. “I… may,”

“Oh… Okay. Well. Are you remembering anything else? About what you are?”

“I need blood.”

Of course, he’d know blood. “You will die without it. Well… A kind of death. Eventually. That would be very painful for you though,”

“Yes,” he said, like he knew that. Perhaps the thirst for blood was so innate that the knowledge he’d die without it was too. “Vampire.”

The word startled you. It was still surreal. It was as if a Tasmanian tiger or woolly mammoth were to walk out in front of your car.

He was a vampire. A vampire you had helped. A vampire you had taken a living thing to, to kill. It hadn’t occurred to you until then that you could have simply healed the ridgeback. You could have healed all the animals in Hawkins Kennels, instead you took one to its early death and devoted time to a vampire.

You focused on your breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

“Do you know your name?” you asked, needing the conversation as a distraction. Once telling him yours, you waited, but he shook his head. “We might need to give you one. Or, at least, a nickname.”

Between your limited knowledge of the roads of Hawkins and the fact he’d only ever seen it from the sky, it took a while to locate the place he intended to bury the dog. It wasn’t unpleasant driving empty streets with him though. You wondered if it should have been.

A partially overgrown road, unpaved and a threat to your car tires, was where he lead you. As natural landmarks began to come into focus, the moon’s rays the only light for miles, you felt the growing sense that you’d been to this place before.

When your car came to a dead end, you cut the engine. “Is it far?” you asked.

The man shook his head and waited for you to open his door.

He walked in front of you, flattening a path. Over the tall grass you could see you were coming to a wooded area. You smelt the oak before hitting the edge of the trees.

“Was this a witch?” the man asked, stepping out of your way.

Before you, constructed between two tall sycamore trees was a doorway of sorts. Hundreds of branches and sticks had been used to create a near-perfect circle. They were woven and stuck together to build an arch over and under. A gateway to the woods, not one that defied science, but still an oddity seemingly supernatural in origin.

“How… how do you know this place?”

He had no answer, so he stayed silent. It was just one of many parts of the flatlands, of Hawkins, that as a bat he watched over. He liked the forest doorway though, as much as he’d ever been able to like anything.

“I think… I think I’ve been here. I think I made this,” you said, voice dropping low.

“You cannot remember?”

It made no sense. You should have been able to remember. An unsettling feeling washed over you. Someone had been tinkering in the vampire’s mind, dislodging memories and letting them freefall. Surely, you didn’t have that in common.

When you didn’t answer his question, he asked another. “Is this a place… to honour?”

The dog.

“Yes. Yeah, it is.”

You took the lead, walking through the forest gate and looking back to see what would become of a vampire crossing a witch’s threshold. Nothing. Whatever magic had been there was long gone.

Not far from the gate, you stopped. The vampire understood, carefully placing the dog on the woodland floor. He stayed knelt on the ground and began to move sticks and brush out of the way. His movements gained momentum and soon he was moving faster than your eye could read. He was a blur, then he was standing next to a deep grave, the soil of which was dark under his fingernails.

You nodded when he looked to you for approval, then he laid the dog in the ground. While the vampire buried his victim, you gathered tokens from the nature that surrounded you.

Upon the grave, you laid butterfly weed and echinacea flowers, the apple, and obsidian.

“Hel, comforter in grief,

We ask you to receive this soul.

They lived pure, good, and true.

Hel, watcher of the dead,

We ask you to receive this soul.

Go peacefully now, no lament, no sorrow, nor rue.”

Standing side-by-side with a hexed vampire, you committed the dog to the earth not with a spell but a blessing, and grieved for the oath you’d broken.

“Go now,” he spoke. “I will come soon.”

Before you could ask what he meant, the vampire had gone from your side into the night. You waited in the car for fifteen minutes, the heater blasting stuffy air onto you. When he didn’t return, you drove home alone, only to find him perched on the roof of the trailer.

“That seems very dramatic,” you told him as he followed you inside. He was silent and all but invisible out there, still it seemed even an amnesic vampire couldn’t forget to have an operatic flair.

The trailer was warm and the artificial lighting soft. When you turned to him, you could see it on his face. The colour high on his cheekbones. The red on his lips. He’d found his way back to you, by way of more death.

…

1836

He watched you while you built the gate. Although he wouldn’t reveal himself, you could feel his curious gaze. It sent electricity buzzing through you, though you would burn at the stake before admitting that to yourself.

When he felt sure no townsfolk or coven members were joining you, he sauntered through the field, parting the long grass at will.

“Little witch. Why are you playing with sticks?”

You paid him no mind, which you knew would drive him crazy. He walked through the gate and around it, poking at the branches and making noises of discontent.

“If you aren’t going to help, you can go be a nuisance to your own kind,” you warned him, a stick pointed in his direction.

He swiftly grabbed the stick, tugging it hard, pulling you into him. It was the first physical content you’d made. The stick was forgotten as his cold hands wrapped around your upper arms, your chest pressed to his. He looked down at you, bared his sharp teeth in a smile.

“You don’t want me to go. Do you?” Your blown pupils were answer enough. He grinned again. “How can I help?” he asked, voice softening as he let you go and stepped away.

“I need… more…”

“More…? Sticks?”

You nodded dumbly.

He stayed close, within your sight, and moved at the speed of a human. You steadied yourself, regained your composure, and continued with your task.

The circular doorway would allow humans and witches to pass safely through the woods. It worked like a protection spell, once through it the individual would exist within a bubble, the bubble would take them through the dense and dark forest untouchable to vampires and foes.

On the other side of the woods, your mother had created one just like it, though she preferred to work in the daylight. Your penchant for twilight walks and midnight magic had, so far, gone unnoticed by the coven. Moonlight was a strong conductor, after all.

When the doorway was complete, holding strong against push and pull, you considered sending the vampire away. Somehow though, your magic felt stronger when he stood next to you. So, he stayed.

“Bloodline magic, far and wide,

Enchant this doorway so friends may hide.

Leaf and petal, wood and stone,

Protect our friends, return them home.”

You painted a circle of salt, sage, ground black cat bone, and mud around the doorway while reciting the spell. Then stood on the opposite side to the vampire.

“I dare you to cross through,” you said to him, a coy smile warning him of your witchy mischief.

“You wouldn’t be trying to kill me, would you, little witch?”

“If I were, it would not be with sticks and stones.”

He laughed, then considered you, his head cocking to the side. “If you want me to cross through, it will not be for free.” It was obvious he wouldn’t be able to walk through the circle, but the damage he would sustain was a mystery. What price would he put on shame or pain?

You huffed and crossed your arms. “What do you want? More stolen apples that you can’t eat?”

“A kiss,” he replied.

Your expression stayed playful; you held your nerve. He didn’t miss the way your breathing hitched though.

“For that, I want more,”

“Of course, you do,” he laughed, motioning for you to continue with a wave of the hand.

“Your name. A kiss will buy me your name.”

The vampire was quite pleased with himself for having held back that detail. He had predicted it would become useful. Witches and their silly little words and silly little names. It was all so important to them.

“You have yourself a deal.”

You clapped with joy, then bowed at the gate. “Please cross this witch’s threshold,”

“Oh, I do love it when you speak so filthy,” he quipped.

Tentatively, he approached the gate, waiting to feel his skin burn or something mystical and unholy. You watched amused at his sudden caution.

“Nothing will happen until you cross through,” you told him, trying to hurry him along.

He shot you a dark look that ought to have frightened you. Instead, you giggled.

The vampire took a useless breath in and jumped off the ground. He hit the circle like it was a brick wall, then was sent on a harsh rebound from the trees and into the tall grass.

You covered your face to conceal the laughter, waiting for him to reappear, ego bruised.

The wind whistled through the air and you thought perhaps you had pushed the vampire too far. Carefully, you followed his path from the gate out the woods and to where the grass began.

“Oh, vampire!” you called sweetly.

His voice came from all around you. All-encompassing whispers of, “Little witch, little witch, little witch!”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

The whispering stopped. You walked into the tall grass and found him lying on his back, casually lounging.

“Have you come to shower me in kisses?” he asked, fluttering his long eyelashes as you.

You knelt next to him, leaning over so your arms were either side of his head. “Give me your name,” you demanded, eye to eye with him.

“When I was born into this world, my mother named me Edward,” he said so casually, like it had never been a secret.

“Edward,” you repeated, a tone in your voice that made him smile.

“Are you disappointed? Would Molech suit better? Abaddon? Paimon? Or perhaps Lucifer Morningstar is what you expected?”

You looked down at him and saw through the shallow humour. “There’s a boy in the village. His name is Robert. It means bright star. His mother calls him Bobby and he answers when she calls,”

“Are you trying to distract me with a lesson?”

“Edward is of Old English origin. It means both fortune and guardianship. Which, in your case, does not fit quite right.” You didn’t reveal that his name was relatively new in human history, leading you to conclude he was not an Ancient vampire.

“Do your arms tire, Amabel? May I take this weight from you?” With vampire speed, he sat up, pulling you over him, your legs straddling his lap.

The game was fun. You held your arms out straight, letting them lean on his shoulders. “My assertion is that like Bobby, you will answer to a different name. I think I will call you… Eddie.”

You half expected him to argue. Instead, he smiled tenderly and snaked his arms around you. “You can call me whatever you want, little witch.”

Eddie listened to your heart, how it began to beat faster as you leaned down and ran the tip of your nose against his. His lips touched yours, his cool to your earthy warmth. You had kissed witches and humans and a few fae folk too. Nothing… absolutely nothing compared.

You rolled your hips against him, begging to be held tighter, instead he maintained the space between you, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against yours.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, in a moment of honest vulnerability.

Willing yourself not to cry, you left his sorrow unanswered and instead, leaned in to kiss him again.

End Note: Not me agonising over US English versus Australian. The Grimoire and timeline have been updated (links at top of post). Reblogs encourage me to keep writing! And, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @munsonsbait @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch

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[neverchecking]

NSFW alphabet for Legend, Hyrule, & Four? If you’re too busy, you don’t have to do them, I’ve just been 🤤since the Twilight alphabet.

Nonny, you did nothing wrong, but next time just check on my request status. I try to keep my requests at a set number so I can get through them in an orderly fashion.

Also you lucky ducks get 2 tonight after getting nothing from me for like a month nogng

Legend's -> Here!

Four's -> Here!

Anyway. MDNI! 18+

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a KING at aftercare. He's so soft and caring, and his touches are absolutely featherlight. Because he just wants to praise and thank you for allowing him the opportunity of a lifetime. It's so precious to him and he wants to make sure you know it to.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On his partner? Their hands. He loves kissing your palms and your fingers, and feeling them brush against his cheeks as you tell him all about how good he feels. Even just holding your hand in his as you clench around him crying out his name makes every part of him buzz.

On himself? It's hard to say because it's proven that he doesn't have a lot of self confidence, but probably his mouth. Which sounds weird, but talking has saved his life, smiling has gotten him out of sticky situations, and he knows you love the absolute completion he can bring you to with it. He loves that you can use that part of him so freely without it failing you because he will put his mouth to work. Trust me.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Maybe its the fae in him but he LOVES cumming all over you. He love, love, loves painting your skin a pretty white and streaking it in a reminder that your his. Loves dragging his fingers through it just to smear it all over your belly, to really sell the point you know?

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves seeing you in jewelry. Any jewelry, but especially long necklaces. just watching them bounce and curl with every thrust has his eyes widening as he watches every chain link shift. Especially if there's a heavy jewel front and center. Just seeing you decked in rings, bracelets, necklaces and crowns? Oh, he loves it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

No one wants to hear it, but I believe Hyrule fuckkked. Like in his world, money is scarce, so thanks had to have been given another way. Sex was probably one of those ways. It was on the downlow and no one ever talked about it, but he probably fucked. That being said, when it comes to you, where it comes with feelings, you would think he's a virgin. It takes some time for him to really settle and put his experience to good use.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Sixty-nine. He loves showing you his absolute devotion to your entire being while letting you do whatever you wish to him. He knows you like to return the favor even if he personally thinks thats silly. This lets him try to distract you enough while also letting you tire yourself out enough he can do whatever he wishes with you <3

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can do few good laughs. Like Four, if it helps loosen you up he's all for it. Probably even instigates a few jokes because he loves hearing you laugh. Soft sex with Hyrule is probably full of giggles because he just loves you so much.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not. Groomed. At ALL. It's bushy and it's messy but its so him you can't even be mad because look at that face and tell me you can be mad at him. I certainly can't. It's the same brown as the hair on is head and just as curly, so...good luck with that.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh he's so romantic, because he's SO used to those quick pump and dumbs, he loves showing and proving that you aren't like everyone else. You are someone he so inherently wants to spend the rest of his life with and he never wants you to doubt that for a second. And Hyrule, lemme tell you bc he told me personally, can WAX POETRY like you wouldn't believe.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He was told its a sin so never actually did it until he lost his faith in Hylia. Then he touched himself, cried, then finished the job. And from then on it was pretty rare because, like I said, sex wasn't rare to him. Of course, after meeting you that doesn't change. But instead of it being a question of what's the point it turns into why waste it? Why waste it on his hand when he can use it to paint your ass a perfect shade of creamy white.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Probably has a bit of a food kink, honestly. Like, fruits and syrups dripping all over your body for him to lick off appeases the fairy side and gives him the sugar for energy. Win-win for him.

Also probably loves having his hair pulled. I don't know if that's a kink, but its something I felt compelled to share.

Had to come back to add this, but Free use. Absolutely loves when you just pin him down and ride him like he's little more than a toy for you to use.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. He is down for anywhere at anytime. He's is nothing more than a lowly peasant for you to use. He is there to sing your gospel and preach your prayers. If you want him to eat you out in the middle of the street with people watching, he's already on his fucking knees.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything. Like I said. Anything just to show you how much he fucking loves you okay? He can't have you thinking he's gonna run off because losing you would absolutely destroy him. And he just cannot risk it. Like after a fight? That probably gets him going the most because he thinks he's fighting some invisible chain thats breaking and going to pull you away from him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never dream of calling you names. You are his divinity and he is going to fucking adore you and make sure you know it. The thought of ever demeaning you does something to him that makes him all pouty and upset because why would you ever want to think about yourself like that? He loves you so much and he wants you to love yourself just as much.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving. you had to know this was coming (heh, cumming). Because as I've shown, hyrule is a worshipper. And he would love to fucking worship you every chance he gets. Fuck he would spend hours giving your oral because it's just so nice for him.

A oneshot idea I've been throwing around is Reader being a Mafia! boss and sitting there, Hyrule on a leash and just having at 'er because he believes it's his life purpose to be their sex toy while their doing business. Just thought yall should know.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Anyway you want it, but he gets so sex drunk it only lasts so long before falling to his default fast and rough because he just can't get enough.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not his favorite, but he'll do it. Again, he just wants to please you. So if you want a quick romp in the closet, his belt is already off. Of course, he'll use later to take his time ensuring that you know quick isn't his go to, not anymore, and defiantly not with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's down. It brings excitement and he does like that little rush adrenaline. Plus it keeps you interested which is a bonus. It makes you happy and that's all he needs.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So much Stamina. He is so used to going, going and going, so he has the energy for DAYS. He is so ready and willing, whatever you want he's giving. If you're not done, neither is he. Round after round, he is still hard ready to go.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes and no? So, Hyrule is half fairy which means he has some magical properties about him. I imagine his cum probably has a bit of an aphrodisiac quality to it. So that's his own little toy. other than that, I could see him liking beads and just pulling them out. One by one.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Doesn't. Like I've said, he loves devoting himself to you. Teasing just takes away from that. And he can't have that! He needs to prove that you made the right choice fucking him because there are better options (In his opinion-- which is wrong). He doesn't want to lose you because of teasing when he could've spent that time making you see stars.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's suck a pretty moaner. He has a perfect tone and pitch and it's just such a delight to hear. He tries to bite his lip because he'd much rather hear you, but he can't help but whine and whimper just because it all feels so so so good.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His cum? Probably tastes sweet. Because he's half-fairy, he needs a lot of things like sugar water, fruit, candys, sweets, which you would think would make it taste bad right? Nope. It actually tastes sweet. Like it's palatable. Which is why we all wanna suck his dick so badly. Which is WHY 69 is such a good position for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hyrule has a pretty dick and I will go down with this. Like it's no bitchbreaker, but you just wanna suck it because of how pretty it is. Like a gorgeous red at the tip with soft skin and perfect balls just waiting to be fondled. He's packing pretty average, 5 or so inches, but that doesn't even matter because his dick is just so pretty.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Above average I'd say. It's not so much about the sex for him though, it's about the intimacy and proving his devotion to you. And he loves doing it. Loves reminding you just how much he loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you <3

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Knocked tf out. After aftercare is complete and he knows you're okay for the night, he gone. Sorry babes, fairy needs time to recharge and replenish his battery so he can devote his entire being to you all over again tomorrow <3

[kairiscorner]

can you pls do gwen x fem where they are dating and reader is like a polar opposite

she’s kind of like coquette softie

gwens like 🥁🌹🩰🕷️ and she’s 🩰🎀🤍🌸

thank you 😊

OOOOO THANK IS CUTE !! sure thing :DD

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

they're the perfect couple. – gwen stacy x fem!reader (headcanons and blurbs !!)

gwen's favorite nickname for you is her 'dream girl', which in reality, you are her dream girl. she loves how feminine you display yourself as, she finds it incredibly endearing and sweet.

the first time she visited your room, she was blown away by how pastel, pretty, and you it all seemed like; she found herself sighing and gasping at how freaking adorable your room's aesthetic was.

"wow, it's like... your room's filled to the brim with everything about you. i mean, i shouldn't expect any less, y'know." she said with a slight chuckled as she admired the prettiness of your room and its decor; from the color of your walls, sheets, curtains to all the plushies and cute little trinkets you had everywhere–it all had little touches of you that she found so beautiful, so lovely.

you giggled as gwen kept gasping and chuckling to herself as she pointed out how adorable everything you owned was, she was just so taken away by how one can be so gentle and cutesy–and be her lover all at the same time! "i know it's rude to stare, but... i can't help but want to stay in your room forever. i mean it, if i'm away from home, this is the sole place i'd come to because this... this place feels like a comfier home for me." she said with a satisfied sigh as she laid herself on your bed, her legs dangling from the side as she admired the lofty canopy on top of your bed, decked out with laces to decorate it.

she loves it whenever people point out how you two have such opposing aesthetics and vibes but are such a power couple.

you two definitely out-dance everyone at prom or any social gathering that has dancing as a part of it 💖

she loves it when you decorate her hair, it's always so pretty when you do it :D

she finds your presence extremely calming–like everything and everyone else could annoy and distract her, but you're her sole comfort away from everything and everyone else that hurts her and makes her ache.

you're always the shoulder gwen cries on–it just feels different when your comfort is the one she receives. she feels so much freer when you're the one listening to her, holding her close, shushing her, murmuring to her she'll be okay, everything'll be okay–when you're the one to kiss her tears away and be there for her like no one else can.

you might not know all the answers to her problems, but just having you close by and offering and ear to listen to her and a shoulder for her to cry on is more than enough for her.

if you ever designed her a matching bracelet or necklace for you two, she'd wear it with pride, and she'd definitely boast about it to anyone who'd ask about it–well, not about the accessory itself, more like about you and how thoughtful you were to make it.

"oh, this?" she asks her friends with a slight chuckle and a smile. she admired the matching accessory you made for her–it's like she has the missing half of your heart, your soul, of you. she sighs as she stares off into the distance, smiling wider to herself as she collects her thoughts about just what your gift meant to her and how much you mean to her. she goes on and on and on about you, it may drive the others insane with how much she adores you, but you've already driven her so insane with all your love for her–she's gotta share her hopeless devotion to you somehow, and the others just happened to be here to hear it all.

"yeah, sorry you guys don't have a super devoted girlfriend who'd make you sweet little trinkets that basically say you have half of her heart. bummer." she'd say with a slight smirk of smugness as she blushes harder, thinking about you and how much she adores you.

[randomprose]

set during ch. 411 // inspiration: I Will Destroy You, Nick Flynn

In the wake of She Li’s downfall, in the early hours of the quiet morning, Mo Guan Shan and He Tian stare at each other.

It feels liminal, lying in Mo Guan Shan’s too small bed as sunlight filters in from the window where a small slip of space wasn’t covered by the curtains. An alarm is going to go off any minute now, but for now they have time, and neither speaks for fear of breaking the peaceful bubble. 

It is Mo Guan Shan who moves first. He takes He Tian’s bandaged hand gently, slowly, and He Tian watches as Mo Guan Shan brings it to his lips and  tender kiss lands in the middle of his open palm.

Mo Guan Shan’s lips travel to kiss He Tian’s fingers next, lips warm and soft landing on each knuckles, before returning his attention back to He Tian’s palm. He kisses it again, this time almost reverently, and runs his tongue along where he knows He Tian’s wounds are despite the bandages. They would scar, he thinks, the first one did and this one will too. They would fade in time to be barely visible, but they would always be fresh to Mo Guan Shan. He would always see the blood—red, warm, and oozing—from where He Tian has been punctured in defense of him.

He Tian gasps when he meets Mo Guan Shan’s gaze.

‘Sorry,’ he seems to say with every graze of his lips. ‘Thank you,’ his eyes, a heated heavy gaze conveying more than just gratitude and relief. It’s a vow, an unspoken devotion, ‘I would do the same for you,’

Mo Guan Shan unlatches his mouth from He Tian’s palm and surges up to capture his lips instead. 

It tastes like benediction and He Tian feels his lungs give out the breath he’s been holding all this time. 

He Tian’s hands have moved to rest on Mo Guan Shan’s neck, and when they broke apart, his instincts led his mouth to rest over the bandage around it. He kisses his way around, the bandage a rough texture against his lips, but the warmth of Mo Guan Shan’s still healing tender skin underneath distracts him from it.

Mo Guan Shan is pliant under his ministrations and He Tian takes advantage of this. His lips hovers over Mo Guan Shan’s pulse and he feels rather than hear the whispered plea.

The rhythmic thudding of his pulse is maddening, intoxicating, each pump of it whispering ‘please, please, please’, and the cadence of it is music to He Tian’s ears.

He runs his tongue along it and the pulse quickens further. The grip on his wrists tightens and He Tian moves to kiss and suck on the erratic pulse, smirking as Mo Guan Shan gasps and tenses beneath him.

He Tian moves to kiss lower, charting a path down Mo Guan Shan’s collarbone and moving his hand to go under the latter’s sleep shirt, when an alarm sounds out, blaring and noisy in its chirpy tone, and any and all plans of going further is halted. Mo Guan Shan groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, while He Tian laughs as he plops down beside him again.

Mo Guan Shan peaks at He Tian beside him—hair mussed, eyes alight with mischief, smile still sleep soft despite already being long awake, and oh so radiant in the early morning light—and thinks he would like to keep this boy and wishes that he would be allowed to.

(He doesn’t know that He Tian is smiling because the morning sun illuminates his red face in the prettiest way and wants so badly for Mo Guan Shan to want him too, wishes desperately to be allowed to keep him too.)

“Good morning, Little Mo~"

“Yeah,” Mo Guan Shan mutters, a little annoyed at himself for finding He Tian’s lilting tone endearing. “Good morning.”

[nightcolorz]

🌍 and 🔍 obviously for Armand

Fuck yes tysm anon looooove this animal!!!! "Obviously for Armand" is killing me like yes so true he is my brand

🔎: something about the modern era not referenced in the books that you think [insert character] would find upsetting or confusing + why?

This almost feels too obvious but the invasion of Ukraine I imagine would be pretty triggering and upsetting for Armand. For pretty self explanatory grew up in Kiev under invasion slash power of Ghengis Khan subsequent kidnapping and selling trauma.

On a less serious note I think Armand would find combat video games rlly confusing lmao. Ik this is probably a hot take but I have reasoning ! In devil's minion Armand describes to Daniel how he doesn't understand war or violence between men cuz violence to him isn't something he would ever choose, it's not exciting to him and it doesnt like call to him the way he imagines it does to other ppl, he is only so violent because he was born into violence raised to become used to pain and as a vampire violence is inherent + necessary.

So like I imagine if he found out about first person shooters killing games etc he wouldn't understand why they exist 😭 I think he'd really enjoy the technological and mechanic aspects that go into a game and find them really appealing for that reason (I could def see Armand having a gamer phase) but conceptually killing games would confuse him. I imagine while crushing Daniel in call of duty Armand's questioning him the whole time over why it is so overwhelmingly common for mortals to design experiences were they can fantsize about taking life while Daniel is just like oh my god Armand its not that deep ur distracting me 😭

🌍: if [insert character] were human and so was everyone else, what would their life be like? for example: what would their career be? where would they live? what about their relationship to [insert character]?

Oooo don't u dare activate human au brain (excitement). I love human aus cuz it strips away any supernatural justification for the characters being so fucked up and instantly reduces them to guys who r just like that it's so funny.

I could see Armand as an interior designer, smth sort of formulaic but still artistic. Interior design calls to me for him cuz of his passion for designing his loved ones elaborately lavish living spaces as a form of love language (trinity gate, night island). Obvs I have a human au and my Armand live's in New York, so I'm gonna go with that. Interior designer living in New York Lmao whose in the worst ever pseudo polycule with his old friend (derogatory) Lestat, Lestat's husband Armands ex husband (non literal) slash current boyfriend Louis and his bitch he keeps on a leash and does kink with in non consenting public spaces Daniel.

It feels so silly saying this cuz my fic is literally a social media au but I think that in a general human au Armand would not use social media like he'd have accounts and use the Internet but I can not see him blogging tweeting tiktoking etc. having a social media presence requires a certain level of gratification and enjoyment with sharing urself with others and being a public figure that army doesnt have lmao he hates to be perceived + consumed and thats what being online is all about ❤️

Anyways relationship wise I think Daniel is the most interesting to talk about in a human au cuz there relationship is so centrally vampiric like the whole conflict and crazy devotion comes from that, and in my heart and soul a human devil's minion has the same insanity that is justified by Daniel just being very mentally ill and Armand just being very into bdsm and blood play role play shit, love wins. Kidding they r both very mentally ill, I imagine the vampire conflict would translate into daniel being crazy obsessed with Armand and desperately longing for a deeper emotional intimacy and commitment, maybe even marriage, and armand keeps pushing him away cuz for trauma reasons he likes to keep ppl at arms length, so they r just doing bdsm shit but they r in love and army doesn't know what to do with that cuz the vulnerability of being emotionally intimate is scarier then physical esp when u have the power in the sexual dynamic. also Daniel alcoholism plus Armand every disorder and trauma is a formula for big blow out arguments all the time. Maybe they get healthy one day and adopt some fuck ass kid or two (Benji and sybelle wink wink)

Human au Marius wise makes me shudder cuz the most canon accurate stand in would be Marius adopts Armand when he's a kid or takes him in, fosters him, etc which is pretty hashtag disturbing 😭 but if I were to write a human au that's not millennia gate (my fic) that's what I'd do 😊

Armands history with Lestat and Louis I imagine would be pretty similar to canon just to a smaller less vampiric scale cuz queer ppl r just like that they r all exes they r all dating and having casual sex and marrying. I would elaborate more on this but I would just be semi spoiling my plans for my fic Lmao so ig stay tuned

Anyways love u for this anon I love Armand love that animal he is my fav ever shrieks and explodes

[blackjackkent]

OK, time for Hector to reap what he sowed by completely misunderstanding and agreeing to Gale's pickup line about showing him something 'magical.' 😂

Although actually, starting the conversation off, it doesn't entirely seem like he *did* misunderstand? So honestly, respect, Hector - it's not your fault, Gale is not being at all clear. XD We need to work on everyone's communication skills.

Hector finds him at the end of the evening in the midst of conjuring a small illusion - the image of a woman's face hovering in the palm of his hand.

"Who is that?" he asks softly.

Gale jumps, the illusion vanishing in an instant as he spins around.

"Oh! My, you startled me. I...I was miles away."

Hector gives a slight nod towards the wizard's now-empty hand. "I thought you wanted to show me something. Was that it?"

Gale stiffens slightly and looks away. "No, no," he says hastily. "She's no one, really. I was just...practicing an incantation."

Hector raises one eyebrow skeptically. [INSIGHT] "You don't have that look on your face when you're looking at 'no one.'" He's started to relax a little. Perhaps Lae'zel and Shadowheart didn't know what they were talking about - perhaps it really was just magic Gale wished to discuss.

Gale shakes his head, and his eyes take on a faraway look again. "What can I say? She's...she's Mystra."

Memories from his studies at the monastery drift through him, the knowledge of the pantheon as instinctual as breathing. Mystra - the mother of all magic, goddess of the Weave itself.

"I can't quite describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence," Gale goes on. "No sculpture or painting could ever do her justice - only the fabric that she herself is and embodies - the Weave." He looks towards Hector again, a new light in his eyes as he speaks on this subject, something Hector has never seen there before. "Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation."

Hector has seen this light before, in the gaze of some of the more devout of the monks back at the monastery. It is not fanaticism, not quite - but a level of faith that borders on the passionate. "I didn't realize the depth of your devotion," he murmurs.

Gale nods vaguely, his thoughts still elsewhere. "Magic is...my life. I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it. It's like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses." His eyes refocus abruptly on Hector. "That is why I asked you to seek me out, to offer you a taste of such wonders. Would you like me to show you?"

Hector breathes out slowly. Certainly, then, this is a demonstration of magic, and not whatever carnal adventures Lae'zel thought he was planning to delve into. And he is more than a little intellectually intrigued - he is no expert in magic beyond a few spells, and the curiosity that always defined him before this mess is being given space to rise to the surface again.

And yet, would that have been so bad? If he is to experience all the horrors of this world before he can find his way back to the safety of the monastery, why should he not experience some of its pleasures...

He shakes the thought away, nods slowly at Gale's offer. "Yes, I would," he says.

Gale smiles, and Hector finds himself returning the expression. "Then follow my lead."

Gale settles himself at Hector's side, extends his arms and performs a slow, complicated series of gestures which sends a burst of multicolored light swirling into the air before them.

Hector watches, then blinks in surprise when Gale turns to him and prompts, "Now you."

He looks down at his own hands, and then his brows knit with an expression of intense concentration as he mimics Gale's pose.

[ARCANA] Imitate the gesture slowly and as precisely as you can.

Still flustered by his earlier conversations, Hector's movements are awkward, a little distracted. Despite his concentration, his attempt at the spell does not go off.

Gale smiles, not unkindly. "Not quite. But this is the easy part. Shall we try again?"

Hector draws back, squares his shoulders, and closes his eyes for a moment. With the ease of practice, he centers himself meditatively, calming the agitation, the anxiety, rooting himself into the ground and the moment.

[ARCANA] Imitate the gesture again. Find the magic in the movement.

This time, he feels the power of the Weave catch itself up in the movements. The light bursts forward, and in equal reaction he feels a wave of warmth and calm slide through him.

Narrator: You feel something strange - like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time. It's warm and comfortable.

Hector's eyes drift half-shut. Gale speaks again, softer this time. "Now repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao." The words roll through the air, echoing back upon themselves. They shiver along his skin.

[ARCANA] You sense power in these words. Speak them deliberately.

The warmth deepens as the words resonate in his throat.

Narrator: Suddenly - the scent of rosewater and a sense of wellbeing. A sliver of Weave that tastes sweet on the tongue.

After the horrors of the day, this moment of peace and safety is almost overwhelming. He feels tears sprout in his eyes and swallows tightly to hold them back.

Gale is watching him intently. "Very good," he says gently. "Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony. As true as you can."

Hector's eyes flicker open as he considers the request. Harmony has felt so far away ever since the nautiloid found him. But here...it is quiet here.

[HISTORY] Think of the here and now - this unexpected moment of learning.

The warmth grows, the purple-blue light beginning to swirl around them, the camp and its people seeming suddenly very far away.

Narrator: You see - or is it sense? - the presence of a woman, the woman who hovered over Gale's palm. There's something like the anticipation of a kiss, then the pleasure of being cloaked in peace. You are safe. You are nestled in the cup of Mystra's hand.

Hector's breath catches. He is dimly aware that Gale is standing very close to him, their eyes locked, but for a moment he feels lost in that sensation of utter security.

Then the moment breaks, and Gale looks away, turning to take in the swirling light around them.

"You did it. You're channeling the Weave. How does it feel?"

It takes a moment for Hector to find his voice, to remember what words are.

"Effortless," he murmurs. "You're a wonderful teacher."

Narrator: The Weave connects you. The moment feels...intimate.

Hector swallows in a suddenly dry throat. Is this what Gale wanted? Was Lae'zel right after all? Is this a prelude to something physical, or even romantic?

It feels so safe, so warm. He doesn't want to leave that safety. He has been so afraid for days.

But his control, in spite of him, reasserts itself.

A satisfying end to a wondrous experience. It's time to let go.

Narrator: The Weave evaporates, and as it does so, you realize the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome.

The feelings slip away, the warmth and safety replaced by a chill that goes into his bones. He makes a soft noise of regret, closes his eyes.

Gale has withdrawn back into himself as the sensation fades. "There it goes," he murmurs sadly. "How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining." He hesitates, meets Hector's eyes for a moment, and then smiles. Something unsaid hangs in the air between them.

"Good night," he says softly. "I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you." And without waiting for a response, he turns and retreats into his tent, leaving Hector standing alone in the moonlit night.

[thecameronchronicles]

Ice, Ice, Baby

TW: Ice play, smut, language.

Summary: A hot summer day leads to you entertaining Rudy with a popsicle as he has ideas of his own…

WORD COUNT: 1000

*Requested*

Ice, Ice, Baby

It was a staple of innocence. The cylinder made up of colored dyes and high fructose corn syrup had been a memory of every previous summer day of heat as sweltering as this one. And yet, the correlation between this innocuous existence and the popsicle was tainted as his eyes fixated on just how it was you were consuming this childhood treat. 

Slightly intentional just to garner a reaction from him, you locked your eyes onto him before pulling it to the depths of your throat, the most sinful of moans spilling from behind your motions. You didn’t even have to perform these motions in continuation before finding him palming at the growth behind his pants, shamelessly adjusting himself just as you were bold in your endeavors. Yet he wouldn’t budge in further instigation as he simply marveled at the sight before him, his mind concocting the reality in which you teased by keeping his eyes to yours, a patience fading as your eyes pulled closed and you allowed the juice to drip without correction down your neck. Suddenly you were taken into the bedroom and thrown onto the bed, the popsicle lost somewhere in the lift and stationing. 

“Don’t move an inch, baby-” He would disappear for only a second before returning with a small bowl filled with ice and another popsicle, quickly forgotten as he spoke. 

“Look what you fucking do to me…” He explained while looking to his waist, a proud erection at a desperation behind his bottoms as you would lean forward to try and assist him before he shook his head in rejection. 

Rather quickly, you were removed of your clothes, just as he had done, both actions being done in quick succession, before he was between your legs and silencing that pulsating need. But somewhere between the first thrusts his eyes set onto you as he gave you another one of those cold treats. 

“This time, I want you to suck it like it’s me…show me how good you’d do for me…” You didn't hesitate for even a second before making the quick motions of the popsicle, eyes locked to him as he adored, and the moans even louder, as he observed you with a wicked grin of lust. 

He would proceed to watch you for only a moment longer than you’d expected, before quickening his thrusts once more. But in prior instances where he would allow himself the chance to bask in the sensations yoru bodies intertwined would allow, he fought to keep his eyes on you, doing so victoriously, as he wanted to take in every second of your seduction. 

“This what you want?” He teased as you nodded. 

“Oh God, Rudy, yes…” You moaned, the chill of the treat and the favor of his thrusts between your legs having existed in the perfect contrast as he continued. But as you could feel your body begin to tense in that familiar pull of a nearing orgasm, he would withdraw and reach to the bowl, you’d forgotten about until now. 

“Did I say stop?” He asked with humor behind his expression to words usually uttered with cold rigidity. If not for the sparkle behind his blue eyes, you may have believed you’d upset him, but with that hint, you understood just how he basked in the sight. 

For only a second, he’d kiss you, taking the hand with the popsicle against the bed, pinning your wrist flat, before his tongue savored the taste left behind by its faux fruity taste. Yet, this was only a distraction, as he’d remove himself from inside of you, making you gasp and moan, before placing one of those ice cubes against your clit. 

“Shit!” You gasped, the unkind cruelty of its chill quickly mended by the sudden warmth of his tongue.

"Gotta wait for it to melt just a bit baby-"

"Jesus, Rudy, it's too much!" 

His eyes flickered up to you as you pulled at his hair, his fingers wrapping tightly into your skin, as you noted his change of devotion. 

"You haven't seen anything yet…" He breathed, his body positioning to intertwine with yours once again as he was inside of you again. 

"Shit, that's so cold-" He hissed before moving inside of you, those pounds of passion quickly mending the sting of the ice as he set you both within this rhythm. However, as you could feel that rush of satisfaction return to you, he would repeat the process with the oce again. Only this time, he would use it between his teeth, kissing you, extending it down to your body, between your breasts, and ultimately at rest at your sex. 

"I love watching you." You breathed as you gasped beneath him, the numbness from the ice taking away the burn if it's presence as his fingers to your clit quickly mended any discomfort. 

"You're so fucking beautiful…"

"Rudy, please!" He smirked. 

"You want more?" You shook your head, no, as he pulled the popsicle back into your mouth. 

"This'll help baby.. keep sucking it…but keep those eyes to me…fuck…" He sighed once pushing himself inside of you again. Only now, it was quick and built in fervor. The bed was at mercy beneath you, only the sound of moans and slapping skin could be heard as he carried you both over the threshold between desperation and relief, the ice adding to the tremors, as you clung onto him as he lifted slightly upwards. 

Pulling the popsicle from your lips, or at least what remained of it, he brought it between his mouth, eyes shifting downward against your folds, giving a single swipe to collect your mutual remnants, and taking it to your lips. 

"Cooled off now, baby?" 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[extasiswings]

Top 9 Books*

*I read way too much for this game so instead I'm going with "Top 9 historical romances read for the first time in 2023, no more than one per author and series (with exceptions for honorable mentions)"

Tagged by @tripleaxeldiaz (MWAH) [I don't think this tag game was necessarily intended to be a rec list but here we are - under a cut for length]

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe

Summary: To escape the shackles of marriage, Nellie Young purposely ruined her reputation a long time ago. Now she dedicates herself to hedonistic pleasures only, like kissing a handsome stranger in the ocean under the moonlight... To save his estate, the proper Duke of Lockwood must marry the perfect bride—wealthy, with an unblemished reputation. While in New York he's the perfect gentleman, and no one knows he's suppressing his darkest desires. The last thing he needs is another scandal. Except Nellie sees through Lockwood's charade, straight to the real man underneath. This uptight duke is far more than he lets on, and she can't resist him. Their secret affair turns scorching, far more than either expected. And when his beautiful rebel finds an unconventional cause, Lockwood has to decide if he's willing to sacrifice everything to keep her. Thoughts: Joanna Shupe really saved the best for last to wrap up her Fifth Avenue Rebels series. There is so much that’s so good, not the least of which is that the tension is immaculate after three books of these two sniping at each other from the sidelines. And when it finally snaps, it’s so satisfying. Also, I have a great appreciation for romances where the stakes feel real and relatable and the obstacles aren’t contrived or easily swept aside and I felt that was true here.

A Convergence of Desire by Felicity Niven

Summary: An insatiable rake falls for an eccentric genius. Too bad she's his innocent bride, and he has vowed never to touch her. Harriet “Harry” Lovelock lives a life of the mind, and she knows she can prove a theorem that has baffled male mathematicians for two centuries. But her stepmother wants her married and the swirl of the Season saps Harry’s energy and distracts her from her work. She has to put an end to the tedium of balls. Now. Full stop. Thomas Drake, the Earl Drake, devotes himself to the pleasures of the flesh, even as he wrestles with his own demons and intractable problems. He needs to marry wealth, but could he ever be satisfied by just one woman? She can spend all her time on her proof. He can have any woman he wants, except her. Their marriage of convenience could prove to be the perfect partnership—as long as love never enters the equation. Thoughts: a new author for me, and wow oh wow. First of all, the heroine—I feel like far too often in HR when an author says they’re writing a neurodivergent heroine what ends up on the page is just sort of shades of smart and quirky (maybe with a side of shy or anxious). That is not the case here. Harry is full out Beautiful Mind, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t particularly like or understand most people and can be unintentionally cruel at times as a result, finds most facets of generally being alive incredibly inconvenient because they get in the way of her math—and the author doesn’t try to shy away from that. She is messy, she is flawed, she is abrupt and not the most likable at times, and that’s not only okay, it’s the whole point! And Thomas, oh my god, watching him be like “my wife is encouraging me to be unfaithful and leave her alone, this should be the perfect arrangement…except that somehow all I want is to listen to her talk about math and make sure she’s eating and getting enough sleep and actually I don’t want to be with any other women oh hell” is a truly delightful journey. Reader: I cried. I loved it so much.

The Notorious Lord Knightly by Lorraine Heath

Summary: A scandalous book by an anonymous author takes London by storm, and everyone is convinced its villainous “Lord K” is the greatly admired Earl of Knightly. Heartbroken that he left her at the altar, Miss Regina Leyland impulsively sought revenge by revealing the true Knightly to the world but never expected the uproar to bring enemies to her door. To keep her identity hidden, she must trust the one man with the power to destroy her. Furious to be the object of notoriety and gossip, Knightly confronts the lady he suspects of penning the tome only to discover she is no longer the naïve innocent he was forced to betray, but a woman of strength and conviction, who will bow before no man. Knightly and Regina pretend a reconciliation to salvage their reputations and throw the ton off their scent. But false friendship soon turns to powerful passion. When truths emerge, threatening all they hold dear, they must face the consequences of their past if their story is ever to deserve its happily ever after. Thoughts: Lorraine Heath is one of those authors who is truly in a class of her own (which is excellent because she’s been writing forever so her backlist is a million miles long) and this was no exception. I’ll be honest—I love a second chance romance. But only when done well. And it is way easier to write really mediocre second chance romance than put in the work—a lot of the time I feel like either the original stakes are lacking (so that it’s like “really? This was why y’all couldn’t get your shit together the first time and/or you held a grudge for so long over that?”) or very overblown (so it’s “wow yeah that was genuinely super shitty and the justification sucks, get some self respect you don’t have to forgive that”). But this was such a good example of second chance done right. The stakes made sense, the emotions were valid, the journey felt justified, the payoff felt earned…ugh, yes, so good.

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles

Summary: Abandoned by his father, Gareth Inglis grew up lonely, prickly, and well-used to disappointment. Still, he longs for a connection. When he meets a charming stranger, he falls head over heels—until everything goes wrong and he's left alone again. Then Gareth's father dies, turning the shabby London clerk into Sir Gareth, with a grand house on the remote Romney Marsh and a family he doesn't know. The Marsh is another world, a strange, empty place notorious for its ruthless gangs of smugglers. And one of them is dangerously familiar... Joss Doomsday has run the Doomsday smuggling clan since he was a boy. When the new baronet—his old lover—agrees to testify against Joss's sister, Joss acts fast to stop him. Their reunion is anything but happy, yet after the dust settles, neither can stay away. Soon, all Joss and Gareth want is the chance to be together. But the bleak, bare Marsh holds deadly secrets. And when Gareth finds himself threatened from every side, the gentleman and the smuggler must trust one another not just with their hearts, but with their lives. Thoughts: QUEER HR MY BELOVED. KJ Charles’ books always have such a great Energy, I can’t even explain it, but this opener to a new series has so much good stuff. It’s got smugglers, it’s got family drama, it’s got murder and intrigue and disaster queer boys (who can occasionally be extremely competent), it’s got political and social commentary, it is, frankly, just a damn good time. (The second book in the series just came out and I am very impatiently awaiting my turn on the hold list at the library). Just read it.

Always Be My Duchess by Amalie Howard

Summary: Lord Lysander Blackstone, the stern Duke of Montcroix, has only one interest: increasing his considerable fortune. After a series of betrayals, he keeps his emotions buried deep. Money, after all, can't break a man's heart—or make promises it can’t keep. But when his reputation for being heartless jeopardizes a new business deal, he finds himself seeking a most unusual—and alluring—solution . . . Once an up-and-coming ballerina, Miss Geneviève Valery is now hopelessly out of work. After refusing to become a wealthy patron's mistress, Nève was promptly shown the door to the streets. When she accidentally saves the life of a handsome duke, she doubts the encounter will go any better than her last brush with nobility. But instead of propositioning her, Montcroix makes Nève an offer she would be a fool to refuse: act as his fake fiancée in exchange for fortune enough to start over. Only neither is prepared when very real feelings begin to grow between them. They both stand to win . . . but only if they’re willing to risk their hearts. Thoughts: Amalie Howard is one of the authors I read for the first time this year where I devoured her books like candy in far too short a period of time and was then left metaphorically turning the bag upside down and shaking it while pouting and wondering why there wasn’t more. Because of that (and the fact that choosing just one was incredibly difficult), she gets an extra honorable mention title. Always Be My Duchess though was a really lovely take on basically “Pretty Woman but make it HR” (she has several books clearly inspired by 90s romcoms that are very well done) and it got me big in my feelings. *Runner Up/Honorable Mention: The Princess Stakes

Duke of My Heart by Kelly Bowen

Summary: Captain Maximus Harcourt, the unconventional tenth Duke of Alderidge, can deal with tropical storms, raging seas, and the fiercest of pirates. But he's returned home from his latest voyage to find a naked earl - quite inconveniently deceased - tied to his missing sister's bed. And he has only one place to turn. Now he's at the mercy of the captivating Miss Ivory Moore of Chegarre & Associates, known throughout London for smoothing over the most dire of scandals. Miss Moore treats the crisis as though it were no more serious than a cup of spilt tea on an expensive rug. As though this sort of thing happened on the job every day. Max has never in all his life met a woman with such nerve. Her dark eyes are too wide, her mouth is too full, her cheekbones too sharp. Yet together, she's somehow...flawless. It's just like his love for her, imperfect, unexpected - yet absolutely true. Thoughts: what can I say, I love a romance with a detective story and this heroine is basically a HR Olivia Pope. I love her, I love Max, really I loved this whole series—so much fun.

The Perks of Loving a Wallflower by Erica Ridley

Summary: As a master of disguise, Thomasina Wynchester can be a polite young lady—or a bawdy old man. She’ll do whatever it takes to solve the cases her family takes on. But when Tommy’s beautiful new client turns out to be the highborn lady she’s secretly smitten with, more than her mission is at stake . . . Bluestocking Miss Philippa York doesn’t believe in love. Her heart didn’t pitter-patter when she was betrothed to a duke, nor did it break when he married someone else. All Philippa desires is to decode a centuries-old manuscript to keep a modern-day villain from claiming credit for work that wasn’t his. She hates that she needs a man’s help to do it—so she’s delighted to discover the clever, charming baron at her side is in fact a woman. But as she and Tommy grow closer and the stakes of their discovery higher, more than just their hearts are at risk. Thoughts: QUEER HR MY BELOVED, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO SAPPHIC EDITION. God. GOD. This book…it’s so MUCH. There’s so much of this whole series that’s very fun and lighthearted but then unexpectedly you’ll be punched in the gut with emotions, and there were definitely moments in this one that ripped me to shreds in the best way (and then gently put me back together again). You will laugh, you will cry (I certainly did), you may very well cheer, and the HEA here was everything my queer ass ever wanted.

Her Wanton Wager by Grace Callaway

Summary: A Wager She Can't Afford to Lose When her brother falls into the clutches of gamester Gavin Hunt, feisty heiress Persephone Fines will do whatever it takes to save him. Hunt offers her an outrageous proposition: he will release her brother… if she can resist six nights of seduction. Can she withstand the scoundrel's wicked charm—and the shocking desire he rouses with each touch? A Bet He's Determined to Win A product of London’s violent stews, Gavin Hunt has clawed his way to success and power. Now he will stop at nothing to achieve his life-long goal: revenge upon the man who betrayed him. He plans to seduce his enemy’s sister… but doesn't count on losing his heart. Will he give up his need for vengeance—or risk forsaking the only woman he’s ever loved? From Six Nights to Forever As the battle of the sexes rages on and seduction flares into uncontrollable passion, Gavin and Percy must also fight a hidden enemy. Only by trusting one another can they defeat the threats of past and present. In this high-stakes game of love versus sin, what will be the outcome of… Her Wanton Wager? Thoughts: OKAY LOOK. Grace Callaway is another author in the category of “I read her for the first time and within like two weeks I had read everything and was screaming crying desperate for more because she’s SO GOOD.” So she gets one spotlight and then honorable mentions from each separate series because all of her books are so good. I think I had to go with this one (despite the very fierce competition) because at the end of the day Iiiiiiiii am a huge slut for a “dark and twisty criminal hellbent on revenge and the lady who may become the light of his life but will also take no shit” story ESPECIALLY if it involves scandalous (consensual) bets over sexual favors. And this one fucks (pun absolutely intended). *Runner Ups/Honorable Mentions: The Duke Who Knew Too Much (from the Heart of Enquiry series—spinster debutante catches kinky duke engaged in certain Activities and wildly misconstrues the situation, when his lover turns up dead and he’s framed for the murder, she tells the police that he totally must have done it because of the aforementioned kink that she wildly misconstrued, he takes her to a sex club to be like “FFS I’M NOT A MURDERER I’M A DOM” and she feels so guilty that she insists on helping him clear his name. COMEDY); The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes series—policeman and disgraced scientist/inventor goes undercover to become the bodyguard to the granddaughter of the criminal underworld’s most notorious kingpin, a woman who definitely does not want a bodyguard, and they have to ultimately work together to save the day when something turns out to be rotten in the state of Denmark); Fiona and the Enigmatic Earl (Society of Angels series—oh my god you guys it’s HR Charlie’s Angels and it’s the BEST. This particular one is debutante who is secretly a detective solving crimes for women needs to get married so she can get out from under her family’s thumb and have some independence to continue being a detective, enters into a marriage of convenience with a man who is secretly an agent for the Crown, both of them fully intend to just keep lying to each other until their separate investigations turn out to be linked…literally every book in this series is a Delight).

Knockout by Sarah MacLean

Summary: With her headful of wild curls and wilder ideas and an unabashed love of experiments and explosives, society has labeled Lady Imogen Loveless peculiar…and doesn’t know she’s one of the Hell’s Belles—a group of vigilantes operating outside the notice of most of London. Thomas Peck is not most of London. The brilliant detective fought his way off the streets and into a promising career through sheer force of will and a keen ability to see things others miss, like the fact that Imogen isn’t peculiar…she’s pandemonium. If you ask him, she requires a keeper. When her powerful family discovers her late-night activities, they couldn’t agree more…and they know just the man for the task. Thomas wants nothing to do with guarding Imogen. He is a grown man with a proper job and no time for the lady’s incendiary chaos, no matter how lushly it is packaged. But some assignments are too explosive to pass up, and the gruff detective is soon caught up in Imogen’s world, full of her bold smiles and burning secrets…and a fiery passion that threatens to consume them both. Thoughts: LMAO y'all had to know this list wasn't ending without some Sarah MacLean. Anyway, 12/10 no notes, I waited two years for this book knowing it was going to give Everything because the moment these two were introduced back in Bombshell I was obsessed (I mean, who DOESN'T love a girl who likes to blow things up and flirt shamelessly with entirely too honorable policemen who are at their wits end?). As always, thank you Ms. McLean for my life.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

For Ethedis, 3, 4, 8, & 32?

3. What is something they really like about themselves and what is something you really like about them?

so after Tur-Morva Searadan says this to Etheids "You find friends wherever you tread, and where they cannot be found you make them with kindness and generosity" and Ethedis, coming off what was probably the worst week of her life so far, just Latched Onto that. Searadan was totally right Ethedis IS friend-shaped and very much needed to hear that.

Something I like about her is the fact that she's just. So silly. Don't get me wrong I see the appeal of graceful somber ethereal elves, BUT i think a very underrated aspect of elves is how silly they can be. They sing silly songs outside Bilbo's window in the Last Homely House to be the world's most annoying alarm clock for one thing. Anyway I Ethedis has a lot of those fun traits of younger elves people don't seem to focus on much. idk I just like to see bright happy elves who are still so very much in love with the world! And just want to sing about everything they see! and befriend every new mortal they meet! (this will not backfire! surely!)

4. What is the thing they like the most about their friends and what is the thing their friends like the most about them?

What Ethedis likes about Corunir is... man there's A Lot (unsurprisingly), where do you even start? His unwavering devotion? His intelligence? The fact that he just cares SO much about her and everyone else? The great hugs he gives that just make her feel so safe and warm? His sweet smile she just can’t seem to see enough of? You just can't pick!

Ethedis also likes Tossdir's stubborn loyalty. She seems to have this habit of picking friends who simply Refuse to let her do dangerous things alone (of perhaps those are just the friends that tend to pick her). Sure she may have to face the Horrors of this war, but he's gonna make damn certain that she doesn't have to face them alone! Unfortunately they both seem to have a reckless streak a mile wide- Oh! that's another thing she likes about Corunir! He actually encourages them to think before jumping headfirst into danger, very important asset to their gang.

The thing about her that draws a lot of people to her initially is just her overall bright and approachable demeanor, she offers some much needed levity in these dark times. Some people think of her as naive for it, but those who have taken the time to get to know her understand that it is anything but. Her unwavering smile isn't born from a lack of understanding of their hopelessness, but a stubborn refusal to give into the despair she understands far too well, an instinct to laugh in the face of danger because sometimes that's the only thing you can do to rob it of its power, to believe this story WILL have a happy ending no mater how bleak things look because otherwise you have nothing to fight for.

8. What is a smell that makes them feel at home?

oh definitely whatever Elrond’ Library smells like. Reminds her of all the time she spent there buried in her studies, safe from the matters of he outside world, distracted from the grief of her parents… old books and scrolls but not really musty or dusty, it’s clean with the faint scents of dried herbs from the nearby Tham Send.

32. Draw or describe the silliest outfit you can think of. They now have it inside their wardrobe, but it’s a secret between you and them… unless someone finds out.

oh oh hang on, there's so many funny sets in this game let me find some

the Brestplate of the Aurochs has to be one of my favorite ridiculous items. it's just got. a whole Aurochs face on there. absurd

[wildroseofarran]

Life Events, Part II || Captain Issott & Charles || November, 2020

Leslie: Charles' phone would begin ringing at 11 am sharp.

Charles: He was putting the finishing touches on a pb&j sandwich when he felt it vibrating in his pocket. Still, he managed to answer.

"Hi! I was just going to ring you when I'd finished here. You're on speaker. Rory, say hello."

Leslie: A loud and triumphant hello from a boy over the moon for peanut butter and strawberry jam. Leslie just laughed for a moment.

"It's the man of the house! With the other man of the house!"

Charles: "Indeed." Charles joined in the laughter, popping his son's discarded crusts into his mouth before nudging him toward the island, plate in-hand. "Are y-"

He paused to finishing chewing and swallow before continuing. "My apologies. Are you ready for me, then? Do I need to bring anything?"

Leslie: "Not unless you wanna see Rafflesia again, just bring yourself."

Charles: "All right. I'll be just a few minutes."

Leslie: "Same place, but... might want to have Kurt think of the driveway instead. It's a bit wild here right now."

Charles: "Oh?" Leslie would have to hear, rather than see his raised eyebrow. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Leslie: "Roger that. See y'all soon."

Tristan was given a smile. "On his way."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath, returning Leslie's smile. He felt kinda nervous but he was doing his best to combat it.

"Good. How we feeling?"

Leslie: "I'm alright, but this has been on my mind for months now, so... maybe I'm numbed."

Tristan: "Don't know if that's better or worse than being so nervous you hurl."

Leslie: "Have you hurled?"

Tristan: "Nope, no hurling." Just a vaguely queasy feeling.

Leslie: "It's been a year." He waited to see if Tristan would catch what he'd meant.

1:46 AM] Charles: True to his word, Charles appeared in a cloud of sulfurous, blue smoke a few minutes later. He closed his nephew's fingers around a crisp bill and watched him depart before turning to find his friend.

Tristan: Tristan's smile threatened to split his face right in half. "It sure has," he said softly, reaching for Leslie's hand. He had to fight every day to keep the weight of his love and devotion from spilling out of his body and drowning this man; he knew exactly what Leslie meant.

He didn't even notice Charles' arrival as he got swept up in the moment and leaned in to kiss his witch.

Leslie: "Here's to another year," he said into Tristan's hair.

Ah. That familiar whoosh of Kurt, given a wave from the side of the road. The A-frame cabin was long gone. Replaced by a much larger foundation and the unmistakable headache-inducing sound of construction.

"Over here!" he called, waving Charles over.

Charles: Charles was grateful for the distraction of the demolished cabin, both surprised by Tristan's presence and feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment.

But of course he'd been invited. He lifted his hand in greeting and made his way to where the pair stood.

"Hello, Tristan. Les," he began, voice slightly raised to be heard over the din. "Looks like you've come a long way! I didn't even know you'd started the expansion. Or, rebuild, it seems."

Tristan: Tristan greeted Charles with a warm smile. "Hello back," he called above the noise. "You ain't kidding. It's at that point where it looks so bad you can't imagine it ever looking good."

Leslie: "Nothing gone to waste. The same wood from the old cabin for the floors. You know me," he laughed quietly. "Clive talked me into what's basically a hotel room for a guest room near the garden. It's for him and Hazel, he insists. When the time comes."

Charles: "Not a bad idea," he said, eyeing the mess and trying to imagine the future house in its place. He wasn't doing a very good job of it. "How long do you predict it will take to finish?"

Leslie: "They've said at most seven months. Oh, my father had some shit to say, but he's in Charlotte, so he'll have to put up with it."

Charles: "About your design or the construction?"

Leslie: "The construction. The design was - well, he had a few in his pocket the moment I moved out."

Charles: "I'm sure he'll be pleased with the finished product, then."

Leslie: "Blueprints are on my laptop back at Tristie's. Interested in walking around and using your imagination, or heading to his house for our lesson?"

Tristan: "Not for nothing, but the second option also comes with fried fish and yellow rice if you're hungry."

Charles: "I could eat," he confessed, despite the crusts he'd eaten less than an hour ago.

Leslie: "I'll drive," he smiled. But first! No proper greeting without a hug from the professor.

"Been too long since a proper lesson. Now you have a partner."

Tristan: There was that pride again, as brilliant as the first day he'd practiced with Leslie.

"You're not the only one who can magically light candles now, prof."

Charles: Charles returned the embrace, clapping his friend warmly on the back before releasing him. "Oh? Congratulations! It's incredible, no?"

Leslie: "He's incredible. You'll see. I've been saving something because I'm curious, want you to witness, and I have something to ask you."

Tristan: "It's awesome, I feel like friggin' Superman."

Charles: He laughed softly. "Before you know it you'll be leaping tall buildings in a single bound."

Leslie: "Now that I'd like to see."

Tristan: "I wouldn't go that far but lighting a candle without a match? Does not get old."

Charles: "Come now. The sky's the limit. But you're right about the candle lighting. Quite entertaining."

Leslie: "There will be no modesty in this classroom today or any other day. You both can light an actual fire. Move past the candles."

Tristan: "It's cheap entertainment," Tristan chuckled. "Like walking Opal."

Charles: "Agreed. Don't rob us of the simple pleasures, Les."

Leslie: "Is a bonfire not as pleasurable?" asked before climbing into the driver's seat.

Tristan: "Sure, but I can't fit one of those in the living room without running the risk of burning the house down. Want shotgun, Charles?"

Charles: "Can't argue with that logic." He shook his head, already opening the back door. "You go on."

Leslie: "Just wait. We'll have a proper fireplace when the house is finished. And a green house. And a fire pit. I've kept all of my rocks. Ruby and Ester want to help with the redesign."

Tristan: That made Tristan smile. "Yep, we sure will. And I was serious about getting us those Adirondack chairs. We can have one set for the deck and another to put around the fire pit."

Charles: "Do they?" He hadn't known they were aware of it at all. "I'm sure it'll be lovely. I look forward to seeing the finished product."

Leslie: "Mm." A glance back for traffic before pulling out. "Halloween was the last day it stood."

Charles: "That long? You've been busy!"

Leslie: "Had to talk Clive into staying in Charlotte. Teachin' Tristan as I've taught you. Moving to Tristan's place came first."

Tristan: "Feels like they only took it down a couple days ago, to us at least. Poor Logan across the street has had to listen to the racket from the very beginning. We'll make a plate for her," he added to Leslie.

Charles: "Makes sense," he nodded. Charles didn't know a Logan outside of his own, but he could sympathise. "Perhaps buy a nice pair of earplugs as a gift."

Leslie: "I've wanted to get her something noise cancelling, but that was even before the destruction. Her house is loud with memories and bad energy."

Tristan: "Mama has noise cancelling headphones she really likes. I'll ask her what brand they are and we'll get one for our very gracious neighbor."

Charles: "That's very kind. I know I'd appreciate it, in her place."

Leslie: "What have you been doing since Samhain?"

Charles: "Oh, you know. Much of the same. Work. Wrangling the kids. More work." Then there was the matter of the home he and Mason were designing for their family. Small world.

Leslie: "Should I be surprised you have time for yourself?"

Tristan: "Gotta find the balance in life, prof. Can't be burning the candle at both ends all the time."

Charles: "Of course not. I make time. My kids would protest if I didn't. Besides, winter break is just around the corner."

Leslie: "Did you make time before the children?"

Tristan: "Got any plans for the break?"

Charles: "I did. Perhaps not as frequently, but I did." He lifted a shoulder. "Not aside from the usual holiday celebrations. I'd like to spend a few quiet days with the family. Perhaps in Cameron. Nothing concrete."

Leslie: "The house in Cameron looks like a novel," he said to Tristan. "Something Hazel read to me, but for the life of me I can't remember the damn name."

Tristan: "Size wise or decor wise?"

Charles: "Decor, I'm assuming." He gave a little chuckle. "It's a rather unique design. I was fascinated the first time I saw it. Now, it feels very much like home." He'd miss the old place, when the time came.

Leslie: "Like a Victorian home from a child's ghost story. It's the definition of lovely, but not at all my taste."

Tristan: "Oh cool, like the Addams house?"

Charles: "Something like that." The corner of his mouth curled in a tiny, private smile. "I used to feel the same way you do, Les. But it's grown on me. I suppose that's to be expected."

Leslie: "Do you prefer it to the school?"

Charles: He hummed thoughtfully. "Sometimes. It isn't about the building itself. I love what I do, but I'm never alone when I'm there. It's nice to be with only my husband, on occasion. With only my family. My nuclear family, at any rate."

Leslie: A side-glance was given to Tristan.

"I can understand that, when it's all day every day. Must be a relief, having other teachers live with you."

Tristan: Tristan caught that glance and smiled in response. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or at least a sign.

"Do your kids go to your school, too?"

Charles: "Yes and no. My school is technically for middle and high school aged children, but when the younger children arrived, we got a tutor for them."

Leslie: "How are they adjusting, the little ones? Almika? Rory?"

Charles: "Quite well, given the circumstances. Fewer nightmares, overall. And I no longer have children asking me if I'm going to send them back. We've earned their trust, at the very least."

Leslie: "Blessings to that."

Deep breath. "I'm eager to have my progress assessed today, in a new environment. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement for Tristan, to shield his mind?"

Tristan: Tristan's brow furrowed. "Shield my mind...?"

Charles: "I... sure? I don't see why not." Charles nodded, though Tristan likely could not see him. "From telepathic ability," he explained.

Leslie: "I want him to become familiar with protection first and foremost."

Tristan: Tristan turned in his seat to look at Charles with that same delighted expression he always got when discussing magic.

"Charles, can you read minds?"

Charles: "I can," he confessed, with some amusement.

Tristan: "Is it an all the time thing or can you pick and choose where and when?"

Charles: "Bit of both. I can hear surface thoughts without trying. It's taken decades of practice to master blocking them out. Even now, the occasional pointed thought will slip through. Doing anything more takes conscious effort."

Leslie: "So keep your thoughts PG-13 in his presence. Or not. Spice up his life."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "I'll keep it PG-13. My R and XXX thoughts are only for you, puddin'. I'll think ocean facts at the prof."

Charles: Charles dragged a hand down his reddening face. "Appreciate it. My life has plenty of spice, thanks." They didn't know the half.

Leslie: "Oh, I'm sure it does," the witch laughed.

Tristan: "What's the weirdest thought you've ever caught, Charles? Or most memorable?"

Charles: "Nothing is really strange, anymore. The most memorable minds are the ones I can't get a proper read on."

Leslie: "What's not a proper read?"

Tristan: "People who shield from you?"

Charles: "Not exactly. It's usually a physical ability, of some sort. Brain chemistry, or a psionic blocker. I once knew a telepath less powerful than I was, in that regard, but she possessed the ability to turn into some sort of crystalline material that I couldn't penetrate. I don't believe that it was diamond, but it might've been."

Leslie: "Another Ester?" Leslie perked. "Is she still around?"

Tristan: The wonder and delight were back. "There's a second person who can turn into a diamond on this planet?"

Charles: "Not exactly. And I don't know. After she and her companions attempted to murder me and mine, we didn't part ways amicably. Last I heard, she'd allied herself with the Brotherhood."

Leslie: "Seems every species has some... fracture. My people are no exception."

Tristan: "Well that blows. Also, the Brotherhood? That's a cult name right there. It's not a cult, is it?"

Charles: Charles laughed, softly. "Isn't it? It has all the makings of a cult, if you ask me. But its leader disagrees. Not that he and I agree on much. I love him, but he's so very wrong about... a lot."

Leslie: "Knowing oppositions, he probably feels the same about your beliefs."

Tristan: "That's the way it always goes. Everyone thinks their way is the best way, and some are even right."

Charles: "Well, considering that the actualization of his beliefs ends with the two of you dead or enslaved, I'm fairly confident in mine."

1:07 AM] Leslie: "The Technocracy believes everyone should be asleep. They gaslight, institutionalize, and murder dreamers. They say it's for the good of humanity, the universe. They work with hunters. Started the inquisition to murder my people and vampires alike, as though we're the same. I have no doubts they're the same people saying your kind are dangerous."

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. "Definitely a fuckin' cult," he sighed. "They all think they're special but end of the day, some jagoff or consortium of jagoffs is fucking someone over to water their ego flower same as all the others that came before and will come after."

Charles: "If they are, they aren't the only ones. He isn't wrong about the danger or the hate, just about how to combat it." He lifted a shoulder. "I like our odds. We're making strides all the time."

Leslie: "Every species has their villains. Blanket statements bother me greatly."

Tristan: He nodded. "It's part of the human condition as Meg says. Or the people condition as the case may be."

Charles: "Naturally. That's why it's so important to stand against them."

Leslie: "We are as bias as they are. We believe we stand on the right side of history, and history is told by the victors. Only time will tell."

Tristan: "Just have to make sure the prof back there wins. I like his odds, too."

Charles: "Thank you for the vote of confidence." Said with utmost sincerity.

Leslie: "Of course he will! I know exactly what he would be otherwise."

Tristan: "Absolutely, Charles. Now talk to me about the kind of seasonings and vegetables and fish you like. I'm no Leslie in the kitchen but I hold my own."

Charles: "I'm sure whatever you have on hand is fine. I'm not particular."

Leslie: "Always modest." Leslie was grinning. "That modesty will give you whole chicken like the Beltane festival. Remember that? Immature egg yolks and cockscomb?"

Tristan: "Leslie, my love, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

He turned in his seat again. "At least tell me if you're a spice person or not so I don't accidentally set your mouth on fire."

Charles: "Oh, definitely not. Let's just assume I have the palate of a toddler. The milder the better, please."

Leslie: "So a chicken liver pâté with stuffed mushrooms? Got it."

Tristan: "There will be no liver in the house ever," Tristan chuckled. "I gotcha, Charles. Got some lemons from my mama's tree, I'll go lemon pepper."

Charles: "Sounds delicious."

Leslie: "No liver?! You've stabbed me, merman."

Tristan: "Blame Mrs. Pennyapple for scarring me for life as a child and making me hate liver."

Leslie: Leslie smiled a knowing smile and shrugged. "Does mild mean no liver for you, Charles? I forget what you pushed off your plate in May."

Tristan: "Don't let him goad you with the evil liver, Charles!"

Charles: "You heard the man, Les. No liver."

Leslie: "I'll be sous chef tonight, then. No liver."

Tristan: "What would you like, sous chef? Want lemon pepper on your fish too?"

Charles: He nodded, satisfied, and settled back against his seat, head tilting to gaze out of the window.

Leslie: "I'm under your orders, chef. But also that sounds good so why not." Leslie smiled.

Tristan: "Bitchin, lemon pepper fish it is. And just in time," he added as his house came into view.

Charles: "Wonderful!" Charles watched the house through his window, straightening in his seat as they approached.

Leslie: Leslie parked behind Tristan's truck, tossing the keys between his hands as he so often did when his mind was clamoring.

"Go ahead and give him the tour? Gonna get some stuff from the trunk."

Tristan: "Sure thing, doll."

Tristan hopped out of the car and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to our humble abode, prof."

The house was simple and modestly sized but in a prime location right on the water. The nautical decorations on the front porch gave a hint as to what was inside: an unmistakably masculine shrine to maritime history and nautical odds and ends.

And fish.

"Come right in and make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?"

Charles: If nothing else, Charles lived for the view. It was precisely why he enjoyed looking out over the lake from the roof of the school, and why he'd chosen the location he had for his family's new home.

"It's lovely," he said, sincere, and shook his head at the offer. "I'm fine, thanks." His mouth lifted into a crooked smile, eyes warm. "If I hadn't already known what you did for a living, I might've guessed."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "We Segers do like to wear our professions on our sleeves. My mama's a literature professor; bet you can guess what she's got all over her house."

Charles: "Oh, I'd love to see her collection. I teach literature at my school, among other things. I'm running out of space to put my books. I'm just grateful my husband is willing to indulge me by building shelves." He smiled wryly, thinking of the house again.

Leslie: Leslie paused in the living room to argue with his jacket. Two brown bags in his arms and keys in his mouth.

Tristan: "Oh she ran out of space aaaages ago." Tristan rushed over to help Leslie with his cargo. "What she does is, every quarter, she goes through and picks out the ones she didn't like and sells them to the used bookstore."

Charles: "Wise. I keep everything that isn't completely falling apart. If even one of my students gets something out of a book, it's worth having."

Leslie: "Would be nice to have the space," said Leslie. Made sense that he hadn't a collection. Leaving Charlotte meant leaving many of his books behind in his old bedroom. Fitting only what was essential in his Jeep. Now, with a new home, he could begin again.

"Got some things for games today." The brown bag still in hand was placed on the dining table. Three red jars of wood wick candles, black, were placed in a row; a spool of twine; two fist size, smooth rocks.

Tristan: "My mom would agree with you. Feeling more and more like I should introduce ya'll."

Tristan poked his head into the bag he had taken. "Oh yeah? What kinda games? Are there prizes?"

Charles: Charles lifted an eyebrow at the items. "I have the same questions, actually. This doesn't look like any game I've ever played."

Leslie: "I should hope not! These are games I learned from the Order of Hermes when studying Force. They're about as competitive as a Tradition gets."

He pointed to the twine and rocks. "Racing games. Who can control their flames and get to the center first. Wrapping the rock in twine and throwing; who can light it midflight."

Tristan: Tristan grinned and kept on grinning as Leslie described the games. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

"Are we about to have a magical field day?!"

Charles: "Sounds entertaining," he said, with a crooked smile. "And it'll definitely be a first, for me." Who didn't love novelty?

Leslie: "Be the first for him, too. Look at his face," Leslie laughed. "I got wood wick candles because - just because. I like the sound. Wanna keep y'all on your toes. By all means, use your wands if you want."

Tristan: "I definitely will use my wand and I also approve of your candle choice. I do have a very important question: are we getting prize ribbons?"

Charles: "That is an excellent question," he agreed, grinning.

Leslie: "I uh, I'll make ones," he laughed. "Ah! The winner gets a choice dessert!"

Tristan: "Sold, that's even better than a ribbon! I'm in. We doing this before or after food?"

Charles: "Oh, Tristan, I'm sorry but this will not be a friendly competition," he chuckled. "Not with dessert on the line."

Leslie: "How hungry are y'all?"

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "You're on, prof. Also, I could stand to work up an appetite. Fish and rice don't take all that long to cook."

Charles: "I'm fine to wait. The food will taste all the better with victory."

Leslie: "Alright. Let's begin with a friendly race." Twine was unraveled by four feet, approximate by eye, and severed with his pocketknife.

"Let's go outside for this." The ball of brown twine was tucked under his arm. Out the backdoor and back into fresh air.

"You have a folding table you won't miss?"

Tristan: When fire was involved, a fire extinguisher was always a good idea. Tristan grabbed it on the way out.

"Don't go counting your chickens!" he called to Charles as he went around the side of the house. He had just the thing Leslie was after. "Does it matter if the table smells ever so slightly like fish?"

Charles: Charles laughed and turned to Leslie when Tristan disappeared. "Anything I can help with?"

Leslie: "Don't matter, babe!" He smiled briefly at Charles. "I'll be tying the rocks while y'all race. Playing ref has its perks. Still prefer hands to your wand?"

Tristan: "'Kay!"

Tristan grabbed the slightly fishy table and carried it back to where Leslie and Charles were. Up until recently it had been used on his ship to clean fish, but a new, sturdier table had rendered it obsolete.

"Here we go. One expendable table."

Charles: "Alright," he bobbed his head once. "I believe so, but we'll see how this goes."

Leslie: "Excellent!" The string was laid the length of the table. He pointed to either side for them to stand. A small pale rock nestled against the steps was placed middle of the string, resting delicately on top.

"This is as much about control as it is speed. Burning the string evenly from tip to pebble. Not one long flame, but like, a uh, a fuse."

Tristan: Tristan contemplated the task before him and weighed his options. To wand or not to wand?

"So we're going full Wil E. Coyote, huh? Hmmm....."

Yeah, this seemed like a lightning rod sort of situation. Wand it was!

Charles: Charles nodded his understanding, fingers flexing in anticipation of the exercise. "Seems straightforward enough."

Leslie: "This is the most straightforward it's going to get. Would y'all rather practice with the candles first?"

Tristan: "Yes, please. I need a warmup before I kick the prof's butt."

Charles: "Oh, I do admire your ill-advised confidence," he grinned, in good humor. "If the Captain wants to practice, we'll practice."

Leslie: Leslie would gather the candles, bringing two of the red jars to the table. A new environment. One with a light but stimulating breeze. He was interested in observing how they adapted outside of a quiet room with closed windows. Wondered how he could further disrupt their expectations.

"Boa sorte! Good luck!"

Tristan: Lighting magical fires in a windy environment was new, but doing it outside wasn't. Tristan had taken to practicing in the wee hours of the morning while waiting for Oliver before they headed out to sea for the day.

Surely the wind wouldn't make that much of a difference; if anything, it was soothing.

Tristan took a deep breath and did his bit, psyching himself out at the last second by worrying the wind was going to blow out the candle and failing his first try. But a quick rally later, he was able to get it on the second.

Charles: Inclined to practice in those rare moments alone, he sometimes found himself on the roof of the school, lighting and extinguishing the fire pit his husband had placed there. This couldn't be much different, could it? He took a beat to examine the candle before making his attempt. It sputtered for a moment and caught. A little rusty, perhaps, but not terrible.

Tristan: "Nice job, prof! Got it in one go." Not bad for a man who'd dealt with science for most of his life. Then again, that was probably how Leslie had felt about him when he'd managed to light the candle that day in the living room.

And look at them now: a fisherman and a professor, lighting candles with magic.

A few more successful lightings later, Tristan was ready.

Charles: "Your witch is a good teacher. Took me awhile to get the hang of it." He smiled crookedly at the fisherman before turning back to the candle. Extinguishing was always trickier, but what better time to practice? Charles stopped when Tristan did, looking to Leslie with hands stuffed in his pockets.

Leslie: Leslie had taken to the steps, wrapping twine as a net over various sized rocks.

"Y'all don't need me for the next bit. Time to try your hands - or wands - at the fuse trick. Anyone wanna place bets?"

Tristan: "He is, isn't he?" said Tristan, beaming with pride. Despite his limited experience with magic, he was certain he couldn't have asked for a better teacher than Leslie Issott.

"I bet a round of proper Carolina hot dogs that I'll beat the prof."

Charles: Charles gave a soft snort. "Winning is its own reward. I'm ready when you are, Captain."

Leslie: "I want a nice clean fight," Leslie laughed. "Wands or no wands. Remember: consistent like a fuse!"

Tristan: "Sound like my mama, Charles," Tristan chuckled. "Must be a professor thing."

A moment's consideration had Tristan deciding against a wand for this particular event, much as he enjoyed using it. He trusted his hands just fine to keep that fuse going.

"All right then. Ready, steady, aaaand...go!" Tristan lit his string and let his inner Wil E. Coyote loose.

Charles: "Must be," he chuckled, focusing his attention on the thread and debating how best to approach this task. With a nod, he sparked a flame, urging it forward with all of the careful control he could muster.

Leslie: Leslie wanted to keep his distance. To move would possibly cause a distraction. The last loop of the last knot finished the netting of another smooth stone. Looking at his creation reminded him of his own trials. The matches played against Tonya and Troy in their youth. These were moments he hoped would be ingrained for Tristan and Charles' remaining years. These were milestones.

Tristan: This was like sailing. You picked a spot on the horizon and rode the wind. The pebble was his horizon and magic was his wind and he was going to ride it all the way to the pebble and beat Charles.

"I got to the pebble!"

Charles: The telepath wasn't too far behind. Even after Tristan announced his victory, Charles pushed the last inch or so to the finish line. "Done!" In the spirit of good sportsmanship, he extended a hand to the sailor, grinning widely. "Fair and square, my friend. Congratulations."

Leslie: Leslie rose to his feet to inspect, grinning from ear-to-ear and raising his arms. "Look what y'all did! You did that! He wanted them to feel proud. Every ounce of confidence would only aid their next game.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah we did!" Tristan clasped Charles' hand and shook. "Congratulations yourself! Good job, prof. Ready for the next one?"

Charles: "Certainly. What's next on the agenda, Les?"

Leslie: "What's next is taking these rocks and alighting them midair. Hand or wand optional. I've got y'all covered if something goes afoul."

Tristan: "Magical skeet shooting, got it. Do we get to say 'pull'?"

Leslie: "Use me as you will. Not gonna warn for all of them."

Charles: He lifted one chestnut coloured eyebrow. "We're setting rocks on fire?"

Leslie: "It's why I've been making nets around them."

Tristan: For this next event he was definitely using the wand. Thinking of it as magical skeet shooting was actually getting him in the proper frame of mind.

"I think we should move this over to that dirt patch over there. Doing this over flammable grass seems like we're tempting fate."

Charles: "Wise. I'd feel awful if we burnt the place down."

Leslie: "I'm here. I won't let anything happen that shouldn't. I promise."

Tristan: “I believe you, doll,” said Tristan, shooting Leslie a winning smile. “It’s more for me than the risk of actual fire. One less distraction.”

Charles: "You're the teacher," he shrugged, flexing his fingers. "I'm following your lead."

Leslie: "Have to start somewhere. Failure breeds progress, don't be ashamed of it. Let's start with something controlled." Leslie walked into their line of sight and held his arms out, not intimidating in the least.

"Throw a fireball at me."

Tristan: Tristan's eyes widened. He was fine with potential failure but he was very not fine when that potential failure could affect Leslie.

"What--no! What if something happens and we hurt you?!

Charles: Charles nodded toward the fisherman. "I must say, I'm with the Captain, on this one. Seems like a terrible idea, Les. 'Failure' really shouldn't lead to serious injury."

Leslie: "I think you're both forgetting I'm practically from the Order. Failure would only be in your learning - won't be in my catching whatever mistake you make. I promise."

Tristan: His uncertainty--which was written all over his face--was due more to his own inexperience than to Leslie's ability to neutralize a problem or move out of the way. He completely believed Leslie could protect himself. One hundred percent.

Tristan just wasn't sure if he believed he'd have enough control not to create a situation where Leslie wouldn't have to protect himself. But Leslie sure seemed to believe. That was worth a hell of a lot.

Still--"You plan to catch the fireball? Or do plan to move out of the way with lightning quick reflexes?"

Charles: Charles raised a skeptical eyebrow. He had placed himself in danger for the purposes of education more than once. Perhaps his hesitation was a bit hypocritical. Still, he waited for Leslie to answer the posed question.

Leslie: Leslie smiled, patient. "Whatever the situation calls for. Depends how terribly this goes - which it's not gonna be a disaster! Y'all are too cautious and too advanced. You've been practicing throwing fire onto wood. It's been your homework for months."

Tristan: “Yeah, wood! Not a loved one!”

Forget magic, this was a trust exercise with multiple layers. Leslie’s trust in them, their trust in Leslie, their trust in their own abilities.

The real kicker was going to be not psyching themselves out and being unable to do it at all, which…yeah. That was a big possibility.

Tristan turned to Charles. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Charles: "Wouldn't be fair." He gave his temple a pointed tap and shook his head. "I'll go, if it makes you feel better."

Leslie: "You'd be the best poker player in the world," Leslie laughed at this epiphany.

"How about this. We'll start light." He had assumed the little game to be a proper warm up, but maybe not.

The witch stood between them, held his hands together in diamond shape, expanding outwards to create a pale blue and orange flame.

"Take it from me."

Tristan: "Oh yeah, the mind reading deal. Yeah, you're right." Rock, paper, scissors definitely wouldn't be fair against Charles, but Tristan did find himself wanting to play with him. To test. Who knew, maybe there was a way to beat him if he--

Focus, Tristan.

He smiled. Apparently their theme was still fire but this was a lot less nerve wracking. "Now that's a horse of a different color."

Tristan had no idea how to take a flame from someone, but decided to try to draw it toward him with his wand to test the waters.

Charles: Charles gave a gentle snort. "If I needed a large sum of money quickly, I suppose. But I think telepathy would take the enjoyment out of the game." And if he were going to become a thief, there were simpler ways, for a man of his abilities.

He watched on, curious to see if Tristan would be successful, and internally debating how he would tackle the task, when it was his turn.

Leslie: Leslie watched calmly, intent on refraining subtle cues based on Tristan's body language. Should Tristan obsess on action rather than will, nothing would happen. The same as every learned spell leading to this moment.

And yet, despite his objective, Leslie took a slow deep breath. Just the smallest hint, he swears.

Tristan: The small hint was more than enough. Even though Tristan hadn’t been practicing magic for very long, he’d learned enough to know it wasn’t just about the magic itself.

It was about him, and about belief.

He had to believe the flame closer for it to move anywhere, to exert every bit of his will to make it happen. Not enough to lose his head or his cool; just enough.

“Come on, little flame,” he murmured. “Come to Tristie.”

Charles: Charles stifled a laugh, not wanting to seem rude or break Tristan's concentration. But the self-encouragement was delightful. He watched on curiously to see if it would benefit him.

Leslie: The flame appeared influenced by Tristan's intent. Flicking towards his wand as though caught by a nonexistent breeze. It was a start. For never suggesting such a spell, Leslie had expected next to nothing.

"Remember how it feels moving a flame from your hand to the fire pit. Rather than throwing it, you're simply taking it back."

Tristan: Tristan grinned from ear to ear. His little victory encouraged him enough to bring the flame all the way home, marveling at it as it hovered over his wand. Not bad for a first try, if he said so himself. Not bad at all.

"Gotcha! Okay, prof, it's your turn."

Charles: Charles bobbed his head, turning to face Leslie fully. His fingers flexed experimentally. He knew the motions and emotions that helped him conjure flame. He considered the mechanics of drawing the flame closer. Another nod, and he extended his hand, curling his fingers inward and trying to will the ball of flame toward himself.

Leslie: "Don't hold it for long, still wood." Leslie waved his hand over the wand to extinguish. "Take it and give it back, or take it and blow it out," he said to Charles, squaring his shoulders and resetting the spell.

Like Tristan, the flame considered Charles' intention. Flickers of blue and orange began to flutter in his direction with as much care as a firefly.

Charles: Is confidence only grew, the telepath delighted at the gentle progress of the flickering ball. When it was close enough for him to feel its heat, he extinguished it neatly. That, at least, was familiar.

Leslie: Leslie's smile was pure praise. Both men certainly deserved it. "If y'all can do this, if y'all can light a fire pit, y'all can light a moving object."

Tristan: “Kinda think I believe you now, babydoll,” Tristan said with a grin. He did feel a little more confident, but it remained to be seen whether he could react quickly enough to light something in mid-air.

He turned to Charles. “Who goes first this time?”

Charles: Charles dipped his head, gesturing between the pair of them. "The floor's yours, my friend."

Leslie: As much confidence as Leslie had in these two, they needed it themselves. His summers in the Order were quick paced. They would have been burning rocks two weeks into their training. But those were awoken children, and these were adults only scratching the surface of their capabilities.

He had to be patient. Wait for them to believe in themselves.

"So, starting light again." A rope was tied around one of the netted rocks, holding it like a sad yo-yo. Slowly, rocked like a pendulum.

"Light it up, captain."

Tristan: "Starting light," Tristan repeating, rolling up invisible sleeves. He'd pictured something similar to skeet shooting so this was already doing even more wonders for his confidence.

A steadily moving target had to be easier than a randomly moving target, right?

He considered his approach, immediately scrapping the first one that came to mind in favor of a more abstract one. Rather than focus on the rock and where it was, he was going to focus on producing a flame and sending it where it needed to be. Willing it there, just like he'd been doing this whole time.

So that was exactly what he did. Tristan willed his little flame into existence and willed it onto the rope around the rock.

Leslie: They would graduate to skeet shooting eventually. Leslie seemed to have more confidence in their abilities than they, so yo-yo they did. And surprise surprise, Tristan was a natural. Why he was a natural was an unanswered question. How he was raised was only a factor. Tristan was an open-minded man, and that was another factor.

Leslie was proud of him, to say the least. As much as he wanted to reward him with a kiss, he wanted to keep the momentum going. When it came to Charles' turn, the witch expected similar results.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah! I did it on the first try!" Almost as unbelievable as being a secret magical prodigy.

They would absolutely celebrate with a kiss later but for now, Tristan celebrated by doing a victory lap around the yard while Charles took his turn.

Charles: Much simpler than he was expecting the task to be. And certainly less concerning for Leslie's wellbeing. Charles snorted softly at Tristan's chosen method of celebration and turned to face the witch. The pendulum swing was steady enough for him to mark the rhythm before he sparked the flame and sent it forward on an invisible current.

Leslie: Leslie softly laughed, watching Tristan with Charles a moment before refocusing. In this safer setting, both men seemed at ease with their magick, allowing it to create as they imagined. The flaming rock was tossed up, landing in Leslie's palm extinguished.

"Child's play. I've got another idea. If y'all can do it, I'll call this a successful lesson. We'll leave skeet shooting for next time. Deal?"

Tristan: It was absolutely child's play, in that Tristan felt like a little kid on Christmas morning whenever he managed to get his magic to do what he wanted it to do. He wished he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Deal. What's your idea?"

Charles: Charles nodded his agreement, flashing a smile at the two of them. Child's play, indeed. He was enjoying this time, flexing muscles that were often left stagnant. It was nice to have a break from responsibility, however brief. "I'm all ears."

Leslie: Leslie stepped further into the backyard, bringing his pile of stones with him to stack neatly into a pyramid.

"We're gonna build a bonfire. Each log I stack, you'll set ablaze yourself. We'll celebrate with some wine for your successes."

Tristan: "Great! Let's do it. We're celebrating with food though, I'm working up a hell of an appetite." That lemon pepper fish he'd promised was calling his name.

"Are Charles and I taking turns? I do one log and he does the next?"

Charles: "You had me at wine," he said with a smile. Food would be a lovely bonus, he supposed. Charles tipped his head in Tristan's direction, still looking at Leslie. "An excellent question, actually."

Leslie: "Could be, or could be a race for each log. Loser drinks," the witch grinned.

Tristan: "A race is just fine by me," Tristan said with a matching grin. As much as the idea of food was starting to creep into his mind, a good contest was hard to resist.

So he would shift his concentration to the task at hand and focus on building this bonfire with Charles as accurately and quickly as he could manage. And after so much practice, he thought he managed pretty good, win or lose.

Charles: Charles was game for more healthy competition. He rolled his shoulders and turned to face the beginnings of the bonfire, ready to light when the first log touched down.

When the fire was crackling merrily away, giving off incredible heat, Charles turned to his hosts, sleeves long-since pushed up to his elbows. "That was fun. And I believe we were promised wine."

Leslie: Each log ignited by his apprentices before added to the inferno. It was slower, safer, but these were not Hermetic mages. They were not the only ones learning something tonight. He had to have patience, and a gentler hand. The craft was not their first and only passion.

"Wine and good food. Maybe smores, if we have everything. Do we?" asked as he disappeared inside.

"There's something else I'd like to talk about, once I've popped the cork."

Tristan: "Uhhh...." Tristan took a mental catalogue of the pantry. "Yeah, we do. I think we even have some of Logan's fancy marshmallows left."

And who was to say that fancy homemade marshmallows wouldn't make Charles more open to what they had to say? Maybe that would make all the difference.

"You pop the cork, I'm gonna get going on the food."

Charles: "Sure. I'm all ears, whenever you're ready." Charles trailed behind, lingering by the door. "Do either of you need a hand with anything? I've got two."

Leslie: Gia, how to begin this conversation. He'd gone through it before with Tristan. More than once, in fact, and now with Charles just feet away he felt like a child. Perhaps that was where this should come from. No sense in withholding honesty, verbally and emotionally.

"If you wanna make a tray for the smores." Deep breath. "We wanna discuss... the idea of adopting Ruby and Ester."

Tristan: Tristan felt something catch in his throat and chest. "Yes, that's right," he said with a nod.

They had gone through it but even so he was nervous. The two of them practicing in the living room was very different from actually telling Charles.

Charles could say no. He could say yes but he could also say no and Tristan was...scared of that potential no. The possibility of it--which they couldn't just ignore--made every insecurity he'd ever had since birth come bubbling to the surface. Leslie was good enough to be a father to those two little girls but was he?

Taking a deep breath, he got the smores supplies from the pantry and set them out for Charles to arrange.

Charles: Charles dipped his head in agreement. It was a task nearly impossible to muck up. He was about to ask where he could find the marshmallows and chocolate when Leslie broached the true topic of this visit.

Was this where all the nervousness and hesitation had stemmed from? It might have been a touch insulting, if he didn't empathize so much.

He smiled kindly. "I can't say I'm surprised, given that you've taken to each other so well. That's a wonderful idea. It's an involved process, as I'm sure you know. But as long as the girls are amenable to the idea, you have my full support. I can contact my attorney, if you'd like. She's experienced, and helped the process run smoothly with Rory and Cee."

Leslie: Leslie all but laid over the kitchen island. Forearms crossed on the counter. That child-like feeling had yet to dissipate. Only churning his stomach and warming his entire being.

"That would be great. Thank you. Thank you. I haven't broached the subject with the girls yet. I wanted to speak with you first before ever -" he just gestured. "There was no need to plant that thought if it wasn't going to happen. If they say no, they say no. But, we've done our research. Let this sit for months to make absolutely certain, but there was no need. Nothing's changed."

Tristan: It was too soon to feel relieved. He'd been so worried about Charles saying no that it hadn't occurred him that the girls could say no. What if they didn't want him and Leslie for parents? What if they wanted Leslie but not him?

Tristan couldn't let himself think about that. Wasn't his mother always telling him that negative thoughts invited calamity?

"Les is right." Deep breaths, just deep breaths. "We're sure. We are making a very informed decision and we're sure of that decision. And thank you, for not saying no. Really, Charles. Even if they say no, thanks for not saying it."

Charles: "Of course."

He offered kind smiles to each man in turn, reaching out to give Leslie's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Every child deserves loving parents, and you both more than qualify. Let me know when and how you'd like to proceed. Both with the girls, and legally speaking."

[olive2read]

“Can I talk to you?”

A non-committal, “mmm,” was all her mother said but she had adopted her ‘benevolent’ smile, which Alexis took as permission.

“Something weird happened to me tonight,” she began.

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Oh, Alexis. We’ve all found ourselves dangling over the edge of Grand Duke Henri’s ski lift at one time or another. I know things feel dire now but, I promise you, it will grow back eventually.”

Alexis paused, then shook her head. Best not to go down that road. Besides, she refused to be distracted.

“Um, no. Not that.” When her mother simply continued gazing serenely at her, she bit her lip and just asked her directly. “Am I adopted?”

Her mom sighed, reaching into her bag. “Darling, if you want your therapist to prescribe a better class of benzos, shock value is much more effective than ennui.” She held out her tin of ‘mints.’ “Here. Take a few of mine and then run along, dear. Mummy doesn’t have time to help you spin a more convincing tale of anguish and woe.”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “That is not what’s happening here.” She pursed her lips. Her mother so rarely shared the contents of her tin. “Although, yes, thank you, I will.” She extracted three blue and white capsules and two orange ones. That done, she forged ahead. “I’m serious! I, um, I kind of turned into a… car, tonight… and, last time I checked, ‘distinctive hexagonal accents’ and ‘elegant Y-shaped features’ don’t exactly run in the family.”

“Well, not on my side, certainly.” Her mother shivered dramatically. “Uncle Caspian never did recover, poor man.” She raised her martini glass and tipped it slightly in acknowledgment before taking a healthy swallow.

“Wait, who’s uncle Caspian?”

“Hmmm?” It took a moment for her mother to comprehend the question. “Oh, oh no. No, no. You take my advice and steer clear of geometrics. All facets lead to disaster, no matter how tantalising they may seem.”

Alexis really ought to have known better than to ask.

“So, anyway. Is Dad, like, not my dad?”

“Alexis.” Her mom’s smile slid from serene to sympathetic. “Of course he is.”

“No, but, are you, like, sure?” She shifted uncomfortably, no longer certain she wanted her suspicions confirmed. “Because David has his eyebrows but I… What do I have?”

“Oh, no, Alexis. You know there’s more to fatherhood than inserting a protoform.”

Alexis blinked. “Inserting a—ew.” She really didn’t want to know. “Wait. Are you saying he isn’t my dad?”

Her mom patted her knee. “He is in all the ways that matter. If you’re asking about your conception, well.” A dreamy smile floated across her mom’s face. “The 80’s were a decade of lush hedonism, Alexis. We were helpless against its sybaritic charms.”

“Um. Ew.”

“And you know what your father is like. He is simply insatiable when it comes to—”

“Ew!”

“—sensual indulgence. We used to host such lavish parties—”

Alexis squeezed her eyes closed and smashed her fingers into her ears, she might even have whimpered, desperate to block out this appalling conversation and prevent any more of her brain from melting. The sound of her mom’s voice slowly faded and she cautiously opened her eyes, then unplugged her ears. Her mom was wreathed in contemplative silence and Alexis relaxed in relief.

It was short-lived.

“Such an ostensibly odd couple,” she mused. “The gorgeous, suave microscope and the eager naïf and his briefcase—but as devoted to each other as they were to the pursuit of scientific advancement. Oh, we had such a lovely time with them that winter.” She paused, her face scrunched in the closest she ever got to an actual frown. “Alexis, are you sure your transmogrification was into an automobile? Because I seem to recollect the awkward little mech was a jet, in all senses of the word.”

“Oh my god! Ewwwww! Stop!” Alexis’s protests made no visible impact on her mother, who blithely continued.

“Say what you will about existential metaphysics but you can’t deny he did marvellous things with mass-displacement and quantum disaggregation.”

“EW!”

[a-mag-a-day]

Hey! I have a little story to share too.

I'm fairly new to the fandom (I first listened to Anglerfish in this very July), but god, in such a short time span The Magnus Archives absolutely captivated me and became my most beloved, cherished show in the entire universe.

When I first listened to Anglerfish, I remember thinking: wow, such a cool anthology podcast, sounds like it's gonna be fun. I didn't expect to get hit with all the FEELS later, I didn't expect to connect with the characters so much and care so much. It's like I strolled down to the beach expecting a nice vacation and instead got hit by a tsunami. And I am NOT complaining! I fell in love and connected with Jon and Martin the way I haven't with any characters for a long, very long time, I relate to them so much and feel so soft when thinking of them. And this is painful, too, but this pain is also cathartic. Their love and devotion to each other is EVERYTHING to me.

The Magnus Archives found me in a very, very bad and dark place in life. I was just looking for a distraction from the horrors of this reality, a way to escape. Instead, I found something deep, profound and beautiful to cherish and hold on to. Isn't that strange? It's a horror tragedy! It's a dark story, it's a scary story, there's trauma and pain and fear! But amidst of all the horror, there's also light gleaming like a beacon in the dark. There's a profound beauty. At its core, and I cannot stress it enough, the Magnus Archives is not a horror story. It's a love story.

And this love, this light, this warmth gives me strength to carry on and not give up.

They brought colors back into my life when I thought I could no longer see them. They brought MAGIC back when I thought I lost it forever. They helped me to rediscover the beauty of this world and fall in love with this again. Thanks to TMA, I'm able to smile again, to dance and laugh and love again, to enjoy things, to feel something other than excruciating numbness. I found my inspiration and began PAINTING again, and it brings me so much joy and happiness I can't express! I picked up my guitar, which I haven't touched at all in three months, and now I'm learning new songs and new chords and I find myself actually WANTING to do things, to make and create things, to find joy in simple everyday pleasures. All thanks to TMA. This shows means so much to me and I love it so, so hard I can't even say.

It's beautiful, it's brilliant, it's stellar. The writing, the storytelling, the voice-acting - everything about TMA is just so good. Such a haunting, captivating story, thoughtfully and carefully crafted. Truly a hidden gem.

I'm so grateful and damn lucky to have found it. I'm writing this to celebrate TMA and its very first episode, and I will be relistening to Anglerfish today again :)

P.S. I TOTALLY forgot Jon's little El-Oh-El and now I'm dying 😂 My beloved ❤️

Oh wow thank you for sharing!

[seroh]

something borrowed

suna, f.reader. angst.

in which you find your husband cheating on you.

words: 1.2k

notes: i edited and rewrote a couple of minor things. this is also a sort of prequel to something blue

« something old | something borrowed | something blue

What is love?

The question as old as time was always present in your mind. It sneaked its head in your happiest of days, when Suna’s love and devotion overflowed from every nook and cranny of his heart. Days where he would hold you as softly as if he had the entirety of the universe, his universe, in his arms, as if he was afraid he could tear you to pieces if he squeezed too hard.

A magical cure to all ailments, that was what love was to you. And since your wedding it seemed like you had a never-ending supply of this elixir. For every patch in your relationship, every bump in the road, you were ready to care for the wound until your love left it as good as if it had never happened.

Love conquers all, right? So how much of a loving wife could you be if you genuinely got upset that your husband had to go on a work retreat the exact weekend you had planned for a romantic getaway? At least that’s what you kept telling yourself on the drive to your parents house, your conversation with Suna replaying over and obsessively again.

You had been planning the surprise for weeks now. Looking for the most romantic hotel, with the most beautiful views; making sure everything in the house was taken care of; arranging for your pets to be looked after by your sister; hurriedly finishing every work project you had so that no distractions could ruin your trip. All for him to sigh and say:

“Oh honey, this is lovely but…” he looked around the room, avoiding your eyes, “I have a work retreat this weekend. A mandatory work retreat.” Your happy expression had fallen in an instant, his had seemed to grow more regretful by the word. “I can’t get out of it, and I just found out this morning.”

Oh, was the only thing you had been able to say, and trying to look anything but disappointed you had nodded and wished him good luck.

“You could go with your mom! She hasn’t traveled in ages.” He had suggested, and to your suggestion of just canceling the reservations he had said, “come on, don’t be like that. It’s not my fault that something came up at work. Don’t make me feel like the bad guy.”

Guilt had immediately found a home in your heart, and so there you were, on your way to your parents house with your suitcase in the backseat. There was a part of you that felt… uneasy about the trip. No, that wasn’t it. Why would you feel uneasy? It was simply the lingering disappointment of not being able to go with your husband; but you were going with your mother, so you would still have fun. It had been a while since you had spent more than a few hours with her, so this trip would be great regardless of Suna’s absence.

Of course you’d have to call the hotel and see if you could change rooms, seeing as the one you had booked was to be prepared for newlyweds and not a mother and daughter. And maybe some of the services you had asked for too, like romantic dinner with a view of the ocean, or couple's yoga. Your mom would enjoy the wine tasting one, so you could still do that, but you'd have to cancel the honeymoon package that was to be sent to the room. There were some things no mother should know about her daughter, and that box was full of them.

Another sigh, longer this time. Maybe you should just ignore Suna, turn around and go back home. You could spend what was meant to be a romantic and passionate long weekend all alone, with nothing but movies to entertain you. You had really been looking forward to going there with Suna. The hotel was so perfect for the two of you, completely catered to couples and set in a beautiful place. 

There was no way you could go there with your mother. Your parents would appreciate the views more than you would at the moment. Although you'd still have to cancel the honeymoon package.

Love—such a wonderful thing. All beauty and happiness and passion, even after the worst storms. Love could weave colorful, idyllic memories that would forever be ingrained in your brain. It could build peace where there was once war.

It’s a dangerous thing, love. It blinds you to the worst in people, makes it seem all good. It certainly blinded you to your husband’s shortcomings. But love is as frail as it is wonderful, and all it took was a brief moment to shatter its illusion. 

Just an hour prior, you were planning a surprise for Suna’s return, something that showed you weren’t bitter or resentful after he bailed on you. Now, back home, with your feet glued to the doorway to your bedroom, you felt nothing but betrayed.

Suna was home, not in some work retreat, not with his teammates. He was home, and he was with Haru in your bed. It wouldn't have been a problem, after all with the years you had come to consider her a close friend as well, and you knew they used to have sleepovers every once in a while. Sleepovers that, you realized now, were far less innocent than Suna let on.

You stepped closer to the bed as he, asleep and unaware of your presence, cuddled closer to the woman next to him. You followed the trail of their naked bodies with the morbidity of someone who witnessed a terrible accident— horrified yet unable to look away. Their feet and legs were tangled together. Bodies pressed so close you couldn’t tell which arm belonged to who.. His arms wrapped protectively around her. His face looked so peaceful, so blissful. Hers looked pleased. 

Her eyes stared back at you. Proud, arrogant.

As if burned by her gleeful stare, you took a step back. And then another, and another, before turning around and running out the door, slamming it behind you. For a second the room around you seemed to fade and you had to lean against the wall.

Tears fell down your cheeks like rain in a storm. Fierce and nonstop they flooded your heart, carried sorrow and anguish to every corner of your body and soul. There was no mercy, no truce, no warm hand to wipe them away. Only the promise of more pain.

“What?!” A yell came from the bedroom. It was followed by the sound of someone falling and hurried steps.

You lit up, as if by instinct, at the thought of him coming for you, only to recoil at the hundreds of excuses or ways he would surely find to blame you for his affair. And she would be there while he did so, grinning as if she had just won the lottery. As if your suffering was her favorite show. You couldn’t face him, not now, not with her perched on his shoulder like a demon, whispering in his ear, encouraging him to be cruel and crush you until you were nothing but dust.

Faintly, you heard Suna call after you as you ran away. There was desperation in his tone, or maybe it was anger, and yet he never chased after you. He let you fade away from his life without a fight. And then he went back into her arms, unfazed by your aching heart.

SEROH 2024

[m0th-gh0st]

OH YEAH you’re right about kaitlyn lolol sorry i was thinking of an entirely different thing (the distraction of sean and lees love took the cake for me in act three apparently)

also, never thought about it, but sean being the same age as lee is absolutely fucking heartbreaking, i mean lee got the opportunity to go through college, take his finals, exist before everything happened, and i doubt with sean being so devoted to the speaker that he would want to take any time off, he basically died still as a teenager too, i wouldn’t be surprised if there was some envy lying with sean because of lee too

i agree with you via the sean helping lee out with guilt, i think one part of the entire series that stuck with me the most was sean going “it talked to you, you heard it too” in reference to lee basically saying sean was addicted to the speaker and his influence, i don’t know why but in my mind, it makes sense on why sean would want to help out lee in the end, especially during his final monologue to lee about either getting out of purgatory or ending everything in general

i would’ve also killed for sean and lee to have an actual heartfelt discussion, or at least lee expressing more of his emotions during their time together, since i feel like sean, while not in the same position as him, would relate on a similar yet different level of carrying those feelings around

- seanlee anon (this is so much fun talking with you lolol hope you have a good day)

MAN I BARELY EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO THIS YOUR SO RIGHT

Sean rlly got dragged into a mess that was none of his buisness years before he needed too all for some knife huh? Honestly id be jealous too, and then to get tossed away the moment he wasn't useful anymore, really feel for the guy ngl.

i mean basically from the moment we meet him Seans getting every thought eseentially filtered to him via the speaker, he was manipulated.

its honestly why i like the speaker so much as a villain, its more direct then slender is. i always liked how it basically showed sean and lee too different realities. torturing lee while promising sean power or w/e.

even if we didnt get a good heart to heart honestly that moment on the bridge always kills me. like "we were friends once." Does sean not consider lee a friend? or does he just assume lee wouldnt want to be friends after everything. AND AT THE END ISTG HE WAS GOING IN FOR A HUG BUT STOPPED HIMSELF LAST MINUTE (also kinda paralles seans first appearance which is is also gonna drive me insane)

[markuswrites]

Stay With Me, Stray With Me

Word Count- 2428

Warnings- Implied eating disorder

(Of course my first post is about me)

And so our adventurers meet their fate. Oh what a glorious new world to discover in its entirety. All the more time to spend with each other. Maybe grow into something more. Ah, so you’re skeptical, eh? Or just homophobic, perhaps. But I do believe you will come around eventually, my friend! I look forward to that day. 

“Okay sir, we should be safe enough in a bit.”

“Well good! And… We’ll be in orbit in about an hour or so. Are the ship’s sensors still functioning properly?”

Mark sighed heavily.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” The Captain said, almost playfully.

Mark couldn’t help smiling slightly as he turned his attention to his console again. It had been three months since the wormhole incident. Three months of general normalcy in space, scouting the planet for life and such. Since then he’d gone through dozens of missions, colonists dying because they hadn’t listened to him. The thought of the wormholes still lay heavy on his shoulders. Trapped in that room, working on that warp core. Every moment of every second, every breath, every heartbeat… All devoted to rebuilding that blasted warp core. Dying of thirst and rebooting every one to three days. And when he did die in the end, he would have done it knowing there was a chance to change things for the better.

He was about to say something to the Captain but kept his mouth shut, instead checking the readings of the thruster controls. They were fine. He’d already checked them twice within the last five minutes. His heart rate picked up and he forced himself to calm down. It’s okay. Everything would be okay. Just fine, he soothed himself. The ship was doing well enough for now. 

No. Focus, focus. He took a deep breath and glanced over at the man sitting beside him. Captain Markus, as he preferred to be called, looked like he was enjoying the ride. Not exactly the picture of calm, methodical efficiency, Mark reflected wryly. 

Then again, there wasn’t really a right image for someone who had survived thousands of years of space travel. The Captain’s uniform was crisp from its constant cleaning, the fabric softening the lines around his eyes and making his jaw seem sharper.. His boots glinted under the lights of the dashboard. As for his hair, well… it wasn’t regulation length but it was far too short to pass off as fashionable. In fact, it made him look young, and when he smiled, his face lit up, radiating pure joy. 

Mark eyed the stubble on the Captain's chin and touched his own. The beard grew in, just barely touching his collarbones. He wondered if it might feel softer than normal skin. Would it tickle? Or did his lips feel like paper against his skin whenever they moved? Mark couldn't imagine how it would feel to kiss that stubbly lip–

Stop. Don't start getting ideas. 

"How is it?" the Captain inquired, interrupting Mark's thoughts.

"Uhm," Mark cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Good, I mean. Better."

The Captain smirked.

 Mark glared at him and quickly looked away. Damn you and your smugness and those stupid dimples of yours.

"Are you alright? You've hardly spoken all morning. Have I offended you?"

Mark shrugged. "I guess I'm just distracted… So... what's it like?" he said quietly after a while.

The Captain tilted his head curiously, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. "What's 'what's it like'?"

"You know... Being born a different gender."

The Captain blinked rapidly. Then he began laughing.

Mark felt his cheeks grow warm. "Shut up!"

"Why should I?! You're the one who initiated the conversation."

Mark rolled his eyes. "It feels weird."

"Being born a woman does."

“I meant… I mean being a guy. With all those hormones pumping through you.”

The Captain laughed harder. “That’s funny… Why, do you prefer men?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Mark snapped back, throwing his hands into the air. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“Of course it isn’t,” The Captain agreed, “Would you care to go on a date with me?” 

“I’d love to,” Mark replied. He stood and walked to the Captain, taking his hand. He laced their fingers together, a blush creeping up onto Mark’s cheeks as soon as he realized what he’d done. 

Captain squeezed the hand back tightly.

“I think this’ll be fun, Captain,” He said, giving him a smile.

…

Mark woke up slowly, blinking blearily. He stretched and yawned, rolling onto his side. He reached out blindly until his fingers brushed against something soft. He froze, his eyes widening. Soft, brown eyes opened and squinted in the darkness. The Captain’s face, his Captain. 

“Hm…?” Their voice was scratchy with sleep, and their hair was sticking straight up. “What time is it?” 

“Almost sunrise, back on Earth, anyway…” Mark turned over to his other side, facing towards the wall. He didn’t want the Captain to see him like this.

The Captain moved closer to him and nestled against his back, snuggling against him. “So warm,” They mumbled. He stiffened as the Captain’s arm found its way around his waist. Mark relaxed slightly as he felt their lips press against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“...Til’ the day I die,” Mark returned the affection. 

“And I’ll go down with you.” His Captain’s arms tightened, pulling them even closer together. And they fell back asleep holding each other.

… 

The Captain awoke to the sound of someone knocking on their door. They rubbed at their eyes and pulled themself into a sitting position, reaching over for their glasses. They fumbled for them and slipped them on. They sighed quietly and sat still on the edge of the bed, hoping whoever had come to wake them up would leave and let them sleep. After a moment, the knocks were repeated, more insistently this time. “Coming!” They called, going to answer the door. It slid open and revealed Mark’s sheepish grin. 

“I brought you breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I made sure to get two of everything.” He held out the tray he’d been carrying. There were two full plates of food, as if Mark were planning on eating with the Captain. There were several bowls of fruit. Pancakes, eggs, and bacon were present as well. There were two cups of coffee and one mug with some sort of dark drink inside. 

Mark looked up at them and grinned. “I hope you like it all, it took me forever to make it. And I used all your milk, too. Sorry about that, but you know how I am about milk. You’ve seen my fridge. You’ll feel better when you eat, I know I always do.” His smile faltered, staring at his own feet. Fidgeting with his fingers. His ears turned bright red. His hair disheveled and sticking out in different directions. 

They thought he was adorable, but they weren’t going to lie that he didn’t find this situation irritating. They didn’t want to stand by while Mark fussed over their routine. They grabbed a cup of coffee from the tray and moved past him. “It’s fine. Thanks. Just leave the rest for the crew.” 

Mark pouted, feeling rejected. “But-” He stopped and sighed, letting the Captain walk away from him. “Fine, but if you get hungry later- Just call me or someone else will bring you something, okay?” He yelled. 

“Okay!”

The first thing the Captain saw as they entered the bridge were two figures at the command console, bent low over an illuminated screen. The Captain paused briefly and then continued forward, taking a sip from their coffee.  “Morning, guys.”

Mark glanced up. “Captain Markus! How are ya?”

He chuckled. “Good morning, Mark. Are you feeling okay? You look exhausted. Did something happen during the night?” He asked, stepping further into the room.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But um… Captain Markus?”

“Yes?”

Mark hesitated for a moment. Should he ask this? No, he shouldn’t. The Captain hadn’t wanted anything to do with him for the past three weeks. What right did he have asking him about his relationship with the rest of the crew? He shook his head and pushed aside his concerns. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, surely. “Do you… uhm… Do you think we could talk for a bit? It’s kind of important…”

Mark watched as the Captain’s shoulders hunched slightly. A frown tugged at his lips as he turned to face him, the corners of his lips curving downwards ever so slightly. “Sure, why not?” He said nonchalantly before turning back to watch the two officers work.

Mark swallowed nervously. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, he thought, remembering the previous night. Maybe he should wait and ask him tomorrow. But it was already too late. The Captain noticed that Mark didn’t seem to be his usual happy self.

Mark sat on a small stool beside the captain’s station, leaning over and resting his arms on the counter. “About yesterday…” he started hesitantly.

The Captain turned around to face him. His eyes darted to Mark’s left and then right, trying to avoid eye contact and failing. Mark waited patiently until the captain lifted his gaze to meet him. “Yeah?”

“Yesterday you told me that you loved…” Mark trailed off awkwardly. “Well… that’s just… how you feel, yeah?”

The Captain nodded silently.

“And um…” He gulped nervously. “And how do… you… feel? About me?”

The Captain froze, eyes widening at the unexpected question. “Me?” He repeated dumbly. His gaze wandered over to Mark again, taking in his expression. “Erm…” Mark shifted uncomfortably,  biting his lip to keep himself from smiling too widely. “You’re my friend. That’s all.”

‘Oh, come on!’ Mark inwardly cursed himself. He knew there was no such thing as an easy way to approach this, but he couldn’t help but try anyway. “That’s a stupid thing to say,” He retorted, crossing his arms indignantly.

The Captain’s jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mark’s expression softened slightly, looking at the captain. “You can’t possibly love me back. Not after what happened last night,” he said.

The Captain stared blankly at Mark. “Last night?” He said. “There’s nothing between us last night. We slept next to each other because we didn’t want to get cold, remember?”

“No, I mean…” Mark lowered his head in embarrassment. “I thought you might have…” He closed his eyes for a brief second, bracing himself for impact. “...liked me?” He finished, lifting his head to stare directly into the Captain’s surprised eyes.

“Like you? Like… As in…?” Mark nodded slowly.

“As in… like you, Mark. In a romantic sense.”

Mark watched the Captain’s eyes widen slightly and his cheeks tint pink. He felt his own cheeks heat up slightly. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck… He mentally slapped himself. Why did he have to say that?! He was so stupid! He should have kept his mouth shut!

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I-” Mark stuttered, his hands shaking slightly.

“No, no, it’s fine!” The Captain cut him off. “It’s fine, really.” He forced a smile and shrugged. “So… You like me?”

Mark laughed nervously. “Well, duh. Who wouldn’t? You’re amazing, and smart, and handsome, and sweet and… You’re perfect.” He trailed off, his cheeks heating up again and looking down at his hands.

The Captain stared at Mark for a moment before smiling brightly, making Mark’s breath catch in his throat. He leaned over and pressed his forehead against Mark’s, who looked up at him. Their noses almost touched and their breathing mingled as they closed their eyes, waiting for whatever the other’s reaction would be. Eventually, Mark felt the Captain lean away from him. Mark frowned worriedly. “Um… Captain?”

“I need to go, sorry." He said hurriedly before walking away.

Mark blinked, wondering what had caused the abrupt change of pace. Had he done something wrong? Was he not good enough? Oh God, no, this couldn’t be happening. He felt his stomach twisting painfully as the reality sunk in. ‘Oh shit, oh god, I’m horrible!’ He screamed internally. ‘This can’t be happening! Oh God, why? I’ve never done this before! I’m bad at this!’ Mark buried his face in his hands. ‘Why would anyone want to kiss someone like me?’ 

… 

Mark stood at the door of the Captain's quarters with his hands balled into tight fists by his side and a lump growing steadily in his throat as he waited for the man to come out. He had tried everything to convince himself that he shouldn't have bothered the man, that he was probably busy, but Mark knew better than that. It had been more than twelve hours since the incident yesterday morning in the lounge. They hadn' spoken about it afterward. There was absolutely nothing to say.

Mark took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves as his heartbeat sped up. He heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him and instantly froze. His legs threatened to buckle under his weight but he held them tightly and squeezed his fists. "Hello Mark." The Captain greeted casually and smiled warmly at Mark.

"Hey," He said through gritted teeth, hoping the man didn't notice. "Uh... Hey!" He exclaimed, clearing his throat. "Sorry about yesterday-"

The Captain chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about it. It was my fault."

Mark looked past him and saw the tray from the day before, still laden with  food. His eyes widened. "You haven't been eating... Have you?" He whispered, fear beginning to fill his chest.

The Captain placed a hand softly on Mark's shoulder. "Mark, I'm fine."

Mark looked up at the Captain, meeting his warm gaze. "You sure, Cap? You weren't feeling well earlier, so I just wanted to make sure you were alright," He paused. "How are you doing today? Are you…"

The Captain pulled a faint smile and nodded slightly. "I'm okay."

He glanced down again and swallowed nervously. After a few seconds, he finally managed to speak. "Captain, I..."

"Let me take care of that, don't worry," He interrupted quickly. Mark frowned. "Please? Let's just forget about what happened."

Mark hesitated. "But-"

"If you want to talk about it, just tell me," He said, stepping closer to Mark. "Just don't bring me so much food next time."

Mark laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright."

"Good." The Captain grabbed the tray from his hands and carried it out, closing the door behind him gently.

Mark sighed heavily, staring at the door, a million thoughts flooding his mind. "Shit."