#they are as close as an egg to a chestnut

[beautifulsummersunsets]

About Idolish7... (If you are a fan of this anime, you better not read this because you won't like it) 🙃

I've given Idolish7 a second chance because on the internet, it's been getting a lot of hype, saying that it's not the typical idol anime, that it's not what it looks like, they compare it to Oshi no Ko, blah blah blah so I said to myself "Why not? Maybe this way I'll put aside my disgust for idol shows 🤷🏼‍♀️"

I mean, to be honest I love TsukiPro/Uta 💕 so how bad Idolish7 can be?

Well, I'm on S2 E7 and so far I can say that the whole anime is It's like running on a hamster wheel, always the same. These people, Idolish7, are like a toxic couple, they don't stop fighting and making up and the worst thing is that it's always for the same thing, they do not evolve or anything, they always end up upset for the same reasons over and over again 🤦🏼‍♀️

Of all the songs I've listened to, I still don't like even one, but I expected that, I don't like idol music, Tsukiuta/Pro is like a miracle, the exception to the rule in my case 😂 (Well, I admit that I also like Utapri's songs and I find them good 🤔 so there are 2 exceptions to the rule).

But the worst of all in my opinion and for the moment, are Tamaki and Riku, they need a couple of well given slaps 😒.

Tamaki behaves like a spoiled kindergarten kid, I mean, there's a limit to how egotistical one can be, don't you realize that you cause problems to the rest with such an unprofessional attitude? It's your job buddy! There are things you can and can't do and Riku… Ah Riku, this guy lives in his yuppie world, his idealism/happiness borders on the absurd, he looks like an abandoned puppy all the time "Tenn-ni doesn't recognize me" boy, snap out of it and leave your brother alone already 🙄 Is it that his character can't do anything that doesn't revolve around Kujo Tenn?

They just exhaust me, I swear to god all I7 members exhaust me.

Luckily for everyone there are 2 more groups 🙏🏻 I haven't seen too much of RE:Vale yet, so I can't give my opinion, but thank goodness, I thank heavens that Trigger exists because otherwise I would have shot myself by now because of how annoying Starish 2.0 are 😩

[radio-writes]

I Don't Know if I'm Real Without You

— Part 2 of 2 (Read Part 1 here: What is Left of Me Without You)

Synopsis: He didn't love you, but he needed you—that's what he said, at least. He needed you to show him just how deep your devotion to him really was.

Warnings: abusive relationships, power imbalance, some misogyny, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, murder and violence, physical injury to reader, major character death(s), angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader

MDNI

"Why, just the other day a green fuzzy caught sight of another stiff by the river! Poor green egg went green in the face!" A laugh track followed the voice on the radio.

Alastor sat on the couch as he riffled through his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed today.

"What poor taste," You commented absentmindedly from behind him. "Is that really any way to start off a Sunday morning?" 

Alastor let out a distracted hum at your words. He hadn't really been paying you much mind. A lazy smile simply played on his face.

Just one body? Seems they missed the other two friends it had in there.

"Well, it takes talent to entertain, my dear. Something these hacks clearly lack," He said casually, waving a hand at the radio's direction. 

"And speaking of stiffs! We've got a fresh one today, folks—" The host's voice was chipper as it came from the radio.

Alastor sat a little straighter, as if on instinct.

"Darling, do you mind fetching my script?" Your husband spoke over the hack radio host. "Seems I might have forgotten it in our bedroom." 

"Not a problem, dear," You replied almost instantaneously. Your hand landed on his shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze before you left the room. 

Alastor stood up, cooly making his way towards the radio as he turned the volume down slowly. 

"Glue stuffed in his mouth, chilled off, and absolutely tattered by nails, people! Brutal new body found behind the local—not so secret—juice joint!" The radio continued, but Alastor's smile remained calm despite the gruesome news.

His eyes stayed at the doorway you left through, making sure you had actually gone.

There was no need to sully your little ears with useless chatter like this. You were much more use to him all oblivious and naive, so he'd prefer to keep you that way. 

When the radio host finally finished talking about his the most latest victim, Alastor turned the volume back up to how it was. He made his way back to the couch, hands gathering his script neatly into his hands from the top of his briefcase.

He chuckled to himself before calling out to you. "Never mind, dear! The little bugger was at the bottom of my case this entire time!" 

He wasn't the type to forget these things. He was always so organized, sometimes to a fault.

And you knew that.

And Alastor knew that you knew that.

But he wasn't worried. You'd never doubt him. Whatever pesky little thought you had related to him, you'll just brush off easily.

He'd made sure of that.

Alastor heard you playfully scold him, your soft laughter rung through his home.

"—I guess you can say he really nailed that Chicago overcoat!" The annoying little shit on the radio joked just as you entered the room.

Alastor spared it one quick glare before his sight fell on you once more. You didn't seem to care for the joke much, but your eyes did linger on the dials of the radio for a second too long Alastor thought.

"Does the radio seem a bit louder to you, Al?" You asked him.

Ah, he must have turned it back a tad bit too far.

He looked at you with faux confusion. "'fraid I don't know what you mean, dear. Why would it be louder?" He stood up, closing the briefcase in front of him and straightening out his collar. "But I do have to split now, darling, or the ol' big cheese would have my head."

Your eyes met his warm chestnut ones. Alastor could practically see the way you brushed away your silly concerns in your head, a soft smile once again gracing your lips. 

He knew you were confused as to why his boss supposedly needed him at work on a Sunday.

He knew you wanted to ask why.

He knew that, at least some part of you, didn't fully believe that he was headed off to the radio station. 

If you were smart you'd have listened to it.

But you were his wife. 

So you simply nodded in understanding, moving closer to where Alastor stood. You made to grab for the suit jacket that still hung on his arm but the tall man was quick to pull it high above your reach.

"Not so fast there, darling." He teased, smiling down at you.

"It's cold out, dear. I'll help you put your coat on," You insisted, small, delicate hands reached up for the jacket.

Alastor stepped back from you, briefly tapping his fingertip against your nose. "And who said I was in any hurry to cover up this lovely new shirt my wife got for me?" He teased, snapping the suspenders he wore against the crisp white shirt.

He simply adored it when he made heat color your soft cheeks. He loved seeing proof of his effect on you.

His eyes drifted to the clock behind you, his smile straining just a tiny bit when he realized what time it was.

He'd miss his mark if he wasted any more time here.

"In any case, darling, I really do have to dash," He smiled back at you, already heading towards the door before you could say anything else. "But do keep yourself free, baby. I'll be back before you know it." He shot a wink at you.

He grabbed his hat from the coat rack and plopped it neatly on his head, then he was out the door in a second. 

Alastor let out a short, tired breath.

Sometimes, he did find your love to be a bit tiring. But he supposed, at the moment, it was still worth much more than the hassle it caused him.

He hurriedly strolled down the street, smiling and greeting everyone that passed by him politely. His ego stroked just a little bit with every flustered dame.

He didn't care for any of them, but he never grew tired of knowing the charming effect he had on people.

Alastor tried to clear his head of you as he hopped into a taxi. He laughed as the cabby recognized him almost immediately, but he didn't pay the man any mind as he yapped about how much of a fan he was.

Instead, he found that his thoughts have annoyingly strayed back to you. He's found that you've been so persistently present in his mind lately.

One would think that sounded so romantic, that he was a cold man finally falling for a sweet little thing.

But in reality he was weighing his options.

You've always been so behaved, so meek.

He found you endearing, that much was true.

You were great company, after all. You loved the same music he did, kept up with his dancing, and sang so beautifully along whenever he tickled the ivory keys.

You dressed up to compliment his style, even if it wasn't to your comfort. Smiled at all the wretched people, even as they gossiped behind your back. Perfectly prepared and happily ate every dish he liked, even stranger ones you found hard to stomach.

Because you shaped yourself to be his partner. You did everything and anything that you could to gain his approval.

And that was indeed endearing. The lengths you went to, just to hear a simple praise from him.

Alastor used to wonder if there was ever a limit to it, but as the times flew by he realized you were just too happy to rewrite even your own logic just to stay by his side.

And it was also true that you were a brilliant cover.

As a taken man, there were much less people prying into his life as opposed to when he was an eligible bachelor. And no odd rumors ever spread about him thanks to how behaved you were.

People saw him as soft, gentle, caring. Because a violent, murderous, psycho could never keep a delicate little thing like you as his wife, could he?

Yes, you definitely had your perks. That much he already knew.

But you've been so restless lately. So oddly, insistent on being by his side more. 

He'd tried to talk it out of you. Whispered how he was so lucky that you weren't like other wives. How you trusted him and respected his space. How you didn't nag him like a terrible partner would.

And it worked...for a while.

Until you've been fixated on getting the darn basement door open, at least. Somehow, you had it stuck in your brain that opening that stupid lock would have proved your worth to him.

You've been visiting that mug of a shopkeep at the locksmiths so often that Alastor just simply had to get rid of him already. He returned the useless tools he sold you last time too of course. He didn't quite like others making a fool out of what was his.

Only he could do that.

The cab stopped by a rather classy bar, the driver letting out a low whistle, going on about how they also wished that they could live up the big life.

Alastor tipped him generously, bidding him a great day as he stepped out.

He tossed his jacket on quickly before he adjusted his bowtie in the reflective glass window of the building. This was, he thought, his second favorite part of it all.

For such a detached man, Alastor loved many things.

He loved meeting his victims for the first time in person. The thrill of so many eyes on him as he clasped their clammy palms in greeting.

He loved talking to them, watching their eyes light up as he mentioned what they wanted the most. That moment where he knew he had hit the nail on the head and found out exactly what made these scum tick.

He loved using it against them, luring them to a false sense of security.

And, his absolute favorite part, he loved dragging the sharp edge of his knife against the skin of their necks. The lovely shade of red bleeding down their stiffening bodies.

He just can't help but love—

"My darling?" A voice—your voice—rung out in the dark alley. 

There wasn't time. There was no time to hide the body, toss the knife, flee from the scene.

There was no time to come up a with a story, a lie, a cover.

Because you were right there, standing in the alley with him. His blood stained hands and the corpse by his feet plainly in your view.

Even with the blood smudged on the lenses of his glasses, he could see the fear in your eyes, the gears turning in your head as you tried to process the scene in front of you.

It's a real shame. Earlier today he had decided that you still had more purpose to serve him. That he could still put up with you. That he would still be able to stomp out whatever stubborn will riled you up lately.

Clearly that wasn't the case anymore.

"Now, now, dearest," He started, hand reaching out to you as he held the knife still in his hand.

Your feet moved, but to Alastor's shock you ran to him.

Your panicked eyes took in the violent red that stained the pristine white shirt as you took his outstretched hand in both of yours.

"We should go," You hurriedly whispered, fearful eyes met his confused ones. "You can't be seen here."

You tugged him along the streets, careful to keep yourself in front of him as you tried to hide most parts of him stained with red.

Alastor's eyes were wide, his long legs working on their own as he tried to understand what exactly was happening.

"Dearest?" He whispered to catch your attention. "I just chopped off a man, you know that, right?" 

Your steps didn't falter as you hurried along, but you didn't turn your head to look at him either.

"Yes," You responded. The tight knot against your throat kept you from saying anything more.

"I sliced his throat open," Alastor continued to prod more. "His blood is all over me, in fact."

You whip your head around in urgency. You meant to shut him up. You meant to warn him not to talk so loud, that you couldn't be too sure who could be around to overhear.

But when your fearful eyes met his calm, warm, sweet, ones you ended up swallowing against your dry throat. Adorning a shaky smile instead.

"And I'm sure you did it to keep yourself safe, dear." You said, although it seemed as though you were trying to convince yourself of that.

It was as if a light bulb lit up in Alastor's head. He finally understood what was happening. He fought against his own body to keep himself from smiling as he stared into your uncertain eyes.

"I knew you'd understand," He feigned a sigh. His hand, that was previously unresponsive in yours, curled its fingers to hold onto you. "I knew I would be safe with you, my darling wife."

Alastor noted the way your stiff shoulders slacked at his words. As if you were waiting for his praise; as if you were waiting for that little bit of confirmation to fully push away all those pesky, silly, little doubts you held.

As if you were begging to have the slightest bit of reason to cling onto, to prove that there was no cause to leave your spot beside him.

"If anyone asks," You said softly, your hand reached out to wipe away the little bit of blood on his cheek. "I'll tell them you came home early to me. You did promise that you would come back quickly, anyway."

Alastor smiled down at you, letting himself lean into your touch as you seemed to love it when he does. "I am so lucky that you love me, doll."

You continued to lead him down the streets, sticking to less lit areas as you did so.

Alastor couldn't stop the grin from spreading widely across his face.

Because you did love him. You loved Alastor with all your sanity it seemed, but he was, unfortunately, far too happy to take advantage of that.

It was a huge weight off his shoulders really. 

Alastor enjoyed the hunt, the kill, but the clean up? Not so much.

While yes, he did enjoy tricking people into eating up his stories, misdirecting them this way and that, silently mocking how clueless they were. It was still such a pain to have to constantly make sure his stories were air tight. 

He didn't have to do that anymore, though. Not when all his darling wife had to do was smile shyly at people and hint that he was back home all night busy with more usual pleasures.

It wasn't even that hard to convince you to let him stay out late, hunt to his heart's content.

It was all just bad, terrible people. Scum of the earth. Dangers that could hurt you, or others. And Alastor, the dashing, selfless, secret knight in shinning armor was willing to dirty his hands if it meant keeping people safe. He'd taken on the burden so everyone else didn't have to.

Your husband, a great, tragic hero.

And besides, it's not like he asked you to kill someone. All you had to do was lie a little. Nothing grand, nothing elaborate—he wasn't so sure you'd be able to handle it after all—just smile, and hint, and spread a few insignificant white lies. 

It was easy enough, wasn't it?

And your little love for him did everything else. Your own lovesick mind fought your instincts without Alastor even doing much of anything else.

You convinced yourself so quickly that all this blood, all this violence, all this murder, just made your husband an even greater man.

Ah, he truly did love the way you loved him.

You were with him now down in the basement—Alastor conveniently finally figured out how to open the stubborn padlock—and if he was being honest, he never really imagined you joining him here.

Well, not alive anyway.

You watched him as he neatly packed the most latest body into a bag and burn the gloves he used during the act. Going through his simple routine to make sure he could continue to get away scot-free.

Alastor noticed how your eyes always averted from the corpses, insistent on staying on his form instead. He didn't really mind it, but oh did he enjoy that little spark of fear you worked hard to stomp down whenever your glance landed on a limb or two. 

He heaved the bag over his shoulder, before finally fully turning to you. "Well, let's get a move on, shall we, darling?" He smiled cheerfully, motioning with his arm for you to head up the stairs first.

You were glad to do so it seemed, you always were. You didn't have to watch your husband dispose of bodies, but Alastor found it rather cathartic how you've now started to cringe away from the basement door, after weeks of pestering him over opening it.

A little lesson, he thought. Well deserved. 

And look how behaved you were now again.

The walk to the nearby woods was uneventful. Silent. Routine.

Unlike the first time around he dragged you along. You kept wondering and wondering until you finally asked out loud how Alastor knew the streets so well. How he knew where to go where no one would see him. The man you saw him kill was the first one, wasn't he?

He laughed at your unsure smile, brushing your worries off with the flimsiest excuses. How he'd been home late so many times already because of work. How he just preferred to take the quieter roads so as to decompress from all his adoring fans—fans who weren't you.

And it was enough.

Because you foolishly trusted him. You wanted to believe him, and so you did.

Alastor hummed cheerfully as he continued to shovel dirt over his most recent victim. He was certainly far enough into the woods not to care too much about being overheard, anyway.

A sudden soft beeping noise joined his melody, and he looked down at his—rather expensive—watch.

"Would you look at the time! I hadn't realized it was already so late. Time surely flies when you're saving the world, right, darling?" He looked over his shoulder at your unsure form.

You stood hunched over, your back against a tree, and your arms wrapped around yourself, a fair distance from the man burying a body.

Your eyes avoided the hole in the dirt as you painted a strained smile on your face. 

Saving the world.

Alastor could practically see the way you tried to remind yourself that that is what your husband was doing.

"It's hard to keep track when you've got a lot do," You vaguely answer, choosing your words carefully.

It's not that you worried Alastor would do anything to you. But you were, unknowingly, cautious of any single thing that could trigger any more silly concerns within yourself.

Alastor hummed in response, his eyes staring at the mangled corpse he threw in the ditch. "They'll be looking for me at work if I don't show up soon, though." He thought out loud. "But I can't exactly leave this rotten stiff like this, can I?"

He sounded troubled. He looked troubled, with that wrinkle between his brow.

A good wife would soothe him.

A good wife wouldn't stand around watching her spouse do all the hard work.

He didn't need to say it though, not that he had any mind to. You heard his voice in your head regardless. 

Your timid, unsure voice spoke up. "I...I could stay behind and continue burying it?" It sounded like a question.

One that it seemed like you hoped the answer was no. 

Except you'd be a horrible wife for thinking that. You should be praying that he'd say yes.

After all, a good wife would do anything to help her husband.

Alastor froze for a second, his eyes catching yours from above his glasses before he adjusted them up his nose. 

Then you were rewarded with a smile.

"My darling wife, always so helpful," He cooed, walking towards you. He dropped the shovel to the ground and wrapped his arms around your waist, almost lovingly.

Alastor could feel how fast your heart beat in your chest, almost fighting to get out. "But I could never ask a lovely doll like you to do such a dirty job like this." He tsked as he looked down at you.

"I can handle it, my dear," You responded, eyes bright with stars at his praises. It was almost as if you'd forgotten what exactly it was you were agreeing to.

Alastor pretended to think for a moment, but his eyes caught sight of the watch on his wrist and decided he didn't exactly have time to enjoy playing with you more.

"Only if you promise not to get caught, my darling." He smiled down at you, and you quickly nodded, promising you'll do a good job and meet him at home.

He pressed his cold lips chastely against your forehead, and left you with a corpse in the woods to bury.

But it's just that, anyway. Nothing too much to ask for.

It's not like you killed him.

And he was probably a horrible person to begin with.

Right?

You brushed away the heavy, gnawing feeling, as you met the glassy unseeing eyes of the corpse in the ground.

Alastor surely knew what he was doing. And you loved him enough to do this simple thing to help with that.

Just as you shoveled in one patch of dirt to cover the man's eyes, you heard a loud gun shot echo through the early morning woods.

You jumped out of your skin, cold hands gripping the shovel as the sound rung out.

Your heart was at your throat as goosebumps littered your skin. 

Alastor.

You ran. You barely registered your own body moving until you felt the cold air whipping against your face as your legs carried you to where your husband went.

Worry. It all but consumed you, as your blood rushed loudly in your ears and your heart pounded.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Please—

You didn't know what you were doing. You didn't recall it. You didn't feel any of it.

You remembered seeing your husband's body collapsed and bloodied on the forest floor.

You remembered seeing someone with a gun standing panicked over him. 

But no, you didn't remember when you ran at the culprit.

You didn't remember the feeling of stabbing the shovel into their side, nor the warmth of their blood as it splashed on your cold skin.

You didn't remember bashing the steel against their skull with all your might; the metal dented and morphed as it disfigured the man's face.

You didn't remember screaming until your throat was raw. You didn't remember the tears scrolling down your bloodied cheeks. You didn't remember the horrible, unbearably cold, ache in your chest.

You didn't remember staring down the barrel of a shaky gun.

You didn't remember dying.

All you remembered, was the feeling of Alastor's warm arms embracing you as he pressed his welcoming lips to your forehead. 

And how you knew you'd never feel it again.

At least, you didn't think you would.

You blinked in confusion as you stared up the man—thing?—that caught you in their arms like a bride.

"I guess someone ought to rewrite those wedding vows because death didn't seem to do us part!" It laughed. Its voice sounded as if you were merely listening to it from a radio.

No, wait. Sure the thing that caught you also laughed, but you could have sworn you heard a whole crowd do so as well. Strangely, almost like a laugh track.

It's sharp yellow teeth showed proudly as it grinned down on you, and you couldn't help but cringe away a tiny bit from fear.

What are you? You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to be blunt.

You wouldn't want those nasty paper folk to catch wind of Alastor's little wife being rude—

Except. Were you still his wife? Where was he anyway? Where were you?

The thing that held you laughed cheerfully as it gently set you down onto your own feet. "Darling, I will never get enough of how easy you are to read," The thing said, twirling it's cane—microphone?—in it's hand before it leaned on it to study you. 

You got a strangely familiar heavy feeling in your gut, but before you could think much of it, your arm was looped through its as it pulled you along to a shop window.

"It seems you're a tiny bit confused, my darling," It said with a bright smile. "It's alright, you weren't always the brightest bulb in the room, but you certainly made up for it with your passion." It chuckled, once again a laugh track following its words from seemingly nowhere.

You felt the tip of its microphone at your chin, tilting it so that you'd turn your gaze from him to the shop window.

You almost jumped away, like an animal not recognizing itself in the mirror.

It took you a minute to realize that you looked at your own reflection.

You even waved your hands around and tilted your head to make sure it followed your movements. To make sure this was real.

You looked nothing like yourself. Hell, you looked nothing human.

"Truthfully, I'm a little offended, dear." The thing beside you spoke up, now turning to his own reflection as he adjusted his bowtie and dusted off his red pinstriped suit. Something oddly familiar.

"It took me less than a second to recognize you, and you still seem to not even know who I am." It said, glancing at you from the corner of its bright red eyes.

Your gaze trailed up to the top of its red hair, seeing two small horns—at least that's what you thought they were. 

"The devil?" You asked cautiously, still confused. "Am I in Hell?"

It let out a hum at your response. "One of two. I suppose it's one of your better shots, my dear." It said.

It turned to face you, suddenly leaning down close, so as to have it's mouth right by your ear. Your body freezes on instinct as it spoke.

"Must I really bed you again for you to remember me, darling? Or would watching me bury another body be enough to jog your memory?"

You leaned back, only enough to catch a look at the thing's face. The knowing eyes that seemed so warm, so inviting, so charming, despite how monstrous they looked. The smile that seemed incapable of falling.

The familiar feeling that brewed in your gut.

"Alastor?" You asked, your now clawed hands reached up to caress his cheeks, and the thing—your husband—leaned into it. His eyes briefly closed.

"Took you long enough, really." He said, a joking exasperation in his tone. 

The thing—your husband, you had to remind yourself again—abruptly pulled away, his tone bright and cheery as he began to drag you along the streets with a heavy clawed hand on the small of your back. "Now enough of that! Time for more important business, darling!"

"Wait, Alastor? How? What?" You stammered, attempting to pull away to take a second to breathe and clear your head.

The hand that guided you slid to the side of your waist, pulling you tightly against it's Alastor's side. "Ah, my darling thing. Always so slow on the uptake." He shook his head as if he found it adorable. "We're in Hell, dear!"

The words rang loudly in your ears, your heart sinking to your stomach.

"And we have important business to take care of, yes indeed!" Alastor continued, not letting you process a single thought. "And for this, I'll need a partner I can trust! I'll need a partner who I can rely on! I'll need someone absolutely devoted to me." His eyes met yours but he saw how the alarm still outweighed his words.

His eyes narrowed, lowering his face abruptly to yours, to the point where you could feel his breath on your skin. He wanted your attention, all of it, and didn't really care all that much about what else you had to think about.

"Hellooo? Anybody home?" He joked, tilting his head as he saw your eyes come back to focus on him. "Ah, there you are, dear. Thought I lost you for a moment."

You supposed you could think things through later. Even if Alastor looked terribly different now, this was still your caring husband after all. And he needed something.

A devoted parter? Was that what he said?

"Well, you know I'm always here for you, Al. Whatever this plan of yours is." You tried to paint a smile on your lips as you always have.

"Oh, but how exactly do I know that?" Alastor stood back up to his full height, his head tilting as he smiled down at you.

Your brows furrow. You don't quite know how to tell him that. You swore you've done so much for this man, and yet when trying to think of an example, none came to mind.

You cooked and cleaned and looked pretty for him? Spent time with him? Loved him? Lie for him? Hide a body for him? That's just what a good wife would do.

But you supposed—you think—you killed for him.

"I avenged you?" It came out more of a question than an answer. "I killed for you."

Alastor didn't blink as he responded. "Then do it again."

Your mouth ran dry.

Had you heard him correctly? Was it a joke?

You waited for the laugh track to play but none came.

"What do you mean...exactly?" You asked with a nervous laugh, your lips straining to keep the smile.

"Kill for me again," Alastor casually said. He turned, eyes locking onto a random demon further down the street you walked along on. He raised his microphone to point at them, turning his head—unnaturally—to face you again.

"Like that one. I suppose he'll do." His tone was still as cheerful as ever.

You follow to where he pointed, eyes hesitantly looking at the creature. 

You quickly looked back up to meet your husband's gaze. That feeling was there again.

And you weren't sure if it was the fact that you just died, or the sheer lunacy of the request, but you finally realized what it was.

Doubt.

You doubted Alastor.

"Why?" Your voice was small. "Is he a bad person too?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Hell, if I know dear. I've only just seen him now. But we are in Hell, you know?" His shoulders casually shrugged as if he didn't really care. "So, maybe?"

You tried to hide the tremble in your voice. Tried to hide how you doubted him. "But I already killed for you. Why do I need to prove my devotion even more?"

"You killed out of passion, darling. It hardly counts." He laughed, as if you were being so silly.

You're left with even more questions when Alastor grabbed your wrist, and you melted into shadows before re-appearing right in front of your supposed victim.

"What the fuck?" They exclaimed, jumping back.

"Good day, good fellow! The name's Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure!" Your darling husband stepped in front and forcibly shook the confused sinner's hand.

Alastor waved a hand in your direction to showcase you. "This right here is the Mrs., and she'll be killing you now."

You flinched as Alastor's voice further distorted.

Black tentacles wrapped around the now thrashing demon. And to your horror, you realized they came from your still-grinning husband's back.

His red eyes now consumed by black as he looked down at you expectantly.

"I...I don't have a knife." You avoided his eyes and looked away.

Alastor's head tilted. "You have claws now, dear."

You felt bile raise to your throat at the idea of ripping some stranger apart with your own hands.

"It'd be terribly difficult if these clothes get stained. Who knows where I could get new ones in...Hell." You had to spit the word out. "A-and, we're out in the open. Anyone can see us, there might be police here o-or their friends and family."

"You won't do it." Alastor cut off your rambling, more of a statement than a question.

You didn't meet his eyes.

You heard him sigh in dismay. "Well, it's alright, my dear. I suppose I knew your love for me had its limits."

Your eyes widen in shock, head whipping to look at him in panic. There was disappointment in his gaze as he looked away from you. Even as his smile remained painted on his lips, you could see how he seemed to shrink away from you.

"That's not true!" You half yelled, ignoring the struggling demon still held off the ground. "I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'd give up my life for you. I followed you to Hell, even! How could you even think that my love for you isn't boundless, Alastor?"

"Because it isn't." He sighed, his clawed hand gripped his microphone tight as he started to walk around you. "You say you'd do anything for me, that you'd give everything up for me. But I'm asking you for something so simple, and you couldn't even do that."

Your shoulders stiffen, you try to turn your head to follow him around. "This is not simple, Alastor." You said, a tinge of hysteria creeping into your voice. "You're asking me to kill someone for you, again."

"Wrong." Your husband said in a rather, sing-song manner. A jarring buzzer effect played at his words.

"I'm asking you to kill someone who is already dead." Alastor explained, barely paying mind to the sinner who now just looked very uncomfortable. "And you're already in Hell."

He looked at you as if you were stupid not to have put this together yourself. "He won't lose anything. You won't lose anything. There is nothing to give up with this tiny request of mine."

He stopped walking in front of you, but a greater deal of distance away now than when he started.

"And yet you can't even do that, my love."

You glanced down at your hands—your claws—in uncertainty.

That persistent feeling—doubt—swallowed you whole as you stood there willing your body not to move.

You should stop.

Run.

Never look back.

But instead your body moved toward the sinner; sharp, shaking, hands hesitatingly sinking into their flesh.

Once. Twice. Thrice. You couldn't be useless to your husband.

Their muffled screams sounded so far away from you, even as they yelled right by your ears.

You felt it.

Their skin giving way and the blood dampening your clothes each and every time you sank your soft, delicate, clawed hands into him.

The feeling of your long claws coming into contact and tearing through whatever bone or muscle stood in their way.

The awful, gut wrenching, guilt that swallowed your chest.

You hated it.

Alastor's hand clasps affectionately at your shoulder as he watched you cheerfully. Enjoying the conflict in your eyes as your heart died with every drop of blood that spilled from your hands.

"I think I may have just fallen so deeply in love with you, my dear wife." He cooed into your ear.

And your chest didn't flutter, or grow, or skip a beat like you had thought it would at those words.

But it's probably just the guilt, right?

It's just because so much has happened that you couldn't process anything.

Because you still loved Alastor, didn't you?

You loved him with your very soul, but he was a liar, and you may have finally started to see it.

Taglist @lil-bexie / @mizukikyong / @amurtan / @fokrilove / @fairyv-ice 

[the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep]

“Papa and Tara” Oil Paint on Canvas, 1499 DR

Gif credit to @gale-gaze

“Papa!” the girl cried out excitedly as she burst into Gale’s library. His daughter was technically supposed to knock before entering her father’s library, but Gale adored his daughter’s visits. Even when she did interrupt his work, he was more excited about her than any composition he could make with the Weave. Tara was asleep next to him as he read by the fire. The tressym awoke with a soft trill, her wings twitching.

Karlach was born the year after he and Tav were married. From the moment that Tav told him that she was pregnant, Gale was enamored with his future child. He fussed endlessly over Tav throughout the pregnancy, hyper-attuned to any slight grimace of discomfort, craving, or restlessness from his wife. He paused all of his arcane research and teaching students to attend to her, despite Tav’s protests that he didn’t need to worry himself so much. “My love, there is nothing more important in this world or any other than you and our child,” he would say, placing a hand on Tav’s belly. “The Weave will always exist and I will shall always be able to compose within it, but this is worth more than kingdoms.”

Gale, true to his nature, read any book he could get his hands on related to child-rearing. Since having a child with Mystra was out of the question, he never imagined being a father.

Gale smiled proudly upon seeing Karlach, marking his place in the book before closing it. He always gave his daughter his fullest attention. Karlach skipped over to where her father sat on the sofa. Gale’s library was her favorite place in the house. She loved the way it smelled like old books and dust, just like her beloved father. More than that, it was where she could most frequently find Tara, who was her best friend next to Gale.

“Ah, Karlach!” he exclaimed. “My dearest daughter. How were your lessons today? I am certain that you are excelling, as always.”

“Today was so much fun!” she said, her voice still brimming with excitement. “I made you something!”

“My goodness! Is it another addition to the gallery?” Gale asked. His library was filled with Karlach’s creative works, all of which he cherished. When his daughter began bringing her artwork home from her classes, he cleared any space he could in his library to display Karlach’s work. Each painting she made was framed with a tiny orb of light suspended overhead so that Gale could fully appreciate each work of art in full detail. Beneath each of them, there was a tiny plaque with the name, date, and medium: “Papa Doing Magic,” Watercolor on Baldurian Parchment, 1498 - Karlach Dekarios; “Mama and Papa”, Oil pastel on Waterdhavian Parchment, 1498 - Karlach Dekarios. While Karlach dabbled in many mediums, painting was her favorite.

“I think you and Tara will really, really, *really* like this one,” Karlach giggled. Her face was smudged with paint, her nose spotted with deep cerulean. Although his opinion was biased, never before had Gale seen a child as beautiful as his daughter. She was his spitting image; sparkling brown eyes, untamed chestnut curls and his smile. There was no denying that she was a Dekarios.

Karlach produced a small canvas from behind her back and handed it to her father. “It’s you and Tara!” she exclaimed, beaming with pride.

The painting portrayed Gale and Tara sitting on the flocked velvet sofa of his library. Gale was portrayed with an oblong body, stick arms, and a beard. Tara’s likeness resembled a brown and orange egg with disproportionately large white wings. In the background, there were several asymmetrically drawn bookshelves adorned with books of many different colors.

Gale took the painting from Karlach’s hands, looking upon it with amazement. “Karlach, my darling girl, this is your best work yet. Such skill you have!”

Karlach bounced on her heels, grinning from ear to ear. “Really?!”

Gale nodded, admiring the painting as if it was the finest piece of artwork he’d ever seen. To him, his daughter’s work was always beautiful and he grew prouder of her by the day. “Tara, hasn’t she captured your likeness beautifully?”

“Yes, Mr. Dekarios! Little Miss Karlach is truly a natural! So very talented!” Tara trilled. Objectively, Karlach’s art was like any other child’s, but Tara loved seeing how happy Gale was when Karlach brought him her paintings.

He patted the space next to him on the sofa. “You must tell me all about your creative process.”

Karlach sat beside her father, her legs dangling above the floor. Describing her creative processes was her favorite part of showing her father her art.

“It’s your and Tara’s favorite place in the whole wide world so it’s my favorite place too!”

Gale ruffled Karlach’s curls. “Right you are, sweet girl. The level of detail is remarkable. As always, you never fail to amaze me.”

Gale looked down at his daughter, the child he never thought he would have. Even though she looked like him, she had her mother’s spirit and the tenacity of her namesake — Karlach Cliffgate.

“Now, where shall we hang this one?” Gale asked Karlach.

“Hmmm…” Karlach hummed, pursing her lips together as if attempting to solve a difficult problem. “I think it should go… over there!”

She was pointing to a vacant space over her father’s piano, the last empty wall space in the library. Admittedly, Gale had hoped to use the space to hang a rare tapestry that Elminster had gifted him for his 50th birthday, but Gale couldn’t say no to Karlach. Tav worried about Gale spoiling her, but Karlach’s puppy dog eyes never failed to sway him.

“You have such an eye for design. That spot is absolutely perfect. Shall we hang it tomorrow?”

Karlach nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Can I help, Papa?”

“Of course you can, my love,” he answered, kissing the top of her head. In the meantime, he would need to make a new plaque for the painting.

“Thank you, Papa!” she exclaimed, giving her father a tight hug. “I love you!”

Sometimes, Gale found himself misty-eyed whenever his wife or daughter told him that they loved him. They both loved him so purely, not for his capabilities to compose the Weave, but for the husband and father he was. And he loved them, more than he could ever have imagined. Nothing in this plane of existence nor any other could compare.

Gale embraced his daughter. “I love you too, my sweet girl.”

[yuurei20]

Twisted Wonderland: the Novel. Leona.

In both the game and the manga Leona is introduced when the main character steps on his tail in the botanical gardens. He threatens to break the character's teeth and is interrupted by Ruggie, who takes him away.

In the novel, however, Leona has a very different introduction, when Deuce and Yuuya are on their way back to Heartslabyul from the school store with eggs for the chestnut tart, which get unceremoniously crushed by three troublemaking students.

In the game they are bullies from Heartslabyul, but in the novel they are from Savanaclaw.

--

"The group not only outnumbers Yuuya and Deuce, but they are physically larger as well. 

How is it that Deuce is so calm in the face of a fight that he will not win?

Rather than panic, Deuce tilts his head to the left, then to the right, as though stretching before a light workout.

‘Yeah I’m gonna hit you. Six times, just like I said. Guess you didn’t hear me the first time.’

‘Hah! You’ve got guts.’

‘A first-year stupid enough to challenge his betters. You know how this is gonna end, yeah!?’

‘That’s my line.’ Deuce scoffs with a bark of laughter. ‘I’ll be getting revenge for those chicks!’

‘Will you shut UP about the chicks, you little brat! Come and get it!’

Yuuya has closed his eyes to shut out the scene without even realizing it, and that is when he hears a new voice, wholly different from any of the others. 

‘Knock it off.’

It is a deep voice echoing from somewhere unknown, and the surrounding area goes instantly silent in response. Yuuya cautiously opens his eyes to the sight of a tall man standing before him.

He is wrapped in a strange atmosphere that attracts the stares of everyone around. Even hidden under his school uniform it is clear he is well-muscled, with a scar over his left eye that lends all the more power to his chiseled face.

The fists of the older students froze in mid-air at the command, completely throwing off their momentum. Now, like small animals under the watchful eye of a predator, they shrink away, murmuring, 'Leona-san'.

Ignoring the confused Deuce entirely, Leona raises an eyebrow at the formerly brawling group.

'Move up a grade and the first thing you do is start a fight in the street--are you all stupid?'

'But that brat is the one who started it first.'

'Huh. And? Don't like what I have to say, then?'

'Impossible! It's not like that at all.'

Leona is dressed down, wearing neither the jacket nor the tie to his school uniform, but he does wear the same yellow vest as the three students who had come so close to exchanging blows with Deuce. All three have become properly obedient in front of their fellow dorm member, Leona.

Who is Leona, that he is able to so easily subdue people who had been filled with such rage? While reflecting on this Yuuya notices the pair of animal ears sticking out of Leona's long hair, and realizes he is the man who had been leading other students at the ceremony.

Suddenly, their eyes meet.

'Hey. You.'

'Y-yes?' Yuuya's response leaves him in a sound that is almost a yelp, because Leona has suddenly drawn close enough to place his beautifully-sculpted nose near to the base of Yuuya's neck.

Yuuya breaks out in a cold sweat. Having his neck so exposed is frightening in a way he cannot put into words: he is frozen in fear of Leona tearing out his throat at any moment.

'Yuu!' Deuce yells, but before his fist can find its mark, Leona has smoothly stepped away.

'Hahah! You really don't have any scent of magic. All of that at the entrance ceremony wasn't just some joke after all.'

'Scent? You mean that's the one we heard about, the one who--' The other students stare at Yuuya as though seeing him for the first time.

'Yeah. The one without magic who got in on the charity of the headmage. There's no telling how the headmage will take it if you lay a hand on him.'

Leona glances to Yuuya, then to Deuce, and gives them a pompous grin.

'If you want to bat at mice, do it somewhere more discreet.'

'Hey, hang on a minute.' Deuce glowers at Leona, pointing at the student who stepped on their eggs.

'I don't know who you are, but he hasn't apologized to the chicks yet and he's going to pay for what he's done.'

Deuce is already readying to swing his fist when a skinny boy hurries up alongside him, putting a hand on Deuce's shoulder. His ears are bigger than Leona's and his large, drooping eyes are narrowed at Deuce--they are about equal in height.

'All right, all right. You calm down too.' He says, patting Deuce upon the shoulder.

'Who're you?'

'My name is Ruggie Bucchi.' Ruggie responds, with a deliberate shake of his whole body. 'And this scary personage is Savanaclaw Dorm Housewarden, Leona Kingscholar-san. We already know you're dumb enough to pick fights with upperclassmen, but even you know you won't be winning against our Housewarden, yeah? Times like this, you gotta side with whoever will benefit you the most.'

'Benefit? They're the ones who started this fight, and now they're trying to run away!'

'My my, aren't you a hot-blooded kitten--and here you should be thanking me. I called Leona over because I saw you were in danger, y'know?'

Leona looks to Ruggie. 'Tch. Patronizing bastard. You just wanted to give me more to deal with.'

'Shi-shi-shi. That's our housewarden! Settle brawls in an instant like that, and people will start relying on you.'

The three students who had been scuffling with Deuce and Yuuya look down at their feet, snickering; they seem to have cooled off after being chided by Leona. As his position in the dorm would lead one to assume, Leona seems to be well-liked.

Leona turns his back to Yuuya, a long tail trailing out of the back of his pants and swaying in his wake. There is a thick tuft of fur at the tip, different from that of any cat or dog; a lion's tail.

Though he has a languid stare, his narrow pupils send a shiver down Yuuya's spine. Yuuya knows, instinctively, that challenging Leona on their own would be disastrously reckless.

'Nothing wrong with having guts, but prepare well enough to know who your opponent is.'

'Hahaha! Yeah, just like the Housewarden says!'

'I'm talking to you three, too.'

With a sigh Leona leads away his dormmates. He leaves only Deuce behind, who is staring down at his feet in silence.

'Uh, Deuce?' Yuuya calls his name, but there is no response.

If he is honest with himself Yuuya might admit that he is a little frightened to call out to him, after seeing how Deuce changed before his eyes.

While wondering what he should do, he hears a gentle voice.

'...now I've done it.'

'Hm?'

Deuce lifts his head abruptly, revealing the miserable look upon his face.

'I completely forgot myself...I raised a hand against upperclassmen! I'm so sorry, Yuu!' Deuce bows to Yuuya stiffly, apparently having returned to his usual, serious self.

It is like the demon that he had been moments before was all a lie.

'I scared you, didn't I.'

'Not really--you helped me, after all. So uh, don't worry yourself.'

Yuuya manages a quick smile, but knowing how Yuuya cannot handle conflict, Deuce seems to think he is forcing it, which he cannot endure for long.

'The truth is...that was the real me.'"

[fl3shm4id3n]

𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕤, 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: 𝐇𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞! 😄 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐃𝐌 (𝐚𝐬 𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬).

*𝐀𝐡𝐞𝐦* 𝐒𝐨 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚:

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 (𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫). 𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬? 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 - 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 🥺💚💚💚.

*𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦'𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐝*

....*𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 (-𝐢𝐞𝐫) 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬*(Requested by @witch-of-letters​ )

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: Targ!cest (Twincest), a bit of Angst ending with fluff. A bit of Aegon x Reader and Jace x reader. Smut, Virgin! reader, nudity, ridding, pouding, passionate/ romantic. 

Author’s note: I got really happy when I receive this request, also this is my first time writing smut so, I hope you like it. The reason why I choose pink and blue is because pink resembles love, traditional femininity, and  innocence. Blue resembles sadness. Idk why I’m just obsessed with color symbolism. Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

Ever since you were born, you had a kind aura, whenever you were around who ever was near you just felt this kind of happiness. You and your twin Aemond were like the moon, you were bright and kind, while your brother seemed cold and dark, but when it came to you, he was always the kindest. 

He also had inherited the white hair and purple eyes, but you, you had both brown and white hair. Your head was mainly covered with your mother’s chestnut hair but the frame of your face had the white like your father and siblings. You had the most brightest amethyst colored eyes. Some say that the Gods couldn’t decide on who you should look like the most. Like the Hightowers or Targaryens, why not both. You had an unspeakable beauty like your older sister Rhaenyra, your beauty matched your good soul.

You’ve also got a she-dragon, she pink with amethyst eyes like yours. She was also kind like you, you had jokily called her the Pink Phantom due to how light her pink scales were, you had named her Pinkfyre since out of all the dragons she spit pink flames and not orange flames. 

You also unknowingly began to get boys attention, your older brother Aegon and your Nephew Jacaerys as well as your brother. You and Aemond were close, ever since you were out of the womb you would have to be holding each other’s hand for comfort. You had got closer when his egg had turned to stone, you felt bad and you’d often take him to ride Pinkfyre, so that he knew what it was like to be on top of a dragon.

Aegon would stop drinking as soon as you entered the room, he’d also try to be nice and polite around you, as a way to get your attention. Jace was always a gentlemen to you ever since you were able to walk. He’d also pick you up when going down the stairs since he thought that you shouldn’t put your pretty feet on the floor. While you were around them, they would not fight or jest one another, they’d act right since they didn’t want to see you unhappy. But when you’d turn your back your brother and nephew would glare at one another.

You also stopped sharing a room with your twin since you began to bleed, it was embarrassing since you thought Aemond find your blood disgusting. Surprisingly he didn’t, he learned that women go through this and it was your first moon time, it was upsetting to since you would no longer be as close to him.

When your family went to Lady Laena’s funeral, you went to give your condolence to the twins, you might not have known Lady Laena but you heard that she was a strong woman, who wanted a dragonrider's death. This made you anxious, she died during child birth, you felt as if you were to suffer that fate too.

Then Aemond had claimed Vhagar and he paid the prize by getting his eye plucked out. When questioned your brother blamed Aegon, then everything broke loose. Your mother tried to get your younger Nephews eye herself, you tried to stop her by pulling her arm which had blade. Seeing the look of distress in your face after she had cut Princess Rhaenyra, she felt guilty, she thought that her daughter saw her as a monster.

Back at the Red Keep, she apologized to you and pulled you into a hug, she did not want you to be afraid of her like Helaena. Aemond had tried to be distant from you but you did not let that happen, you’d do everything to spend time with him, he had also began to wear an eye patch to not frighten the ladies in the court and also to not frighten you but, you didn’t mind his scar, you also were the one to give him a sapphire to put in his lost eye.

Years past and you were now at age, many lords had asked for your hand but your brother was able to convince his mother to not let you wed any time soon. He was afraid to lose you to some lord who will harm and corrupt your innocence. When Veamon Velaryon had petitioned the crown to make him Heir, you were happy to hear that your older sister and family were coming. You were the one to greet them, along with meeting the twins Aegon III and Viserys II.

You probably should of worn a green dress, but that deep forest green always made you uneasy, you never understood why. You wore a pink dress that came from Dorne, it was beautiful and embraided with flowers. You also wore a pearl necklace and earrings that your brother Aegon had gifted you on your eight and ten names day.

During the trial, your grandsire sat in the Iron throne, you’d question if this was aloud but where shrugged off. You hated seeing the distress look on your sister, no one had the right to question her children's legitimacy, no matter if they didn’t have the Targaryen appearance, they were her children, she gave birth to them. You felt as if your Legitimacy was questioned for not having the full Targaryen look. When your father had come in, you were happy but sad, seeing that no matter in what condition he was in, he’ll always defend his daughter. 

When Veamond had called Rhaenyra’s children bastards and her a whore, he head had come clean off but leaving his tongue untouched. You felt sick seeing this kind of carnage, but your twin had pulled you protectively in his arms.

The dinning room was filled with your family, it was nice seeing the family all together, you hope that the happy moment stayed like this. You sat at the end of the table next to your twin. Everything was going well, almost everyone had toasts to say, what had broke your heart a bit was when Helaena had mentioned about her marriage, you knew Aegon wasn’t the best husband but you knew deep down that he wasn’t bad. Everyone ate and jested during the dinner, giving your father peace. Then the Velaryon boys approached you and your sister. Luce asked your sister for a dance while Jace asked for you. You both gladly accepted and went to dance with them.

Aemond and Aegon where watching them closely, both having a look of jealousy. It all went bad when a pig was placed infront of Aemond, Luce had let out a laugh as he danced with Helaena. Then his final Tribute to your nephews wasn’t so nice. A fight broke out which made you leave the room in tears and went staright to you bed chambers.

You were crying your eyes out, not hearing the door open and close. “Y/n?” you looked up and saw your twin standing with a look of regret. “Sister, please hear me out”  he said as he sat next to you. You looked at him in the eye then looked down “why must everything be dealt with hate? Why must everything be so hateful?” you may not understand what it is like to have an organ taken from you but, it hurts seen everything be settle with hate. 

He had pulled you into a hug and began to apologies to you, he stroked your soft hair and kissed your temple as you cried. You had cried until you fell asleep. He felt guilty for his outburst, he shouldn’t done it but how could he? They had stolen something from him and he still was enraged by it.

That morning you woken up by your mother, she had a look of distress and gave you the terrible news. “Your father, he is dead” she said, this cause your heart to drop, tears then spilled from your face, he was gone, your poor father was dead. Your mother pulled you into a hug, you cried as you then asked her “does Rhaenyra know?” you asked as she shook her head. “She must know right away, I’ll send a raven or I’ll fly the-” Alicent cut you off “no, you mustn't, she must not know” she said holding you down a bit too tight. “But mother, she must kno-” she cut you off again “your father wanted your brother Aegon to be King, if she were to find out about his death, then she’ll kill us” the Queen said paranoid. You knew better, Rhaenyra was not a bad person “no she wouldn’t, she is a good person mother, please we mu-” you pleaded but she shut you up. “No, your brother will be crowned King, and as a good sister you will support his claim” she said then left your chambers not before locking the door.

Since that day you stopped smiling, you also barely ate the food brought to you, it tasted bland, you no longer enjoyed the cakes that were sent to you by your brother Aemond. The day of the corination had arriaved, you were dressed in a deep blue dress with a pearl choker and earrings to match. Then your hair was put up for the occasion and a pearl headpiece to make it look beautiful.

You were escorted to where the ceremony was being held, you looked down and sad the whole time, you stomach was turning the whole time. Your brother noticed this seeing how upset you were. Then Aegon was crowned and the crowed cheered for him, everything then changed with a blink of an eye. A dragon had broken out of the pit and submersed from the ground, it was non other than Princess Rhaenys and her dragon the Red Queen, you wanted to run over to Aegon and protect him but were stopped by your twin, making you stand next to Helaena who then held your hand in fear. Instead of burning them alive, her dragon had let out a war cry, then left the dragon pit. 

Ever since that day, you still have not smiled, everyone felt your sorrow feeling, you had also stopped wearing the color pink, the one you loved so much and just wore the color blue. The color showed how sad you were, first your father is dead, then your family stole Rhaenyra’s throne and now a war is coming. You no longer saw happiness in anaything.

A day or two had passed since and your family was having supper that night. Again you wore a light blue dress and a frown on your face, no jewelry on display just a frown. You played with your food and only drank water, the cakes you loved so much tasted now stale, you sat between your brother now King and Your sister now Queen Consort. Your twin sat next to her while your mother and grandsire spoke about which alliances they should make deals with to support your brother’s claim. You just stared at your plate, then the King noticed this and decided to do something. He got a piece of your favorite cake and brought it to your mouth. “Here sister, the King demands you to eat” he said as you then took a small bite of the cake, it tasted sweet but stale. He continued to feed you until you had enough and drowned the cake down with milk.

After you had excused yourself and went to your bed chambers. You were getting ready for bed on your own, you didn’t want your handmaidens to see you upset but then you heard a door knock. “Come” you said before you finished putting on your pink nightgown, it was your brother Aemond.

“How are you feelings?” he asked as he got close. You sat on your bed and your twin followed “empty, I feel empty” you said as you looked down at your nails, seen the skin he had been peeling the last few days. “Mother wants me to go to Storm’s End, to ask the Baratheon’s to be on our side” he said, you swallowed the lump on your throat, your mother told you that you’ll have to marry a lord in order to get their alliance, you hated it. “Are we doing the right thing? We’ve stolen a claim that wasn’t our to begin with.” You said as your brother then took your hands into his “It is what father wanted, he wanted Aegon” he said as you sigh “but we don’t know that” you said as Aemond then pulled you close.

You felt whole in his arms, he always made you feel as if your life was complete. You knew that you’ll have to marry some lord and he’ll take your Maidenhead, you did not want a stranger to take it, so you’ll give it to your brother. You then looked eye to eye to him, they stared at each other until then lips had met.

The twins then began to kiss each other passionately. Aemond got on top of you, his lips dancing with yours, you then wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. You began to have hot feeling in your lower abdomen, this felt good, but wrong at the same time, you were suppose to give your Maidenhead to your husband but you choose differently and wish to give it to your brother, your other half.

Then he began to pull your night gown over your head, straddling your lap, seen your now nude body before him, he gave it a good look. Seen that your nipples were now standing, he noticed how you had a small mole here and another their, he wanted to get a good look at the body underneath him, he wanted to make this moment to be special. His hand then ran up your stomach, to rib, and now your soft pillow like breast. He gently squeezed making you let out a moan by the feeling.

Aemond then began to undress himself, only leaving his trousers on, you had sat up and began to feel his body, you felt his muscle, and soft skin. You also reached up and remove his eye patch seeing the sapphire that you had gifted him a while back. He was handsome but now that he was exposed to you, he was even more handsome than ever. He leaned back down and kissed you once again, he then ran his hand down your body past the curls that hid you maidenhood, he then touched your pearl making you flinch at his touch. “Shh, its okay, I will not hurt you, if you wish for me to stop, I will” He said as you shook your head “please don’t stop, I want this, I want you” you begged for his touch.

He smiled as he kissed your temple “you must be quiet my love, or they’ll hear us” he said as he began to touch your pearl once again, slowly rubbing it in circles. You let out a small moan at the feeling, you had never felt this before. He then leans down and kissed your right breast and placed your nipple in his mouth sucking it. Is this what it felt like to feel pleasure? Once out of curiosity you read a book about pleasure, it was book from Dorne that you found in the Library. You read about what both men and women felt when it came to intimacy, it felt wrong to do so but now it felt like the heavens.

Aemond then slowly slide his fingers in you, this felt better, his fingers were long and slender, he knew where to touch and during the process he began to take note which spots were brought you to shake. He continued to pump his middle and ring finger into you, making you cry out in pleasure. “Aemond, please, I want more” you moaned as you began to feel as if you needed to let go. “Let go, I know you’re about to.” He commanded then you felt yourself release yourself. You were panting, you had never felt this feeling, it felt amazing. 

“Please, I want more, I wish, please!” you begged, you wanted to feel more, you wanted to be his and him be yours. Aemond smiled as he finished licking his fingers clean and lifted you up, he than sat you on his stomach “are you sure?” he asked as you nodded. “This may hurt but, I will make sure that it will feel good” he said as the moved you slowly towards his cock. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip between your folds, you moaned at the feeling, his cock seemed thicker and longer. Then you felt his cock slide into you slowly.

You gasped as you felt your spongy wall stretch and clench around him. He let you adjust to his size before he spoke “you can move when you please” he whispered as he leans up and kissed you. You tasted yourself in his tongue, the kiss was passionate but at the same time more dirty. You then began to move slowly, feeling his cock stretch every into you, as if you where made for him to deflower. You moved slow but at a good pace, wanting to feel him all inside you. 

Aemond groaned at the feel on your virgin hole, it felt amazing, you moaned as you moved up and down on his length. You wrapped your arms around his back and dig your nails onto his back. You bodies had began to feel hot and sweat began to coat them, your hair began to stick to your face and neck, at this point you didn’t care if you were caught, you wish you were so that you and your brother would wed. 

Then Aemond flipped you over, now you were on your back with your legs over his shoulders then he began to thrusts into you a bit faster. You let out a moan in which made him move faster inside you. He had then pounded into you at this point, the sound of skin smacking echoed in your chambers along with the sound of panting and moaning. “I’m close!” he moaned as he continued to pound into you “please, let go inside me!” you moaned as you then felt a hot thick liquid filling you. 

Only panting was heard as Aemond leaned down his sweaty forehead touching yours. Then you both kissed as he was still inside you, securing that his seed was still inside you. He then slowly pulled out of you, now you missed him inside you. “That was... the best feeling.... I’ve ever had” you said as Aemond laid next to you and pulled you close to him. You laid your head on the crook of his neck, you smiled tiredly but happy. Aemond rubbed your back as you were recovering from your high. 

“I’m glad, you were the one to take my Maidenhead” you admitted as Aemond kissed the side of your head. He knew that in a couple hours he had to go to Storm’s End with a marriage pack to one of the Baratheon girls, but who knows, if he had to have two wives, he’d make you his first wife and the Baratheon girl second, if it came to that extend then you’ll be his favorite wife, you were his other half, his other soul, his Y/n ever since they day of your birth. 

[death-mothblog]

Cowrie or cowry is the common name for a group of small to large sea snails, marine gastropod mollusks in the family Cypraeidae, the cowries.

The term porcelain derives from the old Italian term for the cowrie shell (porcellana) due to their similar appearance.

Cowrie shells have held cultural, economic, and ornamental significance in various cultures. The cowrie was the shell most widely used worldwide as shell money. It is most abundant in the Indian Ocean, and was collected in the Maldive Islands, in Sri Lanka, along the Indian Malabar coast, in Borneo and on other East Indian islands, in Maluku in the Pacific, and in various parts of the African coast from Ras Hafun to Mozambique. Cowrie shell money was important in the trade networks of Africa, South Asia, and East Asia.

In the United States and Mexico, cowrie species inhabit the waters off Central California to Baja California (the chestnut cowrie is the only cowrie species native to the eastern Pacific Ocean off the coast of the United States; further south, off the coast of Mexico, Central America and Peru, Little Deer Cowrie habitat can be found; and further into the Pacific from Central America, the Pacific habitat range of Money Cowrie can be reached) as well as the waters south of the Southeastern United States.

Some species in the family Ovulidae are also often referred to as cowries. In the British Isles the local Trivia species (family Triviidae, species Trivia monacha and Trivia arctica) are sometimes called cowries. The Ovulidae and the Triviidae are other families within Cypraeoidea, the superfamily of cowries and their close relatives.

The shells of cowries are usually smooth and shiny and more or less egg-shaped. The round side of the shell is called the Dorsal Face, whereas the flat under side is called the Ventral Face, which shows a long, narrow, slit-like opening (aperture), which is often toothed at the edges. The narrower end of the egg-shaped cowrie shell is the anterior end, and the broader end of the shell is called the posterior. The spire of the shell is not visible in the adult shell of most species, but is visible in juveniles, which have a different shape from the adults.

Nearly all cowries have a porcelain-like shine, with some exceptions such as Hawaii's granulated cowrie, Nucleolaria granulata. Many have colorful patterns. Lengths range from 5 mm (0.2 in) for some species up to 19 cm (7.5 in) for the Atlantic deer cowrie, Macrocypraea cervus.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞

Part 2 here

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: (Eddie x Reader) Eddie has been working on something, but wouldn’t tell you what. However, when you get home from work you soon find out exactly what he was planning. 

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Smut (MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY), Y/N, PiV sex, handcuffs, riding, sex in the back of a van, dirty talk (I guess?), a little bit of fluff at the end. Like a tiny bit. 

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is the first smut I’ve written since 2020 so I’m aware it’s not gonna be mind blowing smut but we’ve all gotta start somewhere, right? I wrote this as a sort of AU where there’s no strange things going on and no upside down. I’d place this maybe in the summer break of ‘86 after Eddie graduates from Hawkins High.

One of the best things about summer break was that you and your boyfriend had more free time to spend together. Fridays were, of course, reserved for Hellfire sessions at the house of whoever was hosting the session that week but other than that you were able to spend pretty much every day – and some nights – together if you so wished.

Dio’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Children emanated from Eddie’s room as you cooked some scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, smiling at his soft humming and the quiet scratching of a blunt pencil on paper. You didn’t need to look behind you to know his tongue stuck out slightly as he worked, his chestnut curls unruly and his torso bare save for his denim vest due to you having stolen – ahem, acquired – the Hellfire shirt he’d been wearing the night before.

“Want some toast?” you asked, barely turning your head so that you could keep an eye on the stove top.

“Mm,” was the only response you got, making you roll your eyes. You weren’t entirely sure of what Eddie was working on from his seat on the sofa. He’d started working on it as you started to doze last night, just telling you it was DnD stuff when you asked him about it. You guessed it was probably something important for the next campaign he was planning as he was more focussed on it than on you and the offer of food. Honestly, you found how passionate he was about his interests very attractive. He was always so excited and enthusiastic whenever you discussed things like DnD and music, his hands frantic and expressive as he told you fun facts and gushed about his ideas for songs and campaigns. You figured whatever he was doing was something he’d tell you about at another time in detail, so didn’t think too much of it.

Sliding the eggs and bacon onto each of your plates as you popped two pieces of bread into the toaster, you glanced over at him and laughed. Just as you’d expected, his hair was an absolute mess and his tongue poked out of the left corner of his mouth.

He continued writing as he spoke. “There something on my face?”

“My lips, if you’re lucky,” you responded as you brought his food over to him. He immediately closed his notebook and licked his lips as you placed his plate in his lap.

“Now that would make me a lucky man.” He grinned up at you and you couldn’t help but gently kiss his chapped lips. “Make sure you eat too, ‘kay? Don’t want you going to work hungry.”

Your fingers ghosted over his hair before you returned to the toaster, reaching it just as the lightly toasted bread popped up. You lightly buttered your boyfriend’s and placed it on a separate plate for him then finally tucked into your own breakfast. The bacon was a little too salty for your liking and the eggs slightly overdone, but Eddie didn’t seem to have any complaints as he shovelled as much into his mouth as he could.

When you finished eating, you quickly got changed into your work clothes for Family Video and slipped into your trainers from the night before. You gave yourself a once over in the bathroom mirror and jogged back into the living area where Eddie sat, his empty plate sat on the floor and his notebook open once again. His head tilted back as you pressed your lips against his, the kiss lingering more than the previous one, and then you were out the door and rushing over to the pickup truck your mum and dad had given you for your sixteenth birthday so that you could get to work on time.

 ***

 It turned out that work at Family Video that day was slow going. Everyone was likely out enjoying the sun or spending time with friends down at Starcourt, leaving plenty of time for you to check stock and make sure the videos were all in the correct order on their shelves on the shop floor. Even the phone had been relatively quiet, which was why you were a little surprised when you heard it ring and Robin pick it up. You tuned out whatever she was saying into the receiver as you stood on your tip toes on the stepladder to reach the top of one of the shelves. You readjusted the box of video tapes under your arm as you stretched to put one of them in its correct place beside Desperately Seeking Susan.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s for you!” Robin’s voice from right next to the ladder would’ve met you jump if you weren’t used to her suddenly appearing next to you without warning. You passed her the box as you stepped back down off the ladder and made your way to the phone.

You leaned against the counter as you held the receiver up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Only me, sweetheart. Just wanted to call and make sure you had no plans for tonight.”

The sound of Eddie’s warm voice made you smile. “Planning on romancing me and sweeping me off my feet, are we?”

His chuckle had you biting your lip. “Something like that. I’ve got a surprise for you, so make sure you come over straight after work. And don’t forget to drink plenty of water, I don’t want you to get dehydrated and end up sick.”

“No need to tell me twice, it’s hot as balls in here. Steve’s just gone out on a snack run so he’ll probably bring back some drinks with him.”

There was a momentary pause from the other end of the line before Eddie spoke again. “Are you sure he’s not just trying to get out of doing work?”

“Come on now that’s not nice, is it?” you giggled as your eyes flickered over to the door.

His laugh from the other end sent a warmth through your chest. You never tired of hearing his laugh, especially when you were the reason for it.

“I’d better let you go before Robin gets annoyed at me for distracting you at work. Can’t wait to see you tonight, baby.”

“Me too. I love you,” you replied just as Steve walked through the door with a paper bag full of snacks and drinks.

“I love you too,” was the last thing you heard Eddie say before he hung up.

 ***

 Car keys jangling, you knocked on the door to Eddie’s trailer. You frowned when you got no answer and heard no response from inside, so you opened the door and stepped inside. You found a now fully dressed Eddie in his room, plumping his pillows with his headphones on and his Walkman in his back right pocket. He hummed to himself as he tidied up his bed and bobbed his head along with the music. From what he was humming, it sounded like he was listening to Dio again.

You crept up behind him and suddenly wrapped your arms around him from behind, making him jump as he ripped his headphones off. His panic evaporated when he turned to find it was you that had surprised him.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another half an hour. How was work?” he asked as he placed his hands firmly on your hips.

You shrugged. “It was pretty quiet today. Robin and Steve let me go early seeing as we didn’t need three people to close up shop. You had a good day today?”

Eddie’s lips gently brushed against yours and you draped your arms over his shoulders. “Mm, it’s better now you’re home. I have a surprise for you.”

“You did indeed tell me you had a surprise for me on the phone earlier,” you said as you brushed a long stray hair out of his face. “Is it a clean room? Because if so, I’m very impressed.”

He tapped your nose. “Very funny, sweetheart. Wait here.”

Just like that, the brunette moved out of your grasp and into the living area. He returned almost immediately with his notebook, a twenty-sided dice, and a deviant look on his face. You plucked the dice from his grasp and raised a brow slightly.

“Thanks, Eds. I’ve always wanted one of these. Whatever will I do with myself now that I’ve finally got one?”

“Well, aren’t you just full of jokes and sass tonight? It goes with this.” He held the notebook out for you to take, open to the page he wanted you to read.

Your thighs squeezed together when you read what he’d been working on since the previous night. He’d written up what was essentially a game for you and him to play in bed using the dice you’d taken from him. It became clear a lot of thought had gone into it: he’d written different results for each roll and what the number corresponded to for each category, from how much clothing one of you would wear to the position and whether you’d be restrained or not. You bit your lip, thinking about the different combinations and picturing him taking you in various positions all over the trailer. You were suddenly grateful he hadn’t told you what he was up to before now, otherwise you would’ve made an excuse to not go into work just to spend the day testing out his little sex game.

��We, uh, don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. You’re probably exhausted from work and-”

Your lips sliding over his as your hands pulled him towards the bed stopped him from finishing what he was saying, a soft moan rumbling from his chest as he gripped your hips. He straddled you as you sat down on the freshly made bed, his fingers dipping under the hem of your top. He glanced down at your wetted lips when you pulled away from the kiss and combed your fingers through his dark hair.

You smirked and ran your thumb over his bottom lip. “So, who rolls first?”

In an instant, Eddie was scrambling for the notebook and dice that had been abandoned on the covers of his bed, moving to sit next to you with one of his legs over both of yours.

“Okay, so first we roll for what we’re going to be doing. You wanna roll?” He handed you the dice and you shook it in your hand a couple of times before you rolled it on the duvet.

A six.

The two of you looked at the first category of dice rolls and found the result for a roll of six. You felt your face heat up as you read what it was.

“Mm, full on sex. Guess we’re diving right in there, huh?” Eddie’s hand at the bottom of your back as he spoke had you becoming moist already. Forget the sex, just him talking about it was getting you wet.

Eddie’s roll landed on a seventeen and he quickly browsed the position category, shifting a little as he did so, and you noticed him starting tent in his jeans. You glanced at where his finger was resting on the paper and squirmed when you read the words ‘cowgirl (regular)’.

Your next roll gave you both the location of the back of your boyfriend’s van with the one after that determining that your hands would be handcuffed behind you for the whole time. With each roll you grew more impatient and aroused as you pictured in detail what you would be doing.

Your final roll was to decide what Eddie would be wearing, with Eddie’s deciding the same for you. With yours landing on a one – the brunette remaining as fully clothed as possible – he rolled for the final time.

“Yes! Nat twenty!”

You laughed as you looked for the result, the laugh turning into a slight moan when you found that you were going to be wearing nothing except for his denim vest. You’d never had sex with him before while wearing just his vest, but you knew for a fact that he was definitely going to enjoy seeing you completely bare apart from that single piece of clothing of his adorning your body.

A hand gently squeezed your thigh. “Are you happy with all the rolls? If there’s anything you want to reroll, we can-”

“No no! I’m perfectly happy with all of these rolls, thank you. I just can’t wait to see your face while I ride you in the back of that van.”

You and Eddie headed out to his van, making sure nobody was around, and climbed into the back. Your boyfriend smacked your ass as he closed the doors behind him, shrugging his denim vest off. His lips met yours in a messy, heated kiss as he began to undress you, stopping briefly to pull your shirt off over your head before he resumed his assault. His teeth grazed against your bottom lip while his deft hands skimmed over your sides and up to your bra clad breasts. Your own hands tangled themselves in his hair, your lips parting to allow his tongue entry into your mouth. You felt his hands pull the cups of your bra down and moaned into the kiss when one of his thumbs rubbed against a sensitive, hardened nipple. His fingers had you moaning as he pinched and pulled at it, his mouth moving to kiss and suck your neck where it met your collarbone. You pictured the pretty purple that spot would be there tomorrow as he bit into your skin and quickly lapped and sucked at the mark to soothe it.

“Eds,” you huffed out through an uneven breath as his kisses made their way down to the nipple he’d bullied. His lips surrounded it and he gently tongued and sucked at it while he played with your other nipple. One of your hands gently tugged his hair while the other dipped under the back of his shirt for you to claw at the skin. With your groin flush against his, even through your clothes you could feel his hardened cock rubbing against you. You ground against him, your hips rolling at a slow rhythm and creating delicious friction. He bucked his hips up against yours as he switched to suck your other nipple briefly before he removed your bra completely.

“Fuck, you’re gonna look so hot in my vest,” he groaned out as he fumbled with the button and zipper on your jeans. “Your tits are gonna look fan-fucking-tastic.”

You briefly moved off Eddie’s lap for a moment, not missing the needy whine that left him as you did, and kicked off your shoes with your socks, jeans, and underwear. You felt his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of you as you made a show of putting on his denim vest. The way he gently palmed yourself as you cupped your breasts over the denim had you growing increasingly wetter down below.

You nudged Eddie’s hands away from his crotch to pull his hardened, throbbing cock out of his boxers and jeans and smirked when you heard him hiss at the sudden hit of air against his bare skin.

“You ready to cuff me, baby?” you asked as you straddled his hips once more, casually running a finger up and down his length as you did so.

You obediently put your hands behind your back when he held up the handcuffs from his room. Eddie sat up and clicked the handcuffs into place, not even needing to look to see what he was doing. He gave them a gentle tug.

“Are they too tight at all? Too loose?”

You shook your head. “My wrists are very comfortable, thank you.”

He smiled and placed a tender kiss on your jaw. “Are you sure you definitely want to continue? You don’t want to stop and go back to the trailer?”

“I’m sure, Eds. I promise I’ll let you know if I want to stop.”

“Vice versa.”

Eddie took out a condom and rolled it over his shaft before guiding your slick pussy over the head. He gave you one last look – a chance for you to change your mind – and allowed you to take in the tip of his cock when you nodded at him enthusiastically.

The feeling of him stretching you out as you gradually took more of him into your pussy had you gasping and tipping your head back. Once he was fully sheathed, the two of you moaned and Eddie stroked your thighs. A lazy smile pulled at his lips as you rolled your hips forward.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart. Why don’t you start bouncing like a good girl for me?”

You did as you were told without question, beginning to move yourself up and down his dick slowly. The feeling of him moving in and out of you without your clit being touched elicited a needy whine out of you, praying he’d touch you and rub circles into the bundle of nerves soon. Your wrists met the resistance of Eddie’s handcuffs as you tried to move them into a more comfortable position, leaning back slightly and making his cock hit your insides at a different angle.

Calloused and firm fingers cupped your chin and tilted your head down so that you were looking into the brunette’s eyes, bringing your face closer to his so that he could caress your lips with his own teasingly.

“Eddie, please,” you whined, speeding up the action of your hips a little in the hopes it would convince him to touch you where you really needed him to.

“Please what, sweetheart?” His tongue darted out of his mouth and swiftly swiped across your bottom lip. “Use your big girl words and tell me what you want.”

A whimper escaped you. “Please touch my clit while I ride you. I’ll be such a good girl, I promise.”

“Only if you keep bouncing for me, princess.”

You started to bounce on his cock harder, taking him in to the hilt and rocking against him each time he was fully submerged inside you. The moan he unleashed reverberated through his chest and went straight to your core.

“You like that?” you asked smugly as you slammed back down onto him and rolled your hips.

“Fuck yeah, keep doing that,” he replied breathlessly. The fingers grasping your chin pulled you in for a sloppy, messy kiss while the thumb of his free hand began to rub your clit just the way you liked it. You whimpered into his mouth as your tongues met, the combination of his thumb stroking your bundle of nerves while his cock reached deep within you began the build up of heat and pleasure in your belly.

“Eds, fuck, please keep doing that, I’m gonna cum,” you pleaded.

He released your chin and used that hand to prop himself as he started to thrust and buck his hips upward to meet yours, somehow pushing himself deeper into you as you both moved faster, trying to chase down your climaxes. Your wrists pulled against the now warm metal encasing them as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. You felt Eddie rub at your clit harder and quicker as his breathing became heavier.

“God, fuck Y/N I can’t hold it in any longer, I’m gonna…” his words were cut off by the high pitched moan that left his mouth as his hips stuttered and he came inside the condom. The movements of his thumb became sloppier as he emptied himself, but it was still enough for you to cum too, your bouncing ceasing as you ground against his hand and his cock.

As the wave of pleasure subsided, Eddie retrieved the key for the handcuffs from his jeans pocket and unlocked the cuffs, removing them and tossing them aside. You gently lifted yourself off him and rubbed your wrists. He took one into his hand and pressed delicate kisses to the reddened skin before removing his condom and tying a not in it ready to throw it away later. You lay down beside him and cuddled up to his side and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You did so good, sweetheart. How are your wrists? Do they hurt?” He gently traced his fingers over the red marks before you intertwined your fingers with his and brought his hand to your lips.

“They ache a little, but they’re not too sore or anything. Did you enjoy it?”

The brunette gave you a gentle squeeze. “Absolutely. I was right when I said you’d look really fucking hot in my vest. I think that image is seared onto my brain for life now.”

You giggled and moved so that you were resting on his chest and looking into his eyes. “Good. I’d hate for you to forget how great I look in your clothes.”

Fingers traced patterns on your skin as he took in the fucked out expression on your face. “How did I get so lucky, hm? Beautiful personality, beautiful body, beautiful tits. You’re the whole package.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, big guy,” you responded as you wiggled your brows at him, enjoying the way he laughed and looked into your eyes. “I love you.”

He beamed, the happiness lighting up his face. “I love you too, Y/N.”

Tagging @druigswitch just like you said I could I hope that’s okay iuhsgkshgd (I may have just outed myself as one of your anons on your other blog but that’s fine lmao)

[inklores]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒.

pairing: henry!sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary: sherlock holmes needs to find his intrepid little sister. clara bedi wants to keep his sharp nose off her trail. (word count: 3.1k)

content contains: fluff, sherlock being bad with women, slight strangers to lovers but they're both smart idiots

author's note: made originally for a class assignment but i'm too proud of it to keep it hidden away in my google docs!! enjoy

FUMES OF SMOKE lifting from the corners of his lips, he thumbed the lapis silk tie the pamphlet was bound by. The rhythmic movement was a rehearsed habit of his, charting keen thoughts that were falling into place.

Tea in the Parlor

Magazine of Modern Womanhood

25 April 1884

“A Problem With No Name. I’ve first heard that uttered so solemnly beneath the breath of a mother amid other mothers over the scent of teacakes and the English brew that her hands had surely processed the week before. Another cried. As your humble magazine writer, there have been women beyond our teatime who had answers to my questions. Those who sort matchsticks in factories, who raise children, who nurse other children. Those who live in the fine estates of Westminster, lodging houses along Greater London, and flats bordering Whitechapel, all have the same problem. The groping truths to their lamentations, brought into light when the children were away and their husbands attended to important business over a glass of sherry at their gentleman’s clubs,—”

Something more than a scoff and less than a laugh escaped Holmes.

“—were provoking. Just what was this nameless problem? A whisper that refuses to be said. The bond of pain, of womanhood, of the searing feeling that something great shall arrive to our fair England.”

— C.E. Babbington.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’re not mistaking me as someone with whom you are at odds with.”

Clara wore burgundy today.

Or indigo to a sharp eye, moreso if she sat in the dusky shade rather than by the window where sunlight was allowed to stream through the frosted glass tiles. The heat of the afternoon, Clara could tolerate. The brisk cold, the musk of tobacco, pomade, and fine English leather that filled her office—all mingling together to create one scent that floated around the man who stood in front of her— she virtually could not.

Well, “office” may have been a playful nudge to her ego. It was more of a closet with a pen, a hook to hang her coat when there was a chill, a canister of her favorite tea matched with her precious teapot, and a small sideboard that she used to stash her extra paper. Clara had spent enough time in that little closet to learn its quirks and commodities. The shutters would not close in blustery weather unless they were bound by a scarf. The gentleman who would take his Saturday morning coffee and eggs always found something to guffaw about in the newspaper. Clara knew because she could hear the fervor of his chortles from one story up. The fifth floorboard from the door creaked with the slightest movement and she had garnered the will to purchase a rug that softened footsteps over the parquet.

Now if only she could purchase a rug to wrap around the man filling her tiny corner with the fumes of… man.

A tall man. Haughty by the way he stood. He looked strong and sturdy, weaned on the finest food money could buy. Clara wondered if he teethed on crumpets and caviar as a baby. His clothing may have been picked to feign oneness with the people of England, but she noticed a grain on his breasted black coat. His crisp white shirt boasted no wrinkle, cinched around his neck by a silk ascot the color of charcoal. Chestnut curls spilled across his head—sharing no unified form—and fighting to be free of the pomade that gleamed in the dimness of the lamplight. She imagined an artless tumble of locks when he was nose-deep in a case. An errant strand fell over his brow, softening his countenance where his tone failed to.

“Have you anticipated me, Miss Bedi?”

It was Clara’s mistake for stopping short of her movements. Her fingers froze on the handle of her teapot and it was then she realized the incriminating ink stains that blotched her bronzed fingers.

She did not. He knew that. He likely knew what she had for breakfast as well. Hence the cloying pride that laced his query.

A tickle caught in her throat and she swallowed tightly to preserve her pride as she arched a dark brow. “No, I have not, but I applaud your effort. Nobody contemplates and makes a theater out of their face quite like you.”

Looking up from the tea she was pouring, Clara barely caught the indignant twitch in his face, even as his mountainous posture was unrelenting. For a man who was presumed to be discreet, he was quite eye-catching.

He dropped his gaze down to the lonely armchair and side table Clara would enjoy her tea in. It was the one perpetually surrounded by her basket of stained pen tips and folded newspapers— Clara had the habit of saving old prints—bits of thread, scraps of silk in cooler hues, linen from occasional embroiders, and stacks of books from Edith that never make it back to the shelf, being moved around constantly on the empty promise of being read to completion.

It was a detective’s heaven.

“The name ‘Holmes’ is beginning to mean quite a deal in this country,” her eyebrows slanted, copper eyes filled with constellations, “and do you think I would be in my position if I did not know?”

“Precisely why you flinched when I used your name and not your pen name.” His voice was rich as a fine velvet she let her hands graze over at a textile stand, but detached. “Deceit. To hide the plain truth, just as frills and elegant coifs do. Yes, it may dress you like a powder puff—” she parted her lips in protest but his eyes glimmered like opals, he was clearly not done—“but the man holding the pen is entirely different. In that…”

Her grip on her teacup could not get any tighter, for one tremor to rattle the porcelain would have him arriving quicker to the deduction he savored for last.

“He is not a man at all, is he?”

She watched in bated, almost nonexistent, breath—wondering how quickly she could get her hands on the cake spade lying unfashionably by the crumbs of a Dundee cake she had scarfed down the night before—as he fished a blue silk tie that bookmarked the yellowed book she just realized he held.

“How does a C.E. Babbington become… the elusive Clara Eashwar Bedi?”

A wave of cold took her from head to toe. If Clara wasn’t gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles quickly whitening, she was sure her knees would’ve given out. She stared down at the pretty silk tie, and then at the folded pamphlet he slid over the varnished surface, the black ink script almost snickering at her in mockery.

His words came as fluidly as water, uttered with a stone-cold expression she figured was his mask for his famous deductions.

“Four separate purchases of pens and paper from three different vendors.”

Spreading her tracks. No writer who desired anonymity would so foolishly expose herself by making a reputation with one seller.

He was studying her closet-office now. A satin kerchief protected his hand as he chose a stained pen to scrutinize. “Bills from Whitechapel. Cheaper ink—a shadowy writer such as yourself would not earn her dues to spend carelessly on finer supplies than supper for the night. Or silk ties to make her mark. To create a name.”

Cheaper ink bleeds easier. Her fingers, a blatant victim.

“Bedi.” He tasted her last name on his tongue for a moment, eyebrows pinched as if he was trying to paint a map in his acute mind. “When did your father leave India?”

Her throat was dry but she swallowed down her apprehension and managed out, “Fifteen years ago.”

“Does he work on the docks?”

“Worked.”

A flash of humanity lightened his eyes and the man of a chilly, pragmatic acumen faltered. “Apologies.”

The sound that tumbled from Clara’s lips could only be described as something between a shaking sigh and an aggravated grumble. “What is it you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“You write for the Magazine of Modern Womanhood,” he continued, making Clara bite back an exhausted groan. “Yet you affect a pseudonym. Why?”

“I don’t write for the magazine, I write alongside it,” Clara mumbled. Why was she entertaining him? “I don’t have the means to print my pieces independently— as you so cleverly deduced by my purchases of ink.”

“Your pieces… and other submissions, I’d bet.”

“Are you a betting man?” She lifted a brow curiously, daring him to stop this frivolous quadrille of tongues and get to the point.

“A cipher with the fingerprints of my sister was published in the personal advertisements column of your magazine, The Pall Mall Gazette, and The Journal of Dress Reform. It’s our mother’s interest she hopes to attract and with the choice of your publication, she has a good start.”

“God, there’s more of you?” she asked, feigning horror. “Is the world ready for that?”

(But where the name Mycroft Holmes was etched in cold stone and proud, old money, she had the sense the name Sherlock meant something else. Something whisper quiet like a dusty novel on crumpled velvet. Elegant with solitude.)

Sherlock took a step forward, his fingers still thumbing the fraying corner of the book. “Have you any idea where she might be?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance Edith had more to say of my “ostrich-like” nature than my sister.”

Clara couldn’t help the kick in her voice as she responded, “Appropriate.”

He smiled at her, a Private Investigator brand of Smile that Clara knew well enough from the numerous times a constable had approached the magazine for its inflammatory words, and which only deserved a Young Journalist Smile.

But what he said snagged her attention as well as a good story. Eudoria’s daughter. Little Enola. 

Edith had mentioned her once or twice. Clara might have seen a glimpse of a little brown-headed girl with quick feet, dashing about Ferndell Hall when ladies of a particular ilk huddled around a table, bearing swords on their tongues and determination in their hearts. Clara typically stood behind her bolder friend, Edith, clutching a pen that barely made a scratch against her worn pocketbook. She knew little for the illustrious Sherlock Holmes to knock on her door… but little was more than enough to be cunningly dissected and deduced by him.

“Enola’s missing?” she asked slowly, hoping to stall but Sherlock Holmes was not a man for idle chatter. Her head shook in a disappointing, deceiving refusal. “I’m sorry, but I have the faintest idea as to where she’s gone and why.”

“I find that highly improbable,” said Holmes in a tone that suggested he too was done with this waltz. “You’re protective of your name, or, names —”

“And what will you do if I use your name, Mr. Holmes?” Clara countered rigidly, her heart leaping into her throat. “Loudly? With proper dictation? Letting everyone know your business more than you’d like?”

“Then you’d also find yourself and Edith in a very difficult position, one that I’ve made clear to her and will to you if I must,” Sherlock warned, dropping his voice to a decibel that made a chill rattle her spine. A hint of vague frustration was tangled within his dull humor. 

Clara stilled, watching as he turned over the book and leafed through toward the back cover. Stuffed in the spine was a folded napkin and he paired it with the newspaper clipping for her viewing displeasure. Wrinkled and white and stamped with the crumbs of a pastry, her eyes were naturally drawn to the hasty scrawl in ink:

“C.E.B.

Matter of Bill —

Tea Rooms”

The same dismayed expression from when he dissected her alter ego took ahold of her face once more, even if she tried to disguise it by a clench of her jaw. 

“Macaroons could do with some attention but Edith has enough to worry about,” said Holmes. “She’ll notice the missing book from her seditious collection but not the message hidden inside— a message written to Babbington, who I understand is an intrepid young woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of what the proper connections can do for a man.” The distant, icy blue of his eyes warmed. “I asked of your father— a man who likely worked too hard for too little a reward and you, his daughter, silently fighting in favor of a bill that will help the men and women like him.”

“My,” Clara gasped, “Mr. Holmes, I didn’t take you for a man of politics.”

The stray little curl swished across his brow as he shook his head. “Oh, I’m far from it.”

She hummed curiously. “Then, what do you fancy? People? Poetry? Probably not. It’s your cases that keep you warm at night, which is why you hunt your own sister in blind circles like a dog chasing his tail.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “If Edith tells you nothing, I will say even less. Trust your sister… and the future. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She made to go around him, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she did, until a bleak and dare she say, concerned mutter caught her ear.

“She’s a child.”

“By my understanding, you’ve abandoned her once, Mr. Holmes. In the pursuit of where your mind takes you and little of your heart,” Clara said, more sharply than was her wont. 

“I beg your pardon.”

The anger in his voice flared like a bleeding heart. A man who was a fire next to gunpowder, ready to speak his mind and snatch the rug beneath a pair of unsuspecting feet. She could loathe him for being so perceptive and intelligent, yet plainly missing the changes of the world. But that tone… He was no longer a brilliant mind or a pleasantly distant man. He was a brother who wanted to know where his sister was.

And if there was ever a case that Sherlock Holmes would encounter, it would leave no secrets he could not crack.

Clara turned around, stained fingers toying with each other, teeth worrying her lower lip to a reddening bruise. Amusement danced in her eyes, quenching the frustration that twisted his sharply cut features.

“You have it,” she admitted after a pause, cheeks growing warm. “Because I’m a woman who believes in second chances… and the calling of her heart rather than her mind. And a desolate, hopeless bachelor tugs at that heart, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s face contorted incrementally, the corners of his lips curling up just a tad. It was not a smile. Another part of her would have thought so but not the smart part. Still, it was an odd expression that made Clara think it was gracious.

“I’m not aware of such a reputation.” Fond.

“Figures,” she sighed, eliciting a huff of laughter from him. The sound was enough to make her face crack with a smile. “Enola’s sixteen. And if she’s anything like her mother and brother, she won’t go down with a fight nor will she be drawn away from it. And the real fight is coming. I advise you to start there.”

He squinted at her. Then at the napkin. Then at the clipping signed by C.E. Babbington. The fight.

“A problem with no name,” he murmured.

“It has a name, Mr. Holmes. Whether it will be spoken is decided by men like you and your older brother,” she added, rightly hopeful. “Perhaps that will change.”

Silence settled comfortably between them until the pounding of her heart became too loud for her ears to bear. She cleared her throat and pulled the knob to her door, returning her gaze to Sherlock.

“Until next time, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled. “I hope your game finds its feet. My best to your sister.”

He tilted his chin in an understanding nod, hand pressing against the curly blue tie that still sat next to his evidence, her pamphlet. To her surprise, he waited. One hand disappeared in the flap of his jacket and came out holding a fine black pen shot with gold trimming. To a man like Holmes, it was a pen to write some very useful reckonings of the mind but to Clara, it looked more valuable than what she earned in a week. It clinked as he set it on her desk, accompanied by that slight, mysterious smile.

“Trust a bill won’t be made,” Sherlock assured, amused as he approached her. He extended the blue ribbon to her.

“And a secret will be kept,” she enforced, fixing him with a look as she curled her fingers over the forbidden silk tie, folding it into his palm.

His hand was cold, callused like the reward of cracking cases. Yet it managed to send a surge of heat swirling in her chest, akin to lightning crossing a black sky.

(And did she intend the other thing she did too? The split-second brush of her fingertips over his palm and the way the ball of his throat was disturbed by a tight swallow. Savoring the softness of the lapis silk strand against his pale flesh and her copper skin.)

He lingered by the doorframe for more than a second. Sherlock looked at her— perhaps a more bewitching case with the narrowest twists and the sharpest of turns. A shadow of a smile graced his prim lips and he let out a delectable, ruminative hum. “Is that a promise I would be foolish to break, Miss Babbington?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes.” She watched him depart, a puzzling black figure who had more to his voice than what he decided to speak. 

“Oh, on the subject of hearts…”

Sherlock paused and turned around. He studied the meticulous way she swept her indigo skirt behind her and made him wait until she finally, painstakingly met his gaze. Only then she made him realize how beholden he was to her unfinished prose.

“While surely hopeless for a… perspicacious man with such a baffling pigheadedness,” Clara murmured, smiling lopsidedly, “do keep yours open.”

Before he left with another curt, reserved nod, Sherlock ruminated on her words. Her tone— he barely noticed the way he wondered how all of her other pretty, printed words would sound if they were turned from ink to… to… that voice.

No… she was not a case. She was a quandary. An unsolved riddle that he cracked with the full assumption that the winning hand was in his, only to turn over his cards and see that it was she who had the royal flush.

What fresh hell was this?

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @911onabc, @buddiearemydads, and @ebdaydreamer

So i've actually got two for ya'll today. First is from my a/b/o kidnapped mpreg Buck and the second is brand new, like just started writing it 30 minutes ago and its teen! Buck who comes to live with Maddie and Chimney, who is trying to find the balance of parenting (sort of) and friend, with the added trouble of fighter! Eddie who is two years older than Buck.

The car bounced under her as Buck threw in the last of their luggage.  Neither of them knew how long they would be gone, so they essentially packed every item of clothing they owned, which really wasn’t a lot.

Maddie hadn’t been in L.A. for too long and acquired very little in that time. Buck had been living out of his suitcase and a duffle, but that was nothing new to him.  Before coming to L.A., the omega was always ready to leave at a moment’s notice and since he still had yet to find his own place after leaving Abby’s, all Buck owned was now in the trunk.

Maddie’s eye roamed around the jeep, her jeep, the very same car that she gave to Evan to escape their parents.  Stored away last year after purchasing his newer jeep, that he then sold alongside her car just yesterday.  “Just to add to our nest egg.” Buck had explained after cashing the check and before she could even ask what vehicle they’re supposed to use now, the younger omega took her to a storage lot and revealed, the blue jeep.

Their freedom.

It was still in great shape, well taken care of. Well loved.  “I wasn’t going to sell it, but I felt I had to move on from the kid that drove this jeep all over trying to find himself. Storing it away let me keep the last part of you I had and allowed to me to grow up.” Buck explained.

It was sentimental and smart. The jeep was the last car Doug would even think to look for, since he’d only seen the cars that were now going to a used car lot.

And here we have Chimney catching Buck (and Eddie) at the illegal fight club.

This was not hurt being covered by angry cries. This was a 16 old kid who had lied his ass off about a movie with friends, and instead was at an illegal fight club with a gravely injured fighter being attended to by Hen and Bobby. This was Buck putting his entire new life in L.A. in jepardy.

Buck’s mouth opened and close, and Chimney could see the half ass lie forming, “The truth Buck!”

The teens jaw clicked shut, hardening as his blue eyes flickered over to the scattered crowd of fighters, onlookers, and betters intermingled with police officers. He was looking for someone, Chim realized, and he followed the young man’s gaze, trying to find who he assumed was Buck’s partner in crime.   Most of the people left were sleezy older men, scantily dressed women, and a mix of battered fighters. Then Chimney spotted him.

Hidden further back by a beat up two-door truck was a shirtless young man, late teens if Chimney had to guess, with large brown eyes darting around in worry and concern. He was slim, but in good shape, based on the lean muscles of his arms and defined abs. The guy was sporting a few bruises on his chest and his lip was busted open and swollen. Mix in the sweat and messy chestnut locks of hair, Chimney clocked him as one of the fighters. And when the young man’s eyes landed on him and Buck they narrowed in on Chimney with underlying threat and anger. This was who Buck was looking for.

In the corner of his vision, Chimney caught Buck shaking his head, and Chimney gave his attention back to girlfriend’s brother, “Did he bring you here?” he asked.

Tagging: @bekkachaos @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @thekristen999

[moonpiepig]

Love-struck - Chapter 7

“Who are you and how do you know my mother?” Y/N demanded, standing her ground and ignoring her muscles screaming for escape. 

The mayor laughed darkly. “Oh, I think you know the answer to that, little devil slayer.” He turned his back to her and ran his hand along a bookcase, stopping at a slim, red, leatherbound book and pushing it further into the bookshelf with a flourish. The bookcase clicked and swung inwards, revealing a life sized statue of a man with a large tome in each hand. Black candles were stood at the foot of the statue, morphing and twisting Zeref’s sharp, stone features in the flickering light. “I was the one who found your traitor mother’s body.” 

A spark of recognition lit in Y/N’s mind. A younger man with chestnut hair instead of white, wrinkles less deep and two arms instead of one, called and beckoned her smiling father to work in her memory. A man who had sat across from her at the dinner table, carving a roast chicken her mother had made while her father dished out vegetables. Her mother packing a suitcase and rushing out the door. This man dragging her inside her home, bloodied, after she had been found. “Why aren’t you at the village?”

“These past few years have been especially rough,” he spat and touched his shoulder where his sleeve was carefully pinned. “After your mother’s efforts to thwart our plans, more and more cockroaches crawled out from the floorboards trying to put a stop to everything we worked hard for. We had to split up into smaller groups to gather more followers and raise an army for Lord Zeref.”

“The eggs…”

“Exactly. I was going to raise and train the beasts until that monster burnt everything I built to ashes. I was hoping you would have a similar fate…” The mayor closed the hidden room abruptly and took a step closer to Y/N. “But no matter. I can deal with you instead!” 

Y/N launched herself backwards as black clouds formed around the mayor, splayed her palms and sent dark, crackling energy towards him, just as the door sprung open and Laxus sprinted inside, shouting her name and bracing for a fight. The dark lightning hit his chest at full force and he crashed into the desk, sending everything on top flying, and crying out in pain. Papers floated to the ground and a brandy glass shattered upon impact. Y/N scanned the room but the mayor was nowhere to be seen. She rushed over to Laxus, her heart pounding in her ears and her stomach lurched once she took in the scene before her. Laxus was breathing jaggedly and a large piece of broken wood had pierced through his chest. Blood ran down from the wound, soaking into his t-shirt and dripping into a pool on the floor. Y/N fell to her knees and pressed hard around the wood, desperately trying stop the flow and choking back stinging tears.

“It’ll be okay,” she croaked. “We’ll get you to the infirmary and you’ll get fixed up in no time.”

He shook his head slowly, frowning with effort. She felt his large, warm hand envelop hers, pulling it away from the wound and up to his lips. He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his shining eyes. “I’m glad you came back,” he whispered and took his last breath. 

The world stopped and fell silent and Y/N stared at Laxus’ serene face, willing him to move. And then two year’s worth of unspoken words crashed down on top of her and her lungs exploded with painful sobs as she held his face in her hands, kissing him gently and begging him to wake up. Eventually, exhaustion took over and she sat on the floor, cradling him in her arms, tears dried up. Brandy had mixed with Laxus’ blood and the fragments of glass lay nearby. 

A thought struck Y/N like a match supporting a tiny flame of hope. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the largest piece of glass and held it up to the light. The glass was dull and reflected coloured lights that did not exist, omitting her reflection completely. She dropped the shard and examined her surroundings carefully. Everything appeared exactly as she remembered it from the last time she was there. Movement caught her eye from a corner of the room, a dark, floating mist, barely visible. She whipped around to face it, summoning dark sparks from deep within her that coursed down through her arms and balled in her palms. She raised her hands and the lightning shot towards the mist, forcing the mayor’s form to appear as it hurt him. Laxus’ body faded into nothing and the desk looked untouched. 

“Well done,” the mayor said, slightly breathless with pain. “You broke the illusion much quicker than last time.”

“You were the guy at the farm?!” She lunged at him, swinging her right arm towards his face. He dodged and the breath was knocked out of her as his fist connected with her stomach. She stumbled back and grabbed a large tome from a shelf and slammed it into the side of his head, sending him crashing into a bookcase. Y/N rushed forward, dark energy coursing through her and brought her arm down into him, but just before she reached him, he vanished and the lightning cracked the ground, tearing up the stone floor and leaving a large crater. Anger welled up, burning her from the inside and she frantically searched for the black mist revealing his location. “NO MORE TRICKS!” she yelled into the empty space. 

“Fine.” He appeared behind her, grabbing a fistfull of her hair and bringing her to her knees. “You have caused me more trouble than you are worth, girl. You and your bitch mother.”

Black spots danced before her and fury numbed her pain. Darkness blossomed from her elbow down to her fingertip and the energy around her grew. Her mum’s smiling faces appeared in her mind. A cold pew. Mumbled verses. Burning sage. A warm hug. Her mum’s perfume. Her body crumpled and motionless in the grass. “How dare you bad mouth her,” she shouted. “She saw right through your motives. She died trying to fix things. Zeref will destroy us all!”

The current grew stronger, dancing around her limbs and distorting menacing shadows writhing along the walls. She twisted and jerked her elbow backwards until it found it’s soft target and the mayor doubled over, spewing curses at her. His grip on her hair loosened just enough for her to shake herself free and shoulder him to the ground. 

“You think you’ve figured it all out just like your mother did.” The man flailed, grabbed a small knife concealed beneath his jacket and swung it at her legs, grazing her skin enough to draw blood. “You stand there and blame the village for her death-”

“She tried to escape! She wanted to leave but you all trapped her,” Y/N yelled. “You gave her no choice but to… but to…” The memories of that day, alone in the bathroom with nothing but a candle and a book came flooding back. Bane particles had swarmed around her, infecting her as it was absorbed into her body and turned into a dark kind of magic. She saw a demon in the dark, unsure if he was real or not, watching with glee as she writhed in pain. The feeling of betrayal still left a bitter taste in her mouth as the echoes of her screams for her parents rang out. 

“Well, I should at least thank you for killing her,” the mayor sneered. “It made my job a lot easier that day.” He leaped forward, grabbed the brandy glass from the desk and hurled it at her face before attempting to disappear behind another illusion. Y/N’s vision went blurry as the glass collided with her forehead, slicing a deep gash above her eye. Blinded by the blood trickling down her face and rage, she let the lightning course through her and then splayed her palms once more, sending a massive blast of darkness into the mayor’s back. He screamed as it hit him and he crashed through the entrance to the office. There was a sickening crack as he slammed against the corridor wall and collapsed to the ground, unconscious but twitching from the current flowing through him. 

Y/N stepped out into the corridor to find Laxus sprinting closer. She saw his steps falter once he observed her face slick with blood and the black marks of devil slayer magic painted on her arm mixing brilliantly with the red welts and scrapes already blossoming into bruises. She forced a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, and watched the black marks slowly begin to fade. Laxus pulled her into a hug and her muscles relaxed and the adrenaline and anger waned, leaving her exhausted.

“What happened?” Laxus asked, his voice muffled in her hair. 

“He…” Y/N swallowed her words. She knew if Laxus found out that he was the person behind her torture during their time apart, he would want revenge. No amount of pain inflicted on the man could bring enough satisfaction for either of them and Laxus would only be burdened by this knowledge, just as she was. “He knew my parents,” she mumbled, and felt him nod with understanding. She had told him about her past when they were teenagers and he had accepted her then, just as she had always accepted him and all that hid behind his mask of strength. Laxus knew she was a murderer capable of hurting those she held close but still, he was here, holding her tightly as if she might fade away, tethering her to the shore whenever her guilt almost drowned her.  

“Now I definitely think our job here is done, Y/N,” he said softly, unwrapping his arms from around her and offering one to escort her back to their room. She agreed and let herself be led away without looking back at the unconscious old man. 

Y/N awoke to the sound of Laxus triumphantly waving a rather large pouch of coins by the entrance. “That’ll last us a good few weeks,” she remarked, slowly propping herself up and wincing from the pain pulsing deep in her muscles. 

“Not with the plans I have in mind,” Laxus smirked, bounding up to the bed to sit by her side. 

“Oh yeah? And what exactly are those plans?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he chuckled, grinning widely and resting one hand on her leg. His eyes softened suddenly and he tilted her chin up towards him, hesitating slightly before closing his eyes and gently pressing his warm lips against hers. The uncomfortable barrier between them shattered as the familiarity of the kiss brought them closer. Laxus drew back, eyebrows raised in question and she answered with a smile. He cupped her face and kissed her deeper, more urgently, searching for the memories of each other that had been lost. She could feel her heart pounding as she reached inside his shirt and traced the lines of his body, slowly making her way down until - Laxus moaned softly and hoisted her up onto his lap. He undressed her, careful not to injure her further, and kissed her down past the nape of her neck to the curve of her breast, teasing with a flick of his tongue across her nipple. She fumbled with his zip and they fell into an old routine, moving mechanically and enjoying the thrill of discovering each other again until they lay wrapped up in each others arms, exhausted.

“We should shower and get going soon,” Laxus murmured into her shoulder. “We have a train to catch.”  

[bakersstreetirregulars]

CROB: A New Way to Obtain Cookies

To refer to the dev log referenced for this post, click here. The new system is slated for launch on Pi Day, March 14th, 2023.

🌰 Extra, extra! A new way to obtain Cookies is coming soon! Chests are on their way out for Cookies and Pets, and guarantees are on their way in!

💎 That’s correct, Chestnut Cookie. The gacha system is receiving a massive downsizing due to the planned removal of the Cookie and Pet Gacha. Instead, you’ll buy and unlock Cookies and Pets in a new way. Play in Cookie Trials and achieve the proper ranks to receive a new progress-tracking resource called Trial Star Jellies. Collect enough of these Jellies to unlock new Cookies and Pets on a progressing track by receiving their first copy for free. The crown jewel on this new system is that this new tracker allows you to unlock Legendary Cookies & Pets for free without painfully drawn-out processes, gacha luck, mileage hoarding, and unscrupulous packages. However, if you are in a serious rush, you’ll be able to buy them directly with Crystals.

Epic Cookie: 2,900 Crystals

Epic Pet: 1,900 Crystals

Legendary Cookie: 9,900 Crystals

Legendary Pet: 6,600 Crystals

🌰 If you already did really well with existing Cookie Trials and got a lot of Diamond Ranks, the Trial Star Jellies from those Trials will be applied automatically for free! Any Cookies and Pets you have before the 3/14 update are still yours to keep, so don’t worry about unlocking them again!

Upgrading Cookies

💎 You have your Epic Cookies unlocked. Now what? All you have to do is buy them with Crystals.

1 Epic Cookie: 45 Crystals

1 Epic Pet: 30 Crystals

1 Legendary Cookie: 3,600 Crystals

1 Legendary Pet: 2,400 Crystals

🌰 Like we mentioned earlier, Cookie Chests, Pet Eggs, and even Cookie Mileage are gonna be ALL GONE! Spirit Potions will be split into Cookie Potions for upgrading Common, Rare, and Epic Cookies, and Pet Potions for upgrading Common, Rare, and Epic Pets. Legendary Cookie and Pet Potions are gonna be your go-to for upgrading your Legendaries, and will be offered as high rank prizes for New Cookie Cups!

Updated Cookie Trial Rewards

💎 To match the occasion, some of the Hard Mode ranking rewards will become available in Normal Mode. To fill the gap, higher ranks in Hard Mode Trials will offer a Legendary Cookie or Pet Potion while a New Cookie Cup is ongoing in that trial. In addition, all “My Trial” chances will vanish. Normal Diamond Rank rewards will be improved greatly across all Trials to compensate this disappearance.

Temporary Exchange

🌰 A temporary shop will open until May 29th with the March 14th update. In this shop, you can redeem your old items for new items that will be added to the game to replace them.

1 Spirit Potion -> 1 Cookie Potion or Pet Potion

1 Special Spirit Potion -> 1 Special Cookie Potion or Special Pet Potion

5,000 Mileage Points -> 1 Legendary Cookie Potion

3,500 Mileage Points -> 1 Legendary Pet Potion

1,000 Mileage Points -> 1 Cookie Potion

700 Mileage Points -> 1 Pet Potion

1 Special/Supreme Cookie Key -> 45 Cookie Potions or 45 Cookies drawn

1 Special/Supreme Pet Key -> 45 Pet Potions or 45 Pets drawn

1 Great Cookie Key -> 3 Cookie Potions or 3 Cookies drawn

1 Great Pet Key -> 3 Pet Potions or 3 Pets drawn

1 Rare Cookie Key -> 5 Cookie Potions or 5 Cookies drawn

1 Rare Pet Key -> 5 Pet Potions or 5 Pets drawn

1 Spirit Potion Blueprint -> 1 Cookie Potion Blueprint or Pet Potion Blueprint

1 Supreme/Special Cookie Key Blueprint -> 5 Cookie Potion Blueprints

1 Supreme/Special Pet Key Blueprint -> 5 Pet Potion Blueprints

1 Great/Rare Cookie Key Blueprint -> 1 Cookie Potion Blueprint

1 Great/Rare Pet Key Blueprint -> 1 Pet Key Blueprint

💎 After the shop closes, all possible exchanges will happen automatically. If given a choice, all boldfaced options will be exchanged automatically by priority. Mileage afterwards will be spent as follows to the highest-possible option:

5,000+ -> 1 Legendary Cookie Potion per 5,000 Points

3,500 - 4,999 -> 1 Legendary Pet Potion for 3,500 Points

1,000 - 3,499 -> 1 Cookie Potion per 1,000 Points

700 - 999 -> 1 Pet Potion for 700 Points

699 or Below -> 1 Crystal per remaining Mileage Point

Other Notices

Any existing rewards for items (Keys, Spirit Potions, etc) that are about to be removed will be changed to the new Potions or Crystals

Meet Cookie events will be changed to Cookie Mastery

All Gacha Key formulas and the Spirit Potion formula will be removed from the Magic Laboratory

The following formulas will be added:

Cookie Potions x10: 5 Cookie Potion Blueprints (S) + 5 Gold Sugar Crystals (A) + 50,000 Coins (3 Day Cooldown)

Pet Potions x10: 5 Cookie Pet Blueprints (S) + 5 Gold Sugar Crystals (A) + 50,000 Coins (3 Day Cooldown)

Cookie Potions x20: 10 Cookie Potion Blueprints (S) + 1 Diamond Sugar Crystal (S) + 100,000 Coins (14 Day Cooldown)

Pet Potions x20: 10 Pet Potion Blueprints (S) + 1 Diamond Sugar Crystal (S) + 100,000 Coins (14 Day Cooldown)

[bonefall]

First of all, sorry for the quick unfollow and refollow, I don't know why Tumblr puts those two buttons so close together when in dashboard view. But anyway, interesting thoughts on the tribe! I'm particularly curious to know whether you had any thoughts on the naming system.

It always struck me as the most bizarre thing how the writers went to all the trouble of coming up with names based on poorly understood stereotypes of polysynthetic languages and then just... went and gave everyone a much shorter nickname so they wouldn't have to type the whole thing. Like what was even the point?

I found the way names worked in DotC to be the most intuitive and natural way a cat society would come up with names and it made perfect sense to me how the jump to the prefix-suffix system would go. The transition from descriptive phrase names to sentence-word style names in contrast feels like a much more drastic leap in comparison.

I'm also wondering if you have any thoughts on the historical memory of the tribe, whether as remembered by they themselves or by the splinter groups. Do you think the Clans would be able to recognize the tribe from any founding myth story of the Clans? Would the tribe have any stories regarding the formation of the Clans in turn? If given a description of say, The Sisters, do you think they could piece together that this is a splinter group?

Oh and finally I'm wondering about the Wards. How do you view the relationship between them? Do they serve a merely practical purpose in maintaining the territory or are they more central in defining the identity of a tribe cat? Is membership to one over another fixed or is it more fluid? Does this tripartite division play any part in tribe religion?

Names

I have a LOT of thoughts on the naming system. I don't completely hate it, honestly, but the Erins aren't getting any points for the way they implemented it. Not only did they make up a lowkey insulting stereotype of native-sounding names, but then they made fun of it in the field guides and the names are all so bad that they HAVE to be shortened.

And by bad, I mean that these names are simply unpleasant to read and say. Brook Where Small Fish Swim is an awkward sentence, it's long, it's not poetic. It could easily be Minnows in the Brook, Brook of Little Fish, and it still wouldn't be great but it's better!

Possible naming system tweaks

Unfortunately with my re-write I'm not trying to completely overhaul the naming system, but one tweak I DID consider is that a Tribe cat is born with a diminutive name (Fawn, Pebble, Sapling), and then when they're acknowledged as a full hunter they take a full name based on the baby name, plus anything noteworthy.

So for an example, Brook was born Trickle. For being an excellent fisher, she's given the name Brook of Minnows. Swoop of Chestnut Hawk was named Egg. There can also be 'legacy' names, for example, if Lamb's parent Oak died, they may take on the name "Oak's Branch" or "Sheep Asleep under Oaken Shade".

Rhyming would be common, most names invoke some sort of imagery, onomatopoeic names like "Pitterpatter" and "Babbling" happen occasionally

So, where the clan cats carry a suffix forever, a tribe cat just has a childhood name they're meant to grow out of. The evolution came from the Warriors deciding that a kitten is given both their persistent suffix AND a rank at birth, on behalf of their heavily structured society.

On that note, Tribe cats wouldn't be weird about names, in contrast to their Clan cousins. Changes are common, Lamb may have grown into Fearsome Ram at first, then renamed himself Sheep when his dad Oak died, some cats find their childhood names meaningful such as Stormfur's son Feather, so they keep it as part of the full title.

In a way, the full name would be more of a way to start conversation on the cat's life story... which is more relevant to the story-telling/cooperation based overhauls I made to their culture, which I'll get to in a moment

But am I actually going to use it?

I'm considering this system, but I don't know if I actually will. It doesn't actually address the true concern about the Tribe naming system, which is that these sorts of names themselves invoke bad memories of the disrespectful translation of Native American names by colonists (Oceti Sakowin nation in particular), and in trying to fix it I only ended up causing more similarities even though it was completely not my intention at all and I only realized it after I'd already made it.

I'm trying to sever the Tribe from indigenous American inspiration (these cats are in England) as much as possible without changing too much... so even though my reworked naming system would fit the culture I'm making the Tribe into, I think my smartest option would just be to not even touch it.

Historical Memory

The Tribe and the Clans are both actually getting a buff in remembering history; but the Tribe's storytelling skills are unmatched.

The Clan has a pretty clear history back to the SkyClan Exile, but is fuzzy on the details before then. The Tribe can remember when Clear Sky and Co left the mountains, their names, and a simplified description. After all, they've only had THREE Stonetellers between then and now.

They tell a lot of stories and have robust oral tradition. They fill boring travels, they get them through cold winters, they communicate morals and warnings through generations. Jokes, songs, legends, it's all highly valued.

Medics probably have a connection to these traditions as well, having clever quips and quick words is a sign of intelligence to Tribe cats.

The Cave Colony is often used for sacred storytelling events because of the natural acoustics, and Stoneteller's primary function is to share their knowledge and ancestral connections.

You CAN bother Stoneteller with just about anything if you're willing to make the journey, that's his job, he's there to relay advice from your grandpaw AND give his own input. Clan cats would be kind of shocked at how casually they contact the Tribe of Endless Hunting.

So, yes! They would absolutely be able to identify the Sisters as a splinter group, and in addition, they celebrate on the return of the Clan cats as long lost siblings come home!

The Relationship Between Wards

Is it a different river before the waterfall? Is it born twice in the valley? Nope! The Tribe of Rushing Water sees itself as one people. The Stone, Cave, and Valley Wards are like townsfolk, largely based on proximity to hunting grounds and tribemates you can coordinate a hunt with.

(They extend this mindset to the Clans as well, overjoyed to find them settling in the Lake territory, as the Lake is connected to their river.)

Of course, there's still a fair amount of home-Ward pride! But rivalries between Wards are friendly, and cats travel between colonies for any casual reason. Visiting friends, hunting a particular quarry, just needing a change of pace, attending a celebration, whatever.

In a crisis, the other two Wards will care for the vulnerable one, especially illness. Quarantining a Ward is VERY easy, and Stoneteller themself will come to advise its medics, utilizing their invulnerability to starvation and sickness. Other wards pick up the hunting slack.

Governance of Wards

Governance is also very loose. They aren't like clans who obey a Leader and their Deputy; decision making is very decentralized. The closest thing they probably have to authority is a particularly extroverted Medic or a respected elder who calls for and organizes votes and trials.

Religion is only tied to governance insofar as Stoneteller is a mouthpiece for their ancestors. Tribe cats don't see religion as a top-down force; every cat is already talking to their ancestors and can make decisions on their own behalf, Stoneteller simply directly relays advice.

In REALLY rough times, the Wards will gather together and make big decisions. This is probably spurred by any Ward voting to call for it, who then sends a messenger to fetch the others, and they meet in the Cave Colony.

But unlike the Clans, this does mean that there is no central organization. There is a VERY real risk of being ostracized if you're an unpleasant cat with no family. Telling someone that no one will hunt for them when they're old is an actual threat; but it's very rare that this happens.

To that end it's not impossible that members of a specific Ward don't live in the associated colony. Some cats like to have space, and live on the outskirts until they're too old to fend for themselves.

[puddingvalkyrie]

The Midnight Oil Café

(Working title)

The girl walked in and looked around. It was pretty cosy in here;  bright, patterned curtains, chunky wooden furniture. Every table had a little vase of flowers and a candle. The light would fade soon, and she was surprised the café was open this late.

  “Sorry to come in so close to closing time,” she apologised. “How long do I have? I don’t want to get in your way...”

  “All night,” came the answer. The barista turned around and leaned on the counter. He flicked a strand of his curly, black fringe out of his dark brown eyes. “We’re open ‘til dawn.” He flashed her a smile. “What’ll it be?”

  “How much is your cheapest drink?” the girl asked. She looked around for a menu. There was a blackboard propped up on the counter, but it had no prices.

  “Oh, it doesn’t work like that,” the man gave her another smile, this time showing his teeth. They were pointed. “We give you a drink, you give us a drink.” He leaned on the counter with both elbows, chin in both hands. “How about it?”

  “Uh...”

  “NO. No!” came a loud objection from a room behind the counter. A woman wrapped in colourful shawls with a cloud of chestnut hair tied in a high ponytail emerged with her hands on her hips. “We said we’re not doing that!”

  “But the customers expect it!” the barista complained, standing back up.

  “Don’t be fooled,” the woman addressed the girl. She took the man’s chin in one hand while she pointed at him with the other. “He’s not a suave, sexy vampire, he’s a DISASTER.”

  “I can relate...” the girl said, before she could stop herself. “To the disaster part, at least...”

  “It’s free,” the woman said. “IF you want to become a blood donor, great, we’re looking. If you don’t, you don’t. The two things are unconnected. What’ll it be?”

  “It’s... It’s really free?”

  “100%.”

  “I’ll just take a mudleaf infusion please.”

  “You got any special dietary requirements?” the woman asked. “Allergies?”

  “No. Um, I’ve had mudleaf before... no issues.”

  The girl sat in a corner. The sun was setting. She’d known this place had vampires, but this wasn’t how they usually worked... They were supposed to fly around at night and if you had a thing for vampires or whatever possessed people to become donors, you stood on your balcony in the evening. As far as she was aware, they didn’t bring tea and crumpets to the occasion. Bit hard to carry, when you’re a bat.

  “There you go, honey.” The woman put down a mug brimming with tea and slid over a plate. “Sorry if you don’t like eggs. Or garlic. Or parsley. Or butter.”

  “I didn’t order food,” the girl protested.

  “You look like you need it.” The woman lit the candle, then walked away.

The girl looked at the gently steaming egg, drowning in green-flecked butter. It would go cold pretty quickly. Pessimism fought hunger, and hunger won. The egg was delicious. The place was open all night, huh? This corner had a sofa, and it had plenty blankets draped over it... would they notice if she slept? Wait. Maybe that was the plan. Get customers sleepy and...

  “You can sleep there if you want,” the barista told her, making her jump. “I’ll keep an eye on your stuff.”

  “I don’t, um, I don’t have any ‘stuff’.”  She shifted uncomfortably. “Can I... can I maybe wash dishes or, or something?” Maybe it was better to stay awake. Keep busy.

  “Are you looking for a job?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” the girl replied, an idea occuring. She’d meant to go further, but... they wouldn’t look for her here, surely? The job would be at night, she wouldn’t have to risk being seen. Was she really far enough away, though? She could stay a few days and then leave. “Just for a, a week, maybe?”

The two vampires shared a look. “What’s your name, honey?” asked the woman.

  “Amara,” she replied.

  “This is Taran and I’m Divina,” the woman replied. “If it means anything to you, he’s a Le Fanu and I’m a Stollenheim.”

 “Oh. Um." It rang a distant bell. There were only a few vampire families, and fewer successful ones. Their names came up in the paper occasionally. Not that she paid attention to world news. What did it matter to her? She did wish she’d paid a little more attention. “...Not really, no.”

  “No?” Taran scratched his head. “I suppose no news is good news.”

  “There’s not much to do right now, so if you want, you can sleep for a few hours,” Divina told her. “You need a place to stay?”

  “Yes, but... I’ll figure it out later.”

  “Like I said, you can sleep there,” Taran said. “We’re kind of expecting it. For people to need to sleep.”

  “This is new to us, too,” Divina explained, seeing Amara’s confusion.

  “We only just opened and no-one’s ever done this before. That we know of,” Taran added.

  “Why?” Amara asked. “Why a café?”

  “Balcony trawling’s not my style.” Taran wrinkled his nose.

  “We actually met balcony trawling,” Divina continued. “We’d both had a bad night, and after some bickering and venting...”

  “Why does EVERYONE expect a relationship?!” Taran exploded. “I just want to be friends! I need at least three active donors and I am NOT polyamorous! I’m not anything-amorous!”

  “I keep telling you, if you insist on doing the suave vampire act, people will think you’re hitting on them,” Divina told him.

“I’m not hitting on them, I’m just being, you know, cool?” Taran replied. “I’m a cool guy.”

  Divina laughed. “You are. But you have to stop doing that, hun. If you want the romantic advances to stop.”

  “Why didn’t, er, why didn’t you like it?” Amara asked Divina. “The balcony... balcony... patrolling?”

  “Similar reasons,” Divina replied. “Plus I just feel like there’s a better way. I need blood to live, others need food, why not do something about it?”

   “So, uh, the pay...” If she was going to do this, she better do it right.

  “We’ll give you room and board,” Divina replied. “Plus, say, 3 Crowns a day spending money? How’s that?”

 Amara blinked. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “For washing dishes a few hours a night?”

 “I’m sure you’ll be doing more than that,” Divina said.

  “Like?” Amara tried not to squeak.

  “Like getting us fresh ingredients, baking, serving customers,” Divina clarified. “I’ll write you up a contract. It’s quiet, so I can do it now.”

  “Nothing blood related, right?” Amara asked.

  “Oh, we can’t afford paid blood donors, honey,” Divina told her. “You gotta be royalty or near as damn it for that.”

  “Okay then,” Amara agreed. “Sorry I just... I already had one bad contract.”

  “Is that what you’re running from?” Taran asked.

  Amara hunched up. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “What were we even talking about?” replied Taran obediently. “Divina?”

  “You were going to show Amara the kitchen and where we keep everything and what’s on the menu and everything else our new star employee needs to know,” Divina prompted.

  “I thought I was the star employee.” He pouted at her.

  “The nice thing about stars is, there’s more than one,” Divina pointed out.

   He held up a finger. “Ah, then I shall aim to be the moon, my dear Divina.”

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She smiled and shook her head.

  “Follow me, follow me, follow the kitchen wizard.” Taran beckoned to Amara.

  “He’s never used a stove in his life, don’t listen to him,” Divina remarked.

  “Do you want me to show her the kitchen, or don’t you?” Taran shot back.

  “Yes, yes, go ahead,” Divina replied. “Work should be fun. I, meanwhile, shall be writing the contract.”

  “Sounds super fun. I am so jealous.” Taran replied.

  “The equipment doesn’t look that different than the kitchen at... at my old place,” Amara remarked, ducking under Taran’s arm and eyeing the place critically. It was a lot smaller, barely bigger than a domestic kitchen. “Can you really serve customers with this?”

  “We’re not exactly expecting a lot of customers,” Taran explained. “Not at first, anyway. I guess we’ll just adapt as we go along?”

  “Yeah...”

  “You worked in a kitchen before then?” he asked.

  “Y-yeah.”

  “It doesn’t exist, gotcha.” He drummed his fingers on his cheek. “What’s your favourite kind of cake, Amara?”

  “Um... ginger. The housekeeper used to make us this delicious apple and ginger cake, before, before she...”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Taran scratched his head. “Non-kitchen question. Uh. Favourite... drink? No. Favourite animal?”

  “We weren’t allowed pets,”-Taran winced-“but I loved to go to the woods and listen to the birds sing.”

  “Birds, huh?” His face lit up. “Then check this out!” It was as though she blinked, but Taran was gone and a little nightingale stood in his place. The bird fluttered up to the table and sang. The delightful warbling echoed around the whole kitchen.

  Another blink, and Taran was sat on the edge of the table.

  “We don’t do the bat thing in my family,” Taran explained. “Gran likes birds. I’m really sorry though, I really think that’s all I got before we have to talk about kitchens again.”

  “It’s alright.” Amara steeled herself. “I shouldn’t ask for a job in a kitchen if I don’t want to think about kitchens. So. Where’s the pantry? I saw sponge cake on the menu, but I don’t see any. I’ll make one. That’s, that’s alright isn’t it?”

  “You’re very observant,” Taran complimented her. “Go ahead. I’m sure Divina will be happy. We didn’t want to make much today while we gauge how much business we’re gonna have, so we’re deliberately low on non-drink items.”

 “And DONE,” Divina announced some minutes later, waving a piece of parchment triumphantly at the doorway.

  Taran nodded to Amara. “Go and look. I’ll finish this. It just needs to go in the oven until it’s golden brown, right?”

  It was a fair contract. Good, even? Suspiciously good. Room, board, 3 Crowns a day pocket money, all as Divina had said. She could leave any time without notice, and she would work no more than six hours a day, though she was required to be on call for longer than that; the time the cafe was open and a little before that. Of course the main catch was that the café was open late into the night. It opened at 8pn and closed at 2bn.

  She hesitated as she held the quill above the line. They wouldn’t find her here if she worked at night. Right? Room and board. Spending money. Not that she’d be spending it. She’d be saving it for an emergency. A different emergency, that is. She was already in an emergency. She could leave any time. She could leave ANY TIME. Her hand shook as she signed, giving her a wobbly signature.

  Taran emerged from the kitchen.

  “Divina. Divina, I have a newfound passion for baking.” He gestured to the finished cake on the table. “Why have I never tried baking before? It smells amazing. It looks amazing. I get to decorate it." He bit his lip. “I wanna make more cakes, Divina.”

  “We’ve got enough cake so I’m going to need you to find a newfound passion for soup,” Divina replied.

  “Will do.” Taran gave her a three fingered salute. “Newfound passion for soup in three, two... now!” He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Do you need to sleep?” Divina asked Amara.

  “Should I not stay awake? To adjust my sleeping pattern?” Amara asked back.

  “Hmm. Yes, but... maybe not all at once? Go take a little nap. I’ll wake you in an hour or so.”

Amara stared at the ceiling of her new room. And it was genuinely her room. She’d never slept alone before. She’d always been in bunk beds and hammocks. In servants’ quarters. Or the orphanage. She doubted she’d be able to sleep, but she had walked all day. She wanted to sleep. What was this feeling? It wasn’t safety. She wouldn’t feel safe here. It wasn’t like the woods. They’d never found her in the woods. Not once. If she could’ve lived in the woods, she would have. She didn’t feel safe, but she didn’t feel threatened either. Neutral. She felt... neutral. That would do. But she also felt hungry and tired and she didn’t really know these people. Vampires, huh? They had nothing on the orphanage director. Nor the workhouse foreman, and definitely not Lord Branndil. At least vampires only wanted your blood.

  She tossed and turned, but it was no good. She went downstairs.

  “Can I buy some of the paint I saw in the kitchen?” she asked. “Black, white, brown, green? Perhaps yellow and blue? You can take it out of my wages.”

  “You don’t need to give up your wages,” Divina reassured her. “You paint too, huh? We sure got lucky. What do you want to paint?”

  “My room. It’s just so... beige.”

  Divina nodded approvingly. “It is, that. Paint away. Wait, though.” The vampire narrowed her eyes at the girl. “You eat, first. And you get another drink. If I’m right, that egg you had is all you’ve had all day.”

  “You are right.”

  “Here, sandwich.” Divina plucked a plate from the counter and thrust at Amara. “And cut yourself a slice of that cake you made.”

  Amara blinked. “Isn’t it for the customers?”

  “We have to eat too.” Divina shrugged. “Besides, what the customers don’t eat, we’ll have to eat the leftovers. Keep that in mind and don’t make too much. Speaking of which, can you check on Taran? He’s not left the kitchen since I saw you last and I didn’t want to leave the counter unmanned.”

  Amara found Taran with his nose inches from a book on the counter, with four different pots on the boil, and spices everywhere. He threw a good pinch of one herb in one pot then sprinkled a spice into another. He tasted a little of each. He added even more herbs.

  “Um. Divina said we mustn’t make too much,” Amara cautioned, her voice wobbling.

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Try this, will you? I think it needs a little something.” Taran gestured to the first pot. I’ve been experimenting with different things but I just can’t quite get it how I want it.” Amara took a spoonful and blew on it. It tasted okay, but bland. “Try the others for me?” She tried one after the other. They all had slightly different flavour profiles but were still bland.

  “Did you ... add salt?” she asked.

  “The recipe didn’t say so, so no,” Taran admitted.

  “This recipe book is pretty old.” Amara picked it up and flipped it over. “The old ones don’t tell you to add salt, because they assumed everyone knew to do it.”

 “I’m not everyone, recipe book!” Taran stuck out his tongue at it.

  “It’s okay. Just add some now. Um, I’d also recommend adding some more onions and garlic.” Amara gave the pots a stir, bringing up the vegetables to inspect them. “It’ll probably be a mushier soup than you maybe wanted but it’ll be okay.”

  “I was going for max mush, so that’s not a problem.” Taran wiped his brow. “Big relief. I thought I’d wasted a whole day’s ingredients.”

  Amara sat and ate her sandwich. She made herself an infusion from the giant pot of clear water gently bubbling on the other side of the kitchen. She sipped the brew and let her tired eyes wander over the kitchen. Something was off.

  “How are you keeping these fires going?” she asked. “I don’t see any fuel.” There was the one under the hot water and the four little ones under the soup pots.

  “Magic,” Taran replied. “We need to find a better way if we can, though. The more magic I use, the more blood I need. I’ll go balcony trawling if I have to, but the point of this place, besides feeding people, was to NOT have to do that.”

  “How often do you have to?” she asked.

  “Once every two months, if I use barely any magic,” he answered. “More like once a month though.”

  “Oh. That’s a lot less than I though’,” Amara mused. Did she just slur a word?

  “How much did you think?” Taran asked, tilting his head to one side.

  “Every day? I don’t know. Jus’ a lo’ more.” She blinked her eyes repeatedly. Was the kitchen always blurry?

  “Only true vampires need that much,” Taran explained. “I’m a great grandson so my situation is much improved.”

  “Hmm.” Amara almost face planted into her drink.

  “Woah, maybe go to bed?” Taran suggested, diving forward to move her cup out of the way. “Don’t get a faceful of hot, scalding liquid.”

   “Couldn’ slee’,” Amara mumbled. “Can’ slee’. Maybe in th’ woodsss...” She saw Taran dart forward again before she blacked out.

Amara jerked awake. She was in bed. A strange room. Beige. So very beige. The sun was shining strongly through the open curtains. She sat up so fast her head spun. What happened? She’d run away in the night. Walked all day. All day, barely stopping. Came to a cafe. Cafe. Vampires. She’d asked for a job. Contract. Soup. Vampire making soup. She’d suddenly been incredibly sleepy. Incredibly sleepy. Vampires.

  Her hand shot to her neck. Nothing. She got up and inspected it in the small mirror hanging over the wash basin. Still nothing. She turned for the door and nearly tripped over a stack of tins. Paint. She’d asked for paint. There was a note.

  ‘I had to carry you upstairs, I hope that was okay?

  You’d fallen asleep on the table.

  It turns out SOMEONE can’t tell medicine herbs from cooking herbs and the soup got doused with sleeping nettles.

  Divina’

A second part was in different handwriting:

‘I am so sorry Amara. The offending herbs have been identified and removed from the kitchen. The offending person has been identified (it’s me) and removed from the kitchen (temporarily).

  Taran’

  “That explains that then. Hmm.” Amara stared at the note for a long time. Finally she blinked herself back to reality and turned her attention to the paint. They’d included a set of brushes and a couple of cups of clean water. Amara picked up a brush.

By the time Divina knocked on the door to check on her that evening, the walls were covered in trees.

 

----

First new thing I've written in some years! I need to edit my first draft of Zaran's book but like. I don't wanna.

This is also basically a first draft. I don't normally post things this fresh for other people to read but like... I wish to get something out there.

I know it's lacking in description especially.

[mightbesmall]

Their Fae Bestfriend: How you met

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Heartslabyul version plus a bonus character at the end.

Warnings: Plant based nicknames, most likely ooc.

Summary: You are their Fae bestie, you have seen it all being old and all but what if you met some very…interesting people!

Additional note: I was taking a nap and my eyes flew open, probably looked like a gremlin, and I yelled “I have an idea!” Please help my dad yelled at me😢 Anyways this will be part 1 of 2, how you met and then there will be little headcanons on your relationship in part 2!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace

He was in the Botanical gardens, looking tools for those chestnuts when he found…someone… laying down next to a flower bed. Usually he’d ignore people when he doesn’t feel like being a jerk but they were holding a pair of clippings, he could use those! 

He decided to just carefully.. carefully… pry them from the strangers hands… almost there…

A hand gripping his wrist sent shocks all over his body. ‘Huh?!’ A single eye opened and just stared at him. 

…

…

…

How awkward. Thankfully the stranger, who he now acknowledges to be a fae shit is he going to die, let go of his wrist before sitting up properly. They seemed to be staring into his soul, it was creepy..

”Mh, you are odd.” They said. Odd?! Him!

”Excuse me but you were the one staring into my soul!” He retaliated because of course- they just smiled at him. Weirdo.

”What’s your name?” 

“I’m not answering that until you give me yours!” It probably wasn’t a good idea to have this attitude with someone who could fold him like a beach chair but he’s on a tight schedule trying to get this collar off so really he doesn’t care all that much right now.

”My my, you are amusing! My name is…” They replied with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

”Huh that’s a weird name. I guess I’ll introduce myself, the names Ace.” 

“It’s lovely to meet you Ace.”

Deuce

Deuce was running late, he got up early and decided to gather ingredients for the project in potionoligy that was due in a couple of hours because he procrastinates like that but he got distracted and missed the first bell so is now running like his life depended on it and- 

And he just slammed into another student! Not to mention his ingredients are falling in slow motion, at least it looks that way. Is this going to be another egg situation?

A hand shot out.

”You should look we’re you are going.” A voice sounded out, he looked up only to see the student he probably slammed into standing before him, ingredients in hand. They were a fae.. and a third year by the looks of it… shit!

He backflipped onto his feet before proceeding to slam his forehead into the ground yelling “I AM SO SORRY I BUMPED INTO YOU SENPAI!!” Honestly if they weren’t used to Sebek yelling, they would’ve gone death. 

“Eh? Please raise your head, you’ll get a headache otherwise.” 

Deuce raised from his position and turned into a board, he was so stiff. 

“You don’t need to look so rigid either Hyacinth.” They said with a small smile. Hyacinth? What’s with that name?

”Uh- Hya-Hyacith uhm wait no, Hyacinth?” He struggled to pronounce the weird nickname he was given.

”Yes you are small and blue like a Hyacinth! They also are associated with spring and rebirth!” They said with a little dorky smile that he almost forgot that they were a tall, fae upperclassman. 

“O-oh tha-that’s interesting!” He replied, inwardly cursing himself for stuttering. To his surprise they just chuckled.

”Heheh.. no need to be so afraid Hyacinth. Now let us introduce ourselves yeah? I’m…” They stuck a hand out to which Deuce shakily held.

”My name’s Deuce Spade. It’s nice to meet you!” They shook his hand with a close-eyed smile.

”Wonderful to meet you Hyacinth!”

Cater

Cater was out for a walk, the sky was so pretty and totally Magicam worthy! So he obviously took a selfie, he positioned his phone so you could see the golden sky, him of course and the gorgeous apple tree. He threw up a peace sign with an aesthetically pleasing grin. After reviewing it, he deduced that he looked great as always and the background was fabulous! 

"And posted! #GoldenHour #NoFilter!" He was quite content with that post, seeing the like button getting spammed.

"Well I can agree with that." 

"Gwah!" He almost dropped his phone from that jumpscare. Whipping his head in the direction the voice came from he saw a classmate of his.

"Hehe... did I scare you?" They had a cute grin on their face.

"OMS, you are tots adorbs!" He was gushing! So cute!! They only blinked before laughing, it was pleasant to listen to. 

"You are a bold one huh? I'm.... a first year." The fae introduced themself. Cater beamed,

"Cater Diamond, a first year of Heartslabyul!" He shook their hand.

"It's lovely to meet you Cater!"

Trey

He was humming a tune whilst making pasties for upcoming unbirthday party. He then turned around only to jump from being face to face with the fae first year.

"Hello!" They waved with a closed-eye smile. Trey cleared his throat before replying.

"Ah yes, hello." They opened their eyes and looked around him, at the pastries. 

"Ooh, what are you making?" They asked with childlike wonder as if they weren't centuries years old. Nonetheless, Trey only shook his head and chuckled, they reminded him of his younger siblings.

"These are the pastries for the unbirthday party." He explained, enjoying the way their face lit up. It was like they haven't spoken to someone yet, though he supposes they haven't due to the fleeting rumours he's heard. 

"Can I help? Lilia-san taught me how to cook!" Yeah, they weren't the scary, brooding fae from those rumours.

"I don't see why not." He replied with a shrug, unaware of the severe consequences. 

"Nice! My name is... by the way." 

"Trey Clover, a second year." They smiled up to him.

"Pleasure to meet you Trey!"

Riddle

It was odd. Not only did he have Floyd following him but a classmate of his started taking an interest in him as well.

"Hello Rosebud! How are you this morning? I also heard you got promoted to Housewarden, congratulations." They said in one breath, impressive to be honest.

"I'm fine [Surname], can you please stop calling me that... and yes I got the title of Housewarden." He replied curtly. He really didn't want to speak to them at all but their insistence was making it hard.

"Hehe~ no can do Rosebud! But I am glad you're well." They said sincerely, it almost made Riddle feel...warm...

"Hmm, heyy Rosebud?" They asked after a brief blanket of silence. Of course he couldn't get any silence with them around. He sighed.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to have an afternoon tea with me?" They asked with a welcoming and warm smile. Well when they look at him like that how can he refuse? (NO! He does NOT enjoy their company.)

"Fine but the Queen of Hearts' rule number-"

"Yes yes, I remember Rosebud. I'll have the right tea for you." They smoothly cut him off. He only huffed and didn't take their head surprisingly. 

"Good. At least someone remembers the rules." He said curtly with an inclined head. They only chuckled.

"I look forward to your visit, Rosebud."

??????

"Ohhhh Mozuuusss~" Ah, them again. This fae won't stop following him around since they found out he taught them History of Magic. They were rather headache inducing.

"Please leave me alone." He lost count how many times he has said that to them but he knows it started somewhere in his youth.

"Kehehehee~ My answer never changes Mozus!" They replied, now standing in front of his desk. The man just sighed, running a hand through his greying hair.

"Why do you still insist on following me?" He asked exasperated. They replied without missing a beat.

"You are just so amusing that I can't help but want to tease you!"

[squadrah]

la squadra's favourite soups >:)

I was asked by a good friend to really give this one my all and then some, so prepare for a lot of flavor text, ehehe.

Risotto: From Sicily he brings his love of traditional Peperonata, brewed rather thick and served with some crusty bread for mopping, as well as the conviction that soup, whether simple or complex, should be a complete meal onto itself. You won't see him serving anything on the clear or thin side because it might as well be a drink then; Ribollita and French Onion Soup are his idea of good vegetarian home cooking, and if he makes soup with meat, he will buy up the cheap cuts, bone in, and load the pot to the brim.

Formaggio: He will always take what he can get of course, but you won't catch him ordering soup anywhere, because the ones he truly cares for are either the sort of home cooking restaurants often scoff at like the humble Stracciatella, or something restaurants often get wrong such as authentic Goulash. The latter especially is his darling and he wants it home cooked with carrots, potatoes and egg noodles, but Risotto's best efforts still do not compare to how he remembers it from his mother's table.

Prosciutto: He will only touch soup if it's strong enough in itself - he would never order any with the idea of fixing it in post by adding chili. From mildest to hottest, he would appreciate a concentrated Beef Bouillon with or without the trimmings, might also like Frutta Di Mare All'acqua Pazza if the water is "crazy" enough, and would love a good Tom Yum, but his prime favorite would be a bone marrow soup like Bulalo, where there's plenty of richness and flavorful meat to go around. He must have all the marrow, of course.

Pesci: He's on the opposite end of the spectrum from Prosciutto due to his acid reflux and prefers his soups on the mild side while also eschewing those with a tomato base or onions if he can help it. You cannot go wrong with a classic Chicken Noodle, but he especially likes smooth vegetable soups like butternut squash with toasted croutons on top, and he would be first in line for anything that uses cream or other dairy, like Seafood Chowder (any type of chowder would be a big hit with him) or Yayla Çorbası.

Ghiaccio: He is at odds with soup because to his mind it's not a proper meal, and there are textures and flavors he finds repulsive, so it's a struggle. When he has any, it's usually small portions he can quickly drink or eat: clear bone broth is as close as he can venture to bouillon because the meaty flavor is negligible, and he appreciates your standard Miso for the tofu and the crunch of green onions and beansprouts, as long as the bean paste is mild. If he had the means or access, he would love the concept of Nabemono in general.

Melone: In his sickly childhood he ate a lot of Acquacotta, which he still craves sometimes despite having developed a gluten allergy, and unfortunately for him, the list of forbidden delights does not stop there. He loves a good Zuppa Imperiale, but again, the semolina in the dough cubes is a menace, and anything made with cream will avenge itself unless he takes his Lactaid. Of the soups he can safely have, he has most taken to Borscht for the excellent taste as well as its vibrant color, and has proclaimed it a health food.

Illuso: This one, in spite of his upbringing, is a soup purist who believes that soup is strictly a first course, and therefore it should be something simple and light that is easy on the stomach and whets your appetite for the rest of the meal. He loves Gazpacho and could drink it like a smoothie, and is fond of Caldo Verde with its single slice of chorizo (it's like finding the prize in your Galette de Rois), but in winter he will branch out and have Minestra di Noci as often as they can get walnuts, perhaps with some chestnuts added in.

Sorbet: Here we have someone who appreciates a wider range, but having grown up on odds-and-ends type soups often poorly made, his standards are now much higher even for something as simple as plain Caraway Soup, and he has been working on improving them all. His favorite by far is any type of lentil soup such as Minestra di Lenticchie or Masoor Dal, for the taste as well as lentils symbolizing abundance, and when he craves something sweet, any Fruit Soup will be welcome before savory main courses, hot or chilled.

Gelato: Cannot live without soup and never met one he did not like; in fact he regularly cooks a variety of them including Fruit Soup, though to him that is in the dessert category. His greatest favorites are made with sausage or entrails: think Fabada for the chorizo or Menudo for the tripe, as well as any type of meatball soup. He's not big on pasta in soup (he prefers egg noodles), but if the ravioli is filled with ground offal (mostly liver or heart, as kidney and lungs are much harder to come by nowadays), he will gladly have it.

[nuwildcat]

WIP Wednesday Christmas Surprise

Sooooo, along with finishing Echoes I’ve been working on a holiday surprise with the fabulous @mortimerlatrice! We are planning to put it out around Christmas time for you all to enjoy.

I’m venturing into new territory with this one and exploring a world of Big/Tay. It’s been decided, by both of us, that Tay deserves all the love and Big is just so full of it, we can stick them together.

Mort has agreed to illustrate some parts of the story which I am AMPED about. Here is your sneak peak for WIP Wednesday from Chapter 2!

“First off, I have two twists on classics for you. Khun Kinn, yours is a Fireplace Old Fashioned with bourbon, smoked duck fat, chestnut, and cherry bitters.” Kinn smirks at Oliver knowing his preferred liquor. “For Khun Tay, I have the Blonde Ambition,” Tay laughs. His hair is pretty close to blonde, with the platinum color he’s sporting currently. Oliver gives him a cheeky smile, “It’s made with gin, elderflower, grapefruit, and a hint of cardamom and bergamot. Enjoy.”

They both sip their drinks, humming in enjoyment as the flavor bursts across their taste buds. Swapping is almost automatic at this point. Kinn’s has a lovely smokey flavor that finishes with distinct umami and cherry tones.

They chat for a little while. Catching up on what they’ve missed in each other’s lives in the past week and a half.

“I have something to tell you,” Tay figures the cocktail can count as liquid courage.

“Oh,” Kinn says inquiringly. 

“I’ve decided to break up with Time.” Kinn chokes on his fancy drink, and Tay laughs while giving him firm pats on the back.

“What?” Kinn croaks.

“I’m breaking up with Time,” he repeats calmly. 

Kinn blinks at him for a few seconds, wrapping his head around what he’s just said. “Are you sure?”

“You don’t think I should?”

“No!” he lurches forward as though to physically stop Tay from taking that option. “No, you should do what’s best for you.”

“Good, ‘cause this is what’s best for me,” Tay says finishing the last of his drink. It went down very quickly.

“When did you decide this?” Kinn asks.

Tay chuckles a bit. “This morning,” he says ruefully.

Kinn rapidly downs the last of his drink as well, as though fortifying himself for the rest of this conversation. It’s great timing, or great bar tending, as Oliver is on his way to them with their next drinks.

“Up next, a taste of Thailand. Khun Tay, you have the Tamarind Twist. It’s got two different spiced rums, lime, coconut milk with Tamarind syrup, with a float of soda water. Khun Kinn, you’re on an adventure with the Change of Air. It has a Thai parsley-infused gin paired with mezcal, bitters, egg white, lemon, and elderflower. Cheers!”

The drinks are beautiful. His is served in a highball glass so that the darkness of the rum and Tamarind blends into the milky white of the coconut. The soda water on top adds a light look to the top of the glass. It’s garnished with a sprig of mint. Kinn’s on the other hand, is a golden color, milky due to the egg white, and with a stunning foamy head paired with a curl of lemon rind on the rim.

Again they try their drinks. Murmurs of satisfaction follow before Tay all but snatches Kinn’s drink from his hands. His is just as good as Tay’s. They make eye contact and know that they are hiring Oliver for the job, no matter how the last round goes.

“What made you finally decide?” Kinn is being oh, so gentle with him.

Tay plays with the little cocktail napkin from his last drink. He folds and folds and folds it, until he can’t anymore and then undoes the whole thing so that he can do it again the opposite way. Kinn lets him think for a bit, to mull over his words.

“Partially, it was Khun,” he starts.

“You talked to Khun?”

“Yeah, the last time we had a meeting in your sun room. He found me in the gardens and decided to give me the harsh talk.”

Kinn grumbles something under his breath that sounds like ‘he shouldn’t have done that,’ but Tay can’t be sure.

“He reminded me of something that I had forgotten.” Kinn raises one of those bushy brows at him. “That I used to talk about finding a partner that supported and loved me.”

The silence between them echoes with memories of the past. Time that they’ve spent together, becoming themselves and growing right next to each other.

“I never did thank you for bullying me into friendship,” Kinn teases.

“Well,” Tay says imperiously, “I could hardly leave you there to fend for yourself. You looked like a kicked puppy and cried for your mother for half an hour.”

“Lies, slander, I have no memory of this,” Kinn keeps up the banter.

Tay fights back his laughter, “Convenient Khun Kinn, how your memory fails about embarrassing things. I suppose you also don’t recall the time in high school when I had to come to get you after you decided to go down on—” Kinn’s hand covers his mouth.

“We do not speak of this, and you know it, you little shit,” Tay smiles with his eyes until Kinn takes his hand away.

“I guess your memory isn’t that bad,” he says smugly.

Kinn rolls his eyes and takes a large swig of his drink. Then humming in pleasure, goes back for another. Porsche has been training him with cocktails, so the man who used to only drink whiskey straight has gotten more adventurous.

“You know that we will be there for you. Porsche should have said something.”

“Yes, he made it very clear that if I were to choose my own happiness, the two of you would be there for me to lean on.” Tay twists in his chair to look at Kinn.

Kinn continues to stare at the glass in his hand before turning to look at Tay. “You are my oldest and dearest friend; there was never any doubt I would stand with you.”