#this room was one of my first creations in that town and it still feels accurate i guess.

[frogtowns]

the static has always been my favorite tv station

[d-targaryenshoe]

Reflected Love - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 1761

Summary: When one does not see the beauty of themselves, maybe the person that loves them the most can show them, can they not?

You sat in the corner of the room, your gaze fixed upon your husband as he carefully mixed the paints on his palette.

His concentration was absolute, his movements precise and deliberate. You couldn't help but marvel at the way he could lose himself in his work, becoming utterly absorbed by the process of creation.

It was as if he were a different person when he was painting.

You recalled the first time you had seen him in this form when you were still courting.

He had been painting a portrait of you, and you had felt a strange mix of awe and vulnerability as you had watched him capture your likeness on canvas.

It was as if he had been able to see straight into your soul, revealing a depth of understanding that you hadn't known was there.

The canvas he was working on now was a landscape, a serene meadow with a winding stream and a stand of trees in the distance.

The sunlight danced across the scene, casting dappled shadows that you could almost feel on your skin.

It was a peaceful image, a study in tranquility, and you wondered if it was meant to represent something particular in his mind.

You were about to ask him when he paused, his brush hovering above the canvas. "What do you think, dearest?" His voice was soft, almost tentative.

You considered the question for a moment. The light was beginning to fade, and the room was growing dim.

You moved closer to the painting, your eyes taking in the details that you hadn't noticed from afar.

"It's beautiful, Ben," you said truthfully. "It reminds me of the day we picnicked at the lake, just outside of town."

He looked up at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You remember that?"

You nodded, your heart swelling at the memory. "Of course, It was one of my favorite days with you."

He smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to his painting. "I'm glad you think so. I've been trying to capture that feeling of serenity and peace in this landscape. Do you think I've succeeded?"

You studied the painting once more, taking in the way the colors danced across the canvas, the gentle brushstrokes that created the impression of a soft breeze rippling through the grass and the leaves of the trees.

"Yes, I believe you have, love. It's beautiful." you paused, your eyes meeting his once more. "But there's something else I've been wanting to speak to you about."

Your husband's brush hovered over the canvas, waiting for you to continue. He had always been attentive to you, and quick to offer support and understanding.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "It's about myself," you said softly. "Lately, I've been feeling rather self-conscious. I've been wondering if I look...different to you."

Benedict's brow furrowed in confusion. "Different? Of course not, my love. You're the most beautiful woman in the world to me." He set his brush down on the palette and turned to face you. "Why do you ask?"

"Just rather curious, yet you're my husband, I felt like I wanted to know."

Your words hung in the air between you, and Benedict took a moment to consider his response. He knew that you were likely referring to the change in your relationship since courting became a marriage.

"I do see you differently now, my love," he said gently. "But not in a way that makes you any less gorgeous or desirable to me. I see the depth of your soul, the strength of your character, the love that you bring into my life."

He moved closer to you, taking your hands in his. "You are my wife, y/n, and nothing will ever change that."

You smiled at his words, feeling the warmth of his touch. "I know that. It's just...I want to make sure you're happy. I want to be the woman you need me to be."

Benedict held out his hand towards you. "May I?"

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. As he took your hand in his, you felt a sense of peace and reassurance wash over you. "What are you going to do?"

"Trust me," Benedict answered, leading you over to the long mirror that was placed in the corner of the room, standing behind you.

He started to undo the ties of your dress, making the fabric fall down to the ground.

"I want you to close your eyes," he whispered, his voice low and gentle. "And just feel."

You hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. You felt the cool air caress your skin as he moved your hair aside, exposing your neck.

His touch was so light, so gentle, that it sent shivers down your spine. You breathed in deeply, letting the sensations wash over you.

You felt his fingers trace circles on your back, and you arched your spine instinctively, wanting more.

It was a strange, intoxicating feeling, being so vulnerable and yet so desired. You could hear the soft rustle of his clothes as he moved closer, and the warmth of his body against yours made your heart race.

With a soft moan, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, allowing him to guide your movements.

His touch was confident and sure, and you felt utterly safe in his embrace. He placed a tender kiss at the base of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Look at yourself," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Look at how captivating you are."

You obeyed, opening your eyes and gazing into the mirror.

The reflection showed you how Benedict had his strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

She could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked down at you, his expression one of pure adoration.

As he continued to hold you close, you could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and you longed for him.

His touch was so gentle and tender, yet so possessive and demanding. He lowered his head and kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours.

You moaned into his mouth, arching your back as he took control, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

He guided your hands to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

You ran your nails lightly across his skin, teasing him, and he growled with pleasure.

Benedict pulled away from the kiss, gazing down at you with fierce adoration. "I need you," he breathed, his voice thick with desire.

You arched your back, offering yourself to him. "Have me," you whispered, feeling a delicious ache spread through your body.

He moved with a grace that belied his strength, guiding your hips to meet his rhythm.

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each stroke deeper and more urgent than the last.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving tiny half-moons in his skin as he drove into you, claiming you as his own.

You gasped his name, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your bodies moved together in a dance of desire.

He kissed you roughly, his tongue tangling with yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You arched your back, feeling the familiar tension building deep within you.

You could feel the pull between you both, the connection that went beyond physical desire.

It was as if you were two halves of a whole, perfectly fitted together. He thrust into you harder, faster, his eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror.

"You're so beautiful," he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You moaned in reply, arching your back to meet his thrusts. "I want you," you breathed, feeling the familiar tension building deep within you. "I need you."

Benedict growled, his movements becoming more urgent as he drove deeper inside you.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue dancing with yours.

You could feel his strength, his power, as he held you close, his hands running down your back, cupping your bottom, lifting you higher against him.

"Oh God," you moaned, your voice breaking as you moved with him, your bodies in perfect sync.

You could feel the mirror under your hands, and the contrast between the hard surface and the softness of his skin only served to heighten your senses.

Benedict's movements grew more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked into your eyes.

"That was..."

Your words trailed off as you clung to Benedict, your bodies still entwined. The intensity of your lovemaking had left you both breathless, your hearts racing.

You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rhythm of his breath in your ear.

He had been so rough with you, driving into you with such urgency, but it hadn't been overwhelming. It had been exactly what you needed.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you remembered the look in his eyes, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only person in the world.

You knew that you had given yourself to him completely, and in that moment, you couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else.

As your breathing began to steady, you could feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the warmth of his skin.

You could still feel the mark of his hands on your hips, the impression of his fingers against your skin.

It was as if he had left a part of himself there, branding you as his own.

"Not that, but you, you are, the center of everything I do," Benedict said.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of it against your fingertips. "So are you," you replied, looking deeply into his eyes.

"But if I'm right, we're still very naked in this room where every moment one of your siblings can walk in."

Benedict chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, they won't bother us," he assured you. "They know I adore the art of nude portraits." His words sent a shiver down your spine.

"I love you."

You whispered the words as you gazed up into his eyes, your heart racing. You felt so exposed and vulnerable in this moment, but at the same time, so free.

He had always made you feel this way as if you were the most important person in the world.

As if there was nothing you couldn't do or be with him by your side.

[sfehvn]

new religion part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,049 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  Sunlight filters through the cracks of a haphazardly covered window, illuminating your soft features under the warm glow. Astarion watches the rise and fall of your restful breathing, decidedly one of his favorite pastimes. More seasons have come and gone since he first set eyes on you and he’s baffled that you’re still the only thing on the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t foresee that ever-changing at this point. He recalls his emotional battles; the grappling of newfound feelings. Astarion hadn’t felt a beautiful thing in centuries until you. Until he longed to touch you, to shield you from the very things he’d forced upon other less fortunate souls. You’d slowly but surely become home to him.

  You had been sheltered in his manor for days following your father’s death. Beautiful reminders of your presence blessed the cold halls of his lair. He spared no expense upon stocking a wardrobe specifically for you. Beautiful dresses of the finest linens, silk, and velvet in colors reminiscent of summer overflowed the closets and dressers. He would hire a seamstress once you were well enough to allow you the creation of your wares, but for now, this would have to do. He had practically sold out every shop in town that carried luxury clothing just to ensure you’d be able to make a selection that genuinely suited you.

  As much as he urged you to make use of his many servants, you refused. Even in your broken capacity, you insisted on doing most things yourself. At which point Astarion would contend he does whatever task at hand on your behalf. He couldn’t comprehend how you could be so careful of every being’s spirit, even when he holds you as you weep. You would cling to him like a lifeline; as if he were going to disappear. Your grief had driven you deeper into his embrace. While this was precisely what he was plotting he couldn't bear to see you so broken. A light snuffed out by the cruel ways of nature. He would spend every waking moment in this bedroom consoling you if it meant he had even the tiniest chance of reigniting that light.

  Astarion’s eyes shift to the opening door of the bed chamber. A servant stood with a tray of various breakfast foods, standing in the doorway as she waited for him to summon her in further. This had been the routine every morning; she would wake you with a hot meal, a bath, and fresh clothing. This time, though, would be different. He gestured to the desk on the far side of the room and waved her away once the tray had been set down. She leaves without a question, closing the door on her way out. 

  It was time he had determined. With your younger sisters in the care of your brother and his wife and your father’s funeral being completed the day before, this was as good a time as any. He had hidden his true nature from your attention for far too long. You had proven to him that you were serious about staying so he no longer had any viable excuses in his mind to continue the lie. He recognized he should have told you sooner and there was a pang of shame that he hadn’t yet. Astarion wouldn’t dare admit it but he had enjoyed the normalcy you had brought into his life. There was a small part of him that was clinging to it.

  He collected the tray of food from the desk and slowly approached your sleeping form. He hated waking you but you had been having a hard time keeping any food down, so he had been very strict on you with mealtimes. If your body allowed you even a piece of toast, that was a victory to him. Once he’s beside you, he sits on the edge of the bed closest to you. A gentle hand reaches out to shake your arm gently, and in return your eyes flutter open. You attempt to shut them again, not ready to be woken but he persists. “You need to eat something, my darling.” His words are a gentle beckoning and you allow your eyes to open once more. 

  “Okay.” You mumble in that sleepy voice Astarion had grown to love along with every other part of you. You push yourself up until your back is against the headboard, looking over the tray that had been placed in your lap. You didn’t bother arguing about the sheer amount of food before you anymore. It was futile. While most of it would go uneaten, he didn’t care as long as there was something that you would eat. 

  He watches you silently, preparing himself to come clean once you’ve gotten a whole egg and some potatoes down. Your cheeks used to grow red under his gaze, but now it was just par for the course with him and his stare. “We need to talk, Tav.”

  Your veins run cold and he immediately picks up the quickening of your pulse. You look from the food to his face apprehensively. “Have I done something wrong?” Your mind raced; had he grown tired of you already? Perhaps he couldn’t take you being so utterly depressing anymore.

  “Gods no, my treasure.” Astarion assures, taking your hand into his own. “You’re perfect. Always my perfect angel; this is about, well,” There’s a pause in his words. “Me.”

  You nod after a moment, once you’re entirely convinced your heart isn’t going to be shattered by whatever he has to say. “Alright. What is it, love?” Those honied words, he adores when you call him that.

  “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you. For that, I am sorry. I want to be though. I want you to know me. Truly know me.” You remain silent and he tried to read your face, but you have not faltered. You look at him with those same loving eyes and it gives him the courage to continue. “I’m not that great of a person. In fact, some would argue me being a person at all. It is ridiculous if you ask me, but to each their own, I suppose.” He’s babbling, beating around the bush. He can’t get himself to say it, it’s as if the words are banished from his tongue.

  “Well, that’s just silly, Astarion.” You cut off his nervous bumbling, shaking your head as you move the tray aside. “You’re the most incredible person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, let alone loving.”

  “No, Tav, listen.” He says sternly, his nervous dissolve fading as he finally feels the willpower take hold. If he was going to say it, it had to be now before he lost the resolve. “I’m a vampire.” 

  Your breath catches in your throat, and your face goes blank. There’s a beat of silence and he can visibly see the wheels turning in your mind as you mull over the information he’d given you. “You’ve… You’ve hurt people?” Your fingers pick at the threads of the comforter. You can’t believe you’d missed it, a testament to just how small-minded you indeed were. The sharp canines, the perfect puncture marks on his neck. All of the signs were there and you stupidly couldn’t recognize any of them; but also, how did he walk in the sun? How did he share meals with you?

  He nods, “Yes.”

  You nod slowly, refusing to look away from the blanket covering your legs. “Have you thought about hurting me?” 

  He hesitates and a lie almost leaves his lips but he stops himself. He had told you he would be truthful. “Yes.”

  Your heart is sputtering in your chest but you’re not afraid. This was the man you loved, the one who had shown you kindness and showered you in a love you weren’t sure you’d ever get to experience. “Why haven’t you?” He’d had plenty of opportunity and time to do something, yet you were still here. Alive and better with him than you would be without him.

  Astarion doesn’t hesitate and is relieved when he reaches for your hand without you refusing him. “Because I love you, Tav. That has always been the truth. From the moment I first saw you, I loved you. I haven’t loved a thing since my mortal life, and even that I can’t recall. It would be a cruel existence without you, one that I certainly never want to see. I fought it, you know. I thought if I kept away from you long enough these feelings,” A pause, “My devotion to you would leave my being. I had considered hurting you, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that my still heart would only yearn more. I was destined to see you that day. We were fated for each other. I feel it in my bones when I look at you. I feel it in my chest when we’re apart. Every terrible thing I’ve done has led me to you. I know you feel it, too.”

  You look at your dainty hand in his much larger one, his words making you take in a sharp breath of air. He was right, you did feel it. The electricity when he touched you; the comfort only he could provide you with. You wanted to be afraid, that would make sense, but you weren’t. Astarion could also see it, but the tension remained thick as he waited for you to speak. You’re unsure of how to respond, your eyes darted the planes of his face as if you’d find the answer within him. He had given you love and adoration you didn’t believe was ever in the cards for you. He held you and wiped your tears every time you cried; which happened substantially lately. As much as you wanted to be angry or frightened; you were not. You could never be afraid of him.

  “Okay.”

  “That's- that’s it then? Okay?” Whether it was apprehension or confusion in his voice, you weren’t sure. “Well, I have to say I was expecting more questions. Definitely didn’t anticipate an ‘okay’.”

  “You are the same you—the same man who turned the grounds of his property into an ethereal garden solely for me. The same man who allowed me grace when I didn’t consider how my decisions would affect you. The one who’s taken care of me after-” You stopped yourself, the grief of losing your father like a hot coal in your chest. “Are you not?” You question despite already knowing the answer. He nods and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You free your hand from his and take his face into your hands, resting each palm on either cheek. “Then there is nothing you can tell me that will make me love you any less.” Your mind wandered briefly to what his past would indeed entail; heinous acts, no doubt. Yet, you didn’t cower. You held his gaze, faces mere inches apart.

  He closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips to your own. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck as you melt under his touch. He turned you into putty; moldable to whatever he wanted you to be. His and his alone. He pushes you into the mattress and swiftly knocks the food tray from the bed. “I’ll love you until the end of time. I swear it.” He speaks into your lips. The words are muffled but they were not lost on you.

  Of course, he would have a much too great ask of you soon enough. You were destined to spend eternity with him, after all. He would delay that for another day, however. He would spend his day worshipping every inch of his holy altar: your body. You hadn’t shunned or pushed him away; that was enough victory for one day in his mind. You weren’t afraid of him. You welcomed him into your arms once more, into your body. He would continue to show you, sun up or down, that he was true to his word. His hungry hands explore you, reverent mouth paying particular attention to your neck. How easily he could sink his fangs into you; instead, he leaves tender kisses in his mouth’s wake.

[delcakoo]

camellia²⋆.⚘࿔ y.jw

part one

SUMMARY ! only days after the heart-racing encounter in jungwon’s garden, you’re stunned to say the least when you find said prince right outside your window in an ‘undercover disguise’ no less. what are you to do when he offers his hand and promise of an adventurous first date throughout town? keeping an eye on a clueless yet flirty prince couldn’t be too disastrous.. right?

PAIRING ! prince!jungwon x gardener!f!reader

WC ! 5.5k

GENRE ! fluff, crack, adventure!

WARNINGS ! flirty jungwon. being chased by someone with a knife (it’ll make sense i swear)

a/n: finally the long awaited part 2 is here for valentines and won’s (late) bday gift T-T i wouldn’t say u have to read part 1 to understand, but i recommend it for sure! i hope it’s worth the wait, please enjoy and lmk what u think <3

while your cottage may not be much to look at from first glance, you personally found it to be just as exquisite as any crystal mansion or skyscraping palace.

ever since you’d moved away to the capital to further pursue your career in gardening, the little wooden house smack in the middle of town had quickly become your safe haven.

of course, you being you, went ahead to make sure anyone who glanced inside for even a split second would know it belonged to someone who had a passion for nature; sleek vines overgrowing the walls and ceilings, arrangements of potted plants scattered throughout every room and hall, along with an abundance of miniature scented candles and woodland critter figurines placed carefully to enhance the forest environment.

yes, most of your neighbours (that you’d regrettably not even bothered to say hi to yet) probably thought a crazy old witch must be inhabiting such a strangely furnished building, but you weren’t too bothered when everyday you got the chance to wake up surrounded by earth’s most beautiful creations, similarly to today; where everything was going just as it normally would.

you’d calmly risen at almost precisely eight o’clock, eagerly yanking away your curtains to absorb a deep inhale of the sunshine outside. while examining the view, you could make out the breathtaking sight of the yang’s castle in the far distance. it looked magnificent as always, the flag of the capital waving proudly on one of its pillars.

though now, you recognised it as not just the place where you worked; but also jungwon’s home — prince jungwon’s, you realise with an uncomfortable frown. you push away from the window, pacing over to your closet with newfound thoughts of the handsome boy flooding through your brain.

his stupidly attractive appearance even in nothing but silk pyjamas, the mischievous gaze he pierced you with as you sat atop his lap, how his fingers brushed your hips ever so gently and the way you could practically feel the softness of his pink lips up against—

no. you strictly pause, pulling out a pair of overalls. the maid was right to be disgusted, you remind yourself. i’m there to do my job and plant flowers, not to become involved with someone who shouldn’t even be sparing me a glance, you think with gritted teeth, trying to reassure yourself that you didn’t care despite the mere thought of never speaking to the prince again sending a horrible feeling to the pit of your stomach.

with a sigh, you only get your pyjama top halfway off your body when the sound of a surprised yelp coming from outside meets your ears. when you snap your head over to the glass and see nothing but your neighbours house as usual, your brows furrow suspiciously, ever so slowly pulling your shirt back on.

just as you were about to give up and continue changing, the very top of a straw hat pokes up from the bottom of your window.

your eyes widen, watching the figure stay completely still in their pathetic hiding spot. your mind flashes back to jungwon in the garden, feeling deja vu all over again as you creep up to the window. was someone.. spying on you of all people?

“peeping-fucking-tom,” you whisper in rage, cracking your knuckles furiously.

once you reach the glass, you look down to take in the stranger, tilting your head dubiously at the sight of their hands covering their entire face and ears a bright red, almost as if they were.. flustered by something.

reasoning didn’t matter; all you wanted was to give the creep a fistful in their disgusting face, thoughts on display as you shove your window open and harshly rip the hat off the stranger’s head. “you spied on the wrong girl you piece of—“

your jaw drops, touches the ground even.

there he was in all his glory, yang jungwon staring up at you with his big beautiful eyes outside your window of your house with cheeks blushing a hot pink. you don’t even fully register the bizarre farmer’s clothes he’s dressed in, simply blinking down at him in utter horror.

“jungw—“ you choke, “your-your highness? what in god’s name are you doing here!?”

the prince swallows nervously, rising from the ground and taking his hat back from your grip, “keep it down,” he whispers, scanning his surroundings anxiously, “can i just come in?”

“what—“ you facepalm, moving from the window to make room for him anyway, “you know i have a door right?”

jungwon chuckles as he carefully steps inside your bedroom, brown boots meeting the hardwood floor abruptly. “you’re getting quite bold speaking to your prince like that, flower.”

you try your best to ignore the words ‘your prince’, crossing your arms stubbornly. “i suppose i have the right to when said prince was watching me change like a pervert,” you remind with a raised brow.

his smile drops, a bright shade of red immediately returning to his entire face. “i’m sorry, i didn’t see anything— i didn’t mean to, i swear! i-i was just trying to surprise you!” secretly, you’re quite amused by the situation, unbeknownst to the fact that you were the first girl to ever make yang jungwon blush in such a way.

you sigh, ushering him into your kitchen despite still being in your completely- unprepared-for-guests-attire. “well, you definitely surprised me.” on the journey through your cottage, jungwon takes his time studying every piece of decoration and trinket in fascination. it was rather adorable watching him poke every vine and lead curiously like a toddler.

“smells like a jungle in here,” he notes, fingertips pulling down a vine carefully as you walk by it.

you snort, gesturing for him to take a seat at your kitchen table. “mhm, welcome to the house of a crazy plant girl.” you couldn’t imagine how weird it must feel for the prince being in such a cramped, square room, contrary to the high ceiling dining halls the size of football fields back at his own home.

not that he commented anything on it though, almost as if he was thoroughly enjoying the new atmosphere surrounding him.

you move to turn on your kettle, grabbing two mugs and teabags along the way. out of the corner of your eye you make out the prince watching you ever so closely, a ridiculous straw hat still covering the top of his head. ��so, with all due respect your majesty.. are you going to explain why you’re here? and the outfit?”

it’s almost like jungwon had forgotten himself; head whipping down to take in his rather suspicious plaid red shirt and overalls. “oh,” he says dumbly. “well you see.. my parents weren’t exactly pleased with my late night escapades, so now i’m under house— ur, uh— castle arrest.” you raise a brow as you begin pouring the boiling water. “which is why i’m in my top secret farmer disguise!” the boy announces as if it was something to be excited about.

great. not only are you stuck with a stupidly attractive prince in your home, but one that is grounded, similarly to a small child.

you sigh, placing the steaming tea in front of him. “and why have you decided to bring this trouble to me yet again?” you ask for a second time.

“because, flower,” jungwon kicks his feet eagerly under your table, eyes turning into crescents as he smiles brightly, “i have so much planned for our date today!”

you freeze, nearly knocking over your drink, “our— pardon?!”

gardenias represent joyous surprises. you know this not just because of your gardening past, but also because they were the key part in your father’s favourite story to tell — the one where your mother found out she’d be having you and gave him a bouquet of gardenias with a letter containing the wonderful news.

you weren’t too shocked hearing your mother’s choice of reveal considering your parents were also gardeners, but now, with the prince calling you ‘flower’ as well, it felt strange and a tad bit nostalgic; almost as if he’d brought a piece from your home back to you.

in his head, it remained nothing but a silly nickname, but you decided that that was okay for now.

speaking of joyous surprises, yang jungwon seemed to love giving you more of them; even in the comical form of a wooden wheelbarrow full of new gardening tools as promised, right outside your cottage.

after forcing you to get ready for the ‘date’, jungwon had brought you to the front of your house to show you his mountain of gifts, and you’d almost fainted at the sight. when you tried to decline his generous offer, the calm boy insisted that the tools he’d bought for you cost no more than a rusty penny in his back pocket for him.

“now let’s get going! i’ve never taken someone on a date before..” he ponders curiously, “but.. i figure that first we get some lunch!” he decides, giddily taking your hand in his.

at first you could barely take him seriously with such bizarre attire, but butterflies still manage to rush through you at the contact of his fingers laced through yours. you raise a curious brow, “your highness, how do you know where anything is here in the town?”

“oh, i don’t,” he admits with a grin. “but that’s what makes it fun!” you sigh, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel excited.

you’ve always been very strict and organised; never forgetting to update your schedule and plan out times and dates for everything. but in contrast, jungwon had clearly never experienced anything even close to responsibility in his life. he was bouncy, carefree, and probably clueless to all the bad things down in your town — but that’s also the reason he felt perfect for you; like a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a muggy room all day.

it was a strange dynamic, yet you couldn’t help but give in to his impulsiveness each and every time with an excited, joyful change in your heart.

“hey, you two youngsters! yeah you!” an old man in a straw hat suddenly calls, but you immediately knew better; he was only trying to scam your money straight out of your pocket, similarly to most people in the town’s marketplace.

of course, the prince doesn’t know that.

“jung—“

before you could stop him, jungwon had eagerly pranced up to the man’s jewellery stand with a relaxed smile. all sorts of trinkets and variations of shining accessories hung on a wooden wall display, each attiring unique colours and gems.

“hello! these all look extremely beautiful, sir,” he compliments brightly.

the man seems equally thrilled, massaging his white beard habitually. “why, thank you, young man. they’re all made of completely authentic gems and rare crystals.” he suddenly lifts up a blue necklace, pushing it closer to the two of you. with closer examination, you quickly notice how fake and bland the ‘crystals’ look, despite the high price and rich description. “i’m sure this one would look splendid on your girlfriend.”

you aren’t sure whether your or jungwon’s eyes widened more, but it was clearly for different reasons as the boy digs into his pocket, pulling out a handful of gold coins and smacking them onto the table.

you gasp. “jungwon no-“

“then of course i’ll take it!”

“wonderful!” he beams. before any second thoughts could be processed, the man swiped the coins into a small box, smiling with a hint of malice as jungwon happily took the necklace while bowing in thanks. “are you interested in anything else? i also think these earrings—“

“no,” you harshly cut in, grabbing jungwon’s hand and stomping off like a mad woman.

he shoves the necklace into his overalls with his free hand, looking down at you worriedly. “my flower, is everything okay?”

you nearly melt into a puddle at the prince’s pure tone, and it only increases your anger at how others took advantage of his sweetness.

“i’m fine,” you huff, eyes still scanning the marketplace for any other threats. “but your majesty, you need—“

“jungwon,” he corrects.

you pause, looking up at him cluelessly. “what?”

jungwon meets your gaze from under his hat, sparkling with eased confidence. “you’ve already called me by my name twice today, and both times it sounded so much prettier from your lips.” all frustration practically vanishes from your body; much too busy gaping like a fish and blushing further as a satisfied smirk reaches the boy’s lips. he keeps walking as if nothing happened, urging you to follow. “what? it’s only the truth.”

after a couple minutes of trying to recover by dragging jungwon through more traders trying to offer deals (scams), a few creepy ladies insisting on reading your future, and one old man offering to perform a song on his bongo drums for the mere price of two gold pieces (jungwon absolutely refused to let that offer go, which led to a wasted ten minutes of sitting on the dirt in agony while the boy clapped along to the man’s song), you’d finally reached a small restaurant that you both deemed safe to dine in.

as you both walk in, you hold the prince’s hand tighter while of course still studying your surroundings for danger. luckily, jungwon doesn’t seem to notice your stressed state, or else he’d definitely scold you for not relaxing and enjoying his date to the fullest.

the young woman at the front desk smiles robotically with a bow, silver name tag reading ‘yeji’ against her suit pocket. “welcome! table for two?”

“yes, please.” you notice how her eyes narrow in on jungwon with an unreadable gaze, and you barely hold in the urge to walk right back out at the uneasy feeling it brings you. the prince in question is off in his own world as usual though; taking in the appearance of his first ever restaurant with shimmering pupils.

“right this way. you may take off your hat by the way, sir,” she furtively adds in.

jungwon’s eyes widen. “oh, i guess i could-“

before his fingers could even graze the straw material, you’d already swivelled on your heel, ripping his hand back down to his side. “he’s fine, thanks,” you grit out, trying to ignore how the woman smirks mysteriously as you take a seat across from each other.

the second she leaves, you send your date a harsh glare. “jungwon, you know you can’t take that hat off! you almost revealed your identity to the whole town,” you whisper-yell.

he pouts. “i’m sorry! i just.. i felt so.. normal these past hours,” he admits, and your eyes instantly soften.

“what do you mean?”

for perhaps the first time since you’d met him, you catch a glimpse of insecurity in jungwon’s expression as he looks off to the side. “well it’s just.. i’ve never been to a restaurant or a marketplace like everyone else. and this is kinda embarrassing to admit.. but despite being a prince or whatever, i barely have any friends,” he confesses. “i’m always locked up in that castle like a prisoner and it’s so unfair that i’ve been missing out on all the fun stuff down here!”

you feel your chest ache as you reach over the table to grab the prince’s hand, rubbing his knuckles sympathetically. “i understand that. there must be some fun things to do up there though, right?”

jungwon pauses to think, cat like eyes staring down at your intertwined hands softly. “yeah.. i like when our chef makes me mystery drinks and i have to guess what’s in it. and a lot of the times we have this princess over ‘cause my mom likes her family, and she keeps me company i guess.”

a princess..?

your expression nearly falters, jealousy and insecurity of your own brewing its way to your stomach which surprises even yourself. you’re never usually one to be envious of anyone or anything — but you realise quickly that this is the effect your prince has on you.

“i- that.. that’s good!” you try your best to sound cheerful, but he clearly sees through it by the giggle that leaves his lips.

“aww, is my pretty girl jealous?” his words have a blush rising to your cheeks, and it only deepens as jungwon lowers his plush lips to your hand, pressing a kiss against the skin with squinted cat eyes and a teasing smirk. “there’s no need for that.”

his duality never failed to bring you whiplash. “i—“

“here you go!” you flinch slightly when the waitress from before seemingly poofs out of thin air and offers a glass of ice water to both of you, her chestnut bangs hiding her piercing, fox-like stare.

you both give her thanks just as she clears her throat, eyes narrowing down on jungwon once again. “pardon of me to be asking, but what farm do you work on, sir? i swear i recognise you from somewhere,” yeji questions dubiously. the woman seems innocent to the eye, but every minute you endure with her, the more wary you begin to feel.

jungwon looks at you for help, which you quickly offer. “just.. just the one down the path and to the right,” you spit mindlessly, “we’re coworkers and— and we..“

“—on lunch break!” jungwon blurts. “we’re on.. yeah, uh—“

“yeah, lunch break,” you finish with the brightest, most convincing smile musterable.

she blinks, “i see. well then, i’ll be back to take your orders in just a moment.”

as the waitress departs back around the corner, you release a ginormous breath you didn’t even know you were holding. jungwon swallows with equal signs of relief, biting his lip apprehensively.

“flower.. i don’t know why, but i’m starting to feel kinda uneasy being in here,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. just as he speaks, you watch closely as yeji arrives at a table to cater two middle-aged men, both smoking and playing some kind of gambling game judging by the piles of poker chips scattered around them. she bends down and pushes her silky hair back, whispering something into the taller man’s ear skeptically.

then, both men eerily turn and stare straight at you.

“jungwon, look at me,” you immediately snap, doing your best to remain completely normal looking despite now the frantic beating of your heart. for once, the prince doesn’t look at ease nor relaxed like he usually would in bad situations; even jungwon was scared, you note in horror. “they might be onto us, we need to get out of here now.”

he swallows, taking quick, frightened breaths. “but how?”

“just— are you good at running?”

“uh.. i guess so,” the boy ponders. “i play soccer in the garden sometimes.”

if it were any other situation, you’d definitely be freaking out at the thought of jungwon recklessly kicking a ball around your lovely second home. “okay, on the count of three, we’re booking it.”

with a timid nod, jungwon reaches over the counter to hold your hand again.

you take a deep breath, glancing at the two men who are back to gambling and yeji who's busy with another table. “3.. 2..” jungwon sits up in preparation, adjusting his hat and overalls promptly. “1.. go!” you say it all in a loud whisper, heartbeat practically in your throat as you both catapult from your booth and race towards the exit with overflowing adrenaline.

perhaps it was a ruthless plan, but what else could you do in such a short time?

jungwon is surprisingly fast, easily keeping up with your pace as you yank open the restaurant door. in the background, your stomach drops as yeji hollers something about ‘the prince escaping’ before two pairs of heavy boots immediately begin stomping behind you.

“shit, they’re coming!” you hiss in despair. was this how jungwon felt when you chased him down in the garden? because now you understand how horrific it feels to be the one getting hunted; breath hitching, fingers trembling, heart continuously accelerating while you desperately search for any kind of distraction or escape route.

blindly, you turn right and head down the alleyway next to the restaurant while jungwon looks back to see the men asking a passerby where you’d run off to. they turn to your direction moments later, one pulling out a pocket knife while charging into a sprint.

“y/n, they have a knife!” he alerts from behind.

well, fuck.

you knew they wouldn’t hurt jungwon (unless they wanted to get executed in front of the whole town by his parents), but you were an easy target; all they’d have to say is that you were the one keeping the poor prince in captivity all along, and your death would be something worth earning a reward for.

up ahead was another problem. a decently tall, chain linked fence blocked off the rest of the alleyway along with a large green garbage box next to it. you glance at jungwon and he hastily nods in return, clearly having the same idea as you.

once you reach the garbage box, you swing your body onto it before pursuing your climb up the fence. just as you pull yourself over the top and to the other side, a strangled yelp is heard behind you.

you look down in alarm to see jungwon, half way up the fence, with one of the men holding his ankle in a fight to pull him back down. the bigger man with the knife was steadily getting closer, encouraging you to reach down and grab the prince’s hand and pull him up yourself.

“hurry the hell up!” the man furiously calls to his slower partner. it was a game of tug of war with jungwon in the middle, and you suspect that the only reason you’re winning is because of how hard the boy shakes his ankle in an attempt to kick the man in the face.

taking a deep breath, you furrow your brows and pull as hard as your body allows you to from the top of a decently high fence. it’s just like pulling out a plant from the soil, you’ve done it a billion times before, y/n.

at that moment, jungwon whimpers in pain at the man’s brutal clasp on his ankle combined with the strain in his arm that you’re tugging relentlessly. it’s almost a cue that sets you off; the sound of the poor prince you care so deeply for being hurt sending strength and anger through your veins, enough to emit another harsh yank and scream from your body.

finally, the man loses his grip. “c’mon, c’mon!” you shriek, helping jungwon as he scrambles up the fence and parkours over just as the man jumps in an attempt to catch him. you both carefully leap to the ground and dash off once more, even if your body felt like collapsing at any moment.

in the distance, a large forest grew the faster you ran towards it. though he’s out of breath, jungwon speaks up hastily at the sight. “flower, i know the perfect place to rest.”

the sound of rushing, powerful water was getting louder the deeper you followed jungwon off the main path and into the woods. why you were trusting him at this point of your date? you had no idea, but you blame the beautiful assortments of plants and wildlife surrounding you for being such a nice distraction.

at last, jungwon stops at two specifically large, graceful trees that leave no space to see in between, as if they were the hidden entrance to some kind of mythical fairy world. “here we are,” he declares while smiling down at you. you watch in awe as he finally pulls off his straw hat, taking in the fluffy black hair you continuously felt the urge to run your nails through.

with a deep breath, jungwon pulls the two trees apart and allows you to duck under his arm. when you look back up, your heart nearly stops.

it has to be the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

seemingly straight out of narnia or neverland, a grassy flatland of blooming flowers revelled below droopy vines falling from ginormous trees. some plants held little berries or blossoms upon their leaves, and it was probably why so many bunnies and other critters inhabited burrows close by. and of course, the most brilliant part of it all was the crashing waterfall that bubbled white at the bottom, embellished with lily pads that occasionally held pink lotuses on top.

you couldn’t understand how it wasn’t a tourist spot, but you supposed how difficult it is to find was a factor, and that anyone who managed to do so would prefer to keep it as their personal secret.

a bigger hand confidently grabbing onto yours brings you out of your daydream. “you.. you do like it, right?” the raven haired boy asks incredulously.

“like it? won, this is.. amazing! i’m speechless,” you ramble, speed-walking over to a bush of small red flowers obliviously while jungwon grins at his new nickname. “just look at these naturally growing cardinals! and.. and the water lilies!”

the prince almost forgot he was out with a gardener. he giggles in adoration as you continue dragging him around the small fairyland, big eyes examining each plant thoughtfully. it was even more adorable how every time, you’d tell him a bit about the flower and ask what he thought about it.

“—and this one’s a blue flag water iris! do you like it?” you beam.

jungwon has never seen you act so childish and free before, and it makes his cheeks hurt from smiling. “yeah, this one’s really pretty,” he agrees. “do you.. have a favourite flower?”

it wasn’t because he had plans to make you a humongous bouquet in the future, of course not.

you look up from your bent over position to gasp. “obviously not, that’d be like having a favourite child!”

he smirks, maintaining eye contact as you rise to your full height. “fair enough. still, it’s amazing how you just.. look at them and know what kind of plant it is.”

“that’s what happens when you have gardening parents i suppose,” you shrug.

as jungwon takes in the new information about your family with excited eyes, you both take a seat on the grassy terrain by the waterfall. it soons changes to lying down on your sides, facing each other with soft laughter as you tell him funny gardening stories you’d experienced with your dad.

suddenly, he gasps comically. “i almost forgot!” while still lying down, the male digs into his overalls pocket, pulling out the cheap blue necklace from the marketplace with a proud expression. he gestures for you to sit up with him. “turn around pretty, i’ll put it on for you.”

you weigh the pros and cons of telling jungwon the necklace was fake, coming to the eventual conclusion that he probably wouldn’t care either way. if he could fall for you over a rich princess, things like status and one’s money clearly had no detrimental effect on him.

with your front now turned to the waterfall, the prince ever so gently reaches around your neck and locks the blue necklace in place. you mindlessly turn back around, gasping when you find his handsome face despicably close to yours.

his bangs blew left and right ever so slightly with the breeze of the waterfall, brown cat-like eyes peering down at you with nothing but love. you swallow when you glance down and see how he hesitantly licks his lips, at last reaching up to cup the soft apple of your cheek.

there was only one other incident where you’d been so close to each other. “the last time we were in this position..” you don’t even have to finish your sentence before jungwon bursts into laughter with you quickly following, reminiscing on how rudely he had pranked you.

“i said i was sorry, okay!” he defends. “you were just so cute on my lap, you were so.. so sure i was gonna..” he cuts himself off by erupting in giggles again, making you pout in disapproval of the moment being ruined so soon.

you can’t just sit around and let history repeat itself, can you?

before your confidence fades away, you pounce on the laughing boy, pressing him to the ground and lowering down to smash your lips on his. jungwon’s eyes widen and he grunts in shock, hastily recovering as he begins gently kissing you back and lifting his hands to your waist.

his lips feel unexplainably addicting, plush and pink as they mesh with yours, breathing in sync as you bring a hand to finally tangle your fingers through the shining roots of his hair.

suddenly, you’re being flipped over to the grass with such benignity yet strength altogether. jungwon hovers over you with a pleased smile at his new power, mischievously staring at you below him with palms near your head.

just when you raise a brow and start to question his motives, he’s pecking your lips quickly to shut you up. “flower?” he calls out, barely above a whisper.

the whole time his smile never falters, and it makes a grin of your own blossom across your face. “yes, my prince?”

his head tilts to the side. “i really like you.”

your chest pangs with happiness, and you feel the pounding urge to just sit up and pull him into a carefree embrace at the confession. there was a hint of stress still resting in the back of your mind, but you make sure to not think about the troublesome things; what this meant for the future, or what other people would say if they found out. instead, you reciprocate his words with equal amounts of affection and honesty.

“i really like you too, won.”

jungwon exhales in relief, flopping back down on the grass next to you. “it was this amazing date that convinced you to give me a chance, right?” he wiggles his brows sarcastically, earning a snort in response.

“yeah, right,” you mock. “getting chased down and having to help your slow ass over that fence really sealed the deal for me.”

the prince gasps, turning to send you a glare as your chest begins shaking with teasing laughter. “hey! that was your plan to run out of there. maybe if we stayed quiet instead of stampeding through the whole restaurant they wouldn’t have noticed!” he banters sassily.

instead of firing a retort back like you’d plan to, you pause, smile dropping. “speaking of those guys.. won’t they like- tell your parents or something?”

of course, jungwon only simpers cockily, unaffected by your worries as usual. “pretty, did you forget your boyfriend’s a prince? nothing a little money in return for silence can’t solve.” you don’t know which part of his sentence stuns you more, in fact, him using the term ‘your boyfriend’ felt a bit too good to be true — not that you were going to question it. he only snickers at your silence, reaching over to rub your cheek with his thumb in adoration. “i should start a tally on how many times i can make you speechless in a day. you make it much too easy for me.”

why did he have to be like this?

you sheepishly look away, facing the sky that turned an elegant orange as your manic day came to an end. “shut- shut up. we should be heading back anyway,” you decide, reluctantly pushing yourself up from the soft terrain. “i have to be up and working in the garden by dawn tomorrow, too.”

“really!?” he beams, “so i can come see you, right?” jungwon follows your lead and stands up, brushing down his sleeves and overalls but never taking his eyes off of you.

“if your parents haven’t killed you by then, sure.”

he scoffs, reaching a hand out to you. “don’t worry, flower, i’ve got it all under control. now c’mon, i already have so many ideas planned for our second date!”

it’s difficult to know if you’re more excited or scared, but you take his hand anyway with not a hint of hesitation. at this moment, you also decide on having a new addition to the palace garden dedicated to jungwon, full of camellias of course.

if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments are always very appreciated and motivating <3

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[sorrinslays]

Please elaborate on all your sampo headcanons, I'm very interested!!

Hello!!!!!!!!! So, elaborating on my headcannons about our favorite conman business man, here's an elaboration on some of them:

Has multiple hideouts all across Belobog, all well hidden

So I believe that most of his hideouts are in dangerous areas since it's less likely to be found out. Like mentioned I believe that he has one far out in the snow plains, but I have thoughts on other locations as well.

He definitely has one in Rivet Town. He probably found an abandoned apartment complex with a great view of the town yet still well hidden when looking out the window so he's not worried about his safety. It's on the third floor to avoid the fragmentum getting to him. He would have a phonograph in that apartment and it's probably the one where he spends his tinkering with his bombs or other trinkets that interest him plus fake relics and other junk he sells.

If I had to find a vibe to describe his Rivet Town apartment, I would say it's where you go for a cup of wine as a slow song is playing on the phonograph like 'Losing My Mind' by Missio, 'April Fool' by Dean Fujioka or 'Out of Control' by She Wants Revenge. It's also where you go when you have a stab wound or something and don't want to bother Natasha, just sit there in the warmly lit living room as you stich yourself, listening to the soft buzzing of the lightbulbs.

He has an apartment in the Administrative District for his persona Madam Poisson (the only one his pays taxes for to avoid suspicion). It's very clean, with only artificial 'homey' stuff so nobody questions it at first glance (like when Silvermane Guards pass through to inform of new policies or asking about suspects like that wig accident). In general, it's the one he spends less time in, only to clean it up so it isn't dusty, to crash after a tiring trip/business venture, or where he invites people as Poisson.

Overall it's the most impersonal hideout, one that is only a front. He doesn't have anything incriminating there, not even wigs. It's the one he feels the least safe in which is why, if he can, he avoids it.

His other hideouts are pretty one note, just the food he needs, a bed, hygiene necessities and stuff like that scattered all over Belobog. He mostly uses them to hide from the Silvermane guards, make merchandise, ponder schemes and stuff like that.

2. He has a white pet snake called Apollo and it always is somewhere on his body

The snake itself is not from Belobog, it's from a planet he visited before coming to Jarillo VI. Actually, I headcannon that there are no snakes in Jarillo VI. I believe a lot of animals went extinct during the eternal freeze, so Belobogians haven't seen a lot of animals, like snakes, birds, bunnies, cats, dogs, etc. And that's why Gepard froze when he heard a hiss from Sampo's breast pocket. It's quite literally the first time he has heard that sound.

The reason Apollo is always on Sampo's person is because Sampo acts like a heat source for it so it doesn't freeze.

3. He's technically not human, he was created by Aha because THEY wanted to see what would happen if a person just spawned in a random planet

I like the idea of Sampo being a creation of Elation and not being a fan of that. The way he was 'born' was by Aha trying to replicate a human and shove a bunch of unused, unfinished scripts, confetti and music. Then, THEY gave Sampo the ability shapeshift and other shit like that and just left him on a random planet out of curiosity.

I imagine that he wasn't an Emanator at first, he was just a creation of an Aeon. There's a bit of my own thoughts on his backstory, something big happens and boom!, he understands the true meaning of Elation yet with his own twist to it and becomes and Emanator.

4. Has interacted with Robin once in a random planet

I like the idea that Sampo, for all his flashiness, likes to stay away from drama or the spotlight. And when he sees Robin try and do the same he helps her get away from the paparazzi and they spend some time on a random rooftop, talking about their beliefs and ideologies. He never tells her his name and she doesn't ask. They just talk and then part ways.

[rosewaterandivy]

Part 3. hopelessly hopeful

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: no use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of heartbreak/grief, cursing, pop-punk slander by one Eddie Munson, Thanksgiving mention, protective!robin, scheming!nancy, sad girl hours continue

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.7K of multi-perspective tension, sexual and otherwise; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

series masterlist | playlist

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Then - Fall term, Thanksgiving break

There’s only so many days you can sulk in bed. Wrapped in a blanket swaddle of your own creation, it’s almost impressive; everything you could possibly need is within reach – snacks, drinks, and entertainment options. 

“You alright?”

It’s cold.

Winter has well and truly arrived in Hawkins, frost dusting the windowpanes and an ever-present chill in the air. Brief winter winds hit the town, snow flurries dusting the streets but never enough to stick. Still too early in the season for that.

You bundle up all over - two pairs of woolen socks, a sweatshirt stolen from god knows who, and too-long sweatpants snatched from Steve or Eddie, a quilt gracing your shoulders like a cape. Your friends try not to chide your melancholy overmuch, but the stubborn part of you still misses him.

Miss his eyes. His hands. The steadying effect of his voice.

Barely a month out and you’re already slipping. Eddie took it upon himself to delete your ex’s number, socials, and whatever other vestiges of your past life he could find from your phone. Some nights you’re thankful for his pre-emptive measures, most nights you’re not.

You spend most of your weekend mornings sleeping in as late as your body would allow because any moment awake was another moment that your mind will wander back to him. You feel ripped asunder, oscillating between accepting the fact that your engagement and relationship is over, and then letting yourself grow frustrated for allowing yourself to fall into this trap in the first place.

You wish you had never said yes to him last December. Never gone to that party back in college, never given him your number, never kissed him, never made love to him. You still ache to think of him, and you can only blame yourself.

Under a heavy spare quilt (Steve’s, naturally), you shiver. Due to the cold or your heartbreak, who's to say?

Eddie heaves a sigh and joins you on the couch. “Okay, sad girl,” he says, curling you to his side. He’s gentle handling you, warm hands tucking the blanket around your prone body with light touches. You’ve been lying immobile on the couch for the better part of the morning, long enough to make it through Bladerunner: 2049 without falling asleep.

They’re all understandably concerned.

You cry at the drop of a hat now, it seems. You throw things in frustration and have a quicker temper. You stare viciously at the black hole of your phone screen. You adamantly refuse to look at yourself mirrors. You sleep fitfully at night, tossing and turning against the sofa in the loft. Only admitting defeat when Steve pads in and sleepily leads you to his room with slurred murmurs of “Jus’ take my bed, honey. S’fine.” 

You hate that you sleep best curled alongside someone else. 

And Eddie’s all the more concerned because he’s been keeping an eye on your Spotify activity. Too many emo playlists from high school for comfort. He’d nearly staged an intervention when he walked past your classroom yesterday and heard something off of From Under the Cork Tree. Luckily Steve was able to talk him off the ledge.

“Look, I know you don’t approve,” he said pulling Eddie into his classroom by the back of his shirt, “But I know that when she listens to this song–”

“The fact that you know it is cause for concern, Harrington.”

“Uh, it’s more concerning that you know this song, Munson.” He huffs and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. ”Regardless,” he pats Eddie’s shoulder, “She’s trying to move on and that’s a good thing, trust me.”

And sure, he’d give Steve the benefit of the doubt. But he still has half a mind to scrub your Spotify data and start from scratch. For now, he settles for sitting with you as the opening credits roll for the first film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended edition, of course.

Nancy did it on purpose, but she’d never admit it. 

Just booked the AirBnB she’d been eyeing after you’d mentioned, casually, that your parents would be in California with extended family for the holiday. You’d bailed to avoid any uncomfortable questions. 

Friendsgiving it was then. Nancy and Jonathan would join the rest of you the day after Thanksgiving for a belated celebration. Until then, you had the cabin to yourselves. 

A little cabin by tucked away in a forest, earth damp from the mist and air fresh with the scent of petrichor. The car slows to a stop and Eddie cuts the engine. Robin bounds out of the front seat, all flailing legs and arms, desperate to claim the best bed for herself.

You roll your head to release the tension in your neck and elbow open the backdoor to step out of the car. Steve jerks himself awake aided by the thunk of the trunk being slammed shut and Eddie’s whistling. You allow yourself a soft laugh watching as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, glasses forgotten in the mess of his hair.

Blinking blearily, he exited the vehicle to help Eddie load the groceries and luggage inside. Trying to outdo each other with how many bags they could carry with the least amount of trips. With a roll of your eyes, you follow them into the cabin taking care to wipe your shoes on the mat by the door.

Unfortunately, you were greeted by an unavoidable fact. Apparently, there weren’t enough beds. Four to be exact, two singles and two queens. Eddie and Robin had already taken the singles, while Nancy had specifically requested the room at the back of the cabin. Which only left the queen bed in the upstairs loft or the couch.

Quite the predicament.

You tell yourself that it’s only for a few days, then you’ll be back to Hawkins before you know it. Back to reality and the countdown to winter break. You just needed a little reprieve, a few hours drive from your small town and running into students at the grocery store. Some time and space to clear your head and get over this thing.

Taking a deep breath to settle yourself, and it’ll be fine. It’s just Steve. The guy you’ve known since you were in diapers, no reason to worry. He knows everything about you there is to know. Well, nearly everything. 

A sharp inhalation of air as you trudge up the steps to deposit your duffle bag on the bed. That’s it then, you and Steve would take the loft and suffer through a few days of close quarters.

Not like you hadn’t done it before.

You’d been through worse; the camping trip of 2015 comes to mind.

“Huh,” he says after shutting the front door, shoots you a grin from the first-floor landing. “I’ll just crash on the couch,” he declares, “Give you some space.”

“No, don’t do that.” 

“S’fine,” he insists, “I’m sure it’s comfortable enough.” He tosses his bag onto the sofa cushions, a plume of dust bursting from the fabric, motes lazily drifting through the receding evening sun. “Shit,” he coughs, hand waving the dust out of the air, “Maybe not.”

Your laughter is soft, quiet as if it’s just for him to hear. A shake of your head as you descend the stairs. “Not gonna happen Harrington,” and it’s a promise. 

You lean in slowly, hand warm against his arm as you slip the backpack over your shoulder and turn to go back upstairs. Your free hand links fingers with his to tug him along. He follows you willingly, like he always has.

“I don’t like it,” Robin whispers to Eddie after dinner, arms soaked to the elbow with soapy water while she washes the dishes and passes them off for drying. He hums, taking a plate from her before wiping it down with a dish towel. “This forced proximity thing is not going to work out the way Wheeler thinks it will.”

“C’mon Buckley, would it kill you to be an optimist here? Harrington’s your best friend, after all.”

“Exactly,” she nods, “Which is how I know that this whole thing,” she gestures wildly around, soap suds flying, “Is going to implode. And we’ll be left to pick up the pieces.”

Eddie shoves his tongue to his cheek in an effort not to refute Robin, even though he vehemently disagrees with her assessment of the situation. If he had to come down on someone’s side, it would be yours, without a doubt. Sure, you were sulky and sad but that was to be expected - you were mourning for fuck’s sake.

Though you were crashing at the loft until the end of the year, just until you could secure a short-term lease somewhere, when he got up for work in the mornings you were not on the sofa where he’d left you those nights before. In fact, the only thing that did remain was the quilt you’d salvaged from Steve’s bedroom.

And speaking of Steve, his door was unusually cracked open, a sliver of morning light flooding across the hallway. Soft rises and falls of conversation sound out from his room, echoes amplified in the corridor. Your bright laughter quickly shushed by Steve, the sound of rustling sheets.

Eddie smiles at the memory, setting the plate in the drying rack by the sink and turning to Robin. “I think it’s sweet,” he admits, “And I think they both need something to hold on to right now.” He leans back against the cramped kitchen’s counter, elbows bent and fingers wrapped under the edge. A shrug of acknowledgment, “Just so happens they’re holding on to each other.”

Robin sighs, knowing that he’s right. She subconsciously mimics Eddie’s posture, fingers gripping the edge of sink and eyes falling to the dishwater as she faces the basin. “I just–” she breathes, eyes flitting up to him, wary. “I’m afraid he’ll get hurt… hurt, again.”

She shakes her head and pulls the plug of the drain, water groaning its way down the old pipes. Keeps her voice low, whispering, “Eddie you’ve been there, he’s in this endless cycle with her.” She grabs the towel from him to dry her hands, “Just over and over again while she’s completely oblivious to it.”

He nods in sympathy, hand coming to her shoulder and giving a squeeze. “Rob, I get where you’re coming from. Really, I do.” He tongues his cheek once more, searching for the right words. “And as much as we care,” he gestures between them, “At the end of the day it’s still their choice.” He pulls her in for a hug, chin resting against her head.

Robin allows herself to lean on him, groaning as her head knocks against his chest. “They’re just such idiots Eds.”

She can feel the vibration of laughter from his chest, “They sure as shit are, Buckley.” He draws back, looks her in the eye, “Luckily for them, they’ve got us looking out for ‘em, hmm?”

“Yeah,” she grouses, with no real heat behind it, “Lucky.”

Steve has to all but drag you to bed, thanks in no part to the cans of hard kombucha Eddie kept sliding your way. “You’re such a punk,” you pout, completely limp in his arms as he schleps you upstairs, “Was havin’ a good time, don’t wanna sleep.”

“Right,” he grunts, dragging you up the final step into the loft, “I’m the bad guy because I stopped you from crushing cans against your skull.”

“Yeah,” Robin joins in, phone in hand as she documents what she calls ‘clown chronicles’ and Steve has half a mind to be offended at his inclusion; he may be slow on the draw but you are an actual fool, hand to god. “Why you gotta ruin my blackmail material Harrington?”

You hurumph in displeasure, purposefully wiggling to make his life even more difficult. He drops you on the wooden planks in retaliation. “Rude,” you scowl petulantly, struggling to get your arms and legs working again.

“Well, if you’re gonna be a brat about it…” Steve trails off, distracted by searching your luggage for pajamas. He makes his way through socks and pants, a shirt you swear you didn’t steal from him in college, “What the hell—“

A bark of laughter, as if you just remembered something, “Would you believe,” you can’t stop yourself from laughing, “I packed three coats and no pjs!”

Steve halts his search, annoyed. Drops the articles of clothing unceremoniously in the duffle bag. Turns to you, hands on his hips and disapproving, “You’re a walking disaster.”

In that time, you’d wedged yourself between the top of the second floor landing and the dresser, slumped against the wall and were, yup, about to tumble down the stairs. He grabs you around the middle, hefting you over his shoulder and praying you wouldn’t upchuck at the sudden movement. 

You giggle and squeal, legs kicking against his back and chest as he plops you down on the bed. He begins to peel the sweater from your torso as you bat his hands away with a lazy smile, “If you wanted in my pants Stevie, all you had to do was ask.”

Steve sputters at your innuendo, choking and coughing over his own spit like an absolute imbecile. Mutters, “Fuck you so much,” under his breath once he can think again.

“Atta girl!” Eddie shouts from the landing by the stairs, “Make him work for it, Trouble.”

“Not helping dumbass,” Steve calls out, hand scrubbing down his face tiredly. 

Eddie and Robin say their goodnights and make themselves scarce. Flopped back on the bed, he watches your breathing even out with the rise and fall of your chest. How did you fall asleep so quickly? 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says, fingers snapping to wake you back up, “C’mon, gotta shower and get ready for bed.”

“No,” you whine, eyes screwed shut, “S’comfy and I’m tired.”

It’s hard to convince himself to rally and get you up again. Sprawled like a star-fish across the bed because you’re, yeah, an asshole who takes up the entire bed. His gaze is fond as you rustle against the sheets, breathes out a sigh of relief. 

He sits at the foot of the bed, knocks against your leg, “Hey, wake up.” A slow shake from your head that’s currently smushed into a pillow. “Mmm, that’s too bad,” he sighs, “Guess I’ll just go ahead and prepare a bath for myself then.”

Earlier, he’d noticed the upstairs bathroom had a nice clawfoot tub. And you are, if nothing, a slut for a good soak in the bath. It was the only way your family could convince you to go camping and backpacking in the summers, by dangling a stay at a hot spring or spa for the trip home.

Steve stands back up to really sell the idea, and wanders into the bathroom. Bless the AirBnB host because the sink and tub are well-stocked with every kind of toiletry you could want. Glass jars filled with various bath bombs ranging in color and scent, shower gels from Le Labo, and skincare from some brand called La Mer.

He turns the hot water faucet as far as it’ll go, because you like a bath “hotter than hell and twice as steamy.” Runs his fingers under the water, gauging the temperature and turning the cold water tap as he hears your footfalls against the tile. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he says, winding an arm around your waist. Rolls a sleeve up to his elbow and plugs the drain deeming the temperature sufficient. 

Pulled against Steve’s side, you rub at your eyes and survey your surroundings. And, true to his word, it’s a fucking nice tub. Technically, it’s a tub/shower combo with an extendable shower head, a tasteful shower curtain pushed to one side of the basin. He nudges you to pick a bath bomb and tosses it in, colors melting into the water as it fills the tub.

“Not so bad, yeah?” 

Setting you back against the sink as you nod, Steve opens his dopp kit and grabs a toothbrush. You’re quiet as you watch him squeeze some toothpaste on the bristles and brush his teeth, his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he winks.

Easy laughter as he turns back to you, jaw holding the toothbrush in place while he helps you pull off your sweater and tosses it into the bedroom. Stumbling briefly, your palm lands against his chest where you can feel the warm beat of his heart. His brow raises, are you good?

A shake of your head, you shiver at the new sense of chill in the air, skin reeling from its loss of warmth. “Cold,” you supply with a small shrug. Gone was the buoyant, cozy happiness from dinner and the after-dinner drinks hour. A brief reprieve from your sadness that seemed to follow you like a little storm cloud. 

He finished brushing his teeth, arm guiding you along as if you’re a marionette doll and he’s the puppeteer. Not that you mind, his warm hands skating up and down your arms absentmindedly. He tucks his chin on your head and sighs.

“How d’ya wanna do this, honey?”

Reaching behind you, you quickly shut off the tap, steam from the tub dampening your arm. Hooking your thumbs in along the waist of your leggings you push the black fabric downward, hips canting from one side to the other. You feel his quick intake of breath before you hear it, the air stuttering in his lungs.

Hips successfully freed from their confines, you grip his shoulders once more to stabilize yourself. His hands settle safely at your waist, mouth open in a pant. “What do I—“

“If you could just—“ you both speak at the same time. Huffs of laughter as you compose yourself, “I’m gonna fall over if I have to wrestle these off myself.”

He swallows drily, willing his gaze not to wander too far down. “Kay, so I just—“

You chuckle, guiding his hands to the rucked up fabric at the tops of your thighs. Your fingers weave through his, thumbs leading him to the thick band. “Hook your thumbs in and tug.”

He nods dumbly, giving a cursory pull at the lycra and nylon weave. You sway at the effort, uneasy on your feet, palms steadying themselves against his shoulders. 

Standing as stark still as you could, you watched silently as he descended to his knees on the tile. Head glancing back up to you while he rolls the leggings from your thighs.

The sight of Steve kneeling at your feet nearly steals your breath. 

He swallows thickly, trying desperately to look anywhere but right in front of him. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of you before in this way. He definitely has. Because he’s a grown man who's in control of his desires, he tries not to. But because he’s a man semi-living in close quarters living with a woman he’s attracted to, he can’t help it. 

It certainly doesn’t help that he’s close enough to smell you, see the damp patch of silk on your thong, near enough to taste it, if he wanted. He bites his cheek and focuses on the metallic tang of iron in his mouth. Distracts himself with thoughts of you – your friendship, your ever-present teasing with an edge of flirtation that causes the blood in his veins to rush. 

He’s too far down now for your hands to reach his shoulders comfortably, instead, your fingers glide through his strands of hair; he bites back a groan when your nails lightly graze his scalp, tugs the leggings further down, your knees knocking together at the effort. 

“Sorry, Stevie,” you rasp, as if every cell in your body is attuned to the way he responds.

The nickname that rolls off your tongue certainly is not helping, his jeans becoming tighter as he works the fabric from your legs. He’s not sure exactly when it happened — when the friendship turned into something more for him. Somewhere between the wet plush of your lips shivering against his after the Homecoming dance freshman year, and the ABC frat party in college, he’d realized that the way he felt about you was more than friends should.

In fact, it was borderline unfriendly.

You hiss as he drags the last bit of fabric down your calves and off your ankles; the joints pop softly as you roll them out. He chucks the leggings through the doorway and rises to his full height, your mouth is open and panting — pink and wet. 

“Thanks.”

He nods, eyes trained on yours, face coloring from the effort in the heat of the room. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “No problem,” swallows the saliva collecting in his mouth. “I’ll let you uh—” he turns to leave.

Your hand reaches out for him, cool fingers against his forearm. “You’ll come back, yeah?” Voice but a whisper against the rushing of his blood, “When I’m settled?”

Steve curses his timing because when he turns to respond, he catches sight of your back as you lift the tank-top off. Skin dotted with beauty marks and the occasional scar, his eyes open wide. The soft curve of your breast against the cage of your ribs, the delicate slope of your waist and hips.

He has enough sense to turn away when you hook your thumbs into the band of your thong. But goddamn if it doesn’t pain him all the same. You fling the silk elsewhere and he hears the water give way as you step into the tub and slide down until the bubbles cover your form.

Casually pinning your hair up in an effort to not get it wet, some bits fall to your face and have gone wavy in the heat, curling up against your chin and cheeks. “Stevie?”

He thinks you look like some sort of Raphaelite muse.

“Come back for you?” He asks, repeating your earlier question as his back slides along the basin of the tub where he sits, sighing when your hand tangles in his hair, “Always.” 

[jbarneswilson]

fic pride weekend midweek

thank you so very much, @eusuntgratie, for tagging me!

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

hope on the horizon

She turns and gives [Bucky] a quick salute then continues on her way. Once she’s behind the count, Nat catches Sarah’s eye. Holding her hands about twelve inches apart, she mouths to Sarah, He has a huge dick!

Sarah laughs as she pulls a coffee stirrer out of the little caddy on the table and calls out, “Yes, thank you for that information, Nat!”

not too tired

“If you broke my phone—” Sarah starts to say, raising up to look behind him.

He shoves her down and plants his hand on her back to keep her there. “Then I’ll buy you a new one. Now shut up and take this dick.”

brighter than ever

… Their fingers brush when he grabs the bucket and he feels the same sizzle he always does; the ricochet of lightning through his body that settles and hums under his skin whenever she’s around.

stevie’s mom has got it goin’ on

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna kiss yours with it, too.”

Steve slowly turns his head, eyes wide and fierce with murderous intent. Bucky puts his hand up, trying to protest his innocence, but Steve balls up his fist and stalks toward him.

but keep your heart up

Bucky hums low in his throat, still in that space between awake and asleep. If he keeps his eyes closed long enough, he’ll drift straight back into sleep. Lulled by the softness of the morning and Sam’s warmth curled into his side. He frowns when he feels Sam roll away from him. The bed dips and the sheet slides down to his hips.

something to talk about

Bucky’s smile widens when he catches sight of the covered dish in her hands. “Hey, kid; whatcha got there?”

“Well, my momma said to tell you we had some extra blackberry cobbler layin’ around. But, really, she just made the one. And it’s for you.”

The Holidate

“She’d kill me and then where would you be? Without your best friend in the whole wide world, that’s where.”

Closing the cooler and lifting it by both handles, she gives him a look before heading toward her truck. “You’re my brother’s best friend. We are acquaintances at best.”

a perfect end to a perfect day

He smiles a little to himself as he looks out over the lake, ears catching the song of a far-off bird. Sarah’s body heat seeps into his right side and her heartbeat thumps gently in his ear, a counterpoint to the crickets in the grass. The scent of her, warm skin and lotion, fills his nostrils and he breathes deep, pulling her in.

a night for bad dreams

With deft skill borne from years of experience, Okoye quickly gets her youngest settled back in her own bed without waking her. She kisses Esihle’s forehead before making her way back to the living room.

Attuma sits up at her approach, scrubbing one had over his face, he reaches for her with the other. He pulls her in to stand between his legs and asks, “Time ‘s it?” around a small yawn.

across the ocean blue

K’uk’ulkan sighs happily as he strolls toward the town center, food stalls giving way first to the fabric weavers then to the armorers and vibranium forgers. Attuma follows a few paces behind, eyes drawn to the showers of sparks as new spears and axes are shaped from raw vibranium. His left hand aches with yearning for the familiar weight of smooth metal.

He passes forge after forge, sees spear upon spear and ax after ax being stockpiled, and feels anticipation flutter in his chest. His people are preparing for war. Soon, he will be called upon, his altar overflowing with the choicest offerings, smoke from fresh candles mingling with the finest incense… And he will be glad to answer their prayers, to give their warriors strength and speed and courage against their enemy.

the calm before the storm

Taking a fortifying breath and blowing it out, [Attuma] goes first to the children’s room. He smooths the frown from Itzel’s sleeping face, unsurprised to see that even in her dreams she remains serious. Next, he gathers Khanyiswa’s discarded blankets from the floor and tucks her back in, as he has many a night. Coming upon the third bed, he smiles softly at the sight of little Esihle and Chimalmat curled together like kittens.

i tag: @jemgirl86 @dasphinxone @xoxoviva @siancore @spinachgarden @princess-of-gondor @jadedjotun and anyone else who sees this and would like to share!

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 8

Week 8: Coffee Shop AU & Sickfic

I've been excited for this one! Back to the Midwest Emo Ghouls AU, because they just won't stay outta my head for long!

When Mist doesn't show up to Aurora's coffee shop, she gets worried. Or, Mist and Aurora are hopelessly crushing on each other, but neither seems to realize their feeling are mutual.

Rating: G Content: Fluff, secret crushes, Rory taking care of Mist when she has a cold. Words: 2651

It would be remiss of me to write a Midwest Emo Ghouls Coffee shop AU and not mention @midnight-moth's ficlet (which I think technically they said is only adjacent to this AU? but I wrote this before double checking, oopsie!) with coffee-shop!Aurora and record-store!Mist, the og fic that had me sold on Mistrora! (go read it!)

As with anything I've written for this AU, all credit goes to @herbal-quintessence and friends for its creation, I've picked and chosen my favorite hcs for the ghouls when there are multiple, and for any other inconsistencies with the original creators's hcs and timeline let's just say I'm operating on a different branch at an indeterminant point in time, haha..!

Read below, or on AO3!

The screech of the coffee machine snapped Aurora out of her daydream. She shook her head slightly to dislodge her leftover thoughts, still drifting around about her favourite customer. Aurora kept expecting Mist to walk in the door any second, and she didn’t dare try to meet her eyes while simultaneously imagining herself staring into them under greatly different circumstances.

The door to the shop remained closed however; no tinkling of the bell to herald Mist’s arrival to the coffee shop, and the subsequent arrival of a swarm of butterflies into Aurora’s stomach. For the umpteenth time that day, Aurora squinted out the window to the record store opposite. The lights were still off, the sign still reading closed. Where was she?

Aurora had worked in the coffee shop for several years now. She had applied when she first moved to town as a broke student struggling to pay rent, and had loved every second of it. The coffee shop, it turned out, was the beating heart of this rural town: a social hub for almost all the denizens both ghoul and human. She had taken great delight in getting to know her new community and neighbours, and beginning to recognize people outside of the coffee-scented air of the café.

From her connections at the shop, Aurora had learned about the existence of the dark church, and in particular its close community of ghouls. She had found many of her new friends here, and even her new home. Aurora had got talking with two lunchtime regulars she recognized from the church: one the owner of the hardware store down the street, the other his husband joining him in town for lunch. She had quickly learned that they farmed the fields east of town, and when Aurora had mentioned in passing that she was looking for a place to stay over the summer semester break to keep working, they had offered their spare room. They were looking for a lodger, anyway.

Another regular was Zephyr: church organist, GP surgery receptionist, and one of the first people Aurora connected with in town. They always came in during the afternoon slump, and happily tried the newest and strangest flavours of tea the shop had ordered. Aurora would scribble notes on their thorough yet honest reviews, before they left with an extra-large, extra-strong black coffee for Omega, the surgery’s GP.

It was through Zephyr that Aurora had learned of their lodger Mist, who had recently opened a record store directly opposite the coffee shop. Mist was cool. Seriously, effortlessly, cool. Throughout the weeks that she had started coming to the coffee shop at Zephyr’s suggestion, her visits had become longer more regular. At one point, after Aurora brought over her third drink of the morning, her curiosity had got the better of her, and she had asked Mist if she actually sold any records, seeing as she spent more time in the café than her own shop.

It turned out that Mist had not only been an art student at Aurora’s college several years previously, but had also taken several courses in online business and marketing. She made most of her sales from her website, explaining how her shop kept running with seemingly few customers. Aurora thought she was amazing: smart, arty, stylish, cool... She felt like a schoolgirl with a crush on the homecoming queen. Mountain and Swiss thought this was adorable and frequently teased her about it, reminiscing on their own tentative courtship many years previously.

Mist had started bringing her laptop to the café, sitting by the window to keep half an eye on her own shopfront for customers while being plied with coffees and “free” cakes. She had quickly realized that no café had that good of a loyalty scheme, and that Aurora was instead buying them with her tip money. Secretly, she had started keeping track of what Aurora was spending on her, the notes tucked into the tip jar at the end of each day always covering the pastries, and then some.

As the frequency of Mist’s visits increased, Aurora had become deeply attuned to her presence. Mist was a welcome sight in her window armchair, a source of charming smiles and words which made her heart flutter. And so, on this day in the middle of a cold February week, Aurora had felt Mist’s absence before she consciously noticed it. All day, she had been distracted; one eye on the door or the conspicuously dark record store opposite.

She was so distracted, in fact, that Zephyr had cottoned onto it immediately when they entered for their afternoon break. They caught her eyes flickering to the empty shopfront opposite three separate times while ordering.

“Missing Mist today?” Zephyr asked kindly. Aurora blushed deeply; was it that obvious? “She’s at home sick today, she’s feeling pretty under the weather.”

Aurora’s concern must have shown on her face, and she started pressing herbal teas and cake upon Zephyr to bring to her.

“You could bring them yourself, if you want?” Zephyr smiled warmly: young love was such a precious thing. “She’s not contagious, Omega took a look at her this morning. She just needs some rest and TLC.”

Aurora nodded earnestly, not trying to hide how keen she was.

“You could meet us at the surgery after you close here? I can give you a lift once the Omega sees his last patient.”

“Thank you Zeph, that would be lovey. I’ll meet you there–”

Aurora’s eyes instinctively flickered to the door again as the bell chimed the arrival of a customer. She waved Zephyr and their good-natured smile goodbye, heading back behind the counter.

Before Aurora cashed out and locked up, she also gathered a selection of coffee beans and teas to bring for Omega and Zephyr. She closed the door the minute the clock hit six pm, and resisted the urge to run down the road to the Doctor’s surgery. They were a ten minute walk away at best, and Omega’s last appointment was at quarter-to-seven.

She decided to make a quick detour past the small grocery store. Tea and pastries were fine, but nothing beats the winter lurgy like hot soup. And crackers. Oh, and maybe chocolate, Aurora thought, throwing everything she could think of into her basket. At least with Mist living with a doctor, she would be well taken care of with painkillers and cold medication.

Her bag weighing heavily on her shoulder, she greeted Zephyr as she got to the surgery, perching on a chair in the waiting room while Omega finished seeing his last patient. Her feet swing nervously beneath her.

Aurora sat in the leather backseat of the silver saloon car, as Omega drove back to their house in the suburbs. As they pulled off the road, she saw Mist’s familiar ice-blue bicycle leaned against the side wall of the garage.

“Let me know when you want to go home, I can drive you back.” Zephyr offered, before directing Aurora to Mist’s room at the top of the stairs. She knocked shyly, it was too late to be scared of overstepping now.

“C’m’ in!” a croaky voice called from inside. Aurora gently opened the door, smiling cautiously at Mist and offering a small wave.

“Rory?” Mist’s eyes were rimmed with red, matching the colour of her nose, but they seemed to light up as the smaller ghoulette hovered in the doorway. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh you poor thing!” Aurora cooed, dodging the question of why Mist’s casual workplace acquaintance was suddenly knocking on her bedroom door. Mist really did look terrible; her face was tired and haggard and her skin even paler than usual. “Can I come in?”

“’F course.” Mist sniffed, hauling herself upright in bed.

“I’ve brought you cake, and tea, and you’re not going to sneak money into my tip jar for once,” Aurora chattered nervously. “Can I run you a bath? Or fluff your pillows? Are you hungry, I brought soup?”

Mist smiled weakly at Aurora’s enthusiasm, a little overwhelmed at the small ghoulette’s whirlwind of fervent hospitality.

“A bath would be nice, this cold’s making me feel disgusting. So would some soup, I haven’t eaten since yesterday night…”

“A bath is is then!” chirped Aurora, “And I’ve got tomato, chicken noodle, or vegetable broth?”

“Tomato, please.” Mist rubbed at her red-raw nose with a tissue. “Zeph could do all this y’know? Or Meg. Did Zephy drag you here?” Conniving scoundrel, Mist thought to herself, anything to win that silly bet with Omega.

“I wanted to.” Aurora shrugged, trying to conceal just how eager she’d been to visit, “Zephyr just drove me.”

Mist struggled to pull herself more upright and swing her feet out of bed, and Aurora made a move to assist her. As she did so, she looked down at the armful of goodies she was still clutching, before whirling around to find somewhere to put them. Mist’s room wasn’t at all how Aurora had imagined: every available surface seemed to be covered in clutter and trinkets, the opposite of the cool, minimalist personality she exuded. The walls were plastered with artwork, lending everything a warm and cosy feeling. Aurora eventually made space on the desk, moving a few mugs – some with pencils in, some with leftover tea – and stacking the assortment of sketchbooks into a rough pile.

While Mist sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizziness in her head to abate, Aurora headed into the en-suite and turned on the taps to warm up and begin to fill the bath. She looked around at the bottles on the windowsill, and poured in some blue bubble bath alongside the stream from the taps. Ocean Breeze, whatever that was meant to smell like.

“Thanks, ‘Ror,” rasped Mist, as she leaned against the doorframe, clean pyjamas in hand, “I can take it from here, unless you want to stay?” The exaggerated wink as she spoke told Aurora that she was only joking, and that despite Aurora secretly longing for more, this was just Mist’s normal flirtatious banter. At least she was feeling well enough for her usual wit to come through.

Aurora closed the door behind her as she left, and hovered in the bedroom until the taps turned off and the splashing sounds of Mist getting into the bathtub safely and without falling had quietened down. She grabbed some of her care package from the stash on the desk and headed back downstairs to make some tea and heat the soup.

Entering the kitchen, she found Zephyr at the table with a mug of the tea she gave them, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Omega paused where he was slicing vegetables and directed her to the kettle and microwave, grabbing a bowl and mug for her too. Aurora hovered awkwardly as she waited for the various liquids to heat, aware of Zephyr’s eyes burning a hole in her back the whole time. Out of the corner of her eye, she even thought she saw them making a gesture at Omega, like rubbing cash between their fingers and thumb. She put the bowl of soup and mug of tea onto a small tray Omega also presented, adding a few napkins and a spoon, before escaping back upstairs.

Balancing the tray in one hand, she knocked on the bedroom door again, entering when she got no response. The gentle sloshing sounds of water told her that Mist was still enjoying her soak, so she set the tray down on the desk and took a seat.

“I’m back!” she gently called at the bathroom door, “Let me know if you need anything else!” Mist hummed in acknowledgement.

Aurora took a look around the room while she waited, admiring the mishmash of colours and styles. Each item so clearly told a story, she wished she could ask about every single one. A small photo on the bookshelf made her smile: a younger Mist, probably round Aurora’s current age, was dressed in dungarees and pulling an uncharacteristically silly face at the camera from her seat atop a hay bale. A handsome dark-haired ghoul she recognised as the previous youth pastor Ifrit leaned against it, while Mountain and Swiss stood to one side, arms loosely around each other’s waists. Aurora couldn’t help the pang of jealousy she felt looking at the picture. Even though she knew they had only ever been friends, she was reminded that Mist had lived a life before she moved here, that there was no way she would ever fall for her young barista with a silly crush.

Abruptly, Aurora stood up and walked to the bed to straighten the duvet and fluff the pillows, perhaps with a little more force than was necessary. As she was tucking the foot of the blankets back in, Mist finally emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fresh, ocean-scented steam. She looked to have more colour in her cheeks already, the worst of the pallid complexion she had worn before now gone.

“Feel better for that?” asked Aurora, smoothing the duvet with a final flourish, and moving out of Mist’s way.

“Much, thanks Rory,” Mist climbed back into bed, sighing as she sat up against Aurora’s carefully arranged stack of pillows. Once she was settled, Aurora brought over the tray, moving the mug to her bedside table so it didn’t spill. She tried not to stare too intently as Mist ate, smothering the protective fire that burned in her belly at seeing her devour the soup.

Instead, Aurora distracted herself by chattering at Mist about the daily gossip from the street. How Mrs Bloom from the flower shop had come in half an hour earlier than usual, coinciding with Mr Phipps from the jewellery boutique, and did this mean the elderly shopkeepers were finally getting together or not? And the teenager with the purple hair had been back to remove her Missing flyer from the noticeboard, as her pet cat had just been hiding in her neighbour’s garden shed the whole time, much to everyone’s relief.

As Aurora nattered away, she took Mist’s tray back to the desk once when she finished the soup and moved onto the tea, before lying back down under the covers. Aurora continued quietly recounting the day’s events until Mist’s breathing gradually slowed and evened out. Asleep. Aurora silently returned the empty mug to the tray, before grabbing a pencil and a scrap of paper to leave Mist a note in case she woke up wondering where her visitor had gone. She debated for a few seconds, before finally scribbling her mobile number on the bottom of the paper. Given how much time they spent together during the day, it was strange they hadn’t exchanged them yet, right?

She propped the note up on the bedside table and, in a moment of impulsivity, kissed two of her fingers before pressing them into the pillow, feeling Mist’s cool breath curl around them. Aurora shook her head, and grabbed the empty tray to leave before she made any more reckless confessions.

Zephyr drove her home in a comfortable, yet knowing, silence. Aurora felt slightly like she was the punchline to some joke she wasn’t aware of, but tried to think nothing of it. Surely spending your evening taking care of your favourite regular customer who might also be your friend but also might not be wasn’t that weird?

Aurora thanked Zephyr for the lift, choosing to slink off to her room as Swiss immediately invited them inside with promises of a fresh jar of honey from his bees. As she settled down for bed herself, mind still racing over the events of the day, her phone buzzed. Aurora felt her heart skip a beat as she read the message: Hi, it’s Mist. Thanks again for coming today, I’ll have to repay the favour sometime. xx

[canyonkingdom]

love i share

(robocar poli oneshot)

(tw: illness, depression, assisted $u|c|d3)

It's the dawn of my creation. The moment I opened my eyes, the world felt otherworldly.

The first faces I saw were of shock,

but they were basking in unmasked love.

They were my family. Poli and Roy served as my older brothers full of responsibility dare they take up. Amber was my mentor, my undying platonic strewn over. (And whenever leaking spur, my mind was all about her uncontrollably.)

I had been the cheery little brother my team, my family, had grown to see. We were happy on our own, but felt happier ruling over the town. Superiority at its finest is when we plead our strength. We have arms and legs while the inept citizens have wheels to compensate.

We were cars, robots, robocars living until the day we rust hundreds of years later. And there was our leader, our stunning, intelligent, beloved leader. She was a human, unlike all of us superiors, but we grew to love her as part of our team.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

She called me Helly. I was the most loved, yet most hated. Childlike and preserved I show, her tiny hands roaming my metal frame as she looked for imperfections.

She was a mother.

Only pure sweet I felt, none drenched in bitterness. A holding hand reaching me out, tenderness when I touch.

Us four do her every bidding. Independent we are, yet dependent on love. She nurtured us despite her lackings. Every rescue, a fresh coat of paint. Every accident, kisses goodnight. We were grown and we cherish a mother's love dearly.

One dawn in October, I scurried to the control room like a lost rat. My mind didn't fathom any activities yet I felt energetic. I was halted by a ear piercing scream.

Mother woke up. I snuck to the door, peeking slightly. Breathing so fast she did, her hair unkempt. Her hand wavered to the air, looked like she was touching something.

Or someone.

"Is it my time now?" she asked bewilderingly.

Slowly, she nodded, I could feel tears running through her. She sighed, yet a big grin flashed on her face. Light through the dusk basking in the headquarters. I felt confused.

I brushed it off soon after.

I should've come back to it.

It deeply hurt us when October came.

"Tuberculosis." I wish I could unhear the doctor's stern words.

How couldn't we notice? Her frequent coughs, fevers, tiredness; Smart us robots are, we aren't devoid of knowledge when in need.

"It has spread outside of her lungs." I forced a sob. "There's a chance she may survive, but I believe it's by a wide margin."

Doctor's appointments mother always missed, as she never came, seeing herself perfectly fine. She didn't care about her deteriorating immune system, even if she couldn't stand up no more. I should've suspected something when she always tightly gripped her chest, wheezing in clear out of breath state, yet I failed to see her pain amidst.

"How much is treatment gonna cost?" Amber asked. Her eyes glowed with hope despite the previous words.

"It's three thousand dollars for the medicine, and if the patient wishes to be confined, it's twenty three thousand."

"That's pocket money!" Roy bellowed a laugh to lighten the grueling mood. "We'll do it-"

"No."

She was smiling.

"I refuse to take the treatment." She repeated in a longer statement.

The doctor was impaled with sympathy.

Arguing aroused at home. Once a happy household drowned in bickering.

"Why would you refuse treatment, Jin?" Amber asked devastatingly. Her voice cracked every cry and her anger chilled me inside. Laidback once now fuming.

Comfortable in her orange pajamas, "I would still die in a few years even if i take the treatment." her voice was small, weaker than of Ambers.

"But you would still live longer..." my voice quivered when I said that statement. I wanted her to live yet I wished for her death.

"My decision." she simply said. A small smile she wore. Her tired eyes extenuated her frail body.

Poli and Roy didn't talk to her out of anger, only when there are rescue missions. Amber frequently tried to get her to reconsider, yet she stayed true to her word. Mourning was pain in their vocabulary.

But I only wished her best.

She still ran the rescue station beneath her crumbling health. Rescue missions continued, the town blissfully unaware of her sickness. Her pain left ignored. Countless pleas made; yet she never complied.

"Please, Jin. Poli and Roy only want you to get better." Amber tried hard, downward spiral ensues.

"They should respect my dying wish." her lips were chapped as forced a smile.

Nothing was the same.

Arguments erupted about her illness I tend to stay sway from. I cower every shout, I fly away when glass breaks. My fingers touch the outskirts of town, where I banter with the inferior townsfolk.

"Wanna play ball, Helly?" Annoying voice Bruner used, I refused instantly. I'm weeping in my own sadness.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, admiring the stars above. I saw her eyes glowing in the stars. Her smile a million stars I felt.

I felt her love.

Yet I can never feel it.

The undying pleasure where love once shined basked in underlying darkness. Depressing environment I flew in, blooming flowers wilting.

Poli and Roy became distant. Sad glares chipped up their frames, dipped in hatred. They didn't speak with her (I didn't understand how they could leave her love untouched.) and came to the headquarters less and less. I worried for them, but I didn't care.

They left her.

Amber stayed, health deteriorated. Her tears made her rust, bright paint once ladled in sad rustic orange. I kept her bright, painting over the scars. Yet they still persisted. Her pain leveled with the tuberculosis.

They couldn't take care of themselves no more.

Thankfully, the missions died down. I became Amber's nurse, ironically. (Mother didn't want a caretaker watching her every move.) Calm her premature tears, engine oil leaking, I become despondent seeing everyone lose hope in my eyes.

I was in the repair center, she looked me dead in the eyes. I didn't feel love pulsating from her veins.

It's sad.

It's been months. Mother's health is down the drain. Amber was getting better, her mental state didn't. Her days spent by looking over the port, finessing the sea. She shouted at me when I disrupted her peace of mind (which it wasn't, she went insane). Amber long ago stopped convincing mother to take treatment.

I have been on her side since illness shown. Making small talk, and didn't rush her need to get treatment. I only wished her wish to come true, live her best life as I serve her day and night. But her love never bloomed once again, like a wilting flower, bits chopped.

It was a cold October night, I finished my patrol immediately going back to her side. I'm greeted by Amber in the door, her eyes sunk, her metal rusting once more. I smile at her dearly, and she smiles back. I make my way to her room.

"Helly," she says bluntly.

I open my mouth to speak, yet interrupted. "Meet me at the garden, strictly midnight." her frail voice reminds me.

This was going down a dark path, but I trust my guts, trust her mind. Her body was of thin breadsticks and a orange bonnet she wore, lost of all her hair. Yet one sweet smile still remained on her face, though pale and wrinkled.

Midnight came by. I spot Amber in the race track. She was sobbing. She was always like this and I leave her be. I fly to the garden solemnly, spotting her amongst the array of flowers.

I retract my propeller as I land. It was so peaceful. She was looking at the sky above, twinkling stars and the glowing moon. I love seeing mother happy.

She looks at me. She smiles. "You came."

"I always will." I reply.

"Helly, do you know why I didn't want treatment?"

I sigh. "Why?"

"I wanted to die, Helly."

My eyes widen with that answer. Never did I see her as suicidal, she showered us with her affection and never showed herself her own. I felt terrible, rust crawling through my metal frame.

"Don't think about it the wrong way," she sighs heavily, "I love all of you, Poli, Roy, Amber, and especially you. But-" she paused.

"Why?" I blurt out painfully.

"They're calling me, Helly. Heaven." angelic tears, "My dad, he's calling me. I've got to leave this world."

Her dad has been a controversial topic. Like her, he had gave her love, looking up to him. Yet he died, sadly.

"Why?" I repeat, more sincerely.

"I miss his love, Helly."

Her painfully stupid but passionate decision shot daggers through my running engine. Death called her attention and was willing to sacrifice it just to feel love.

I forgot she was a real human, one that was amazing.

"I'm sorry," I say,

"I love you," I mutter.

She died, her glow fading in my arms. Her skin as pale as snow. Amber wailed so hard, cursing the world. I felt tears streak my frame.

Mother was a joy.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

Lies.

For once, I hated her love. Selfishness engulfed her being. We wanted her to be okay, and she didn't consider our feelings in the matter. All she wanted was to feel love.

Love.

Poli and Roy returned for the funeral. Awkwardness ensued when we sat together. Though they were deeply cracked inside, they found a way to smile. All of us. Amber's rust didn't show.

"How are you?" Roy asks, his voice husky from crying.

"You left us." Amber mutters harshly.

"I'm sorry." Roy sobs, "I- i'm sorry, I was angry a- and I didn't- I didn't fucking- fuck!"

Poli kept his cool, weeping in silence.

Her dark umbre casket lowered down and covered in dirt. Flowers dumped at the grave. Poli on his knees, begging for forgiveness. I stood there blankly.

Life never returned to normal, for me. Poli and Roy wiggled themselves into Amber's forgiveness, yet I enver forgave them further. They were stupid for even returning after leaving her for a simple misunderstanding of decisions.

Yet the only reason they returned was because of,

me.

Their stupid asses will never know. Never further looking at the autopsy report. They will never know her smile when I wrapped my arms around her neck, the crack of her bones, how I sobbed on her body throughout the night. When Amber found it, she was speechless. Thought she died of her illness.

I hid the autopsy safe in my room, none suspecting a single thing.

That night, she was persistent.

"Kill me, Helly."

Her love blinded me.

I felt it.

Her love, shining once more.

I watched Poli, Roy, and Amber hug each other goodbye. I watched the consequences of my decision thrive.

-///-

I cried a little while making this and that says a lot

pls don't cancel me /j

[obsidiancreates]

Smooth Words, Sharp Teeth (Part 1)

Kremy LeCroux prefers not to do his own physical dirty work when possible. He's not unwilling to fight if he has too, but he really prefers not having to. Sometimes, that leads people who don't know him well to assume that he's incapable of holding his own.

He's not.

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

It's years and years before the creation of Carnival LeCroux, and Kremy is getting himself and his new muscle a room in an inn of some town- Gideon hadn't payed attention to the name of it. He's focused on the bottle of whiskey that's rapidly disappearing down into his furnace of a stomach.

"Would you kindly consider lowerin' the prices by a couple of a coins?" he hears off to the side.

"Why would I- ... Yeah, yeah sure. Since you asked so nicely.

He hears a clap, and then there's a hand on his back. "Well now, friend, careful there. Don't you fire genasi have like, furnaces in your bellies or somethin'? Don't want you burnin' down the room we got for such a generous price."

Gideon tosses the bottle to the trash and wipes his mouth. "You sayin' you're worried I'll burp fire?"

"Well, will ya?"

"I mean, I don't think so man. Never have before."

"Huh. But I thought-"

"Look man, I don't either." Gideon follows Kremy upstairs. "My dad was a human, and my mom was like- I dunno."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Kremy opens the door. "Now I could only afford the one room for now, but it's got two beds."

"Works for me." After the floor of the train, the dirt and cobble streets, the empty roads... hell, he'd be willing to share a bed if it came down to it. He collapses right into it. It creaks and groans under his bulk like it might snap, but somehow the old wood stays intact.

It's soft.

Well, maybe not. It's cheaply made and the sheets are scratchy, the pillow thin and worn. There's a musty smell that puff out of the "mattress" as he falls onto it, and he hears Kremy begin to hack and cough.

He doesn't care.

It's the softest thing he's laid on in years.

"Uhg! This place is horrible!" Kremy opens the window on the other side of the room. "Can't believe I had to use Suggestion to get the price to what I paid, I mean I respect the principal but not when it's bein' done to me!"

"Suggestion?" Gideon is already half asleep as he mumbles it.

"Just one of my favorite gifts from The Good Baron." Gideon hears some shuffling around the room, presumably Kremy setting up. He packs light, but he still has things to pack and unpack, unlike Gideon. "I won't use it on you, though, since you're workin' for me anyway."

"That a lie?"

"... How about I won't use it unless it's for somethin' fun?"

"Yeah, alright." At least this time he's getting paid for being used.

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

Kremy has a lot of magic, as it turns out. Some of it is magic that's not so warlock related. The magic of making incredible food from simple ingredients, for example. Gideon can remember when his pa would cook for him, and it was good and hearty, and it'll always be his favorite food.

But damn, if Kremy's cooking doesn't blow it out of the water. He almost feels guilty the first time he tries Kremy's gumbo, how the first bite skyrockets the dish to being the best thing he's ever tasted. He thinks his pa would understand, though.

Kremy also has a way with words. Not just the Suggestion, which Gideon sees him use for haggling, deescalation, and just plain getting stuff handed to him. He also has a tricky and sometimes confusing way of talking. He flatters and he subtly chips away and he avoids promises and slips out of agreements. He meets his match once or twice, both with his regular word magic and with Suggestion, and that's when Gideon steps in with a quick punch or bit of flame. But for the most part the simple townsfolk they deal with are easy enough for Kremy to speak circles around.

He has a shadow that moves. Not much, not often, but Gideon noticed it the day they met, saw it before he even saw Kremy. A shadow that was too long, too dark, with teeth sharper than Kremy's own and a way of moving that didn't always match with it's owner. Gideon's not sure, for a long time, what use that magic has. He knows Kremy's patron is some sort of voodoo death loa, so the shadow makes sense in that way, but any practical reason for that just doesn't come to his mind.

It's a month into their arrangement, and about three towns later, that Gideon tries to step in after one too many drinks and doesn't see the troll's fist until it meets his face.

"Oh, shit," he hears Kremy say as he himself falls flat on his ass. He looks up to see Kremy holding his hands up, cane still clutched tight, eyeing the troll warily. "Now now, fellas! Surely we can come to an understandin' about all of this!"

"You cheated at cards."

"Well now, that's a bit of a harsh accusation-"

"My husband wasn't supposed to be playin' cards anymore."

"Y-your husband?"

"The halfling."

"Ah."

Ah. Even through the haze of drink and only-recently-ended-malnourishment and, most importantly, intense head trauma, Gideon know what she's talking about. A little halfling man who said he really shouldn't with a gleam in his eye, who Kremy barely even needed to convince, who Gideon had to quite literally shake down to get the winnings from. Maybe holding the little guy by his ankles to do it was overkill, in hindsight, but it had been really funny.

"Well now, it-it's hardly my fault that your husband can't control himself," Kremy says with a chuckle. "All I did was host a friendly game in a tavern!"

"Your buddy humiliated him. My motha's gonna hear about that."

"I'm sure Gid would be more than willin' to apologize. Right, Gid?" Kremy looks at him expectantly.

"Really, man? ... Alright, fine." Gideon spits out a bit of blood. "I'll fuckin' say sorry."

"Not good enough," the troll growls. She takes a swing at Kremy's face.

Gideon staggers to his feet and lurches forward, catching her arm! She shouts and tries to pull her arm out of his grasp, tearing at his flesh with finely manicured and dagger-like nails as she does. Gideon hisses in pain. She turns her attention to him and snarls, taking another swing with an open palm. Her hand connects with his jaw.

Crack!

"FUCK!" Gideon reels back. He spits out blood again. "The hell's wrong with you, lady?!"

"I'm takin' every coin you got and then some," she growls, "Just for the disrespect!"

"Of what?! Shakin' your tiny husband down 'cause he wouldn't give us our coin?!"

"HE'S TALL FOR A HALFLING!" She roars with rage and takes another swing. Gideon tries to duck out of the way, but a broken floorboard catches his foot. Her blow connects as he's falling, and he hits the ground. Hard.

His vision spins. His ears ring. Shadows swim around the room as he fades in and out of consciousness. He shouldn't have had so many damn drinks.

'Well,' he thinks as he coughs, blood from his mouth draining down his throat, 'This is a fuckin' stupid way to go after everythin' else.'

The troll looms over him. She reaches down and drags him to his knees. She snarls-

And screams.

Her hand tightens around Gideon's neck for a moment, and his vision goes black again.

It stays that way.

And then the swarming shadows drain off of her, and she releases Gideon as she stumbles forward. He collapses again, on his hands and knees this time as he chokes and tries to regain his breath.

He hears her choke too.

He looks up.

So it wasn't his losing consciousness earlier. The shadows actually had been swimming around the room.

And now they're alive.

Neon lights, eldritch glyphs, a skull staring them down. The figure twirls it's cane and grins.

A magic fills the air. Gideon can feel it around him, but not on him, like it's leaving him alone.

The troll woman... not so much.

Gideon sees the blood drain out of her face as it goes ashen.

"If you wouldn't mind leavin' us to our evenin' in."

It echoes, there are whispers behind it, the shadows squirms and writhe as voices scream from somewhere far far away in regret and rage. But it snaps Gideon out of his haze.

It's Kremy.

The troll doesn't hesitate even a moment longer before she bolts.

Kremy watches her leave, and then walks over and shuts the door. The shadows melt away from him, pooling at his feet and wriggling for a moment before going back to their rightful places. His own shadow stretches out behind him, too long, too sharp, too strange.

He turns and offers his hand to Gideon with a wince. "You alright?"

"Yuh." Gideon takes the offered hand and gets to his feet. "Hey, who's spinnin' the room?"

"Alright, buddy." Kremy leads him over to one of the beds. "We're gonna have to find ourselves a cleric or somethin', if angry spouses keep havin' those kinda moves."

"You keepin' me around?"

"Course I am!" Kremy digs through his bag. "I just said we'll probably run into even more trouble!"

"You took care o' it pretty well," Gideon slurs, feeling unbalanced even just sitting. "Why you even nee' me?"

"That? Form of Dread don't work on everyone, Gid. That was a gamble. I love me some gamblin', but not with my life, you hear me?"

"Wha' abou' the other thing? She go' all... shadow." He pitches forward and heaves. "Ooooh boy..."

"Whoa!" Kremy helps right him. "If you're gonna puke, do it in this bucket! Probably here just for that!" Kremy pats him on the back. "And Inflict Wounds is a pretty basic spell, Gid. Sometimes it works out real well, sometimes it works too well, sometimes it barely works at all."

"Same as punchin'."

"But you know what better than just a spell or just a punch?"

"Wha?"

"Both at the same time. I only got that hit 'cause she was distracted with you! Besides, I prefer some distance between me and the thing tryin' to kill me when possible."

"... Yeah, alrigh'." Gideon can't keep himself upright anymore. "I'mma take a nap."

"Oh no you don't." Kremy pulls out a canteen and splashes some water in Gideon's face. Gideon splutters, eyes flying back open. "I'm gonna go find us a healer, you wait here and don't die! I'm gonna be needin' you around for a long time, Gid!"

Kremy leaves, the tip of his tail the last thing Gideon sees as the door shuts behind Kremy.

"Least I know he won't let me die," Gideon mumbles to himself, trying his best to keep his eyes open.

... Plus...

It was kind of nice to be the protected one for a second.

He won't let it happen again, though. No more drinking on the job. ... At least, not that heavily.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Her Outlaw Hero" (Sons Of Anarchy-Chibs Chapter fic) Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Characters in this story. I am only using Kurt Sutter's characters from Sons of Anarchy. He created the characters and the show—I am in no way taking any credit for his creations. This story is for entertainment only. Content/Warnings: Violence against both men and women including rape. Summary:

Adelaide Watson is fleeing Tennessee—on the run from her violent past.

When she has a car accident on a lonely road in Charming, California, she has no choice but to walk to town for help. But help comes to her instead. In a very unexpected way.

Chapter 3

Adelaide parked her Nissan Versa in the alley behind the house of her best friend, Angela McSands. Gingerly getting out of the car while also trying to calm her swimming head, she tried to hurry toward Angela's back door and then proceeded to pound on it.

"Angie! Angie, please open the door—it's Addy!" She pounded as loudly as she could with her fists, and then with the palms of her hands till they both stung. "Angela!" Oh, God, please let her be home, she prayed.

The door opened suddenly and Angela emerged clad in a terrycloth bathrobe, her short, blond hair still wet from an apparent shower. "Oh, my God—Addy! What hap-" Her gaze raked quickly over Adelaide's slender frame and took in every detail. Her best friend's temple had a goose egg, a bruise marred the alabaster skin of her cheek, and her lip was split. And that was only what she was able to see. There was no telling what injuries Liam Walker had bestowed Adelaide with underneath her clothes. "It was Liam, wasn't it?" She gently tugged her unsteady friend into her house. "Come inside. Let's get you cleaned up and into some…" She trailed off when she fully took in the state of Adelaide's ripped and disheveled clothing. There was no denying what had happened. "Oh, Addy… I'm so sorry…" She hugged her friend close and stroked her dark hair, then led her into the living room. "Come on, honey. Let's get you to the hospital. They'll need to do a rape kit."

"No," Adelaide whispered, as Angela led her into the living room. She sank weakly down onto the sofa. "He's a cop, Angie. He'll get away with it. Then he'll kill me."

"But, there's proof, Addy. Your clothes, the cuts and bruises, his DNA…"

"He'll turn it around somehow. That is, if he's still alive."

"What do you mean," Angela asked, sitting down beside her and brushing some tangled hair out of Adelaide's face.

"He was raping me, and I… I tried to fight him off. I was feeling for a weapon to use and I was able to grab my heavy fruit bowl." She shuddered before continuing. "I hit him on the head with it—several times. I don't even know if he's alive. If he's dead, I'm in even deeper trouble."

"No, honey," her friend tried to convince her. "If he's dead, then you can explain it as self-defense…"

"You don't get it," Adelaide cried, wrapping her arms around herself. "They're his friends! They won't believe a word I say! They'll think I murdered him!"

Angela was silent for a moment and let this sink in. Maybe she's right, she thought. If she's this terrified, there's a reason. "Okay," she finally said. "You need to get out of here, and soon. Go get a shower so your appearance doesn't get noticed and raise questions. Then you're going to take one of my cars and get out of town—far away from here."

"But what about my car? If Liam sees it parked here, he'll hurt you—"

"I'll drive it into the river. Don't worry. It'll look like you drowned. He'll never know."

Tears filled Adelaide's blue eyes again. "We may never see each other again."

Angela nodded sadly. "I know. But your safety has to come first. That's what matters most to me."

Adelaide sniffled and wiped at her tears. "And yours matters most to me."

"I'll be fine," Angela assured her, placing her hand over Adelaide's. "Like I said, I'll take care of your car. If Liam thinks your dead, he's got no reason to do anything to me. Okay? So go get yourself cleaned up and I'll get you some fresh clothes together."

About twenty minutes later, Adelaide was showered and wearing a pair of jeans, a black WWE t-shirt and sneakers. Angela handed her a key to her old Jeep, a small suitcase of clothes along with a pocket knife, and then proceeded to press many paper bills into her hand. "And take this too."

"No, Angie. It's bad enough you're giving me one of your cars. I have money. I stopped at an ATM before I came-"

"Hon, I could care less about the money. It's only a few hundred dollars, but it could help get you out of a bind. I'll sleep a lot better knowing I've done everything I can to help you."

Adelaide swallowed hard and smiled sadly at her best friend. "I would never have made it without you."

"Oh, yes you would've," Angela contradicted her, her green eyes filling with tears. "You're stronger than you realize, Addy. You're going to be fine, honey. Now get out of here, and start living again."

"I'm going to miss you," Adelaide said, hugging her friend close. "So much."

"I'll miss you too, but I'll take comfort in knowing you're alive," Angela replied, returning Adelaide's hug.

"Be sure and get my cell number out of your contacts," Adelaide warned. "I left my cell phone behind and if you call it, Liam will realize you know something."

Angela nodded, "I'll take care of it right now."

Minutes later, Adelaide was pulling out of Angela's garage and began heading for Interstate 40 West, tears streaming down her face.

00000000

A loud curse echoed throughout the MC's clubhouse. Juice rubbed his shaved head for the third time in one game of pool. "You're gonna take my head off if you keep jumpin' the cue ball like that," Juice shouted at Rat. "What are ya trying to pull, bro?"

"I was just trying a new trick is all, settle down, Juicey," Rat grumbled as he picked the cue ball up from the floor and put it back on the pool table.

"How about ya play the right way, and then I'll settle down," Juice retorted.

"No, how about the two of ya quit bickering like a couple of little girlies," Chibs asked from the bar. "I can't hear myself think!"

The two smaller men each mumbled something unintelligible under their breath but resumed their game in a quieter manner.

Daisy, Tig's pet pit bull he rescued from a dog fight, scratched at the club's front door and whined for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past half hour.

"What's with her," Happy asked, draining his beer bottle.

"I don't know," Tig replied thoughtfully. "I just took her out to use the bathroom, and she took a long piss, so I'm totally clueless."

"Maybe she's constipated," Chucky suggested, wiping down the bar. He blushed when he noticed everyone staring at him. "I mean… Ya know… It's a possibility."

"Shut up and grab me another beer, Chucky," Happy ordered.

"I accept that," Chucky murmured, grabbing another bottle of brew from the cooler.

At that moment, Quinn returned from a repossession and opened the door to enter the club house, and Daisy took that instant to flee.

"Daisy," Tig yelled. "Come back, girl!" He shot up from his seat and bolted for the door. Sticking his head out, he was distraught when he discovered the dog had completely vanished. "I've gotta find her. Chibs…help me out, brother?"

"Ah, come on," Chibs groaned. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Drive the van," Tig suggested, his vivid blue eyes pleading with his friend. "I can't very well bring her back on my bike, and she gets nervous in a vehicle. Someone needs to drive while I keep her calm."

"Mother Mary," Chibs growled as he pulled the keys to the club's van from his vest pocket and put on his sunglasses. "Let's go get this over with." The two men hurried out to the van and pulled out onto the road.

"Did you see what direction she went," Chibs asked Tig.

"No. Not really. DAISY! WHERE ARE YA, BABY," he shouted.

Chibs cursed and looked at his friend as if he were crazy. "Do you really think-"

Tig shushed him and yelled for Daisy again. To Chibs' utter surprise, he could hear the dog barking in the distance.

"That way! Go," Tig hooted, happy to have an idea of where his dog was. "I know my girl, Chibby! Follow that bark!"

Rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, Chibs turned the van in the direction the dog's barks came from and they drove down the road, keeping their eyes peeled for Tig's pit bull.

000000000

Adelaide touched a hand to her head as another wave of dizziness came over her. She groaned softly at the pain and struggled to keep her eyes open.

"At least I'm just on an empty old dirt road," she reasoned with herself. If I come across some traffic, I'll have to pull over until this dizziness passes.

In the next instant, she was aware of opening her eyes and discovered she was in the wrong lane. Reflexively, she jerked the wheel back into the right lane and breathed a shuddering sigh. Realizing she was briefly losing consciousness, she rolled her window down the rest of the way in hopes of getting some more air. The California heat was stifling and the old Jeep's air-conditioner had long ago kicked the bucket.

"I need water," she thought out loud, realizing she must be severely dehydrated.

She couldn't even remember her last sip of liquid or bite of food, or sleep for that matter. She'd been in such a hurry to get away from Nashville, she drove for two days strait. She'd been too frightened to pull over and close her eyes, afraid that Liam—or someone affiliated with him—would capture her when she was at her most vulnerable.

Suddenly, Adelaide realized she was coming too again, and prepared to jerk the wheel into the appropriate lane once more. But too late, she saw a telephone pole looming just ahead of her. A hard collision followed, along with the sound of breaking glass and grating metal. If not for the airbag deploying, she would have smacked hard into the steering wheel. Her head was spared yet another trauma, but her ribs weren't. The airbag's tautened material slammed into her hard, and she heard a very audible cracking sound as a burning pain shot up and down her side. The car slammed to a stop and she gasped and sobbed as another agonizing stab of pain sucker punched her.

"Oh….my God…" she wheezed out, shocked by the sudden pain.

She grasped the key and turned it in the ignition, and the engine tried to turn over but didn't manage it. Adelaide tried a couple more times, but gave up on it when it became clear the car was not going to start. She grabbed the small pocket knife Angela gave her and somehow managed the strength to open her door and feebly climb out of the Jeep. Her legs wouldn't hold her, however, and she sank to her knees.

"Get up," she ordered herself, teeth clenched. "You don't have time to fall apart. Not yet."

Shakily, she held onto the car for support as she stood to her feet. I have to get to a mechanic and see if they'll tow the Jeep and repair it, she thought. And then I need a hotel where I can get some sleep, or I'm going to end up killing myself and possibly some innocent people.

Slowly, she began her long walk down the road, in hopes of finding a mechanic that would help her out.

00000000

Chibs continued driving down the road as Tig leaned out the passenger side window calling for Daisy.

"I think we've lost her, brother," Chibs said softly, aware of how much the dog meant to his friend. "I haven't heard her bark in several minutes."

"She's here, I know it," Tig insisted, and then he pointed at what looked to be a dark-haired woman up ahead of them. "Look, there's someone walking down the road. Pull up beside them. Maybe they've seen her."

Skeptical, but humoring his friend, Chibs pulled up beside a woman walking at the side of the road. "Hey lady, have ya by any chance seen a white pit bull around here," Chibs asked. "My friend's lost his dog and we thought she'd headed this way."

The young woman seemed to be startled by his inquiry but she turned to glance in his direction, the sun catching on her icy blue eyes, "Y-yeah… I did," she replied softly. "She w-went up th-that way…" She motioned behind her with a wave of her hand.

"Thanks," Tig called from the passenger side. "Let's go, Chibs!"

"Just a sec," the Scotsman muttered under his breath. Something wasn't right. The woman was moving very slowly and he'd noticed bruising on her pale face. "Are you alright, lady? Do you need a ride somewhere?"

The woman seemed to jump out of her skin again, and shook her head without paying him even a glance. "No, thank y-you. I-I'm fine."

"Ya sure? It's an awfully hot day to be walking a long distance," he pressed, noting her jean-clad legs. The black t-shirt can't help matters either, he thought, recalling how hot the club's black clothing could get in the heat of the California sun. "I can give you a lift somewhere if ya want."

"No," the woman answered curtly, without even looking up and kept walking gingerly in the other direction.

Chibs sensed Tig was about to set out on foot himself to go retrieve his dog. So, feeling conflicted, he drove on, in search of Daisy.

Minutes later, and a few miles down the road, they spotted an older model Jeep wrecked against a telephone pole.

"Wow," Tig said, "That's one busted up Jeep. Do you think it belongs to the woman we passed a few miles back?"

"That would be my guess," Chibs replied grimly. "She's got to be hurt. I saw some bruises on her face, and-" He cut off when he noticed Daisy sitting dutifully by the Jeep. "What the…?"

"She was trying to lead us to her," Tig commented. "She somehow knew what happened to that woman."

"I think you're giving your dog a little too much credit," Chibs said skeptically.

"How else would you explain it," Tig asked.

Chibs pulled to a stop next to the vacated car, his black eyes flashing, "I don't know. Get your dog and then we're gonna go help the woman."

Tig climbed out of the van and approached Daisy, "Come on, girl," he coaxed. "Come back with me, baby. We're gonna go help the lady. Come on." He led the apprehensive dog back to the van and then lifted her up and settled her on his lap once he climbed into the passenger seat."

In the next instant, Chibs pulled a sharp U-turn and headed back for the dark-haired stranger.

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Tagging:

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[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

ippiki au lore dump

if the name of the au does not make it very obvious, this au was inspired very heavily by the trained cards for kick it up a notch (i just chose to reference the comm, hitsuji ga ippiki, as the au name because it sounds cooler than calling it like. kickup au. so its ippiki au instead. when i first started working on this i just called it animal fighters au but thats long LOL)

its one of my favorite sets, im a big fan of dystopian and post-apocalyptic themes which the set hits perfectly and there was room to have fun with animal designs (i mean, seriously, they gave kohane sheep horns and named akitos costume "hound kid") and so i started thinking from the moment i laid eyes on the set when it leaked and i ended up with an au based around the idea of animal/human hybrids.

first of all for actual au stuff, character profiles! these were made a lot earlier on into working the au so ive made minor adjustments to their designs since then, but nothing drastic. mainly just little things ive changed when drawing them in more detail, like additional scars and such.

while making kohane a sheep and akito a dog (hes... not a specific kind of dog. hes a mix of a whole bunch of different larger domestic dog breeds combined with some wild canines. ) were obvious from the set, deciding on the animals for an and touya required a bit more thought. i ended up settling on a fox for an partially as a nod to her ny3 card and also because for a long time now ive thought theyre fitting for her anyway, and touya as a black leopard because... he's kitty. but i wanted to make him a big kitty not a domestic kitty. i do also like bunny touyas but for how i was feeling with this au i wanted him to be a cat.

theres the fun little detail that kohane is the only animal that isnt a predator in vbs.

but i should probably explain why theyre animal hybrids in this au.

im going to put the rest of the lore dump and more art below, this gets long.

basically, in the face of a coming apocalypse, there was an effort to attempt to hybridize humans with animals to see if they could create a form of human (or something seen as "human enough") that would be more resilient if the apocalypse threatened the survival of normal humanity. it was never completely successful and the hybrids were less stable/generally shorter lived (if physically stronger) but it ended up being unnecessary and enough of humanity survived to rebuild. but the experiments to create hybrids continued.

in the present day of the au, hybrids are created for... less pleasant tasks. the kinds of things people dont want to take on, and theyre physically stronger than the average human so theyre put to those jobs instead. or theyre created as showpieces/pets for the wealthy (most people outside of those circles find it strange to keep hybrids like that though. hybrids arent always seen as being truly human (although theyre fully capable of everything human and then some) but theyre still seen as human enough for it to be weird).

many of them though, are created as sacrifices for entertainment in battle arenas where theyll have to fight each other to the death. its a seemingly inevitable fate to die there once theyre sent, but escape has happened before. an is living proof of that, as both of her parents are escaped arena fighters who helped establish a small town of hybrids out in the wasteland beyond the city at the core of hybrid creation and sacrifice.

how an ended up as an arena fighter despite being born well outside the city... thats a long story.

touya is a showpiece fighter, created to fight but kept secure and safe outside of his registered fights. he might be healthier physically, much less worn down by fighting, but hes been very socially isolated and doesnt fit in with other hybrids very well.

an and touya fight in the same arena, and touyas fight days are the only times he interacts with other hybrids. hes given free reign around the hybrid compound (where most other hybrids are restricted under collars and chains) and he ends up meeting an there. although tense, they become sort of friends and he frees her and they escape together.

kohane and akito are just normal arena fighters, created solely for that purpose, although kohane was meant as an early sacrifice due to her skittish nature, but she survives. theyre in the same arena as each other, although its a harsher one than the one antouya are in, theyre unable to properly interact with anyone else at all and are just lucky enough to be neighbors to end up bonding.

i just grouped them based on which side of their face they have the barcodes on in the original cards lol in this au the arenas generally brand their fighters with a code for identifying them. touyas is actually not permanent like the others, but temporarily applied whenever he has a fight coming up (like a temporary tattoo lol)

kohane managing to survive despite the intention being that she dies is actually the driving force that starts the fic for this au (which fun fact, despite me never mentioning the title, does have a title! the fic will be called "fight, flight, freedom", unless i think of something that fits even better, but i already like the title as is so i probably wont change it)

its rough but i promise everyone gets a happy ending eventually :)

now for sitting through all that rambling heres some art

heres my very initial attempts at designs for them! no drastic changes even since this initial pass at designs tbh i was pretty content with them pretty quickly

some various doodles of them interacting, some during/around the time of the fic and others post-fic

what if they were... more animal? like furries instead of just the ears/tails? obviously noncanon but it was a fun little thing to draw

wip aged up designs! heavily inspired by the power of unity set because it also fits into the post apocalyptic type theme and i thought would work for them when theyre a little older. assume theyre about 20-21 here, while in the main canon of the au theyre about 16-17.

a silly little sketch i did last week of aged up akikoha in their burn my soul outfits... kohane cant really wear hats, horns are inconvenient for that. everyone elses ears would probably make hats difficult too, but you could probably make holes for their ears. you cant really make holes for the tops of her horns.

some little finished pieces i did for this au. can you tell akito is my favorite to draw for this?

now heres some other random au facts

an and haruka are childhood friends, haruka also being the child of ferals. haruka is a domestic cat hybrid (either a gray or black cat, i havent decided which yet). she is not in their hometown anymore either. where is she now...? ill leave you to wonder about that.

kohane and minori grew up in the same group of created hybrids together, theyre friends but were sent to different places so they dont know whats happened to each other since. minori is a goat btw (inspired by her halloween card)

a lot of ans scars are from injuries that snowballed after an incident in a fight that severely broke her tail and led to part of it being amputated. her balance was thrown off for a while after that so she was a little clumsier in fights than normal

akitos scars on the other hand are caused by the fact that hes a reckless fighter. a good fighter, but not much care for the damage he takes in the process. that and improper padding on his collars and muzzle, leaving those spots unable to fully heal from being rubbed against metal for months and when they finally do heal they scarred.

im still sorting things out for sure but tentatively for vbs npcs i have decided on fox ken and yuka (obviously, same as an), tiger taiga (i mean... how could i not go for the pun. and i think it suits him), maned wolf nagi (update march 2024 ive drawn nagi now so this is what has been made canon), raccoon kotaro, caracal arata, and dog souma (sorry to any tatsuya fans, i have not figured out how to include him in the au at all)

vbs all very clingy with each other once they get comfortable together. platonic polysquad ❤️

other characters outside of vbs exist in this au but theyre just not relevant enough to the story for me to include here 👍

the fic outline is like 2.4k words. the first chapter is a couple scenes away from being finished and its about 5k words. it will not be the longest chapter of the fic. this is going to be a long au.

maybe ill do another lore dump another day if i can think of more stuff. well see.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading, heres an edit i made the moment we got high quality versions of the cards and is probably partially responsible for the existence of this au

[an-aura-about-you]

tackling the foreword now, possibly more if I think I'm up for it:

-well, we're dropping the g slur on the first page of this foreword. I knew it was in here but that's certainly less than ideal.

-it's mentioned here that the author is Jewish, and the information I have indicates that this is going to be used later to confirm the main character is Jewish. that's just sloppy writing if this is true. but I'm putting it here in case it IS the only time anyone is mentioned to be Jewish before the love interest asks the main character about it.

-"We met in quite an unprecedented way." They met via the internet because they had a common fandom. *takes a look at all of my friends on here, some of whom I've met in person, that I share a fandom with*

-so far the person writing the foreword has talked more about the book SHE wrote instead of the one I'm about to read.

-the foreword is five pages long and doesn't start talking about the creation of the book I'm reading or what it means to her until page four.

-she doesn't start talking about what happens in the book until the second paragraph on page five and she gets some fairly noticeable information wrong in the very first sentence she writes about the book. (she says the main character is from Nashville. this is not true. the main character is from a small town that is CLOSE to Nashville. I don't even know if you could call it a suburb because it's got a population of like less than 300.)

-she says she enjoyed this book more than others in the same genre, but as far as I know she writes in the same genre. granted, I'm primarily thinking of this as a romance book along the lines of fluffy coffee shop au fic and not as any sort of magical adventure. if the person writing the foreword thinks it's the latter, then maybe she likes this book more because it doesn't cleave to the conventions of the genre she thinks it's in.

-"I tend to be a bit snobbish about books." funny, that, because I don't and will gleefully wallow in the trash if it's to my liking. but I can still recognize trash when I see it.

-we get a page with four quotes on it before we kick off on the book proper. now, I'm cool with using multiple quotes in a book to set the stage? in fact, one of my favorite books, The Disaster Artist, uses a LOT of quotes. most of the chapter titles are quotes from The Room since a good portion of the book is about making that movie. in addition to that, every other chapter has a movie quote alternating between Sunset Boulevard and The Talented Mr. Ripley. but this works because Greg's story resembles Sunset Boulevard and he and Tommy going to see The Talented Mr. Ripley was a turning point that led to Tommy writing his script for The Room. it also helps that the placement is at the start of each chapter and not dumped all at once at the start of the book.

-I also get the feeling that I should just. keep my copy of The Disaster Artist on hand. the more I think about it, the more Lani Sarem resembles Tommy Wiseau when it comes to their art and how they perceive themselves.

-oh yeah I should probably mention that each chapter of the book is named after one of the tarot cards in the Major Arcana. not for any good reason, though the placement of the Fool and the World make enough sense. if you want to read something that's actually worth reading with an author who writes well and knows how to use tarot cards in naming chapters, go read the fanfic Persephone's Gambit by Diva from Musical Hell. it is a Phantom of the Opera fic in which Christine offers a different choice to Erik's ultimatum and how that plays out.

-I went to do a quick count of how long it takes from page 1 to get to when the main character's name is finally said for the first time because that is pretty infamous. we, the readers, don't learn our main character's name until we get to the middle of page 7. girl, you are not Daphne du Maurier nor do you have her reason for not divulging the main character's name a la Rebecca.

-the book straight up starts with, "I've always envied those with normal lives." no you don't. know how I know? because your name is Zade. the name you ask other people to call you is Zade. fun fact: one time when I was a kid, I told a kid at the swimming pool that my name was Amy because I didn't want to struggle with someone I didn't really know trying to say my somewhat unusual name. if you truly wanted to be normal, you would probably do something similar.

-"I won't cover everything that has been crazy or unusual in my life." I kind of wish you would because that would probably be more interesting to read.

-"Don't fight it. Destiny will always win." Ok thanks D. D. Drosselmeyer.

-our main character is blabbing on and on about things that truly aren't important, but I will talk about her thoughts on thunderstorms because hey, it's my blog, I'm allowed to be petty and nitpicky. I don't get why she's like, "The nighttime thunderstorms are more magical." That seems backwards. like, ok, I will temporarily allow the author to possess me and spend an unreasonable amount of time writing about why daytime thunderstorms are more magical to me. when it happens in an otherwise clear, sunny sky, it is the unexpected pleasure of a sunshower. but it's even more impressive to me when the clouds roll in and the world is under their dense, turbulent blanket, and the sky grows so dark that it is nighttime during the day only for the sudden sunbright shock of a lightning bolt to blind your senses. but then, I get the feeling my tastes are going to differ a LOT from our protagonist's.

-you see that thing I did where I pointlessly talked about thunderstorms for like 60 words? when our protagonist talked about thunderstorms, she did it for about 180 WORDS. this is what she's burning her precious chapter 0 on and she hasn't even introduced herself yet.

-oh right, it's chapter 0 because the Fool is 0. This is actually something I'm ok with.

-our protagonist's mother is the local fortune teller (and witch who can do legit fantasy magic, but that's not made absolutely clear yet) and she's talking about how people come from all over to see her. like, this COULD be worldbuilding because we don't know how many legit magic users there are in the world or how spread out they might be. but lemme tell ya, if they're going for a spread or to have their palm read or whatever, that's honestly not as weird in the south as she's trying to indicate. yes, there are the churchy sorts who think it's of the devil, but I've been on enough road trips down here where I've passed multiple fortune teller setups. I am not going all the way to Nashville to have her mom fuss over my broken marriage line when I've got perfectly competent locals who know their palmistry.

-she says when she was a kid, the other kids weren't allowed to be friends with her because of her family's beliefs, and I call bullshit on that. again, southerner here, and I've been to enough sleepovers that included a trip to church in the morning to know full well that at least one family would allow their kids to be friends with her for conversion purposes.

-by the way, our main character didn't actually do anything in the book until we got to page 5.

-so, our protagonist is leaving her family home, which she compares to the plantation Tara in Gone with the Wind. and earlier she said her family has owned land in Tennessee since the 1700s. while I get the feeling none of this will matter later, it still merits a fairly big Yikes from me.

-it's so weird when authors spend a lot of time talking about the brands their characters use. it feels like that scene in Wayne's World where they parody corporate sponsors. it's just distracting and makes me wonder if they paid you for the reference.

-gosh, the way she describes what normal people do to those who stand out is so clunky. it's not even worth repeating because it's honestly just painful. there must have been a better way to make that point.

-so wait a minute: Zade says her mother Dela can always tell when she's lying, but then she says she's not good at lying to her mother. the first part of it made it sound like her mother has some sort of power where she can magically sense when people are lying to her. why don't we establish that? it would be some much-needed world building.

-Zade is going to an audition, and Dela makes it clear she knows who the audition is with. I'm gonna just come out with the big twist now because I want to highlight how this book will not hold up upon a reread. Zade is going to audition for a magic show in Las Vegas that's headlined by Charles Spellman. but *Speed Racer announcer voice* unbeknownst to the readers, Charles Spellman is actually Zade's long-estranged father! but here's the thing: WHY don't we know? the book is told from Zade's first person pov and it's clear from the way she and Dela are talking that Zade has some awareness of who Spellman is. this is going to shoot the book in the foot later for a bunch of different reasons, and I can offer two ways to fix it: either write the book in third person limited so we're not in Zade's head or make it so Zade doesn't know Spellman's her father until the very end. (though there would be some other issues with the story if that second option had been taken.)

-"My anger erupted, if she hadn't been my mother I probably would have punched her." much like the taste we get of Zade's love interest Mac from the blurb on the back of the book, Zade is also a violent person. this is only going to get worse as the story goes on.

-also right after that they hug and make up. it seriously goes from 100 to 0 like that.

-I don't care that you got permission to print the song lyrics. that is not what I am here to read.

and that's how we end the very first chapter of this garbage heap. it's amazing how much I could just kind of skim over because so much nothing happens.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 4: Janus

I’m settling in. I’m doing well. I’m figuring it out. I say these things to myself, over and over, as I try everything short of witchcraft to rid myself of this jittery, unsettled feeling. Actually, maybe I should try witchcraft; it’s been a month and still the feeling lingers. It’s like a cloud of TV static, or a bluebird circling my head in disconcerting silence. I’m alright.

Magic didn’t get me to this point. I was the one who did that. I managed to get a part-time job with Janie at the coffee shop after realizing in the haze of a mild panic that, though Len left me with plenty of amenities, grocery money wasn’t one of them. I cleaned out the guest room in the cabin, which used to be my domain in the summer but which appears to have been used as overflow for Len’s extensive library in the time since my last visit; it’s now complete with my soft floral linens and sheer curtains, an oscillating fan perched on the windowsill blowing the scent of hydrangeas through the space. I haven’t touched Len’s room, terrified on some level of what will happen to me if I do–it’s a problem for another day, I think. Jasper and Joshy take turns asking me how I’m holding up, which is simultaneously annoying and endearing. I’m doing well. I am doing well.

I’m doing so well, in fact, that I haven’t felt the need to leave my house all weekend. Not when the sun was shining, not when the town’s annual daffodil parade burned slow divots into the streets, not when Joshy called to tell me that he and a couple of the other young people in town were going to spend the day at the river, “if I wanted to join them.” Certainly not now, on the first rainy night in August, which happens to be a deluge of truly Biblical proportion. I could rise above my body, I think, through the roof and above the town, and just stare at the moon reflected in the drenched asphalt of Main Street until the storm passed. I could let it beat against my skin, open my eyes against it, let it hurt if it wanted to. Then maybe, when I floated back into myself, I’d be scrubbed clean of my TV static-grit and free of unease.

Jasper was meant to come over tonight to exchange some books–it’s a routine we’ve sort of stumbled into, these few Sunday nights–it’s our time to revive Len in short bursts of normalcy. I can’t imagine he’ll make it out here, though. Not in this weather, and not at 9:00 at night. So I sit at Len’s–my–kitchen table with a cold cup of tea and hope irrationally that the windows won’t implode, or maybe that they will. It might be nice to get a bit of a cross-breeze going. I’m in shorts and a ratty sweatshirt I found in the dryer. A midwestern girl to my core, and not just because the sweatshirt has “Chicago Bears” emblazoned across the front. It’s hard to move and impossible to stay still, so my body freezes while my mind relays against itself like I’ve had too much caffeine. I work at 7:00 tomorrow morning. I think I could probably sleep here and feel no worse when I wake up than I would have if I’d spent the night in my bed. Shoving my neglected teacup to the middle of the table, I lay my head upon my folded arms to get started.

An hour passes in ten minutes, or maybe just an hour’s worth of thoughts. I’m alright. I’m so small, and this house is so small, and I’m living a small life now. To think that I thought Chicago was restrictive. To my great relief, my eyelids begin to feel heavy and the dense violet shroud of sleep slowly, slowly lays its weight on me. In my half-dream, someone knocks on a door. That must mean something, right? Dream analysis, largely disproven, is more a matter of symbolism than psychology–what’s the symbolism of someone knocking on a door? On an obvious level, whoever it is wants to be let in. Into my subconscious, presumably, given that’s where we are now; so the door must be one of my own creation. Not only is someone asking that I let them in, but I’m actively keeping them out. It’s a harsh analysis, but perhaps fair; I haven’t exactly been easy to reach these past few days. So now all that remains, assuming I want to start being more open, is to find the door. Behind me, somewhere—that probably means something too, now that I think about it—

“Andie?” A voice cuts through the fog of my pseudointellectual nightmare as if from a great distance. Male, on the younger side. “You in there?” Where else would I be, Man? You wouldn’t get it. The owner of the voice knocks again, and some stage manager in the depths of my brain hooks me, pulling me offstage with a fishing hook-cane and into the light. Someone is knocking on my door. The TV static feeling takes me once more as I stand. It’s less that I walk to the door and more that the door just happens upon me; I haven’t been sick in years, but I think this must be what people mean when they talk about fever dreams.

The Man on the other side of my real life brain door is Jasper Stevens. He’s wearing a raincoat, hugging it tightly around his wiry frame. Why doesn’t he just use the zipper? He looks cold, and I’m cold for him. I’m about to step aside and let him enter when he speaks.

“Andie, holy shit,” he says, so softly I can only just hear him above the rain, “you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I manage drily. Jasper crosses the threshold without waiting for me to move.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, his hand pressed to my forehead before I can protest. I could have saved him the trouble—I’m not sick. Just lost. Seeming dissatisfied with my lack of a temperature, he pivots to another line of questioning. “What about sleep, you been sleeping?”

I’m about to nod, or tell him to fuck off, or something equally unproductive, but for a second he’s my sweet Jasper again and I can’t bring myself to make him leave. “I—no,” I admit, “I’ve been… stressed out.” As if that explains anything. Good going, Andie.

“Come here, come sit down,” Jasper says, one hand between my shoulderblades as he guides me back to the kitchen table, “I’m going to go switch out these books, okay? I’ll be back in ten seconds, don’t move.”

It could be ten seconds or it could be two hours before he returns, but when he does he places a glass of water before me and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the kitchen counter to look at me. At some point he took off his raincoat, leaving his arms bare in a too-big T-shirt. How come he gets to stand there and look at me like that, expectantly, as if I should have anything to say to him? I stand, just to be on somewhat equal footing, and all at once exhaustion hits me. I must be swaying, because he darts forward to steady me by the shoulders.

“Andie…” he says, looking down at me with his brows drawn close together. I don’t know what to say for myself, and he knows it. I’m not sure who moves first, if I lean into him or if he puts his arms around me, but all at once I’m crushed against his chest. He’s holding me so tightly I think for a minute we might become one person, our ribs hooked into each other and my ear forever against his heartbeat. “Tell me,” he says, voice muffled against my hair. I wonder for a moment when he got so sensitive, but then he’s always been this way. When I was nine and sprained my ankle, Jasper winced with my every step as if the injury was his—you can’t take that out of a person, no matter how many cigarettes you give him.

I extract myself from his embrace, not without recognizing the absurdity of being held by such a man. “You want it all?”

Jasper runs a hand through my hair, his brow still furrowed. “I want it all,” he says. I can’t reconcile this interaction with our previous dynamic, one I was certain he would have been happy to maintain. He’s aggressively concerned.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I confess. Deep breaths. “I’ve never even lived on my own before, I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t know anyone, which is fine except that you all know each other–I don’t fit here, Jasper.”

“And?”

“And what? I’m done, I’m overwhelmed. I can’t do it,” I say, all at once. I’m actually shocked at myself for admitting it. Here’s a woman who’s never asked for help a day in her life, not even when she was failing introductory statistics and desperately needed a tutor. Here she is, entrusting a man she knows only on the basis of a childhood friendship. “

Jasper nods, thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

I’m taken aback for a moment, but nod. “Sure.”

“Why do you think Len brought you out here?”

I’m surprised at the wording of the question, as if it was Len’s plan to get me back to Evergreen as opposed to a side effect of his death, but I answer it anyway. “He wanted someone to take care of his house, I guess.”

“No, see, that’s not it,” Jasper says, shaking his head like I should know better, “Andie, Len brought you here because he thought you’d enjoy yourself. He thought you’d have fun. He wanted you to be part of the community, he told me himself.”

“He told you? When did he–”

“Later. The point is, we take care of each other here. He knew that, he knew you’d be taken care of if you came here. You’re not alone, Andie, you just need to open up.”

I scoff. I can’t help myself. “You’re one to talk, I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had in a decade.”

Jasper shakes his head, emphatically this time. “I’m a loner, totally,” he says, “but these people–they’re my people, you know? Do you get it? And they’re your people too. We all belong to each other, does that make sense?” He’s starting to sound less confident. “Listen to me,” he says eventually, “you are here for a reason. Okay? That’s what I wanted to say. You’re not here by accident, you’re here because it’s the right place for you.”

“Jasper, I don’t know–”

“Give it another month, please,” he says. His eyes are wide and, if the sun hit them, I think they might be the color of honey. “And we’ll go to the beach and climb trees and I’ll–I’ll organize the library for you, and I’ll fix that step on your front porch. One more month, then you can tell me you hate it.”

I let my shoulders heave as I sigh, allowing myself a moment of drama. How can I possibly refuse him, when this is the most I’ve heard him speak since I arrived? “You get one month,” I concede, and as he takes me back into his arms I feel the chasm between his two personalities growing, and wonder what I can do to bridge the gap and finally understand him.

[faescythe]

Stay With Me Pt 5

Chapter 5: A New Start

Learning and growing can be difficult things to do, especially when your body is forever frozen in time. Many vampires that I have met have not changed throughout the centuries they have lived. It is one advantage mortals have over us creatures of the night. They are able to change and grow not only physically, but mentally much easier than us immortals. 

It took Godric two thousand years to start seeing the good in humanity. It took even longer for me. I don’t talk much about my past. The beginning of my vampire life was full of pain, violence, and death. When I changed Godric I swore to make sure that did not happen to him. For the most part, I was successful, but the years of torture he endured could not be wiped away with my blood. 

Godric is sitting across from me in the living room. If it weren’t for the seriousness of our current discussion I am certain he would be taking his rightful place at my side. Our future together is the current topic. Will Godric choose to stay with me? Will he go back to that swamp town with Eric? Or will he refuse the help he desperately needs because of his stubbornness? He wants so badly to atone for the atrocities he’s committed, but instead of punishing himself like he wants, he is punishing those close to him. He believes that his leaving this world is justified and the only way to fix his past mistakes. 

“I know what you wanted to happen when you were taken. This path you are on will not lead to atonement. Whatever god you think will judge you will not rule in your favor if you meet your true death in this way.” I feel guilt flood through our bond as well as regret and sadness. “My childe, it is time to stop running and face what you have done. If you truly want to make up for the lives you’ve taken, then you need to put some good into the world instead of taking yourself out of it. All your death would accomplish is more pain and suffering for those around you.” I take his hands into mine. Although we are both dead and no blood flows to keep us warm, his touch heats up my entire being. I can tell he feels the same as the fire spreading throughout our bodies reaches his eyes and sets them on fire with emotion. 

“Come with me. Please Godric, come with me,” I plead as I stare into his fiery eyes. He lets go of my hands. If my heart still beat inside of my frozen chest it would have given out. If he leaves me again that will be my breaking point. I cannot handle his rejection a second time. I cannot keep wandering this vast planet for the rest of eternity without him. He is my reason for existing. 

His hands slowly move upwards and cup my face. I feel his thumbs run over my cheeks and feel them smear my blood on them. I did not know when I started crying, but I doubt that I will stop anytime soon. My red tears start to impair my vision, but I refuse to blink them away in fear that this will be the last time I gaze upon Godric’s face. The face of my first and last creation. I memorized every pore many years ago, but I will never stop being amazed by it. 

“Do not cry Maker,” He tells me softly. “I won’t leave you again.” He leans forward and breathes a shaky, although unnecessary, breath. I can feel it tickle my face the closer he gets until there isn’t more than a centimeter between us. His forehead connects with mine and at last, I close my eyes and soak in his presence.

He stayed in that position until we hear someone clear their throat. My eyes flicker open and examine our surroundings for the person who interrupted us. I see the messy blonde locks of my grandchilde who stands in the doorway. He looks like he has just risen from his day's death. “Well isn’t this a touching moment,” he says with his usual smirk painting his face. 

“Eric,” whispers Godric. That was all it took for the tall Viking to use his enhanced speed to cross the room to us and kneel down to our positions. 

“I’m guessing you are not planning on returning with me to the Fangtasia?” Eric looks disappointed by this revelation. As if he were hoping that his creator would accompany him home and stay close by instead of leaving him behind. 

“ My childe, this is a journey I must take. You may not understand it now but have no doubt that in the future you will relate to what I am feeling more than I would like.” Godric pulls away from me to look at his progeny. “I will not be abandoning you. If anything I will be able to see even more with this new predicament.”

“I would also like to get to know my grandchilde and great grandchilde. It has been very difficult to know about your existence and not be able to go to you,” I tell him with a small smile on my face. This moment is what I have dreamed of for so many centuries. The moment I could meet the rest of my bloodline. Although I am still unable to see Nora, Godrics other childe, I can still interact with Eric and the infamous Pamela. I imagine she would be horrified by my sense of fashion. 

“When will you two be leaving?” He asks us. 

“We will depart when you do,” Godric replies. 

“ Where will you go?” Eric targets me with this question. He looks at me with his stormy eyes and I suddenly feel the urge to get closer to him. I want to study him the same way I do Godric. I want to memorize him. I struggle to resist the feeling.

“I have many nests around the world. We can go anywhere Godric chooses,” I tell him. I have to fold my hands together to keep them from unconsciously gravitating toward the giant man. It seems that after being close to him during my day rest, my body now wants to never leave his side just like it refuses to leave Godric’s. 

Eric shifts his gaze to his Maker and I force myself to tear my eyes away from the Viking and focus them once more on my own progeny. We can go wherever he chooses. He is no longer tied down by the AVL. Nan unknowingly did Godric an enormous favor by removing him from his position of power. She inadvertently set him free. He hasn’t tasted freedom like this since before the AVL was established. He can once again go where the wind takes him. Just like it did when he was a young vampire stalking through the trees. 

[zoeysdamn]

Terrible thing - Part.2 | Morpheus x reader x Hob

[Part.1]

The memories of your birth had always been a little fuzzy in your mind. The first glimpses of your conscience you remembered were ones of dark sand and starry eyes looking right back at yours. You remembered blinking a few times, and just like that, you were born. Created on the spot, by a then still young Endless who hadn’t planned it. The clumsiness of his young powers had created you by accident, and Morpheus had no idea of what kind of dream you were supposed to be. He asked you for your name; a privilege that not any other dream or nightmare had or would ever have after you. A single word had appeared in your mind, and you had told him. From this moment on he knew that you were different from all his other creations. 

You had been on Morpheus’ side since that day, when the Waking World was only a rough sketch. The first millennium had been an age of innocence, when everything seemed brand new to you. You had interacted with other dreams and nightmares, roaming through the Dreaming and making yourself at ease with your young existence. Things did change with the appearance of the first living creatures then the first humans in the Waking World, and so did your duties. You were a dream after all, your job was to make those human dreams in their sleep. This had also been the time where things had started to change between the King of the Dreaming and you. Being there with him for such a long time, you had become his friend. A confidant he knew he could count on, a hand he could hold when times were hard. It was also easy to tell that you both were attracted to each other on a physical and emotional level. To Morpheus’ knowledge, you were the only creation of his that he acknowledged as a friend and held romantic feelings for. Maybe because you had emancipated yourself at the very first moments of your existence, by giving yourself your own name. Dream knew how much power a name could hold. After two centuries of friendship and mutual pining, the Lord of Dreams had asked you to become his wife. Before the Humans had even discovered fire, you were married. 

“Oi Hob, there’s sum laday for ye he’re.”

Lifting his head up from the manuscript he was reading, Hob’s face stretched into a delighted smile when he caught sight of your familiar face. With a nod you silently thanked the other printer’s employee and made your way to Hob. The sight of his sunny expression never failed to bring a smile on your own face. He sure knew how to brighten up your days any time you came to see him. 

“Hello Hob,” you greeted with a warm smile, pulling down the hood of your cape. “How are you doing lately?”

“Quite good, thank you (Y/N)” he answered while pushing a stack of papers away from a stool to make room for you to sit, which you gladly did. “Are you gonna stay in town for a few days? Business to attend to?”

“Can’t I just stop by to greet my dearest friend?” you answered with a teasing smile. “Here,” you said while handing him a fallen piece of paper “Do you need help with that?”

“Nay, don’t want to waste our time together my dear” he said as he gave you a playful wink. “Don’t know when our next surprise meeting will be after all, and we have so much to catch up on, don’t we?” 

You couldn’t help but smile at his excited tone. This is why you had quickly taken a liking to Hob Gadling, he was genuinely happy to discuss with you every new additional experience of his life, no matter how big or small. He was nice, and considerate. Like just now, he could have brushed your help away with an excuse about not staining her dress or something similar. But he didn’t, because his natural reaction had been to want to spend time with you. 

“What are we feeling for today? Ale or wine?” he asked with his usual cheery voice while grabbing his own coat.

“Has the trade with Italy improved lately? I didn’t keep myself informed,” you asked with a slight frown. 

“It has,” grinned Hob “Wine it is, then.”

You chuckled softly, already feeling lighter and cheerier by the ease of the situation. 

“Lead the way, good Sir.” 

Hob had figured out pretty quickly that you were immortal, too. First of all, he had his suspicions when you had been about half as mysterious as Dream regarding your identity on your very first meeting. At least you had given him your name, but he still had a sense of déjà vu when you had scheduled another meeting with him 50 years later. That had also been a strategy of yours for getting revenge on Morpheus; if you were to gain Hob’s affection over his relationship with Dream, it was a good thing to meet him more frequently. And to his credit, it had been really easy to come to see Hob again. When he had seen you for the second time and noticed that you hadn't aged a day, he had put two and two together and grinned only harder at the knowledge of the existence of another immortal. 

“So, what brings you here today (Y/N)?” asked Hob Gadling after you had taken seats in a nearby inn, shedding your coats. 

“I’ve just returned from a trip to Spain,” you explained casually, not a single lie in your words. 

You had indeed been traveling in the Waking World since you had started your visits to Hob. Since the thunderous encounter with your husband after you caught him cheating, he had given you all the space you deemed to need. Even if you still needed his presence somehow for the sake of the comfort and reassurance of familiarity, you were tired of being stuck in the Dreaming. In the eyes of most of its inhabitants, you now were just the dream turned queen, the stupid and blind queen that had seen nothing of her husband’s cheating for centuries. At least half of the kingdom thought you were a foolish little dream that had slept her way to the top, and the other half were giving you pitiful looks when you walked past them. It would pass with time eventually, but for now it was too painful to stay in the realm. 

“That’s great!” cheered Hob, effectively pulling you out of your unintentional internal sulking. “Did you enjoy it? I’ve heard they almost reached the New World, I truly wonder what we’ll find out there!”

“Other human beings and entire new cultures to interact with, I hope.” you said with a knowing smile. Of course you knew what resided in the so-called ‘New World’. “Granada was great otherwise” you said more lightly before thanking the waitress that brought you your cups of wine. “How are you holding up Hob?” you then asked after giving the wine an appreciative hum. “Is the year 1559 treating you well?”

He chuckled softly before starting to ramble about how his life had been since the last time you saw him 10 years earlier. His love for the job at the printing house, the new acquaintances he had, the girls he had seduced - you genuinely laughed at that and at his exaggerated winks - the gold he had placed into funding some political plot, the goals he wanted to achieve, and so on. He asked about your opinion on the turns in England’s monarchy, you exchanged on artists and trades companies you had heard of. It was a good evening. 

During your regular meetings with Hob, although quite unexpected each time, you always had a great couple of days. You usually stayed in the city, catching up with your immortal friend and spending time mending the hollow gash in your heart. It had not been part of the plan to fall that hard into Hob’s friendship. But things were just so…simple with him. None of you seemed to have to make particular efforts to feed your friendship, being around each other was just so easy. And you loved that. The ultimate proof being that Hob didn’t even try that much to discover who you really were; your name and the knowledge that you were his friend seemed enough. 

“Will you stay in the city this time?” asked Hob with a hopeful glint in his eyes. 

You nodded, smiling “I’ll stay three days top. Then I’ll have some…family meeting to attend.”

In your mind, you snorted. What a way to say that you needed to go back to the Dreaming. The newfound freedom of your trips to the Waking World came with a double-edged price: Morpheus didn’t ask where or what you were doing, as a sign of good faith to make amends for his mistakes. But on the other hand, staying too long there without any explanation would be suspicious and playing his old game. Even if to be honest, you kind of were. 

“Oh,” said your friend with a slight disappointment. “I guess you can’t skip that huh?”

“I’d like to stay longer, trust me,” you said with a sorry tone, grasping his hand with yours out of reflex – and you didn’t feel him slightly jump at your touch. “I’d rather stay where there’s someone who actually wants me there.”

He looked up at you, and for a few seconds you both lost yourselves in each other’s eyes. Hob was looking at you with such admiration and tenderness that it reminded you of Morpheus. At the thought of your husband you suddenly became very aware of the way your hand was cradling Hob’s, your nebulous gazes and the way you had unconsciously leaned to the other. You softly let go of him and grabbed your cup to take a long gulp of wine as Hob cleared his throat slightly while awkwardly leaning back on his seat. 

You were being unfair, if you were honest with yourself. Morpheus did want you in the Dreaming, he was willing to do anything to gain back your trust and love. If your love for him was still present yet definitely tainted, trust was another issue. But asserting that nobody waited for you was simply untrue – whether it be in the Dreaming or in the Waking World. 

Glancing up at Hob, you saw that he had quickly recomposed to his usual cheerful being as if the previous moment had never happened. But when you caught his eyes with yours, you noticed a glimpse of complicity and attraction that confirmed that it did happen. And surprisingly, your heart fluttered knowing that it hadn’t been a figment of your imagination. 

Your conversation resumed in its usual comfortable state. After another hour of sipping wine and chatting it was time for both of you to leave, and you made your way to the inn you had rented a room in. Some people gave you amused or envious looks on the way, probably thinking you were a married couple. You were used to it, every time you visited Hob, people assumed you were together, or at the very least that you were his mistress given that you never stayed more than a couple of days. 

Giggling at the over-exaggerated bow of Hob as he opened the door for you, you made your way to the stair that led to the upper floor. When you both reached your respective doors, you turned to Hob to thank him for giving you a walk home safely. 

“Meet me at the market by 9 tomorrow morning?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to pull you off your work at the printing house,” you assured with a slight frown of concern. 

He scoffed with a gentle smile “I think I can take a day off to enjoy your presence, (Y/N).”

You smiled, and brought yourself closer to him to lean to kiss him low on the cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth. Because it felt right. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at him while he couldn’t help but stare at you in awe at your (half) unexpected gesture “Good night, Hob.”

“Good night (Y/N)” he answered with a wide smile. 

As you closed the door of your room, you wondered when you had last  felt this happy.

The two days with Hob went by in a blink of bliss and comfort. At the end of your stay both of you hugged for long minutes, a habit you had picked up during your visits. You had promised Hob that you would return as soon as you could, and begged him to take care of himself. With his usual soft smile he had promised that he would continue to enjoy life and that reassurance was enough for you. Then after a final kiss on his cheek you had walked away and into the first alley you found, went back to the Dreaming. 

You stripped out of your waking world's clothes with a bitter and melancholic taste in your mouth, as usual. Changing into clothes more fit to the Dream realm, you took a deep breath before stepping out of your chambers. Your feet guided you toward the library, where you knew you would always find comfort. Lucienne had been a friend for a long time. Like you, she was a dream that had gained her autonomy through the years. Even after your public humiliation –  because you apparently had been the only person in the realm that hadn’t been aware of your husband’s cheating – she had remained a source of support. Lucienne may be the librarian of the Dreaming, but she was also loyal; as much to Morpheus as she was to you as a friend. She had never judged you, and listened to you every time you needed it. 

Passing nearby a field of black sand you noticed the hunched figure of the King of the realm. Even from a distance you could easily tell he was in a sour mood. Maybe you should be delighted by the thought, but against your better judgment you crossed the field and approached him slowly. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, slightly frowning at his broody attitude. 

Dream’s head whipped around, taken by surprise by your sudden appearance. His eyes were wide open, staring at you like he saw you for the first time. 

“My queen…you’ve returned” he whispered in disbelief. 

You shrugged lightly, as if it didn’t matter to you. But deep down, the thought that he was relieved of your return had a taste of victory and fondness. 

“You’re obviously bothered with something” you said matter-of-factly, brushing away the subject of your return. “What is it?”

Morpheus blinked several times, not quite believing what he was experiencing yet. It was one of the rare times you granted him with your words since you had discovered his affair with Calliope, and it had never lasted that long. And it was certainly a first to him to hear you worry about him. The Lord of Dreams simply couldn’t believe that his betrayed wife still cared for him, after everything he did. Then, after regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and started to explain. 

“Destiny called for a family dinner” he said bitterly. 

Oh. So that’s what put him in such a mood. You knew that family dinners were always a hard time for Morpheus, even if he was always pleased to see his sisters Death and Delirium. Above that, it was the first family gathering since his betrayal had been uncovered. Usually, your presence at those meetings was what could get him through the evening with some sentiment of peace and comfort. But nothing could save him this time. 

“I see,” you said pensively. “When will it happen?”

“The day after tomorrow,” he grumbled. “Desire’s hosting.”

You noticed how he gritted his teeth at the mention of his sibling’s name. The twins were always the hardest company to endure for Dream. And it was most certain that they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to taunt him with his own faults this time. 

“Well I’m sure you siblings will be delighted with this reunion” you said “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the Threshold”

Morpheus snapped his face to you and blinked in stupefaction. 

“You…want to come?”

“Is it not my duty?” you countered back with a neutral tone. 

“I thought…that you wouldn’t enjoy an evening seated next to me, to be honest” he admitted, still shaken by the thought you actually might be willing to come. 

You could only offer him a sad but sincere smile. 

“What kind of wife would I be if I let you face your siblings alone?”

The words almost made him cry. Ever so slightly he went to move his hand forward and take yours but you turned back and walked away from him. Dream hung his head low. The message was clear, you still manifested some care for him, but it was yet too early to try to make real amends. You needed more time. 

Yet, during the family dinner he couldn't be more glad to have you by his side, feeling your hand squeezing his knee lightly in a comforting manner when Desire’s teasing almost got the worst out of him. When he put his hand on yours, you didn’t flinch. Not only because it wasn’t the time or place to do so, but because in the back of your mind, the thought that Hob didn’t take his hand away from you at the inn eased you. You had needed comfort then, it would be cruel of you to deprive Morpheus of it now. 

All things considered, Morpheus unknowingly owed a lot to Hob Gadling and wasn’t even aware of it yet.

[Part.3] 

A/N: I’m probably rushing things but I can’t wait introducing more angst and the Dream x Hob parts bc I’d honestly sell my soul for this ship 

Also uh, I know this fic isn’t as popular as ‘There shall be night’, but I’d like to warn the few readers anyway: I might take longer to write to next parts due to personnal reasons. I’m currently in a big depression crisis since the end of september, due to the end of my studies, unemployement and general mental health unresolved issues, and I’ve just learned that my mom has high chances to have a cancer, and we couldn’t have an earlier appointement at the hospital before mid december 

So not a very cheerful time, and I don’t know how it will affected my writing (maybe it’ll boost it up idk), but I’m not abandonning it

Edit: biggest thanks to the marvelous @chaosheadspace​ for being my beta-reader and making sure all of this is actually good english ♥

Love upon all of you, take care of yourselves ♥