#this whole mess started with just me trying to make self-reference for what eye/nose shapes each character has

[katyspersonal]

45,46/107 is done

[wri0thesley]

*bursts through the door* Hello Nat, I am here to request some chubby/fat reader smut with Diavolo. Perhaps a more possessive and less reclusive Diavolo who spots reader and has to have them?? Headcanons or a scenario are fine, of course. Thanks!

[opening hours] - diavolo x chubby!reader (4k)

The rules for one special customer at your bakery get you into a situation that you’re not all that mad about, actually.

[NSFW, minors do not interact. Diavolo x Reader. AFAB reader, explicitly fat/chubby. No pronouns used, but Diavolo refers to reader with feminine pet names. Possessive/jealous sex. Power imbalance (he IS the Don of Passione). Brief references to reader’s lack of self-confidence/body-shaming in their past.]

The trouble had started with the bakery's unnofficial opening hours.

You had been told when you started working here that you opened ten minutes earlier than you were supposed to, but only for one specific customer. When you had expressed frustration at not knowing who this customer was and how to identify them, the owner and her son had looked at one another and then back at you.

"You'll know if you meet him," she'd said, eventually - and that was all.

Oh, you're paid for those extra ten minutes, of course - you're paid very well, honestly, for a job that you like working and that pays in all of the leftover sweet treats you'd like at the end of the day. The owner - Francesca - is polite and careful and clucks about you like a mother hen, which is nice considering how far away you feel from home. But after six months of working at the bakery and not coming across this mysterious customer once, you resign yourself to the fate that you're never going to see him.

Things, though, can change in an instant. Tiny little occurrences that feel like nothing at the time can shape your life more than you ever realise. For you, that occurrence had been the morning that the pink-haired man in a crisply pressed suit had walked into the bakery at seven fifty two in the moring and stood by the counter.

At first, he had not spoken. He had simply looked at you, bright green stare coloured with something that made your skin feel hot and prickly. He had rested his fingertips on the counter, tapping black lacquered nails against the glass.

You are used to being looked at. You have been looked at your whole life; generally not favourably. Hell, you have even been looked at behind the counter before, as people snickered behind their hands to their companions that 'no wonder this place sells out of the good stuff so fast, with someone like that working here--'. Your cheeks heat up under the man's intense stare, wondering if he's about to say something to you--

And then, he does say something.

"You're new."

His voice is low and smooth, like fine wine being poured in the dark, and against your will your heart begins to beat a little quicker. You nod. His painted lips curve in a smile that's all danger and elegance.

(It's normal, you tell yourself, to be very aware when someone near you is handsome. It's normal to have your breath taken away, to find yourself shaking a little, to feel warm and strange - and it's even more normal, you think, when you consider that something about this man makes him special.)

"You won't know my usual, then." He says, and you shake your head wordlessly, offering him an apologetic look that seems to amuse him just as much as your newness.

He directs you (cappuccino, cornetto) to his regular, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. It's strange, to be so watched - most customers can't wait to get out of the bakery with their gains tucked neatly under their arms. Very few of them look at you beyond a cursory bark of their order and a nod as they leave. This man, though . . . his eyes do not leave you for a moment.

You bag up the cornetto in one of the pale paper bags and are about to punch the numbers into your cash register, when the man leans over the counter and grabs ahold of your wrist, his grip strong and firm.

Your breath catches at the power with which he restrains you. His suit sleeve rolls up to reveal an intricate tattoo of black inked designs that starts at his wrist and (from what you can see) continues further and further up.

"That won't be necessary, carina." He says, his voice smooth. Your own voice wobbles a little as you reply;

"B-but--"

He raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by whatever it is you're doing. You don't think it's that amusing that you're attempting to get him to pay for what he's bought, but alright then.

"You're cute," he tells you, without flinching. Those lips remain turned up at the corners in a smirk that makes you feel as though you don't know what the hell you're doing. The compliment wraps around you, heated and nervous - men, in your experience, do not often say such things to people who look like you - and certainly not so quickly after meeting you. "Ask Francesca why I don't pay, if you must. Have a good day - I'll see you tomorrow."

You don't realise you've been holding your breath until the door has closed behind him.

You also don't realise how much the promise of seeing him again sounds like a threat.

--------

You find out, incidentally, why he doesn't pay - and the information makes your cheeks flame at how brazen you must have seemed, trying to insist he was going to pay. You tell Francesca exactly what happened and her face creases in concern. At first, you think she's going to tell you off - you wouldn't blame her for firing you, after finding out that you disrespected the Don of Passione like that.

It turns out what she's worried about is the staffing. You are not scheduled to do a morning shift tomorrow. She expresses fear, too, that he spoke to you and smiled at you and stared at you so intently.

"Normally he doesn't look at any of us," she frets. "That's not the kind of man you want the attention of, you know?"

You laugh off her concerns.

"It's probably nothing like that anyway," you tell her. "He was just amused I didn't realise who he was, I guess."

Her worried face does not ease.

--------

(He's not pleased to not see you behind the counter the next morning, Francesca relates to you. He asks after you. He asks your name. He asks when you're next working. And though you know that it's dangerous territory, you cannot help but be flattered).

Diavolo - that's his name, one he gives you over a shared cornetto the fifth time he comes in for his regular order, and it's a name you're told not to repeat to anyone with a gaze so intense that you feel like a butterfly pinned to glass. 

Diavolo looks at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. As if you are an item on the menu that he can purchase at his leisure, and he is merely waiting for the right moment.

You're light-headed and flattered and warm around him, a pulsating edge of danger beating below the surface that you ignore for the sake of enjoying someone being interested in you. Sometimes, the fear grips you as it has so many times before that he's flirting with you as a joke, or you're reading too much into things - and then, he leans across the counter to wipe cream from the corner of your mouth with a thumb or leans in so close to you that you can see the slightest sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and your breath catches and all of your thoughts go entirely out of the window.

He drops compliments easily to you. He mentions the colour of your eyes, the fullness of your mouth, the way your hair falls - once, he mentions how you fill out the button-up shirt you're wearing with the top three buttons undone with approval clear in his voice and gaze and you go all over hot and nervous and unsure, something that seems to amuse and please him no end.

(It’s hot, in Naples. You were not intending to gather his interest. Still, the next morning you have four buttons undone.)

You think that it's harmess flirting. After all - Diavolo is the Don of Passione. You're nothing compared to him; he is a shrine. A statue in a beautiful garden, with worshipers at his feet. You are a fat bumblebee buzzing past the statue - sated, and comfortable, but inconsequential. You assume you're an amusement to him - just a little distraction in a morning, that's all.

You don't realise how wrong you are until you're on a closing shift one evening with Francesca's son. His name is Stefano, and he's perfectly nice to you, if a touch over-eager - desperate to please. He's a little younger than you, with an earnest face and a rushed way of speaking that means you sometimes have to ask him to calm down. Francesca hints, occasionally, that he has a crush on you - and you laugh it off, as you so often do when anyone expresses any kind of interest in you.

Only, tonight he is more nervous than usual. He messes up people's orders. He spills coffee and espresso and cappuccino left right and centre - his hands shake and he fumbles over the names of regular customers who he's known half of his life.

While you're closing up, you ask him, carefully and delicately, if something is wrong. You don't know what you're expecting, as you and he walk to the front door of the bakery together - but Stefano pauses, and touches your arm.

"I've just been balling up my courage, I guess," he says, twisting his lip to one side.

"For what?" You ask, trying to sound interested though one of your hands is digging deep in your coat pocket to try and find your keys. You swear that you left them there this morning. Your hand moves to your bag. Stefano takes a deep breath.

All at once, his words come out in a jumbled rush.

"To-ask-you-on-a-date."

You blink at him.

"Um," you say, succintly. "To ask . . . me?"

He nods emphatically, moving closer to you. He's about the same height as you, so your noses come too close for comfort - the hand in your bag stays there, limply, as you try and process what he's saying.

"You don't have to answer right now," he says, his voice still pitching erratically. "But yeah, I think you're pretty and nice and I'd just-- I'd really like to take you on a date or something, i-if you think you'd like that? You don't have to! You don't have to answer right now, I just--"

He's babbling, and you're trying to keep the thread of the conversation, your mind working in overdrive - and then he moves his head forward and kisses you. It's a nervous little peck that lasts only a moment, before he steps back with his cheeks flushed red and pulls his coat closer to him.

"Okay, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow--" He says, and then he's stepping out of the door and letting it click shut behind him without even waiting to see how you respond to the kiss.

You're not sure of how to respond, honestly. You stand there, the breath knocked out of you, for a few moments. His lips had been dry and quick on your own, and you hadn't felt . . . to be honest, you hadn't felt anything.

No point dwelling on it. Your fingers scramble around the bottom of your bag for your keys, as you try and ignore that your heart isn't thumping the way that it does when Diavolo is near you. Stefano is a nice boy. He's your boss' son. He isn't, as far as you're aware, engaged in any shady business like you know Diavolo must be--

For God's sake. Your keys are not there. You resign yourself to making your way back to your apartment and trying to beg someone else in the building to let you in so that you can get the key you leave under the plant pot by your front door just in case of things like this as you step outside of the door, locking up the bakery behind you (thank God that key has remained where you thought it was)--

Only to step straight into the warm, solid chest of a man.

Fear seeps through all of your bones as you nervously look up to see what kind of person you have angered. You are already dredging up a thousand apologies when your eyes meet Diavolo's keen, green ones.

He doesn't look how he usually does when he sees you. Ordinarily, he's amused and elegant and pleased in a quiet, self-assured sort of way. Tonight, though . . . tonight, Diavolo's eyes burn hot and bright and angry. There's a ferocity in his face and the set of his mouth that makes you feel like he's captured your ability to breathe in a bottle only he has access to.

He speaks.

"Who does that boy think he is?" He asks you, voice low and cool like black velvet - and then, he leans down and kisses you hungrily, and this time you feel a hundred things.

------

You go with him, heady and intoxicated by the way his mouth had felt upon yours and the way his hand had gone around your waist, squeezing the generous curve of your hip as if he wanted to grip you by them and pin you against a wall right there and then, in the centre of the city. You think, judging by the way he had looked at you when the kiss had broken, he would have - if he had not had an image of mystery to maintain.

Instead, he says (his normally velvet voice hoarse);

"Come home with me."

It is not a question. It's a demand - and luckily for him, you are in no mood to decline. You sit beside him in the back of a car (a screen between you two and the driver), and Diavolo's hands are all over you even there.

"I can barely wait," he murmurs, hungrily, into the curve of your shoulder and neck as he lathes kisses over your throat, marking you with his dark lipstick. "Oh, bella, if you even knew how much I've wanted you--"

It's hard not to be dazzled by the knowledge that he wants you. A man like Diavolo - in his sharp suits and ties, surrounded by servile underlings, rings on his fingers that cost more than you make in a year - wants someone like you. It's hard not to be carried away by how hungrily he mouths at you and how beautiful you feel under that piercing green gaze, when you have not often felt beautiful in your life. Your body in the past has been a source of shame and sadness - under Diavolo's grazing palms and questing fingertips, though, you feel transformed.

You tumble out of the car and are pulled along with impatient hands by Diavolo, not letting you take any moments to enjoy how beautiful his home is. Sure, the pillars are marble and flowers drape from the windows in hues of crimson and purple, but there is a different purpose for the two of you now - you are barely aware of anything around you as you're tugged into the first bedroom Diavolo finds.

You're breathless again as you're tossed on the bed underneath him. Things are moving so quickly - but you have no complaints, as Diavolo immediately has you pinned beneath him, his muscular weight self-assured as he leans over your prone form to beg from you another hungry kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, demanding entrance instead of asking; and you yield to him. His hands grasp your hips, holding you with fervent frustrations bubbling under the surface.

He breaks the kiss to say, every syllable of his words dripping with jealousy.

"You're mine. You know that, don't you?"

You hadn't known it before tonight - but with the way his hands are already going to your uniform, pulling open the buttons with little care (you hear one of them skitter onto the floor), it's no longer a question.

"I didn't," you breathe, and he snorts. His fingertips are cool as he slides them up the curved softness of your stomach, pausing just beneath your breast.

"You will," he vows. "After tonight, carina, you'll realise there's nobody else in the entire world for you but me."

Your body shivers under the promise of his words. You shiver harder as he slides your work shirt off of your shoulders, tugging it away, dropping it on the floor along with the button that you assume you will never see again. As his hands slide into the small of your back, cool where you are boiling warm - and you hear the snap of your bra being undone and suddenly you are bare before him in the room.

He looks down on you in satisfaction.

"There," he coos, his hands covering your breasts (they are not quite large enough to cover the round flesh, but they fill out his grip in a way that seems to please him). "You look much better without the ugly uniform. Something so lovely deserves beautiful things only to adorn them--"

A gasp is bitten back as his thumbs rub your nipples, coaxing the nubs to hardened points. You press your thighs together beneath him, your cheeks heating up at how your body responds to him in gooseflesh and slick.

"You should never have to wear clothes," Diavolo muses, as he gathers himself onto his knees and your work pants are the next to go. "It's a waste, to not have your body where I can see it."

Diavolo lavishes hungry, possessive attention on all of the parts of you that you have never gotten along with. He does it with his hands, massaging and petting and gripping - and then, he leans down and he uses his mouth and you're squirming beneath him, the heat gathering with the wetness between your thighs almost unbearable.

The curves of your hips are mapped out - the soft flesh of your thighs. The pillows of your upper arms, the roundness of your stomach, all of the places you have thought of as fleshy and unattractive seem like a siren's call to Diavolo. He kisses you, leaving marks of his lipstick everywhere - and occasionally, he pulls back and whispers things against your skin that have you hot and needy.

"Mine," he murmurs, as he sucks a blue-purple lovebite into your collarbone.

"Il mio tesoro," he whispers, as he kisses you on the mouth hard and his hands go to strip off his own suit jacket.

"You belong to me," he says, and suddenly he is shirtless and you are staring at the sculpted muscle of his chest and the intricate tattoos on his arms. You have no complaints - you look up at him above you, a big cat playing with his prey, and all you can do is swallow and nod.

"Good," he breathes, "you're going to be so good for me, hmm?" His hands alight on your thighs and you spread them without him asking, displaying the damp patch on your silken underwear and making his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "For me, amore?"

You avert your gaze and do not answer - but that's enough of an assent for Diavolo. He laughs as his fingers curl into the garment, tugging them down your thighs (you shiver at the sensation of slick fabric clinging, just for a moment, against your sodden folds).

"I'm a lucky man," he says to you. "I've always been lucky, you know . . . but you may very well be my luckiest find."

Your thighs are urged further apart, until Diavolo can settle between them, his weight heavy and self-assured. What is between your thighs, too, is subject to Diavolo's piercing gaze - but he is not critical. He is merely . . . hungry. Intoxicated. You know that, arguably, Diavolo has all of the power here - and yet you cannot help but feel as though it is you who is really in control.

One of his fingers slides over your sex, gathering your slick on his fingers, winning the chase of your hips as he slides from clit to perineum and back again. You pant aloud, a soft whimpering noise falling from your lips against your will.

"Look at you," he murmurs, enthralled. "Look how you respond, all for me--"

Your fingers clench in the sheets beneath you as Diavolo presses one finger inside you, slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him inside. You know that he is longing to fuck you with them vigorously - you can see it from the set of his shoulders and his mouth. He is practically buzzing with unrestrained tension. But he keeps his calm, pumping the lone finger in and out of you (you are wet enough that the sound echoes around the room, mixing with your laboured breathing). Occasionally, he buries his finger inside you almost to the hilt and you gasp at the cool sensation of one of his rings pressing against your entrance. He looks amused, his lips curved into a smirk - but he remains solid. He does nothing, in fact, until your hips buck up and you whimper;

"I can take another one, please--"

"Good," Diavolo purrs, his voice persuasive. "Of course you can, cara. Yes. You'll take all of me, won't you?" A second finger joins the first, scissoring you open with slow movements. "You're going to be so good for me. You're going to forget about any other person in the world when you're speared on my cock--"

Your body heats up in embarrassment and pleasure all over. The way his fingers rub inside your channel makes you squirm, your hips wriggling underneath him, your lungs barely able to contain your breath. A tight, hot ball of tension is making itself known low in your stomach, familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once.

His thumb brushes over your clit and your body jolts. Diavolo chuckles under his breath and pulls out his fingers, accompanied by a wet gush of your arousal that seems incredibly loud to your ears. You watch as Diavolo brings his fingers to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste you.

Your lower body gives a throb as he drinks in your slick like fine wine, as he utters forth a low groan of pleasure. He looks at you with dark-lidded eyes.

"Amore," he murmurs, all soft, quiet words with a steel edge. He shifts, and something hot and silky and damp brushes across your thigh that you realise is his cock. That same body part is positioned with his thumb and forefinger, at the tight entrance to your sex. "Just relax . . . I'll have finished making you mine soon enough--"

His hips move. You're pushed open, his cock deep and thick - your hands come to cling to his shoulders instead of the bedsheets, your voice coming out in a broken little wail.

It is not that it hurts. Diavolo has prepared you, and you are slick and needy enough that there's only the briefest stretch of discomfort - but it is more that Diavolo's cock inside you feels so right. You feel so full and possessed and owned, and you never thought you would need and adore it as much as you do.

You feel like nothing more than a piece of Diavolo's property, a treasured jewel that he wants to lock away and keep for himself forever - and you love it. Your legs lock about his hips without him even urging you to, determined to have him sink inside you as deep as he can go - and Diavolo groans chest-deep at the feel of it.

His hips move, sliding his cock deep and then shallow, enjoying the feel of you tightly engulfing him.

"You're perfect," he growls, lowly. "Tight, hot, wet -- and most importantly, cara . . . you’re mine.” He sighs, pressing himself impossibly deeper inside you so that your toes curl. A pleased rumble in the back of his throat. “You feel so good." He pauses, before he says, demanding; "Tell me how I feel."

"B-big," you hiccup out in between breathless moans and soft, needy pants. "L-like you're filling me up--"

"Tell me, little coniglio . . . do you like being filled up by me? Belonging to me? Having me . . ." His fingers skitter over your breasts, leaving hot trails of fire behind him. The heat low inside you is just burning hotter and hotter, your head swimming with all of the new sensations. "Lay my claim on you?"

You nod. You're babbling, your hips stuttering against his. Everything feels far away from you, now - earlier on that night feels like a fever dream. You can't remember how it felt to be anywhere but beneath Diavolo with his cock drilling deep inside you, making you feel needed and claimed and unmistakably his--

"Yes," you cry out, as his other hand moved lower, brushing your stomach, your mound - parting the lips of your sex so his fingers can rub firm circles on your clit.

There's that heat again, threefold - tumbling over and over itself until you feel fireworks set off behind your eyes and Diavolo's cock pumps harder inside you, your channel squeezing and constricting around him inside you. You're so busy coming, in fact, that you almost don't hear him murmur;

"Good. Because it's something you're going to have to get used to now you're mine."

[bosspigeon]

sunshine on a rainy day

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3669 Summary: Unit Bravo helps Juni with rooting through the sodden mess of his bedroom, and Mason tries to figure out just what the hell is going on with the detective.

I have no excuses or explanations for this. It’s just self-indulgent corny nonsense.*shakes Mason like an Etch-a-Sketch until he can acknowledge his goddamned feelings*

Please check out this cover of “My Girl” by Kele Okereke that inspired this whole thing, because it makes it gay and it brings my little homosexual heart so much joy~

Mild CW for references to sex/m*sturbation

Things are still… weird, with Juni.

Of course, he’s pretending they aren’t, and he’d be very convincing if it were anyone but Mason he’s trying to convince.

His smiles are too brittle, too tense, and they don’t make his nose scrunch up like they should. His laughs are too-sharp and high-pitched, strained with effort, and he hasn’t snorted once. He radiates tension the second Mason looks his way, hides behind his hair like he’s afraid to look him in the eye. When Mason first met the detective, he thought he was soft. Too soft. The sort Mason would chew up and spit out if he cared enough to bother, but then he dug a little deeper, hit a nerve or two, and found that shiny spine. He found that, when pushed, Juni had bite.

He may have gotten a bit addicted to the bite, and now that it’s gone, he feels completely off-kilter. Juni still responds when he flirts, of course, blushing and fumbling like always, but it feels… different, somehow. And it has since the bakery.

He apologized, and he thought that would make it better, but it hasn’t, and now he’s caught between frustration and what might be... guilt?

Clearly, he’s hurt Juni somehow, and he’s not sure how to fix it.

Why do you need to fix it? Why do you care?

He shakes it off. They’ve got more important things to worry about right now. He’s got to keep his head in the game.

“I’m sorry,” Juni says miserably, again, and Mason wants to shake him. What part of this is his fault?

“It’s not your fault,” Nate says kindly, before Mason can get snippy and make Juni withdraw into himself even further. “You can’t be blamed for bad luck.”

Juni snorts, grabbing his arm. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” he recites, like it’s something he’s said before. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says “I Just Hope Both Teams Have Fun” and it’s a bit odd to see his arms without the cover of his usual sweatshirt. He keeps rubbing at his inner arm and the bird inked there. A self-soothing gesture, as if he’s not used to exposing so much skin. His nails are bitten all to hell, too. A mess of tells, this man.

“That’s the spirit!” Felix says cheerily, punching the air. The look Juni gives him is dry as a desert, and Mason feels a twist of something hot and acidic in his gut he can’t name. He wants to chuck Felix in a dumpster at least once a day, but the urge hits him like a truck out of the blue, and he can’t pinpoint the reason.

Fuck, he’d kill for a smoke.

“I’m still sorry,” Juni says again, squeezing his forearm. “For, y’know, the whole squad needing to babysit me for this.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Nate exclaims, as if the very thought that Juniper believes their helping him sort through his soggy belongings to see what can be salvaged to be a chore is somehow an insult. “We’re happy to help.”

Juni gives Nate a soft-eyed smile that lights up his whole face, and that acid feeling burns more.

“You cannot be left unaccompanied,” Adam says stiffly, eyeing the horizon as if the Annunaki will swoop down on them in a parking lot in broad daylight. “It is best that we move as a unit when able, to ensure your safety.”

Juni ducks his head, still smiling. “Thank you guys,” he mumbles, and then he almost keels over when Felix slings his arm around his shoulder to shake him. Mason stifles a growl, and while Felix doesn’t notice, Adam and Nate both glance back at him with twin unreadable expressions he meets with the blandest look he can manage.

“I, for one, am looking forward to snooping through your place some more,” Felix snickers. Juni pushes him off.

For the most part, the flat is still in one piece, most of the damage contained to the bedroom, though the floor in the hallway is a bit waterlogged as well. Nate tuts in disappointment as the warped boards creak pathetically underfoot, no doubt mourning the fancy pattern to the antique wood. Mason can smell the water damage, mold and rot that no doubt caused the collapse in the first place, and the choking reek of plaster dust.

Juni sighs as he pushes open his bedroom door. The mess is even worse than Mason thought it would be, from what Juni told him. The bathtub that apparently crashed through his ceiling is gone, but the gaping hole remains, still shedding debris onto the ruined bed. The heavy antique bed frame itself is cracked clean in half, the mattress sagging in the middle, and Mason's chest squeezes.

Juni was right there seconds before an entire fucking bathtub came down on top of it. He could have been crushed.

He jolts when he feels fingers on his wrist, and when he looks down, Juni isn't looking directly at him, but towards him. "You can wait outside, if you want?" he suggests softly while Nate goes trotting into the room to cluck and fuss over Juni's bookshelf. "I know it smells kind of gross in here." His nose wrinkles a bit, and Mason hears the thick clicking of his throat as he swallows uncomfortably. No doubt, the smell’s not doing him any favors either, hyper senses or no.

"Did you bring a mask or something?" Mason asks rather than replying, gesturing to the plaster dust settled all over everything, floating in the air now that they've disturbed it. "Your lungs are already shitty enough."

Juni flushes a pretty, rosy pink and fumbles hastily for his bag with a little blurt of, "Oh, yeah!" He puts it on, and Mason wants to groan. Of course it's got a stupid little cat mouth on it.

"Juni," Nate calls, his voice heavy with sadness. He's holding a book in his hands as carefully as if it were an injured bird. "You have a collector’s edition of The Velveteen Rabbit?"

"Had," Juni corrects, his eyes crinkling with a sardonic little smile Mason can't see, but knows the shape of intimately enough to picture. “It had reproductions of the original lithograph illustrations too.” He gives Mason a quick sidelong look before pattering over to take the book from Nate and sadly try to peel apart the pages.

Felix sidles up to Mason with about as much subtlety as a bathtub through the ceiling while Nate assures Juni they can salvage the book, and likely a good amount of the others, if they are very careful. The younger vampire gives him a startlingly critical look that he tries to hide under his usual smirk. "You guys are ridiculous," he scoffs. Mason snaps out a hand to cuff him, but Felix dodges and rabbit-punches him lightly in the ribs. It’s surprising enough from someone as ambivalent to fighting as Felix is that Mason doesn’t even think to dodge, and when he glowers at him, Felix glowers right back.

It’s not terribly impressive on him, but points for trying.

“Be nice to him,” Felix hisses, and this time Mason is ready enough to swat his hand away before he can get jabbed again.

“I’m plenty nice to him,” he drawls, affecting an easy smirk.

Felix studies him for a long moment, then looks him dead in the eye, smiles glibly, and says, “You’re so pretty.” He reaches out like he’s going to pat Mason’s cheek, but he dodges and stalks away to help Adam move some of Juni’s heavier furniture that might still be salvageable. Felix makes a beeline for the bathroom, probably to rifle through Juni’s medicine cabinet or something.

Juni leaves Nate to meticulously pick through his bookshelf and slip blotting paper (which he made sure to bring the second Juni voiced his doubts the small collection of books in his room would be salvageable) between the pages and setting them aside to pack up and take back to the warehouse, where he has the supplies to take care of them. He starts bagging up clothes, while Adam and Mason prop his mattress against the wall to get it out of the way. He’ll have to get a new one for sure. Just being close to the damn thing makes Mason want to retch with the smell of the mildew. Juni drifts by to start bundling up his bedding, and his knuckles skim against Mason’s lower back.

A shudder rolls up his spine, and he settles as his senses calm down enough for him to actually assist Adam. The mattress isn’t heavy for them by any means, but it’s bulky enough to be a pain for just one of them to carry.

Juni is setting to work boxing up all his little trinkets and knickknacks (and he’s got a lot of them) when Felix comes barrelling out of his bathroom with something purple held victoriously above his head.

“Hey, Juni!” he yells, and all of them, even Juni,  wince at the volume. “What’s this?”

Once he’s stopped, and is no longer a brightly colored blur in the vague shape of a vampire, Mason can actually see what he’s holding aloft like a trophy. Once he realizes what it is, he can’t help but smirk. Before he even looks at Juni, he can feel the heat radiating off him, his blood rushing, his heart rate spiking.

Even if Mason didn’t know what a goddamned magic wand was, Juni’s reaction would be a dead giveaway.

Faster than Mason has ever seen the detective move, he bolts across the room and snatches the thing out of Felix’s hand, hiding it behind his back. “Where did you find that?” he yelps, his voice pitching high and cracking.

“Your closet,” Felix says brightly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. He’s clearly caught on. “Should I not have touched it?”

“It’s clean!” Juni squawks, his face almost glowing red. “Don’t be gross!”

“Man, now I really wish I’d picked that locked box in there open,” Felix cackles, and Juni smacks at his shoulder and then breaks for the bathroom before the vampire can make good on that promise. He slams the door behind him and Mason hears the click of the lock, while Felix laughs so hard he has to brace himself against the wall and hold his stomach.

Adam and Nate are deeply focused on their own work, admirably pretending they haven’t noticed anything going on outside their little tasks.

It takes a while for Juni to be coaxed out of the bathroom again, but even mortification that makes him blush so ferociously that Mason can feel the heat of him from three feet away wouldn’t allow him to shove his duties off on someone else. He does bring a small wooden trunk out of the bathroom with him, closed with a little heart-shaped padlock that Felix could break off easily if he wanted to. Juni seems just as aware of that risk, so he guards the trunk with his goddamned life, even going so far as to sit on it and glower at Felix while he helps Nate pack up all his waterlogged books and fragile little trinkets.

Mason does give the trunk a very pointed look, trailing his eyes up the detective’s body and meeting his gaze with an easy smirk, just to watch him flush even redder, and while he does go so red the smattering of freckles across his nose almost disappears, he looks away sharply and hides behind his hair.

Mason barely resists pulling an Adam and crushing the weird little ceramic owl he’s packing away.

The rest of the day goes pretty uneventfully afterwards. He and Adam move and dry off furniture, drag stuff that can’t be saved outside to be thrown out, Nate delights in every interesting little antique he finds and mourns the damage done to them, Felix flits around and pretends he’s helping when he’s really just having fun rooting through the detective’s things, and Juni helps where he can and avoids Mason’s eyes as they track his every move. Even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to shake the awareness of Juni, wherever he is in the room.

After they’ve packed everything they could into the Agency SUV, they head off. Juni is quiet on the ride back, sitting close to the window with a box of junk in his lap. Felix is between him and Mason, completely ignoring the odd tension and distracting the detective by asking about whatever random tchotchke he pulls from the box. Mason just stares out the window and tries to ignore the niggling desire to light a cigarette, only slightly mitigated by the fact that he doesn't even have one on him.

Later, once they’ve hauled everything to Juni’s room (or in the case of the books, to Nate’s room to be subjected to the tenderest of mercies) Mason sits on the roof alone for a long while, staring consideringly at an unlit cigarette and twisting it between his fingers. His head feels heavy with everything weighing it down, a twisting, confusing mess writhing in his skull. He tries, once again, to direct his thoughts to easier things, but every time he tries to think about Juni squirming underneath him, thighs squeezing his hips, gasping his name, his thoughts inevitably turn to gentle fingers on his cheeks, a bright laugh lighting up his insides, hazel-green eyes looking up at him with… with what?

He growls and shoves the cigarette back into the pack, cramming it into his pocket.

“What does this mean for us?”

Since when is there an “us?”

He falls back onto the roof with a thud, the rough surface making his skin scream with prickling discomfort, but he ignores it. He closes his eyes, tries to quiet the jumble of his thoughts. He unleashes his senses just a bit, driven by instinct and a need to focus on something, anything else, and takes a slow, deep breath. He hears the low murmur of Nate’s voice somewhere below, in the den. Adam’s there too, naturally. He can’t make out the words, but the conversation is easy and familiar, soft with intimacy.

He snorts. The two of them are fucking ridiculous. You’d think they’d have realized they’re basically married a couple centuries ago, and yet…

Felix isn’t hard to locate, though he’s deeper in the warehouse, where the bedrooms are. He’s loud, as usual, so Mason can hear him a bit better, but still he’s not quite close enough to make out words. He focuses a little harder, relaxes his body and exhales slowly. Along with his voice, there’s a light twanging, which eventually strings together into a rhythm. Music? Felix listens to music often, but it’s usually louder, faster-paced. Grates on Mason’s nerves like absolute hell, but this is slower, brighter. And then he hears Juni’s voice, and his senses rush in like a hungry dog spotting a rabbit.

A laugh, low and sweet.

Mason is rolling to his feet and off the roof before he even has a chance to think about it. It’s the work of a few seconds to slip through the window, and he keeps his footsteps light as he slips through the warehouse like a ghost. He passes the den and glances in. Adam and Nate have their heads close together, talking in low voices with files laid out neatly on the coffee table in front of them, two glasses of wine carefully placed a safe distance away from their paperwork. Adam gives him a quick look over his shoulder, and the ever-present tension in them eases somewhat. Mason nods and continues on by.

The twanging music gets louder as he stalks down the stairs, Felix’s bright voice more raucous than ever, but it’s easy enough to tune out when he hears Juni’s answering laugh floating from Felix’s open bedroom door.

“Are you gonna stop heckling me and make a request?” he asks, and Mason can hear the sunny plunking notes of a ukulele under the words, as if the detective is absently plucking the strings as he talks. Mason vaguely recalls Felix triumphantly hauling the little green instrument from underneath Juni's shattered bed frame, scuffed and covered in wet stickers, and Juni sighing sadly at the broken strings.

“Well, what do you usually play?” Felix asks, his bed creaking. Mason can picture him flopping around like a drunk fish, and he has to stifle a snort.

“I mostly just do covers and stuff.” A rustle of cloth, Juni’s shrugging. “I’ve written a few things, but I’m already giving myself heart palpitations performing in front of people, so I think actually performing something I wrote myself would kill me outright.”

“Well, you’re performing for me, aren’t you? And you seem pretty calm.”

“Since when are you people?” Juni snorts.

Felix barks out a laugh. “Rude!”

There’s a bit of a tussle, a discordant twang, and Juni yelps. “Careful, careful! I just replaced these strings, asshole!”

Felix gasps, affronted. “I’m telling Nate you called me that!”

“No, don’t tell Mum!” Juni whines, and they laugh together more.

Mason shifts from one foot to the other, pressing a hand to his stomach as if that’ll help quell the strange feeling there.

“Stop stalling,” Felix prods, and Juni shifts and sighs heavily. “Fine, fine, but don’t make fun of me, or I will cry.”

“Scout’s honor!” Felix chimes, and Mason wonders where the hell he heard that phrase.

They’re both quiet, and then Juni strums at the strings, just dabbling a bit before he actually starts plucking a rhythm. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” he croons, and Mason perks up almost instinctively, sunshine echoing in his ears. Juni’s singing voice, much like his speaking one,  is soft and a little breathy, but it warbles with clear nerves. “When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…”

Felix gasps, delighted, and Juni falters for a moment, but doesn’t stop.

“Well, I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way? My guy, I’m talkin’ ‘bout my guy...” Mason slides forward, towards the door as if pulled on a string, and he sees Juni sitting at the end of Felix’s rumpled bed with its blindingly bright sheets, cross-legged with his back mostly to the door, but Mason can see his face in profile. Felix is lying at the head of the bed on his belly, with his chin propped up on his elbows.

His golden eyes flicker to Mason, and he smirks, raising his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out quickly, before Juni notices. Which he likely won’t, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out across his freckled cheeks.

There’s a smile curling his lips, small but happy, and it only widens when Felix begins snapping in time, laughter coloring the lilting notes. “I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me. I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees…” He leans into the chorus, rocking back and forth along with Felix’s snapping. "Well, I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?"

Mason braces a hand on the doorframe, if for no other reason than to stop himself walking into the room. He has no idea what he’d even say, but he knows he’d spook the detective, skittish little human he is, and break whatever odd spell has fallen over them both.

Juni’s voice gets stronger, bit by bit, as he settles, rising with confidence. He hums along to his strumming, and the smile that lights up his face sticks behind Mason’s ribs, along with the words of the song.

As Juni trails off with a dreamily sighed, “I’ve even got the month of May,” Felix claps loudly and cheers, an enthusiastic audience of one. Mason winces back away from the door, scowling and shaking his head.

He should leave. Either leave, or butt in just to watch Juni get all flustered, but something holds him still, keeps him quiet.

“I think I know that song,” Felix says slowly, and Mason doesn’t need to see his face to know the teasing smirk spreading there. He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Juni snorts. “Everyone does, Fe. It’s from the 60s.”

“Yeah, but you sang it differently,” Felix presses. “Thinking of someone in particular, were you?”

Mason looks around the door frame just in time to see Juni whack Felix solidly with a pillow. “It was a cover!” he exclaims, his cheeks going ruddy. “A cover of a cover!” He smacks Felix with the pillow again, a solid whump muffling the vampire’s bell-like laughter as it hits him in the face. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’ve got sunshine,” Felix warbles, snatching the pillow before Juni can swing a third time and hugging it to his chest.

“It’s a cute song!” Juni insists. “I like cute songs! I’ve got a ton I could have sung, but I picked that one, because I heard a cover once that made it about a guy instead of a girl, and you might not be aware of this, Felix, but I am a homosexual.”

Felix’s hand flies to his mouth, amber eyes going  comically wide. “No! You? How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

Juni very carefully sets his little green, lovingly restored ukulele to the side for safekeeping before he tries to wrestle the pillow back from Felix so he can hit him again.

Mason figures it’s a good time to take his leave, before Felix decides to use his presence as a scapegoat from the detective’s wrath.

He slips up the stairs, his head heavy, something… just something stirring in him he can’t even begin to parse.

Juni’s soft voice follows him back to the quiet of the rooftop, a gentle strain chasing itself around in his head.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

[cruelangelstheses]

to be loved

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: sera/female inquisitor words: 1.6k additional tags: canon compliant, self-esteem issues, fluff description: rana lavellan teaches her girlfriend sera how to make dalish hearth cakes. a/n: hello!! :D i wrote this for @serappreciationweek day 2: ships!!

read it on ao3

—

Sera furrows her brow as she reads over the recipe. Looking back up at her girlfriend, she says, “Elfy cookies?”

Rana shrugs. “They’re the only cookies I know how to make,” she says. “Although technically they’re called hearth cakes.”

Sera sticks her tongue out and passes the paper back to Rana. “Whatever. More than I can make.”

“Not for long!” Rana says, setting the recipe down on a crate. “Besides, think of it this way. At least you can admit that you don’t know how to make cookies. That already makes you better than some people.”

Sera pretends to be uninterested in Rana’s “elfy cookies,” but she can’t stop herself from glancing over at the table where the ingredients are already set up. “How’d you get halla butter?”

“Remember that Dalish clan we met in the Exalted Plains?” Rana says as she ties an apron around her waist. “I traded them for it.”

Sera doesn’t quite know what to do, so she just watches as Rana measures the flour. She’s beautiful when she’s so focused, completely ignoring the brown hair that falls into her eyes from its messy, boyish cut. Lifting the sifter above a large bowl, she turns her head toward Sera and says, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sera blinks a few times in surprise. “But I’m not…”

“Not what?” Rana says as she starts to sift the flour. “Not ‘elfy’ enough? Screw that. I got these ingredients because I want to bake cookies with you. I want us to make our own ‘us cookies.’ Together.”

At that, Sera gives in and allows herself a smile. “Frigging weird, you are,” she laughs, grabbing an apron of her own and joining Rana at the table, where she’s finished sifting the flour and has begun adding hardwood ash and salt. Meanwhile, Sera grabs the recipe and skims over it to find the next step.

“I’ll do the spices,” she says, grabbing a spoon. While she measures and mixes in the spices, Rana prepares the butter. It feels kind of nice, actually, being able to do something helpful and productive, but she’ll reserve judgment for when the cookies—hearth cakes—are actually finished. Maybe they’ll turn out tasting terrible, and it’ll be all her fault. That seems more likely.

“Okay,” Rana says. “Now we have to rub the butter into the mix until it all starts to look like crumbs. I recommend using our fingers; it’s easier.”

Sera smirks. “Mess! That’s fun stuff.”

Rana flashes her a snaggletooth grin, a smile reserved only for those she cares enough about. Sera counts herself lucky to be able to see it. “I knew you’d like that.”

Rana tosses the hunk of halla butter into the bowl, then presses it into the mixture. The yellow-white mush quickly covers her long, tan fingers, and after a moment, Sera sticks her own hands into the bowl and starts pushing the butter into the mix. Their hands constantly bump each other, and they giggle as their hands go from buttery to coated in thin crumbs. Sera savors her girlfriend’s giggle, another rare joy from a woman mired in bitterness and exhaustion.

When they’re nearly done, Sera takes her index finger and draws a swirly design around Rana’s right eye and down her cheek in sticky crumbs. “Now you match,” she says, referring to the black vallaslin that adorns the left side of her face, though it’s much more intricate than Sera’s last-minute crumb drawing. Rana snorts and kisses her on the cheek.

Sera handles the next step, stirring in the sugar and dried cranberries, while Rana beats the egg in a separate bowl to pour into the large one. They take turns mixing everything together until the dough actually starts to look like it’s supposed to.

Rana gets an excited gleam in her bright purple eyes, eyes that have captivated Sera since the moment she first saw them glowing in the darkness. “This is where they actually start to taste like cookies.”

They sprinkle some flour on the table and dump the dough out. Rana presses her palms against the lump and starts to knead with both hands, her movements strong and sure despite her tiny frame. She looks like she doesn’t need much help, so Sera stands and watches, admiring the subtle ripples of muscle in her arms and shoulders. Finally, when the dough is about as thin as it’s supposed to be, Rana grabs a goblet, turns it upside down, and says, “Cookie time,” before planting it firmly into one corner of the dough, cutting a perfect circle.

They fall into a pattern: Rana cuts the cookies, Sera pulls them out of the dough and sets them on a plate for the time being. When they run out of room to make another round shape, Rana rolls the remaining dough into a ball and flattens it out like she did before, until it’s so small that she can’t cut it with the goblet anymore. “What do we do with that, Inky?” Sera asks.

Rana picks up the little dough ball and rips it into two. Handing one half to Sera and popping the other into her mouth, she says, “We eat it.”

Sera laughs a little and shoves her piece into her mouth, chewing cautiously, prepared to hate it. It’s sweet and flavorful, and she likes the way the cranberries mix with the pastry dough.

Rana watches her expectantly. “Well? How is it?”

Sera shrugs and smiles awkwardly. “I...I like it.”

Rana grins again, and again, Sera feels blessed to witness it.

The final step is to actually bake the hearth cakes over a flame. Rana grabs a flat iron griddle and lets it heat up over the fire in the corner of the kitchen. Per her request, Sera tosses a pinch of flour into the griddle, and they watch as it turns golden brown, signalling that it’s ready.

Rana pulls the griddle out and sets it back on the table, while Sera carefully places the hearth cakes around the edge—“If we put them in the middle, it’ll blacken them,” Rana explains. She can’t fit them all in, so they’ll have to do a couple rounds.

They stand next to each other, watching the cookies get larger. Rana still has the crumb design on her face, and Sera leans down and rests her head on Rana’s shoulder. “You’re fun, Inky,” she says as she stares into the fire. “And you’re sweet, underneath all that ‘Grrr, look at me funny and I’ll knife you.’” They both giggle. When Sera first met Rana, she thought she’d never hear a sound like that come out of her mouth. She seemed too distant, too hostile, too bogged down with responsibility and hurt. For her to open up, to let loose, means more than Sera could ever put into words.

When the first batch of cookies is done, Sera helps pull them out of the griddle and onto the plate from earlier, while Rana replaces them with the unbaked half. Sera grabs one and pops the whole thing into her mouth, even though she knows she should wait until they’ve cooled down.

To the surprise of no one, the cookie burns her mouth, and she has to chew with it open to get some relief. “Piss!” she yells, but she’s smiling, too, and Rana shakes her head in mock disapproval.

“So? How are they?” Rana asks, keeping one eye on the griddle. “Besides the ‘burning your tongue’ part.”

Well, besides the “burning her tongue” part, the baked cookie tastes even better than the raw dough, which shouldn’t be too surprising, but it kind of is. It’s like she was still waiting for the cakes to turn bad somehow.

“They...they’re good,” she says. “I thought they’d be terrible. I thought I’d make them terrible. Not elfy enough to make elfy cookies right. Maybe that’s stupid, but ‘til now, it’s all I knew how to feel. ‘Not allowed to be elfy, Sera, elfy is bad,’ but ‘not elfy enough, Sera, try harder.’ So instead of feeling like a human or an elf, I just feel like...a failed elf.” She frowns and sighs. “So it’s good. This is good. Because now cookies make me think of you and how much I like you, instead of frigging Lady Emmald.” She grabs another cookie off the plate and takes a bite out of it, smiling spitefully. “And now I can make cookies better than she ever could. So she can eat it.”

Rana’s gaze is soft and warm, like a comforting light. “I’m glad, ma vhenan.”

Usually Sera doesn’t like hearing Elvish—her inability to speak or understand most of it serves as just another reminder of her supposed brokenness. But when Rana calls her vhenan, it’s different. It has a certain weight to it; it swells with everything Rana feels and can’t express. It’s a word that Rana shouts in desperation when Sera falls on the battlefield, and it’s a word that she whispers against Sera’s chest when they’re alone at night. It feels right for once, to love and be loved by her.

It’s Sera that breaks the trance between them when she smells the burning. “Inky! The cookies!”

Rana jumps and quickly pulls the griddle out from the flame and sets it on the table. The cookies aren’t on fire, but they’re significantly darker than the first batch.

“Ugh,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose. “See, that’s what happens when you get too lovey-dovey.”

They stare at each other for a short moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

[timelock97]

Love Without A Name

Prologue: One Date Too Many

Word Count: 1991

Masterlist

Warnings: Language, sexual references

A/N: Tom does not PHYSICALLY show up for a few chapters, he is in here, just not how you think at first. ENJOY!

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

I shift my bag back into the crook of my arm, mail pressed against my chest with my right hand while I flip my keys around my fingers of my left. An 'ah-ha' falls past my lips as the apartment key lands between my thumb and index finger, shoving it into the lock and turning. The door bangs against the wall as I walk in, a sheepish smile falling across my lips as I mumble a silent 'sorry' for no one but myself. I use the heel of my shoe to grip the bottom of the door, shutting it behind me on my way to the too small kitchen to dump the contents of my arms onto the counter. "Fuck!" my hand flies from my chest, mail scattering to the floor in the process of me rescuing my keys before they fall too far into the nearby sink and into the garbage disposal. I let out a sigh of relief before muttering, "Why are you such a mess, (Y/N)?"

The sound of a small meow and bell causes a smile to appear on my face. Turning, I spy my small, calico cat beelining for my legs, coiling between them and rubbing against my scrub clad calves. "Hey there, Phoebe, how's my baby?" I coo as I move away from the counter and finish shrugging off my winter coat and scarf that were damp from the early winter weather. I listen as she purrs loudly around my ankles before I turn to lean down and pick up the scattered mail on the floor, only to giggle when the calico nuzzles my hand with her head, begging for attention.

Setting the mail back on the counter, I reach back inside my bag that is haphazardly leaning on the counter I rummage inside until my fingers brush against my phone. A message illuminates the screen, a confirmation text for my date with my latest Tinder match. "Maybe this'll be the one, huh Phoebes?" I turn my head and look at the cat at my feet before padding down the hall and typing out a quick response to "Luke" telling him I couldn't wait. Honestly though, first dates were the absolute worst when you barely know the person.

The plum dress hugged my body perfectly, showing off my natural curves. I stood outside the usual bar waiting for my date with Tinder open on my phone in one hand while my other hand fiddled with the buttons on my black wool coat. Glancing at my phone for the umpteenth time, I notice that the time he and I had agreed on had ticked past about a half hour ago, and my nose was starting to go numb from standing outside in the cold.

With a huff, I typed a quick message that I would be waiting inside at the bar for him before I waltzed in through the door and to my usual place.

"Another date, (Y/N)?" The bartender, Sam, asks as she pours a drink for a small group of people at the opposite end of the bar.

"Not if he doesn't show up." I state as I shrug off my coat and place it on the back of my chair before sitting down. Jared, the other bartender hands me a glass of Sprite, knowing I wouldn't drink until I had confirmation that I had been stood up.

Another five minutes pass before someone taps my shoulder, "(Y/N)?".

"Luke?" I turn and smile at a man with a full, but trimmed, black beard and bright blue eyes.

"I am so sorry I'm late, traffic." He states, moving to sit beside me after shrugging of his coat.

"I figured, it's fine." I notice Sam walk back down and smile at us, "Let's get a drink then order, that okay?" I tilt my head to the side, hair falling from behind my shoulder as I flash a small smile at him.

He nods, eyes crinkling in the corners, "Sounds perfect."

As the conversation continues, I can tell that this date would end one of two ways: he would rather be friends, especially when being only friends usually lead to never speaking again, or he would want to take this date back to his place. Neither were what I was looking for, but from the way he had been trying to place a hand on my knee and drawing shapes into it and trying to inch his hand higher, I could only assume the latter.

"So, what are your intentions?" I ask point blank, moving his hand for a third time as it tried to slide up further on my thigh.

"What do you mean?" He laughs, placing his head into his hand that is propped on the counter and laying his other arm on his leg again so just his fingers just brush my knee.

"I mean, all the signs say you want sex, which you won't get." His fingers pause their dance, "What are you thinking?"

I watch as his face falls still, no smile. "Well," his hands withdraw from their place and he straightens his posture. "I had been hoping to have some fun tonight, but now I know that that's not going to happen." It doesn't surprise me when he stands and begins collecting his coat.

"So that's just it, that was all you were hoping out of this was sex? Nothing else?" I ask honestly, it always made me curious with how some people saw relationships these days.

"Well, honestly yeah." He pauses to look at me, annoyance evident in his facial features. "You seemed like the type to be into that, you lead me on-"

"Nope, didn't lead you on. We've been talking for what, three weeks, and you ultimately thought that I was only in it just for that?" I watch as he shrugs, causing me to shake my head, "You really must be thick. Either way, I hope you have a safe drive hope, thanks for keeping me company, having dinner, and letting me pay for half. Have a nice life."

I watch as he begins to float around the bar, flirting with other women in hopes that he can maybe not go home empty handed.

"I actually thought he was going to be it tonight, (Y/N/N). Sorry that didn't work out." Sam's voice carries from across the bar as she sets another drink in front of me while taking the two empty glasses.

"It was at least nice conversation before he decided to get handsy." I hum before I take a quick sip of the alcohol in my glass. "I think I need to try something new; I can't seem to do this right."

"Nah, dating in this day and age just isn't very fun anymore." Sam states, wiping her hands on her apron. "You gonna hang for a bit longer? I have my break in ten and we can talk more."

"Yeah, I'll be here." I state, smiling at her as she walks off to take someone else's order. I run my fingers through my hair and pull my phone out of my coat pocket, seeing that I had several new messages from not only Tinder, but a few other dating apps waiting.

I was sick and tired of all the guys who lead on that they wanted a relationship, but in reality only wanted a booty call or rebound; if I were to be so unlucky, by the end of the third date they stated they just wanted to be friends and then end up never messaging back again. I was tired of hoping fate would just finally say 'yeah, she's waited long enough' and dropped someone in my lap; but, no, all I had to show was the unopened messages haunting me from Tinder with an abundance of dick pics that were so unattractive that they could be mistaken for, well, anything else.

"You need to get off those apps, or make a new account." Sam states as she settles down next to me on a barstool.

I fold my arms over the bar, leaning over them. "What do you have in mind, Sam?"

"I'm so glad you asked, because I ran your dilemma by my sister, Carly, and she told me she might have the perfect solution for you."

"And that would be?"

"Heart Haven." Sam states with bright eyes, smiling happily at me. I raise an eyebrow at her as she looks at me for any sort of recognition of the name, she finds none. She rolls her eyes, "It's basically a matchmaking service. Her and Josh met through them. She can get you a free consultation."

"Sam, is this even a good idea?" I groan, "I don't wanna look like a loser telling them that I have been on so many dates and have only managed to get the guys just looking to get their dick wet."

"Y'know, for someone who says she's super innocent, you don't act like it sometimes." She laughs before pulling her phone out of her pocket and typing into google. She pulls up their website and hands it over to me.

Heart Haven, creating matches made in heaven. We as a company take into account that the world is a busy place, and going on date after date can lead to a whole world of self-doubt that a lifelong partner is so far away. We want to help you find your happy ending. With the assistance from our sister locations across the U.S. and around the world, we are able to not only find someone for you to love and cherish, but someone who will do that in return. Your consultation appointment to help us get to know you is absolutely free, and if you're worried about paying for our services, we can talk prices. If interested, call (***)-***-**** or email us at findlove@hearthaven.com.

"Do you really think this could work?"

Sam shrugs, taking her phone back. "Well, I guess I can tell you tomorrow. I meet my match tomorrow."

"Really?" I look at her excitedly, smiling at the way her cheeks flush and her smile becomes shy.

"I'm so excited, I have a good feeling about this." She grabs my hands gently, "Go home, think about it, and text me tomorrow night. I'll help you get ahold of my counselor, she's amazing."

I nod, taking one last sip of my drink before sliding it closer to the opposite section of the bar and handing Sam my card. She stands and walks around to charge me, handing the card back once she's done. "Call me after your date tomorrow, I wanna hear all about it."

"Will do, see you later, (Y/N)."

~

Saturday evening had rolled around too quickly, as had an invitation to a family-friend's wedding. I had been sitting on the couch, reading over the Heart Haven website for the past few hours; checking statistics, prices, and stories of new-found love.

I pick up my phone and text Sam, hoping she had a great date, and wondering if I could get the number for the counselor she had been hyping up. It only took a few minutes before her message comes through,

------

Sam

Still with Asher, Hazel's number is (***)-***-****.

Make sure to tell her that Carly and I recommended the place.

You won't regret it.

Get ready, girl. Love is just around the corner.

------

I smile at the message, dialing the number and getting sent straight to voicemail, I take a breath as it cues me to leave a message. "Hi, my name is (Y/F/N), I was hoping to set up a consultation with Hazel. I heard from Carly and Sam Simmons that she's the best. You can reach me back at this number, hope to hear from you soon."

I smile as I end the call, maybe love was just around the corner.

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

Here is the PROLOGUE! I am so happy with how it has all turned out and I cannot wait for you all to get into it! Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think, like, reblog! Let me know if you want to be tagged! You’re awesome!

@revenantwriting | @bellagrayson-wayne | @jackiehollanderr | @snowxbarryxendgame | @let-me-luve-you | @mybitchborky | @linnyalou | @fanficscuziranout​ | @literallytrashhhhhh

Chapter One

[smokingtomas]

I was asking for the couples that you already mentioned :)

Hi everyone! This lovely anon is actually referring to the previous ask on how our beloved ships’ children behave in school. On that note, I’m going to pick High School to fit the universe.

And can I just say that your ask is the reason why I decided to construct that whole next gen shenanigans? xD so thank you so much for being my motivation! I hope you enjoy this!

I’d love more headcanon requests to help me develop them better, if anyone’s interested ^^

Yukihira Soma - Nakiri Erina

Yukihira Jin:

Since Jin was in preschool, Erina has taught him that punctuality is important, so if he’s spotted sitting in front of the class exactly 15 minutes before class, don’t be surprised.

Besides the God Tongue, Jin was also born with his mom’s intelligence. No matter how badly he got distracted in class (Especially when Kana is sitting next to him), his right ear is secretly doing all the listening.

Polar Star Dorm member. Hangs out with the people regularly since they’re roommates, but doesn’t bother with their online shop business.

LIVES for Shokugekis. Either it is his own (which he would kill in), or people’s. Naturally curious and will absorb any new knowledge like a sponge.

Bad boy charm got all the girls (and ahem, a certain boy) to the yard, but only craves attention from the girl he’s been cooking for, though he tries not to seem aggressive to get it.

Would spot her from afar and run right next to her before saying something like, “Oh, Hayama-san! Funny how we keep running into each other. Signing up for Moon Festival too?”

Hayama Akira - Arato Hisako

Hayama Kana

Never leave home without a bag of pet treats in her bag. Kana loves going to the school garden and spend some alone time with animals she may find.

Is a founder of the brand new Vegetarian RS. Besides promoting the benefits of vegetarian and vegan food, they also grow an array of rare plants and edible flowers on their greenhouse and do research of those.

Kana always tries to stay out everybody’s narrative and hates drama, but she feels like it always has a way to find her. Also is oblivious that two most attractive guys in school are into her and doesn’t believe Sora Aldini when she tells her that.

Jin’s bad boy charm doesn’t appeal to her, thus causing her to have a hard time trusting the guy. “Oh, hello, Yukihira-kun. It’s good to see you again, but you caught me at a bad time. I’ll talk to you again soon. Sounds good?”

Thought Julius hates her because even though she smiles at him from time to time, he refuses to meet her in the eye, let alone sitting next to her in class when it’s the only one that’s vacant.

Takumi Aldini - Tadokoro Megumi

Julius Aldini:

Jin’s brother from another mother, advisor, and sparring partner to see each other on top. Sometimes Julius considers Jin more of his sibling than Marco, his own twin brother.

Knows about Jin’s crush on Kana, which is also his’, but doesn’t let him know and let him do his thing. Jin even thinks he’s the gay twin since he never talks about the girl he likes.

When not cooking, Julius can be found at the library. Loves to read anything whether it’s fiction or nonfiction. Joined a Totsuki Book Club.

Girls go crazy that one day he pulled up his hair into a half man bun, he didn’t know what the fuss was all about since it was just Marco wanting to do his hair. Awkwardly agreed every time a girl wants a selfie.

Regularly plays tennis with Marco to stay in shape. Julius is the better tennis player and Marco is not having it.

Marco Aldini:

Since he was born as an overachiever, he really cares about his grades, his cooking skill, and Italian Cuisine RS he’s leading.

Still in the closet, but it’s pretty obvious to people with strong senses though.

Wears sunglasses outdoor. Wears sunglasses indoor. Wears sunglasses when he reads. Wears it in the shower. Takes it off when he cooks. If people stares, has that deal-with-it attitude.

“JuSt wAtCh YoUR BaCK yUkIhIrA!! I aM CoMiNg fOr YoU!!!” *fades into the distance*

Nakiri Alicia’s BFF. One of the people he can comfortably be himself with. They call each other ‘bitch’, goes shopping together, and gives fashion advice for each other (but still won’t confess his attraction to her hot cousin Jin).

Valeria Aldini:

The youngest member of Polar Star Dorm.

Her way of thinking is straightforward and simple. Good at public speaking. That’s why every single one of her friends wants her in a group project.

Have tried every local and international fast food places in town (yes, she spends her allowance on it). Valeria likes to analyze everything that’s right and wrong with the food which drives her to her goal: to make the best burger ever.

Once punched Yukihira Jin’s nose for trying to trick her into eating his ‘creation’. “If you think I’m eating that shit because I’m Jul’s sister, you are seriously messing with the wrong girl, pal.”

Claims that Julius is her favorite brother, but her attitude is mostly influenced by Marco’s mouth.

Nakiri Alice - Kurokiba Ryo

Nakiri Alicia:

Being the queen bee of Totsuki herself, Alicia has two loyal minions who follow her everywhere… except when she tells them not to.

Walks the hallway like she owns the school (well, her family technically does). The girl knows she’s hot. One hair flip (inspired by Aunty Erina) is all it takes to get her the attention.

Molecular gastronomy princess, social media queen, part-time model. A portion of it could be caused by Alice who had started to expose her to that world by creating a baby Instagram account @babyalicia, which she still uses to this day (the username is now @queenalicia).

“I’ll show you a good time.” Is her line before starting a Shokugeki while putting on her goggles.

May look like your typical self-centered brat, but actually cares a lot for her sister, Athena. Every time she goes shopping, she would buy Athena clothes or accessories that would suit her (plus, she knows her taste and size).

Kurokiba Athena:

Like Alicia, Alice also made her a baby Instagram account @babyathena, but as she grew up, she realized social media isn’t her thing, so she’s no longer using it (but did change the username to @kurokibathena17).

Compared to her big sister, there’s not much social life going on at school for her. If not hanging out with Ibusaki Abel or Alicia, she prefers sitting under the tree with her headphones on, blasting Iron Maiden out.

Sometimes catching herself stalking her self-appointed rival, Kana. Athena knows when she’s been experimenting, and she tries to be one step ahead of her with charcoal as her weapon.

In that iconic, 6-hour long Shokugeki between Athena and Kana, she won it after a hard fought battle on a ramen challenge with her wildcard that surprised everyone– seafood.

When she’s not cooking, she’s drawing, and quite well too. The rose bouquet neck tattoo Alicia has is her design.

Tsukasa Eishi - Kobayashi Rindou

Tsukasa Oda:

Being one of the Elite Ten members, Oda gets instant attention everywhere he goes without even trying, and he’s not sure if he’s into it.

Once modeled for Swatch alongside Alicia, and when their pictures were on Totsuki magazine that caused people to go frenzy that day, unlike Alicia who’s loving it, Oda chose not to attend school for 3 days.

Since he’s linked with Kuga and has considered him his mentor, he is an honorary member of Chinese Cuisine RS.

When Moon Festival comes, he always books one stall to showcase his pretty dim sum and his creative talent by doing a demonstration in front of everyone (Rindou’s suggestion as a part of his risk-taking challenge).

[trashboatprince]

I know I have fifty million fics to work on, but this idea came to mind and I just had to write it up. It’s involved in the little series I have for the whole Alice/Susie thing with Alice saving the studio, this is just after they first met. If you wanna read that, there is a fanfic for it through Susie’s POV I wrote up on ao3.

Ships: Alice/Susie

On with the fic!

--

Alice was quiet as she followed after the taller woman, who carried her along with the old rope that was wrapped around her hands and wrists. She pouted a little, trying to undo them, but as the damsel of the series, rope knots were… knot her specialty, haha. Okay, she couldn’t help herself, she was also a comedian, and a great one at that.

Her large eyes looked around the old, wooden halls they passed through, seeing posters for all sorts of Bendy cartoons, majority of them starred her, or included her as part of the cast. Alice had even spotted cutouts of herself, several she knew were promotional material for some big shorts, others were the generic one of her standing on a cloud.

Oooh! There was even a pile of plush toys of her in a corner as they took a sharp turn.

“Where are we going, miss?” Alice asked, finally breaking the silence since she was dropped (rather rudely, if she might add) to the floor from the trap she had stupidly stepped on. The other turned her head to look at the toon, a golden eye staring down at her, swimming in a sea of black.

“We’re going to a very special room of mine, only angels allowed.” Her voice was lovely, much like Alice’s own, but the little angel knew that it wasn’t her own. Sure, yes, it seemed to be overlapped by another, but Alice wasn’t stupid.

Toons knew the people that worked on them, that were behind their creation, it was practically imprinted in their ink.

‘Do you really think I’ll be the perfect voice for her? I don’t feel like I’m worthy of someone so perfect.’

This pretty angel before her had a much different voice, a sweet one that could make birds sing with her if she sang them a song. Not that the voice she had was anything terrible, in fact, it was just as lovely, but sometimes… you can’t beat an original, right?

One last hall and they came to a door, marked in ink. Alice frowned at all the markings, seals of protection, from demonic creatures. It made her swallow loudly, poor Bendy would be hurt if he ever got close to these…

The other angel opened the door and allowed Alice in with a curt nod, a sly smile on those black-painted lips. Alice thanked her as she stepped inside, surprised to see that it was a rather clean room, much different from the many stained and damaged ones around the studio. It was set up like a little home, with whatever material this lady could find, which was a lot of Alice content.

Alice couldn’t hide the smile on her face when she realized this is where the giant plushes of herself had gone from the toy factory. “So, what did you need me for? I mean, aside from adding me to your lovely collection, hehehe.” She winked at her savior-captor, who seemed to be a bit startled by the reaction.

But that lasted a moment, she was quick to recover as she stepped to the door, looking down at Alice when she closed it. “I think you answered your own question there, my dear.” She smirked, locking the door.

This seemed like a dangerous situation, but the toon didn’t seem threatened as she looked at the other angel.

Now that she wasn’t upside down, Alice could actually look at her. This other Alice was tall, her outfit was similar to Alice’s own, though there was much more black involved. Though, Alice really enjoyed the little addition of the bow on the back of the dress.

Her face showed scars on the left side, her eyes were gold but the left was black as well, and there was a slash at her throat. The other’s horns were longer, sharper, and her halo was damaged. She even seemed to have two extra beauty marks, just under that left eye of hers. Oh, she knew those little marks anywhere.

‘Can you give her a beauty mark? Under her eye? I-It doesn’t have to be like mine…!’

Alice couldn’t help but feel a bit of heat come to her face, wow, so it really was her after all. Her first voice actress, and her influencer, Susie.

Golly, what happened to such a lovely lady to have her change so much. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, but Alice would have liked for Susie to be, well, herself. Not that she minds Susie wanting to be more like her, but…

“What happened to you, Susie?”

Alice immediately regretted the innocent question, the glare she was given looked like it could slice her open. Susie stared at her before stepping closer, her heels loudly clicking in such a quiet room.

“What… did you say, little angel?” There was a strain to her voice and Alice shivered, her halo shaking above her head.

“I-I was… I was just asking what happened to you, Su-” The hitch of the other’s breath, the horrible, burning stare, made Alice speak quickly. “Alice! What happened to you, Alice! I mean, your poor halo, it’s all bent outta shape, let me help you…!” She reached up with her bound hands and Susie stepped back, glowering.

“Look,” the taller angel started, “if you want to keep that pretty head of yours on that lovely neck, you’d be wise to never say that name to me or around me. She’s long gone, there is no Susie here, there is just me, Alice Angel.”

Once Alice nodded her head rapidly in understand, Susie relaxed, her smirk returning. “Good, you’re such a smart girl under that halo.” She gave it a small flick, the sound of a bell rang through the room, like something from a cartoon. “As for your questions… a terrible machine and a man did this to me. I was offered something wonderful, and all I got was this. But that’s easy to fix, I just need the right parts. And I’ll have you help me out, my dear.”

Gently, Susie guided Alice to the couch in the room, sitting her down on it. “Will you help make me a beautiful angel again?”

‘Even though she’s fallen, is she still a perfect angel? She is? That’s wonderful!’

“I… suppose so, but I don’t see why I’m needed.” Alice spoke, blinking. “You’re already beautiful as it is.”

Once again, she caught the taller woman off-guard. Alice smiled at the hint of color to the other’s cheeks before she yelped at the hand that pushed her face back as few inches. “Flattery will get you nowhere here, girly.”

“Oh, but I think it did. I mean, I’m already in your private chambers, doll.” Alice grinned before planting a kiss on the palm of Susie’s hand, which was suddenly pulled back. The other’s eyes were wide as she looked between her hand and Alice, who just smiled sweetly at her.

Susie stepped back, stammering a little to herself, before moving back towards the angel, working on untying the rope around her hands. “J-Just stay there. I need to go check on my other traps, don’t get into anything while I’m away, and don’t leave. You can’t escape me; I have eyes everywhere.”

“And they’re currently on me!” Alice giggled and got a look from Susie, making her close her mouth. She was still smiling though, even when Susie stepped away, leaving the room with an axe. Once she was alone, Alice sighed, leaning back against the couch.

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose before pausing, sniffing. The couch smells interesting. She sniffed it again, it was… sweet, but there was something else included in it.

The old blanket and pillow at one end told her that this was Susie’s bed here, so of course it smells like her.

It smells so lovely, like honey! Alice remembered in her creation, when she was being ‘brought to life’ on pen and paper, of Susie’s voice. She was talking to the artist who designed her, Henry, giving him ideas. Sure, a lot of them were silly and didn’t really seem like plot heavy things, just more like ideas for Susie to enjoy herself.

But there was one interesting one she remembered, Alice’s personal scent.

‘I’d like to believe she smells like honey and milk.’ Susie mumbled, looking embarrassed as she sat next to Henry Stein, the artist pausing in his inking of one of his headshots for Alice Angel.

‘Honey and milk?’ He asked, clearly amused and curious. ‘Any reason why?’

‘Well… from what I remember from my old Sunday school days, God was from the land of milk and honey, so Heaven, right? And Alice is from there, so wouldn’t she smell like that? Such a sweet, homey, safe scent…’ Susie smiled softly, looking at the drawings.

‘Makes sense. Heh, yeah, she can have that as her perfume or somethin’.’

Honey, that’s what Alice was smell, but there was another scent that had her worried. Ashes, she smelled the scent of burnt ashes mixed with such a sweet aroma.

Such a scent was associated with death.

She remembered the slash across Susie’s throat… oh dear, what happened to her since she was replaced? Whatever it was, it made her an angel that wore a perfume of sweet death.

END

--

Ten points to whoever gets my really obscure reference about honey and ashes.

And yes, Alice was totally flirting cause she is very aware of Susie’s crush, which isn’t to say that she’s not crushing herself. Also, this whole fanfic is self-indulgent, but then again, I’ve noticed a lot of content for this ship is and that’s beautiful.

As for the beauty mark comment, my headcanon for Susie is that she has two under her left eye. And this is pre-canon Malice design, so her face isn’t quite… Ink Demon-damaged as it is, she’s pretty close to being perfect, but he messes everything up for her later on.

Thanks for reading!

[lunaschild2016]

[Redux] Worth Fighting For: Chapter 22 - Eyes On Fire

A/N: Here’s a short one to tease you beauties. Hopefully, the word count won't be bounced here.

@kenzieam  @pathyborba  @jaihardy @every-jai@ericdauntless@beautifulramblingbrains@bookgirlthings@jojuarez26@oddsnendsfanfics@offroadinjandals@singingpeople@iammarylastar@irasancti@captstefanbrandt@clublulu333@fuckthatfeeling@tigpooh67@ex-bookjunkybookjunky  @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here @badassbaker@beanzjellly@beltz2016@meganbee15@affabletimelady@scorpio2009@gylisaa@geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam@kyloswarstars@emmysrandomthoughts@kgurew@beltzboys2015-blog @slytherin-princess-25273@whatwouldbuffydo666@jaiboomer11@holamor@wealwayskeepfighting@original46@blakefc@xtheserpentx@artisthedgehog@elaacreditava@slytherlesbian

Chapter 21 - Eyes On Fire

Kat

I sat on the tiled bench that's built into the shower enclosure far longer than I really needed to. After playing with that damn digital controller I found a steam setting and sat down in shock while enjoying it at the same time. Indulging in the privacy of the shower plus all the neat little settings and using the bath products, that I've missed but haven't wanted to spend precious points on, is all well and fine. But that's not what I'm really doing here, at least it's not all that I'm doing.

I'm stalling and I know it.

My main concern right now is trying to find a reason to give Eric regarding the medications he wants to give that will sound reasonable and not end up tipping him over the edge he seems to be teetering on. The problem I'm running into is there is no good reason for it. Part of it's being stubborn while the other part is my own messed up rationalization. Neither of those are going to go over well with any of those guys right now.

I sigh and shut off the water finally resolving that at least I'm going to stand firm on any pain killers. At least with that I know I have a valid reason and one that Eric will understand and even if he doesn't, he can be mad about it all he wants but I'm not willing to give in on this point.

With that addressed in my mind, I start to dry off and get dressed. I just don't do it as fast as I know I can. I take my time with every stage.

First putting up my hair in a secure braid then moving on to using the various products that Zach included along with the bath stuff. While I don't hesitate to use the moisturizers and lotions, I don't even contemplate using the small amount of makeup he seems to have added to the mix as well.

I sigh in pleasure as I smooth lotion over my skin in all the areas that have felt irritated the most by the other stuff I bought. The relief it brings drives out any guilt I might have felt about Zach going to the trouble of replacing all the things I've been stubbornly refusing to stop using.

Honeysuckle and citrus drift on the air as I move on to getting dressed. That part doesn't take me long at all to do. The clothes are just basic black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. They're no different than the standard pieces for a Dauntless informal uniform and aren't far from what I know I have already.

What has me blushing while getting dressed is the undergarments that they included. Even that is no different than something I already have, a sports bra and boy shorts. It isn't so much the clothes themselves but the thought of anyone besides myself picking out my underwear. Let alone Eric, Chase, and Zach.

Especially Eric.

By the time I'm as dressed as I can be before I have to call for Eric, I've sufficiently worked up a total body blush by imagining him picking out and touching my clothes. I stand and stare at my reflection in the mirror and wince at what I see.

I've never dwelt long on the fact that I haven't been allowed to have any kind of say about how I look or what I wear. I've never really wondered about myself and if I'm plain, pretty, ugly or anything of that nature. That's not to say that I haven't heard all kinds of descriptions yelled at me over the years, and none of them very good, I just learned to disregard them. It didn't matter to me if anyone thought I was attractive or not, I had much bigger things to worry about and that's all I've let myself think about.

Before the incident with the factionless, I was so young the only thing I cared about was running and playing, to be free to do that and everything else my sister and I longed to do. After the incident, it felt like the end of my childhood. After that, all I could, or allowed myself, to think about was becoming as strong as I could to protect those I loved and to make up for all I did wrong.

Even when Tobias had shown his supposed interest in me when I was in my early teens I hadn't given more than a passing thought to why he would have any in me. Honestly, I've always been convinced that had been more about him thinking he should be with me for some reason rather than actually wanting to be.

I let my hand fall from my face and where I had been gently probing the puffy mess of my eye and sigh tiredly when I think of Tobias. Because that just brings up more worries than I'm capable of juggling right now. I know I'm going to have to face the situation with him, as well as his secret relationship with my sister, soon. Just not now.

My biggest worry right now is the young woman in the mirror and the only man I've ever wanted to notice me and see me. There must be something here in me if he's going to the trouble he has for me. I don't think it will ever be what I want him to see or feel. Not when I look at my reflection and know that I can never measure up to the women I'm sure he could have in a second if he wanted to.

Maybe there's something to the whole Abnegation shunning of mirrors because never have I been as self-conscious as I am now that I have such unrestricted access to one. Where even now, two weeks later, I can't help looking into one and immediately finding everything wrong about myself.

Especially when most of the time there is someone standing beside me to compare myself to, which is usually my sister. Then again, I always compare myself to her in most ways.

My hair is a lighter shade of blonde than hers. It darkens a bit if I'm out of the sun for long periods of time, but not by much. I've always considered it to be kind of dull and flat compared to hers with its mixes of blonde, brown and a tiny bit of red in certain lights. They are all mixed together in a way that can be really stunning when she leaves it down. Mine is more blonde with very little other colors, but the more I'm in the sun, the more it looks like dried out bleached wheat. I've always been envious of her shimmering locks.

We have the same general shape to our faces, enough that when combined with our close age and physical stature, people often confuse us for being twins. But it's those differences that stand out so much to me.

My nose is slightly shorter and turned up at the end, making it look cute rather than the strong one she has that looks like it would be at home on any Grecian statue.

My mouth has a bow shape with annoyingly pouty lips that make me look like I'm always throwing a tantrum of some kind.

My eyes are a little too big making my overall appearance even more childlike.

Combine all that with my short and petite frame, I could be mistaken for a pre-teen boy if I didn't wear clothes that show off the few feminine features I do have, my hips and ass. That I have plenty of. It's what Lynn likes to jokingly refer to as the junk in my trunk. Whatever you call it, it's still not enough by half to compete with the women I saw eyeing Eric that first night in the Pit.

Those are women with a capital W. With their figures encased in skin-tight clothing of varying lengths and coverage, ample cleavage, perfectly groomed and made up. All that on top of knowing exactly how to tempt and seduce in ways that I don't have the first clue about.

I shake my head when I have ridiculous flashes, imaging me made up and dressed like one of them and making a complete fool of myself. Pointing out to me that even if I knew how to do any of that I would still fall far from measuring up.

I look away from the mirror in disgust, finally finished with my reflections, and looking at my sad reflection. I force myself to turn and finish dressing until I have everything on but the shirt. I open the door and take a breath before I call out Eric's name then immediately wish I had taken just a few seconds more when nerves hit me full force.

I don't want him to see how ill at ease I'm feeling. Not after earlier. I want him to know I trust him completely. It's myself I don't trust but it's not like I can tell him that. Standing here shifting around nervously isn't going to exactly look like I trust him very much. I cast a look around and then decide it might be better to look as casual as I can.

I move over to the bathroom counter and shift until I can lift myself up onto it, wincing as my ribs take pressure it's not ready for and scooting back until I'm sitting, in what I hope is a casual manner. Hoping that I pull it off even if I'm in nothing but my sports bra, pants, and boots.

I laugh quietly at myself and shake my head then look at my hands when I hear his steps as he approaches after the door to his bedroom creaks open. My hands fidget together hoping to mask their shaking.

"Did you leave any hot wat…" Eric asks, laughing slightly as he came in the doorframe, but he stops in mid-sentence when he gets one step over the threshold.

I only know he's there and that he's stopped moving because I can see his feet from where my eyes were still glued to my hands. I refused to look up and even more now that whatever he's seeing is enough to freeze him in his tracks. I feel mild panic that I've done something wrong, and my brain races as it plays over his instructions. I know I followed them exactly so I'm not sure what's going on. I refuse to look up still but I can't stand just sitting here not knowing either.

"Did I leave any hot water?" I grasp at the playful question and decide to roll with it, hoping I can make my tone light as well. I shrug and smirk a little when I realize how truthful my answer is. "I might have left a tiny amount."

He clears his throat and steps forward. His boots thumping loudly on the tiled floor and the sound echoing back to us. I hear that thudding and hope that's really from his steps and not my heart. The sound of it is loud and fast in my ears, three beats for each pause between his steps. His intake of breath brings to my attention that my own is at least two times faster. Giving the illusion that he's barely breathing while I can't get enough.

One of his large, warm, and wonderfully calloused hands takes both of my clasped hands in his, while the other he raises until it slides gently along my jaw for the second time this morning. He tilts my head back so that our eyes finally meet as his thumb stroked my cheek softly.

There's danger in his eyes anytime I look at them. I never know what I'm going to find and how I'm going to react. Right now there is a clear worry in his eyes, along with something else that's not so clear. Whatever it is, it's just as intense as anything else he allows to broadcast. They seem to be darker right now as his brows lower more, casting shadows over them.

Eric's tugs his lower lip between his teeth quickly before releasing it and breath at the same time. "Are you okay, Kat?"

I nod and smile a little. "The shower helped, though I do still hurt a little."

The side of his mouth quirks up in a side smile as he shakes his head. "That's not what I was meaning…Kat." He pauses for the barest of seconds before he says my name, making me think he might have been about to say something else. The smile is gone and he frowns while holding my eyes. "Are you okay being here like this...with me?"

I swallow hard while thinking that I'm very much not okay being with him like this but not for any of the reasons he's worried about. At least I can answer that worry of his truthfully though.

"I said I trust you and I do, Eric," I answer softly with what I hope is a reassuring smile.

He sighs deeply. It might be one of relief. It might be of frustration. It might even be disappointment. They all sound so similar and the only thing that would let me know how he's feeling would be his expression or eyes, but those are back to being carefully guarded.

I feel like he's searching mine for something just as much as I am him until he breaks contact and they move over my face slowly. His expression slowly loses its blankness as a tightness I'm familiar with morphs it.

Despite the anger I can see and feel in him as he looks over my injuries, his touch is maddeningly gentle. It's so light and gentle that I struggle to keep my breathing normal while he moves his hands and eyes over me, evaluating the damage for himself for the first time. I close my eyes and will away the thoughts his touch is bringing to mind.

In my mind, Eric isn't looking at me with a methodical but otherwise passionless eye. In my mind, the soft brush of his fingers is anything but a clinical evaluation. My mind is in serious danger of making me make a complete ass of myself as I can barely contain the whimpers that his touch and those images are causing in me.

I keep my eyes closed tightly and scowl every time one of those soft whimpers escape me.

"Tell me if you want or need me to stop, Kat," Eric demands tightly.

A shiver that I can't stop completely escapes at the sound of him speaking in that deep and rough tone. I know it's caused by him trying to keep in the anger he's probably feeling after he comes to each bruise I have. I can't speak properly to reply, so I just gave a nod of my head instead.

"Answer me, Kat." This new demand has me holding my eyes closed even tighter.

A bolt of something strong rushes through me when his fingers graze over an area that seems to be sensitive in a way I could never have imagined it being. The deep rumble of his voice seems to connect straight to that sensation so that they combine and have what I know is desire pooling in me.

He can't know that his touch is creating a whirlpool of desire inside of me and if I don't answer soon, he's going to stop and I don't want that. As much as I should say something to make him stop, I just can't.

"Yes, I will, Eric. I'm okay though." I slightly gasp out the words while not once opening my eyes to see what his expression and eyes might hold. "Don't...I...please...I mean you don't have to stop."

I cringe and internally curse myself when I realize that all came out as me practically begging him not to stop. I even moaned a little when his hands started moving in ways and over areas I'm not prepared for.

What started out as the faint press of his fingertips along the ribs that were hurt as well as the other side, turned into the full length of his hand sliding over my skin. Near my hips, it slid against the bare skin there, a whisper of the heat from his skin against the goosebumped flesh of mine at the waist. Then his fingers made a slow, almost dancing, progression up until he was caressing each rib causing my head to fall back and the moan to escape.

I don't dare to open my eyes now as his hands stop completely. Tears burned behind my eyes making them feel like they are on fire right along with my body as I flush in embarrassment and shame.

I know any second he's going to jerk his hands away from me and step back to address the situation. I don't know how he's going to handle it but knowing how badly I've just messed up he might just say it's better that we have no contact if I can't keep my hormones in check.

That's what I expect to happen but it's not what he does. Instead of pulling away and getting far from me, he gets even closer. Stepping forward until I'm forced to open my legs a little to accommodate his body, my knees brushing his hips as he moves. His hands start moving again. Going from my sides to my arms, up until they travel across my shoulders then even further still as they go along the sides of my neck and only finally stopping when they are on either side of my face. There he stops and cups my head gently in his grasp.

"Kat, look at me," He orders me gruffly.

I want to refuse since I'm still horrified and ashamed at my reaction to him simply trying to take care of me. I almost refuse until I hear his breathing and how fast it is, how hard it's coming out and gusting against my skin.

My eyes pop open against every order I give them to remain closed so I can find out what could be causing Eric to be breathing like that. I almost wish I hadn't and that my body obeyed my order, not his because what I see just can't be real. It can't be real that his eyes are full of the same desire I have coursing through me.

I feel drugged as I drag my eyes away from his to search for anything else that might tell me what the hell is going on, only to see his lips tilted up at the edges in what could only be described as a smug manner.

Then his face starts moving closer to mine and any rational thought fled my mind except one thing. One thought and wish.

Please, oh please, let him be about to kiss me.

[sevenfists]

Glasses Geno is Sid's sexuality now too...🤓❤️l

Geno was predictably enthused about the glasses, because he was enthused about everything. There was only one pair, and so after Sid was done filming his part, he had to go down the hall to find Geno, who was having his hair artfully arranged by the makeup lady. He already looked stupid but undeniably good in his grandpa sweater, and it got worse when he slid the glasses onto his face.

“How I look?” he asked, grinning at Sid. “Good, right?”

Jesus. “You look like a nerd,” Sid said, which was true.

“Like sexy nerd,” Geno said, still grinning.

“You’re a sexy librarian,” Rusty said, halfway into his Santa costume. “You work at the reference desk, and you’ve got the whole Dewey decimal system memorized.”

“That’s, uh, that’s a pretty specific fantasy there, Rusty,” Sid said.

“Rusty likes nerds!” Geno crowed, and then yelped as the makeup lady got too aggressive with the comb. He had a tender scalp and was always a baby about it.

Sid was technically done for the day, but he hung out to watch Geno film his bit, goofing around with the bar of soap and giving the camera guys a hard time. He had—okay, maybe sort of a crush on Geno, and also a lifelong appreciation for glasses, and the two were colliding now in a pretty unfortunate way.

It wasn’t, like. A fetish. He didn’t watch glasses porn or anything like that. He just liked how glasses changed a person’s face. Geno in glasses looked like someone who had a bunch of cats and houseplants, who would be interested in the podcasts Sid listened to instead of making fun of him for being boring. Like maybe he would want to spend the night and let Sid make him breakfast in the morning.

He was so screwed. He had known Geno forever, but they’d never been single at the same time before. He kept waiting for his crush to go away, but instead it was just getting worse, and after three months he was starting to feel like he needed to maybe say something to Geno, so he could get shot down and move on with his life.

“Okay, let’s do one last take from a different angle,” the director said.

“My jaw hurts!” Geno complained, laughing. “This soap’s too big, give me smaller.”

“Open wide, G,” Sid said, trying not think about other circumstances under which Geno might complain about an aching jaw.

“You think you do better? Okay, come here,” Geno said to him, holding out the soap.

“Sid’s already done his filming,” the director said.

“One take,” Sid said. “Guess I’m better at acting than you are, eh?”

Geno stared at him, eyes and mouth wide with outrage. “You—Sid!”

Nobody else was looking at him. Sid succumbed to impulse and stuck out his tongue.

Geno grinned and shook his head, and unhinged his jaw once more for the soap.

+ + +

Jen emailed them some of the raw footage a week later, when they were on the plane heading out to Vegas. Sid watched it on his phone as soon as he got the notification. Geno was really cute on a day-to-day basis, and in a playful mood, and wearing those glasses, he was custom-designed to push Sid’s buttons.

He really needed to get over this.

“You watching the Christmas video?” Tanger asked him from across the aisle. “I look great, don’t you think?”

“Hideous,” Sid said, and barely managed to dodge the pack of peanuts Tanger threw at him.

He wasn’t at all ready to play Flower, but he knew the other guys were taking their cues from him to some extent, and he had to keep it together. He managed pretty well until two-touch right before the game, when it hit him all at once. He excused himself and went to find a dark corner where he could focus on his breathing for a few minutes and get his emotions under control.

He was a little surprised when Geno came to find him. Geno was usually pretty oblivious to people’s meltdowns and didn’t offer much in the way of support. Sid didn’t have a problem with that; Geno’s job, as far as he was concerned, was keeping his own colossal emotions in check. But Geno was here now, hovering at a safe distance, frowning, his sleeves pulled down to cover his hands.

“You leave game,” Geno said.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sid said. “Just, uh. Needed to take a breather.”

Geno drifted closer. “You upset about Flower?”

Sid exhaled shakily. “I’m fine. Just another game, eh?”

“I’m upset, too,” Geno said. He tugged on the brim of Sid’s cap and then slung an arm around Sid’s shoulders. “It’s okay to be sad. We play hard, do our best. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Sid said. Geno was so warm. Sid leaned against him, just a little.

“Come back to game,” Geno said. “Horny is cheat, we need captain for yell at him.”

Geno didn’t take his arm away as they walked back toward the two-touch commotion. Sid enjoyed it a lot, too much. His crush wasn’t easing up. He needed to say something. He knew Geno well enough that he was pretty sure Geno would let him down easy and without freaking out, but things would probably be awkward for a while. But Sid refused to pine away foolishly for months. He could handle rejection.

He would tell Geno before Christmas: get it over with, and then go home for a few days to eat his mom’s cookies and feel sorry for himself. And then he could put it behind him at last.

+ + +

Sid had decided to throw a casual holiday party for the team and his local friends. It had seemed like a great idea when he sent the invitations around before American Thanksgiving, but the day before the party, bleary after a late-night flight home from Colorado, he was tempted to text everyone and cancel.

He didn’t, and he regretted it immensely when Geno showed up for the party half an hour late and wearing glasses.

“Wow,” Hags said when Geno came into the den with a plate of food in one hand and a glass of punch in the other. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s not my fault, okay,” Geno said. “I get new contact lenses, they’re not right, I don’t know.”

“So you decided to go all Revenge of the Nerds on us?” Phil asked.

“You make fun? Fuck you, Phil!” Geno said. “It’s hurt my eyes, okay—”

Sid stopped paying attention. The glasses didn’t look much like the ones Geno had worn for the holiday video. The frames were smaller, black and square. But the effect was the same and just as devastating. Geno was wearing an ugly Christmas tree sweater that probably wasn’t ironic in the least. Sid wanted to heavily spike his punch and try to lure him beneath the mistletoe.

He wouldn’t. But he really wanted to.

He was a terrible host that evening. Geno’s sweater was probably really soft. He had taken off his shoes when he came into the house, and his socks had reindeer faces on them, Geno’s long toes stretching out the red noses. Sid kept the punch bowl filled and set out more food when the trays got depleted, but otherwise he was a distracted mess. He kept going into the laundry room to give himself a few minutes to calm down. His guests were going to think he’d picked up a stomach bug.

Geno was in the kitchen the third time Sid emerged from the laundry room. He flashed Geno a tight smile that probably looked more terrified than happy and sidled on through to the living room. But Geno followed him, and sat down on the sofa beside him, and stretched out his arm along the back of the couch, behind Sid’s shoulders.

“Okay, Sid?” he murmured, and knocked their knees together. “You quiet tonight.”

Sid forced a smile. “Fine.” Geno’s glasses really complemented the shape of his face. He looked like a good person to curl up with in front of a fireplace to drink some hot chocolate and maybe exchange a few chocolatey kisses.

He was tormenting himself. He needed to stop.

He sat stiffly beside Geno for a few minutes, holding himself carefully still so that his thigh or shoulder wouldn’t accidentally brush Geno’s. Geno was sitting really close. He didn’t move his arm away. Sid drained his glass of punch and said, “Refill,” and made his escape.

He drank enough to get giggly, which was always embarrassing, but at least it helped the night go by faster. People started to trickle out at a reasonable hour, because they had a game the next day, and Sid started cleaning up in the kitchen to hustle the stragglers along.

“You need help?” Geno asked, and Sid turned to see him in the doorway, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, a stack of dirty plates in his hands like he was Sid’s hot and thoroughly domesticated boyfriend and wanted nothing more than to help Sid clean up after their joint holiday party.

“I, uh,” Sid said. He was too drunk for this. “I’ve got it. I’m fine. Thanks. You don’t need to help.”

“Hmm,” Geno said. He came into the kitchen and started scraping the plates into the trash. “You sure you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sid said, and then, “No.” He only had three days left before his self-imposed deadline. He might as well get it over with. “Geno, uh. I have something I need to tell you.”

Geno set down the plate he was holding and turned to face Sid, slouching against the counter. His legs were so long. He raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Sid’s stomach felt tight. His heart was pounding, and he felt it mostly in his belly, the artery there throbbing heavily. This was going to be so fucking embarrassing. He was grateful for the punch. “I, uh. I’m interested in you. Romantically. And I just need to tell you so I can get over it.”

“What?” Geno said. He straightened up. His face looked—

Sid ducked his head. He couldn’t bear to watch Geno’s expression. “It’s only been a few months, I haven’t been—I didn’t want it go on too long. I won’t be weird about it. But I thought I should tell you, in case I’m a little weird about it.”

“It’s glasses?” Geno asked.

Sid risked a quick glance at him. He didn’t look mad. Maybe he was smiling a little, but that wasn’t possible. “What?”

“You like glasses,” Geno said. “That’s why.”

“No,” Sid said. “I mean—I like the glasses.” His face was so hot. He was thirty, for Christ’s sake. This shouldn’t be so difficult. “But it’s not just the glasses.”

They weren’t standing too far apart. Sid’s kitchen wasn’t that big. Geno took a few steps and then he was right there. Sid felt like he was underwater, everything slowed down and refracted as Geno reached toward him and put one big hand on Sid’s shoulder. His thumb brushed the side of Sid’s neck.

“I see you look at me,” Geno said. “When we make Christmas movie. And maybe I wonder a little.”

Sid squinted at him. “Did you wear glasses tonight just to fuck with me?”

“Maybe,” Geno said. He smiled. His thumb moved again, and this time Sid couldn’t tell himself the touch was accidental. He raised his other hand and cupped Sid’s jaw. “Sid,” he said, hushed.

Sid didn’t know if there were still other people in his house. He didn’t fucking care, not when Geno was looking at him like that. He tilted his face up and hoped his expression conveyed exactly how desperate he was for Geno to kiss him. Geno was too tall for him to take matters into his own hands.

Geno breathed something that might have been Russian and bent his head, angling down toward Sid in the perfect position for kissing. But a kiss didn’t come. Geno hovered there, breathing against Sid’s lips, his long fingers so careful on Sid’s face.

Sid was shaking a little. He lifted his chin that last little bit and pressed their mouths together.

“Sid,” Geno murmured, and Sid hooked one arm around Geno’s neck to hold him in place so they could kiss for real, slow and soft. Geno’s lips were full and a little rough and nothing had ever felt this good, nothing.

When they broke apart at last, Sid turned his face against Geno’s neck and clung to him. Reckless joy welled up inside his heart. “I never thought, uh.”

Geno held him tight and close and pressed kisses against his hair. “I never think. Oh, Sid.”

“Let’s go on a date,” Sid said. “After Christmas. I’ll take you out.”

“Okay,” Geno said. He drew back and touched Sid’s cheek. His expression was as open and awed as Sid had ever seen it. Christmas had come early, and maybe every day would feel like Christmas for the rest of Sid’s life.

It was too soon to say any of that. He pressed a kiss to Geno’s jaw. “I won’t even make you wear the glasses,” he said.

[red-shepherds]

The Prince And The Cartographer

This is part one of like....4. I’m not gonna post 12 pages in one post, that’s insanity. Anyway...have my self insert and my OC meeting, flirting, being embarrassed by flirting...Etc.

If it was another request for a map of Athens, I was going to commit a murder or three. Nonetheless, the knocking on my door was insistent enough that I answered it with a resigned air. Only someone who wasn't familiar with me would be so rude—my regulars knew I'd hike their price up astronomically if they were offensive enough.

All mention of that died in my throat when I saw exactly who was in front of me—the courier bore both the blessing of Hermes and the sign of King Phaethon. Better not to rock the boat on this, then.

“Adina of Chalcis? You've been asked for.” “I've been asked for? Or a cartographer has been asked for? Rest assured, you can find much better than me, I'm sorry for wasting your time—”

“By name. Are you saying you won't take the job?” “Depends on what the job is. And how the King decided on my name when I've been careful to keep my head down. I know of nine other, cheaper cartographers in this city who make an effort to get their names in people's mouths. Someone more expensive, keeping their head down? Why make that choice?” “Because you're better. I've seen Hypatos' work. Not of the calibre yours is. And, perhaps because the atlas you were so kind to gift to the King is so clearly your make? Even if you don't sign, your signature is there. The ship sails in...oh, less than an hour. Are you going to accept or not?” “I'll assume the king knows my fees, and say...yes. Twenty minutes to pack my tools, thirty to the harbor. Cutting it close but...satisfactory?” “Oh, I'm fleet of foot miss...mister....um?” “Mx. Said like mix. Just...go with Adina, when in doubt.” “Alright, Mx. Adina. As I was saying, I'm fleet of foot. There's a reason I'm the king's leading courier. I'll have you to the harbor in ten minutes flat, so please take your time packing your things.” I did not take my time packing, even with the youth's assurances. I was thorough, yes, but time consuming? No. A large bundle of parchments, my charcoal, previous maps for reference. Clothes—I had no idea how long this voyage was to be, but spare clothes were always a necessity—and lastly, on a whim, my good hair pieces. One, a bronze band with bees set around it; the other, a braid clip in the shape of a serpent, set with jet stones. Ten minute's packing, all told. We still had adequate time, though even taking that long made me nervous.

The courier—Sophos, I'd learned—stayed true to his word; he ran at a blinding, breakneck speed to the harbor, and somehow, with my hand in his, I managed to keep up. The ship before us was splendid, as far as I could tell. I knew not much of ships, but it was large, and wooden, and had both sails and oars. Exceptional, to me.

Sophos noticed me staring at the ship, and took it as me knowing things about ships. He was wrong, and I wasn't going to correct him. So when he launched into a speech about how yes, the Patroklos was top of the line, brilliant engineering by Princess Heli—I was more trying to figure out how something obviously so heavy could float. I mean, I know wood floats. But it was a lot of wood, and trees are heavy, so wood is heavy, so...

I was shaken from my musing by the sound of hooves on stone. Either there was to be a cargo of huge goats or...one hooved, half-minotaur king.

Frankly? The latter made more sense, and it was correct.

King Phaethon was tall, first off. I stood at his shoulder, and I am not short. Add to that the dark horns that crowned him, adding another whole head in height...he was very, very tall. I wondered if he had trouble with doors with those things.

Unashamedly, I looked him up and down. I'd seen him before, of course—he was a sociable king—but I'd never been this close. His name fit—Phaethon means the shining one and...yes, he certainly was radiant. Handsomer than most men I'd seen, despite a solid quarter of his ancestry being bull. Maybe all the god blood on Queen Pasiphae's side had made up for it?

Anyway. Dark curls were tied back in a nice braid that hung over one of his shoulders, a few loose ones framing his face nicely. His eyes were gold, as was all the jewelry he wore—a band on one horn, a thematically appropriate bullring in his nose, several earrings in each ear, and a few rings on his hands. King's jewelry, obviously. It didn't interest me much, but I still took note. Detail is what I do.

No, I was more fixated on those sharp eyes of his, keen and sparkling. They stood out nicely against his dark skin, of which he had quite a bit exposed—he was currently shirtless, I assume because of the oppressive heat. I'd've been stripped to the waist to in it, if I weren't so shy. My eyes strayed down his chest—he was built solid, with a nice thick core and abundant muscle. Muscle rippled as he moved to clap Sophos on the shoulder, and I had to rip my eyes away...and, unfortunately, downward. I didn't let my eyes linger on his legs long, but I noted glossy hooves and thighs thicker than my waist.

I forced myself to look anywhere but at the king, but at least he wasn't looking at me—he and Sophos were chuckling about something. I tuned in, interested—

“—you've caught their attention,” Sophos said, with a knowing glance at me.

Oh. They'd noticed.

The first thought that came to my mind was that I could just jump into the ocean—for once that actually was an option. But another second clued me in to the fact that it was a good-natured remark. Not trying to ridicule me or reprimand, simply noting that I was interested, and complementing the king. Fair enough.

“Unfortunate that I didn't catch the king's as well, Soph. Seems I'm not nearly so eye catching.” “Not so, I should say,” the king smiled, finally looking at me with those molten gold eyes, “the only reason I haven't been staring is that I doubted I could rip my eyes away once I began.”

“You flatter me,” I said, trying to hope that the heat on my face was because of the temperature rather than excessive blushing. It wasn't.

“Oh gods,” Sophos rolled his eyes, then placed his head in his hands, “you're about to have five months on a ship together, could you at least wait to flirt until you're on the ship?” “Ah, but I rarely find the opportunity, or someone so worthy of it,” Phaethon said, his glance still on me, warm and intense.

“Then I shall depart and leave you to it. You'll come back with an heir on the way at this rate, and I don't know whether I can stand another you.” Sophos ran, at that, true to his word. A shame—he was a nice lad.

“Adina, correct?” Phaethon held out one hand to shake, “my apologies for staring.” I placed my hand in his, shaking firmly.

“I understand. Wanted to freak the kid out, right?” “No,” Phaethon said, picking up half of my equipment effortlessly and walking onto the ship, “all of that was genuine.”

I scurried onto the ship with my maps and such, following the king at a respectable distance and cursing myself for whatever madness had overtaken me. I cut my mental reprimanding short, though, when I found the king—already setting up my cartography tools in the same office as the ledgers and records.

Joining him in setting up, I could almost forget the earlier exchange—not that I wanted to. But...there was comfort in showing him how to set up my work space correctly—which led me back around to the pressing question.

Just what was my job, on this voyage?

“You're probably wondering what you're here for. What I'm here for as well, for that matter. What this voyage in general is for, let's say. In short...exploration, route mapping, et cetera. Of course that's not all you'll be doing, but I doubt I'll only be here with the ledgers as well. Sound fair so far?” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Earlier, I'd been focusing on my shame and his looks. Hadn't had the presence of mind to notice the smooth, deep caliber of his voice, or the sweet tone to it. He sounded almost musical, and it was quite lovely.

“I'm to help with shipboard duties as well, right?” “Quick on the uptake, aren't you? Yes. I'm figuring you'll do well in the rigging, considering how agile you look, and how svelte of figure you are. I will advise you, though, there...aren't always duties to be done. Some days it's simply sailing, sitting around playing games and waiting for things to happen. Are you prepared for that?” “Leaving isn't an option, now is it?” I hardly dared risking a glance at Phaethon, but when I did, it was to see a warm smile on his face.

Out on deck, I watched as the ropes were untied, letting the ship out into the open water. The sails caught the wind quickly, and for now, we said goodbye to Knossos.

Seemingly sensing my shyness, Phaethon had backed down a bit on the flirting. Thankfully so—I could only take so much before my cheeks felt as though they were going to combust, as his earlier session had proved.

But, thankfully, he didn't seem to take it as reluctance on my part, or a desire not to associate with him—no, he still smiled at me on passing, although obviously he had other duties to attend at the moment, in the form of the other two crew members.

I learned well enough, though, and Phaethon had been right about the rigging—it was almost comfortable for me to be so high up. No other people. No way for me to mess up in the eyes of other people, as a welcomed consequence.

But, I had to come down at some point, and that point turned out to be supper. The other crew members had fished while I'd been adjusting the sails, and they'd brought in a nice haul. It was cooked by the time I reached the deck from my high perch, and people were starting to divvy it up by preference. Two seats were left next to each other—one for me and one for...oh. Guess who also hadn't made it yet? I couldn't tell if the others were arranging things, here. I didn't much care. I simply took my portion of supper and hoped for the best.

Phaethon sat next to me with a smile, and his eyes lit up when he saw what I hadn't recognized—apparently, the others had left an eel in the pot for him. I hadn't touched it because I wasn't fond of the greasy skin, but it seemed Phaethon had no such qualms about the delicacy. I noted this for later use—bribing, annoying, whatever. I'd find a use.

“I think we shall all get along well,” the king said, “but you do know you don't have to leave my favorites. Especially not you, Hyakinthos. I know you like eel. Don't be shy to take it.” “We got two, sire. That one's all yours.” “You're sure? Adina? I'm willing if you'd like it.” “I'm not a fan of eel, but that is generous of you. Not to step on any toes but—”

“Unexpected?” “Very.” “Just because I'm a king doesn't mean I'm a prat, my newfound friend. The people come first, even when it's this lot.” A note of affection in his voice—he wasn't being rude.

“I'm sorry for my rudeness, then.” “Don't be. After all, it's quite impossible to step on my toes. Haven't got any, after all.” he smiled—again, good natured. Not offended.

“Don't mind him,” a crew member—Hyakinthos, I was sure—piped up, “he's just...like this. We figure he fell out of the rigging one too many times as a calf and hasn't been right since.” A smirk—oh, it was a little jab then.

“Hard to climb rigging with hooves,” another sailor parried, this one a woman, “I'm Lachesis, by the way. Been sailing longer than any of these lot except perhaps Phaethon. Can't beat being born on a ship.” “You were—” I didn't even get to finish my remark before he was parrying. Had to be quicker.

“What, you were expecting a labyrinth? Conceived there, born shipboard. Of course, knowing me, my child will probably be conceived on shipboard and born there to boot,” he sighed.

“And it'll be as waterlogged as you. Want the last squid?” Hyakinthos, again. He was a sharp one.

“Yes, and I don't know, maybe I'll find someone more sensible to balance it out.” “I'm afraid I'm no more sensible than you, my king. Apologies, but you'll have to look somewhere else if a level head is all you're looking for,” I smirked.

“No. Our child will just have to be daft, in that case.” He glanced at me again, that warm look that seemed to make the very heart of me feel so transparent.

“M-moving a bit fast there, I think. We've only shaken hands, after all. Unless you expect me to conceive from that—in which case, I'm sorry to say that must be a rather...unexciting life.”

“You say I move too fast, and yet you keep leading me into it. Telling me to look elsewhere just so you can hear me say I won't. You, Mx. Adina, are trying to intrigue me.” “And succeeding, it sounds like,” Hyacinthos popped up, again. “Give the poor boy—girl? Person. Give them a break, Phaethon. You'll break their heart before you even kiss them at this rate.” That from Lachesis. “Can't even have my love life in privacy, huh?” “Love life?!” I squeaked out. No one heeded me, except Lachesis. She patted me on the head lightly and sympathetically.

“If you wanted privacy, shipboard life wasn't the place for it,” Hyakinthos noted, sardonic.

“Lay off. Enough teasing for one night; you'll be dreaming of jabs to make at this rate, the both of you. Get you to sleep, unless you plan to continue this into your watch.” Lachesis was quickly becoming my new favorite human.

“Alright, alright, I'll take watch,” Phaethon said, standing, “just wait until you and Adina start verbally sparring, though. You won't have time to reprimand me, then.” “I think you'll be sparring someone else with something else long before that happens,” Hyakinthos threw over his shoulder, disappearing belowdecks. I took that as my cue and went down as well, leaving our solitary king staring up at the moon in deep contemplation, in for a very sleepless night.  

[themanwiththemetalarm]

Someone to Love (part five)

Pairing: Bucky x pregnant!reader

Words: 1300+

Warnings: swearing, reader being a lil of a bitch?

A/N: Sorry for taking forever, as always. I don’t even know anymore. Also, let’s see if you can find the reference in this chapterrrr. As always, tags are open , ask in the box, though, not in the comments. Please.

Tags at the end.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Time seemed to slow down as Bucky moved his lips against yours and fireworks were felt instead of the usual beat of your heart.

You were a bit shocked at first – stunned, really – but as soon as you understood what was happening, your body gained control over the situation: hands circled his neck, only to find your fingers tangled in his chocolate-y hair, lips moving like both of your lives depended on it, your body getting clooser to him. You were breaking free of the pain Tyler caused you, you were soaring, you were flying.

And Bucky, oh Bucky. He felt so amazing; he was being so passionate, holding you so tightly, as if he feared that you could disappear…

As soon as it started, it was over. James had barely pulled back, every exhale of his becoming oxygen for you, and his forehead was leaning on yours, blue eyes hidden behind his lids, as if he were still processing what had just happened. And you would be a liar if you didn’t admit that you were trying to do the same.

Then, you raised your right hand to rest it on his left cheek, only to start talking, barely in a whisper: “Bucky, why did you do that?”.

He had opened his eyes by then and he felt like the dumbest man on the whole planet. And, maybe, he said something that might make you think the same: “Listen, (Y/N), I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I was trying to make you stop rambling and that seemed like the only good option at the moment, so, forget this. I’m sorry”.

He might as well have punched you on the nose, like he did with Tyler a few hours earlier, it would have been less painful. In fact, for that lapse of time during which you found yourself kissing the man you were irredeemably falling in love with – yes, beacuse you were falling in love and it was undeniable – you had hoped that Bucky had felt the same emotions you did and this, what James had just said to you, basically shattered your heart in a million pieces.

But you couldn’t say anything other than: “That was stupid of you, really,” You were honestly seething with anger, as if the day hadn’t been already too hard on you, “You can’t just go around kissing people. Couldn’t you have just called my name like any other normal person woud have done?” Your chest was heaving and your face was red, not only because of rage, but also because you felt humiliated, embarassed and, mostly, rejected.

The man standing in front of you seemed taken aback from your outburst and his mouth hung wide open in shock. Of course, he didn’t mean whatever he had just said to that beautiful, enraged being, but he didn’t know what to say and when you presented yourself looking so small and pretty, your hands unconsciously rubbing over you swollen belly, he couldn’t hep himself from kissing you.

And, once again, he felt at loss for words – and it looked like you weren’t going to grace him anymore with your presence on that day, as you stormed away, headed to your home – walking. Crazy.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), come back, where are you even going?!” Bucky catched up to her, trying to stop her. What was even the problem with you? Were you hurt because of what he said? Were you actually angry because he told you that he hadn’t kissed you because he felt something for you? He selfishly hoped so.

“Hey, doll, what was that?” He said, his hand on your forearm.

You didn’t lose a moment to answer him - “I was just trying to go home? Why, can’t I even do that anymore? Do you need to fucking babysit me for the rest of my fucking pregnancy?”. You were so red by now, that Bucky thought that you were going to combust and he found that a little worrying. Your words were also hurting him, just a little bit.

And then, he tried to quell his stormy thoughts and asked you the question that was tormenting him: “(Y/N), are you mad because I only kissed you to shut you up and not for...something...else?” He talked slowly at the end, as if he were afraid to make explode a ticking bomb. He hoped it wasn’t showing, but he was about to lose his shit and that easily transformed into him becoming a sweaty mess; a drip of sweat could be seen on the side of his forehead, as proof to what he felt.

You just squinted your (Y/E/C) eyes and pointed your index finger at him, before talking, having come up with an, hopefully convincent, excuse by now, an excuse that just had to finish this “argument”. Because it looked like Mr. Barnes was just too perceptive for his own – and your – well being.

“Listen, you know what, Mr. Know-it-all, perhaps I just hoped, for once, that a man might have wanted to kiss me bacause I’m attractive, but that seems to be something stupid, because since I got pregnant no one spared even a single glance at me! What, am I that hideous?” You finished your rant, almost screaming, and you hoped that he was going to believe you.

That was convincing enough, right?

Well, I mean, it’s not like you had completely lied. No, scratch that, you weren’t lying at all, it had been months since someone had looked at you with flirty eyes and Bucky telling you that he was kissing you just to shut you up wasn’t a big ego booster, quite the contrary, that is.

Hearing that, he felt like the most stupid person on earth and he just wanted to hug you and kiss you and cuddle you ‘til you felt loved and beautiful.

But since he didn’t think that that would have been acceptable, he went on using his words.

“Doll...” You looked at him with sad, doe-like, eyes, “Doll,” he repeated, “That is not what I meant, truly,” He got closer to you, in order to look at the woman straight in the eyes as his hands were placed on your cheeks – at that your lids shut - “You’re beautiful and should never think less than that of yourself. You’re the most beautiful, witty and intelligent woman I’ve ever known”.

His speech had been short, but he tried to be efficient, in order to convince you of what his eyes and heart saw you as.

You sighed then and laid your head, along with your hands, on his firm chest (ohh la la, you found your new pillow and you were honestly thiking about having someone make a real pillow for you with the same shape and hardness), only to take your head up and nod, not too convinced, but happy that he had believed you, your love not coming up and now you were just hoping that you could go back home and forget this whole, disastrous day.

“Buck?” You said with a small voice, “Can you accompany me home, please?” You looked up at him, still so near to you.

He smiled then and stroked your cheek, thinking that he had quelled your self-esteem issues and he nodded.

“Of course, darling. Get in the car.” You obeyed, and as you put on your seatbelt, while your friend entered in the car, you turned to him, with hoping eyes, “Can we please get some Oreo ice-cream?” You batted your lashes at him, lower lip out, all anger gone as you had fooled him with your “lie”, but still sad at the prospect of not having him for you.

Bucky looked at you and smiled, while shaking his head, “Of course, babe, anything for you.”

They drove off after that, first buying you ice-cream (and pizza, because you were also craving that) and then towards your own home.

TAGS: @teainaukgarden @kaiyaisbae @iamwarrenspeace @saradiamayaf @adry1501  @yellowtheremarvelfan

[suketchilt]

Can you please give a tutorial on how you draw face shapes, emotions, and bodies? I'm trying to learn, and I would really love to learn from you!!! P.S. I really like your art!!! You're so talented!!!

Hey Anon. O:! Those are… very big, general topics. I can’treally impart, like, all my knowledge on all of that in one post. Tumblr wouldprobably explode, so I’m going to make my answers more general, but stillstupidly long ‘cause that’s how I operate. If you want to ask one or two veryspecific things, maybe I can help a little better. O:! I wrote this based on how my mind works, so don’t be upset if it doesn’t really resonate with how your brain is set up.

I got partway through writing this and realized how scary itlooks so HEADS UP: If you need to learn a LOT, break things into pieces. Youknow how a textbook will have a whole unit that is broken into chapters andthose might be broken into lessons and even those are broken into a few parts?Break things up.

If you need to learn the whole body, you might focus on theface first. If the whole face is too hard, maybe focus on noses, then eyes,then mouths, face shapes, then mapping out proportions, then adding the eyes,noses, and mouths you’ve been practicing to the face shape with proportions.You can break it down even further to only female eyes or only female eyes fromcertain ethnic groups or only nostrils or only nose bridges, etc.

I suggest spending at least a week on each topic you makefor yourself, and spend half an hour each day. If you don’t, no one will getmad at you, but it will take longer because your practice time will be morespread out. You also don’t want to just work seven hours in one day and go, “THAT’SMY WEEK.” Like with homework and school lessons, your body and mind needrepetition to get used to what you’re doing and to truly learn it in a morepermanent way. When you learn stuff well enough, it becomes a reflex and theyou can free your mind to work on other stuff. Remember you had to learn all ofyour letters, and then you had to sound out words, and then you learned harderand harder words and now you can read polylingual stegosaurs devour apatheticangiosperms? Once you feel good about faces, you might move on to other partsof the body, or to practicing colors. What you learn, when you learn it, andhow long it takes you to learn it are all dependent on you. There is no truetime limit. There isn’t even true mastery. Drawing well enough that YOU cannotsee your own mistakes means you are drawing the best you currently can, butthen finding those mistakes and fixing them is your improvement and learning.(At art school, we had to spend 4-8 hours per week in art classes doing artstuff, and then we would have art homework. I did a hand study and drew atleast one hand per week for a year and a half in middle school because I gotbored after half a year of self portraits.)

If you’re having trouble with something, you need topractice it. Consciously. I don’t mean just copying references, I mean tryingto figure them out and making mental notes, or even written notes and your owndiagrams. Like, “Oh, that muscle is only visible over ½ of that body part… I see…”or “OH, that part of the arm gets covered when that part of the hand is in thatposition, so that’s why it looks so weird when it is foreshortened…!” or “Ifsomeone is holding their hand towards you and they are very close to you, thehand looks really big. But if they are far away, the hand almost looksnormal-sized. I could use this to show how close a character is to the viewer,or if I mess this up I might confuse the viewer and they’ll wonder why someonefar away has a giant hand…”

While doing this, you want to look for patterns, like commonproportions that you can memorize. For example, the length of the legs is abouthalf of the whole person’s height. You will also want to see which things are particularto certain scenarios, like how most males won’t have hips as wide compared totheir bodies as most females, or a small child or a little person might havedifferent proportions than an average adult. You can actually look online andfind charts people have made showing proportion patterns they have noticed, andthere are art help Tumblrs you can follow that pass around charts, reference sheets,and studies others have made. (In case you are wondering, my brain has wiremodel mannequins inside with marked proportion points.)

Remember: Not everyone will have the same proportions, sosome will look different, and it is okay to alter them when you make yourcharacters. You want to learn the ‘normal’ stuff, but that doesn’t mean youhave to follow them all the time. It is good to break ‘rules’ in art. Art rulesare guidelines, and many artists have had whole series based on trying to arguerules. Anyway, you may want a characterwho specifically does not follow their sex’s stereotypical traits as much, likea male with big hips, or a tall female with very well-defined muscles, or maybesomeone’s eyes are very far apart, or they’ve got lips so thin you barely seethem. Some of these will be due to what the character does, like a sportyperson will probably have bigger muscles, or someone who eats too much anddoesn’t exercise enough might be fat if they don’t have a metabolism that cankeep up.

You want to point things out, figure out why it ishappening, and see if there is a pattern that you can remember so you can do itlater without needing a reference. The reason you need to consciously pointthings out, is because your subconscious mind doesn’t pick up everything. Haveyou ever driven down the same street over and over and never noticed a small shop,and then found out it’s been there for 20 years? Your brain didn’t see it asimportant, because it was tucked away and you were more interested in a biggerstore nearby. Just like how little kids draw a face and arms, but forget necksand sometimes the rest of the body- the face and limbs are probably the most important parts to them, and their young brains haven’t really memorized the other parts or seen them as necessary to communicate ‘this is a person.’You want to train your brain to look for the small, subtle things, and you willneed to ask yourself questions to get it to start. “Why is that like that? Isthis line smooth, or does it have dents and bumps? Why isn’t it smooth- isthere a muscle there, or maybe a joint or bad scar? Is something nearby havingan effect (like a shadow)? How big is this compared to the other things I havealready drawn/noticed?”

There will be a lot of things that you won’t learn rightaway, because there are a LOT of details. For example, maybe you’ll be drawingsmiles, and you won’t think to check the effect of the muscles involved on therest of the face. The more authentic the smile, the more a person’s eyes willget squinty from the bottom, because the cheeks are raised. If the person isonly smiling half-heartedly (maybe they don’t feel so great, or maybe they’reonly pretending to like what is happening) their eyes might not squint from thebottom as much. They may even be half-lidded from the top if they are beingpolite, but also sort of want the person they are smiling at to know that theyreally aren’t all that interested.

When doing expressions, a lot of artists (including me) willmake the face or imagine ourselves making the face. Some people will also touchtheir own faces while they work to check if there is something subtle they aren’taware of, like a nose crease when they wince. Mirrors help a LOT, especially ifyou don’t have another person to use as a model. When you are checking your ownexpression or the one of a model or reference image, make yourself check everypart of the face. “Have the eyes changed? Is the mouth level, or is part of itup higher than the other? Are the muscles tense in my cheeks? Does my foreheadfeel tense or warm? Are there more creases on my forehead? If I tilted the head,has this affected the neck at all? Is anything in the way, such as if I movethe head, does it hit a shoulder or part of the chest? Does this contact presson anything?” There are a LOT of questions, and it is okay to work on only afew at a time.

For face shapes, you want to think about how round, pointy,boxy, long, and short the face is. The top of the face (like, eyes and above)might have different shapes than the bottom half. The proportions (big foreheadvs small jaw or the other way around) are part of how you can make people moreidentifiable. Knowing what the face is made of (we memorized skull parts incollege and although I remember how to draw it, the only words I remember are ‘ZYGOMATICARCH’) helps you look for specific parts. Like, you know the cheekbones, so howwide are they? Are they up high or lower down? You know the jaw, so how wide isit? How long is it? To be honest, if you use character creators in games, thinkof the sliders. There’s one for jaw length, so what is the jaw length like onthe face you are drawing right now? There is a slider for eye size. How big areyour model’s eyes? Can you measure them compared to other parts of the face? What parts of the face line up? Are the corners of the mouth equal with the pupils? Where do the nostrils line up with the eyes, mouth, and chin?

Face shapes also may reflect or suggest a character’spersonality. A more masculine character will usually have a boxier, moreangular face. A more feminine character will have softer, rounder features. Acharacter with a bigger forehead might be thought to be smarter. A large browridge makes people think the character might be dumb or more instinctive/feral/orat least gruff, because they think of Neanderthals. How clean a character keepsthemselves or certain portions of their face tell about their personality, too.Thin, clean eyebrows probably belong to a feminine character who takes pride intheir appearance. Thick or scruffy eyebrows mean the character is probably moremasculine and/or does not care as much about their appearance. These aregeneralities, of course. You can have a lady with thick eyebrows who views themas a fashion statement, or as a statement against women having to be ‘pretty’by removing all their hair. Or a guy with long, flowing hair could still have asuper masculine personality and mindset. There are stereotypes, but part ofwhat makes characters interesting is when they break the stereotypes. Like, thetough guy who loves tiny dogs and kittens, or the thin teen girl who wants tobe a boxing champion when she grows up.

Analyze stuff you look at. Like, everything I mentionedreminded me of a video or drawing I’ve seen and ‘taken apart,’ or a specific character or a realperson. Look at real people and real expressions and other people’s art and tryto ask yourself questions to help you really see. Take it apart- analyze it. If you can figure out how it works, you can figure out how to put it back together again on your own and in your own way.

I think I’ll stop now, but if there is something morespecific (like a question just about ‘eyes’ or just ‘negative expressions’ or ‘angryfaces’ or ‘arms’) maybe I can help better and draw some stuff. And to think- wehaven’t even discussed the elements and principles of art. >8U!

[til-i-feel-whole-again]

heart like a stone

I’m posting this here just as I posted it on my main tumblr, in case you are one of the very few people who follow me both places. Otherwise it doesn’t matter a rat’s ass. I just didn’t want to reblog it because I’d like to start fresh here writing about this whole recovery journey. One more time. I didn’t want to turn my main tumblr into a spirituality, soul, 12-step, addiction, recovery jamboree; being compartmentalised is really the way to go for now. It also enables me to embrace some of that rigorous honesty that I’m sorely in need of. 

Relapse sucks!

~

Ok, bear with me. I want to chat a moment about addiction and relapse and about how, for me, the drug of choice is the symptom, not the disease.

It’s been a hot minute since the days when I fell nose first into the shiny happy fishscale and was a more than willing partaker in the weeks’ long halcyon glow of the bottomless bottles of 4-bars obtained on the daily from a long list of pill doctors. Despite my own proclivity toward self-destruction, I’ve been able to string together, a day at a time, a chunk of clean time.

A long time ago, I got to that point of devastation and despair, of being on the verge of death, that I knew I had to get real help and I accepted an outstretched hand. It made all the difference, did what two trips to rehab didn’t, and I was able to put down the coke and the pills.

In fact, it has been eight years, eight months and some odd days.

Clean time that I’m very proud of.

And thinking back on it, I suppose I got that 8, 8, and some odd mostly by the seat of my pants without any real plan on how to make it happen or how to make it stick.  Maybe 5% rehab, 20% 12-step meetings, 35% the geographical cure and 40% the love and support of a wonderful partner, best friend, unintentional sponsor, confessor and all around fabulous fella. (A job he didn’t sign up for, but stepped into by default because he is that kind of a good man.)

I got clean in 2008 and moved to Oz in 2010. When I got here, I attended a handful of meetings, but ultimately decided that I shouldn’t go. My reasoning, at the time, was that I was in a new country with no idea of how to find drugs, who to talk to or where to go, and I didn’t want to find out by rubbing elbows with other addicts at NA. It was a cynical view to be sure, but I’d learned the hard way back in Texas that not everyone in 12-step meetings is clean and/or sober or wanting to stay that way.

There was also the fairy tale that I told myself about being a new me in a new country with infinite possibility before me and none of the trauma and drama inside me to hold me back. As if.

Staying clean here wasn’t an issue for me. I had cravings and still had shit going on in my life, but I had a wonderful listener in my husband and I stayed pretty damned honest and we dealt with things as they arose and I stayed clean.  

So much so that I quit referring to myself as an addict or even as a recovering addict.

I mean, why not? I felt like I’d turned a corner and I convinced myself that my previous years of addiction had been down to shitty life circumstances, which no longer existed, and since I’d changed everything else about my life, that the pall of addiction had also been removed.

In all the joy and happiness of a new life in a new place, with a new job and a new home and a loving partner, I thought I could say that my recovery achievement had been unlocked.

Except the fact that addiction is a sneaky bastard. As they say, cunning, baffling and powerful.  

A week ago, I took myself back into the rooms of AA and found myself reciting the steps and reading aloud How It Works.  I sat in those musty community rooms that smelled of cigarette smoke, and humbly listened to folks who have figured out some important things that I still haven’t. It felt both familiar and completely new.

I felt that awkward camaraderie you experience when you don’t know anyone sat there alongside you except that they are hugely flawed, just like you, and are trying to sort their shit out, just like you.

I felt angry at myself for still being a hot mess, while feeling compassion for the others there, who were/are also in that hot mess space like me, where it all seems overwhelming and at times impossible and that we all know, at the core of our being, that we don’t deserve another chance to get it right.

Those rooms are where I need to be, no matter how utterly soul crushing it is to admit it to you and to myself.

No, I haven’t gone back out and used coke or benzos. My clean date of 24.12.08 still stands for that.  

But, then again, I’m not living in sobriety either.

And the bit that’s not clean/sober is as unmanageable as ever.

It may look very different than the baggie binges of years ago, but it is still the same distorted thinking, fubar-ed acting and reacting, lack of coping skills, and general madness that almost cost me everything.  It crept up slowly and I turned a blind eye to it until I’ve now found myself in a place where it is no longer possible to ignore it.

Alcoholics Anonymous refers to a “dry drunk”. That “recovery purgatory” where you’ve stopped with the alcohol/drugs (which is a good thing), but you “haven’t dealt with the underlying emotional baggage that gave birth to your addiction(s)” (which is a bad thing).  

It is “when one abstains from drugs/alcohol, but is still grappling with the emotional and psychological maladies that may have fueled their addiction to begin with, and continues to have a stranglehold on their psyche.”

The big book of AA warns of this syndrome when your regularly find yourself “restless, irritable, and discontented”.  Oh, hello self.

It has taken me quite some time to realise (rather, to admit) that my still being an addict is what underpins all that I’ve so far chalked up to mid-life crisis or existential angst or the search to fill a god-shaped hole.

What makes this realisation different from the way I felt the discontent last year, or the year before that, or the one before that, is that the consequences of my spiritual malaise have gotten out of hand.

Slowly, incrementally, substantially.

It doesn’t take a drug or a drink to wreck yourself.

Not being able to “live life on life’s terms” also shows up in binge eating, constant cravings, compulsive overspending, severe melancholy, a heavy debt load, and the daily strain of trying to keep all the spinning plates in the air.

At least, that’s how the plates are spinning (and some are falling) for me.

It took having my liver enzymes come back at 11x over the highest end of normal and other blood test results circled in red for being way out of range. It took the nice doctor telling me that I now have significant liver disease, that my arteries are as stiff of those of an 80-year old, and that the extra weight is doing much more damage than just causing too many aches and pains for someone my age.

It took an honest assessment of the debt load I am carrying with credit cards and personal loans, an ungodly number (over which I feel way too much shame to even consider typing here) to begin to see that situation as it really is. Despite this, I’m still not able to stop buying things.

I wanted to think that I had this recovery business in the bag. I told myself and others that what I was experiencing was simply the discontent of having to deal with getting older and fatter and stiffer, just the normal emotional pangs that happen when you round the corner past 50.

I wanted to think that since my proper addictions to cocaine and benzos had previously been “cured”, that I needn’t call all these other unhealthy coping mechanisms, or lack of, addictions as well.  

AA literature says that “[addiction] instills a taste for immediate relief” and that “one of the most common attitudes or observable behaviours of people with addiction is poor impulse control and impatience. We tend to do what we want, when we want, with little regard for self-harm…”

I’ve heard it said that once you sober up a drunk horse thief, you’ve only got yourself a sober horse thief. It is the proverbial idea that you can put lipstick on a pig, but it is still a pig.

And I guess, with humility and much personal shame, I am the sober horse thief, the lipstick wearing pig, who has tried in too many ways to prove that I am now both normal and fixed, a paragon of happy wellness, when obviously, I’m not.

I’ve learned enough to know that most of addiction is hidden underneath the surface. The obvious bits that you see, the drugs, the alcohol, that what appears to be the problem, is really only the symptom. The greater part that isn’t visible is that huge mass of emotional turmoil and old traumas and unhealthy behaviours.

So, for me, this is a watershed moment, of really truly realising that recovery has to be an active, ongoing, endeavour and that to sit back and consider myself above it is the very thing that has put me back beneath it.

So that’s where I’ll have to start.

Admitting that my eating and my spending are out of control, that I am powerless over using them as emotional crutches to avoid the feelings swirling around in the river of old traumatic shit underneath the surface, and that I’ve gotten myself into an unmanageable mess because of it.

This is when I, with the utmost of sincerity and honesty, need to face that hurdle of coming to believe that a source greater than myself can restore me to sanity.

What I’ve done so far hasn’t worked. All the attempts I’ve made to manage it by myself have failed. And it has gotten bad enough, that I need to be teachable, humble, open.  

With my butt in a chair, in meeting after meeting, listening and learning and recovering.

Again.

[quowreadspact]

Breach 3.5

iThe rubber boots weren’t well insulated against the cold.  It was fine at first, but the cold gradually seeped in.  Or, perhaps, the warmth gradually seeped out.  Unjustly snatched up from where they belonged, in the wrong environment, while I tried to figure out the fastest, tidiest way of getting rid of them.

Or maybe its bad karma. Though I don’t know if I’d risk frostbite by not wearing shoes...

They were a good metaphor for me, really.  Or for me and Rose.

It said a lot that I was thinking in crazy, abstract metaphors like this.  I was tired, wrung-out, and emotionally drained.  Just as the warmth had seeped out of the boots, something had been leeched out of me, leaving me… not cold, but whatever was left behind when personality, identity and one’s position in the world were taken away.

Magic is dangerous Blake. Glamour, blood magic, those target your essence. Honestly those effects aren’t as bad as they could be. Yet. Will Blake continue the trend of Wildbow characters losing their minds? I mean, he is already sorta starting too. Too early to say though, so maybe not. But I feel like Pact will end on a darker note than Worm. And possibly Twig, though it hasn’t ended yet. I just get a darker vibe. 

As I made my way across the city, my footsteps a little clunky in the inflexible, ill-fitting boots, I had a hood, but no hat, no gloves, and only the boots.  The torso was the least important part of the body to keep warm, really, but even there, I had only the sweatshirt.

Parts of me ached, alternately from the cold and the recent transition back to becoming Blake Thorburn.  I felt stiff, and I didn’t have much confidence that I’d be able to handle myself in a more serious situation.  Couldn’t run that fast, wasn’t sure I could throw a punch, and I’d suffer more than any opponent would if I tried to buy time.

When a short, shadowy figure got in my way, all of that meant I was a little more concerned than I might usually be.  Given that it was an Other, the usual added up to ‘pretty damn concerned’.

Fuck.

LEAVE BLAKE ALONE! Go home and drink something warm... cmon, how far are you from home? Do you have a mirror? Where is Rose?

I tensed as it drew closer.

“Dickswizzle,” I said, as I realized what it was.

It unceremoniously dumped a pile of stuff onto the sidewalk.

“Carefully!” I heard Rose.  “Ugh, Too late.”

Dickswizzle stepped back and scratched at its dangling genitals, looking very unconcerned with Rose’s frustration.

I rummaged through the things.  A scarf, a hat that passed for unisex, two pairs of gloves, June’s hatchet, Leonard’s bottle, one of the bike mirror pendants, and a pair of socks.

Oh. All my worries were unfounded.  So he won’t freeze to death. He has a weapon and another magical thing. 2 things to keep Rose around. Ok I’m confident he can make it home safe now. Thanks Dicky-Wizzy.

“How did you lose your boots and jacket?  You didn’t leave them behind, did you?”

“No,” I said.  I looked at the tatter of glamour that still remained.  “I think my glamour soaked into them and I lost them when I changed shape… I tore them up when I shed the glamour.”

“Inconvenient.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” I said, “Which, I suppose, was the problem.”

Damn Rose no faith in Blake huh.  Gotta think even when exhausted, but that is super difficult. I don’t blame him. Blake did very well today. 

“Speaking of problems, I’m starting to see how you can fall into a trap, dealing with goblins,” Rose said.  “They’re so naturally unpleasant they make you unpleasant by association.  You can’t deal with them without sounding like a vicious lunatic.  No, Dickswizzle, you can’t wipe your ass with those pages.  No, Dickswizzle, no vomiting or depositing any bodily fluids.  Stop that, Dickswizzle, don’t shove that hourglass up your rear end.  Fuck it, Dickswizzle, no fire.  Listen to me, you little motherfucker, you can’t shove that wand up any orifices, understand?  It was all I could do to keep from screaming, and that was in the span of five or six minutes.”

Up… orifices?  His nose?  There weren’t many that you could shove something up.

I didn’t ask.  I didn’t want Rose to tell me it wasn’t the nose.

Oh cmon Blake you know he means his asshole. Don’t lie to yourself. I’m sure you will see grosser more sickening things later. 

I was too focused on that to think before I asked, “Why was he shoving things up places?  He was supposed to destroy the books and implements.”

“He did.  He’d get something lodged in, then break it in half.  I’m really not keen to replay the scene in my head.”

I let the image appear in my mind’s eye, despite myself.  Damn it.

WHY

WHY WHY

“You got away without being seen?”

“Yeah.  She might have heard me, but she came downstairs, and Dickswizzle scampered off.  I left.”

I nodded.

“I still don’t feel so happy about it.”

“I know,” I said.  “But she did take part in trying to ruin us and kill me.”

“Leanne didn’t do anything, and you betrayed her and invaded her home, where she’s supposed to be safe.”

“I know,” I said, again.  “But if I can get roped into this because I’m of Thorburn blood, maybe Leanne falls into the same purview.  I don’t know.  As far as I know, we don’t have a way of measuring that karma in concrete terms.  It’s something to read up on.”

“Noted,” Rose said.

Yeah it was pretty risky. Your karma is so shit that it barely matters though, to be fair. 

I nodded.  “We need to get you a servant.  Something better than a goblin.  A homonculus, a bound Other, or something, so you can do more in this world.”

“So I can back you up?” Rose asked.

“That’d be nice,” I said.  “But I was thinking more like, well, it’s the only damn thing I can think of that would convey how goddamn thankful I am right this second.  For these clothes, for the sentiment, all that.  And I don’t like leaving debts unpaid, even before all the rest of this got started.”

I mean nice sentiment but you’re both keeping each other alive it should be expected and not really a debt. But she does need a servant, that I agree with. 

“I’m worn out,” I admitted.  “As bad as I was after spending my blood.  Maybe worse.”

“Erosion of self via. glamour,” Rose said.  “Imagine pouring water over a rock.  It seems into the cracks, the rough bits, and the pores, covering it.  It changes states, from water to mist to ice and back to water again.  It expands or contracts, shifts and generates friction…”

“And I changed states a few times,” I said.

“Tear away the ice while it’s set deep into the rock, you might take away some rock with it, or see some bits splinter off.  And when that rock isn’t very sturdy to begin with…”

“I’d rather say the rock’s integrity has been weakened by recent abuse,” I said.

“We can say that,” Rose agreed.

This conversation doesn’t bode well for Blake’s future mental state. Crack theory: Blake loses his mind so Rose takes over permanently. And Blake is ok with that.

“Did it work?” Rose asked.  “Getting into Laird’s house?”

“I think so.  They said the ritual was interrupted.  They’re having another gathering in a week… which leaves me the task of figuring out how to fuck with that plan.”

“Leaves us.  I’m on your side here, Blake.”

“Right.  Yeah.  We’ve got to figure this one out.  I have a sense of what they were trying to do.  Targeting the property the house is on, but not the house itself.  Something time based, a vortex of some kind.  Powerful, requiring nine or so practitioners to shape.  Drawing, I think, from some sort of store of energy that Laird’s zeitgeist familiar was managing.”

“I glanced through a reference book on Chronomancy.  It’s pretty standard practice to bank time,” Rose said.  “Give up an hour of your day, hold on to it, make use of that time elsewhere.”

“That sounds insanely powerful,” I said.

“The rate of return is pretty abysmal.  Give up an hour, gain a minute.  But I guess you can get better results if you have more hands on deck, a whole circle handling the working.”

“And a lot of power stored up?” I asked.  “I wonder if any of that power was spent… I mean, the circle was glowing and stuff was moving.  I could feel power.  Did that drain Laird’s reserves?  If we stop the ritual again, or a third time, will he or will they run out of stored power?”

“That’d be nice,” Rose said.  “But he’s going to be on guard.  He’ll be wary.”

Hm. But what will he do with that time? Give it to Blake so it feels like he is spending months in the house when it has been a week so he starves?  I’m almost 100 percent sure it isn’t that but still. Something fucked up like that.  And I doubt his power is drained much. If at all. 

“Trick number one is figuring out when and how to recuperate, Blake.  You keep on tapping this well of personal power when it’s nearly dry.”

I nodded.

“You’re actually listening to me?”

“It’s sage advice.  I need a goddamn power source.  Not just a bit of hair.”

“You need a demesnes.  Or a tool that can make any use of power more efficient,” Rose said.  “Or a familiar.”

“It all comes back to that,” I said.

“At least now we know you have a talent,” Rose said.  “Glamour.  Maybe it would be a good idea to have a Faerie as a familiar.”

“Maybe it would be a terrible idea,” I said.  “Because we know how easily glamour can fuck with me, and that would be leverage the familiar could use to take me over.  And we know how shoddy my defenses against this magic stuff are.  Look at the Briar Girl.  Can you not see some familiar getting a hold on me?  Fucking me over worse?”

I tapped my connection to the house and used it to find the general direction I needed to go.

FINALLY PLEASE. Sleep eat and GET ONE OF  THEM. You need to anyways. Also careful about using that connection you don’t want anyone to see it.

“We make the familiar less of a thing,” I said.  “If we’re going to stagger this, use one of the three rituals to get leverage on the next, and use the two established power bases to get leverage for the third ritual, maybe I do the familiar first, after all.  An Other that isn’t so strong that she’d be able to mess with me, one that might be able to get us some outside knowledge or power.  From there, we start looking at implements, which we’ve already agreed was the easiest call to make.” “You’re not going to be able to get a Faerie familiar,” I heard a voice behind me. I turned around, startled. I didn’t feel a connection.  My initial impression was that it was a disembodied voice, a ghost or something in that vein.  But he wasn’t.  He was very much real.  Very alive.  Very human. “Andy, was it?” I asked the witch hunter. He nodded.  “Yes.”

Oh here we go. Just let the man go home, please. He doesn’t need this. Smart plan btw Blake. 

No weapon in hand.

I glanced around.  I couldn’t feel any connection to anyone nearby, but I still didn’t feel any connection to Andy.

Good sign... 

“I’m not trying to reap any extra karma by sharing details with you,” Andy said.  “Those other guys are doing the whole ‘play fair’, ‘see the whites of your enemy’s eyes before you doom them forever’, and that ‘announce your intentions before seeing them through’ garbage.  If and when I come after you, Thorburn, I’m not doing any of that.”

“What,” I said.  “You’ll shoot me in the back?”

He shook his head.  “I’m a terrible shot.  If there was a magic bullet with your name on it, Eva would be the one to shoot it.”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“She’d also be the type to molotov your house, or shiv you from behind while you’re walking down the street.  I mean, if I can sneak up on you…”

“She’s a little more talented in that department, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah.  Yeah, she is.”

He stayed there, silent, not volunteering any more information.

“How did you even find me?”

“Trinkets and some very, very basic investigation techniques.”

“And how are you going to take me out?” I asked.  I was tense, and all too aware that even this guy was liable to give me a run for my money.  He didn’t seem like a fighter.  “More trinkets?”

“Right now?  I’m not aiming to take you out,” Andy said.  “Take that for what it’s worth.  If I was here to kill you I wouldn’t say so.  I can lie, after all.”

Ok so what the fuck are you doing then if not threatening or giving information or attacking. Let Blake Go Home 2kforever. 

“What do you want, if you’re not here to kill me?”

“Right now, I’m keeping an eye on you.  Don’t worry, nobody else is coming.”

“Keeping an eye on me?  You going to report on me to Laird?”

He shrugged.  “Does it matter what I tell you?  I’m just going to lie.”

“You’re clearly not interested in talking,” I said.

“I can talk, if it helps,” he said.  “You were talking about Faerie.  Court Faerie deal with prominent families and powers.  Around here, you’re not getting a Faerie familiar unless you’re a member of the Duchamp family.  You could get a fairy, that’s F-A-I-R-Y, but then you’re talking about the witless, minor denizens of their realm.  Foot high things with butterfly wings.  Going that route would be dumb.”

“You’re helping me, now?” I asked.

“This is more self serving.  You’ve already dealt with a head-on attack.  If they called Eva and me in to deal with you, I’d probably take point.  And I don’t want to kill someone with a fairy -that’s with an R-Y at the end- for a familiar.  I’d feel like I was picking on the vulnerable.  In this case, it would be the equivalent of murdering the mentally handicapped.”

Ah so this man has pride. Interesting. But he could be lying so... read up on fairys. 

“People keep going on about that sort of thing.  I’m supposedly Blake the fool, the unsturdy rock, the guy that’s going to die within the next five years, no questions asked.  Now there’s some implications that I could fit in the same box as the mentally handicapped.”

“If you pick a fairy for a familiar,” he said.  “Just to clarify.”

“I was just comparing myself to a rubber boot in my head.  But the moment it comes time to decide how dangerous I am, oh, I’m the biggest threat that Jacob’s Bell has ever seen.”

“You can be an idiot and a threat at the same time,” Andy said.  “When you’re dealing with these kinds of forces, an idiot is the bigger threat.”

“Unless they’re exceptionally smart,” Rose cut in.

“Oh, it’s the vestige.  Hello vestige.”

“Hello Andy.”

Damn just the vestige then. Poor Rose. You’re more than a vestige to me.  Poor Blake too damn I think he is pretty smart just ignorant in the nicest sense of the word. 

“The geniuses are an even bigger threat, yes,” Andy conceded.  “And the geniuses are so few and far between they don’t really warrant mentioning.  Your grandmother was good.  Scary good, but she wasn’t a genius.”

“Is there a middle ground, here?” I asked.  “Can I at least build up enough respect for people to start saying, ‘hey, that guy isn’t so dumb and reckless after all’?  ‘Maybe he isn’t the bombastic idiot that’s going to retaliate and accidentally plunge Jacob’s Bell into sulfur and hellfire?'”

“If you stand by and let them kill you, you’re clearly crazy,” Andy said.  “Maybe dangerously so.”

“If I fight it, I’m reckless,” I retorted.  “That’s a catch-22.”

“It sounds like you’ve answered your own question,” Andy said.  “About finding the middle ground.”

The answer being no? Damn Pact is dark. 

“Who do you serve?” I asked him.

“The council.”

“Laird and Sandra, primarily, then?”

“Essentially.  But if Johannes had a job for me and there weren’t any conflicting orders from the real powers, then I’d obey those orders.”

“Would you obey me?” I asked.

“You’re not on the council, not technically.  When Molly turned up, or when she moved into the house, sometime around then, the council held a meeting, and they agreed to remove the Thorburns from the list of affiliated powers.”]

Good information to know... one day he should try to get back on that list. 

“Theoretically,” I told him, “I could be in charge of you one day, couldn’t I?”

“No, you’re not going to make it that far,” Andy responded.  “Sorry.”

“I’m getting really sick of people telling me I’m going to die,” I said.  “That decision’s up to me.”

“I’d put more of the choice in your would-be murderer’s hands,” he said.

“Who?  You?”

“It’s very possible.”

“Your sister is the one with the killer instinct,” I said.  “The itchy trigger finger, almost eager to shoot someone.  She’s the killer, and you’re the bookish guy who keeps her on track and on target, researching the target, right?”

He nodded.  Not even an iota of surprise that I might know this.

I don’t remember learning this about them. It has been too long. And theoretically... the answer should be yes, Andy. Damn.  

“And you’re the one who’s afraid, who doesn’t want to hurt a human being.  Well fuck that.  I have a mother, a father, a little sister.  And we’re not close, I admit, but that’s because I’m too fucking human to tolerate the monstrous shit my family was doing to each other.  I did okay in school, and had the craziest crush on a girl in grade seven.  I dated girls and fumbled my way through it all, and some of it was so fucking poorly handled that I cringe when I think about it, even five years after.”

“You’re trying to humanize yourself.”

“Damn straight!” I said.  “I lived on the street for a while, because all of the fighting and conflict over fucking Hillsglade House and the money we’d get from selling it.  I didn’t want it then.  I don’t want it now.  The stress from it ate me up inside.”

“I hear you.  We could probably compare histories on that front.  Though there weren’t millions of dollars at stake for me.”

He was deflecting, or something.  It was eerie, that he was going out of his way to compare us.  Was he distracting me after all?

I glanced over my shoulders, checking the darker streets around us.

“Eva’s at home, I promise,” he said.  “There’s a chance she followed me, but I’m honestly not trying to set you up to have your throat slit or to get you shot, and neither of us are about to murder someone without the council to cover it up after the fact.  I don’t have any other help, no big plots at work.  You would probably be able to tell if anyone but me or Eva came.”

“Assuming I believe you.”

“Assuming you believe me, yes.”

Yeah he could totally be lying and be super cold on the inside or hate all practitioners or something. 

I sighed, “Listen, I’m a regular, average guy who loves art but can’t draw, who’s still figuring out how to be a friendly, decent human being, because his parents never bothered to teach him that stuff.  That thing you were saying to your sister, not wanting to hurt someone?  She told you it was fine because we’re practitioners, we’re not really people, right?  Something like that?  Well, at this stage, I think I’m still more person than practitioner.”

“I hear you,” Andy said.  “Yeah, I even believe you.”

Don’t think he cares. Everyone sees Blake as a threat, person or no. 

“I just want to be left alone,” I said.  “I want to deal with this, kick Laird in the metaphorical ass until he stops coming after me, get Rose into a position where she’s free, happy and healthy so I can fulfill my oath to her, and handle the crap I’ve got to handle, like a stupid pair of promises I made to a little girl, and a deal I made with someone else.  I want it all to stop, because the only thing that’s keeping life from going back to normal is them.”

“I just want to be left alone” is a lie then, is it not?  But yeah Blake you made too many promises. 

“I understand,” Andy said.  “But it doesn’t work that way.  You’re the threat, and you’re an obstacle to this town evolving to a different state and reaching a new kind of stability.  I’m the guy who takes care of threats.  When and if the order comes down, I’m going to remove you from the picture.”

He said it so easily.  Remove me from the picture.

“Without guns or fire or any of that?” I asked.  “Because that’s Eva’s job, apparently.”

“I find a little distance helps.”

“Right.  When removing me,” I said.  “Come on.  At least have the balls to say what you mean.  You’re talking in this quiet, calm, monotone because you’re trying to detach yourself from this shit.”

“Killing you.  Executing you.  Putting you down,” he said.  His eyes dropped at that last bit, then raised up to meet mine again. “Yeah.  I don’t use the guns or knives or any of that, because even when it is a monster?  One of the bad ones I shouldn’t be able to sympathize with at all?  I can’t help but feel like shit after, and looking in your eyes as I do it makes it ten times worse.  The detachment does help me deal with it.  Sorry if it’s frustrating.”

Or just don’t kill him :) I know he will though. Feel kinda bad for him but idk. He deals with some awful people and it is hard to justify that. 

“I’d accept your apology, but it’s kind of hard to when we’re talking about me being murdered at your hands.”

“You?  If we get that far?  If it helps, I’ll feel horrible.  I’ll remember all that stuff about you having a crush on some girl and I’ll lose sleep.  I’ll remember the look in your eye, I’ll think about how much this all sucks.  But I’m still going to do what I need to do.”

“Why?  If this is all some big, fucked up situation, why not change it?  You aren’t sworn into anything, and the rules don’t bind you.”

“Because I made promises, and even if I’m not in a position to be forsworn, I still can’t break them.”

Careful Blake. You’re not wrong, but you’re tired and you can’t afford to be in a fight right now. 

“Despite the sleepless nights?  The fear that eats at you?  The fact that you’re killing innocent people?”  I asked.  My voice was low, and anger was seeping in even when I wasn’t raising my voice.  “I have a hard time buying that.”

“Despite all of that.”

“Family, is it?” I asked.

“A little bit of family.  Obviously, or I wouldn’t be working with Eva.”

“Because family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said.  “It isn’t fucking half of what it’s supposed to be.  See, there’s a big, big fucking difference between someone being your relative and someone being family.”

“Then I guess I’d say Eva is my relative,” Andy said.  “And ‘family’ plays a very small part in this.”

Interesting. I’d say that relatives can mean nothing to you but your family means a lot.  I don’t know whether Andy sees it that way too, but if so, he just feels obligated. 

“What’s the rest?” I asked.

“The rest is private.  It wouldn’t matter, would it?  There’s nothing I could say that would reach you and your specific perspective.  Because we come from very different places.  Having people you owe everything to, who you could never ever pay back.”

“It sounds a hell of a lot like we come from similar places,” I said.

“These people you owe?  Are they dead?” he asked.

“No.  Very much alive.”

He nodded.  “You’re lucky.”

I frowned.  “Am I?  Because it’s a quiet sort of hell, knowing you owe someone everything, and once in a while you have to look them in the eye.”

They could be friends, in a different situation. 

I shivered.  “Well, this was fun.  Another death threat onto the pile, and I can’t even bring myself to hate you.”

“I appreciate that,” he said.

“Don’t,” I responded.

He didn’t flinch.

I wanted him to retaliate, to fight back.  I didn’t want to fight, but I needed goddamn cues to find my way through the conversation.

In a way, he seemed just as inhuman as some of the Fae I’d encountered.  The swordswoman had been more animated, had at least had an iota of passion.

Andy wasn’t even pretending.

“I’m cold,” I said.  “I’m leaving.”

I turned to go.  I heard his footstep behind me.

Following me.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re hearing me,” I said.  “I’m going this way.  I’m not keen on having you tag along.”

Good leave. This is awkward though. He has been told to keep an eye on you ha. How close are you to home Blake? Hurry. 

“I’ve been asked to keep an eye on you.”

“Why?”

“Because Laird Behaim and Sandra Duchamp are interested.”

“Is he trying something?” I asked.

“He’s preoccupied,” Andy responded.

I reached for my hatchet, touching the handle.

“Bound spirit?” he asked.  “Wraith?  Ghost?  Elemental?  I’m actually pretty good at dealing with those.  I’m kind of shit when it comes to fighting, but if you try using that, then you’re going to be down one trinket, and that looks like pretty intricate work.”

“Blake,” Rose said.  “No fighting.  It’s not the time, and we can’t lose June when we haven’t even used her.”

“Assuming he’s not just lying to our faces,” I said.  I can’t fight even if I have to, I thought.  I wasn’t entirely sure, but I felt almost like I’d retained some of the negative qualities of the six year old.  I didn’t feel strong.

Yes Rose please continue to be the voice of reason just suck up the fact that he is following you and go home. 

“I’m not a threat,” Andy said.  “Take this for what it’s worth.  Laird sent me to keep an eye on you.  I only do so many favors for him a month… and doing this harmless favor means I’m not taking a job to kill you.”

“But you’re still reporting back to Laird,” I said, as I turned and started walking.  I tried to keep my stride going, despite the fatigue I felt.  He was shorter than me, burdened with that backpack, and I didn’t remember him being particularly fit.

If I could leave him behind, all the better.

“Keep an eye on him,” I told Rose.  I flipped the mirror pendant around so it hung between my shoulders.

Super Awkward. Keeping an eye on the preson who is keeping an eye on you. That is funny. 

“How log have you been doing this?” Rose asked.  It took me a second to realize she wasn’t talking to me. “Two years,” I heard Andy behind me. “Not long.” “Feels like a while,” he replied. “Can we not talk to the assassin in the funny hat?” I asked. Rose ignored me.  “What gets someone like you working for someone like Laird?” There was no answer. “Power?  Wealth?” “Responsibility, I already said.” “Is there a finite amount of responsibility, Andy?  Is there a point where you’ve paid your dues and you’re free of all this?” “That’s the second question you’ve asked that I already answered.  No.  I could go my entire life and not pay them back.” “That’s a hell of a burden,” Rose said. “Yeah.  I’m not dumb, you know.  I’ve faced down worse manipulators than you.” “I’m not trying to manipulate you.  I’m trying to figure you out.  Do you think your departed acquaintances would want you to do this?  To spend your life indentured to them?” “I know they wanted it.  They said so.  That they needed me to handle it, for their sakes.” “Uh huh,” Rose said.

Why is he telling you all of this? Remember he could be lying. I’m not sure how to feel about this dude. If he isn’t lying, I’m super curious about him. If he is, then he is probably just a shitbag. HIm being honest is more interesting so I’m leaning towards that being hte case. 

I trudged along, doing my best to leave him behind.  My leg was already raw where the boot was rubbing my jeans against my leg.

“If the tables were turned, knowing what you know, would you ask them to don the mantle?  Kill people and feel horrible about it?  Have nightmares?”  Rose asked.

“No,” Andy said.  “But that’s me, my personality.”

“If they’re asking you to commit your life to something you couldn’t imagine yourself asking someone to do… it doesn’t sound like they were really your friends.  It sounds like they were using you.”

“Hey, Thorburn,” Andy called out.  “Your pet is starting to irritate me.”

“Good,” I said.

Ew. Pet. Gross. FUck this guy.

“What I’m thinking,” Rose said, “And I don’t know enough about Blake’s situation to say for his case, but if you’re that indebted to someone, and you devote your life to staking vampires and burning witches-”

“You’re oversimplifying,” Andy said.

“Simple is good.  That stuff isn’t the point.  You’re devoting your life to this stuff… what if you die?  I mean, it’s inevitable, right?  What if you die, and you find yourself in the afterlife.  You meet these people again.  You obviously didn’t pay them back for whatever they did for you.  Do they look at you with disappointment?”

“Probably,” Andy said.

“That’s sad,” Rose said.  “Do you have Eva’s support?”

I thought of the vision.

“No,” I said, automatically.

“No,” he agreed.

So then what is the point? They won’t like you either way. 

“Is anyone backing you up?” Rose asked.  “Do you have a listening ear?  A confidant?”

“No,” Andy said.

I glanced back.  His eyes were downcast, his expression serious.  Was he bothered, or was he more focused on not stepping on ice and losing his footing?

“That’s awfully hard,” Rose said.

“Spare me the false sympathy,” Andy said.  “I’ve said it before, I’ve gone up against better manipulators.”

“And none of them have tried to see what’s going on in your head?”

“Some have.  Some have looked.  Doesn’t matter in the end.”

“Did any offer to be that listening ear?  The confidant?”

“Hm?”

“Hey, Rose,” I said.  “Don’t you think befriending the dorky witch-hunting kid should be a collaborative decision?”

“You can make friends and decide who you do and don’t want to forgive,” Rose said.  “But I’m still a free being, more or less, and I can decide who I do and don’t want to interact with.”

Damn Rose, you tell him. Though I agree this should have been discussed ha.... dangerous choice Rose. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I said.  My legs were burning now.  I wondered if he was getting tired.

“I’m not looking to make friends,” Andy said.

“I’m not looking to be your friend either,” Rose responded.  “I am offering to hear you out, if you need it.  There have to be points where you’re feeling lower than low, Andy.  Where you want to cry or go crazy or something.  Now, instead of getting to that point and having nowhere to turn, you can turn to me.”

“And I have one more reason to feel bad when and if I have to kill your master, removing you from the picture as well?”

“Ahem,” Rose said.  “I’m a free being.  Present stuck-in-a-mirror circumstances excepted.  And if you feel horrible, then good.  You deserve to.  I said I’d hear you out, I didn’t say I’d lie to you or go easy on you.”

Rose you can’t lie.  And damn why won’t people understand that Rose isn’t his fucking slave. Even if that was what she was built for, she isn’t. 

Andy shrugged.  “I can’t and won’t take the deal.”

“Okay,” Rose said.  “But the offer’s out there.”

Andy didn’t respond.

The remaining fifteen minutes of our slow and not-so-steady walk over snow and ice were undertaken in blissful silence.

We made our way to the neighborhood, the dark structure of Hillsglade House looming against the pale evening sky.  The light from the moon and city lights was reflected off of white snow, cast onto the overcast sky above, making it seem almost as bright as it was during the day.

I heard a jostling, and turned to see Andy hurrying to catch up.  My hand flew to my weapon.

“I’m not a threat,” he said.  He wasn’t really out of breath.  Was he more fit than he looked?  Simply uncoordinated?

“You keep saying that, as if saying it over and over makes it true.”

“It is.  And it doesn’t matter.  You’re home.”

We’d nearly reached the block the house was on.  My eyes flew over the premises, then went back to Andy.

“This feels like a trap,” I said.

“It is and it isn’t,” he said.  “It wasn’t really explained to me, so I don’t really know.  My focus is supposed to be on you.”

Something is so up and Blake won;t know what it is until it fucks him over. How depressing. 

“Why?” I asked, glancing away to look back at the house.

“To pass on word to Laird,” he responded.

There was an eerie conviction in his gaze.  An intensity that I hadn’t sensed moments ago.

“Blake,” Rose said, “This is going nowhere.  Let’s get you back in the house and resting.  We still need to plan and do some reading.”

“Doesn’t it feel wrong?” I asked.  “Why not send Fargo here to kill us?  He’s only here to gather info and take it back to Laird.  Why?”

“It’s trivial,” Rose said.  “Our priority is getting you in fighting shape, and I wouldn’t mind that servant.  There’s a thousand things we could dwell on, outside of the head games the witch hunter is playing with us.  No offense, Andy.”

“None taken.”

“Come on, Rose,” I said, my eyes fixed on Andy.  “You and I aren’t so different.  Reach deep, dig for those instincts, and tell me you don’t feel this is something serious.”

There was a pause.  “I can’t tell if it’s because you’ve psyched me out or if you’re right.”

“I’m right,” I said.  “Laird’s pulled something.”

Oh no maybe we will find out now... 

There was a pause.

“The something?” Rose asked, quiet.  Her question was partly a statement.

My head snapped around, looking over the house.

The ritual?

No.

A kind of horror settled in me.

No, no, no.

Where was it?  The symbols I’d seen drawn on the floor… they would have covered a certain area, here in the real world.

My leg stung where the boot was rubbing it as I strode around, moving closer to the gate.

A circle, like the one I’d seen as part of the diagram, barely perceptible.  The spirits on and above it were brighter.

I could hear the tick and tock sounds I’d heard in the room, now.  I wasn’t sure if it was real or imagination.

WELL FUCK. IT WAS ALL POINTLESS. FUCK.

“What does it do?” Rose asked.

“It makes accessing and using your resources in Hillsglade House so inconvenient it’s pointless,” Andy answered.  “The unawakened might notice something when they walk down this sidewalk, but nobody does, do they?  Surely you’ve noticed how the locals avoid the property.  Mail doesn’t come here, restaurants won’t deliver food to this address.  You’re isolated.  They can’t target the house, as it was once a demesne, so they target the space around it.”

“To do what?” I asked.

“Waste your time,” he answered.  “Something you already have in short supply.”

I reached into my pocket and found a quarter.  I flicked it over the circle.

It slowed as it flipped over the line, growing slower with every passing second.

It looked like it would take minutes to hit the ground.

I looked at Andy, trying to read his expression.  It was as placid as ever.

“I’m not sure what you’re seeing, Blake,” Rose said.

I looked, and I saw the quarter in the air, spinning in slow motion.  When I looked without the benefit of the sight, I saw it on the ground.  Different views for the awakened versus the unawakened.  Different effects.

The Duchamps had been a part of the ritual.  Had it been more than targeting it at this particular neighborhood?

This is even worse than what I imagined. 

“Slowing time,” I said.  “The quarter is still in the air, to my eyes.”

“The long driveway,” Rose said.  “How long do you think that walk would take?”

“Weeks?” I asked, quiet. “A month?”

“Meaning we’d miss council meetings,” Rose said.

“Yeah.  The wedding would go ahead, and so would the plans for establishing a Lord for the city, while we make the excruciatingly slow walk up to the house.  Tying us up until some time when Laird’s ready to deal with us,” I said.

“And that,” Andy said, “Mostly wraps up my end of things.”

I snapped my head around.  “Your end of things?”

“This is what he wanted a report on,” Andy said.  “A description of your face and actions as you realized, making sure you got the full message.  He hired me to observe, to make sure he wouldn’t have to wait months for you to come after him.  Assuming you might only realize when the season changes.  He’d like you to know that for now, he’s hands off, until you give him an excuse.”

“And the rest?” Rose asked.

“Remains to be seen.  I know there’s a bounty on your head, a prize of three favors to any Other that catches you.  That might take a few days to revoke, if they decide to go that route.  If an Other kills you, though, and the new heir heads for the house, they’ll lose a great deal of time, and they’ll find a trap waiting for them when they next leave the property.  It’s done.”

Great time to make friends with Maggie and beg for her protection. Good lukc Blake you’re really fucked. 

“Oh, you did win,” Andy told me.  “You embarrassed him, you counted coup, you probably cost the Behaims more than you know, when you damaged those books, and it would have cost Sandra to tidy up that mess.  But…”

“He won more?” I asked.

“He won more decisively,” Rose murmured.  “A more targeted, devastating strike.  But then again, he’s the guy with the big guns, the power, the soldiers…”

I shook my head a little.  What the hell were we supposed to do now?

“It’s not a kid’s television show,” Andy told me, “Where the antagonist makes the Machiavellian plan and then abandons that plan completely the first time it fails.  People fail, they revise, they adjust parameters, they you achieve victory through persistence and hard work.”

I turned to stare at the house.

“It was nice meeting you,” Andy said.  “I hope I don’t have to kill you.”

Does it matter. Someone will and you probably helped indirectly at some point.

“Hey,” I said.  “Do me a favor, Andy?” “Maybe.” I pulled off the rain boots, then stood on the sidewalk with two socks on each foot.  “Take those boots back to their owner?” “Will do.” I could hear him walking away. “Rose?” I asked. “What is it?” “Do me a favor, and call the lawyers?  Like you did before?” “I’d say that’s only for emergencies, but I think this counts.” “Yeah.” I barely even heard her reciting the names. I didn’t turn my head as a man came to stand behind my left shoulder. “What can we do for you, Mr. Thorburn?” “Can you undo this?” “I think you know the answer,” he said.  He wasn’t one of the ones I’d met before. “Is it a price I’m willing to pay?” I asked. “Most likely not, given Ms. Lewis’ notes.” “Okay,” I said.

Well the boot karma is resolved. Least of our problems.

True the lawyers may be able to help a little bit. Maybe. 

“Anything else?”

“What about safe passage to Toronto?” I asked.  “There’s no reason to stay here.”

“That can be arranged for a very small cost,” he said.

“Putting me in contact with the local Lord, so I don’t step on toes?  I’ll need some things, as well.”

“Clothes and supplies.  Yes.  Shall we negotiate?”

“I think we have to,” I said.

Oh now this is interesting. Moving settings. If he doesn;t die along the way. They lost so many resources. Ugh. So much info in the house. Can Rose still access it? They didn’t affect the house itself. Hm. I think she can. So they have access to the books at least.