#[so low effort it doesn’t deserve tags]

[spiderman2-99]

PIZZA PARTYYYYYYYY 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

…

Just keep it out of my office.

[strang3lov3]

Throat Coat

Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse.

Tags - smut, one shot, dark daddy!joel, rough blow job, facefucking, deep throating, cum swallowing, kissing, hitting/swatting, abuse, dubcon, daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, thick n girthy (legal + unspecified) age gap, controlling!joel, Joel is all mean and grumpy and short with you, sexy comforting father figure!Joel, Joel feels guilty for hurting you and cries a little, so he babies you and you milk it just a little. you deserve it. hurt/comfort, dark fluff, non-graphic descriptions of illness (sore throat + strep), tommy makes an appearance...planting some seeds here... ;) 3.6k words A/N - heddo! if you're sick rn I’m hugging you. And if you’re not sick, you will be and I’ll hug you then too. Wash your fuckin' hands ya beautiful freaks

“Set the table f’me, pumpkin.”

Joel’s voice is low as he watches you slowly get up from where you sit on the couch, pausing in place to no-doubt roll your eyes before shuffling toward the kitchen. You don’t look right - you’re dragging your feet and your eyes are droopy, there’s a big pout on your lips. Shoulders are slouched forward like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world upon them. Brows knit in some kind of upset as you move lazily, and Joel’s jaw ticks as you let the cabinets slam shut instead of closing them gently, like he’s asked you to do. 

After setting the plates and the forks down at yours and Joel’s respective seats at the dinner table, you fill two glasses with water, bumping into Joel and splashing him as you move through the kitchen. “Hey - watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he gruffs, shaking his head as he bites his inner cheek in frustration. He narrows his eyes at the way you don’t say anything. There’s no sorry, no excuse me. Joel makes a note of this. “Gonna be one of those nights, huh,” he grumbles. 

You’re sulking in your chair now, making no effort to even glance at Joel as he brings the hot dishes to the table. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wood grain. Joel serves you first, a large helping of green beans and potatoes, an even larger helping of chicken. “I can already tell just by lookin’ at ya that you ain’t eaten enough protein today,” he grumbles, eyeing you. “Gonna be a peach for me, aren’t ya?”

“Mm,” you hum, the noncommittal noise dripping with defiance. You hate when he reads you like this. His unique ability to pinpoint your mood or your attitude, your state of being. Uncovering the things you seek to hide. Joel knows you better than you know yourself in some ways, and it’s as infuriating as it is validating at times. He understands you, all of you, and he’s always there, filling in the gaps of what you don’t tell him. You can’t get anything past Joel.

Joel serves himself next and begins eating, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth. He’d worked up quite a fierce appetite today, spending his time shoveling snow and doing other arduous housework while you sneakily evaded your own chores. You poke a little at your food with your fork, scraping the metal along the porcelain while ultimately deciding that you don’t want to eat. You push your plate away and lay your head down in your arms on the table. 

Joel’s hand lands firmly on your bicep. “Nuh-uh. You sit up at the table. What’s the matter with you?”

You groan as you reluctantly pull your body up, head throbbing with the action like a heartbeat. You can feel blood pumping in your face, a pressure behind your eyes and nose and forehead so awful you feel like your face could melt right off. “M’not hungry,” you grumble, voice thick with discomfort. 

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. Yes, you fuckin’ are,” Joel says, spearing a green bean with his fork. “I know you are, so don’t even try it. You’re gonna eat, ‘cause I already know what’s gonna happen: s’gonna be bedtime and you’re gonna be whinin’ ‘bout how your stomach hurts ‘cause you didn’t eat enough at dinner and who’s gonna have to fix you somethin’?”

“No one,” you mutter.

“Me,” Joel corrects, without missing a beat as he shoots you a warning glare. “Now you get to it. An’ I wantcha eatin’ everything that’s green on that plate, do you understand me?”

“Fine,” you sigh, dragging your plate back towards you. You pick up your fork but instead of actually eating, you just maneuver the food around on the plate a little. The green beans are cut into smaller bites, potatoes shoveled into a neat little pile. The occasional scraping sound your fork makes against the porcelain makes you wince, but you ignore it. Just killing time. 

Joel serves himself a second plate of food, fork hovering over his plate when he pauses and notices that you’ve still not touched yours. “What’d I tell you? Or are ya waitin’ to eat it cold?”

You shrug, earning another cold look from Joel. He doesn’t like when you waste your food, and his patience is wearing thin. “I just don’t feel so good,” you tell him, sniffling softly. Your throat’s been scratchy all day, and you can’t breathe too well. You feel awful. 

Joel drops his fork and leans forward, chair creaking with his shifting weight. He presses a calloused hand against your forehead, and the added pressure actually soothes your throbbing pain, just for a moment. His fingers travel down your face and with practiced ease, he presses two fingers just under your jaw, feeling your lymph nodes. “Feel fine t’me,” he says, pulling back.

Not the response you were looking for. “Daddy…” you whine, elongating the word in a bid for his sympathy.

“Mhm,” Joel hums, a knowing lilt to his tone. You claim to be sick a lot when you’re simply dehydrated or attempting to get out of something. “Heard this one before,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. “You’re not pullin’ one over on me. I know you, pumpkin.”

“I’m serious,” you argue.

“So am I. Drink your water f’ya feel so bad. That’s your problem, sweetheart, you’re never drinkin’ enough water. I tell ya a hundred times a day to hydrate yourself.”

“B-”

“M’not havin’ this argument,” Joel cuts in, voice firm. He’s right, too. Nine times out of ten you’re poorly hydrated, which is usually the reason for when you feel like crap. Dehydration is certainly playing a role today, too, as much as you hate to admit it. “Drink.” He snaps and points to your glass, watching how you roll your eyes as you take it, just to needle him a little. “And adjust that fuckin’ attitude a’ yours, ‘fore I adjust it for you. S’that what you want?” 

“No,” you mumble into your glass. You drink about half the water, then set the glass down and stare at Joel pointedly. 

“Keep goin’. Drink it all, kiddo,” Joel urges gently, taking himself down a notch as his voice loses its edge. You obey him, finishing the glass. “Good girl.” You smile a little, just a momentary little curve of your lips. The praise feels good. For as stern as he can be, Joel is quick to let go of anger. Patient, to a point. But not always. “Bet you’re feelin better already, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you whine, though Joel is right that the water helped. Can’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing that, though. “I still feel like shit.” 

“Watch the language,” Joel scolds, anger renewed. “Y’feel like shit ‘cause you’re tired. Spendin’ too much time watchin’ that goddamn TV. And I know you’ve been sneakin’ down here to watch it after bedtime. Did it last night too, didn’t ya?”

“N-” 

“Don’t even try it,” Joel bites, his glare pinning you in place. A warning. 

“Yeah…I did,” you admit. He’s right again. “But I’m serious, Joel, I really don’t feel good.” 

“Tough,” he says, no sympathy in his tone. “Let it be a lesson to ya. Take care of yourself and you won’t feel so bad. Now you quit your cryin’, sit up straight, and eat your damn food, or so help me god I’ll shove somethin’ else down your throat of yours. S’your last warning,” he adds as he stares you down. Eyes still fixed on you, he raises his brow and points at you, “Don’t make this a bad night, now, pumpkin.” 

“You’re not f- you’re not listening,” you seethe, frustration bubbling over. You plant your elbows on the table and bury your head in your hands to stand your ground, refusing to back down. It’s his short temperedness to your stubbornness, your oppositional defiance. Things work out better for you when you listen to him, and you know this. But you can’t help yourself but to buck him anyway. Joel always tells you that he gives you an inch and you take a mile. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this?” Joel snaps, and you’re in for it now. “Fine.” He grabs you by the forearm in a bruising grip and yanks you out of your chair, forcing you over the table. “Go ‘head, keep fuckin’ testing. Watch what happens.” He pulls down your pants and panties unceremoniously, giving you less than a moment’s notice before he smacks your ass, hard. His large hand on your head, pressing your face into the wood so hard that the pattern of the grain will be imprinted on your cheek. You cry out as he slaps your flesh, each hit worse than the last. He leaves you bruised and raw by the end of it, sniffling as the sting bites your skin. Usually he rubs you to soothe the ache... 

…But not tonight. Tonight, Joel pushes you to the ground, knees scraping on the hardwood floor as he drags you where he wants you. Eyes wide, mouth open as your bottom lip wobbles. Joel palms his growing erection, momentarily massaging himself over his jeans before unbuckling his belt. He tosses it on the ground, that metallic clanging sound piercing your ears. He unzips his jeans next and pushes them just enough down his thighs to free his cock, fully hardened now. He holds it menacingly between his thumb and his first two fingers, heavy balls sitting above the waistband of his boxers. 

Joel reaches forward and tangles a hand in your hair, looping his fingers around the strands to pull them tight. “Open,” he barks. You part your lips a little, and Joel fits the thick, blunt head of his cock between them. “That ain’t enough,” he says, slapping the tip against your bottom lip. “Wider. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

After you open your mouth wider for him, Joel begins sliding himself down your throat. He’s met with a little resistance as you pull back, wrapping your hand around the base of him in attempt to temper the force of which he fucks your mouth with. Joel slaps your cheek, “Don’t,” he warns, and pulls your hand away.

He forces himself down your throat entirely, the hand on the back of your head keeping you still even as you gag and choke on his cock. You’re panicked, pulling back but Joel holds you firmly, unwavering in his strength. “Stay,” he says. “You’re fine. Breathe through your nose.”

You open your jaw and your throat, surrendering to it as Joel begins fucking your mouth, drawing in and out of your mouth inch by inch. Tensing up makes it worse, makes it hit you harder. He tastes salty today, smells headier than usual. His graying patch of pubic hair scratches your nose, and if he fucks your face any harsher it’ll rub your skin raw.

Joel grunts loudly, growling your name and a series of words that he doesn’t let you say. None of it feels pleasant for you, not that you can vocalize that. His cock’s down your throat, further irritating what’s already scratchy and sore. You feel so…used. 

You’ve told Joel that before, that you feel used when he does things like this to you. He says he understands, but it’s not supposed to feel good. It’s a punishment. It’s discipline, and he disciplines you out of love. He loves you, pumpkin. 

Joel fucks your mouth with abandon, and you can’t control those choking, gurgling noises you make. Drooling all down his shaft, down his balls. Your eyes start to water before you cry freely, not that Joel cares. “Cry all ya want,” he grunts, and you whine in discomfort. Joel ignores that.

You have to hold his twitching, meaty thighs for stability as he moves your head back and forth on his cock repeatedly, clutching him tightly. Your jaw aches with the ferocity of how he moves, ferocity that borders on violence. 

“Look at me,” Joel pants. “Look at Daddy.” 

He strokes your cheek tenderly for a moment, a brief reminder that he loves you, even if it hurts sometimes. Still fucking your face, Joel reaches between his legs and cups his balls, squeezing them a little as your throat pulses around his length, tongue massaging that thick vein that climbs the underside of his cock. “Almost there, pumpkin. Be good for Daddy. Stay like that,” he groans, signaling release is near. 

You whimper as his cock twitches in your mouth, and with a few more hard, deep thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling. His balls tighten, his muscles tense and release as he lets out a deep, guttural groan, pulling out of your throat to paint your tongue in his come. “Swallow it,” he instructs softly, pulling back the rest of the way. A bit of come spills down your lips and onto your chin. 

Joel’s chest heaves with heavy breaths, watching you swallow his load. Your cheeks are hot and sweaty, hairline damp with glittering sweat. Joel drops to his knees then, joints cracking while sinking to your level. He pushes his stray come past your swollen lips, “Lemme see,” he says. “Show me that tongue, pumpkin.” 

It’s routine. You always take what Joel gives you, always. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and that’s when Joel sees it. The angry redness, the swollenn tissue, the white sores on the back of your throat. His breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping him as his face softens in an instant. He whispers, voice thick with guilt, “Oh shit, kid. Fuck. You weren’t lyin’.”

“Told you, Daddy,” you reply, feeling both hurt and validated.

Joel nods, clenching his jaw as regret floods his face. “Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, guilt filling every corner of his mind. You really did tell him, and you told him multiple times. “Did I make it worse?” he whispers, holding your face in both of his hands, rough thumbs caressing your skin as his eyes search yours. Hesitant to answer, you pull away from his gaze. 

“You can tell the truth,” he urges, and his voice is both soft and insistent. “You won’t be in trouble. Cross my heart, baby girl.” 

You pause. Finally, you admit it. “...Yes,” you whisper. 

Joel’s face crumples. “Daddy’s so sorry, kiddo.” His voice cracks. “I really am. I shoulda listened to ya. C’mere, pumpkin.” His hands fall to your shoulders before he pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes you no time at all to hug him back just as tightly. This is all you wanted - his warmth, his comfort. 

After holding you there on the kitchen floor for a while, Joel sniffles and presses kisses to the top of your head, one after another. “With me,” he says, and his voice sounds thick. He doesn’t let you see the tears he wipes away as he leads you to the upstairs bathroom. 

Joel sits you down gently on the lidded toilet, opens the bathroom vanity and pulls out an old Walgreens thermometer, the once-bright red paint all but worn off. He washes it with soap and hot water, then brings it to your mouth. “Open up,” he says, cradling your jaw tenderly in his hand. “Goes under your tongue.” 

You open your mouth and lift your tongue, wincing when Joel slides the thermometer into place. “Ow,” you whine. “You poked me.” 

“I apologize. Was an accident, baby,” Joel murmurs, adjusting the thermometer. “Close your mouth and keep it there a minute.” 

You wait in silence as the device takes your temperature, and it makes a quiet, rhythmic beep when it’s done. Joel pulls it from your mouth and squints, jaw dropping a little as he reads the tiny number on the tiny screen. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Lemme see your throat again.” You open your mouth wide for Joel, and he tilts your head back and faces you toward the light so he can better see, a worried furrow in his brow. “Mmm…m’wonderin’ f’ya don’t have strep throat,” he says with concern. “We’ll keep an eye on it, though. You tell me if you start to feel worse, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel eyes you, wondering how you could’ve caught something like this under his watch, especially when he’s not been sick lately. “How’d you get sick, huh? Been sneakin’ outta the house? Got yourself a boyfriend you ain’t tellin’ me about?”

“No,” you insist, and Joel doesn’t fight you hard on it. It was mostly a joke anyway. 

“Maybe Uncle Tommy brought it in when he stopped over to check on ya the other night,” Joel says. And he might be right. You don’t have a secret boyfriend you’ve been kissing, but…

Uncle Tommy did visit not so long ago. Joel was on an overnight patrol shift and had felt nervous leaving you home alone, as he so often does. He’d asked Tommy to swing by to check up on you. 

It was late when he entered through the back door, walking in on you curled up on the couch, a romance novel in your hands. Joel says he knows what goes on in those books and doesn’t like you reading them. You gasped, “Fuck, Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy wore that disarming smile of his. “Language,” he chastised, with no real anger in his tone. You scrambled to get back upstairs, but Tommy waved his hand. “Ain’t gonna rat you out,” he said, taking a seat next to you. His eyes twinkled as they dropped to your book, “Whatcha reading?”

“Nothing.” You shrunk under his curious gaze.

“Mm-hmm,” he smirked, taking the book out of your hands to inspect the cover. “This certainly ain’t nothin’.”

“I know, but–”

“You’re not in trouble.” 

Tommy smiled kindly at you, dark eyes sparkling and warm. You’ve always found him handsome, handsome like Joel. Pretty in the same ways, age softening his features. You like his freckles, his long, black hair. 

“M’just checkin’ in. Don’t get to see enough of ya, you know that?”

“I guess,” you said quietly, looking down at the pages of your book. You always have a hard time looking at him. He’s so…something about him feels like trouble. He makes you breathe funny, but not in a bad way. Not always. 

Tommy tilted your face up then, ran the back of his knuckle across your cheekbone. “Whatcha shy for?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Tommy knew the truth and chuckled, kissed your cheek to make you even more bashful. “S’okay f’ya got a crush,” he whispered, tracing your lips. Tommy kissed you then, just a small one. Just to hear you gasp and feel you squirm, that little moan you let slip as he stole the breath right from your lungs. 

“I’m not supposed to–”

“I know, I know. You ain’t supposed to do this, not supposed to do that. Your daddy’s got you on a tight fuckin’ leash, sweetheart,” Tommy said, caressing the side of your face. “But I ain’t gonna tell your old man nothin’. An’ you don’t need’a tell him nothin’ either, hm? Joel doesn’t need to know everything that goes on with you, honey. S’okay to keep things secret, sometimes.”

-

“I still want you eatin’ something tonight,” Joel tells you, tucking the thermometer away. “I’ll heat up some soup. Will you have a couple of bites?” 

You shake your head, pouting. “But I already said I’m not hungry.” 

“I know,” Joel replies softly. “But ya gotta eat. Please, kiddo? Bet it’ll make your throat feel better. Do it for me, pumpkin.” Joel pokes your face a little, flutters his fingers around your neck and chin, tickling you. Teasing. It makes you giggle. 

“Stop!” you laugh, pushing his hand away. “Fine. I’ll eat.” 

“Attagirl,” Joel says. 

He tells you to get changed into pajamas and downstairs, to get comfortable on the couch. Put on whatever dumb, girly movie or show you want on the TV. You follow orders, and Joel meets you downstairs with extra pillows and blankets clutched under his armpits. He makes you nice and cozy, then heads for the kitchen to clean up and prepare you that soup, which’ll be lighter on your stomach and easier on your throat. It’s just a matter of heating it up, as it’s jarred and ready to eat. Simple veggies and broth. 

Joel sits next to you on the couch and feeds you a spoonful, your favorite bowl in his hands. You love the little pattern on it, chili peppers dancing on the porcelain. You wince upon taking the first bite, “Too hot,” you complain.

“Then I’ll blow on it.” 

Joel blows on each bite of soup as he feeds you, the warm broth soothing your burning throat and clearing up your sinuses. “Thank you.”

“One more bite,” he tells you. “Last one.”

“You said that last time.” 

Joel smiles. “Think I’d remember sayin’ somethin’ like that, pumpkin. One more, now.” You finish the last bite of soup, then roll your eyes when Joel gives you a new glass of water to drink. “I know. Your old man’s the worst, ain’t he?”

“He is,” you mumble, but you take the drink anyway. Joel seems pleased, happy. He tells you that you can stay up late tonight so long as you rest tomorrow, but you don’t make it past 8:30, asleep in his lap as he strokes your hair and listens to your rhythmic breathing. 

-

more of this joel here

i hope you liked! if you enjoyed, please leave me a comment or send an ask. your words keep me motivated to write. thank you <3

[k1ttyclawz]

hey small artists…

i understand that you want your art to reach an audience. you want recognition for your talent, and damn you deserve it! but it’s important to remember that likes and followers don’t define your art.

i’ve seen so many unique, talented artists that only get 12 likes on their posts. i’ve seen people that just post low effort doodles and get thousands of likes.

successful artists are usually successful because they understand social medias algorithm. the “algorithm” is confusing. you have to add the RIGHT amount of tags and post your art at the RIGHT time and have the RIGHT quality. it’s weird. it’s confusing.

and also, success with your art online doesn’t happen overnight. it takes a while to build up. don’t get discouraged when a piece that took you days to make only got, i don’t know, 7 likes on tumblr. it’s okay. it takes time to build up an audience.

i believe in you, success will find you one day, and keep going. keep working on your art, keep being unique, don’t pander to others, and just keep being you.

(edit: i didn’t know tumblr didn’t really have an algorithm but you get the idea lol)

[elliesappetite]

The Name That Broke Us (Realisation)

FREE PALESTINE

"Somebody Else" - The 1975

Rating: 17+

Tags: Angst, angst with no comfort, Vi is still in love with Caitlyn.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

The flickering light of the single lamp in your apartment cast long shadows across the small room. You and Vi had just returned from a particularly grueling day in the Undercity, one filled with tension and the weight of a dozen little battles that never seemed to end. But now, here you were, trying to create a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

Her hands were on you, rough and calloused from a life of survival, yet tender in their movements. Vi’s fiery intensity had always been what drew you to her. There was a passion in her touch, an unspoken promise that she’d fight the world for you. And for a while, it felt like you were her world.

But tonight, something was off. There was a hesitance in her touch, a faraway look in her eyes even as she pulled you closer. You tried to ignore it, chalking it up to exhaustion. After all, Vi had a lot on her shoulders, and so did you.

Then it happened.

“Caitlyn,” she breathed, the name slipping past her lips like a dagger aimed straight at your heart.

Everything stopped.

Your hands froze where they had been tangled in her hair, your breath catching in your throat. At first, you thought you misheard her, but the look on her face confirmed it. Her eyes went wide as she realized what she’d just said, horror replacing whatever fog had clouded her mind.

“Y/N, I—” she began, but you pulled away before she could finish.

“No,” you said sharply, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “No, you don’t get to say her name. Not here. Not like this.”

Vi reached for you, but you stepped back, needing space to process the sting of betrayal that was blooming in your chest.

“I didn’t mean it,” she said, her voice low, almost pleading. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” you snapped, your voice louder now. “You don’t accidentally say someone else’s name in the middle of this, Vi. That doesn’t just happen.”

Her face twisted in frustration, but it wasn’t aimed at you. “I’m sorry, alright? I—I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” you shot back. “Because if you were thinking about me, then Caitlyn wouldn’t even be on your mind right now. But she is, isn’t she? She’s always there.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Vi looked at you, her expression torn between guilt and defensiveness.

“She’s not… it’s not like that,” she said finally, but her words rang hollow.

“Then what is it like?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re still in love with her.”

Vi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. That silence spoke louder than any words could.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “You know, I’ve tried to ignore it. The way you talk about her, the way your eyes light up when someone mentions her name. I told myself it didn’t matter because you chose me. But now… now I’m not so sure.”

Vi took a step closer, but you held up a hand to stop her. “Y/N, please. You have to believe me when I say I care about you.”

“Care about me?” you repeated bitterly. “That’s not enough, Vi. I need more than that. I deserve more than that.”

“You do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. I want to be that for you, I really do. But…”

“But Caitlyn,” you finished for her, the weight of her unspoken words crashing down on you.

Vi’s silence confirmed what you already knew. Tears stung at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I can’t be with someone who’s still hung up on someone else. You need to figure out what you want, Vi. And until you do, I’m done.”

You turned and walked toward the door, grabbing your jacket on the way out. Vi called after you, her voice desperate, but you didn’t look back.

As you stepped out into the cold night air, you felt a mix of anger, heartbreak, and strangely, relief. For the first time, you were putting yourself first. And while it hurt to leave, you knew it was the right thing to do.

Vi had to face her feelings for Caitlyn, and you couldn’t be the collateral damage in her emotional tug-of-war. You deserved to be someone’s first choice, not their second.

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Authors Notes: I've had this in my drafts for a while and I finally decided to post this. If you want to be in my tag list, let me know.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 20: the bitter(sweet) truth

word count: 2,137

tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @bellabarnes1378 | @johnmurphys-sass

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The betting shop was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by the low hum of tension that hung thick in the air. Tommy stood by the window, cigarette in hand, watching the gray Birmingham streets below.

Ever since you threatened Kennedy, Bingham's efforts had dimmed. At first, Tommy thought it was suspicious, but then he realized that your mentor played the game this way. He followed the rules, and it was only in the gray area in between where he pushed the boundaries. It would have been an admirable trait if it was anyone else.

Your mind shifted back into the place where it had been before Tommy found you. Always at work, always thinking, always strategizing. Every second you had to yourself, you were lost in thought, and Tommy found no way to pull you out of it. Only he and Polly were able to recognize what was happening beneath your firm face of efficiency—you were blocking everything out so you wouldn't feel anything. Working was your version of cocaine, the only thing that kept your mind from slipping back into that dark place that Tommy knew so well. He needed to find a way to snap you out of it, to bring you back as far as you were capable of going.

The door creaked open, and Arthur stepped in, already pulling a flask from his coat pocket.

“Are we starting early, or is this serious?” Arthur asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tommy turned, flicking ash into a tray. “Ezra,” he said simply.

Arthur froze mid-swig, lowering the flask. He didn’t need more context. “What about him?” he asked carefully.

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “We need to settle something.”

Arthur frowned, swirling the liquid in his flask. “You want the truth, don't you? And you think digging into that’s gonna fix her?”

“I think she deserves to know the truth."

Arthur exhaled sharply. “And you’re sending me to London to find it.”

Tommy smirked faintly. “That’s right.”

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Bloody hell. Fine. What am I looking for?”

“Ezra was taken to the hospital after she found him,” Tommy said, sliding a scrap of paper with an address across the desk. “Find the doctor. See what he knows.”

Arthur pocketed the paper, his flask still in hand. “And what if I find something she don’t want to hear?”

Tommy’s gaze hardened. “Then we deal with it. Like we always do.”

Arthur looked down to the floor with a soft grimace. “Does she know you’re sending me?”

“She doesn’t need to know yet. If this leads to nothing, we leave it buried. But if it doesn’t…”

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll go. But you better hope there’s something worth finding.”

“There’s something else, Arthur.”

The eldest Shelby hesitated in anticipation as Tommy gave him a second scrap of paper, the name more unfamiliar than the last.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

London was suffocating in its own chaos, a sharp contrast to Birmingham’s rough edges. Arthur’s coat flapped against the cold wind as he approached the modest townhouse on the west side of town. The address matched, and the brass plaque on the door read Dr. James Selwyn.

Arthur knocked, his patience already wearing thin. It wasn’t long before the door creaked open to reveal a man in his late fifties, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose.

“Dr. Selwyn?” Arthur asked gruffly.

The doctor adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowing. “Yes? And you are?”

“Arthur Shelby,” he said, pushing past him into the house. “We need to talk.”

The doctor looked alarmed but closed the door behind him, following Arthur into the sitting room.

"Ezra Hargreaves. You treated him the night he died."

“I don’t know what this is about—”

Arthur grabbed him by the lapels, firmly squeezing the fabric in between his fingers before forcing a smile across his face. “Listen. I'm here on a bloody day job, so do not waste my time. Tell me about Ezra, and I'll be on my way, yeah?”

The doctor’s breath hitched, and he raised trembling hands.

Arthur released him, stepping back but keeping his glare fixed.

Dr. Selwyn adjusted his coat, his voice shaky as he began. “That was years ago... Mr. Hargreaves was brought to me. That much is correct. He was... Weak. He had just experienced a particularly bad seizure. Mr. Shelby, I don't understand—”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Continue.”

“Well, he was only coherent for a moment,” Selwyn said, his words tumbling out. “These things can happen, you know. Sometimes, they get better before they... Well.”

Arthur frowned. “And then what? He just dropped dead? Did he say anything?”

“Actually, yes. He spoke before he passed. It was a bit confusing at the time because his nurse had the same name, but he was adamant he see a woman named y/n. Said it was urgent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “And did someone try to find her?”

“We assumed she'd be there or at least somewhere nearby as I was led to believe she was the one who sent for a doctor. Naturally, we sent some of the family friends who were there to fetch her. From what I understand, she was nowhere to be found. Like she disappeared into thin air. A ghost, maybe.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, the pieces clicking into place. “Tell me, doc. Did he say anything else?”

Dr. Selwyn hesitated. “He said he needed to say goodbye. It was heartbreaking to be honest with you. He was lucid, but he wasn't really looking at anyone or speaking to any of us directly. He sounded so desperate to see her." His voice softened as he recalled the memory. He placed his hand on his chest, pressing down gently like his heart ached. "I'm afraid the sound of his voice haunts me every now and then. It's always quite somber here when we're unable to bring in loved ones before a patient passes. I do hope, wherever she is, she was able to grieve properly.”

Arthur took a step closer, his voice low and menacing. “Who was the man you sent to find y/n?”

The doctor looked up at Arthur, wincing. “I didn't know him personally, Mr. Shelby. He only said he was a friend of the family, an Alfred Bingham. That’s all I know.”

Arthur turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him as he left.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Arthur stood on the front steps of the stately house on the edge of London, his hand hovering over the brass knocker. The house was grand, but it felt hollow, the kind of place where grief had left its fingerprints on the walls. He straightened his coat, knocked firmly, and waited.

The door creaked open, revealing a stooped older man with silver hair and weary eyes. There was something about Ezra’s father—his impeccable grooming, the perfectly pressed suit that seemed out of place in his own home, as though he still needed to present himself as a figure of authority. Arthur saw beyond the polished exterior. Frank’s face bore the weight of years spent grieving, the sharpness of his features dulled by regret and time. He regarded Arthur with a mixture of caution and resignation, his gaze lingering on the scar across Arthur’s cheek as if assessing the danger he might bring.

Arthur noticed the slight tremor in Frank’s hand as he gestured him inside, the hesitation in his voice when he asked, “What do you want?”

They sat in the drawing room, a cavernous space filled with dusty heirlooms and fading portraits. The elder man poured himself a drink but didn’t offer one to Arthur, who didn’t mind—his flask was already half-empty.

“I haven’t spoken of Ezra in years,” Frank began, his voice tight. He sat down across from Arthur, but his posture betrayed him—his back straight, hands gripping the armrests as if bracing himself for an impact. “Why now? Why send someone like you to dredge it all up again?”

Arthur didn’t miss the thinly veiled disdain in the words. “I’m here because of y/n,” he said, watching closely for a reaction.

Frank’s face hardened instantly, his grip on the chair tightening. “y/n,” he repeated, the name heavy with bitterness. “That woman has no right to stir up the past. To speak of my son to strangers—it is a most ardent betrayal to his memory.”

Arthur leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “That woman,” he said, his voice deliberately slow, “has spent years believing she’s to blame for your son’s death. And I want to know why.”

Frank’s mouth opened, then closed again, his jaw working as if chewing on the words he didn’t want to say. His eyes darted to the glass in his hand, and Arthur caught the faintest flicker of shame in his expression.

"I will tell you why, Mr. Shelby, but first, I must know why this is a concern to the Peaky Blinders. Your reputation circles even here in London."

"Call it a personal interest of ours."

"How personal?"

"Best to explain that once I get what I'm here for."

“When Ezra died, y/n was dismissed,” Frank said finally, his tone colder now, as though rehearsing an old script. “She had no place here anymore.”

“And why’s that?” Arthur pressed, narrowing his eyes.

Frank looked up sharply, but his defiance was brittle. “Word travels fast here, Mr. Shelby,” he admitted. “It was brought to my attention by a trusted advisor that y/n had been pushing my son too hard to leave the family business, that she’d driven him to exhaustion with her endless demands. She was to blame for the severity of his last seizure.”

Arthur snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. “Let me guess. Your advisor was Alfred Bingham.”

“Alfred was a friend,” Frank said defensively, though his voice cracked under the weight of his own words. “Gave me financial and business advice for years, and without him, I would have not built this empire that was supposed to go to Ezra after my death. He wouldn’t have lied about something like that. I trusted him.”

“Business matters are not personal matters, Mr. Hargreaves,” Arthur shot back, his tone sharper. “y/n has no taste for anyone that would make her do something like that.”

Frank’s face flushed, his eyes narrowing. “You think you understand? You think you know what it’s like to bury a child? To have to see the woman who caused him so much pain until the very end?”

Arthur’s voice softened, but his words cut deeper. “No, I don’t. But I know what it’s like to live with regret.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “What Bingham told you—it wasn’t the truth, and the consequences of that lie lives on.”

For the first time, Frank’s composure cracked. His hands trembled as he set the glass down, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes never leaving Frank’s face. “Your son didn’t die because of y/n,” he said. “And even if he didn't agree with her choices, he never held it against her. The doctor told me himself. In his last moments, your son asked for her and no one else. Not out of anger, but out of love.”

Frank flinched as if struck, his breath hitching. “He… he called for her?”

Arthur nodded. “Because he loved her. Even at the end, she was the one on his mind. Not the business. Not you. Her.”

Frank’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Arthur’s words finally breaking him. He looked older now, as if the years of grief had suddenly caught up with him. “I told her to leave,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I knew that if she'd stayed, I would never get passed losing him. She didn't even fight back. She just... left. I took that as her admission of guilt.”

Arthur stood, his presence towering over the frail man before him. “She left because she thought you were right. y/n isn't someone who would argue against the truth.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “And now, I have it.”

Frank looked up at Arthur, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Tell me earnestly, Mr. Shelby. Is she alright?”

Arthur considered the question for a moment. “That’s not for me to say. But she is alive. And she's under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

With that, Arthur turned and left, the sound of his boots echoing in the silent house. As he stepped outside, he lit a cigarette, taking a long drag as he processed the encounter. Frank Hargreaves might never find redemption in your eyes, but Arthur had done what he came to do. He’d uncovered the truth. Now, it was up to you to decide what to do with it.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

HAPPY 1K!!!! That's SO exciting and well deserved!!

Might I humbly request a ficlet with...

Z. "You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"

and ⭐Celebrity AU

Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy! 🍓

I'm celebrating 1k followers, requests are open

Just how much I'll do

Rated: M

Words: 989

Tags: Celebrity AU, modern AU, rockstar Eddie, nepo baby Steve, fake dating, sexual tension, finger sucking, enemies to lovers

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

“Ah, there they are,” Eddie says. “Took them long enough.” 

Steve stops chatting with the waitress to follow his gaze. Something is glinting beyond their window, in the tiny space between two cars on the other side of the dark street. A camera. The waitress hurriedly puts down their dessert and scurries off. Steve watches her go with a disappointed frown. Using the moment of distraction, Eddie reaches out across the table and tangles their fingers together. 

The frown melts into a bitchy scowl and Steve flinches like Eddie’s hand is something gross. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Eddie laughs, loud and unashamed in the hushed quiet of the restaurant.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos. He flips their entwined hands so they’re facing the window, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion. His smile is wide and teasing as he leans over the table and into Steve’s space. “I must admit I’m a tad bit insulted. I make an effort to look nice for you, take you to the fanciest restaurant in town, and you’ve got nothing better to do than flirt with the waitress all night? Why, Stevie, do you even still love me?” 

“Quit it, Munson,” Steve snaps, trying to yank his hand away, but Eddie holds firm. A few quizzical heads turn in their direction and he’s quick to stop struggling. When he speaks again, his voice is a low hiss. “You know as well as me that this is all a publicity stunt. Don’t forget about the deal.” 

“Sure,” Eddie drawls, snatching a chocolate-coated strawberry from his plate and popping it into his mouth. The chocolate bursts between his teeth and tangy, juicy sweetness explodes all over his taste buds, making him hum in pleasure. The place may be way out of his comfort zone, markedly different from his usual dark and edgy night clubs, but at least the food is excellent. “We go on a few dates together, let our friends out there take their little photos, write their little news stories. After a few months, we break it off amicably - no hard feelings, you’ll always be special to me, yadda yadda. My label gets off my ass about my ‘out of control’ lifestyle, your old man gets to beat those completely unfounded allegations of homophobia just in time for the big election. Look how supportive he is of his queer son, after all. A true champ, a beacon of tolerance and open-mindedness, a shining example for all of us.” 

Steve, who has just taken a sip of his wine, snorts so hard, Eddie’s surprised it doesn’t come shooting out of his nose. He has a nice laugh - pretty like the rest of him, but there’s a bitter little twist to his mouth that never seems to quite disappear. Eddie catches himself wondering what his smile would look like without it. 

“Please,” Steve sneers, putting his glass back down with a bit too much force. A few drops of wine splash over the rim, staining the table cloth red. “My dad’s a bigoted old asshole and we both know it.” 

The hand that’s still tangled with Eddie’s tightens, almost painfully. A small part of Eddie imagines the things Senator Harrington must call his darling son behind closed doors. 

“Makes me wonder, though,” is what he says, “why you agreed to play along in this little farce? Why help him out if he’s such a douchebag?” 

For a second, something pokes through the facade of bored indifference on Steve’s face, something open and vulnerable and honest. Eddie wants to grab a hold of it and pull it all the way to the surface, lay it bare and never let it go again. But it’s gone as quick as it came, slipping through his fingers like mist. 

“Whatever,” Steve mutters, and the bitter curl returns to his lips. “Not like you’d get it.” 

He's right, Eddie thinks. He probably wouldn't. He hasn't seen his own sperm donor in twenty years. He doesn’t know what it's like, growing up in the shadow of an overbearing father, constantly forced to uphold your family's image, to live up to expectations. 

But something in the way Steve says it, all haughty and derisive, like Eddie isn't even worth an explanation, makes something ugly stir low in his belly. 

“Oh, I think I get it,” he says, plucking another strawberry from his plate. Steve watches with a furrowed brow how he lets it dangle between them, waving it idly about as he speaks. “I think it must be hard, constantly begging for daddy's love and acceptance, but only ever being fed the scraps. Always so eager, always so willing, but never quite good enough, you poor boy. You'll do anything for attention, won't you?” 

Steve's eyes go wide, perfect lips parting around a punched-out little sound. Eddie grins triumphantly, lifting the strawberry to his mouth. 

But he never makes it there. 

Steve surges forward, fingers closing around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie watches, heartbeat pounding in his skull, how Steve sucks the fruit into his warm, wet mouth. How pink lips slip over his fingers, all the way down to the first knuckle. Chocolate cracks and a thin rivulet of red juice trickles down Eddie's thumb. Steve darts out his tongue and catches it, never once breaking eye contact. 

“Holy shit,” someone whispers. It takes Eddie a moment to recognize his own voice. He knows it's impossible through the glass and the distance, but he swears he can hear how the camera shutter on the other side of the street goes crazy. 

Steve releases his fingers with a slick sound, tongue licking over plush lips to gather the last traces of strawberry and chocolate and Eddie still clinging to them. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, breath cool against Eddie’s wet skin. 

“Let's get outta here … and I'll show you just how much I'll do.” 

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And then they went home and had hate sex. The end.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: starstruck

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you’re an actress and you’ve got through a few auditions got your dream roll, the next thing that comes up is a chemistry test that doesn’t quite go as you had planned

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, mild swearing, really intense make out session, mention of sexual tension

a/n: this is the jameson equivalent to paparazzi for grayson, thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77

You sit alone at the bar, drinking a margarita. Your friend had bailed on you last minute but seen as you were already dressed up you decided to go anyway. Why waste all that effort? Besides you deserved this. Tomorrow is a big day, you needed some time to sit back, relax, enjoy some drinks and breathe. Mid sip of your margarita, you catch the eye of someone across the room. He has tousled dark hair, unruly yet it suited him quite well and striking green eyes. Those green eyes sent something through you, the ghost of a shiver down your spine that sent warmth into your body. There was something about those eyes… You quickly look away, not letting your gaze linger for too long, you need to stay focussed. You stare at your drink, your fingers subconsciously playing with the glass as you think about the future that may come if tomorrow plays out the way you would like it to.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

His voice is low and alluring and reels you in from deep thought. It might’ve made you jump, if you weren’t so fixated on where your mind was running off to. You look up to see it’s the man you’d made eye contact with previously. Close up, he looks even more attractive. Steady jawline, wicked smile, bold eyebrows, striking features. He is quite tall, even when he sits beside you it’s noticeable. He’s really very gorgeous and at any other point in your life, meeting a guy like him would’ve been perfect. But now wasn’t the time for guys, now was the time to focus on getting your career back on track.

“No thank you,” you say, a certain sharpness in your tone. You wanted to make it very clear you were saying no.

“Are you sure?” he asks, one of his dashing eyebrows raised a little.

Oh… so he was the stubborn type, this should be entertaining.

“I’ve got one,” you say, holding up your half-empty margarita.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods, ordering himself something. His drink arrives in a matter of minutes, that’s when he turns and says, “I couldn’t help but notice you from over there.”

His head jerks to where he had previously been standing. You decide you fancy playing with him a little, seeing how easy it’d be to break his cool, flirty facade. Some men needed to be humbled and he seems like one of them.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that,” you ask, expecting a delayed answer or not one at all.

“Because you’re breathtaking,” he answers almost immediately, staring into my eyes.

You’d expected him to fumble but he’d turned the tables. He’s bold and unafraid, vulnerability didn’t scare him. You searched for a witty, uninterested reply but your brain is still hooked in the compliment from this handsome stranger, “I’m not interested,” you blurt out. The words fall from your mouth without you even thinking.

“Straight to the point,” he coughs, his ego probably a little bruised, “that’s cute.”

“Don’t call me cute,” you scowl at him. No better way to deter a man than scowling, but he didn’t seem to be too deterred.

“I could make you interested you know,” he shrugs, “if you gave me a chance?”

“The smell of male desperation is so…” you take a moment to find the right set of words, “pathetically pungent.”

“Who says I’m desperate?” he asks, cocking his head to one side, a graceful yet annoying smirk plastered on his lips.

“I told you I’m not interested and yet you’re still here,” you reply cooly.

“I like challenges, call me a player of sorts,” he explains, “riddles, mind games, secrets, I love the lot.”

“Well here’s a riddle for you then… what has two eyes, a margarita in her hand and isn’t interested in you at all?” you force a sickly sweet smile.

“My great aunt,” he replies, smiling right back.

“I don’t think you’re as good at these riddles as you thought,” you criticise, taking another swig of alcohol.

“And I don’t think you’re uninterested,” he tells me, “body language speaks volumes sweetheart-“

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you snap suddenly, raising your voice a little louder than you’d intended.

“You’re facing completely toward me, your posture is open, you’re looking directly at me and you occasionally scan over the rest of my body,” he says, “if you were uninterested that wouldn’t be happening. Not to mention our eyes kept meeting from across the room.”

You smile slightly and then swivel around on your chair so your back is completely towards him. You hunch over wishing you had some sunglasses to reinforce the no eye contact thing.

“How’s this for body language,” you call, not even looking over your shoulder to see his reaction.

“I much prefer looking at your face but the back of you is a perfectly nice view as well,” he says smoothly. Well, wasn’t that annoying.

Your cheeks heat up and you spin back around, “please leave me alone.”

“Alone…” he ponders, “not with anyone?”

“My friend is in the bathroom,” you lie quickly.

“She’s been there for a while,” he raises an eyebrow.

“And how would you know that?” you question, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

“Because I’ve watched you for a while,” he shrugs in response.

“You do realise that just makes you sound like a massive stalker-ish creep right?” you ask, trying not to laugh a little.

“Let me reword then…” he pauses, “I’ve observed you.”

“I think that’s worse,” you tell him, finishing the last of your drink, before getting up to leave.

As you begin to walk away, the man begins to follow you. Like a bad smell, you think, mentally rolling your eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyes wide.

“I’m leaving,” you reply, ice cutting through your tone.

“Bit early to be leaving,” he says, checking his watch. You sneak a glance, it’s expensive.

“I have work tomorrow,” you shrug, picking up your walking pace.

“What do you do?” he attempts.

“I’m leaving,” you repeat, firmer and flatter this time.

“Without my number?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say bluntly, as if he’d asked you whether the sky was blue.

“What about your friend? In the bathroom?” he taunts, a pathetic attempt of a joke.

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes and debate slapping him across the face. You decide not to, just this once and make your way down the outdoor staircase. Cabs awaited at the bottom and you intend to catch one. Unfortunately Mr a-bit-too-obsessed seems to intend to catch up with you.

“Let me pay for your cab,” he offers suddenly, when you’re nearly at the bottom.

“Absolutely not,” you scoff, laughing a little at his sheer boldness.

“Please?” he asks, as you reach the bottom of the staircase.

“No, piss off, I’m uninterested, remember?” you shout, opening the cab door, shooting a smile at the driver before turning back to the man.

He’s caught up now and was stood all but a meter away, “uninterested, yet your eyes keep grazing over my lips.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you almost laugh, “as if you can see what my eyes are doing in the dark.”

“I see everything,” he smirks, the upturned corners of his mouth annoyingly attractive.

“Goodbye,” you deadpan, slamming the door.

“Bye sweetheart,” he calls, “and the name’s Jameson by the way.”

***

The next morning, you arrive at the studio a few minutes early and wait outside. The nervous excitement was roaring around inside of you as you stared at the sky. This was your dream job, what you’d worked to get to for as long as you could remember. You wanted this more than anything. If you landed this role it made all the turned down auditions, all the tears, all the times you almost quit, all those minuscule commercial jobs, it made it all worth it. Last year, when you’d landed a job on TV show and gotten a little taste of fame you’d felt on top of the world. Working on a big piece like that was an entirely new experience and one that you wanted to experience again, especially as this character was a character that you personally connected to.

Going to that first audition had probably been the scariest moment of your life and you’d come out convinced you’d messed the whole thing. But to your utter shock and surprise you had gotten a callback… and then a second. You’d made it this far. You didn’t want to blow it now.

But you’d be lying if you told yourself the audition was the only thing on your mind today. A certain man from a bar also seemed to be encircling your thoughts paths, aggravatingly frequently. You don’t know why he’s such a prominent thought but you try to avoid it. He’s a little too distracting for a day as important at this.

Soon enough, the casting director walks out and spots you, beckoning you in. With a small smile you walk in and find a set with cameras being ect up in front of it. The set looks to be a standard bedroom, with a single bed, shelves, a wardrobe, beside table and lots of other little nicknacks scattered around.

“Hello, thanks for coming,” he says, as he shakes your hand firmly.

“Thank you for the callback,” you smile, with a little laugh on the end.

“You’re doing a chemistry test today,” he explains.

The sentence takes you off guard a little. Of course you’d done chemistry tests before but suddenly you felt a little unprepared. Today you’d expected to act alone, but now you were relying on someone else to bring out your performance as well.

You look around, “Where’s the other person?”

“Apparently he’s running late,” the director replies, checking his watch.

“Oh,” you murmur, your heart sinking just a little.

“But don’t he should be here soon,” he nods, “there’s a few seats over there, if you want to sit down and get yourself ready.”

“Isn’t there a script?” you ask, curiously.

“You won’t need one,” the director replies.

“Oh,” your brow furrow, “is it like improv?”

“Something like that,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” you reply sceptically, your mind running through ideas about what it could be that you were doing

You sit yourself down the chairs and begin to do something to distract your mind. Reciting song lyrics usually did the trick. It killed time and made you think. Half way through one of the songs you’d been listening to at the moment the doors burst open from across the room. Your eyes snap up to see a man at the door. Must be the person who was running late.

As your eyes skim over him, you get a funny feeling wash over you. You immediately recognise that mess of dark hair and bold green eyes. You wrack your brain as to where it is that you remember them from. And then it hits you, like a punch to the stomach. The man from the bar last night, Jameson, you recall him shouting after your taxi.

This just can’t be happening.

Of course the only person you had a chemistry test with today was the one person you had zero chemistry with whatsoever. But it didn’t matter, you thought, you were still going to perform at your best and show these directors that you deserved this.

So you make a plan. To do what you think is the smartest thing to do in this situation. You decide to play dumb. He was probably drunk and wouldn’t remember your face, like you’d remembered his. You convince yourself you don’t know him and he doesn’t know you. You’re just two strangers, two actors, who have to do a scene. The director waves you over and suddenly your legs ae just moving towards him. Your heart thuds in your chest as you approach.

It was definitely him. Those green eyes couldn’t belong to anybody else. Without the darkness of the night, he looked even better. He was bolder and brighter like this. His facial features were even more beautiful than you’d originally thought, no wonder he was in the running for a role. The fan girls would go crazy over this guy.

“Jameson, meet y/n,” the director says, gesturing to you, “I’ll let you two get to know each other a little whilst we finish setting up.”

You look at him, wondering if you should start the conversation to manipulate it how you wanted or whether you should let him. Though you don’t get much of a chance to analyse it as he already begins.

“I know you,” he says.

Well shit. You didn’t actually expect him to remember you. This put your plan in a bit of a fragile situation. But nevertheless, you stuck with it. Fake to ‘til you make it.

“I don’t think you do,” you say, adding a hint of confusion into your voice

“I know your face,” he insists.

Stubborn. You observe. He’s stubborn, just like last night. Well, you were stubborn too, so you continued with your little act.

“No you don’t,” you reply, with a little laugh on the end.

“I hit on you,” he says calmly, too calmly for your liking.

You almost choke on your own spittle. He really remembers last night then.

“I’m sorry!” you ask.

“Last night at the bar,” he continues cooly.

“I don’t drink,” you say simply, attempting to shut down the conversation.

“I saw you have two margaritas, don’t lie,” he says, that got awful handsome devilish smirk dancing on his face.

The smirk that makes your stomach flutter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying to stay as stubborn as he.

“You know you look so much better in this lighting, sweeheart,” he grins.

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

The reaction was immediate and sudden, you have no control over it whatsoever. It’s like a deadly instinct.

“Oh so you do remember me?” he says, the smile now laced within his voice.

“Maybe I do,” you grit through your teeth, “but I declined you the first time, you’re a little brave to try again,”

“I am brave,” he tells me, “it’s one of my many green flags.”

“Such a shameless flirt,” you tusk, with an eye roll.

“Is that your type?” he wonder coyly.

“No,” you reply, blunt and sharp.

“What a pity,” he pouts with his pretty lips.

You choose not the say anything else. The conversation has run its course and ended. It’s better that way, when the two of you were not talking. That way he couldn’t make you feel anything. No flutters, no warmth. That’s the way it should be.

“I never knew you were an actress,” he says suddenly.

“And I never knew you were an actor,” you counter, mirroring the way he said it as well as his words.

“It’s really more of a hobby than a career path,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Well some people are serious about this stuff,” you say, a certain fierceness brought out in your voice.

“Are you some people?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear.

“Why does that matter?” you snap, not meaning to be so defensive all of a sudden. He didn’t need to know that you cared.

“Because it matters,” he says simply.

“Look I really want this part and I swear to god if you mess it up for me I will…. rip your head off or something,” you explain.

“I think you’ll get it,” he replies.

“What?”

“The part,” he clarifies.

“Why?”

“We’re about to do a chemistry test,” he shrugs, hands in his pockets.

“I’m aware,” you reply, your tone a little dead.

“So let’s show them what we’re best at,” Jameson shoots you a grin.

“Arguing?” you ask.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “having chemistry.”

“You must be out of your mind if you think we have chemistry,” you say.

“I’m out of my mind in love with you,” he replies.

Your cheeks immediately radiate heat and you can hear your heart drumming loudly in your ears. How dare he make you feel this way with just his stupid words.

“Oh shut up, that’s such a bad line,” you roll your eyes, pretending you were unbothered.

“I think you secretly liked it,” he whispers in your ear, a tingle going down your spine.

“You’re thinking wrong again,” you murmur.

“You’re definitely writing it in a pink fluffy diary and drawing love hearts around it,” he mocks, amusement in his tone.

“Have you been watching teenage girl movies or something?” you ask, slight notes of disgust and concern in your voice.

He doesn’t get a chance to bite back as the director walks towards us both and begins to explain what we’re doing today.

“So today we’re just testing out for good kissing chemistry,” the director explains.

“Kissing?” you repeat, jaw slack.

“We just want to film a few shots of you guys kissing to see if it’s a good match or not,” he explains further.

“I have to kiss him?” you clarify, trying not to portray your mortification on your face.

“Yes that is the general idea,” he deadpans at you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

“Will that be a problem?” he asks, judgmental eyebrows raised high into his forehead.

“Not at all,” Jameson almost sings, bearing his teeth for a witty smile.

“No,” you grit through your teeth.

“Brilliant, should we get started then?” the director asks.

You both nod, annoyingly in sync and then make your way to the bedroom set.

“Did you plan this?” you hiss, as you get set up, so no one else could hear.

You can’t help yourself. The curiosity was gnawing at you. Could he really have wanted a kiss that badly to plan all of this?

“Yes I came in here and told the director to change his whole schedule so we could kiss,” he rolls his eyes sarcastically.

You opt for silence.

“Obviously not!” he exclaims, “look I know you thought I was a creep but that’s a whole new level-“

“Sorry,” you blurt out, “I was only curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, did it not?” Jameson says, his mouth twisting into a familiar smile.

“Maybe it was a stupid cat,” you murmur.

“Or maybe it was a smart cat that was a little too curious,” he replies.

“I guess we’ll never know,” you say, your voice low and slow.

“I guess we won’t,” he murmurs back, a level of seduction in his tone, that causes heat to rise in your face.

You are directed to be positioned with your back on the make-shift set wall with Jameson standing over you. The cameras were twisted and turned around you, capturing all angles needed. You brace yourself ignoring how hard you are breathing and how much your heart is thumping in your chest.

“ACTION.”

He makes the first move and presses his lips onto yours, his hands cupping your face. The motion is very gentle, delicate almost, making you feel fragile. His lips so soft and smooth and you find myself not only kissing back, but wanting to. He tastes indescribably addictive and after that first gentle kiss you don’t think you can get enough. You want to taste this every day of my life. You close your eyes, discarding any previous hesitation you’d had about this experience and start to enjoy it.

Slowly his hands slip around your waist, his soft touch surprising you a little. Your arms meet around his neck. You don’t break for breath. You and him have come to the silent agreement that breathing doesn’t seem to matter anymore. You’ve never felt so positively sure of something that you want until this very moment moment. He pushes his lips harder against yours and you follow suit. The kiss deepens as he hums in pleasure. A low hum right from the back of his throat. It takes you off guard slightly but you move past it and keep kissing his pretty little lips. It’s like a dance, driven off of feeling for music and movement of the body.

You want to know every crevice, every morsel and every surface of his lips. You want to know what they desire and how to give it to him. You could feel his heartbeat thumping due to the closeness of your chests. He’s intense but you like it. You like the intensity of this moment and how your mind was so wrapping up in it you couldn’t think of anything else. You loved the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You kiss again, deepening it further and then…

Desperation takes over and suddenly you’re both ravenous for one another. Feverishly kissing rough and passionate kisses. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so you’re pressed right up against his body. Your hands now find themselves deep within his hair, clinging to chunks of it. You feel so violent that you fear you might pull some out. The kiss is now savage in a delightful kind of way that you never would have imagined. You wanted him to bite your lip so hard it drew blood, you wanted the heat, you wanted the frenzied feelings.

But then the movement slows again, he lets you know he wants a gentler approach. He slows down the kiss and really feels your lips, almost tickling them. It’s like he’s teasing you in the best way possible. His lips of velvety soft, brushing against your own. You let your kisses fall into a more soothing, delicate rhythm, tenderising each one’s, tailoring it to be even softer than the last and-

“CUT.”

You’d forgotten this was just a scene, just a chemistry test. You’d forgotten where you were or why you were there. Your mind had been paralysed by his lips. So lost within emotion and lust and love. Love? Suddenly you’re angry, angry at him for doing this to you, making you forget who you were for a moment, for having that kind of power. And yet, when the director yells cut, your lips still linger.

You finally break away, breathing heavily. You stare into his green eyes, your lips still tingling, your tongue still craving another taste. You look away, you can’t bear to meet his eyes for fear you might attempt something stupid. The devil is in his eyes and he’s reaching out to your heart. That isn’t a position you were prepared to be in

“Well if I’m not mistaken,” he grins, chest moving up and down as he too is out of breath, “that’s felt like chemistry to me.”

“Maybe you’re mistaken then,” you lie.

“I could feel your heart beating sweetheart-“

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you almost yell.

“It was beating real hard,” he finishes, still not quite caught his breath back.

You finally look up and he is already there to meet your gaze. You don’t even bother to answer him. You just continue to get lost into the deep forests and the stories they told.

“Thank you guys, that was brilliant, absolutely spectacular, I could just feel the sexual tension through the screen, which is exactly what we’re looking for,” the director says.

You can feel Jameson smirking from behind and it’s bugging you. You don’t want there to be sexual tension between you and him, you don’t want there to be anything between you and him other than a brick wall right now. You hate the way your cheeks are ruby red and how your heart rate can’t seem to slow because you know he’s there, behind you.

“Would you mind both coming back in tomorrow so we can test out an actual scene rather than just a kiss?” the director asks.

You ponder it for a moment, you could decline, never come back, lose this job and never see Jameson again. But lose your dream role for a guy who’s pissing you off? Absolutely not. You didn’t get this far for someone like him to get in the way.

Jameson hasn’t replied yet. You assume he is waiting for you to answer first to make his decision .

“I’ll be there,” you say firmly.

“And so will I,” Jameson winks.

“Perfect, thanks you two!” The director smiles, walking back off.

Once he’s completely out of the way you let out a long breath and close your eyes. You’d gotten through yet another day of auditions and you would be back tomorrow. If this goes well then you get all that you want. That’s all that matters.

“See you tomorrow,” he grins at you, flashing his brilliant emerald eyes, “sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You didn’t protest to the nickname this time. Lord help you tomorrow.

a/n: I can’t lie, I don’t really like what I’ve written here but thought I’d post it anyways. Something about it is just… bleh. I might do a rewrite at some point???

thank you to whoever requested this, sorry I took me a little while and also sorry it wasn’t that good… thanks for your patience 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

like fine wine (zeke jaeger x reader)

tags: fem!reader (afab, she/her), age gap (reader is in 20s, zeke in mid to late 30s), established relationship a/n: a little present for my friend @cafedanslanuit with her loser boyfriend who is doing something big this weekend and i'm really happy for her. love you bestie, good job you deserve everything you want in life and more!

“Not gonna lie,” you hold your wine glass closer to your lips to hide your smile from the room. Your eyes skirt from your boyfriend to a shorter man across the room. If looks could kill, you’re sure Zeke would have been killed a thousand times over when they first made eye contact with each other. “I would love to see what your interactions would look like if there weren’t any social obligations getting in the way.”

“It would be the ugliest bare knuckle fight,” Zeke chuckles in your ear and you suppress a shudder. “I hope that the prettiest in the room would bet on victory being in my favor.” Blue eyes look over your black dress and heels with thinly veiled lust and you feel a surge of satisfaction of how you dressed yourself for the occasion. It isn’t your first time being at one of these parties. You’ve been to some for your own companyー mandatory holiday parties to build ‘comradery’ and such. 

This is the first time you’ve been to one so fancy, however. Still, your just-over-knee-length black dress number has once again proven to be your most trusted ally for such events. 

Never doubt classic magic.

Your grin shifts into something more mischievous, “I don’t know,” you purr. “The shorter they are, the more aggressive they fight.”

Zeke takes your jest in stride, “I don’t think he could even reach my neck.” You can’t stop yourself from giggling.

Before you can reply with a zinger of your own, a voice pleasantly booming and jovial stops you. “Oh Zeke Jaeger, as I live and breathe,” a blond man calls, holding a glass of champagne. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

Zeke returns the smile in full, “It’s nice seeing you, Willy Tybur,” a large hand presses on the small of your back as Zeke leads you both to the man. “[First], this is Willy Tybur, an old friend of mine from university.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tybur,” you hold your hand out gracefully. You vaguely remember the name from the stories Zeke told you about his university days.

“Please, call me, Willy,” the blond man shakes your hand warmly. “It’s nice to see you finally settling down, Zeke. [First], if you ever want any stories about this guy back in our school days, just say the word. I have plenty.”

Your eyes widen in excitement, “I’d be happy to hear some now if you have any off the top of your head.”

“I’m sure you’d find those old stories boring,” Zeke tries to intervene.

“On the contrary,” your [color] eyes shine under the light of the chandelier. “I think I’ll find them plenty entertaining.”

The universe is on Zeke’s side, however, when Willy is serendipitously called over by a couple. You’ll get those stories somehow. I don’t know when, but somehow.

“Saved by bell, huh, Zeke,” you aren’t giggling but the urge is clearly there. You welcome your man’s look of exasperated amusement. “You know if Willy doesn’t tell me, I still have Eren to run to, right?” His younger brother has already given you plenty of fodder on the down low. “Unless you wanna save me all the effort and just divulge all your secrets yourself?”

You love the smirk on his face and you welcome the subtle caress down your sides. “You’re really trying to rile me up this evening, aren’t you?” 

“Is it that obvious?” You ask coyly. “When does it become socially acceptable for the two of us to leave for the evening again?”

“30 minutes,” comes Zeke’s well-calculated answer.

“Think you can last?” 

“Can you?” Zeke replies with a suggestive curl of his lips.

Oh, how the games are on.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Gotcha for Gaza Prompt: Slow Broil

Another prompt completed for @911actions - there is still time to donate more!

Summary:

Five times Bobby helped Eddie cook a meal for Buck over the course of their relationship, plus one time Eddie did it all by himself.

Snippet:

“It’s very nice that you’re doing this,” Bobby says, as the two of them are scooping the peppers hollow. 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie shrugs. “He deserves some effort, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bobby nods. “Everyone does.”

“Right,” Eddie nods. “And, you know, he’s been feeling down, like maybe he doesn’t, so…”

“He has?” Bobby asks. 

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, and not that it’s any of my business - because god knows I don’t have any sort of good track record in this department - but I think that’s someone’s fault in particular.”

Bobby’s head spins a little with not only how much Eddie is saying, but what he is saying. 

“I thought things were good with Buck and Tommy?” Bobby asks, quietly and nosily. Should he be prying? No. Is he curious as hell? Yes. 

Eddie makes a low, scoffing noise in the back of his throat. 

“For the guy who started our friendship with helicopter rides of Vegas, he seems hard pressed to make time for a nice date with Buck now that they’re a few months in. Really, how hard is it to have a good time with Buck? Like, oh poor, put-out Tommy.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow. 

“Eddie, are we stuffing peppers or poaching eggs?”

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @buckleybabyblues

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

@lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto

@buddieswhvre @l0v3t0hat3y0u @mage8

[writing-for-life]

March Mania: Sandman Edition

The lovely @tickldpnk8 and I are art aficionados and Sandman meta writers. And one fine Friday, she just slid into my inbox and went, “What if…”

And if you have Sandman brain-rot, a “What if” quickly turns into a “Let’s do it!”

After much plotting, planning and sourcing material, we proudly present “March Mania: Sandman Edition”—a bracket tournament/poll/event over roughly four weeks that involves all original Sandman artists until only three are standing in a final show-down.

Well, all artists is a lie. We had criteria for qualification, and they are as follows:

Only artists involved in Gaiman’s original run of The Sandman qualify. That also includes Overture, Endless Nights and Dream Hunters.

Only the main artist of an issue qualifies. This is usually the penciller or the “artist” (where no inking and/or colouring by a second or third person is involved). Inkers and colourists unfortunately do not qualify on this occasion (unless they were the main artist in another issue).

This year, we will make it all about, “Who drew your favourite Dream?” And as such, his face needed to be visible in at least one panel to qualify the artist. Both Morpheus and Daniel qualify—they’re both Dream after all.

Even after applying all criteria, we were left with an impressive count of 24 artists. And from tomorrow (March 25), they will go head-to-head in round one:

We will post one poll each day, and you can vote for your favourite artist for 24 hours. So please share the polls so as many people as possible can vote. You will find them via the tag #sandman march mania.

And if that’s all you want to/can do, we’re super happy, because we wanted to create an event that is low effort to participate in while still being fun and hopefully bringing those artists back into your memory that you might have forgotten about (that’s why it’s not really a competition, because all of these artists are amazing in their own way). Let’s all remember:

The Sandman would not exist without its amazing artists. They deserve every bit of praise.

But it doesn’t need to stop there. In the true spirit of any fandom-event, no matter how small, of course we’d love you to participate beyond just voting for your favourite.

Each poll will contain a quick reminder of the issues the artist has illustrated so you can refresh your memory.

Maybe you’d like to share your favourite panels in the reblogs, or write what you love about your favourite artist?

Maybe you are aware of other work they have done (comics, book illustrations, commissions) you’d like to share?

Help us turn the reblogs into a colourful appreciation of your favourite artist, in whatever way you see fit.

And if you have any questions, hit up @writing-for-life and @tickldpnk8 as the event organisers. We so look forward to sharing our love for these artists and hope you join in.

Spread the message far and wide, and we’ll see you all tomorrow for the first poll (we’ll post 6pm/London each day with a few time zone reblogs thrown in)!

[spiderman2-99]

Little you was having a blast trick or treating :3333

That’s… that’s great.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Reflections | Sebastian Sallow x OC #23

Summary: Evangeline and Ominis enjoy a walk around the Black Lake and some well-deserved space from Sebastian. Evangeline tells Ominis her plans to move on, while Ominis opens up about his feelings for Anne. Things get awkward when Sebastian arrives.

Words: 5,610

Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Unspoken Feelings, Romance, Banter and Flirting, Insecurity, Pining, Jealousy, Lightest of Angst, Seventh Year, Ominis Being the Voice of Reason, Protective Friends

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The soft crunch of grass underfoot and the gentle ripple of water filled the comfortable silence between Evangeline and Ominis as they strolled along the edge of the Black Lake. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting the water in shimmering golds and silvers that stretched far into the distance. A light breeze played with the hem of Evangeline’s robes and tugged at the loose strands of her braid.

For a moment, she allowed herself to simply enjoy the tranquility—the crisp autumn air filling her lungs. No crowded hallways, no hurried conversations, and—most importantly—no Sebastian Sallow stealing every ounce of her attention.

Ominis walked beside her, his wand in hand. His steps were unhurried, and his posture as straight and measured as always

“Thanks for convincing me to come out here,” she said, glancing at him with a soft smile. “I think I needed this.”

"Seemed like you needed it," Ominis told her, "You've been holed up in the castle all week. And besides, it's not often I get a chance to spend time with you alone nowadays."

Evangeline chuckled, "True. Merlin forbid Sebastian gives you any time to yourself."

Ominis chuckled, the sound low and warm. “It’s a rare occurrence, isn’t it? He’s been rather… persistent lately.”

Evangeline groaned, letting her head fall back slightly as she stared at the canopy of trees above them. “Don’t remind me. He’s constantly trying to meddle, even when he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.”

“Ah, but that’s Sebastian for you,” Ominis said, his tone wry. “Endlessly nosy. Endlessly protective.”

Evangeline let out a humorless laugh, her arms crossing over her chest as they continued down the path. “It’s like he’s got this radar for anyone who so much as looks at me for longer than two seconds. The moment a member of the male species so much as says hello, he’s suddenly looming nearby like some self-appointed bodyguard.”

Ominis smirked faintly, tilting his head toward her. “Yes. I’ve noticed his… increasingly enthusiastic efforts to scare off any potential suitors. ”

“It’s ridiculous,” she muttered, kicking a small pebble along the path. “A Hufflepuff fifth-year asked me for help with his Charms essay on ancient magic last week, and Sebastian decided to ‘supervise’ the entire conversation like I was about to agree to an engagement.”

Ominis let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t laugh, but I can only imagine his expression. Did he at least try to be discreet?”

Evangeline gave him a flat look, her brows lifting. “Sebastian? Discreet? He practically towered over the poor kid and stared daggers at him until he ran off."

Ominis sighed, though his amusement lingered in the corners of his expression. “That sounds about right. You know how he gets when he feels like someone’s encroaching on what he considers his.”

“His?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. “I’m not some possession, Ominis. I’m his friend. That’s all.”

Ominis hummed thoughtfully. “Speaking of your friendship... I must admit,” he said, “I’ve noticed you’ve been… different with him since the start of term.”

Her heart sank at his words, though she couldn’t bring herself to deny them. Of course, Ominis had noticed. He always noticed. She sighed, her shoulders sagging as she spoke. “I’ve just… had a lot on my mind lately.”

Ominis's pale eyes narrowed. When he spoke again, his tone was calm but insistent. “Evangeline,” he said gently, “I know you better than that.”

She looked away, her gaze falling to the shimmering surface of the lake. The sunlight glinted off the water, but its beauty did little to ease the weight pressing down on her. “It’s just…” She hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her robes. “I need to get over him, Ominis. I have to. I can’t keep—” Her voice broke, and she shook her head, "I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

Ominis let out a soft sigh, his wand lowering slightly as he turned his face toward the water. He looked like he was considering something, his sharp features shadowed with thought. What Evangeline didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that Ominis had been carrying the weight of Sebastian’s feelings for her for nearly two years.

Sebastian had admitted it in fifth year, though it had taken relentless prodding from Ominis to get him to say it out loud. Ominis could still remember the night vividly—Sebastian pacing the Undercroft like a caged dragon, his words tumbling out in bursts of frustration and vulnerability that Ominis hadn’t been prepared for.

“I'm serious, Ominis,” Sebastian had said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I think I'm in love with her.”

Since then, Sebastian’s feelings had been a near-constant background noise in Ominis’s life. Whenever Sebastian wasn’t with Evangeline, he was talking about her. Complaining about the boys who tried to flirt with her, whining about how she didn’t see him the way he saw her, or—on particularly bad days—brooding over the fear that he’d already missed his chance.

And while Ominis cared deeply for Sebastian, he was his best friend, his brother in all but blood, standing here, listening to Evangeline voice her struggles, Ominis couldn’t help but think about how much she had endured—how much she had given—only to receive so little in return.

“You’ve always been patient with him,” he said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken frustration. “More than he deserves. And he’s taken advantage of that. So if putting some distance between you and Sebastian is what you need to do to find that happiness, then I’ll support you. Merlin knows he’s put you through enough."

“He’s always been reckless,” Ominis continued, his tone more measured now, though a flicker of irritation lingered. “With himself, with his choices—and with you.”

Evangeline swallowed, her throat dry. Ominis’s words struck a chord she hadn’t wanted to confront. She loved Sebastian fiercely, even when he made her want to scream or slam a door in his face. But Ominis was right.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s not easy, Ominis. I don't know how to not love him."

Ominis’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his pale eyes seeming to focus near her face as though he could feel the heaviness of her thoughts. His voice was low and steady, each word deliberate. “You don’t need to stop loving him, Evangeline. He’s your best friend—I know that. But you do need to start loving yourself enough to protect yourself and set boundaries.”

She laughed, a humorless huff that escaped her lips before she could stop it. "You sound just like Natsai."

Ominis raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, Natsai is one of the most sensible people at this school. If I’m echoing her, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Evangeline huffed another laugh, though it was softer this time, more genuine. “She’s been saying the same thing for weeks—about boundaries, about focusing on myself. But then he’ll… I don’t know, he’ll just look at me like I’m the only person in the room, and suddenly it all feels impossible.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Sebastian has a way of making you feel like the center of his world,” he said quietly, “but you and I both know he’s not always consistent about it."

Evangeline nodded, and they walked in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of the lake and the rustle of leaves filling the space between them.

When Ominis spoke again, his tone was gentler. “How have your nightmares been?” he asked, his words careful but probing.

Evangeline’s stomach twisted, her steps faltering ever so slightly. She had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up, though she should have known better.

“They’re… manageable,” she said, though the hesitation in her voice betrayed her. “I mean, they’re not constant or anything. Just… bad enough.”

“Bad enough for what?” he pressed gently.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging on her lips, "Bad enough that I fell asleep during breakfast this morning. Cressida caught me before I fell face first into my porridge."

Ominis chuckled softly at her attempt to lighten the mood, but the concern in his pale eyes didn’t waver. “Well, at least porridge would be a soft landing... thank Merlin for Cressida, though."

Evangeline managed a small smile, her hands twisting the fabric of her robes. “She was surprisingly graceful about it. No teasing, just handed me a napkin and told me to ask Blainey for some sleeping draughts."

“Wise advice,” Ominis said pointedly, arching a brow. “Advice you clearly haven’t been following.”

Evangeline smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know I should, but I hate the idea of relying on potions for something I should be able to fix myself.”

Ominis frowned slightly, tilting his head as if trying to understand her reasoning. “Evie, there's no shame in needing some help."

“I know,” she admitted, her gaze falling to the path ahead. “But I swear Ominis, I have been trying. Meditating, not drinking tea or coffee too close to bed... I even tried that ridiculous mint pillow mist Poppy swears by.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement softening the concern on his face. “Mint pillow mist? That must have been a desperate moment.”

“It was,” Evangeline said with a rueful laugh. “It didn’t help at all. But enough about me,” she said suddenly, glancing at him. “Let’s talk about you for a change. I feel like I haven’t gotten an update on your life in ages.”

Ominis tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “There’s not much to update, really. Same routine. Classes, tolerating Sebastian’s dramatics, keeping Silas from hexing himself during Defense…”

“Don’t give me that,” she said, cutting him off with a pointed look. “You know what I’m asking about.”

He hesitated, his wand sweeping lightly over the path ahead. “Anne,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Evangeline smiled, a flicker of something warm and knowing passing over her face. “So, what’s the latest? You two still writing each other twice a day?”

Ominis let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Not quite twice a day. But yes."

"And?" Evie pressed, nudging him with her elbow, "Any juicy details? Come on, Ominis, don't hold out on me."

Ominis chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Juicy details? Merlin, Evie, what do you think we’re writing about? Her treatments, the weather, occasionally which books we’re both reading. Hardly scandalous material.”

Evangeline arched a brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re dodging the question."

He sighed, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “You’re relentless.”

“Guilty,” she said with a grin, gesturing for him to continue. “So spill it.”

Ominis was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “I’ve been thinking about telling her how I feel.”

Evangeline stopped mid-step, her eyes widening slightly. “Ominis…” she began, her tone laced with surprise and warmth. “You're really going to confess?!”

He turned toward her, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as though searching her expression despite his lack of sight. “I think I have to,” he admitted. “I might go mad if I don't. Every time I write to her, it feels like there’s something unsaid, something I’m holding back. I don’t want to keep doing that.”

A broad smile spread across Evangeline’s face, her chest swelling with excitement for him. “I’m so proud of you.”

"Don't get too excited," Ominis huffed a quiet laugh, though his expression remained thoughtful. "I haven't done anything yet."

Evangeline’s smile widened, her hands resting on her hips. “But you’re going to,” she said, her tone brimming with encouragement. “And that’s a huge step. Plus, knowing you, you’ve probably already planned every detail.”

He let out a soft sigh, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “You know me too well,” he admitted. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about how to tell her. Something simple, but meaningful. I was considering inviting her to dinner—somewhere quiet where we can talk without interruptions.”

“That’s perfect,” Evangeline said immediately, her eyes lighting up with approval. “Thoughtful, personal, and gives her the space to really take in what you’re saying. Honestly, Ominis, it sounds like the kind of thing she’d love.”

Ominis tilted his head, his lips pressing together in a mix of relief and uncertainty. “I thought so too,” he admitted, his voice soft. “But it’s… daunting. What if I say the wrong thing? Or worse, what if she doesn’t feel the same way? I could ruin everything we have.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” Evangeline assured him firmly. “Anne adores you, Ominis. It’s obvious to anyone who’s seen the two of you together. And I think you already know deep down how she feels, even if you’re too nervous to admit it.”

Ominis chuckled softly. “I’ve spent the last week agonizing over it, Evie. I must have rewritten the invitation letter five times.”

Evangeline tilted her head, grinning as she nudged his arm. “Five times?"

"I want it to be perfect," he replied with a wry smile, "Not too formal, not too casual. Polished enough to show I’m serious, but not so polished that she thinks I’ve gone mad.”

Evangeline laughed, the sound warm and full of fondness. “I’m sure it’s wonderful. You’re always so eloquent��she’ll love whatever you’ve written.”

Ominis hesitated for a moment, his expression softening. “I hope so,” he said quietly. “I’ve made the reservation at a small restaurant in London. It’s tucked away in a quiet alley, very private. They’re known for their French cuisine, and the atmosphere is…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “...intimate."

Evangeline’s grin widened, and she clasped her hands together. “How romantic."

He smiled faintly, though a flicker of nerves lingered on his face. “Now I just need to figure out when to actually give her the letter. And Merlin help me if she says no.”

Evangeline gave him a pointed look. “We both know that won't happen. I'll carry her there myself if I have to."

Ominis chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re entirely too invested in this.”

“Of course I am,” she said, crossing her arms with a playful huff. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.”

“You and me both,” Ominis muttered, though his tone held warmth.

Before Evangeline could respond, a familiar voice called out from the distance, echoing across the lake.

“Oi! There you two are!”

Evangeline and Ominis turned toward the sound, and sure enough, Sebastian was jogging toward them, his broom slung casually over one shoulder and his Quidditch robes askew. His hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, and the grin on his face was unmistakable—a mix of boyish excitement and smug satisfaction.

“Merlin’s beard,” Evangeline muttered, shaking her head.

Ominis hummed. "Looks like he survived helping Imelda run tryouts."

Sebastian slowed to a stop in front of them. “Well, well,” he said, his voice carrying a teasing lilt as he eyed the two of them. “What’s this, then? A romantic stroll around the lake?"

Evangeline groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of her head. “Yes, clearly, we’ve been sneaking off to plan our secret elopement.”

Sebastian smirked, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze, something that hinted he wasn’t entirely joking. “You can’t blame me for being curious. It’s not every day I find my best friend and—”

"Your other best friend spending time together because they, too, are best friends?" Ominis interrupted smoothly, his tone carrying the perfect mix of disinterest and dry reproach.

Sebastian blinked at the interruption, his mouth snapping shut for a brief moment before he recovered with a lopsided grin. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds perfectly normal.” He paused, the smug grin creeping back. “Still, wouldn’t hurt to invite me next time. You know how I hate being left out.”

Evangeline raised an unimpressed brow, her voice laced with sarcasm. “You were occupied, Sebastian. You know... running Quidditch tryouts? Or did someone hit you in the head and cause short-term memory loss?”

Sebastian smirked. “Evie, your concern for my well-being is touching. Really.”

Ominis rolled his eyes, tilting his head in Sebastian’s direction. “If someone did hit you, I’d wager Imelda was involved. Probably intentional.”

Sebastian let out a bark of laughter. “Imelda would never. She loves me.”

“Imelda tolerates you,” Ominis corrected dryly.

“Semantics,” Sebastian said with a dismissive wave, "but seriously, what were you two chatting about? Seemed like you were deep in conversation."

Evangeline hesitated for half a second, her mind racing for a reply that wouldn’t give away too much. “Oh, nothing,” she said breezily, shrugging one shoulder. “Just catching up, you know—something you wouldn’t understand, seeing as you spend all your free time terrorizing first-years and snogging girls."

Sebastian’s grin faltered for the briefest of moments, but he recovered quickly, arching a brow and folding his arms. “I’ll have you know I’m very selective about who I terrorize and who I snog.”

Evangeline shot him a flat look. “A real paragon of restraint, then.”

“Absolutely,” Sebastian quipped, his grin returning in full force. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman lately.”

“Lately?” Ominis interjected with an unimpressed tilt of his head. “I distinctly recall you charming some poor sixth year Ravenclaw’s cauldron to explode last week.”

Sebastian pointed a finger at Ominis, his grin turning sheepish. “That doesn’t count. He deserved it.”

“His crime was existing,” Evie deadpanned.

“And looking at Evie,” Ominis added, “Let’s not forget that part.”

Sebastian had the decency to look slightly abashed, though his grin never completely disappeared. “Alright, maybe I got a little carried away.”

Ominis reached into his robes, retrieving a small, silver pocket watch that let out a faint click as he opened it. His brow furrowed slightly, and he closed it with a quiet snap. “I hate to cut this pleasant stroll short, but I’ve just realized I’m late for a meeting with Amit. We’re supposed to be working on alchemy homework.”

Evangeline arched a brow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Ominis Gaunt, late for something? Merlin, Amit will be marking this day down in his calendar.”

Ominis smirked faintly, ignoring her quip as he slipped the watch back into his pocket. His pale eyes shifted toward Evangeline, his expression softening with a hint of meaning she recognized immediately. It was the subtle look he gave her when he wanted her to know he was offering an out.

“You could come along if you’d like,” Ominis said, his tone casual but clearly directed at her. “I’m sure Amit wouldn’t mind.”

Evangeline hesitated, understanding the lifeline he was throwing her. Spending time alone with Sebastian was… complicated, right now. And yet, despite everything, she found herself shaking her head. “Thanks, Ominis, but I think I’ll pass. Amit’s enthusiasm for alchemy might be a bit much for me today.”

Ominis tilted his head, his lips pressing together as though he were biting back a knowing comment. He nodded once, his voice calm but laced with an undertone only she could hear. “Suit yourself. Try not to let him get into too much trouble.”

Sebastian gave him an exaggerated grin. "Define 'too much'."

Ominis rolled his eyes, already turning to leave. “Good luck, Evangeline,” he added over his shoulder, his tone light but pointed.

“Thanks,” she muttered under her breath, watching as he strode off toward the castle. She turned back to find Sebastian watching her with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and mischief.

“Well,” he said, shifting his broom to rest against his shoulder. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

Evangeline folded her arms, fixing him with a look. “You sound thrilled.”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “I am. It’s been a while since we’ve had time to ourselves, you know. Between Quidditch, classes, and Ominis constantly stealing you away…”

She let out a soft huff, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward the lake. “Ominis doesn’t steal me away."

Sebastian followed her gaze toward the lake, his grin softening into something more contemplative. “Maybe not,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “But it feels like you’ve been… distant.”

Evangeline’s heart gave a faint, painful squeeze at his words, but she kept her eyes on the water, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I’ve been busy,” she said lightly, shrugging. "I barely have time to think these days, let alone breathe.” She tried to keep her tone light, but even she could hear the strain beneath the words.

Sebastian studied her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Have you been sleeping okay?"

She stiffened slightly, the question catching her off guard. She forced a small laugh, hoping to deflect his concern. "Why, do I look that terrible?"

Sebastian's frown deepened. "You know that's not what I meant."

Evangeline sighed, her gaze softening as she looked at him. "The nightmares have been better." She was lying, but she didn’t have the energy to go through with another conversation about this.

He didn’t look convinced. His brown eyes lingered on her face, studying her like she was a particularly complex puzzle he was desperate to solve. "You sure?"

She nodded, offering a small, tight smile. "Yeah. I even borrowed Poppy's pillow mist."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned slightly closer, his expression skeptical. “Poppy’s pillow mist? The one that smells like Professor Garlick’s greenhouse?”

Evangeline huffed a small laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. “That’s the one. I figured it was worth a shot, but all it did was make me dream about getting strangled by Devil’s Snare.”

Sebastian let out a short laugh, though his eyes didn’t lose their edge of concern. “Well, that’s one way to make nightmares worse."

They were coming back around toward the castle again, the sprawling stone towers now bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun.

Nearly back.

Evangeline willed herself to just make it through a few more minutes of their solitude before they could head inside for dinner. Then, she could lose herself in the noise of the Great Hall, the chatter of their friends, and the comforting routine of Hogwarts life—anything to avoid the questions brewing behind Sebastian’s sharp gaze.

But then he stopped walking.

Evangeline took a few more steps before noticing he was no longer beside her. When she turned back, Sebastian stood rooted to the spot, his broom resting against his shoulder and his brows drawn together. He was watching her, and his expression was free of teasing or smug amusement. It was earnest—serious in a way that made her stomach twist.

“What were you and Ominis talking about earlier?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

She blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “What?”

“Before I came over,” he clarified, his brown eyes locked on hers. “You looked like you were having a pretty serious conversation. What was it about?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her robes as she fought the urge to glance away. “We were just catching up, like I said before."

"Catching up about what?" He pressed, brown eyes narrowing .

“Nothing important,” she said, forcing a casual shrug. “Just… school, Quidditch, the usual stuff. You know how Ominis likes to talk in circles.”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It didn’t look like nothing, Evie. For awhile, you seemed upset.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, cursing how observant he always was. How long had he been watching them talk? Clearly he'd noticed her and Ominis before the topic of Anne came up.

“I wasn’t upset,” she said, a touch too quickly. “Not really.”

“Not really,” he repeated, his voice flat. “So you were a little upset?”

She let out a soft groan, rolling her eyes. “Why does it matter, Sebastian? I’m fine.”

“It matters because I care,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Because you’re my best friend.”

His words softened something in her chest, but they also made it ache. She didn’t doubt his sincerity—she never did—but the weight of everything unsaid between them felt heavier than ever.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she said quietly, her gaze falling to the ground. “Ominis was just helping me… sort through some things. That’s all.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. “What kind of things?”

She sighed. How could she possibly explain it to him? That she was trying to put distance between them, not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much? That every time he looked at her like this, she felt like she was drowning in everything she couldn’t say?

“It’s personal, Sebastian,” she said finally, her voice soft but firm. “Please, just… let it go.”

His eyes searched hers, his expression torn between frustration and concern. "It's personal. So you can tell Ominis but you can't tell me."

Evangeline flinched at his words, the sharp edge of them cutting straight through her. She looked up at him, his face a mix of frustration and hurt, and the ache in her chest deepened.

“It’s not like that,” she said softly, but the words felt weak, hollow even to her own ears.

“Then what is it like?” Sebastian pressed, taking a step closer. His brown eyes burned with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you trust him more than me."

Evangeline’s chest tightened.The sharpness in his tone was like a dagger, but it wasn’t the frustration that struck her most—it was the hurt, the crack in his voice that said this wasn’t just about Ominis. It was about them.

She wanted to smooth it over, to reassure him the way she always did, but something inside her had cracked.

“Maybe, sometimes, I do trust Ominis more,” she said, her words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Sebastian’s eyes widened, his mouth parting slightly in shock. He stared at her like she’d just struck him, and for a moment, she thought he might say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, the hurt in his expression deepening.

Evangeline swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, but she pressed on, her voice firmer now. “He’s never given me a reason not to, Sebastian. He’s never lied to me, never put me in situations where I felt like I had to question his choices... I know I can rely on him.”

Sebastian flinched, his jaw tightening as her words landed. She could tell he wanted to fight. Wanted to argue and prove her wrong, but even he could see the truth in her words. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands flexing at his sides as though he was physically holding himself back from saying something he’d regret. For a moment, the tension between them was unbearable, the silence crackling with unsaid words and emotions too heavy to name.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but strained, each word laced with frustration and pain. “I’ve made mistakes, Evie. I... I know that, and I'm sorry."

“I know you’re sorry,” she said quietly, her arms crossing over her chest. “And I believe you, Sebastian. I do. But..."

He ran a hand through his messy hair again, his expression frustrated but remorseful. “I’ve been trying,” he said, his voice rough. “I know I don’t always get it right, but I’m doing my best, Evie. I’m trying to be better."

“I know. And I appreciate that. But I meant what I said before, back when I visited you... I need time." She paused, her voice dropping. "And I guess sometimes needing time also means needing space."

Sebastian’s face twisted into a mix of frustration and hurt, his brown eyes searching hers as though he was trying to find the words to bridge the widening chasm between them.

“I hate this,” he muttered finally, his voice low and strained. “I hate feeling like I’m losing you.”

Evangeline’s chest ached at the rawness in his voice, the way his words hung in the air like a plea. “Sebastian,” she said gently, her eyes meeting his, “you’re not losing me. You’ll never lose me. You’re my best friend, and you always will be.”

He searched her face, desperation flickering in his gaze as if he were clinging to her words like a lifeline. “You promise?”

Her breath caught, and she forced herself to nod. “I promise.”

The sincerity in her voice seemed to ease some of the tension in his shoulders, but deep down, Evangeline knew the truth. He was losing her.

Not in the way he feared—she would always be there for him, always care for him, always stand by his side. But the part of her that had hoped, that had dreamed of something more... she couldn't let him keep that part of her heart anymore.

Sebastian shifted his broom to his other shoulder, his expression softening slightly. "...pinky promise me?"

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his request. Her lips parted as she stared at him, trying to decipher the shift in his tone.

“A pinky promise?” she repeated. It was a muggle thing—something she’d told him about back in fifth year, when they'd had their quiet moments between classes, chatting about the at the peculiarities of the muggle world.

His eyes glimmered with something close to relief, and his lips curled into a playful grin. “Yeah. Pinky promise. You told me it’s a thing people do to make promises more... formal.”

Evangeline’s amusement deepened. She took a step closer, tilting her head as she met his gaze. “You remember that?”

Sebastian shrugged, his grin widening, but there was a glint of sincerity in his expression now, more than she’d expected. “How could I forget?” He paused, his expression shifting slightly, his voice quieter. “And I need something official.”

She felt the weight of his words again, though they were softened by the ridiculousness of the pinky promise. With a soft laugh, she reached out, her pinky finger curling around his. “Then I pinky promise.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, the world around them quieting to nothing but the soft rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds overhead.

“You’ll never lose me. I’ll always be here. You’re my best friend, Sebastian.”

His fingers curled tighter around hers, a faint flicker of something softer in his gaze. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, but his smile slowly returned, the tension in his shoulders easing.

After a beat, Evangeline pulled her hand back, the warmth of his pinky still lingering against hers as she shifted her gaze toward the castle. The simple act felt strangely final, like they’d just sealed something unspoken between them. She wasn’t sure whether the ache in her chest had eased or grown heavier, but at least for now, they seemed to have found some semblance of peace.

Evangeline let her arms drop to her sides, her gaze lingering on Sebastian for a moment longer before she cleared her throat, hoping to shake off the weight of the moment.

“Well,” she said lightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, “now that we’ve made everything official, you should probably head to your dorm.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his grin returning with a familiar mischievous edge. “Oh? In a hurry to be rid of me already?”

“No,” she replied, her smirk growing as she took a pointed step back, wrinkling her nose in mock offense. “But you smell like... sweaty leather, and I’d like to avoid suffocating before dinner.”

Sebastian feigned a gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Sweaty leather? That’s the smell of hard work and dedication, thank you very much.”

“It’s the smell of someone who’s spent the entire day running around a pitch, tackling first-years, and sweating through their robes,” she countered, arching a brow. “Go. Shower. Spare the rest of us.”

He chuckled, hoisting his broom over his shoulder again and falling into step beside her as they made their way toward the castle. “You know, most people would just say, ‘Sebastian, you had a great practice today. I’m so impressed with how dedicated you are.’ But no, not you.”

"No, not me. You've got the rest of the girls in this school to feed your ego." She said dryly.

Sebastian smirked, glancing sideways at her, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe," he paused, his voice taking on an earnest edge, "But none of them are you, Evie. Their praise just doesn’t have the same… sting of brutal honesty.”

Evangeline swallowed hard, feigning nonchalance as they reached the castle doors.

Sebastian lingered for a moment as they crossed the threshold, his broom still slung over his shoulder, as though he were reluctant to part ways. “So, dinner?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of something uncertain in his gaze.

“You’ll find me in the usual spot,” she replied with a teasing lilt, nodding toward the Great Hall. “After you’ve showered.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Message received. I’ll see you there—fresh and unsuffocating.”

“Looking forward to it,” she said dryly, her smirk softening into something warmer as she turned toward the Great Hall. And as Sebastian’s laughter echoed faintly behind her, she allowed herself to smile.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

Gryffindor Divider Credit

[gabessquishytum]

Seeing saytr dreamling fics in AO3 made me nostalgic for the original saytr dream ask someone (yan anon, maybe?) and its immaculate vibes. Here’s hoping someone does a saytr dream fic too?? He deserves one too!

After his first…encounter with Dream, Hob knows he should move out of the forest but he’s tried to leave and there is something wrong with the road. It never takes him out of the forest but loops back to his own cabin. No matter what he does, he can’t seem to leave. Dream doesn’t want him to.

But food shows up on his doorstep anyway, fruits, vegetables and freshly killed animals from the forest. So hob knows the saytr knows where he is. He knows he is the reason hob can’t leave. In his feverish, hot dreams, he seems Dream’s wild animal grin, his glittering eyes and feels his massive c*ck ramming into hob’s arse again and again… and he wakes up hard and aching.

Hob waits, anxious, feeling watched all the time. He feels somewhat safe in his cabin…

Until one night he dreams that he’s back in the clearing with the saytr.

“Miss me?” Dream purrs and tears his pajamas off. Hob scrambles to get away but dream just pins him down and starts fucking him. Only this time dream isn’t fucking his arse. Dream’s pounding into a brand new pussy Hob never had before.

He cries and struggles but dream is so much stronger than he is, and faster too. Even if hob gets away, dream just treats it like a little game of tag, and pounces on him again, grinning like he’s having the time of his life. And dream feels so good that eventually hob just begs for more through his sobs.

Dream fucks his new pussy all night, against a tree, on his knees, on his back, even his mouth, for variety.

Hob wakes up in the morning, relieved it was just a dream. But he’s naked and all sticky. Somehow he’s covered in hickeys and bruises and cum…and he is deliciously sore, aching for something to fill a nonexistent hole…

OOOOH yes. You can tell how behind I am on answering these but YES we were indeed blessed with some excellent satyr Hob content a little while ago!!!

I also really love possessive, magical, low-key scary but extremely sexy satyr Dream. Especially with dream sex as well!!!!

Poor Hob, missing the pussy that he never actually had! He stumbles out of his cabin half dressed, sweating and aching, and goes on this half angry, half horny rampage through the forest to look for Dream. He keeps catching glimpses in the foliage, but every time he makes a grab for him he comes up empty handed, and all he can hear is laughter. Seems like he's much better at being prey than predator.

And thanks to Dream’s magic, he just ends up going in circles, ending up back at his cabin each time. Hob is exhausted and panting and he slumps down in the clearing outside his house, desperately rutting himself against the grass. He's so humiliated by his neediness, but he just can't stop!

And perhaps Dream lazily appears at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree and just watching his favourite pet human as he exposes himself for the world. Humans are so boring but this one is just delightful.

"Did you enjoy my gift, darling?" He purrs. Hob just whines and keeps rubbing himself against the ground. He aches inside. He wants his fucking pussy back! "I can give it back to you, my sweet. Would you like that?"

Hob has no clue what Dream even means, but even so he's spreading his legs and shuffling towards Dream through the grass. Dream’s flaming eyes glow, and his beautiful midnight black hair stands at an end with what looks like excitement. Hob’s heart hammers and he's deeply terrified, but more than that - he needs something inside him. Anything.

And Dream looks so willing to give him whatever he needs... perhaps a little magic to permanently make his cock into a pretty little cunt? He could fuck Hob until he's forever changed. It would be so worth the effort.

[wandaluvstacos]

SEASON OF BLOSSOMS

CHAPTER EIGHT IS UP! ($5 TIER)

Genre: Fantasy Romance Rating: 18+ Elevator Pitch: Bridgerton, but gay and with tieflings. Check out this story’s art under the tag Season of Blossoms

Includes: Mxm, mxf, and nbxm romance, sibling rivalries, romantic drama, fun sexy hijinks all around. This one’s lighter than most of the stuff I write, lol. There is a scene that takes place after an attempted suicide, but I think that’s the only thing that needs to be warned for.

In the nation of Tithly, it is custom that those of marriageable age travel to the city of Philsia for the yearly Season of Blossoms– four summer months of parties meant to provide youth the opportunity to find their spouse. This year will be the first year that all three of the Tsylgahra siblings attend: Mithleem, Anli, and Lisanth.

Three years after his wife’s tragic death, Mithleem has finally decided that he’s ready to start his search for someone new. As one of the top people in his class at the Academy and a successful doctor during his time in the army, he’s a household name and a hot commodity at parties, including one thrown by Tithly’s most renowned painter. There Mithleem is called to the bedside of the painter’s equally famous spouse, Ysaika Talorilau, and it may take someone of Mithleem’s skill to save their life.

Anli’s been to Philsia three times for the Season, but she hasn’t had much luck. This time she meets a young man above her station who shows interest, and despite her misgivings, she’s willing to give him a shot, even if the family’s new steward, Thyla Daschanhildi is quite insistent that Anli deserves better. Anli’s not sure about that, but she knows that Thyla’s only ever been supportive and loyal, sometimes to such a degree that Anli wonders if there’s more to it.

As the youngest Tsylgahra and wild child of the family, Lisanth is interested in racing horses, starting squabbles in the local tavern, and worrying his parents on the nights he doesn’t come home. However, he knows he can’t put off Philsia forever, and at the insistence of his mother, Lisanth grudgingly makes the journey with his siblings to the City in the Sky. There he meets a stranger who wields charm with just a hint of danger. Only later does Lisanth come to realize that the stranger is in fact a prince– Prince Jafkar A’nesh to be exact.

EXCERPT:

     The coach pulled up to the front door and Thyla leapt from the front seat. When she saw Anli hunched over by the column, she rushed to her side.

            “Miss Anli! Are you alright?”

            “Can you please help me?” Anli asked in a small voice, ashamed that she had to ask but knowing she could not make it from the column to the coach on her own or even with a cane.

            “Of course! Would you like me to carry you?”

            “Carry me?” Anli flushed. “Um. I don’t want to be a bother—”

            “No bother to me, though I understand if to you it may seem undignified. I can retrieve the wheelchair if you’d like.”

            Anli paused to think about the options, because it was a bit undignified, but also very tempting. The distance was not long, but thinking of crossing it on foot made Anli curl further inward, and the wheelchair seemed like too much effort for what amounted to only several walking strides. “Okay,” she said, feeling low—humiliated even.

            “I’ll be quick about it,” Thyla promised, then bent and hoisted Anli up into her arms with barely more than a grunt of effort. Her strength shocked Anli, though Anli was barely heavier than a 12-year-old, so maybe it was no great feat. Being this close to Thyla reminded her of her trip and fall earlier, right into Thyla’s chest. Very elegant, that one. It did give her a chance to enjoy the scent of alfalfa that lingered on Thyla’s jacket, which seemed even stronger now. Anli did love the smell of hay.

            Thyla crossed the distance in five strides, then put Anli down so she could open the coach door and help Anli up the two metal grate steps and through the door. Before Thyla closed it, Anli popped her head back outside.

            “Yes. Took a while, but I managed. Have you heard any word about him?”

            “Not since I was initially told. I wonder who it is he’s looking after. I hope it’s not Garitt. I haven’t seen much of him all night.” Anli gasped. “Actually, I never saw Ysaika at all! Do you think it could be them?” Anli hadn’t even thought about it, but it was odd to see so little of the host, and Anli had hoped to see Ysaika in the flesh at least once. She might not have another chance.

            “I’m not sure, Miss Anli. Best not to speculate.”

            Anli nodded, cowed. “Of course. You’re right. I’ll ask Mithleem later. Um. Thank you for your help.”

            “My pleasure.”

            Anli let Thyla close the door, then curled up on the upholstered bench, wincing and hissing every time the carriage jolted underneath. After rolling through a particularly brutal pothole, Anli felt the touch of something against her hand and looked down to find the pink sally she’d put in her hair now wilted in her lap. She picked it up and twirled it, then clutched it to her chest, smiling. No pain could ruin her night. This Season was already promising to be her best.

[kayleezra]

Thoroughfare// Joel Miller x GN!Reader

Word Count: 7891

Warnings: Spoilers for the beginning of the game/ episode 1 of the series (character death), swearing and lots of it

Summary: Fic based on the song Thoroughfare by Ethel Cain (please listen to it). First-person POV. Reader and Joel have known each other since childhood but are separate post-outbreak. What happens when they’re reunited and old feelings resurface with the prospect of exploring the West. 

A/N: so I edited this like once but in the spirit of the new episode dropping early today I wanted to post this! Let me know of any errors and/or tags/warnings please and thank you!!!! 

Being alone after the fall of civilization wasn’t the plan, but given the selfishness and brutality of the new world, it was necessary. It was a dog-eat-dog world, even a human-eat-human world. Most survivors I encountered wanted to take everything I had, even if all I had was the skin on my back. Even long-standing groups imploded on themselves at one point or another. It was lonely but safer, no one to turn on you, trade you, or use you. I hadn’t started alone, on the day of the outbreak I was at Joel’s, it was his birthday and even though he worked I ensured there was a hot meal and cake for him no matter how late he got home. Everything went wrong so fast, we lost Sarah and everyone was fending for themselves, not that I blame them. For a while, it was just Joel, Tommy and me, until things got messy. We were ambushed by a group and separated, I haven’t seen either of them since, survival got in the way of finding them. 

I hate not knowing how they’re doing, I grew up with the brothers, I’ve known them for as long as I can remember. Joel and Tommy were hard workers, they were always trying to support themselves and each other. When Joel told me he was going to be a dad I was shocked, he and Amelia had been dating for a couple of years but we were in high school, and I knew it was going to be hard on the both of them. But I was also excited, I’ve always wanted to be an aunt! So I put together a baby shower for Amelia, collected clothing for their soon-to-be daughter and even managed to get them a crib. I was happy for Joel, he always talked about having a family, and wanting that mushy romantic domestic life. I did always harbour a crush on him and wish I could fulfill that for him but was happy nonetheless, he deserved it. They got married after high school at 22, but it was first and young love, it was never meant to last. By 28 he and Amelia had divorced, it was as amicable as possible. They harboured no hard feelings, they both grew and matured and understood it was for the best. 

Now, I’m somewhere out east alone. I find some rocks and trees that can provide my resting body coverage and make myself comfortable for the night. I’m calm, or as calm as I can be. Still on edge and alert for any unwelcome surprises but there's only so long I can go without sleep. I never really set up camp, unless necessary, I never wanted to notify others of my whereabouts, I learnt that the hard way. A lonely traveller is an easy prey for any group of 2 or more.

Exhaustion is what lulls me to sleep, the moment I lay down I’m aware of how tired and sore my body is but I don’t have time to care as I’m pulled into a state of half-consciousness

A low groan, almost a growl, rings through my ears, immediately putting me on high alert. My heart is racing at the sudden prospect of danger, it’s unlikely that one lonely infected has travelled near me. Pulling my pistol from my pocket, I prepare to take out a few infected and escape as soon as possible. My ears strain with the effort of trying to hear anything but it’s pretty quiet. I don’t let my guard down, just because I can’t hear them doesn’t mean they’ve left. Then heavy repetitive footsteps, getting closer. I switch the safety off, I’m about to reveal myself when my brain stops me. These footsteps are too consistent, there’s no fumbling around or fast changes in direction. I strain my ears again, there’s no wheezing or the sound of wet breath that accompanies the spores in the infected’s lungs. They’re human, seemingly alone, which makes people very desperate. I’m conflicted if I take them by surprise or wait them out, taking a human life who hasn’t yet wronged you isn’t easy. But do I want to wait for them to potentially wrong me? The decision is made for me when they painfully fall to the ground next to me. They are a man, with eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted. I run my eyes along him quickly, he’s well equipped but his hands are busy clutching his blood-soaked side. His eyes shoot open, and like I’ve been wounded by his gaze I, “Joel!?!”

His movements stop and his eyes shoot to mine, shocked silence engulfs the two of us. Then I remember he’s injured. 

“Let me help you,” I say giving him a hand and bringing him into the nook that was my resting place mere moments ago. 

He sits propped up, “you wanna tell me what happened and what I’m dealing with?”

“Bullet wound. Ran into a couple of hunters.”

“How far from here?” I ask while digging for medical supplies in my backpack, worried the hunters may still be looking for him.

“You don’t have to worry about them no more. They were scouting the highway.”

“Got it. What kind of medical supplies do you got?”

“Nothin’”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Christ, alright. Okay, I’m gonna lift your shirt and have a look.”

Lifting his tattered green plaid shirt reveals a bloody mess. 

“I’m going to clean the area a bit to see what the damage is, this will probably hurt.”

He nods. Wiping the excess blood and grime gives me good news.

“You sir, are a very lucky man. It’s only a graze. It’s a pretty clean wound which ensured minimal bleeding, the edges are clean. As far as bullet wounds go, this one is a beaut. I’ll clean and bandage it, and then… we’ve got some catching up to do.”

I clean his wound in silence and as the adrenaline leaves his body he becomes lethargic.

“Gotta be honest, I thought you were dead,” Joel mumbles lowly.

“Well, I probably should be. But I thought the same of you. Tommy?”

“Alive as well as I know, he’s got a camp out in Wyoming.”

“West from here,” I add. I don’t know what happened that caused the two to split and I don’t push it. 

“Stay here, I’m going to see what I can raid off those bodies you left on the highway.”

I attempted to get up but am stopped by Joel's hand on my arm.

“You ain’t leaving me are ya?” “I’d never leave you, Joel,” I say a bit more sincerely than I intended but in his exhausted state, he’s likely to forget about it. 

I’m careful on the dark highway, Joel says I didn’t have to worry about the group of hunters but you can never be too sure. Turns out, the hunters were desperate because they had nearly nothing of use on them, even their weapons were looking worse for wear, and they likely wouldn’t have made it another winter as they were. However, one had something that was of more value to you than anything else they could’ve harboured together, a transfer pump. On a highway filled with abandoned cars, we’re guaranteed to get something working and a full tank of gas. 

I make my way back to Joel, he’s barely alert but has enough in him to point his gun at me upon arrival. Raising my hands in defence I reassure him that it’s just me. 

“Rest up, I’ll keep watch. You get busy healing.”

Joel lets out an entertained scoff before allowing exhaustion to take over. 

As the sun begins to rise, its rays wake Joel. He seems slightly confused at first but relaxes when he sees me and remembers last night's events.

“How’re you feeling?” “Pretty good, all things considered,” he says while lifting his shirt and looking at his bandaged wound. The bandage is still clean of any blood or any other excrements which is a good sign. 

“Good because we’ve got a mission.”

“Oh yeah, what's that?” His rough voice asks.

“Getting one of them cars out there to work.”

“Then we better get going.”

We pick a truck that seems to be in order besides a few parts and the fact that it’s blocked in by other cars. 

“You ever fix up a car before? Because you were never a car person before.” Joel asks.

“Nope, and I’m still not but I spent time with a group that did and I learnt enough to escape them so I’m more qualified now. You?”

Joel shakes his head, seemingly thinking of something rather than answering my question. 

God isn’t real, that much is clear given the current state of the world but I might have a guardian angel because, after a few hours, Joel and I are able to get a truck running. We then spend some time pushing other cars out of the way before we’re able to drive. I’m tired, I haven’t slept in days, I was supposed to take a night's rest when Joel stumbled upon me but he needed it more than me and now that things are going to plan my body begins giving out. I look at Joel in the driver's seat, “where are we going?”

“How about West? We go further East and the coast will make some unforgiving winters. Plus, Tommy’s out West.”

“West it is.”

Once he gets us off the crowded highway, he speaks up.

“Get some rest, you need it.”

I smile, “Yeah… I missed you too,” then prop myself against the window and close my eyes. 

I’m softly awoken by Joel's sturdy hand on my thigh and his deep hushed voice, “C’mon baby, let's get some rest.”

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my neck and shoulders sore from the odd position they found themselves in. Joel makes his way to and opens my door, wraps his arm around my waist and leads me out of the truck and towards a long, 2-story building. 

“Where are we?” I ask gruffly.

“An abandoned motel. I’ve already scouted it out, it’s safe.”

I’d normally yell at him for doing something as stupid as clearing a building alone when he has help but I’m too tired. So I lean into Joel and allow him to lead me to a room. Inside is a dingy mattress with some threadbare pillows and blankets, our bags are already stashed under the beaten-up desk, Joel prepped the room before bringing me in, that caring bastard. Joel sits me down on the bed, I fight slumber while watching Joel push random furniture in front of the door and draw the musty curtains over the boarded-up window. Someone was clearly here before us and made it their safe space, I try not to think about what happened to them. 

Joel makes his way to me, I can see a small smile on his face, trying to hide the amusement he’s getting from me fighting to stay awake.

“Lay down, baby. We’re safe.”

I do as he says and Joel sits at the foot of the bed, taking my feet into his lap. He begins to carefully remove my shoes. Suddenly I can keep my eyes open with some ease and I watch him, his steady hands and caring face. My chest fills with a warm radiating love, I haven't seen a man with such soft emotions in his eyes in years. Joel hasn’t been consumed by anger, he’s still human, still a good man. It was touching to see given that most of us were left in a world where there was no one else to leave and no one else to love. Looking at Joel I felt some peace, I didn’t care where we were or where we were going, as long as I was with him. 

Finally, Joel gets up and joins me in bed, he keeps a respectable distance but in my sleepy state, I have the confidence to inch my way against him, spooning him while resting my forehead in between his shoulder blades. I fall asleep with my arms and thoughts filled with my southern sunshine. 

We spend a few days resting before continuing our travels West to Tommy, which sounds like paradise from Joel’s description. 

“How much longer of travelling d we have ahead of us?” “Probably no more than 3 days, we’re close.” “Why’d we stop if were so close?” “Needed the rest, plus there are so cars here that we’ll take the gas from.”

I nod, half believing him. 3 days is nothing it seems odd that he stopped for multiple days for 3 days of travel. Unless the next 3 days are hell…

“Do you know something I don’t?” I ask.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Resting multiple days for 3 days of travel? What’s up ahead that I don’t know about?”

“I hope nothin’”

“But there was something?”

“No, look I just- I thought we could use the rest, you’re complicatin’ it”

I’m still skeptical but I let it go. Joel’s being weird, sure we were tired, we always were but you had to trudge on to survive. 

“Let’s go,” he says while getting up and grabbing his things to leave. 

Joel hands me my backpack, I let out a quiet ‘thanks’ shy under his direct gaze. 

“We’ve got some gas to steal,” I say while we leave, distracting myself. I hear Joel let out a scoff to cover his laugh. A smile takes over my face in pride knowing I can still make the man laugh, a laugh I’d kill to hear more often. When we step out of the motel, the morning sun is warm and welcoming. I feel… new. I’m not one for ‘signs from the universe’ but the sunrise and its accompanying warmth gave me this sense that this was a new beginning and that things are going to be okay. I stop to bask in it, letting the sun warm my face and seep into my bones. Joel stops beside me and when I look to him he’s also taken by the sunrise. He looks almost at peace, like in this brief moment the war in his head, heartbreak from his past, and the worry of tomorrow, have all quieted down, allowing him a moment of enjoyment. He looks so pretty. The moment ends and Joel looks at me, catching me staring. 

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, I just- You look-.” I take a breath, trying to collect myself while my mind swarms with thousands of things I want to say to him. “I’m just… really happy to have found you again.”

I’m too scared to allow him to respond or even react because I’m already walking away, “c’mon we’re getting gas, remember?”

Joel spends 20 hours driving, he's tired and fighting sleep. 

“Joel let me drive, I promise not to crash and I’ll wake you if we die.”

He smiles, glancing at me, “you know where we’re going?”

Shit. “No…”

Joel laughs at my realization.

“We’ll show me on a map! Then I’ll follow that.” I explain excitedly.

“Aren’t you ‘map blind’ as you always put it?”

Just then, Joel and I are years younger, pre-outbreak young. We’re each other's rocks, constantly teasing one another while never letting the other fall.

“You remember that?”

“Course I do, you couldn’t read that damn map even if there was a ‘you’re here’ sticker on it. You gawked at that thing like I handed you an old scripture in hieroglyphics.”

Joel looks young, the recounting of that story releasing the constant stress in his face and body. 

“You had it upside down.”

I can’t help but laugh, I did have it upside down. And even in an apocalypse, I am still map blind. However, Joel remembering such a trivial moment in our time together in our past life has me astounded. In a world where life, as you know it is flipped upside down and your daughter is taken from you while still in your arms… it’s hard to imagine those moments still taking up space in his memory. 

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” “I don't know because there's so much happening all the time and there's other things that are more worthy of being remembered.”

Joel's face falls, his eyes follow suit, looking at the ground. My name falls from his mouth like a whispered prayer, scared that if it can be heard by the human ear it’ll be tainted. “I held onto every memory of you because sometimes… sometimes it’s one of the few things that keeps me going. I treasured our time together then but now? Now, I hold onto those memories because they remind me of who I was, they ground me, and remind me of how there was so much good in the world.”

He stops but there are still words that are stuck on his tongue, “I thought I lost you for good. Tommy and I- we looked for you but you know how it goes. I accepted that you- that you were no longer a part of this cold and selfish world and yet… here you are. And you still have that warm smile, you’ve kept the damned sense of humour and you’re just as snarky, if not more so, than before.”

My eyes are hot with tears, not the usual tears of loss or frustration or hopelessness but tears of love. I love this man. I loved him then and I love him now and I don’t know if anything could ever change that. I quickly wipe a defiant tear as if he wouldn’t see it. My overwhelming emotions leave me unable to speak, so I don’t, instead, I take his hand in mine. I hold him like a loving partner holding their sick lover's hand to provide comfort, I hold him like my life depended on it, I hold him like he’s my everything because he is. 

“You’re one sappy son of a bitch, Joel Miler,” I say quietly.

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and his warm thumb smooths over my hand. I relish in the moment of intimacy. Loving intimacy is harder to come by than kindness in this world even in something as small as hand-holding. I think it is more likely that I read a map correctly than I come in contact with regular loving intimacy. Everyone is touch starved and yet no one is willing to be vulnerable enough to provide that touch because people are too selfish for it to be a safe and wholesome act, because one that is often abused and adulterated.

“Only for you, darlin’”

“Well then let’s pull over so you can get some sleep,” I then bring his hand to my lips and give him a small kiss. 

Joel hides us in some foliage, trying to ensure we don’t stick out like easy prey out in the open. We fold the back seats and do our best to make the musty upholstery comfortable, not that it’s the worst place either of us has slept. The sun will rise in a couple hours and in dead spaces like this? That signals a sort of quiet. Most hunters move at night in these areas, trying to catch innocents off guard while they’re trying to rest. Travellers move as fast as they can in the night thinking danger will be asleep. The world is a free-for-all but when the sun sets? It becomes a war against you and every other thing, living or not. 

“I’ll keep watch, you rest,” I tell Joel.

“Ain’t you tired?”

“I got some sleep in the car, plus if I really need it, I can sleep when we’re on the road again.”

I sit myself up against the back of the driver's seat, placing different clothing items in my lap, “come on, I promise not to fall asleep,” I tell Joel, gesturing to the makeshift pillow I’ve made with my lap and clothing. 

Wordlessly Joel situates himself, laying on his back with his head in my lap, groaning when his body relaxes and he becomes aware of the tired and sore muscles within his body. Something is missing… 

“Oh,” I begin ruffling through my bag, “here,” I pull a blanket from my bag and place it over Joel’s body. The blanket is worn out but it’s more for the comfort of having than it is for warmth. A soft, barely audible ‘thank you’ escapes Joel.

With the man's eyes closed I selfishly stare, taking in his face. Theres more lines than there were before which I expect after 20 years but they’re not where I want them to be. Instead of crow's feet from a smile reaching his eyes he has wrinkles between his brows from having them furrowed too often.  In place of smile lines, he has frown lines, lines that tell a story of a resilient man living a hard life. Even with his eyes closed he still holds the face of a hardened man. His hair and facial hair are peppered with grey and even in a world s dirty as this I can’t help but run my hands through it. At first, Joel tenses, a reflex nearly everyone has developed to stay alive. But when his mind reminds him it is the hand of the person whose lap he rests his head in, he relaxes. Joel not only relaxes to post-outbreak Joel but, after a few moments, to pre-outbreak Joel. All the lines and wrinkles in his face soften, he doesn’t look young like you often hear, but he looks calmer. In my lap is a man whose gone through hell and back and is finally letting a couple walls down after decades of hardship, he almost looks relieved.  His hair tells me the same thing as his face, caked with dirt and oil and tangled from years of neglect and unrelenting weather, he’s a man who’s been stretched far too thin. I continue running my fingers through his hair during the hours that he sleeps no matter how ‘gross’ it is because the truth is, my fingers are just as covered with the survival of this world. In this musty truck with our unwashed bodies and difficult pasts, things almost feel normal, the birds sing and rise with the sun and I can almost imagine we’re on Joel’s old tattered couch, having stayed up late to watch a movie only to have one of us pass out before the climax. 

Unfortunately, the man only sleeps a handful of hours, it’s not even mid-day when he wakes. Although it’s probably the longest he’s slept in a while and the first time he’s woken up peacefully, not in a panic or with an impending task looming over his head. Joel is pulled from his slumber not because he’s well rested but because our minds are never completely at rest, we don’t have time to be so vulnerable for so long. His eyes, still filled with sleep, look for mine immediately, like he knows rationally I’m still here because his head is still in a warm lap but he’s scared that it’s an illusion and he’ll break that illusion when he opens his eyes and doesn’t find mine. When the illusion doesn’t disappear, I speak up, “Morning, southern sunshine.”

“Southern sunshine?”

“Yeah, 'cause you’re from Texas and… you always brighten my day,” I shrug. An amused scoff escapes him while he sits up, blocking me from seeing his face.

“You, my dear, are too sweet for me.”

“Why? Can’t handle it?” I tease.

“Don’t deserve it,” his voice is a little lower with those words, they’re filled with doubt.

“Well, that’s ain’t true. You deserved it then and you deserve it now more than ever. I might not know the horrors that haunt your past in between then and now, but… I know Joel Miller and he’s more deserving of someone's unyielding love and affection more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

He looks over his shoulder at me, face heavy with a mix of disbelief and self-hatred: a look he shouldn’t hold. My brows crease with worry and sadness, I slowly place my hand on his cheek like he’s a scared animal that might run if I move too fast. Instead, he leans into it for a moment before taking my wrist in his hand and pulling my palm to his lips where he kisses me. Still holding my hand between the two of us he gives me a small smile. Not a happy or grateful smile but a doleful one, one that says ‘this can’t continue, we have to keep going, there’s no time for us’. So, silently that's what we do, we get back on the road and continue West.

The remaining drive is relatively quiet, a mix of comfortable and awkward silence, like sometimes we don’t what to do with ourselves regarding the idea or possibility of us. Then it dawns on me, after years of not knowing I’ll (hopefully) get to see Tommy. I’m not sure if I sigh or mumble or if there’s just a shift in the air but Joel turns to me, then back at the road and back at me pensively. 

“What’s wrong?”

I take s deep breath, “I’ll get to see Tommy,” my voice is soft like if I say it too decisively I’d jinx it. Joel hums in response.

Holy fucking shit. The outbreak took nearly everything from everyone, but two of my loved ones were still alive and I’m about to be reunited with both of them. People I love unconditionally, that I spent days with together, people I lost for years and grieved, are alive and returning to my life. I’m overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, I’m ecstatic to see them again, I’ve been given a second life with them, and I love them and want them back in my life. My heart is filled with happiness and loves but my chest is heavy with fear. I’m scared, scared of how our relationship has changed, scared of how different the past has changed us, scared to lose them again. My body is hot like it’s overworked with the flood of emotions, and they’re just boiling to the surface. Slow tears reluctantly sting my face.

“Hey hey hey hey hey, what’s going on?” Joel asks confused.

I snap my head towards him with fearful eyes, like a deer looking at the driver that’s about to hit them, “I’m not ready!”

“What do you mean ‘you’re not ready’?”

That question opens the floodgate to the storm that is in my mind.

“I’ve been alone for years. Years! I’m completely independent, I don’t need anyone and I tricked myself into believing that I don’t want anyone.  And-and-and we’ve all changed, we’ve all done things we thought impossible for us before, and we’ve all done things that haunt us. What if- what if that’s changed us so much that the person I know from before is dead and someone new is occupying the body I’m familiar with? I want things to be how they were but they’re not going to be and I don’t know what that means. And we’ve lived different lives now that-…”

“Do you hate me?”

Joel interrupts and shocks me, “wha- no, why on earth would you think that?!”

“Well, you seem so worried that things will be so different we won’t be able to be a family like we once were. Yet, here are the two of us…” 

Closer than ever.

He doesn’t finish the sentence like he’s unsure of the right words to use. Neither of us explicitly acknowledging what’s between us.

“Things are different. They have to be. We’ve all lost so much, including pieces of our old selves, but, I know that I still love you… and Tommy… but don’t tell him I told you that.”

I laugh at Joel’s brotherly love but my mind raves with how he stopped with me, like adding Tommy was an afterthought.

I didn't realize Joel rested his warm hand on my thigh until he gives it a squeeze, I don’t know how long it’s been there but I welcome the comfort as it calms the sea within me.

“Right…” I take hold of his hand kissing it as I did before and keeping it in my grasp. There are a few moments of silence as Joel allows me to calm down.

“Tommy’s gonna lose his damn mind when he sees you.”

The two of us can’t help but laugh not so much at Joel's comment but at the rarity of it all, what are the odds we would find each other again.

We drive over a small hill, revealing a fenced civilization in the lowland.

“Hooollly shit…” I breathe, “it’s a whole city…”

“Sure is. Guess he didn’t do too bad.”

I let out an incredulous laugh, “they have electricity?”

“Yup.”

“Hot water?” “Mhmm.”

I fall silent in disbelief and overwhelming joy, “I haven’t had a proper shower in… years.” “I can tell,” Joel jokes.

I shove his arm, “watch it southern sunshine, you’re pretty ripe too.”

Joel chuckles. 

At the gates we’re asked who we are, Joel explains but they’re still skeptical. 

“Just get Tommy,” Joel says.

“Tommy’s busy.”

Joel scoffs, and mumbles a ‘busy my ass’ to himself. 

“Alright then get Maria, she’ll have questions anyway.”

“I don-”

“Boy, do you want me to have to explain to her how you refused to get her and made a big fuss outta something that should’ve been finished already?” The man behind the gate disappears, likely to get this Maria.

“Who’s Mari-”

I’m cut off by a woman shouting in a calm yet authoritative voice, “LET HIM IN!” 

When my eyes land on the woman I see she's waving us in motioning for the others to open the gates. As we wait for the gate to open, I nod towards the woman, “Maria?”

“Yup.”

“I like her.”

Again Joel chuckles, “You ain’t even met her yet.” “True but I like her, I can feel it.”

“Well, you ain’t wrong. You’ll definitely get on with her,” I smile at Joel’s words while he pauses, “which is what I’m worried about,” he finishes. 

Maria gives us a quick motion telling Joel where to park, when the truck's engine stops filling my ears I realize how nervous I am again. Joel grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze, “C’mon don’t you want that shower? You certainly need it.”

He hopes out of the truck before I can berate him. I make my way around the vehicle next to Joel.

“Been a while,” Maria opens. 

“Yeah, I know. Trying to stay alive seems to take up most of my time,” he shrugs. 

“And you?” she asks me. 

“Oh-”

“This-,” Joel attempts to answer but Maria stops him, “I didn’t ask you.”

Joel stops and almost visibly cowers, his head downcast like a kid in trouble. 

When my name leaves my lips a look of shock passes over Maria’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, Tommy might just shit himself.” Joel and I chuckle but mine’s more in confusion. “Y-you know of me?” “Pfft, course I do. You kept these two idiots alive before shit hit the fan.”

At that, I let out a genuine chuckle. 

“Tommy’s on patrol so let me get yall settled til then.” She begins walking and we follow.

We were welcomed so fast it goes against everything I’ve come to learn in the last few years. I lean towards Joel whispering, “are they not going to check if we’re infected?” “Generally? Yes, they would. But given that it's me and you? They trust us. Plus last I checked we haven’t been bitten, so what’re you worryin’ for?”

At that, I shrug, it's just instinct to be weary of everyone all the time. 

Maria brings us to a house, not a completely run-down house, not a building that will suffice as a shelter for a short period, but an uninhabited home.  

“Get cleaned up and by then Tommy should be back. Meet at ours for 3?” Maria asks, although I get the sense she’s not really asking. 

Joel nods. 

“There are some clothes in the hallway closet, have at em’ wouldn’t make sense for yall to shower and get back into dirty clothes. “

“Thank you, Maria,” I cut in. 

“Of course. Can’t wait to see Tommy’s face,” and with that, she turns off the porch and leaves us. 

Joel closes the door and begins dropping his things, “go on and shower, just don’t use all the hot water, yeah?”

‘First of all, if I’m getting into a running shower with hot water… not only am I using it all but I might just cause a drought. Second, why don’t you join me?” All confidence I had prior to making the offer is gone and I’m left wondering why the hell I opened my big mouth like that. Joel clears his throat, “I- uh-”

“I didn’t mean- just like- the water is warm and then no one has to fight and water conservation and all that and I-”

I’m too busy babbling to realize that Joel is watching me with an amused smirk before letting out a chuckle that brings me back to earth. 

“I know what you meant darlin’, I was gonna say I’d like that.”

“Oh…”

“C’mon we’ve got some warm water and real soap calling our names,” he says while leading the way.

I’m surprised he said yes. I mean throughout our journey here we’ve shared some affectionate moments, even before the outbreak we did. But the Joel I knew then was pretty closed off and pales in comparison to the Joel I met a few months ago. We beat around the bush, never explicitly mentioning what we’re doing or what we may be. I know with his divorce, the loss of Sarah and just who Joel is that he doesn’t come by commitment and intimacy easily. The outbreak has changed us all and for Joel that meant protecting his heart a little more than before in fear of how the world may strip him of what he loves again. So… I don’t push him, I love him however he’ll let me and accept whatever he’s willing to give me because I know the Joel inside his rugged exterior and he’s worth waiting for. I let him lead us upstairs to the bathroom, the calmness and security of the house brings back a domestic Joel that I’ve missed. Joel starts the shower before leaning over me, “Why don’t you get a head start and I’ll go get us some clothes,” then he leans in and kisses my cheek and all I can do is nod in adoration. 

While Joel leaves to get us the clothes, I strip off my grimy ones and get into the stream of hot water. I groan escapes my lips as the hot water cascades down my body, already cleaning better than the attempts I’ve made over the years. My muscles yearn for the relaxation and healing that comes with its warmth. The cleanliness of the water makes me aware of how dirty I am and feel. I reach for the bar of soap, lifting it to my nose and smelling the notes of lemon and mint, someone here has worked hard to make these bars. I begin to lather my body in the velvety luxury, the steam of the shower accentuating the soap's scent. I’m so caught up in myself I don’t realize Joel’s returned until he’s joining me in the shower. He presses himself against my back and wraps his arms around my waist. We close our eyes savouring the moment that almost replicates something that could have been before the outbreak. I turn us around so Joel can be in the stream of water. While facing me with his hands on my waist, I take some shampoo in my hands and begin emulsifying it in his hair. I massage his scalp for a while, lifting the stubborn dirt while relaxing him, using my nails I give him some light scratches, refreshing the follicles and gifting the nerves a tingling sensation. A few groans escape him when I reach particular points but this moment is nothing but pure. I drop my hands from his head, keeping them on his shoulders. When Joel tilts his head back into the stream of water I return my hands to the base of his scalp slowly massaging the soapy water from it. Throughout this, his eyes remain closed in blissful indulgence. 

When his hair is clean, he turns us around and washes my hair. My arms remain wrapped around his shoulders while his hands make careful movements, his face softens and his eyes remain lovingly trained on my hair. He spends some extra time lathering, just playing with my soaped-up hair. When I tilt my head into the stream of water he kisses my forehead, I open my eyes to find his looking into mine tenderly. We freeze for a moment, both scared to make the next move. 

“Tell me I can kiss you,” I whisper.

A corner of his lips quirk upwards, “Anytime darlin’,” he says while leaning in and joining our lips together. The kiss isn’t lewd or filled with sexual tension but filled with fearful love. Love that can appear so quiet but wreaks havoc inside the individual, a cyclone of fear that your love may leave, move on or end up entangled in a worse fate. Love that hurts the beholder with its overwhelming size, that one may bust at the seams at any moment because their body just can’t contain it. We spend time so wrapped up in each other, so much said without a word being spoken, that the water begins to lose its warmth. 

“Go get dressed, I’ll finish up and join you,” Joel utters in a hushed tone. 

I nod and peck his lips once more before reluctantly leaving him. 

In the bedroom, I find warm clothes: sweatpants that aren’t tattered, they still have the soft fluffy cotton on the inside; a large t-shirt that doesn’t have more than the necessary 4 holes; and a woolly cardigan that isn’t holding so much moisture that it’s its own breeding ground for mould and bacteria. 

When Joel comes out and dresses, it’s time for us to make our way to Maria and Tommy’s. I’m still nervous, my stomach is twisted in excitement and anxiety. When we arrive on the porch I suddenly feel uplifted. “Wait! You open the door and I’ll stay hidden before revealing myself, don’t tell him anything!”

Joel chuckles, “you really do wanna give the man a heart attack.”

I press myself against the house behind the screen door, Joel knocks and inside we hear his muddled voice, “Who the hell is that?”

Maria doesn’t say anything or if she does we don’t hear it. Then the door opens and a heavy silence drops before Tommy speaks, “Son of a bitch, who let this old fuck in!”

The brothers embrace one another and then I make my way around the door, “If you’re that shocked to see him wait till you realize that I’m here too.”

Tommy's eyes widen, for a split second I think they’ll pop. He, in brotherly fashion, quickly removes himself from Joel and pushes him aside. 

“This ain’t real,” he says while standing in front of me.

“I can hit you if you’d like, if not to convince you then for old time's sake?”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says while laughing in disbelief. He tightly wraps his arms around me, when he lets go his hands remain gripping my shoulders looking at me like he had to double-check if things were true. 

“Holy shit…���

I laugh and see Maria leaning in the doorway with a smile on her lips, I return the gesture. 

“Well… aren’t you going to let us in or keep us out here on the porch like some stays?” I tease. 

The evening passes fast, turns out we had a lot of catching up to fit in in the few hours that was dinner. Everyone has a smile on their face and exited disbelief in their eyes. When dinner is finished I get up to help Maria, which she attempts to decline. “Maria, c’mon? You welcomed us, gave me some of the best clothes I’ve worn in years along with a hot shower and filled our stomachs with delicious food. I wasn’t asking.”

My authoritativeness seems to impress and please her as she just gives me a smile and walks into the kitchen. 

“We’ll let the boys catch up on whatever it is those two get up to,” Maria yells from the kitchen.

I laugh and join her, “You heard the woman, go on, get!”

The Miller brothers leave to sit outside on the porch while Maria and I fall into easy conversation about ourselves and how we found ourselves in the Miller's lives. 

“So how long have you and Joel been together?” “Oh- it’s not- we’re not-”

Maria laughs as I stumble to find the right words, “Okay so Mr. Scared of commitment hasn’t officially labelled it. But, you’re together. So, how long?”

“Oh…uh… I don’t know, we were reunited a few months ago but-”

Maria chuckles, “Oh my dear, you really are blind aren’t you?” “What?”

“I don’t mean when you reunited or when did you guys start being more affectionate or anything like that. I mean, how long have the two of you been in love?” I’m dumbfounded, what does she know that I don’t?

“That man has been in love with you forever. Now I’m not basing this off the fact that he looks at you like he’s afraid to let you go even for a second or the fact that his entire demeanour lightens when he looks at you. Even Tommy knows, he watched you two lovebirds beat around the bush for years I think you referred to you two as ‘a couple of love-sick puppies’. You’ve been in love before the outbreak, yes?” “Yes,” I shyly admit. 

“And Joel has loved you for just as long if not longer. You may not see it but it’s true and in this world, we don’t have time to deny ourselves of any love we may have a chance at. Don’t let him believe he can go about this world as a lone wolf forever.”

~~~ JOEL’S POV ~~~ 

The sun is setting, taking its warmth with it. Tommy and I sit in silence, not because there’s nothing to say but because we’ve got so much to say and don’t know where to start. Both of us sipping our respective drinks. “Can’t believe they’re alive… or that we’ve all been reunited,” Tommy says.

“You and me both.”

“You better not blow this again,” Tommy said while taking a sip from his glass.

“What d’ya mean?”

Tommy scoffs, “You might be my older brother but you really are an idiot. Don’t let them get away again, we don’t normally get second chances in this life. You’ve been handed a second chance on a fucking silver platter. I love you but if you fuck this up?” Tommy finishes with a scoff. 

There’s a heavy silence for a few moments before Tommy presses on.

“You love them.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?” “No, you do love them. I ain’t asking. I want you to accept it and, for the love of god, admit it.”

“ I don’t kn-” “Oh cut the shit, Joel. You’ve been in love for years, before this damn virus. I watched the two of you act like a damn couple but then have these moments of… weird, awkwardness as if you’ve just realized what you’ve done and are like ‘oh yeah we’re not actually together better backtrack a bit’. I mean for fucks sake just admit it, tell them, be together.”

I sigh. I know I love them and that I’m in love with them, but admitting it opens me to the possibility of losing them and I’ve lost too many to want to open myself to that hurt again. But he’s right, I’ve been given another chance. The apocalypse separated us and has nearly liked us dozens of times but then we were accidentally reunited. I’ve spent months with them, sharing close proximity and moments of loving affection. How can I be so stupid, in closing myself off I nearly lost them while trying to avoid just that. 

“Fuck…” I murmur.

“Go on, go get them.”

I quickly get up, entering the house with urgency. 

~~~ YOUR POV ~~~    

The front door opens with a sense of urgency. Maria and I turn towards the sound and heavy boots bring Joel in. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Can I uh, steal them?” Joel asks Maria.

She smiles and pops a hip out, leaning against the counter, “it’s about time,” Maria nods me towards him.

I join him and while we’re leaving out the front door Tommy enters the house, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder. Joel has a nervous air around him and he grabs my arm and urgently takes me onto the porch. When the door closes I speak out.

“Joel what the hell are you-”

I stopped when Joel grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. This kiss is urgent, filled with a passion of gratitude and unease. When we release Joel doesn’t pull away far.

“Joel what-”

“I need you to know something,” he interrupts quickly, he takes a breath and continues in a slower calmer manner, “I’ve spent so much time with you, shared so many memories with you, and you might not be my love but honestly? I doubt it. I love you. I’ve always loved you, you’re my family and I’m no longer going to push you away in fear of losing you because I’ll lose you by doing that. I’d rather fear losing you, having loved you rather than losing you anyways and wondering what could have been.”

“Oh Joel,” I say with a soft sigh, “You think I would have agreed to get in the damn pick-up with you with nothing but what was on us and some dumb luck if I didn’t love you?”

Joel smiles, “Hey, do you want to explore the west with me?” he ends by motioning between us and with a teasing tone.

“I’ve spent a lot of time without love and a lot of time with you, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to explore the two together.”

We share a small kiss, “it only took an apocalypse for us to get together,” I laugh.

“That might be true but I’m happy we got here.”

“Me too… We don’t actually have to go West, right? Like that was a metaphor,”

Joel laughs at me, “Yeah baby, I mean I’m happy as long as we’re together but if you don’t want to stay-”

“No, no. I want to stay. We’re staying.” “Good.”

We watch the last bit of the sunset in each other's arms. We don’t know what tomorrow holds but we’ll figure that out and we’ll do it together. 

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WIP Intro: Names in Their Blood

Title: Names in Their Blood

Format: Novel

Series: Second Sentinels. This is book 2 in the series. Book 1 is currently free as an ebook, or for actual money in paper or audiobook.

Genre: Near future scifi/ low neon cyberpunk/ superheroes/ small town mystery/ little bit Midwest gothic?/ YA into NA. Trust me it all works together I swear.

Status: PUBLISHED AS OF TODAY!!!! WE MADE IT Y'ALL!!!!

Themes: Disability, bodily autonomy, identity, queerness, ethics

Tropes: Missing people, secret identities, found family, meetcute, meetugly, the monster within, dodgy government body, reunions

Synopsis Four queer teens on the fringes of the superheroing world head to a small town in Minnesota for what’s supposed to be a month off. Officially, they’re there for some stressful family reunions and to use the only full hospital for genetically altered people in the US. But, when they realize that the government beuro that gives the Sentinels their missions has been hiding the disappearances of missing alterds for years, it sets them in the path of a mission that has them questioning who they can trust.

Meet the characters under the cut, and/or leave any kind of comment to be tagged in future posts about this project!

Characters

(Age 18)

Opal hadn’t realized when she came to Chicago to join the Sentinels that she’d be joining an extremely complicated family. She certainty didn’t plan to start dating the former team leader’s fierce but fragile daughter. But how can she feel like she belongs here when she can’t pick a superhero name, every effort she makes to reform the corruption in superheroing blows up in her face, her superiors are mad at her, and her girlfreind is holding resentments Opal doesn’t understand? At least she finally gets to stay in a fancy, romantic Victorian manor house.

(Age 18)

As the non-superpowered oldest child of legendary hero LodeStar and medical technologies magnate Dr Melissa Tillman, Issac’s born the brunt of much of the worst of growing up embroiled in the world of superheroes. That’s included kidnapping, threats of torture, and losses he doesn’t know how to cope with. Now, he’s trying to set aside his resentment and focus on being a good adoptive dad to the world’s first feeling, sentient AI. But it’s hard to prove you deserve custody of such a powerful kid when you’re struggling to cope with a new disability and you technically have a felony hanging over your head for developing illegal brain-altering nanites.

(Age 17)

The middle child in Sentinel Plaza, xe may call a different superhero xyr father, but has always considered Issac and Jamie xyr siblings. Now that xe knows that some survivors of the genetic-engineering cultist that built xyr father’s first family are still alive, xe has to contend with the fears, connections, and obligations xe’s inherited. The worst injury of xyr life so far, and a growing fear that xe's a danger to the people around xyr isn’t making competing loyalties any easier to deal with.

(Age 17)

After years of very temporary fostercare placements it’s almost a relief to live full time in Coldwater Clinic Hospital, where nobody is paying that much attention to her anymore. When she met a retired superhero, and they saved each other, she counted herself lucky. But now that heroes old family are in town, with very mixed feelings about the new teenager in their lost family members life. Between the 7ft superhero trainee giving her palpitations and the potentially evil scientist suddenly hanging around her defacto home, her secrets- and her heart- might be in danger.

(Age 17)

Now that she’s no longer the youngest in the family thanks to her AI nibbling, Jamie wants to let go of her bitterness for all the ways she’s been left behind, and think about her future. It’s nobodies fault that she didn’t inherit her dad’s superpowers, even if she did get his temperament, and she knows that while Opal may appreciate her acerbic sense of humor, bitternes isn’t going to help her keep the girlfriend she doesn’t really think she deserves. When she gets an offer that would put dreams she gave up long ago within her reach, she has to choose. Will she follow in the other Sentinel's footsteps- all the way to her own self-destruction?

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