#Can he please come find the piano in my city

[mysterymelodymartel]

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Marc finding pianos in random places is now how upcoming shows are advertised? Cool. Cool.

[lcriedlastnight]

hihi congrats on 500 followers wohooo!!! i love your writing sm you deserve 500 and many many many more <3

for your special how about either oscar or lando (you decide bb) who always wants his best friend (reader) to come to one of his races and then that ONE time it actually works out he wins and instead of being normal about it the first thing he does is run to his bestie and kiss her ?? romcom vibes iygm <33

have fun with it lovie!! if you don’t want to write it don’t worry it’s just an idea ofc

my baby i love the bones of you! i love love love this idea tysm 💗

reqs are still open cuz my laptop is fixed!!!

1.2k words.

oscar didn’t mind that you had a life outside of him. he honestly didn’t. most best friends did. he himself had a life that didn’t revolve around you so why should he expect you to? his mother had told him that it was the part of him that was in love with you that wanted him to be the centre of attention. at first he was shocked by the very thought of being in love with you. but then when he saw you for the first time after that conversation with his mother, it hit him like a grand piano falling on top of him in the middle of the street.

since his realisation he had begged you to come to a race and cheer him on. it baffled you because for as long as you had known oscar he had never really bothered about you coming to watch him race, it’s not like he came to watch you type up a report at your office. so when he started getting on your case about it, well it made you wonder what exactly had changed.

“please! i am begging you to come with me. just this once.” oscar had pleaded from your couch. it was the summer break and he had decided to stop over at yours for a sleepover, having missed you while being away racing for the past god knows how long.

you rolled your eyes. “why do you keep asking me? you never cared before.” you retorted knowing that this would shut oscar up. it always did.

“i miss you a lot while i’m away. you are my best friend you know. face time doesn’t do it for me anymore.” oscar had pulled your feet to rest on his thighs as some stupid romcom played on your tv in the background.

you don’t know what tugged at your heartstrings this time, maybe it was his honestly and not shutting you out this time. or maybe it was the face that you really did want to watch him in his element. you would’ve killed to watch him win his first race, even under the circumstances.

“fine but you better win to make it worth it.”

this conversation plays in oscar’s mind the entire way to baku. you sat next to him nervously. it wasn’t your first time flying, but it was your first time flying in max verstappen’s private jet with your best friend, his teammate and the current world champion.

oscar’s hand makes its way over to your knee to give a supportive squeeze and both lando and max can tell that there is nothing platonic about the two of you. lando wonders when something will get done about it.

★・・・・・・★

was it too ridiculous for oscar to hope for a only one room, only one bed situation? when he had confided in lando - he laughed in his face. so it was safe to say that it was but that didn’t stop oscar from hoping.

you end up in the room beside oscar, close but not close enough. you were oscar’s guest for the entire weekend, except thursday. that was your day to explore the wonderful city, this was such a long way from home and you were so excited to find some of the city’s most beautiful areas. this was an agreement you had made with oscar about your time here and he had begrudgingly agreed. he would rather with him the whole weekend but you knew how media days worked and if you were honest you could’ve be arsed with the whole hassle of it.

oscar wasn’t too fragile to admit that he did in fact miss you while you were off galavanting. he wanted to be there with you but alas, he had a job to do.

when you eventually did return to the hotel around dinner time, you sat with oscar and showed him everything you had seen that day while he listened intently with the biggest smile on your face. he owed his mum big time.

oscar does great over the practice sessions and you enjoy getting to watch him race around the track, getting a feel for the weekend ahead of him. watching him made you realise how much you actually enjoyed watching f1 as a whole. not even just your boyfriend- i mean your best friend. not that you wanted him to be your boyfriend or anything, that would just be crazy!

on saturday you watch oscar cross the line and qualify second on the grid and it makes you buzz with excitement. you wait for oscar in the mclaren garages to congratulate him. not really knowing where you should be during this time of celebration.

oscar finds you moments after his interview and pictures are taken like it’s his only purpose this weekends. you elect to ignore the raging butterflies the look in his eyes gives you when he finally spots you in the sea of papaya mechanics.

“hi! well done that was amazing! you were so fast!” you say through a giggle as oscar engulfs you in a hug that is worthy of the big screen. oscar mumbles something into your neck and all you can think is that you could definitely get used to this.

★・・・・・・★

the sight of a ferrari and a redbull colliding made your stomach sink. even when you knew both drivers were okay it worried you to no end, knowing that oscar puts himself in the way of that kind of danger multiple times a year and you had no idea just how dangerous it was until now. the chaos made your mind temporarily forget about oscar leading the race.

in what feels like seconds later, oscar crossed the finish line first and like a sheep you follow the mechanics to watch the podium.

what you didn’t know though, was that oscar had only one thing on his mind at the moment. and it wasn’t even getting his second win and proving all the critics wrong when they said that he wasn’t deserving of that win in hungary. he had to see you. his lucky charm. he raced like a god out there and in his love-struck mind he had no one else to thank other than you.

after stopping his car and almost sliding off of it he spots you waiting for him and his mind doesn’t take a second to think about what he’s about to do as he races towards you with what must be the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. his flushed cheeks and the pure sparkle of happiness in his eyes makes you light up with joy. he gets to you in record time and you don’t get to tell him well done or even let him know that his mum is a few people away because he is taking your face in his hands and he is planting the sweetest kiss on your lips. he doesn’t ask and even though it doesn’t bother you, you can tell he feels horribly about it when he pulls away and eventually spots his mum. with no time to talk about what happened you just let him run over to her with a grin that matched his.

there was plenty of time to tell him how much you loved him once he got down from the top step of the podium anyway.

neither of you were aware of the cameras on you during that (what should’ve been) private moment so when you show oscar a cute edit of the both of you, where the clip of what your first public ans actual kiss was played first he just pulls you in for another that was probably your fifth hundred.

[bokutosbabe]

hey! could you do jouno hcs please?

AHHHH ABSOLUTELY. ty for the ask!!

Jouno Saigiku x Reader Headcanons!

a/n— sadistic characters make my brain go brrrr

content— jouno calls reader ‘darling’, possessive bf jouno, gets kinda deep for no reason in the casual hcs, jouno is a meanie, mirror sex, jealous sex, temperature play, incorrect use of ice and wax, p in v, slight voyeurism(?), markings, and i think that’s it! lmk if i missed anything!!

synopsis— cute little headcanons with jouno in the sections of casual, relationship, and nsfw!!

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

casual headcanons

fear of heights. up high in the air is the one space where he can’t hear much besides the wind and smells everything that wafts his way; he just feels vulnerable while up high.

cooking master. when you have to deal with tecchou and his disgusting mixtures all day, you’d want to make yourself some homemade comfort food too

can play the piano like a GOD. it was one of his many passions before he lost his sight, and even afterwards he never stopped.

secretly loves being around the other hunting dogs. when he’s alone he can’t see or hear.

^^^he gets scared of being trapped inside his own mind due to this

he dreams of having a world where everyone can exist in peace with the hunting dogs protecting the city

was an only child

loves listening to teruko and tachiharas banter because he never got to experience something close to siblings fighting before

can speak at least two languages but no more than four

very much an early bird

amazing chess player, literally so strategic *cue mastermind by taylor swift*

likes bitter tastes more than awfully sweet tastes

loves puzzles, he just enjoys feeling around and using his intellectual skills and heightened senses to put them together

likes loud rock music more than what others assume he would like(he actually hates classical music. he finds it boring.)

runs hot like a damn oven

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

relationship headcanons

meanie!!!!

jouno is literally as if satan made a special person to just make your life as difficult as possible.

jouno loves you because of your mind

you’re just as charismatic as he is and he enjoys how you two can just communicate without words. him with your heart rate and breathing pattern and you with his facial and body movements 🫶🏼

even if he’s a meanie , jouno still enjoys coming home and cuddling with you

will he initiate it?

absolutely not.

until he was in a relationship with you, jouno never realized how much he enjoyed another persons touch

jouno will make your life with him a living hell though, make no mistake

like i said; he runs hot and makes it everyone’s problem

you two can simply be laying in bed like normal civilized people, but if you mention you’re hot? he’s grabbing your waist pulling you closer to your furnace of a boyfriend.

“ get off of me! ”

“ you don’t wanna cuddle with me, darling? ”

jouno isn’t someone who will talk about your relationship at work or with anyone he’s not comfortable with

so when he first tells tecchou about you? he shocks himself

he definitely accidentally told you he loved you first

“ yeah, yeah. love you too. ” he’d said after you called him annoying

or something like that

your meanie boyfriend just loves you so much🫶🏼

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

nsfw headcanons

like i said guys; jouno is M-E-A-N

man is a grade 1 tease

literally a power top!!

he loves just hearing your heartbeat pick up when he’s fucking you🫶🏼

and the sounds? man could bust just off of them.

like i said; he runs hot, so temperature play is one of his favorite things

he loves hearing your gasps when he pours hot wax on your body, always careful not to hurt you

he absolutely is obsessed with your whines when he runs ice around your tits, making your cute little nipples hard🫶🏼

you think you can make him jealous and he wouldn’t teach you a lesson? tough luck.

you could just be talking to tecchou or tachihara, but if he hears your heartbeat pick up or hear the slightest change in your tone? be ready to not walk for weeks

he’ll take you home and make sure you know who you belong to

MIRROR SEX🙏🙏

obviously he can’t see, but sometimes if you’re bad enough, he’ll make you describe what you look like to him– and if you stutter? he’ll slow down until you’re begging for him to hurry up and ruin you

he would never ever share you with anyone. you’re his and he’s yours

he’s definitely more of a receiver of head more than a giver, he just loves hearing your cute little moans while you’re choking on his cock🫶🏼

will make you play with yourself in front of him if you’ve been just a little too naughty

if he’s on an away mission he’ll call you and will jerk off to the sound of your voice

loves marking you with hickeys

your neck, thighs, and tummy covered every time after he fucks you.

jouno just needs everyone to know that he owns you❤️

he makes me giggle, sorry if these aren’t great i rushed them just a bit!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! thank you sm for this ask!

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-fourth

day twenty-four: james potter james forgets his gloves on a walk along the river | established relationship, fluff, first i love you | 1.2k

The city is lovely this time of year. People clinging to the evenings where a heat lamp is enough to convince everyone to sit outside, vendors selling scarves and hot nuts on the bridges. The days are getting shorter, yes, but you bask in the chill and the energy of it all. Autumn is a season of change, of preparation, and you adore it.

The path along the river is bustling, full of young people drinking beer and kids on skateboards and couples like you and James. You’re due to meet your friends for dinner in about an hour but you got here early to stop at a bookshop and just spend time together.

He’s bought you mulled wine and himself spiced cider. The cups are doing wonders for warming your hands, which are cold even through your gloves. James, however, has forgotten his entirely, and the tips of his long piano fingers are starting to look the wrong color.

“Are you sure you don’t want at least one of my gloves?” you ask him. He shakes his head and reaches for you with one hand. You twine your fingers together as if it’ll keep him warm. James is the kind of person who will not admit that he’s cold even as he’s freezing to death.

“I’m not sacrificing your fingers because of my idiocy, love,” he says. “I’ll be alright.”

You pout at him and he laughs.

“None of that, come on now.” He kisses the pout from your lips until you’re laughing.

“James, don’t spill my wine!”

He tugs you into his side. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

You study him as you walk. His hair is windswept by the breeze coming off the river, his glasses clean only because you cleaned them a few minutes ago. He did remember a scarf, one you knitted him last month in preparation for the cold. Maybe you should buy him a pair of gloves for every coat. You really wish he would look out for himself more, not just everyone around him. But you can handle it being your job.

“Do you think Marlene will be cross if we show up tipsy?” you ask.

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes. “Are you already? You’ve had less than one wine.”

“No!” He laughs. “I just think we should get another, since they’re so warming.” James has finished his and tosses it in a bin.

“You don’t need to worry about my body temperature,” he says. “I will be just fine.”

You grumble. You worry! How could you not? He’s your boyfriend.

The smooth sound of a cello drifts towards you as you walk. “Do you think the buskers are out?” you ask James.

“I love that guy with the tuba that spits fire.”

“Please tell me you don’t think you’re hearing a tuba right now, James.” He kisses your temple with a smile.

“No, love, I know what it is. Let’s find it.”

You end up having to walk under a bridge and through a narrow tunnel but you end up by the art museum James took you to on your first date. It’s a weird one, full of experimental art and big, open floors of interactive installations, but you’d been smitten with him immedietly.

“Good memories,” he says, as if he can read your mind.

“The best.” It’s you who presses a kiss to his cheek this time. “There’s the cellist. Shall we watch?”

James allows you to drag him to the edge of the small crowd that has gathered to listen. He stands behind you and, in a move that makes you feel slightly triumphant, wraps his arms around you and sticks his hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re warm,” James says into your ear. You lean back into him, one hand on your wine and the other resting on his arm.

“You’re welcome.”

He sways you to the music. It’s like you’re in your own little world with James, sometimes. He has this ability to make everything else fade away, to make you feel like you’re the most special person in the universe, like he’d do anything for you. And you think he would. Your heart aches with the desire to tell him you love him, you realize, to whisper it in his ear every second. To shout it from the bridge so the whole city can hear. It hits you like a truck.

How did you not realize before?

Standing here with him, his hands in your pockets because he likes to be close to you and he knows you’ll keep him warm, is the best place you could be right now. You are happy. A laugh bubbles its way out of you as the cellist starts to play a love song you heard on the radio this morning.

“What’s with you?” James asks, tone cheeky. “Got the giggles?”

You keep laughing, turning your face so it’s in his neck while his hands are still in your pockets.

“God, I love you,” James says. He pulls his hands from your coat and cups your elbows instead and you stop laughing.

“James —” you say, turning in his hold.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he mutters.

Oh. Ouch. “Did you not mean it?” He hears the hurt in your voice and his eyes snap to you, reading the devastation in your gaze.

He quickly cradles your face and presses his lips to your brow. God, his hands really are cold.

“Of course I did,” he says in a rush. “I love you,” he says again. It sends a thrill down to your toes. “I just…meant to tell you in a more romantic way. Candles and dinner, or something.”

He kisses your lips this time, quick and hard, and flops his forehead onto your shoulder. The cellist keeps his rhythm, oblivious to the enormity of this moment between you.

“James,” you say, feeling a bit giddy. He loves you. “James, come back.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled by your jacket. “I’m embarrassed.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and he rises. His glasses are cooked so you straighten them.

“This is just fine,” you say. “This is perfect, actually.”

“Oh, is it?” he scoffs. “You’re just humoring me.”

“Maybe I am,” you say. You tug off one glove so you can rest your bare palm on his face. He leans into it. “But it’s alright. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

His gaze brightens, his mouth tugs up at the corner. “That so? How do you know, pray tell?”

You scrunch up your nose at him for playing this game, but you love it. You love him. “Because I love you, you silly man.”

He closes his eyes for just one moment as if he’s gathering himself. “I love you,” he says again.

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it a million times.” You throw your arms around his neck and he pulls you tight to him, picking you up and spinning you around just once. People are probably staring but you don’t care.

“See?” you say once he sets you down, a little breathless. “Plenty romantic.”

James presses his forehead to yours. “If you say so, darling.” The cello plays on.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] Love, Rain Down on Me

Rated: M Word Count: 2272 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, stargazing, care packages, acts of service, kisses in the rain, realizations, confessions, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, 5+1 fic

Notes: Final entry for Fluffbruary 2024; turns out I wasn't done with this Umbrella Boys AU just yet. Shoutout to @academicblorbo for asking about Dream's pov and suggesting the first 'I love you' as an idea; my brain said 'Oh yes' 1489-Hob-style and while this is not exactly what I first envisioned, I'm still happy with where we ended up.

Fluffbruary Prompts: Day 25: fox twilight sweat Day 26: fluff woolly care package Day 27: table blush laundry Day 28: reward shelter piano Day 29: breakfast valley sign alt prompts: wish hot solid

Summary: 5 times those Three Little Words go unspoken, and one time they do not

On AO3

1. The first time Dream realizes it, Hob has taken him to the astronomy department at the college, after hours, to look at the stars. "Gale lent me the key," Hob had laughed when Dream expressed trepidation about breaking into Hob's place of work. "I'm allowed to come moon over the stars sometimes, and I'm allowed to bring you with me if I want."

So they are taking turns looking through the telescope, peering into the perpetual twilight of the heavens and marveling at the beauty that cannot be properly seen with the naked eye nor from within the light-polluted aura of the city. Hob laughs when Dream observes as much. "Maybe come end of summer we'll take a drive out of the city, camp out for a night in the countryside and do some real stargazing. Sound good?"

And Dream looks at him, this beautiful man squinting up at the skies through his colleague's telescope, the way his hair falls around his face, the scruff of his three-week-old beard and the elegant line of his nose, this beautiful man who offers anything he thinks Dream might like as if it's nothing. Hob has shared with him the woes of past breakups, the consensus that he is too intense, moves too fast, is too much to put up with, and he has admonished Dream to please please tell him if he ever oversteps or pushes too hard, too far because he is trying to do better, but all Dream can think in this moment is how warm he feels in Hob's affections, how priveleged to receive his time and attention.

I love this man, he realizes, like camellias blossoming beneath his ribs, like the sun breaking over the horizon.

"Dream?" Hob is looking at him now instead of the stars, eyebrows raised, mouth curved in a patiently-amused smile.

"That. Would be lovely," Dream answers at last, smiling warmly back at Hob, and cradles his newfound revelation close in the hollow of his chest.

2. The second time, Hob is away at a conference and Dream has emerged from a morning of fitful writing to discover a neatly-wrapped package delivered for him, tied with a ruby red bow. His sister has brought it up and left it by his door rather than interrupting his writing time, as they've agreed. Upon opening it, he finds a letter from Hob atop an airtight plastic container.

Hey Dream, reads the letter, just wanted to say that I'll miss you while I'm gone and can't wait to lavish you with sweet kisses when I get back. Meantime, I made you some of those lavender-rosemary-lemon biscuits you love and here's my shirt you can sleep with if you want. Enjoy ~♥

Delighted by the package and the letter and the biscuits, and the intent behind them, Dream lifts the container out of the box; beneath it, there is a compact umbrella nestled in what turns out to be one of Hob's favorite t-shirts, worn just enough to smell like him. Dream presses it to his face and inhales, absurdly touched, and smiles as he picks up the umbrella.

Of course Hob has sent him an umbrella; that is their 'thing', that is how they met, and he is also terrible at remembering to bring one with him. Tied to the handle he finds a piece of card stock about the size of his palm, with a drawing penciled on one side. It's a rough cartoon figure that is recognizably Hob, smiling brightly and holding a sunny yellow cocktail umbrella that has been carefully attached through the card so that Hob's penciled hand appears to grasp the toothpick handle. Don't forget! says his speech bubble, and Dream feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as his smile grows too wide for his face to contain.

I love you, Hob Gadling, he thinks, both hands wrapped around the umbrella, and presses his lips gently to cartoon-Hob's precious happy little face.

3. "You did not have to do my washing, Hob," Dream protests, somewhat futilely as the deed is already done, dried, and being folded. "I am a grown man, capable of doing my own laundry." Never mind that his clothes had been accumulating in Hob's flat all week while he worked through additional revisions to The Seeds of Fate; Hob's space was conducive to this particular story, he found, and Hob was generous in allowing him to hole up here during the day while Hob was at work and on into the evenings when he returned, overnight when Dream wished it.

Hob shrugs. "They were here, I had a load of darks, they fit. Don't worry, my washing powder's the allergy-free stuff and I checked your tags for temps and such. Which reminds me." He sets the black jeans he just folded aside, takes up a pair of his own. "Your fancy lace shirt's hanging in the shower; hand washed it in cold just like it said and put it up to drip-dry."

Dream is keenly struck by the soft warmth of Hob choosing to do mundane everyday chores for him, taking care with his things, simply because he wants to and he can. It is not new, by any means; Hob has engaged in little acts of service the whole of the time Dream has been acquainted with him, from the very moment he first offered shared use of his umbrella to Dream. The domesticity of this moment settles something deep within him, something that sings of home and happiness and contentment.

"Hob Gadling, you are a chivalrous and wonderful man," he says, when what he means is I love you. "Truly, you make my life so much easier." He comes close, presses a kiss to Hob's cheek.

Hob just smiles, soft and warm and pleased, and continues folding his laundry. "You're welcome, duck. My pleasure."

4. "Here, take ours," Hob says, handing his umbrella to the woman with the toddler at the bus stop as the skies open up.

"Oh I couldn't!" Her eyes dart from the umbrella (which Hob is of course holding over her and her child) to Dream and back to Hob. "That's very kind, but then you'll get soaked!"

"We're not far," Hob assures, pressing the umbrella into her hand. "I insist. We'll be fine."

"Well…if you're quite certain?" She clutches it gratefully.

"Of course. Take care." Hob offers a friendly smile, the kind that makes his nose scrunch up adorably, and they turn to leave.

"Thank you!" the woman calls after them.

Dream finds that he doesn't mind the rain, is not inclined to run for shelter, not with Hob beside him, not when their getting soaked is because Hob does not hesitate to offer kindness to strangers. It gives him a warm glow inside, to know that he loves a man who works to put kindness out into the world, to brighten the days of those around him when he can. Damp clothes and wet hair are a small price to pay, and the summer rain is not so cold.

Halfway to Hob's flat, Dream steps around in front of him and drapes his arms behind Hob's neck. "That was a very kind thing you did," he murmurs, stepping backwards, drawing Hob with him so they do not stop moving onward. It is very much like a slow sort of dance down the street, and Hob's arms wrapping about his waist only heighten that impression.

"Yeah?" Hob shrugs, smiling. "She needed it." Like it is truly that simple.

To Hob, it is.

Dream kisses him, pressing close while the rain falls upon them. "Not many would give up their own comfort for a stranger." His lips brush Hob's with the words and then Hob is drawing him back in, warm, hungry. Dream fancies he can taste the rain, between them.

"Not a hardship, not when I've got you to keep me company," Hob finally says, nipping softly at his lips, water dripping steadily from a loose lock of hair.

"Such things you say." Dream is intoxicated with the moment, the atmosphere, the swelling of feeling he holds for this man and the tender warmth in Hob's eyes gazing back at him while the skies wash the world around them in soft hazy grey.

I love you, he thinks, kissing Hob again, pulling him close in the falling rain, I love you, I love you, I LOVE you—

5. He thinks it next when he is tangled with Hob in his bed, breathless and sweating and coming apart in Hob's practiced hands, when every time Hob moves within him he is crying out, starlight bursting behind his eyes.

He thinks it as Hob shivers to a halt, pulsing hot inside him, trembling in his arms.

He thinks it laying in Hob's embrace after, Hob's chest solid and warm beneath his ear, rising gently with each of Hob's sleeping breaths. I love you, I love you, I love you, he whispers in his head, in time with the steady beat of Hob's heart, and lets himself drift to sleep, content.

One day, one day when the moment is right, he will say it aloud; until then, he hoards it like a precious secret safe in his heart.

+1 Dream wakes on Sunday with a groan, protesting the sunbeams that have found his face; they had not closed Hob's bedroom curtains last night and he is paying the price for this oversight now.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Hob says, leaning on one elbow beside Dream with his head propped in his hand. He is supremely unbothered by the brightness, leading Dream to surmise he awoke some time ago.

"You are watching me sleep, now? You will not convince me that it is entertaining." He blinks once, twice, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Entertaining is not the word, no, but I do enjoy it. You're so pretty when you're asleep, soft and relaxed and at peace. I love that I get to see it." Hob smiles, reaches to trace a fingertip down his cheekbone. "Was trying to decide what to make you for breakfast, actually."

Dream squirms onto his back, throws an arm over his eyes, stretches his toes. "You need not make such effort—" He cuts himself off with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"You're worth it, though," Hob says easily, and Dream rolls his head to the side, meets Hob's eyes again. The sun is striking them exactly right, illuminating the depths of the brown to amber, honey.

He is so beautiful.

"Very well." Dream smiles, indulgent, lazy. "What will you be offering to please my discerning palette?"

"Fry you up an egg and a couple slices of bread? Tomato too, if you want. Blueberry jam for your toast and your sweet tooth. And if you're hungry enough, a nice hot juicy sausage?" He waggles his eyebrows.

Dream arches one of his own in return, and Hob grins. "Yeah alright, that's for later. But I will cook you actual sausage too if you like."

"I will take actual sausage with breakfast, yes, and 'sausage' when I am awake enough to enjoy it." He swings himself out of Hob's bed and makes his way to the toilet, the warm sound of Hob's laughter following him.

By the time he wanders into the kitchen, having donned his pants and a t-shirt of Hob's, bare feet and bare legs and bare arms because he's comfortable and because he knows Hob likes it, Hob has sausages and tomatoes frying in one pan with eggs and bread in another. He's tied an apron over his bare chest and joggers, captured most of his hair in an elastic band, is whistling cheerfully over the stovetop with a spatula in hand. The kettle is going, and Dream retrieves two mugs from the cupboard.

He preps Hob's tea once it's steeped, a quarter the milk and sugar that he puts in his own, and offers it to Hob to taste once he's finished plating their breakfast.

"Perfect," Hob pronounces, handing it back and picking up the plates to carry to the table. "Why's it always taste best when you make it?"

"I infuse it with my charming personality," Dream quips, deadpan, and Hob huffs a laugh.

"God, I love you," he says, his smile still broad, bright enough to rival the morning sun outside the kitchen window; and then he stills.

Dream, too, has gone still; Hob has never said those words to him before, and it sets something joyful and effervescent singing through his veins.

Hob loves him.

Hob loves him.

But Hob is shrinking in on himself, just a little, as if he could hide behind the plates in his hands and the apron he wears—every inch the man who fears (too much too fast I always come on too strong) the consequence of words he had not intended to speak aloud. Dream will be sad about this later, that he has failed somehow to make clear to Hob beyond the shadow of any doubt how welcome his affections are, how endearing his intensity, and he will vow to do better; but now, in the moment, with his heart soaring, the solution is simple, so simple, as easy as breathing.

He has never said the words aloud either, but they are as familiar to him as the beating of his own heart and they are spoken with as little effort.

"And I love you, Hob Gadling." He leans over the corner of the table, kisses Hob soft and sweet on his blossoming smile. "Now, where is my blueberry jam?"

= Started: 2/26/24 Drafted: 2/29/24 Posted: 2/29/24

The lavender-rosemary-lemon cookies were first written by @softest-punk and then brought to life by @carnelianmeluha; you can find the original fic and the recipe via this link One day I will brave my utter dearth of kitchen skill and make these myself. One day.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fantasy fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading

—Louis/Harry—

🔮 forever is in your eyes by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 125k, mythology, statue) He wants his perfect man, but he wants him to be real. He wants Harry to be real-

🔮 There's Such a Lot of World to See by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(E, 125k, Doctor Who) Louis has seen a great many things throughout his travels in time and space, but only one he can’t explain: He keeps meeting the same boy, who says the same thing to him each time. The boy should be impossible.

🔮 Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule

(T, 93k, magical realism) Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

🔮 Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 86k, mermaid) When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers.

🔮 Tied to Fate by @littlelouishiccups

(E, 52k, ghost) After his estranged father’s death, Harry inherits a castle in England that has belonged to his family for generations and he knows nothing about. 

🔮 It's a Better Place (Since You Came Along) by @phdmama

(E, 51k, magic) When Harry Styles, a mid-level talent, Finder, and small business owner, sets off on the vacation of a lifetime with his best friend, Niall Horan, he has no idea the changes his life will undergo over the next nine days.

🔮 Mind of Stone by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

(M, 41k, mythology) Louis gingerly moves around the statues, trying not to look at their faces. The room is quiet, probably a basement from the low ceiling. He mentally curses when he doesn’t see a door leading outside.

🔮 The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by @helloamhere

(T, 31k, ghost) Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

🔮 Genie In a Bottle (series) by @kingsofeverything

(E, 29k, genie) As the owner of a second hand shop, Harry comes into contact with a lot of strange and unusual objects. Nothing’s stranger or more unusual than the glass bottle he came across that happened to have a genie inside—a gorgeous genie by the name of Louis who offered to make all of Harry’s wishes come true.

🔮 Don't Let the Tide Come and Take Me by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

(M, 28k, mermaid) the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

🔮 Where the World has Come Together by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(M, 26k, elves, vampires) For the crime of elven blood running through his veins, Louis Tomlinson spends his days protecting the human kingdom he’s been cast out of. 

🔮 Love Will Light The Way by @jesapeak​ 

(E, 26k, reaper) Most people throughout Louis's life thought that dying brought you to one of two gates. Heaven or Hell. Really, it brought you to a dated diner, just outside of the suburbs, skirting the beginning of the city. Where, instead of God, you met Liam Payne and his post-it notes. 

🔮 The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror

(E, 25k, witches) Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

🔮 In the Strangest of Ways by SunTomato / @sun-tomato

(NR, 17k, ghost) And when the haunting sounds of a melancholy piano piece accompanied by the vague shadow of a beautiful male figure appear, Louis is determined to find out who this beautiful man was and what happened to him…

🔮 (Make You Want To) Scream by @lululawrence

(M, 16k, bodyswap) While Louis' left hand plays with his nipple, his right reaches down and wraps around his dick and that's when he really knows something is wrong. The dick in his hand does not feel like his own.

🔮 Far Afield by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 11k, witches) Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

🔮 Just Your Jinx by @larryatendoftheday

(T, 10k, witch) Harry Styles may or may not have accidentally jinxed his extremely fit new neighbor, and it's not so easy to make things right.

🔮 Sympathy For The Devil by @taggiecb

(G, 5k, Satan, Santa) the one with Santa Harry and Satan Louis and a series of misspelled letters to Santa.

🔮 Moon Dances Over by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 2k, mermaids) Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.

🔮 Needle by @nouies

(NR, 666 words, magic) “You didn’t deserve this,” he muttered between hiccups. “She didn’t have the right.”

—Rare Pairs—

🔮 leave my life outside (or let me in) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 52k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is a 111 year old demon who is trying to decide his future. Liam is a 17 year old human struggling with his own life.

🔮 When We Hold On (To the Past) by @louandhazaf​ / YesIsAWorld 

(E, 3k, Zayn/Louis) Zayn could drop the subject and keep fucking him, keep the strings from getting attached, pretend that they weren’t getting closer than Louis was comfortable with. Or Zayn could choose the opposite path—which he did.

[yurinaa-world]

look who's back!

I was thinking about Vash and Knives meeting the reader who is from another world, is a magical girl like miraculous, sailor moon,Magic Madoka, The owl house or Sakura Cardcaptor's

Where the reader fell into that deserted world and doesn't know what to do, but when he goes to a city he lives helping people, she can create small portions of water, she can make some plants appear in the middle of the desert.

Vash:

He knows you when he sees you playing with the children in a snow fight, and you managed to create a small portion of snow to play with, leaving the place very refreshed

Knives:

He is going to get another plant, one of his sisters, and ends up destroying everything, and you with a magical girl who values ​​justice try to comfort him.

Characters: Vash and Knives x Female Reader

Synopsis: Knives and Vash with magical girl reader

Warnings: fluff

Notes: Precure will always has a special place in my heart (✿◕‿◕✿)

𝒱𝒶𝓈𝒽 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜𝒾𝒹 𝒯𝓎𝓅𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓃"

The giggles of the children as they are throwing and playing in the snow, you can't help but smile at them since you came to this town, helping the people with growing plants and making potions for them, and now using your sown potions to have a little fun and feel refreshed in the dying heat of no man's land.

You smiled as you watched the children play in the fresh powder that was being created into snowballs. Vash, come and play with us please," a boy yelled at a blonde man named Vash in a crimson jacket and yellow glasses, scratching the back of his head with his metal arm in shock before smiling "sure." He smiled yay! and the boy's face beamed excitedly with a big smile.

The boy looked at you and said, "Then, Miss (Name), could you play with us as well, please?" "Yeah, Miss (Name), please play with us too!" the other kids yelled. You felt warmth from the boy's bright eyes, happiness in your chest as the child asked you, joy in seeing their happy expressions, and the way they looked up at you with an excited filled face. "I would love to," you said and gave a small smile to the children.

Before you and Vash got hit in the face with balls of snow by the children, which made you both laugh out loud, you looked over at Vash, who laughed along with you before all of the children teamed up and started to throw way more snow balls at you, making you both run away before Vash face planted on the snow covered ground.

"Mr. Vash!" you stopped to see if he was alright, going down on your knee and asking, "Are you alright?" You get cut off by many snowballs thrown at you and Vash. "We got them,"  they shouted happily, jumping high, "I'm fine,"  Vash called out, trying to get himself up and get the snow off his body.

You helped him up and brushed the snow off him, "Miss (Name) and Vash, Sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" one of the children shouted loudly, causing you to turn quickly to the sound of the kids laughing.

Vash looked at you with a small smile, "I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable, there kids and they don't know any better." You shook and turned to look back at him as a sympathetic smile formed on your lips, "It's fine, there kids." He nodded.

"How about round two, Miss (Name), Vash? We will beat you again for sure!" Another one said with confidence, "Yes, let's go." You smiled, "What about you, Mr. Vash?" and added, "Sure, miss (Name), but just call me Vash." He was smiling at you.

"Vash you call me (Name)!"

𝒩𝒶𝒾 “𝑀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒦𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈”

You hear harsh but sad notes being played on the piano; it's oblivious. Knives was the one playing it, and by listening to him, you can tell he wasn't in the best of moods today. It would be foolish for anyone to go near him when he's in a terrible mood, and you might just be one, slowly walking towards where the music was coming.

The way Knives played, no matter what song he played, it always sounded beautiful to you. Finding the sight of him playing, he already knew you were there; he didn't stop playing. You tried to be quiet to not disturb him too much. You walk over and stand beside the piano, waiting for him to finish.

Once finished, his eyes went straight to you; his eyes looked like daggers, and if it were anyone else, they would drop to their knees in fear; his eyes were filled with pure hate, but his face was blank as always: "Nai." You softly spoke his name, "Why are you here?" He scoffed, I'm worried about you; you've been in such a bad mood; did something happen?" You asked, "I don't need you pitying me." He snarled.

"I'm not pitying you, Nai; I care about you." You insisted, and knives hand reaches out to grab your collar, pulling you closer to his face and looking you straight in the eyes, but you didn't waver against him. "I'm here because I care about you," you repeated, and he released your collar, his hands falling to his sides, before moving over a bit slowly and telling you to sit down next to him.

It was a bit shocking that he did that in the mood he was in. You thought he was going to tell you to go back and leave him be. "What are you waiting for? Move before I change my mind," he threatened. You quickly moved, taking your place sitting next to him. You're both silent. "Those humans... they killed my sister," Knives said in a dark tone, breaking the silence.

You listen to him, his voice getting angrier and angrier before you take his hands and intertwine them with yours to comfort him without using words. You felt his hands tighten around your own even without showing it. He's glad to have you by his side; even if his words are cruel, you never give up on him, and he can't deny himself any more of your care any longer; he yearns for it.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[moniairis]

Waltz of the liars

Warning: Mention of alcohol, slight stalking -more like derived watching duty. Borderline soft yandere. Female reader. Intrusive thought of undressing Childe. Reader is probably too detailled for a xReader. Might be OCC.

Note: I am very late for the birthday boy, but this one is in my draft for six months, I promised myself it would be my first post, and I still found things to change last minute. Hope you will enjoy it ! It was fun to write.

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

The winter solstice, one of the most important events in Snezhnaya. You can easily imagine the townsfolks running and laughing in the festival in town. It is one of the rare events where peoples go out of their house to affront the harsh start of the winter together. The lights of the cities, the scent of grilled meat, the hot drinks to warm bodies, the simple chit-chat to warm the heart. What a beautiful sight it must be there. But this is something you can only daydream. Because for today, as a noble, you are attending the solstice’s annual bal. The fanciest rendezvous of the year where all high society is personally invited to Zapolyarny palace.

Archons. What would you not give to have a bottle of Fire-Water in your hand right now. It would make the whole night more bearable.

Usually, you find ways to avoid social gatherings. But for tonight’s event, no excuse. Your absence would be noticed. And your father would die of shame if he had to explain you are not at THE event of the year because you preferred drink strong alcohol with commoners.

Violin’s plays in harmony with piano and flutes to create delicate melodies. Noble’s families of all the region are present, mixed with the bourgeois, all wearing false smiles and expensive clothes to expose their wealth and hide their flaws. The ballroom is gorgeous. An immense room bathing in golden light, decorated with beautiful wall paintings, each counting forgotten stories of old times. Gold and silver ornaments, pure white marble pillars, collections of unpriceable objects of all times exposed like simple goods. Everything here shows who is the wealthier of all people gathered here, of Snezhnaya. Under the enchanting waltzes, numerous guests already started to dance. Others are engaged in deep hypocrite praises, hiding their snarky comments under gentle smiles. Others are just trying to create connections, to look well and enter in the good graces of more influential than themself. And above all of them, looking down from her throne, the Tsaritsa quietly observe the crowd.

What does the Cryo Archon must think of this masquerade? The answer is one only she has, because to all guests, she just arbor a usual frozen expression on her face. Like the ice traps a body for centuries, her feelings are hidden deep behind her cold non-revealing gaze.

“Lady (Y/s), are you okay? You are very quiet since the start of the night” note a voice taking you out of your thoughts.

You immediately put a sweet smile on your face, hiding the true annoyance you face in company of these ladies. This one in particular, is leading the conversation for more than twenty minutes.

“Everything is perfect, I am deeply thankful for your concern Lady Balakin. I am more of a listener than a talker personally. But please continue I enjoy our talk”

It was a lie. Big. Fat. Lie. You do enjoy when she talks because her speech does not require much concentration to be followed unlike other, so you can daydream in peace while hearing stories and gathering information. She has a simple mind for a noble -perhaps she isn’t good at reading social cues, she doesn’t seem to have much ulterior motive after all. But she sure enjoys talking about everything and anything. You decide to encourage her in her previous subject.

“I heard your father new jewel business in Liyue is very promising. Is the Shivada Jade on your pendant comes from there? The crystal is cleaner than anything I ever saw and the deep shades of clear blue reminds me of the pure ice of our homeland. I am sure they would be greatly coveting in the noble’s circles when they will be available on the Snezhnaya market”

Being able to daydream while still following a conversation is a common skill in noble of your rank, and you are grateful you inherited it from your father. The lady was enchanted by the praise and started on a rant about her father businesses and the expected date of the first sell in the country, while the others listened with false admiration. You note to yourself to talk to your father about it. The quality of these stones seems to be no joke. He would like to have a look before the Regrator completely take on the business leashes -like most of the new profitable business here.

Thinking about you father, he sure is busy tonight. A glance to his side and you see him in deep talk with men of his age and rank -surprisingly, only those with non-engaged son. Here is another reason why you could not escape this ball. Your father was set on getting you married. Between him and your brother -talking to his single male friend- both are more than ever ready to find you a fiancé tonight. You were never engaged until now, and always found a way to slow down the process. But now is the limit of your single life it seems. A pain. Really. For what? You are not sure. Your family probably have an interest to it.

You finish the cup of champagne in your hand -not the first of the night, but not enough to handle this joke. You seriously start regretting not running away from home. You could have gone to the festival. Find a random guy to hook up with. Cause some big scandal in the family. Being disowned. And go live as a commoner. You sure you can find a job somewhere. A teacher, a secretary…something like that. Worst case scenario you could enroll in the military. The Fatui are known to teach their recruits different tasks, and your experience dealing with social gatherings give you some point. But you are here. With these ladies only able to talk about their family’s business or spit venom disguised as honey. Between nobles and bourgeois and their little war of ego. Trying to keep your best poker face while your own family will sell you off to a stranger before the end of the night. You really need something exciting in your life now, before you just start to be silly and engage in rumors talk.

“Excuse me my lady, would you mind to give me this dance?”

You turn to the voice. A young man is here, bowing his back before you, offering you his gloved hand. The first thing you see is that he has wild ginger hair -not the most common thing for a noble. But his clothes are fancy. Simple compared to the extravagant costumes of some, but sure expensive. The quality seems to be great, and your eyes aren’t easily fooled. The glowing hydro vision at his waist isn’t a joke either. His posture is straight but respectful. He has a cheeky smirk. And you are sure, he is challenging you. “Are you going to accept?” is the sentence wrote on his face. The kind of wild and bold attitude you could see in the middle child of a big family. He wants attention. And he knows how to attract it from others. Your quick analysis makes you think he is either a countryside noble, or a new bourgeois, even if some details are bothering you. You do not know him. His face or feature are not familiar at all, which is strange as you made sure to learn the list of the guests before coming.

You would not even think to accept this kind of bold proposal usually. But you cannot mutter a word for what feels like an eternity. You can just look at his eyes. His blue eyes are empty. Like a deep dark ocean where many were drowned. That is not the kind of look you can see in your typical wild and cheeky middle child. The ladies by your side were speechless too. The audacity of such a proposal must have made them lose their words. You give a little glance on your father and brother side. Your brother eyes and mouth are wide open, he looks like a fish, first time you see him like this. While your father, surprised at first, make you signs to refuse. It is written on his face there is a problem. You shall not accept this proposal at any cost.

But his blue eyes. These two gems without any spark. Why such a look? Who he is? What does he want? What did he live to have such a look at this young age? And hey, Archons heard your prayer. They sure sent you something a little interesting when you asked.

You extend him a gentle smile and takes his hands. Instead of engaging in rumors talk, it seems you will be the center of them for some time.

“With pleasure, mister”

Aaaaah, seems like you will be a bad girl tonight. But this is perhaps the last time of your single life.

He guides you to the ballroom, and you can’t help but feel the pressure of people looks. Such a scandal for so little. Or perhaps it is something else? A last look to your father, and he seems astonished by your actions. Like if death just came to knock at his door. You will be scolded later for sure.

“Lady, may I have your attention for this dance?” asked the young man. You smiled, looking at him.

“I suppose”

He returns the smile. You accepted his challenge. So he is accepting yours. One of his hands still in your own, the other on your shoulder, and the music starts, announcing the beginning your own battle.

“May I ask your name, mister?” you begin.

“You may call me Childe, lady” You may call me he said. You suppose it is not his real name then. An alias perhaps. Shady.

“Y/N” You respond. “For a dance I suppose we can give up the honorifics, “Childe” ”

“Great. You seem more approachable than what I thought”

You are not sure if it must be taken as a compliment or as an insult. After a spin, you realize his shoulder is harder than it should be. He does not seem like it, but his grip is strong, and his muscles are well-developed. You can even feel the callosity on his hands behind both his and your gloves. And you connect the dots. He is not a noble, either a bourgeois. He is a warrior. A soldier. This is why you did not know him. He is no guest; he is the one watching them.

He is a Fatui. And a high ranking one if he can freely walk without a mask on his face -great for you, his face is pleasant to look at. But what you do not like, is that his intentions are not clear. He is dancing with you, hands on your body (your dress and gloves, but still), and make you spin left and right without a care in the world, and with this strange cheeky smile.

“Well, Childe. I was curious. What made you ask me for a dance?” You will at least try to dig into this.

“Do I need a reason to ask a lady for a dance?”

“Yes. Soldiers do not usually do that without ulterior motives.”

His eyes widened, confusion showing on his face. Funny. His expression is clear as the day. Perhaps it was intentional. But his face honestly says “Wait. I thought you did not know who I was. How do you know?” so, as he is a good dancer, you oblige an answer.

“Your hands and body. You are trained. And use weapon regularly. The conclusion is obvious”

“Sharp” He laugh. “Fine. You seemed tired of the other ladies. And it was your seventh cup of champagne of the night. I found it funny. So I wanted to see how you would react to a little push. See it as generously helping a damsel in distress”

So, the man had his eyes on you before the banquet officially started. You indeed had seven cups. The first one was taken discreetly before the starting speech was even made. Great. It seems you have a secret admirer.

“And? What do you think, now?” The question came by itself. And he smirked a little, taking your body closer in a move. His breath is warm. Too warm. Too close.

“I found someone interesting” was the sweet mutter he gave to your ear.

It was bad. And you knew. You knew when you took his hand. But now you are in his arms, closer than you should be. The waltz just started. And -as weird as it sounds- you begin to find him a little more interesting too. You tightened the grip of your hand in his, and take him in a spin he did not see coming. You went closer, your face nearly brushing his, widen your smile, and discreetly slide your hand from his shoulder to the skin of his neck.

“Perfect. I don’t like being boring"

It was bold. Too bold. You start regretting as his cheeks took some shades of red. What are you doing now, (Y/N) (Y/S), flirting with a shady soldier before all high society eyes. But he is quick to take back the lead. His moves are smooth, his steps are clear, and his smile is flawless. He must be used to deal with unexpected situation. Shame. He would be the most wanted husband-to-be of the noble’s society if he had the blood right, and was not a soldier. Childe, Childe, Childe…. the name really tells you nothing. Perhaps he just made a name on the spot. You are not knowledgeable in military matter, the fact you do not go in many social events do not help, but you are not totally ignorant in Fatui’s affairs either. If the man is a high-rank in the Fatui, you should have heard of him and have basic information. Perhaps you know him on another alias.

“You became really silent lady Y/N, am I the one leaving you speechless?” he whispers in a new spin, as you raise you head again.

“You are, Childe. I do not remember this name in the ones I know. Have you been recently promoted?”

You could drown in his blue eyes, trying to discover what he hides. Decency and basic selfcare are what keeps your curiosity tame. But if it was not for them, you would have already been blunter. Who are you? The question burns your lip. Why are you like this, what took the light off your eyes? He is charming. He has this enchanting energy of something broken and lost for too long. He chuckles at your question -or at your face perhaps, as you forgot to control your expression.

“It is way better if you don’t know this name. Those who knows it are generally not happy to see me. It also been a while since my last promotion. I will surely never have a higher position than the one I currently hold.”

“I am sure you are underestimating yourself” it came naturally, the kind of automatic praises you give in high society. He chuckles again, and guide you in yet another spin.

“I think you are the one underestimating me, lady (Y/N)”

A chill went down your spine. He still smiles, but his whole being does not. You frown, you don’t like the tone he used. Did he try to scare you on purpose? Or give the bad boy vibes thinking it will make you more docile? Is he the kind who thinks their pretty face can allow them everything? As a response, you try to step on his feet, a move he predicted and avoided with grace.

“My, my” he said laughingly “Be aware of your step lady (Y/N). Perhaps this seventh cup of champagne was a bit too much for you”

You give him a glare -he seems to like it. Are soldiers all so fussy and cheeky? This boyish attitude gave him a sort of charm. But he needs to correct it before you start to also act silly. Your eighth cup of champagne might accidentally end in his cute ginger hair.

“I wouldn’t dare to call myself a Snezhnayan if I couldn’t even hold my liquor” you scoff “But perhaps you should learn you cannot rely on your pretty face to excuse poor behavior”

“I have a pretty face?” Someone ends your misery. You will not give him the satisfaction of an answer, or even a displeased look. He sure is good at this kind of game. But your pride wants to prove him you are better.

“I have seen better” More lies. The man is gorgeous. Your type, you might say. And as much as the secret behind his eyes, you are curious about what his clothes hides. Your hands slowly undoing the button of his shirt, revealing his bare chest. How will he react if you were to gently kiss his exposed skin while only the two of you are in a room, alone, bathing in the weak moonlight? In the novel you read, this type of cheeky men are either wild or shy when intimate. What kind he would be? Just thinking about his reddish face as you are confirming him he has a pretty face is-

Archons what are you thinking? He is just here! That’s not the moment to think about undressing him! Oh archons, perhaps this champagne has an effect on you after all.

His eyes are still on you, looking right into your soul, tracking trace of a lie. He smiles. He must have understood your answer was more out of spite than sincerity. You are being petty, that was his smile says. You do not like being read like this. You are usually the one reading, and the other is feeling undressed. It’s uncomfortable being the other way around. Suddenly, “Childe” stops. You are stopping too, your expression asking what does he wants to say now.

“The music ended” he said. You didn’t notice. You didn’t even remember what was the melody. That’s a first. Slowly, he takes your gloved hand to take it to his lips, giving a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. “It was a pleasure to dance with you, Lady (Y/n). I do hope you will give me this honor more often”

“If we see each other again” you add.

“Believe me, I’m sure we are far from our last meeting” he laughs, giving you a lovely smile and a little wink. He turns his back on you, starting to take a few steps, before stopping, raising his index like he needs to ask something to a waiter, and turning again.

“Do you like flowers, lady (Y/N)?”

“Flowers? Yes, I suppose?” The questions startled you. You answered before thinking more deeply. Flowers? Did he hope to send you some when the better season comes? He -and so you too- will have to wait a lot before seeing them. No flowers -except Cryo Whoopperflowers- will bloom in Snezhnaya before the end of May.

He had a last little smile, and finally left, leaving you speechless after his last words. What a weirdo. But his company was pleasant at least. Shame you don’t have the time to think much more about it, as your brother comes to you in a hurry.

“Y/N!” he exclaims silently, grabbing your arm and taking you out of the center of the ballroom “Are you crazy? Why did you dance with this guy? Are you okay? He did not threaten you, right?!”

Your brother is incoherent, asking so much question at the time. He struggles to breath, looking behind him like a hunted bunny. He was raised as the heir. Even with his flaws, he had never lost his composure so easily before.

“No, he didn’t. He asked me for a dance and I accepted because I was a bit bored….but why are you acting like this? Do you know who he is?”

At your words, your brother went pale and started to rub his face like if he was in an impossible situation. He signed deeply, out of worry and frustration.

“You must be the only one in this room who doesn’t know this man! He wasn’t here for the two previous winter’s solstices because he was sent out of the homeland. But he was not supposed to be back so early this year too! What does he want? Oh, Archons, how are we going to deal with this, I hope you did not anger him”

“Brother” you try to keep him with you “Answer me. Who.is.he?” Your brother takes a deep breath, still trying to find someone in the crowd, your father you presume.

“This man was Tartaglia. He is the Eleventh. A Fatui Harbinger.”

You froze. A Harbinger? This young man with messy hair? He must not have more than 22 years old. And perhaps you are aging him too much even like that. The Eleventh...the youngest. A little wild, but quickly acknowledged. The Roster has his back. Often sent in different countries, no a permanent stationary like the Knave. Great fighters, master of many weapons. Rumors calls him excentric, but he is competent in many ways. With this information, everything takes another meaning. The conversations you two had. The alias people do not like to know. The promotion that will never be higher…archons. You really need a bottle of Fire-Water now.

He was right. Childe, no, Tartaglia was right. You were underestimating him from the start.

Because as soon as the sun raised on Snezhnaya the following day, a letter with the seal of the Eleventh Harbinger was on your father’s desk with a whole bouquet. Blooming roses with different shades of deep red, coming with the request of the start of a correspondence between you two and the setting of a date at a famous restaurant of the capital for next week.

You may need to think twice before asking for something exciting in your life next time.

But, with the sweet scent of the roses, came a lovely card. “I hope they are at your taste. Do not hesitate to mention what kinds of flowers you like before our next meeting. Waiting for your answer -Childe”

Between your anxious brother and confused father, you had to use the bouquet to hide your smile. It’s a bit unfair, this game he played with you. It’s like playing chess with someone who do not know the rules. You underestimated him once, that’s on you. But you are not planning to call it a lose without a fight. The game just begun. Does he want to make you fall? Or does he have another agenda? It doesn’t matter. He will learn to be aware of his own steps. You shall not waste any more time to send a reply.

Something interesting is finally happening in high society. It would be a shame to not entertain it, right?

[chaossmagic]

In the two years that Steve spent searching for Bucky, he saw him everywhere, while simultaneously finding him nowhere.

He saw him in the curl of cigarette smoke from a stranger's hand in the street, the tang of nicotine reminding him of days spent drawing on their crappy, banged-up couch - knees drawn to his chin, pencil in hand, and Bucky squished up next to him, desperate to see what was on Steve's paper, by hooking his chin over his bony shoulder, his cigarette waving perilously close to Steve's sketchpad. He remembered trying to bat him away, "Quit it, Buck, you're gettin' ash all over my sketchbook, d'ya know how much it cost?"

He heard him in the jaunty tune of a piano being played as he passed a packed jazz-style bar on one of his late-night insomnia-filled walks around the city, raucous laughter and people filling a dancefloor Bucky would 100% have been on himself if this were 1938 and people were drinking and dancing to forget the looming spectre of war coming ever closer.

He smelled him in the scent of chocolate and coffee coming from a bakery, Steve remembering how Bucky had become increasingly grumpier as sweet things like sugar and candies were rationed more and more strictly during the war. The first time they got chocolate in their MREs while fighting with the Howling Commandos, he'd practically cried, and devoured both his own and Steve's with a feverish kind of excitement more akin to a child than a haunted, hardened soldier.

He saw him in the window of a store selling designer men's clothing, knowing the Bucky he once knew would have coveted the silk ties and sharp-pressed suits on display. He was always a bit of a peacock, whereas Steve never particularly cared how he looked, because it wasn't like anyone was going to pay any attention to him anyway.

Ironic, he'd thought, because everyone is always looking at me now.

The rich, deep warmth of whiskey he couldn't drink anymore reminded him of nights in illegal bars where men danced with men and women danced with women and he watched Bucky with seething jealousy, the eyes of every person in the room on him, sweat-slick and dishevelled and so damn carefree it made Steve want to both kiss him and throttle him in equal measure.

A stranger's cologne. A stack of paperback fantasy novels, $5 for the whole lot, at a thrift store. A Louis Armstrong record Steve didn't have in his collection yet. A poster for violin lessons written in a hand that looked eerily like Bucky's. A stray cat with the same blue-grey eyes as his old friend casually licking its paw near a dumpster.

(He'd gone and fetched a tin of salmon for the cat and brought it back, after that, watched as it hungrily devoured the can and let Steve rub behind its ears for several minutes.)

(Bucky had always loved cats.)

He was everywhere and nowhere. For a guy who had died in 1945, he'd never been more alive - and that half pain, half hope, is what kept Steve going through long nights and dead ends and a silent prayer for please, Bucky, please send me something, anything, to tell me you're okay. Please. Let me help you. I can help you. Just come home.

I want you to come home.

[vegaseatsass]

I’ve never seen IWTV and I’m getting a little concerned that Lestat declaring he’s going on tour is a canonical event and not like a fandom delusion event. What is going on in this show please be gentle I am very soft.

Okay so bearing in mind that I only watch the show and therefore anything I know about the book series has been gained solely through osmosis: The next season of the television series Interview With The Vampire is going to be an adaptation of The Vampire Lestat, which is about a vampire who everyone thought was dead (because the author originally killed him off, then changed her mind) who reappears in the story as a rock star. So it is a canonical event in the books, and one which the show creator apparently said is the reason he wanted to make this adaptation in the first place. If you're familiar with the fanfiction My Immortal, it would seem that was inspired ???? by The Vampire Lestat. (I have been told this by friends and can't find a citation but here's a post comparing their iconic opening paragraphs.)

The thing is I've been told there's also aliens, a timeskip into the future, and the lost city of Atlantis coming in this particular segment of canon, but as I've said I'm not familiar with the books myself so I can neither confirm nor deny the truth of these. But Lestat is absolutely going to go on a rock tour. In the ACTUAL show so far, he recorded some music in the early 20th century and has been established as a lover of performing and singing, but his appearance in the current timeline featured him "playing piano" on a slab of wood he had carved to look like a piano while classical music played on his personal electronic device and he pantomimed piano playing. He's in not a great place right now :( and admitted in the scene he probably wouldn't be ready to go on tour for a few years. So I think the rock tour season we have coming is going to be set in the actual future? When he's cleaned himself up a bit???? We shall see!

I apologize if this is not gentle enough ahaha!!! Like I said I am not the best person to ask about this because I only enjoy the fandom via my heavily curated dash and the television show itself, I think of myself as a casual fan in like "filthy casual" gamer terms. But I can confirm that the vampire Lestat is going to be going on tour, performing rock music, in canon, as like the central modern (or future?) day storyline of season 3!!!

[the-hero-story]

Because the html formatting doesn't work on mobile (not even on a browser, I checked), I'm posting the whole story here too :)

We were married in the spring. 

No one liked the idea of a spring wedding, least of all my husband, who complained about it as we drove away from the cathedral. It was rotten in Moscow in April, and worse in Petersburg, where the snow hadn’t even begun to melt. I had wanted the wedding at Voronetskoye, the old estate, the lynchpin of our world, but my husband refused: staying in Moscow would be impractical, and God forbid, unfashionable. Because it was his reputation at stake, and not mine, I agreed. 

That summer, after our honeymoon in Paris, we came back to Russia and met my father at Voronetskoye. My father worked in Petersburg, but since my mother died he spent most of his time at the estate, reading and drinking. It was a beautiful place to grieve, a manor surrounded by acres of lush green fields. We arrived in the evening, with an hour to spare; my father’s carriage waited for us at the station. 

If there was any time when the estate looked most perfect, it was, perhaps, evening in early summer. I never looked forward to these trips, yet whenever I came to Voronetskoye I felt as if I was returning home after many years away. It was always frozen in time, fading family portraits hanging on the walls and old heirlooms hiding under canopied beds. My father hadn’t wanted to make it a time capsule; the time had just passed, and the dust had eaten away at everything it could find. 

My husband hated it there. Whenever he left Petersburg he was like a sailor on land. He needed the city air: it was fast, it was relevant, there was always something to do. 

“We’ll go back Saturday,” he had said on the train to Moscow, pinching his mustache as he liked to.

“Father asked us to stay the week. We talked about it earlier today, Vasya. Please, just this one time — you know how lonely he is down there.”

“The man doesn’t own you.”

“Neither do you.” 

Vasily rolled his eyes. “It’s exactly this kind of talk that makes me—”

At that moment the attendant came through with the baby, and we dropped the argument. 

When we got to the manor, it was empty and silent, practically deserted. For a minute, as I climbed the double staircase, suitcase in hand, I thought my father had died. Then I heard my brother’s voice, coming from the drawing room. 

“Kitty,” he called, that old familiar sneer.

“Where’s Father?”

“Upstairs.” Alexis emerged in the doorway, his pale face framed by a mess of black hair. He was flushed, dressed hastily in his robe. “I thought you were in Petersburg.”

“We were. Don’t you have a concert tonight?”

He pulled his lighter from his pocket and took out a cigarette, tapping it against the gilded lid. “Postponed.” The flame flashed before his face, and he took a long drag, looking off towards the corner. “I was practicing all day,” he mumbled. “Had no idea you were coming. 

I knew what his days consisted of. Since he’d been expelled from military school two years ago, he had taken up a career as a pianist. He was a genius at the piano, there was no denying it, but he spent most of his time in bed, God only knows with whom. 

“Isn’t he cute?” he said, gesturing to the baby, who was swaddled in cotton on Vasily’s shoulder. “What’s his name?”

“Maria,” I said. “It’s a girl.”

My brother blushed.

“Father didn’t mention anything to you?” I asked, taking my suitcase and walking towards the stairs. “He wrote to us a month ago.”

“He’s probably forgotten about it by now.”

“Alyosha, he’s been through hell. Try to understand.”

My brother shot a grimace in my direction. “Your room’s in the west wing, isn’t it? Right, I’ll be in the drawing room. Holler if you need anything. I think Father’s in his study — you can go knock if you want.”

Shutting the door behind me, I put my suitcase at the foot of the bed. 

“God, that boy is insolent,” Vasily said, gazing out the musty windows. “Any idea what he did to get himself kicked out of the Cadet Corps?”

“Vasya, we’ve been over this. I’d rather it stayed a mystery.” I brushed a cobweb from the wooden footboard. “It’s his career, not mine. Besides, he does well as a pianist. Lots of attention.”

“I’m sure he likes that.”

“Really, Vasya, drop it. He’s practically a child.”

My father did appear at dinner that night, late and still wearing his uniform. He was a sad sight: his disheveled shirt and his unshaven, once-handsome face. Out of deference, we all stood up as he entered.

“Sit down, sit down,” he said, slowly walking across the room and taking his place at the head of the table. 

We obeyed. The dining hall had never been my favorite room in the manor: it was squat, gloomy, and lined with old portraits and older statues. The heirloom silver tray, which still stood in the corner on a pedestal, had once been as pristine as a mirror; now it was stained, tarnished, and edged with cobwebs. Opposite it was an ancient family portrait from the nineties. It was the best likeness of my mother, the last one drawn before her sickness. She was the spitting image of Alexis; her dark hair curled around her luminous face in intricate coils, her dark, ceaseless eyes gazing at an unseen sky. He had gotten her beauty; I had gotten her heart. 

My brother’s friends were there, a frilly girl called Sonya and a boy named Petr, who had been at school with him before the expulsion. They were strangely cheerful; though Alexis was prone to gloominess and violence, the three of them talked about opera and would not look at me. Vasily and I were left with my father. 

“It’s been so long,” he said, though it had only really been a matter of months. “You look so much older. That new wardrobe… very au courant. How was it in France?”

I had hated France. Paris was overcrowded and obnoxious, but, as Vasily said, fashionable. He was desperate to make a good impression on the world, and Paris was the way to do it: the opera, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the brainless shop clerks who couldn’t figure out how to spell our last name. 

“Lovely,” I said. “It’s so fresh there.”

Vasily nodded. “Paris is a perfect city. We’d stay there all year round if we could.”

My father smiled. “God knows it’s a good time to leave Russia.” He gestured to Alexis and his friends. “Take him with you. He’s wasting his days here, and it’s a terrible place to be young. I want him to live.”

“You’re a pianist, aren’t you, Alexis?” my husband asked, glancing across the table. 

My brother looked up, surprised. “Yes. I play at the Bolshoi Theatre.”

“Why piano?”

“I’m good at it, that’s all.”

I saw my husband smile. “Why don’t you play for us sometime?”

My brother’s eyes flitted over to me and back to him. “Of course,” he said, but sounded ill at ease. “You like music?”

“Mostly just Tchaikovsky.” Vasily set down his fork and fixed my brother with a piercing stare. “Did you start playing before or after you got kicked out of the Cadet Corps?”

A wave of angry embarrassment flashed across my brother’s face. “Before,” he muttered. “Years before.”

In our bedroom after dinner I sat by the window and nursed the baby. Vasily was in the brocade armchair, smoking, the lamplight dancing across his face. 

“Even the paper’s out of date,” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air. “We can’t stay here, Kitty.”

“We can leave a day early, if you hate it so much.”

“What, you’re having fun? You don’t have to pretend you like it here just to appease your father. You can’t convince me you really want to spend more than an hour here with that whore brother of yours and his school friends? I swear to God I could kill that boy.”

“Vasya, you agreed to spend one week here with me. As soon as the week is over, we’ll leave, I promise. Lord knows we’ll live the rest of our lives in Petersburg, so let me have this week with my father before he dies.” 

Vasily held up his hands. “As you wish.”

By the time I woke up the next morning, Vasily was gone. He enjoyed an early morning walk; he said the world was most beautiful before sunrise. I sat in bed with the baby, brushing her shock of auburn curls out of her soft face and pinching her chubby cheeks. I had named her after my mother, a last-ditch effort to keep her with me, but the only resemblance was in my baby’s eyes. Even when she was smiling, there was a light in her eyes that seemed to belong to another world, one I knew I would never see. 

Half an hour passed, and there was a knock on the door. It was my brother. 

“Oh, you’ve got little Masha,” he said, peeking around the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course. Up early?”

“Rather. Couldn’t sleep last night — had all these awful nightmares. Where’s your husband?”

I laughed. “Out walking, I think. Maybe hunting. He left before I woke up. Here, come sit.”

He crossed and settled himself beside me on the bed. “Can I hold her?”

Gathering her linens, I passed the baby to him. He smiled, touching her nose. “Your husband’s rotten, isn’t he?”

“Alyosha, that’s a bit on the nose.”

“But he is.”

I hesitated. “Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it isn’t. That’s how marriage is. You’ll understand when you’re married.”

“I don’t want to marry. Seems pretty awful, as far as I can see. Gosh, Kitty, she is cute. How old is she?”

“Two months.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t look pregnant at your wedding, otherwise all of Russia would’ve been talking about it,” he said. “If they knew—”

“Alyosha, have you just come in here to pick a bone with me?”

My brother rolled his eyes. “Course not. You’re here for the rest of the week, aren’t you? Why’d you come back, anyway?”

“Father asked me.”

He made a face. “Since when did you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t know. Since when do you care about me?”

His cheeks went red, and he got quiet. 

“Not so nice to be interrogated, is it?” I took the baby back — she had started crying. “I came back because I wanted to see Father one last time. Not that he’s on death’s door, but with the way he drinks you never know. I’m sorry, that’s grim. But there it is — that’s the reason. And I suppose I missed it here.” 

“I miss it too, whenever I leave. It’s great here, isn’t it? The huge gardens, the dusty rooms… You could spend the rest of your life just exploring the east wing.” He sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “Isn’t this place funny?”

Behind us, on either side of the bed, a pair of French windows were glowing in the palm of the sun. The curtains, lacy and sheer, were fluttering in the breeze. On the far wall, the paint had begun to chip. It was as if the house itself was dying. 

My husband did not come back for another several hours. When my brother left I heard their voices in the hall, and waited for Vasily to come in, but he never did. Soon the sound faded, and I was alone again. The baby had fallen asleep, and I put her in her crib. By then it was getting brighter, and warmer. There was, for once in my life, no urgency in the air. I found a book in the mahogany bedside table and flipped through it, careful not to crease the spine. The title page said “Katya’s Book” in ugly Russian cursive. My childhood handwriting had never won any awards. 

I got back into bed, the baby in my line of sight, and began to read. It was an old book about a countess escaping from an evil huntsman. She had gotten lost in the woods looking for her dog — an amateurish mistake — and the huntsman had captured her, carrying her over his shoulder like a featherweight piece of cargo. I had annotated it liberally as a child, and enjoyed reading notes such as “this is very stupid” and “why doesn’t she just try climbing out the window?” — notes which, I’m sure, would have amused the poor author. 

The countess had just managed to break out of the house when I heard a strange noise coming from the east wing. It sounded like a scream, an awful scream, like someone’s heart had been ripped open. The halls were silent, then I heard it again. It was my brother’s voice. 

“Dunya,” I called to the maid, who was ironing in the room next door. 

She appeared a moment later. “Yes, Your Serenity?”

“You hear that sound? What is it?”

Pausing to listen, she frowned. “I’m sorry, Your Serenity, I don’t know.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

I dismissed her — she was no help — and went back to the book. The countess was deep in the woods now, running for her life. She could hear the huntsman shouting behind her, but in the distance she saw a flickering light. She ran faster and faster, and the light got closer and closer. She was almost there. 

That scream rang out through the manor again. Then a second time. My heart began to drum inside my chest. 

“Dunya,” I hollered. 

“Yes, Serenity?”

“I think my brother’s hurt. Will you stay with the baby while I check?”

“Yes, Serenity.”

Of course, as soon as I left, the whole manor was silent. All I could hear was the dust billowing up from the floor as I walked towards the east wing. As I got closer to his room I heard something else — a persistent moaning that made me blush. Looking through the keyhole, I saw him tangled up with another man: Petr, I thought. Feeling sheepish, I retraced my steps and went outside. 

It was a perfect day. The sun pierced the vast blue sky; a dappling of clouds lined the horizon. The copse behind the manor was a glowing canopy of leaves, green above and green below. Far away, there was the sound of water trickling down a creek. Years had passed since I had last walked through the grounds; everything had been so different when I was a little girl. I remembered the vastness of the sky — gazing up at it while lying in the grass and thinking it could’ve swallowed me whole. 

My mother loved the gardens. Even when she was dying, she used to sit under the old oak tree for hours, needlework in hands. During my French lessons I could look out the windows and see her, smiling and stitching away. She liked to sing as she worked, and I would hear the strains of old folk songs; the words, all in Russian, were almost familiar. Now, standing by the oak, my hand on the chipping bark, I almost heard the song again. 

When I went back in, the manor was quieter than ever. Even the wind had hushed up. The silence was eerie and strange. In my room, Dunya was sitting in the armchair with the baby, softly speaking to her in Russian. I was almost hesitant to disturb her; I loved her round, smiling face beaming down at Masha. But she heard the door creaking, and looked up as I came in. 

“Where’s Vasily?” I said, taking off my jacket. “He came back, didn’t he?”

Dunya shook her head. “No, Serenity. I haven’t seen Prince Golitsyn since morning.” 

“Did he tell you where he went?”

Again she shook her head. “No, Serenity. I hardly saw him before he left.”

“Well, I’ll find him.” 

Back in the east wing, I searched the library and the lounge, but both were empty and decaying. As I walked back towards the center of the manor, I passed my brother’s room — it was silent. 

I knocked on the door and called his name, but there was no response. I thought I heard a fluttering sound, but I couldn’t be sure, and knocked again. I didn’t know why, but I felt a little breathless, almost scared. Curious, I tried the door. It was locked. 

“Alyosha, open the door,” I called. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing. I rattled the handle. 

“Alyosha, you’re scaring me. I’m not upset with you, I just want to talk.”

I took one of the pins from my hair and stuck it in the lock. It was a dirty trick, one that my friend had taught me when we were both young girls. The lock gave, the door swung open. 

The bed was empty. I thought it was strange, the rumpled sheets and displaced pillows, but stranger things had happened in my brother’s room. I stepped inside, and felt something soft under my foot. It was my brother’s robe. A moment later I saw his face, as placid as ever, his eyes open and unmoving. A thin red line ran across his forehead. He was dead. Beside him was my husband, a hole in the side of his head and a gun in his hand. I leaned down to touch my fingertips to his cheek — his skin was still warm. When I stood back up my petticoat was edged in blood. 

That night, Dunya and I boarded a train for Crimea. She sat across from me, the first time we had ever been equals, and held the baby in her arms. It was dark, but the lamplight slipped over her cheeks and glinted in her eyes.

The train started up. The clicking of the wheels grew louder. I glanced toward the window, feeling the tears in the corners of my eyes. I looked back. A beam of light flooded the compartment: a lamp on a passing platform. The moment was over; the light became weaker, then faded altogether, and we went on, as the landscape danced in the windows and the track slowly split the country in two. 

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - Wellness check

CW: stalking, obsessive behavior, intimidation, Morris hating on bald people

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

CF3 46E, CF3 46E, CF3 46E...

Morris needed to find that car again, right now, before the trace got cold and slipped through his fingers like sand. Frantically shoving the clothes he had borrowed back into the boxes, he was unsure about how to act next. Go back to the apartment and hope for the mother to come back again? Maybe drive around the city and look for the familiar code of the license plate, that too would travel to a new home.

Upstate... Nothing more than forests and rivers there, and to do what exactly? Live in a log cabin and siphon off tree sap till his parents grew old?

CF3 46E

Morris couldn't let that happen, staying back and remaining nothing more than a ghost story Elliot could tell his family: the tale of the pathetic fuck that didn't realize he had everything right under his nose until-

A forceful knock on the door ripped him from his thoughts.

CF3 46B

He didn't expect company, much less had the nerve for it right now. Everyone could go to hell for all he cared. With one exception, of course.

CF-

The booming against the wood became more vigorous; impatient rhythms meeting quickly thinning patience.

"Miss Roberts, I don't know where your cats are, I'm not stealing them. We've been over this."

No grace in sight, just more assault on Morris' poor ears, like the noises all throughout his head: crying, screaming, rough bristles against tile. The sting of apple-fresh bleach still burned at the back of his sinuses, even after weeks of mind-numbing distraction.

I need to explain everything, and he will accept my apology, and we can finally start over-

Before another hit could let the hinges vibrate with force, the door swung open to reveal a bright red face of anger to the unwelcomed guest.

"I SAID-" Morris growled, and stopped when he recognized the utterly unimpressed man. One he really didn't want to deal with right now.

"Belanger, for fuck's sake, now is not the time-"

"You don't answer my calls." Because I'm tired of being your postie.

"I'm busy, and you give me a job like what, once a week? Of course I'll keep myself occupied otherwise."

Caught in a gloomy expression, no man dared to back down so quickly. 

"You need to answer when I call."

Biting his tongue, the only thing Morris could retort was an annoyed huff; he knew about the duty towards his employer. It was nothing he could just push along as he pleased, but the information he'd worked hard for wasn't worth being thrown out so suddenly. The window he had created for himself was quickly shutting down. 

"So you are busy and under-worked at the moment? Doesn't sound convincing..." Belanger's lusterless fish eyes kept focus on the target of his worry, even as he pressed himself past the door frame. 

Remaining face-to-face with the always discreetly clothed partner, one could only wonder why a few missed job opportunities would rub him the wrong way. Thinking of it, Morris guessed that he would be just as sensitive, provided he'd also lose all his hair minutes after turning thirty. On angry nights, he often asked himself if he could take on Mr. Clean's dipshit cousin.

"Please, make yourself at home," Morris sighed, not sure how well-thought-out it had been to let the mass of a man into his quarters.

The tired proxy carefully eyed the mess littered throughout the room; photos, piano booklets and obviously strange clothing only affirmed what he had already suspected:

"Are you getting distracted again?"

Yes, actually, by the nagging little middleman he was supposed to stand by for.

That exact man painfully remembered the last one that stole Morris' focus: some bony princess from new money; he caught him scrolling through an ocean of pictures when they should have been occupied with handling the daily charge. Belanger wasn't ready to put up with this whole act once again, not so soon. The only thing worse than the fawning, and god did he hate that, will be the moment it all inevitably crashes and burns to the ground. The phase where Morris got especially difficult to handle...

"What is it this time? I'll see if I can make some space for you," he answered instead, paying no mind to Belanger's interrogation.

"You better do that quickly, Dutch wants to see you."

Shit. He really should have taken that call.

"Now?" Morris desperately tried to squeeze his voice past the lump blocking his throat. It was better to know when he would be led to slaughter, saves a lot of time on scheduling.

"Don't piss yourself yet, he was impressed with whatever you did back at the den," the proxy said, letting his monotone drawl hide how much he enjoyed seeing him all antsy, "Fucking massacre, if you ask me, though." 

"I cleaned up after, if you need it..."

"At least you got that right. Congrats, I guess, nobody found the body yet." Yeah, me neither.

"Wasn't that bad, just so you know, uh-"

"I would stay in line if I were you, with the cops still on my ass and all," Belanger let his voice drop low, having neither interest nor patience for cheap horror stories, "Let's go!"

Morris was close, so much closer than the last few weeks. There had to be another way, one that didn't involve Dutch, of all people.

"Listen, I'll call you back soon and-"

"Wasn't a question, Morris."

He thought of Elliot and the festering itch that burned up when remembering these hazel eyes, looking up at him just one more time... I forgive you. God, he would give everything to hear these words.

He thought of Dutch, and his bad knee let a cautionary twitch rock his body.

So Morris budged. Some people you can't let wait.

CS3 46B would still be there for him, a few miles further northwest, more or less. It wouldn't take that long, right? He could let the itch heal down and hope the lingering antipathy would fade away, give them all some time to breathe. A fear started to nest deep already, hidden behind Morris' own self-preservation: the silent terror that Elliot wouldn't stop to look out for him.

Belanger would, though, keeping Morris on track until their boss was satisfied.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[katiedido2]

Meet Cute Chapter 2

Also posted on AO3

I thought this was a one-shot, but Virgil Tracy had other ideas, and I wrote this on a train from London to Amsterdam. Now that I have internet again, I can post it.

I had hoped to get this up before ThunderPride ended. I think I'm squeaking in under the wire (It's just after 5:30pm my time.)

I'm surprised at how much I am enjoying this rare!pair of Virgil Tracy and Stephen Furnier.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Two

The First Date

Stephen stood outside the Sydney Opera House, fidgeting with his cuffs. He was wearing a linen suit - something he rarely wore, but he wanted to look nice for Virgil - and his shirtsleeves weren’t lying right in his coat sleeves. He briefly wondered if a broken three-piece suit - broken because he wore it without a tie - was too much, but looking around him showed other men were similarly attired. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly.

“Hi, Stephen.”

Stephen turned and saw Virgil, who was also wearing a broken linen suit, only his was two-piece. It was dark gray and fit perfectly. Virgil has paired it with a light sage green dress shirt.

He looked good.

Really good.

Stephen swallowed and smiled at his date. “Hi. You look amazing.”

Virgil blushed. This pleased Stephen to no end.

“Thank you. You look great, too.”

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure-” Virgil took Stephen's hand, lacing his fingers through Stephen’s, and leaned in, kissing his cheek.

Virgil was wearing his cologne, and Stephen, lost in the addicting scent, forgot what he was going to say.

“Ready to go in?”

Stephen nodded and let Virgil lead him into the venue. 

-o-o-o-

Once inside, Virgil directed them towards the venue space. “Have you been here before?”

Stephen shook his head. “No, first time…Where are we going?”

“The concert is in the Joan Sutherland Theatre. The musicians won’t get lost in the space - there are about a dozen of them - and the acoustics are really good. It’s the home of Opera Australia!”

Having never given any thought to acoustics or opera or Australia (though given the nature of his work, he probably should), Stephen hummed agreeably and continued following Virgil.

Once inside the theatre, they found their row, about five rows from the stage. Virgil gestured for Stephen to enter the row and followed after. Their seats were in the middle of the section, and the view of the stage was excellent. 

The men sat, and Virgil took Stephen’s hand again, lacing their fingers. He smiled at his date. 

-o-o-o-

Date!

Virgil had wanted someone to share this with for so long; he was giddy to finally have this dream come true and for that person to be Stephen.  

Stephen Furnier was his date. He was dating Stephen Furnier!

Virgil squeezed Stephen’s hand. Stephen smiled at him.

“I don’t know anything about Ms Ha. Is she a favourite pianist of yours?”

“She’s one of my favourites.”

“Who is your favourite?”

“Rebecca Montague.”

“Rebecca Montague? That sounds familiar.” Stephen tried to place the name but couldn’t. “How long have you been a fan.”

“Since I was fourteen.”

“Oh? That’s a long time.”

“Yep. Sadly, she’s retired and doesn’t perform live anymore.”

“Oh.” Stephen had no idea what to say to that.

“Fortunately, she will occasionally put out an album.”

“Really?” Rebecca Montague. The name niggled at Stephen. Why did it sound familiar?

“I first saw her perform at a Christmas concert in Kansas City, Missouri. ”

“Really?”

Virgil nodded. “Yep. She was amazing to watch, and she was so sweet when we met.”

“You met her?”

“Mmm hmm. My father took me to meet her afterwards. He wandered off, and we talked about our love of music…and the piano.”

“Your father left you? He didn’t wish to speak to her?”

“No…he mentioned something about finding her parents.”

“Why would he be looking for her parents?” Stephen was confused. Did musicians routinely bring their families with them?

“He was friends with her father.”

Stephen stared at Virgil. “But why would her parents be there? Were they celebrating Christmas in the States?”

Virgil blinked and chuckled, recognising the source of Stephen’s confusion. “She was ten.”

“She was ten what?”

“Ten years old.”

“She was a child?!”

“I believe they’re called prodigies.”

Stephen huffed. “You could have led with that!”

Not wishing to fight, Virgil tried to soothe Stephen’s ruffled feathers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it.”

Also not wishing to argue, Stephen smiled at his date. “Fair enough.”

They sat in companionable silence while the auditorium around them filled up. When the musicians came out, followed by a lovely petite woman who was greeted with thunderous applause. 

Virgil leaned over and whispered in Stephen’s ear. “This is very exciting. We’re in for a real treat tonight!”

-o-o-o-

Seventy minutes later, Stephen had to agree. The entire evening had been an eye-opening, delightful treat.

He could definitely see what Virgil enjoyed about contemporary instrumental music, as Virgil called it.

They sat chatting in their seats while the auditorium emptied before rising and heading outside. 

The night was beautiful and clear, the full moon lending a romantic air. Virgil and Stephen strolled hand in hand, enjoying the views.

Virgil stopped and, tugging Stephen’s hand, pulled the doctor into his arms. Stephen placed his hands on Virgil’s shoulders to keep from crashing into his handsome date. He felt Virgil’s arms snake around his waist.

“Oh!”

“I’ve got you.”

“You certainly do.”

Virgil chuckled, causing Stephen to blush.

He stammered. “W-what I-I meant was-”

Virgil leaned in close. “Shhh. I know what you meant.”

Virgil’s face was so close to his that Stephen could feel his soft lips touching his ear.

“Virgil…”

Virgil pulled back slightly. Their noses were nearly touching.

“May I kiss you?”

Stephen stared at Virgil, overwhelmed by the opportunity before him and didn’t reply.

Sensing Stephen’s hesitancy, Virgil pulled back a little more. He wanted to make sure this was something Stephen wanted too.

“If you feel we’re moving too fast, I can slow do-oof!”

Stephen roused himself, eager to let his date know he was indeed agreeable to kissing him, rose on his toes and planted his lips on Virgil’s. He felt Virgil’s intake of breath and a small smile on his lips as Virgil returned his kiss.

The kiss was everything Stephen imagined a kiss with Virgil Tracy would be. First, being so close to him, he could smell the man mixed with the scent of his cologne, and it made Stephen heady. 

Next was the way Virgil held him - one arm around his waist, the other tangled in his hair, holding him at the base of his neck. He felt safe and cared for in a way he couldn’t remember feeling with anyone else. 

Last, but Stephen conceded, never least, was the man’s kiss. Virgil’s lips were soft, but his kiss was just firm enough to show his interest without overwhelming. Stephen could spend days kissing Virgil like this. 

Just as he was getting into the kiss, Virgil broke it and moved back, enough for Stephen to see his face clearly. A small noise of disappointment escaped him. 

Virgil chuckled, slightly breathless. “If you make that noise every time we kiss, you’ll never get rid of me.”

“Why did you stop?” Stephen heard the whinge in his voice but didn’t care. That was the best first kiss of his life! 

Virgil smiled at his pout. Stephen saw he hadn’t wanted to end the kiss either. Virgil dropped a chaste kiss on Stephen’s lips and smoothed the blond locks he had ruffled. 

“Remember where we are, Stephen. This isn’t the place to get carried away.” 

Wide-eyed, Stephen looked around the area they were in. There weren’t many people, but there were enough that two people making out might attract attention. An older couple strolled past. The wife smiled at Stephen, glanced at Virgil, and, to his surprise, looked at him again, nodded her head and winked(!)

Stephen blinked and looked at the handsome man in his arms. Virgil was right, but it was their first date, and he wanted to lock in the memory of their first kisses. 

Emboldened by the woman’s wink, he rose on his toes, tangled his hands in Virgil’s mane and kissed him. 

Virgil thrilled him by moaning slightly and kissing him in return. Stephen felt giddy when Virgil’s tongue touched his lips and went weak in the knees when, deepening the kiss their tongues touched. 

Groaning, Virgil broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Stephen’s while he caught his breath. 

This time, Stephen understood why Virgil had stopped. The opera house wasn’t the place for a prolonged make-out session. But he knew a place that could be.

“Come back to my flat. We can have coffee and talk or kiss…or both…” Or more.

-o-o-o-

Virgil heard the clear invitation in Stephen’s voice. No one could have missed the implied or more in his suggestion. He was tempted - some parts of him were very eager - but he didn’t want to rush this. He wrapped both arms around Stephen’s waist and pulled him closer. 

“God, Stephen, I want to. You’ve no idea how much I do-”

Stephen chuckled, feeling Virgil’s interest. “Oh, I have a little idea.”

Smiling, Virgil kissed his nose and rested his forehead against Stephen’s again. “Okay, you do.” He sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. “I think what we have here is special, and while it’s tempting to rush forward, I want to go a little slower and savour every moment with you…That probably sounds corny.”

Stephen cupped Virgil’s face in his hands. “No! No, it doesn’t, Virgil.” He caught one of Virgil’s hands and laced their fingers together. “It’s just….”

Virgil stared at Stephen when he bit his lip in thought. He shook his head. “It’s just?”

Stephen chuckled. “It’s just I’m terribly keen to do more.”

Virgil brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed Stephen’s knuckles. “Honey, you’ve no idea.”

Stephen hummed. “I have a better imagination than I’ve often given credit for.”

Groaning, Virgil released Stephen and stepped back so they weren’t touching. “Stephen,” he said seriously. “You can’t say things like that to me when I’m trying very hard to behave.”

“Why not?” Stephen Furnier had spent most of his life behaving. Having just been perfectly snogged by Virgil Tracy, he no longer wanted to. 

“Because gorgeous, brainy blond doctors with beautiful eyes are my kryptonite.”

A blond eyebrow rose. Stephen playfully rand a finger down the buttons of Virgil’s shirt. “I have very good coffee at home…and a new sofa that was made for making out on….”

Good coffee and more of Stephen’s soft lips. Virgil could feel his resolve weakening. Still, he made an effort. 

“One cup of coffee and thirty minutes of making out.”

“Two cups of coffee and an hour of making out.”

Virgil groaned. He hadn’t expected Stephen to fight so temptingly dirty.

“One cup of coffee and forty-five minutes of making out. And you spend tomorrow with me.”

Stephen bit his lip adorably. “I have some work to do in the morning.” He took Virgil’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. “One cup of coffee, fifty minutes of making out, and I will meet you for lunch at a cafe of your choosing, and I will spend the rest of the day with you.”

Virgil waggled a finger at Stephen. “You drive a hard bargain, Dr Furnier.”

“Do you accept, Mr Tracy?”

“Yes.”

“Shake on it?”

“Nope.” Virgil gathered Stephen into his arms and lowered his face close to Stephen’s. “Kiss.” 

As their lips met, Stephen realised he had fallen completely in love with Virgil Tracy. 

Given the isolated nature of his work, Stephen Furnier had never expected to find love. And to find it here, in Sydney - of all places - filled him with joy. He was going to love Virgil Tracy for the rest of his life. He couldn’t wait.

[mcx7demonbros]

Pride’s Steward

Alrighty, this fic will feature my new MC. I’ll make a masterlist and picrew for him later.

Ft. Elias, Lucifer

C/W. Cursing. Slight mention of murder, school bullying.

No proofread.

The story is partly based on The Devil’s Sooty Brother, by the Grimm Brothers

Elias didn’t know what he was doing. That afternoon, he was fired from the job which he had gotten after a rough period of trying to find a job to support himself and pay for his loan. Overwhelmed by anger and sadness, Elias went to the pub and got himself drunk.

“Damn that jerk! Die and go to hell!” Elias cursed as he remembered the image of his fat boss telling him he didn’t have to come to the company anymore and that it was a difficult period and he should be understanding for the company. At least the fat old man threw him his salary for that month.

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m such an unfilial son.” Elias began to sob as he thought of his poor parents living in a rural region, who did their best to raise him and his sister. After his sister left a letter saying she was going to become an actress in Italy and ran away from home and had been missing ever since, Elias’s parents put all their hope on him, using all their saving to send him to the city for college and a better future. Even then, he still had to loan for the latter half of his study at college.

After crying to himself for a little while, Elias stood up from the park bench he had been sitting. Only at that time that he realized the park was extremely dark, with no light on at all. Elias felt a chill down down his spine, making him want to go back to his flat immediately.

Elias tried to get back as fast as he could, but the path he was walking and running was unending, he couldn’t leave the park no matter how hard he tried.

Am I too drunk to walk properly?

Elias finally stopped to catch his breath. That was when a mysterious figure appeared before him.

The figure was a man - a young handsome man. His attire was a bit traditional, in Elias’s opinion, with a fur-lined coat being the most noticeable.

“It’s your sadness that drew me to you. May I ask what is wrong that you look so distressed?”

Elias knew that the weird thing around him had to be related to the man standing before him, so he decided to tell the truth.

“I was fired from my job. So I have no way to support myself and pay the loan, let alone helping my parents.”

Lucifer nodded before saying: “I’m currently in need of a steward to take care of my castle. Let me employ you as my servant and you will never want for anything again for as long as you shall live. Serve me for three years, and after that you will be free. And I will teach you to play beautiful music.”

Elias pondered for a moment before nodding.

“Good, now follow me.”

Lucifer took a last glance at the young man. He recalled going to the human world to collect a prideful soul, but as he was passing Elias, some strong force kept telling him to help the distressed man without offering him immediate power in exchange for his soul. Was it pity? Was it some goodness still remained in him since he was angel before? He couldn’t be sure.

Lucifer took Elias to a large black door with a blue symbol.

“I will now cover your eyes and ears with magic. Grab my coat and keep walking like I instruct. I will take off the magic when we arrive at my castle.”

After that, Elias couldn’t see or hear anything. He grabbed on Lucifer’s coat and began to walk as Lucifer instructed. When Lucifer said “turn left”, he turned left; when Lucifer said “turn right”, he turned right.

The first thing Elias saw when he could see again with his eyes was a large room with many devil paintings and a piano.

“From now on, you will be a steward here. Your duties are to keep this place clean and tidy and make sure everything is in order. You don’t need to cook for me because you won’t see me a lot here. I will pay you every month and you can do with the money as you please. There’s a room in here that you can use to send money to anywhere in the Human World that you want. Is there any question?”

“Yes. I still haven’t got to know your name.“

“I haven’t told you my name? Listen and engrave your Master’s name to your memory. I’m Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride.” Lucifer said as he turned into his demon form.

Elias nearly said out loud “Lu…Lucifer, as in THE Lucifer?” Elias’s parents were religious so he had heard about Lucifer and his rebellion against God from his parents in their bedtime stories.

“You look even more worried now, huh.” Lucifer chuckled.

“I’m fine. By the way, is there something I should never do while I’m here?” Elias tried to change the subject.

“A clever servant. I like that. There are two things you should never do. First, never leave the castle’s grounds. You’re in literal Hell. Hence, I covered your eyes and ears before so that you couldn’t see or hear the cries of the damned nor the wicked cackle of demons. This castle is the only place that is save for you.”

“And the second thing?”

“Second, never enter the basement and open the doors in it. If you do not listen to me, you would be sorry.”

“Alright, got it.”

Lucifer was preparing to take his leave when he remembered something.

“How rude of me! I forgot to ask your name.”

���My name is Elias, um Sir, no Master.”

“E-LI-AS.” Lucifer pondered the name for a little bit before laughing and left using some magic.

Over the next few days, Elias did as he had been told: cleaning, tidying, keeping everything in order. He helped his parents a lot while he was still staying with them so the job wasn’t difficult to him at all. He also cooked (for himself) since the kitchen was always in abundance of cooking ingredients and read the books he found in the library.

After a week, Lucifer came back to check on him. He was pleased to find the castle clean and in order. He thought to himself at least he wouldn’t regret over hiring some human to be his butler. As promised, Lucifer taught Elias how to play the piano and some other music that can only be found in the Devildom.

Thus, the cycle was established, Elias would keep the castle clean and in order. When Lucifer returned once or twice a month, the demon would pay him and teach him some music.

However, Elias was curious of what was in the basement. Lucifer did not give any explanation like he did with never going outside the castle’s grounds. His curiosity got the better of him, and one day, when he was sure Lucifer wound’t come as he was familiar with the cycle of coming and going of his Master, he entered the basement, using the keys given to him.

Once in there, Elias found himself in a large maze with unending corridors and doors. His instincts told him to turn back but his curiosity won again. Elias went to a door and opened it.

Inside, Elias found someone being broken on a wheel. As Elias came close, he realized the person was his class monitor when he was in high school back when he was still living in the countryside. The class monitor, as Elias remembered, was a good student in front of his teachers, but behind their backs, he was a brat who considered himself the king of the class and forced everyone to serve him and bullied those who went against him. He would beat anyone who dared to get higher score than him in tests. Every teacher believed him because he was a good student in their eyes. The guy was only unmasked when they found him murdered in the pub in their last year of high school.

“Elias, you’re Elias, right? Elias, help me! It’s so painful here.” The class monitor cried to him.

Seeing the class monitor begging him only made Elias disgusted.

“Well, well,” Elias said “so there you are! Once you had me in your power, but now the boot is on the other foot!”

Elias began to spin the wheel faster. One, two, three,…ten rounds, until his class monitor had become meat paste. Once he was done, Elias left the room and closed the door.

Elias moved to the second room. There, he found his former homeroom teacher while he was in high school, also on a wheel. The homeroom teacher was also a prideful person who looked down on her students, colleagues and other staff at school, like janitors. Elias was amongst the students she had treated harshly and unfairly as his family didn’t have any power at the place they were living. The only ones she feared and used her tongue to flatter were old men in school management. Hell, Elias even believed she slept with the principal. Though everything went downhill for her after the death of the class monitor as she was also responsible for his wicked behavior at school. She died in the car crash the following winter.

“Well, well,” Elias said “so there you are! Once you had me in your power, but now the boot is on the other foot!”

Elias began to spin the wheel as fast as he could. One, two, three,…ten rounds, until the pathetic teacher turned into meat paste.

Not yet satisfied with his curiosity, Elias went to the third room. There, he saw an old man who was mostly naked. Coming closer, Elias realized the man was the pastor priest of the church he went to when he was still living with his parents. In his memory, the priest was an uncharitable man. He always had that Pharisee look on him like he was the only holy one in the town, while everyone else was a sinner. The man was also greedy and used donations from the faithful for himself. Elias once told his parents that he suspected the priest must have misused the donations they gave to the church but his parents scolded him “Don’t judge!” “He’s a priest, he knows how things should go for the good of the faithful that you don’t know.” Fortunately, there were also other people who noticed something was wrong and filed their complains to the bishop, who intervened and removed the priest. From what Elias heard, the priest was sent to a monastery. According to a letter from his parents, the priest had died in winter last year, due to pneumonia.

“Elias, is that you? Son, please release me from this chain and help me out of this painful place.”

In reply, Elias grabbed the priest’s beard and pulled it, making him groan in pain.

“Well, well, so there you are! Once you had me in your power, but now the boot is on the other foot!”

Elias then tore the wicked priest’s beard, before spinning the wheel with all his might, turning the priest into meat paste.

“Satisfied?”

Elias froze the moment he exited the room as Lucifer was standing in the corridor, waiting for him.

Oh shit!

“Master, I’m sorry. I couldn’t contain myself and wanted to satisfy my curiosity.” Elias bowed and confessed his fault.

“It’s lucky that you only encountered those whom you hate and you add more pain to their punishment instead of trying to relieve them, or you would have been mine.” Lucifer turned to the door leading up to the castle. “Let’s leave. In next room may not be someone you want to see down here.”

Elias followed Lucifer back to the castle. Over the next three years, Elias served the Avatar of Pride faithfully. Overtime, the Morningstar gave his steward more power, letting him help with the paperwork he had to bring back to his Ring. Elias also became responsible for making hell coffee for Lucifer whenever he had to return to his castle to work in his Ring. The two became closer as Lucifer told Elias about his brothers, about his demanding boss with the name of Diavolo, and about RAD and the upcoming exchange program. Beside piano, the prideful demon also taught Elias some demonic magic, making him a warlock.

Time flied fast, and soon it would be the end of the three-year employment period. However, something was occupying Lucifer’s mind at the moment.

“You still have a headache over choosing the second exchange student from Human World, Master?” Elias asked despite knowing the answer as he placed a cup of hell coffee on the table.

“Yeah.” Lucifer sighed as he sipped the coffee. Then he looked at Elias for a long while. One thing he noticed about the hell coffee made by his steward was that it had become more and more awfully bitter over these three years. Elias must have bore feeling for him but he must leave soon. Lucifer felt uncomfortable and sad that Elias was leaving. He knew Elias wanted to stay too but an employment contract between a demon and a human couldn’t be changed. When the employment period ended, Elias had to leave.

Lucifer’s eyes then wandered to the documents on his table before a light bulb sparked in his head.

“Elias, how about you becoming our second human exchange student?” Lucifer smiled at his steward.

“Is that allowed? I mean, I haven’t been to the Human World for three years, except on some days off you gave me. I’m sure my profile isn’t in that paper mountain.”

“Not to worry. I could pull some strings to get your profile in.”

“Then I shall do my best as an exchange student, Master.”

“From now on, drop the “Master” and “Lord”, we will soon be fellow students and housemates.”

[widespot]

In the middle of the party, River gets a call from Helen's mom, and he finds himself at the Chain Restaurant with a gaggle of middle-aged ladies and Daisy. He's being vetted! This is the first sign he's had that Helen might reciprocate his long-term thinking, and he is not going to mess this up! "The weather's so much more temperate here than at home, I lose track of what season it is."

"Of course chess is a bit of big deal in Widespot. For so long there was nothing else to do, if it was raining and you couldn't go to the Swimming Hole." "I see. We have a great many more choices of leisure activity in Bigg City, but it's becoming fashionable there, too."

"The Undecided Major special, please - I've got a coupon for that, and it should have enough bulk and variety that everyone can get something they like."

"Ginger! Help!" "Who are they all? I mean, I recognize Mrs. Beech, of course -" "Helen's mom and her friends! I can't wrangle them all on my own!" "Okay. I need to get to know my future mother-in-law better anyhow."

"Lead with making dean's list - that'll impress her."

"So statistically there's just as much chance of an ace appearing four times in one hand as any other card -" "Oh, don't talk to me about statistics!"

"Oh, yes, River and I dated all through high school, as much as we could - he worked hard as a cashier in the General Store and it wasn't as often as we wanted. But of course, you come to college, and things change."

"It's intimidating because Helen's a pearl necklace kind of girl, but true love conquers that sort of thing." "It's nice that you still think that. Don't look to conquer. Endurance is good enough."

"She's promised to help me with stage makeup if I decide to go with the musician career." "Musician? Are you serious?" "Why not?"

"And we face off with chess because of course we do." "I'm not as good as Scot, so take it easy on me. And I hope you'll take it easy on Ginger, too." "Why? What has she said to you about me?" "Nothing, but you make her nervous. Orphan, you know."

"And you think he's creative enough to make it as a musician?" "I'm sure of it! He's not a front man, but he's jammed with us and you should hear him play piano, Mom!" "I'm just not sure about both of you girls undertaking such precarious lifestyles. We all know Helen's not going for any kind of real career."

[mimikusu]

AHH! I love this list and could happily (and greedily!) ask the lot of them, but I'll try to keep things under control at least a little. 2, 6 and 11 for both Simon and Niko, and 16 for yourself, please, would be fab, all that? 💕💕

Thank you!! It's my pleasure!! Sorry in advance for rambling, because this is for sure what I'm about to do now... 🥲

2) What do they look like when they don't feel well? Do they dress up to cover up? Do they tend to look sick when they are?

Simon: He's so obsessed with how he's perceived. You bet you will not notice even the slightest difference. Maybe, in case he's looking suspiciously well dressed, acting more irritable than usual, you might be able to tell. Since he's prone to chronically overwork himself, a tired face is nothing unusual. Only few people are actually able to tell when he's sick. Rather by his actions than by his look though.

Nikolai: This is no suprise, but he's an open book. Him dressing in more than just one layer, usually involving turtle necks, scarf and sometimes even joggpants is a telltale sign. As is his nose, which he keeps rubbing force- and unapologetically.

6) Are they shy? Are they outgoing? Do they make friends easily?

Simon: Although 'shy' gives a somewhat wrong impression, he's certainly very introvert. People do not respond that well to him and he decided not to care. He would never open himself up to anyone he does not know, which keeps conversations very flat and boring. For that reason, he's not the type of person to make friends easily. Rather the opposite. Giving away the impression that he does neither care nor want to interact with people, other than on a professional level, he's not the center of the party, so to speak.

Nikolai: You might have guessed, is the initiative type of guy. He's always looking for reassurance from people and therefore seeking for their attention. He can come off as shallow sometimes. Still, people enjoy having him around for easy chat. Niko's the kind of person that really florishes in crowds and he'll always find people to hang out with. It's difficult for him to make lasting bonds, though.

11) Do they have a favorite place to be? Is it rather in the city or in nature? Does that change when they are unwell?

Simon: He would say that he doesn't - that any place is as good as the other. But that's in fact not true. There's no certain place he likes to return to, but he very much enjoys being in the countryside, since it stirs a certain kind of longing for easy- and calmness that he's unable to find in the city. Especially since his daily life and work can be overwhelming at times. Much more so, when he's sick. People annoy him and the fact that he has to cover up and pretend he's okay is draining. When he's not well, he really longs for his appartment, though: a place where he know every spot on the wall and where he doesn't have to expect any surprises other than his neighboor being noisy.

Nikolai: He's very easy to please and it's rather whom he's with than where. However, he really enjoys being in the Bar where he plays the Piano. It's being out in public and able to do something he really loves. He would even go to play when he's under the weather, only to avoid being alone. When he's really sick, though, he very much longs for his parents' home. He misses his mother's hearty soup and being pampered. Also, there's a certain smell and look to the place, the noise of a clock in the living room and his father turning a page of the book he's reading from time to time, that's really makes him feel safe and comforted.

16) Do you have a comfort OC? And if so why? What do you like best about them? Do you relate to them in ways?

Since I don't have too many OCs (Those two basically, the three 19th century students aside, I almost forgot myself), I can positively say that both of them are my comfort OCs. They both have qualities I really like. And especially because they both represent parts of myself that I can not get to terms with, so to speak. I feel much closer to Simon's awfull mediocreness and the horrible urge to be something more than just 'normal'. Still, I really relate to Niko's inability to focus on things longer than a few moments. The urge to shift talk with every word spoken - further away from the question asked (see? I'm doing it again...)

What I love about Simon is the stoic grumpiness with which he decided not to care for how he comes off to people socially. Not that he doesn't care what people think, just not if they like him or not. And I really do love Nikolai for being so careless and his ability to be easily fascinated by the smallest and most stupid little things.

Thank you so much for asking! I really love them both and it always makes me happy if they're loved by other's as well!