#Drawing and Art have been at a distance for me over the last few weeks

[thediktatortot]

Hiatus is not over, I'm just happy to share something my writing partner @enobytheexperiment and I are working on. A Reno/Vincent piece set 3 months after Geostigma has been cured.

The world is on the mend, and Vincent Valentine needs a job. Luckily, the Turks are offering. Less luckily, he’s saddled with Reno. The job description includes traveling all over Gaia facing down a new anti-Shinra military power with no allies, and no supplies. Vincent could learn a thing or two about how the Turks run now. And Reno could learn a thing or two about redemption. [Tags will be updated as chapters are posted.]

Join the Vincent Valentine community while you're at it! <3

[moonchildstyles]

lily of the valley

oleander final part: y/n never pictured that her night would end like this.

wordcount: 16.2k+

cw: lots of talk ab blood and the consumption of blood! some descriptions of people who have passed away, but thats really it!

—————

(Y/N) stood behind the apothecary counter, chin resting in her palm with her eyes gazing out the window. The rain had returned last night, bringing with it a lingering fog and cloudy sky. Barely anyone was out and about, leaving (Y/N) feeling as if she were the only soul left in the village. The same way she had felt since leaving the castle and ghosting through the world without anyone the wiser to what she had learned that night. 

The last week had been one of wandering thoughts and conflicting dreams. More than once, she had woken in a cold sweat, a flashing nightmare of Harry hovering over her, his mouth full of sharp teeth and blood. She would wake with her heart in her throat and lungs tight, but the only thing that could calm her was the thought of Harry himself comforting her. She would replay a fantasy of him coaxing her down from her fright, those concerned eyes and gentle touch helping draw her in.

Soon enough, as the days packed on, those nightmares were few and far between, leaving (Y/N) with only questions and intrigue replacing her initial fear. Distance and time from him allowed the memories of his care to rise to the surface; his promise of never bringing her any harm and the actions to back it up were at the forefront of her mind. 

He had said they would see one another soon, after enough time had passed to allow her to wrap her head around it all. (Y/N) was beginning to itch for that time to come sooner rather than later. 

As if someone had been listening into her thoughts, a familiar bone white horse emerged through the fog, looking more phantom than animal. The rider had long dark hair and pale features. It was Harry's footman—Mitchell.

He was the one that hadn't learned his self-control yet. (Y/N) stiffened at the thought.

The horse was guided right to the apothecary where Mitchell hopped off the stead and tied the reins to the latch outside of the shop. (Y/N) didn't know how to keep her eyes away now that she knew what he was. 

The similarities to Harry only increased as she looked at him through a different lens. They were both impossibly graceful, lacking any flaw. Mitchell moved with a restrained strength, as if he were holding back with every movement causing him to look almost mechanical. She wondered if Harry was always holding back in the same way, but had mastered the art of blending in. 

There was no hesitancy this time when he came in. Stepping over the floorboards, he still lacked any real show of presence as nothing creaked under him or rattled around his weight. His sharp eyes landed on her immediately. 

"Ms. (Y/N)," he greeted with a nod, his voice low and clipped. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a familiar, opulent envelope. The last time she had seen one of these was when her father had thrown the piece into the furnace, effectively banning her from going to Harry's home. "From Harry," he murmured, passing off the piece. He took great care in ensuring their skin didn't brush. 

"Thank you," she answered, a small smile on her lips, "Mitchell." 

This time, she didn't wait for the footman to leave before she was breaking the wax seal and opening the flap to the letter. Inside was a simple letter, written out in curling letters on elaborate stationary. 

My dearest, (Y/N), 

       I hope I am not asking for too much to see you again so soon. I know we had agreed on coming together so I may offer answers to any and all questions you have, but if you would prefer to no longer see one another, I understand. If that is the case, tell Mitchell as much and I will no longer contact you if that will make you the most comfortable.

       If you are still open to seeing me again, I would like to invite you back to my home. I will arrange for the carriage to ferry you up here, and we will spend the evening discussing whatever you please. If you'll have me. 

       I hope to hear from you again soon. 

      Yours,

      Harry xx

Just as she finished skimming her eyes over the text, she saw Mitchell out of the corner of her eye attempting to flee just as silently as he had before. 

"Wait," she said, stopping him in his tracks before he could push open the door. 

He moved stiffly to face her, his dark eyes clear. "Yes?" 

"Hold on," she floundered, searching the counter for the steel pen and inkwell she had stored under the podium. "If I put my response on here, could you take it back to him, please?" 

Mitchell gave a single nod of agreement. 

This letter had been exactly what she was hoping she would see today. The small correspondence sparked those dimming memories of Harry she had been treasuring every night before bed. She could hear the words in his voice, see his pinched features and worried brow. 

The only problem she found within the lines was his choice of location. She didn't have the confidence to stage another sneak out in the middle of the night, not trusting herself to keep silent and away from prying eyes so soon after the last time. While she had done a well enough job, no one having approached her about anything they could have seen that night, she didn't trust that she could do it as well this next time when she had more nerves working against her. 

He would have to come to her. 

With her writing nowhere near as glamorous as his, she wrote out: 

      I would love to see you again. I can't go back to your home so soon, I'm sorry. Come to me this time. 

      I will leave my window open tonight and tomorrow. I will be on the lookout for you, and I will let you in through the shop door when I see you're here. 

Her letters looked like sloppy black slashes against his own curling script, but (Y/N) couldn't think much about her handwriting before she was folding up the page and replacing it in the gilded envelope. 

"Thank you," she said, handing the correspondence back to Mitchell. 

She expected him to stay in line with his persona, silently taking the page before he would ghost through the shop and disappear in the night. However, when he lingered after removing the letter from her grasp, she flicked her gaze up to find him looking at her with intensity in his earnest eyes. 

"Thank you," he insisted, unwavering in his eye contact. 

(Y/N) didn't have to ask where his gratitude was coming from. He knew that she was now aware of his condition, but there hadn't been even a single whisper of such through the village. 

"Of course," she offered, a quiet smile on her lips. "Hopefully, I will see you again sometime soon." 

For the first time she had seen, the stoic mask Harry's footman always seemed to carry showed its first crack. The very corner of his lips turned upwards in a smile. 

"I am sure we will." 

With that, he took the now altered letter and placed it for safekeeping in his jacket pocket. He left the apothecary as if he were but a phantom passing through. The only trace of his presence was the bone white horse (Y/N) could barely spot disappearing through the fog.

—————

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) pulled in a resigning sigh.

Harry wasn't coming. 

The sun had gone down hours ago, inducing both her father's bedtime and the rest of the village's. Even the pub wasn't garnering the kind of crowd that usually haunted those halls. This was the perfect night for him to visit. No one would even notice him and she could easily sneak him upstairs with the cover of the night and her father's heavy sleeping. 

She had diligently waited just as her response said, with her window cracked open to allow any noise to filter through and her eyes periodically scanning the space. Nothing more than a few bugs fluttering through her herb garden and the bright eyes of a familiar cat could be seen in the dark. 

If he was coming tonight, he would have already been here. (Y/N) sunk heavier into her thin mattress at the thought. 

Another hour—that's what he had left. Then, she would close her window and go to bed. She will try again tomorrow.

Just as her plan came together, she could hear her name being whispered in the night. Much closer than that of a bug skittering through her garden and too vivid to be a dream. 

Her eyes shot open only to see her window shadowed by Harry's broad form. He was lacking a jacket and waistcoat, only clad in fitted black trousers and a billowing top in a matching hue. This late at night, his eyes and hair seemed to be of a coordinating shade, leaving his skin especially pale in comparison. 

"Harry?!" she gasped, startling on her bed, "Wh—How did you—" 

He looked over his shoulder in a quick whip of his head before he turned to her once more. 

"I will explain in a moment, but I think I see one of your neighbours," he murmured, gesturing to her window with a nod of his chin. "May I please come in?" 

(Y/N) scrambled at the thought of one of her neighbours catching Harry perched on the sloping roof of her home, right where her window was open. "Yes, yes," she rushed out, keeping her voice low as she moved towards her window, "Just—Come in before anyone sees you." 

Curling her fingers under the pane, (Y/N) slid it open just enough for him to slip through. Taking a step back, she watched as he fluidly climbed through her window, not even a hair out of place. He landed on her floor without a single sound, turning back to shut the window after him. 

She hadn't realized just how heavy her heart was beating until the vacuum of her bedroom was restored. She settled some though she kept her eyes fixed on the broad of Harry's shoulders. 

"How did you get up there?" she breathed out, trying to picture how he would have made it to the ledge so soundlessly despite her open window. 

Harry's answer came in the form of a sly look shot over his shoulder. 

Oh. 

"Right," she sounded. Another part of his whole existence that she had no idea about. More questions were added to her ongoing mental list.

Harry looked out of place in her tiny bedroom. He was broad and space-filling. He had a presence here among the mishmash of stuff that made up her home, though it was far from suffocating. Standing with his back to her window, his form appearing that much longer with the help of the single flame of candle light casting shadows around him. He looked around her room, a tiny smile sitting on his lips. 

"Do you mind if I look around?" His voice was so pleasant and unrushed, it almost made (Y/N) forget the gravity of their meetup. 

Nonetheless, confined to her spot before the end of her bed, she nodded her head. 

She watched as Harry took in her space the same way she had taken in his: with curious awe. All of her small trinkets, childhood journals, gardening momentos, and memories of her mother were plotted about her room for him to graze his eyes over. His hands were twined behind his back as he wordlessly stepped through the space, eyes lighting up as he looked over the small shelf her father had nailed into the wall when she had finally received her own bedroom. There was a twitch to Harry's lips when he saw the various lengths of twine she had laying over her rickety bedside table; she always forgot she had one waiting before she had pulled another to tie her hair back. 

Her room was nothing at all like his castle. While he lived in rich color, exquisite luxury, and vast amounts of space, she had the opposite. Everything was muted in her room, leave for the dried flowers and tiny splashes here and there amongst her things. Harry could cross the width of her room in three strides with the length being met within four. It was far from the standards he likely had. Despite the obvious differences, (Y/N) could see the shatters of green appearing in his eyes the longer he made himself at home in her room, his features softening and bones relaxing.

She hoped that meant he liked what he found. 

Just when she thought he was planning on spending all night dissecting any and everything he could find in her bedroom, Harry finally turned on his heel, hands still clasped behind his back, to face her with a gentle smile. 

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," he told her, voice a low rumble, "Have you had time to think?" 

Sitting on the end of her bed, she gave him a small nod. Her bottom lip fit between the blunt ends of her teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. "I have a lot of questions." 

"I figured you would. I am an open book, (Y/N)," he affirmed, coming to stand just before her, "Anything you want to know, I will answer to the best of my ability." 

(Y/N) could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled back on her bed, folding her legs underneath her with her nightgown falling around her form. "You can sit with me if you'd like" she offered, eyeing the empty space on her mattress for him. 

Her heart bubbled in her chest at the realization that she was asking a man to her bed. She had been so occupied on learning her answers and ensuring no one saw them together in the dead of night, that she had completely forgotten the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with Harry. When she had come up with this plan, she hadn't given much thought to the fact that she was supposed to be worried about her reputation (or her safety, if she was considering the non-human aspects of him). The racing of her heartbeat increased that much more when he cautiously took up her offer and crawled onto the bed in front of her. In the back of her mind, she wondered just how terribly her bed stacked up against the velvet covered monstrosities he had in his own home. 

"Thank you," he said, settling himself amongst the folds of her quilt. His observing gaze settled on her with rounded corners to his eyes. "How are you?" he asked, sincerity in his voice, "Have you been well since the last time we met?" 

"I am well, yes," she answered, dropping her eyes to her lap where her hands fumbled with one another, "Just thinking and trying to figure everything out. And yourself?" 

"I've been okay," he answered earnestly, "But, much better now. I'm glad to hear you've been alright; I have been worried I frightened you or been too much that last night." 

(Y/N) canted her head. "I wouldn't say frightened, no, but I've been overwhelmed." She swallowed. "Confused." 

"I understand; I felt the same way once, too," he sympathized, his tone tender, "What has troubled you the most?" 

Peeking at him through her lashes, she swallowed around her suddenly dry throat. 

"The—um—the bodies," she whispered, a pinch appearing by her brows, "You said that you haven't been the one doing... that recently, but you had in the past. What did you mean?" 

Just as troubling as it was for her to ask that question, it appeared Harry had the same issue answering it. 

"I..." he started, cutting himself off before he could get very far with his mouth settling into a grim line. "There was a time right after I had... become what I am now, that I was not myself. I was confused, scared, and unable to think rationally. All I knew was that I was hungry. The food I could find made me terribly ill, and no amount of water, or wine, or anything could quench my thirst. I could only have that." 

While (Y/N) felt as if she already had the answer she was asking for, she couldn't help but to pose her question anyway. 

"What do you mean, that?" 

Harry dropped his gaze from hers when he answered. "Blood."

Her fingers were a nervous bundle in her lap before her body stilled like the dead at his answer. The memory of the corpse she had found, bloodless and pale like snow, reentered her mind. 

"Y-You drink it?" 

"Yes." 

Her heart hammered against her ribs, though the feeling made her think only of the blood rushing through her veins. 

She must have sat there silent for too long, she realized when Harry piped up, feeling the need to mend the shock he had given her. 

"It's not something I want to do, (Y/N)," he started, choosing his words carefully, "It is the only way I can continue living, but please believe me when I say that I have not committed those kinds of atrocities in almost one hundred years. The second I learned that I could survive off of animals, that's what I started doing. I haven't done anything like what has been happening since." 

As uncomfortable as she felt, thinking about Harry drinking any kind of blood or taking any kind of life, she could live with the fact that he was choosing animals over those of her village. She had to eat too, and while she would have loved to keep every animal alive and frolicking around, she had to do what she had to do as well. She couldn't judge him too harshly. 

"But, Mitchell. He doesn't know yet?" she asked, thinking back to the man with the long hair and ghostly demeanor.

Harry sighed, the same kind of sigh her father used to give when her sister was too stubborn for her own good. "He does know, but it is a hard transition. He wants to change, but he cannot always contain himself should an easy opportunity present itself. I am trying to teach him how to work past those urges, but it is taking longer than either of us would like." He dropped his head then. "I am sorry for what you have seen and what he has done when he is not able to think. I live with the guilt just as much as he does, but we are getting better everyday. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive both him and I."

(Y/N) pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but I can understand," she offered on a delicate breath. Truthfully, Mitchell sounded like a child: impulsive and taking steps forward before taking just the same amount back. "We all do things we are not proud of. I hope he can learn from this soon, and give these families peace." 

"He will," Harry cemented, "I am going to make sure of it." 

A beat of silence sat between them as she rifled through her head to decide on her next question. "Pardon me if this is inconsiderate to ask," she prefaced, "But, is your... condition the reason both you and Mitchell are so... pale?" 

A genuine grin stretched across Harry's lips at her words. His laughter was a quiet huff from between his lips. "I would think so, yes," he told her, likely grateful for the easier line of questioning, "Every other vampyr I have met, we all tend to be on the paler side, lacking that life in our skin." 

It was an odd thing, hearing him talk about all of the others he had met. She couldn't help but to wonder if Harry really was the first she had ever encountered without even realizing. "Is that why you are cold, as well?" 

"Am I?" he asked, tipping his head to the side with a crease between his brows, "I suppose I've never really noticed. Though, the few times you have allowed me to touch you, you are so pleasantly warm I should have figured as much." 

"You think I'm warm?" she asked, feeling a small sense of pride hit her chest. It was entirely silly to feel flattered over a comment about the temperature of her skin, but she couldn't help herself. She was a simple girl, at the end of the day. 

"Very much so," Harry affirmed, dimples pressing into his cheeks as she smiled at her, "You are like the sun to me." 

Now she definitely couldn't bite back her smile, dropping her head to watch her fumbling hands pluck at the seams of her nightgown. "The sun?" 

"The very one," Harry teased, "Though I haven't felt the sun since I changed, I imagine the rays feeling like your touch." 

"You haven't felt the sun?" (Y/N) blanched, a set of questions hitting her that she hadn't even considered, "But I've seen you outside?" 

Harry gave her a pointed look, "Only on cloudy days. I learned the hard way a long time ago, but I now burn under the sunlight. It's a rather frightening experience, if I'm honest." 

"You burn?" (Y/N) pressed, suddenly scanning her eyes down his form as if she could pick out any marks or scars upon his skin. 

"As if I have touched fire," Harry grimly detailed, "But, I am lucky enough that because of what I am, my skin mends itself. I can't remember the last time I have had any kind of injury without an instant recovery or even fallen ill." 

A new lens fell over (Y/N)'s gaze as she looked at him. Harry was always strong in her eyes, both physically and in the way carried himself so regally despite the swirling rumor mill. Now, though, the descriptor had an entirely new meaning. No wonder he was so flawless—there was nothing in this world that could even blemish him. 

He was the perfect predator—and protector.

"You don't remember anything about the night you changed?" (Y/N) asked, mimicking the language he had been using himself. 

He didn't even blink at her shift in conversation, instead furrowing his brow and canting his head as he threw his memory back. 

"Not really," he mused, pursing his lips, "There are fuzzy bits and pieces I can recall, but nothing I can be sure of. Most of my life before is just as muddy, but I can remember a few things." 

"So you don't know how you became this?" She couldn't imagine going to bed one way and waking up another, not a single idea as to what happened only knowing that she was not the same. No wonder Mitchell was struggling; how do you cope with something so overwhelmingly monumental? 

"I don't know my story, but I do know how vampyrs can be made." He flicked his gaze to her as if to gauge her reaction, scanning for any minute change in expression. When he didn't see anything more than a curious blink, he cautiously continued. "There are three different things that can happen when we bite"—(Y/N) tried her best not to blanch at the blunt word—"someone. One is the kind that we use solely when we are eating, of course. That kind usually includes the end of a life." His own tone grew solemn at this example, that guilt he spoke of resurfacing, though (Y/N) appreciated his honesty. "We can make another vampyr in a similar way, though before the end, we have to have the control to stop. I do not know how it happens exactly, but there is something that changes humans and makes them like me. It can take time, but it can happen." 

"Have you ever... made someone?" 

Harry shook his head. "I've never considered making someone like that—it's too risky in my eyes." 

(Y/N) slowly nodded her head, taking in all of the information she was learning. It was hard to think she was only in her bedroom, and not in some fantasy world that had violently merged with her own. "You said there's a third kind of... bite?" 

"There is one more," he told her, sounding somewhat hesitant as he started, "It is called a Blood Bond. It is usually something that is shared between people that are intending to devote themselves to one another." 

"How do they do that?" (Y/N) was intrigued now. This whole thing—being a vampyr—sounded so solitary, she didn't even think that there could be something like this within their culture. A union.

"They have to bite one another," Harry answered vaguely, "and share blood. Usually at the neck." 

"And, it's like a marriage?" she pressed, trying to merge the concept with something familiar. Nonetheless, it was hard to picture her sister's wedding ending with she and her husband snapping at each other's throats.

"Something like that," Harry shrugged, "A bit more binding, though." 

A troubling thought struck (Y/N) then. "Have you ever...?" 

Harry all but blanched at her words. He shook his head immediately. "No, never. Mitchell is the only person I've ever kept in my life for longer than a month." 

While she hated the thought of Harry being alone, solitary in his castle overlooking the village, there was a selfish part of her that keened at the thought that he had never devoted himself to anyone. 

"How long have you known Mitchell?" (Y/N) rolled on. She wanted to get a picture of Harry's existence, even if she didn't completely understand the details yet. 

A small smile plucked at the corners of his mouth then. "You really are quite curious, aren't you?" 

Sheepishly dropping her gaze from his, she lifted her own shoulders in a small shrug. "It is alright if you'd rather not answer anymore, I know I can ask a lot at times. I do not wish to bother you or anything." 

"No, no," Harry rushed, impulsively dropping his hand to land on her nightgown-covered knee, "Please, you are not bothering me. I love your curiosity. I told you: I am happy to answer anything you have for me. I want you to know me." 

Matching her gaze to his, (Y/N) couldn't deny the genuine sincerity she found swimming in his irises. Refractions of crystal green had appeared in the pitch black, giving the look of a moonlit forest. There was a warmth to his expression, giving him the illusion of life with the dimples in his cheeks and the dazzling smile on his lips. 

She couldn't imagine being anywhere, but here.

—————

"What happened after that?" 

Harry directed his gaze towards the ceiling, searching the air for the rest of the story that lay in his head. 

"Nothing too eventful, really," he mused, "I suppose that was when I started focusing on blending back in with the world. I felt comfortable in my control and wanted to stop hiding away so profusely—plus, I was beyond bored with my own company. Brooding can only fill so much time." 

(Y/N) let out a tittering laugh at his words, leaning that much closer to Harry. 

As he spoke about his life, telling her of all of the things he had seen, people he had met, and the details that made him up, the space between them had slowly dissipated until Harry was laying at her side. The longer they talked, the easier it was to grow closer and more comfortable sharing space. (Y/N) had even twisted until she was laying beside him, flat on her stomach with him on his back, hands folded over his stomach. 

This close, she could practically count the lashes lining his eyes, the faint set of freckles that dusted his skin. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he had looked like when he was human. Did he have perpetually flushed cheeks? Were his eyes always green, or just as dark as they were now? When he was cold, did the chill show on the tip of his nose? 

She didn't allow herself long to wonder over those questions. Harry as it he was in front of her was enough—more than enough, really.

"Was that hard?" she asked, her voice a low whisper as if she was conspiring with him in the dead of night, "Trying to be human again?" 

"At times, yes," he mused, his eyes on the ceiling as he found his thoughts, "Humans, without realizing it, will pick up on the things that make me different and avoid me out of survival—even when I mean no harm. It is hard to feel normal when that happens." 

Laying her cheek down on her pillow, admiring him as her head sunk into the down, a frown plucked at her lips. She could imagine him after trips down to the village, shopping and trying to socialize, though it was no secret the townspeople would rather him stay away. More and more she learned, the less Harry was a creature of the night with blood-stained teeth, and more a lonely soul adjusting to something he never asked for. 

"I don't avoid you," she said, a quiet attempt to make him feel less alone. 

She had the perfect view of the smile that stretched over his lips at her words, dimples and all. The bed dipped as he manueavered on her small bed, laying on his side to face her with his own cheek pressed to the same pillow. Her breath caught in her lungs. She'd only been this close to him once before, when he had traced his nose over the column of her throat just when she had seen his lack of reflection. 

This time, she had nothing else to focus on. He was her everything right then, everything around him blurring out of focus. 

"I know you don't," he responded to something she barely remembered saying, "And I feel so lucky every time I remember that. You are one of the few, (Y/N), that hasn't run the other way. But those other times were never like this." 

Blinking with a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. She loved the sound of her name in his voice. "Like us?" 

"Yes, like us," he said, a rewarding smile on his lips for her, "While it concerns me that you seem to lack any real survival instincts, I am grateful that you are not scared of me." His eyes glazed over her features, taking everything about her in as she held onto each word. "I have been drawn to you for longer than I have been able to admit to myself. Every minute we spend together means something that I cannot fully express." 

"Drawn to me?" she peeped, her blood bubbling under her skin. 

Harry looked sheepish now, the way he flicked his eyes to her before letting them fall. She wondered, if he was the same as her, if there would be a flush to his cheeks, and a pounding in his chest. "You've intrigued me for a very long time, before we even started speaking in passing. I have made excuses to come down to the village, shopping with you when I didn't really need anything. Even though you didn't mean it, you made me feel less alone." 

Tentatively, (Y/N) reached out a hand, her fingers holding a small tremor before she placed her palm on his chest. The chill of his skin could be felt through his shirt, leaving goosebumps on her arm. The slight cold was worth it when she saw Harry all but melt at her touch. She really must feel that warm to him. 

"I have always been very interested in you, too," she murmured, unable to meet his gaze should that give away the exact feelings she was trying to say, "I never understood why anyone would try to gossip or say anything about you. I guess they aren't too far off, though—those rumors." 

Peeking through her lashes, (Y/N) held a smile on her lips as she hoped her tease would land. When Harry huffed out a breath of laughter, his hand landing on her own on his chest, holding her fingers snug, her own grin grew three sizes.

"I suppose not," he smiled, pulsing his hand around hers. 

Gazing at him, (Y/N) could nearly count the amount of green shatters floating to the surface of the pools of black. Everything about him was clear and steady, unwavering. "Thank you for coming tonight," she started, "My initial reaction was overwhelming, and I apologize for that. I would never want you to think that I felt the same way as the others or that you frightened me enough to never see you again." 

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, ducking his head until he was directly before her, the tip of his nose just barely missing her own, "I am sorry that I didn't assure you enough that you were safe with me and had nothing to worry about. I was planning on telling you myself, I was only waiting until I knew how to say it without using the wrong words." 

"I think you've done alright," she smiled. If she blinked, would their lashes tangle together, or would she need to be just a bit closer for that? 

"You have such a power over me, (Y/N)," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes swimming in devotion with his tone tinted in worship. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) wondered if anyone had ever felt like she did in her bed right then. Did her mother ever feel this way for her father? Did her blood ever burn for him the way (Y/N)'s seemingly did for Harry? Did her sister ever feel her lungs squeeze and heart batter her ribs when looking at her husband? Did Mr. and Mrs. Wayfield feel their skin crawl with the need to join one another? 

Or was (Y/N) the first? 

Had everyone felt this way before, or had she invented the idea of falling in love right then? 

It was impulsive, reputation-ruining, and entirely unladylike the way she surged forward and pressed her lips to his. If Harry had any inhibitions, he didn't show them with the way he reciprocated the contact in a heartbeat. Molding his lips to hers, he led her through the kiss. It was far from refined, (Y/N)'s lips clumsy and off centered but Harry didn't mind correcting her until his hand was holding her cheek steady and he was pushing and pulling with her moving in tandem.

Drawing away, (Y/N) pulled in a gasp. Her hand on his chest clenched the shirt covering his chest, nails raking along the planes of his muscles. Harry didn't offer her much of a reprieve before he was diving back in, the chill of his mouth feeling nonexistent with the heat that began coursing through her veins. 

While she hadn't noticed it, Harry must have with the way he pulled away, allowing her suddenly aching lungs to take something in. He offered a smattering of kisses along her cheeks instead, affection pouring over every inch he could reach. 

"I adore you, darling," he murmured, his voice dripping like the nectar from a flower deep into the marrow of her bones. "I will never get enough of you." 

(Y/N) could only smile, a dreamy expression as she dipped her head back. A pleasant chill crept up her spine when Harry distributed his kisses down the column and over her thrumming pulse. 

She could stay here forever. Never moving, never changing. Right here with Harry was her home. 

"I wish I could stay," Harry murmured, responding to words she hadn't realized she said aloud, "But the sun will rise soon, and I believe you still need to sleep." 

Drawing away, Harry righted her head with his hand on her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She wasn't sure if it was just her eyes or if it was truly there, but she swore there was color to his cheeks, a flush to his lips. 

"I don't need to sleep," she countered, ready to dive back in. 

Harry barely sated her with a single kiss pressed to her pout. "Yes you do," he insisted, "You are caring for your garden tomorrow, right? You need rest for that or you will be exhausted before you can finish." 

For a moment, she hated that he knew anything about her and her routine. She didn't care for the sage or the rosemary or whatever she was meant to be pruning in the morning. She cared for who was in her bed. 

"Don't look like that," he said, unable to keep himself from laying another kiss on her lips, "We will see each other again soon, I promise. I don't think I can wait very long, either." 

"You can't stay any longer?" she asked, slowly releasing her hold on his shirt. From where she could see out her window, the sun was still down with the sky dark, but she figured Harry would know his limits and timings much better than she. 

Glancing out the glass himself, she could see the gears turning in his head. "I can stay a little while longer. Until you fall asleep, yes?" 

That was more than she could have wished for, truly. To fall asleep in his arms was the stuff of dreams. 

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you." 

Harry responded only by bundling her to his chest. While there was no heartbeat to compare to her own, nothing to beat in rhythm against her ribs, (Y/N) had never felt more comforted. 

Sleep didn't take long, even when she had fought her tired eyes. 

—————

(Y/N) shyly peeked through her lashes as she descended the narrow aisle between the church pews. For the third service in a row, her eyes met that of a dark figure seated in the last row. Harry flicked his gaze to hers for a heartbeat before he looked away, a conspiratorial smile on his mouth. She felt her skin warm as she followed her father out the church doors, rolling her lips between her teeth. 

Ever since he had climbed through her window the first time weeks prior, Harry had been more involved in the village than ever. He had told her between breathless kisses in the quiet of her bedroom that he wanted to see more, that he could barely keep himself away—she was on his mind constantly. With going to his estate in the night wasn't always a smart option for her and her bedroom wasn't exactly easy to hide away in, he was going to find another way to see her. Since then, whenever the sun was shaded enough, he was ghosting among the village with a tendency to haunt the apothecary or anywhere else (Y/N) might have been. (She could only imagine the stack of lavender and tobacco bundles he had laying around his home with the amount of times he came in to shop with her). He had even started showing up for Sunday morning service for another chance to see her, despite neither of them particularly caring for the sermons. 

Their moments were made up of subtlety with stolen glances and conspiratorial smiles, near silent conversations when no one was listening or the quiet confirmation that they were thinking of one another. They shared more secrets than she was sure anyone would even know what to do with. 

She was the only one who knew the real him amongst the chatter, and she was the only person in the world who knew what it was like to kiss her. And, no one had any idea. 

No one had seen the way he slipped scraps of notes into her hand when she passed off his herbs. No one else noticed the way they gravitated towards one another during the after church gathering at the pub. No one knew that he slipped in through her window most nights or how a letter on exquisite stationery would appear when he couldn't. 

No one knew (Y/N) was in love.

So caught up in her head, she didn't even register the chilly air filtering around her as she descended the church steps being her father. She had followed mindlessly even when he stopped to make conversation with another parishioner, not noticing his pause until she tripped right into his back.

Turning around, her father steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking over the bridge of her nose that had smacked right into his spine.

"Yes, sorry," she rushed out with a shake of her head, "I wasn't paying attention." 

His worry seemingly settled in permanent lines across his face. "Are you sure? You're not growing ill, are you? You've been off in your head these last few days." 

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed over his shoulder and towards the fringes of the group where Harry stood by himself. She could just barely see the amused curl to his lips. He had definitely seen her misstep.

"No, " she answered, blinking back into the conversation though now she had her own efforts focussing on keeping her features in line. "I'm just tired."

—————

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured against his mouth, "My father..." 

Drawing away from her kiss-puffed mouth, Harry sighed. "I know. I am trying, but you have to understand my struggle, darling." 

She couldn't help the plume of laughter that fanned from her lips at his words. He practically beamed at the sound, his deep green eyes glimmering in the low light of a single lamp. 

(Y/N) loved the way he smiled when they were alone. It was a wonder thinking that there was time before she had even known he had dimples. 

"I'm sorry," she told him, settling into the down pillow under her head. Harry hovered above her with a delicate hand roaming over her cheek, his other propping him up from where he laid at her side. She barely noticed the chill when they were like this, huddled under her quilt with the heat of their breath and curious hands. "I wish we didn't have to worry." 

"Come to me tomorrow," he offered in an instant, a bit breathless as he dropped his hand to boldly skate down her side, "We can be alone then." 

His palm settled over her waist with a pulse, fingers tightening just when he mentioned alone. Shifting in her bedding, he didn't hesitate to pull her closer to him. 

From the heat in his refracted gaze and the exceptional curiosity of his hands tonight, (Y/N) had a blushing idea of what he wanted to be alone for. While it wasn't the first time in the last weeks that there had been the passing possibility of allowing him to push her nightgown up or pull apart her corset, this was the first time Harry had given such a hint to his own intentions. 

For fear of assuming too much, (Y/N) slid her eyes down the slope of his neck. "I don't know." 

Creases appeared between his brows as he gazed down at her. "What are you unsure about, darling?" 

Avoiding his eyes, (Y/N) felt her skin warm. "I—We—" she stumbled, tongue lazing around her mouth while she searched for the right words, "I want to be alone with you too, but... We're not married." 

She didn't match his eyes for fear that she had misread the situations and every other before this that she had sworn Harry was worked up on her account. For all she knew, he wanted nothing more than to speak at full volume and have more than a squeaky bed to sit upon.

Ducking his head into her line of sight, he forced her to meet his gaze. "I would never want to do something that you do not want as well, (Y/N). If you would prefer we do nothing more until we begin publicly courting and doing things in order, then that is what we will do." His hand on her side softened. "This is already more than enough for me—I can wait." 

Despite his kind words, (Y/N) didn't feel any of her stress alleviate. She had already known Harry would never rush her into anything thatch was not ready for, just as much as she knew that she did not feel any real inclination to wait until they were betrothed. But, neither of those truths made her decision any easier, not when there was more than just her own wants and desires to take into account. 

"I know, and I want to, really," she said, reaching out to play with the loose fabric of his top, "I just—It's... I don't want you to see or think of me any differently afterwards. I know it is not proper to want anything outside of marriage—I do not want anything to change if I were to... indulge." 

She hoped he understood what she was trying to tell him, specifically the kind of pressures that were placed on her for the simple fact that she was a woman in society. There were enough stories she had heard of women who had taken what they wanted, or fell in love with another and expressed that love, and were later shamed for doing exactly that—oftentimes by their own partners or people she trusted in her life. She didn't want to be cast aside in case he found that he no longer wanted her afterwards, after seeing how willing she was to be with someone that wasn't her husband.

Harry's features twisted with a frown touching his lips and his eyes saddening. "Have I ever made you feel as if my feelings would change should you spend the night with me? If I have, I want you to know—" 

"No, it's not that," (Y/N) rushed out, already feeling guilty, "You've never made me feel anything like that. It's just that... I suppose I've made myself feel this way. I just don't want you to change your mind about me." 

For all she knew, Harry would have sex with her and learn that he was only attracted to her for the fact that he wanted to be with someone after such a long time. It was not his fault she had these doubts, but they were ones that lived in her head.

Harry didn't shy away from her as she spoke. He only listened, patiently waiting for her to finish her thoughts. 

"I will just have to prove it to you then, that I have no doubts about you or anything I feel for you." His words were solid, unyielding. There was no room for argument. "In the meantime," he contented, his tone decidedly softer as he shuffled closer to her, "Would it be enough to tell you that I adore you? That I care for you more than I have for anyone or anything before?" 

(Y/N) suddenly felt shy under his attention. He had murmured as much to her in the heat of the moment before, but never so clearly and earnestly before.

"Harry," she started, settling her palm against his chest as if to contain him. 

"It is true," he smiled, unwavering in the way he spoke ,"You are like no one I have ever known before, and I could spend my entire existence only wishing to learn you. I know we are not married, or even engaged, but I hope it is enough to know that I do love you." 

Refractions of green sparkled in his eyes, brightening his gaze in a way she swore only happened when they were alone. Her heart bubbled and beat heavily in her chest. She could n longer contain the budding grin fighting to pluck at her lips. 

"You truly mean that?" she whispered, selfishly asking if only to hear it again. 

Dimples were thumbed into his cheeks. "Of course, I do. I've come to believe that the reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I might get to meet you." 

Looking up at him with his words ringing in her ears, Harry was like the moon to her. Never had she heard devotion like that. Even in her most romantic of daydreams, she never could have imagined that harry would say something like that to her, his eyes fixed to hers and his touch an anchor. Her chest practically ached as she processed. 

Her hand on his chest curled until she was fisting his top between her fingers. "I love you, too," she peeped out, the sound of her heartbeat sticking in her ears. 

Harry didn't hesitate before he was sealing his lips to hers once more. It was a hurried, excited kiss, leaving their mouths just a bit off center and his nose mushed against her cheek, but (Y/N) couldn't help but to smile into the contact. 

When he pulled away, (Y/N) could have sworn there was a flush of color to his skin. "If not for how badly I want to do this the right way, I would be proposing right now, (Y/N)." 

"You don't have to," she murmured, surging forward and pressing another kiss to his lips, "This is enough for me." While there was still undue shame she was going to undoubtedly feel tied to any decision she made, she didn't want that to come before what she wanted when it came to Harry. "If you were still offering," she started, dropping her eyes to follow the line of his nose and the pillow of his lips, "I would like to see you tomorrow. At your home." 

"Really?" he asked, his voice an octave deeper than she remembered. 

She nodded, a soft smile on her features. 

"Only if you are sure, my love," he murmured, "The door is always open for you."

(Y/N) could only answer him with a kiss.

—————

Pacing around her bedroom, (Y/N) counted, the numbers climbing in her head. Her simple white dress flourished around her ankles with every step, though she took care to avoid the creaky floorboards. 

When she reached two hundred, she took in a deep breath and strained her ears to listen to the rest of the house. All she heard was the sound of her father's snoring, just as she had when she had started readying herself. 

Releasing that breath, she took quiet steps to her slightly ajar window. She had run over this plan enough times in her head for her brain to go quiet as she finally put it all in place. Repeating her steps from the first time she had snuck out, (Y/N) made it out of her home in one piece before starting towards the long winding route leading to Harry's home. 

It wasn't long before a familiar black carriage and bone white horses hit her line of sight. A broad grin took over her features as she pace doubled to reach the coach. 

"Hello, Mitchell," she chirped, catching the familiar head of dark hair and pale features sitting in the coach box. 

"Hello, Ms. (Y/N)," he smiled at her, formality still hitting his tone despite (Y/N) assuring him more than once that he didn't need to offer her any, "He's been eagerly waiting for you." 

"I have been, too," she confessed through her grin, rounding the carriage with less grace than she figured she ought to have. Before she even had a chance to knock on the door or surprise him, Harry was practically jumping out of the box. 

"(Y/N)," he practically sighed, wrapping her in his arms the second his feet landed on the solid ground. 

Her own arms around his neck, she all but melted into his hold. Harry held her snug to his chest, his face buried in her hair. "I've missed you so, darling. I feel as if it has been years since I've held you." 

"You were in my room just last night, Harry," (Y/N) laughed. As if she hadn't been feeling the same way today, though it was much more fun to tease him.

"Exactly," he countered, stiffening his hold on her to lift her feet from the ground. (Y/N) squealed a laugh in his ear as she clung to him. "It has been much too long since I've held you."

She could offer no argument to him as she wrapped her limbs around Harry, allowing him to carry her into the carriage effortlessly. (Y/N) felt breathless by the time he had her settled on the bench beside him, wrapped in velvet and warmth despite his chilled skin. 

As she caught her breath, the horses started off in the direction of the castle, a rhythmic thumping starting with their hooves against the path. Harry looked down at her with amusement on his features. 

"Have you truly not missed me, darling?" he asked, his voice a soft song filling the space between them. His hand was just as gentle as he removed hair from her face, giving him a full view of her eyes. 

"I have," she smiled, shaking her head, "But, Mitchell..." 

Harry waved her off. "He doesn't listen, believe me. He only wishes to see me happy." 

"Are you? Happy, I mean?" 

Dipping his head down until he could press his lips to hers, (Y/N) received her answer in a murmur: "Undoubtedly, so."

—————

"If you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to show you." 

Looking at Harry from over the rim of her wine glass, (Y/N) brightened. "What is it?" she asked after swallowing her gulp, the center of her lips tinted a berry red. 

"Let me show you," Harry countered, standing from his place at the dining table before offering her a hand. 

(Y/N) placed her palm in his without a second thought, fluidly following after him. 

Her new gown flourished with every step she took with her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the white ensemble having been waiting for her when they arrived at the estate. Though it wasn't as grand as the red one that now hung delicately in the wardrobe, it was no less luxurious. 

The fabric was a satiny cream, gliding over her fingertips when she first touched it. The neckline cut straight across her décolletage with the sleeves being nothing more than swathes of material that draped over her arms, leaving the boned corset to keep the bodice upright. The skirt wasn't full like her last garment, leaving the shape slim and sleek around her form. Harry had practically mooned at her when she descended the stairs after dressing, his eyes never leaving her for long. 

With the way the fabric gleamed and shimmered, (Y/N) felt as if she fit in with the moonlight when Harry led her outside. At her side, he blended in with the dark night aside from his pale features, acting as the heavens around the bright moon. 

The ground under their steps was dewy, appearing as if drops of starlight had landed on earth with the reflection of the sky on the droplets. Looking ahead, through the draping wisteria and dark purple blooms, was the greenhouse. The building was in much better shape than the last she had seen, now with a complete roof and frosted glass on every wall. 

"You finished it!" she bubbled, eager to see if he'd had the chance to fill it with any exotic blooms just yet. 

"I did," he smiled, his profile illuminated by the full moon, "I wanted to make sure I could take you here the next time you came." 

Approaching the door, Harry pushed it open for her to enter first. 

Inside, (Y/N) felt that same wondrous glee she did when he had shown her the ballroom for the first time. This small space put her entire apothecary to shame. 

The space was warm and humid, condensation trapped along the windows. Strung along the roof were familiar bundles of all of the herbs Harry had come by to pick up over the last month or so whenever he wanted an excuse to see her, the air tinted with the matching lavender and tobacco fragrances. The greenhouse itself had shelf after shelf, stretching tables, and hanging pots full of different plants. There were still plenty of places to grow, more room to put more and more flowers and herbs, but there was already enough filling that space that (Y/N) couldn't help the joyous gasp she let out. 

Harry allowed her to wander through, looking over every leaf and every shrub, fawning over the blooms, and finding things she had no name for. When she wasn't so lost in her daydreams, romanticizing everything, (Y/N)'s hobby was her plants. She doted on them like pets, and took care of them every chance she could. Being in a place like this, with Harry, in a gorgeous dress, was exactly what her dreams were made of.

Coming up to an unfamiliar plant, (Y/N) gazed at it with wide eyes. The open leaves resembled that of an open jaw, with spines on the very edge of the leaves acting as teeth. It was colored a bright, smooth green, not a single blemish altering the perfection. Curiosity took over as she reached out, attempting to touch the spines to see if they were as sharp as they looked. She jumped back with a yelp when the leaves snapped together upon contact, acting just like the gnashing jaw she had compared them to. 

In an instant, Harry was at her side, cradling her back to him with her hand clasped in his. 

"It didn't get you, did it?" he asked with a concerned furrow to his brow. He cradled her hand in his palm, the pad of his thumb brushing over her fingertips as if he could heal any wound with a touch. 

"No, I am alright," she answered, canting her head as her eyes stayed locked on the biting plant, watching as it reopened its jaws for the next victim, "Does it always do that?" 

Bundling her hand in his own, Harry followed her this time as she approached the trap once more. "Only when it is trying to eat," he shared, watching her with the same fascination she offered to the plant. 

"It eats? What do you mean?" 

"It is called a Venus Fly Trap," Harry explained, "Unlike the others, it eats meat—bugs and the like. When it thinks it's caught any prey, it'll snap closed and take its meal." 

(Y/N) had never heard of a predator plant—had never even imagined something like this could exist. "You feed it?" 

"It does rather well for itself, I choose not to interfere too much."

She tried to picture something that looked so flimsy, a pair of leaves that mechanically moved together, could trap a living being. "Has it ever bitten you before?" 

"Once," Harry admitted, "It was more startling than anything. That is when Mitchell shared that we would most likely benefit from leaving it alone." 

Without much thought, she reached out once more as if to test the theory that the trap was nothing more than a scare. Harry quickly had her hands bundled in his own, twirling her away from the exotic bloom. He shook his head when his eyes met hers, a lopsided smile on his lips. 

"I have said it before, but it always surprises me how much you lack any sense of survival," he laughed, pulling her hands to his chilled chest, "Though I said it did not hurt, does not mean you should try it out yourself." 

"Sorry," she answered, a sheepish smile on her lips, "I just wanted to try for myself." 

"Don't," he teased, bringing her hands to his lips where he gave her a soft smattering of kisses along the fingertips.

A soft laugh plumed from (Y/N)'s lips as she watched him, wiggling her hands out of his to cradle his cheeks in her palms. "This place is wonderful, Harry. I had no idea you wanted to make something like this." 

He leaned into the warmth of her touch. "I made it for you." 

(Y/N) felt her features soften; her eyes rounded out, cheeks softened around the width of her smile, every muscle she hadn't even realized she was tensing now going lax. "Did you really?" she crooned, following the refractions of light that danced over his features from the moonlight streaming through. 

"Of course, I did," he smiled, "I'd do anything for you."

It was a moment like this that she wondered if she could really handle being engaged for a whole two years the way her sister was. She had spent so many years dreaming up someone like Harry, she wasn't sure if she could wait that much longer to have him be hers in every real way. All she could do was hold him tighter.

Harry's smile widened as he gazed down at her. "I wish I knew what was going on in your head." 

"Just you," (Y/N) answered, "Always you." 

Turning his head in between her hands, Harry pressed his lips not puckered kisses against the palms of her hands. She could feel him smiling against her skin. 

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, my love, but I am forever grateful." He pulled her hands from his cheeks only to hold them against his chest once more. His features, though still swimming in adoration, settled into something more somber then. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something out here." 

"Oh?" (Y/N) sounded. 

For the first time since they met, (Y/N) saw a small amount of uncertainty leak into his gaze. "I know we have talked some about our future," he started, gaze traveling over her features to capture any and every reaction, "And, I have been thinking about something that I wanted to share with you." 

"Okay," she nodded, trying not to betray her own nerves on her face, "Something good, I hope." 

A faint dimple was pushed into Harry's cheek as he stretched his smile that much more. "I hope so, as well." Within a breath, he was entirely serious once more. "You know that I wish to marry you, right? Outside of just our talks in your bedroom, I have meant every word I have said about sharing my life with you." 

"I do," she smiled, hoping to lessen his worry, "And I feel the same. I wish we could be married tomorrow, even." 

Small traces of relief had his features loosening up, the cut of his jaw rounding and his brows relaxing. "I do as well, but I want to do that the right way, with a real wedding and everything else you could want. Though, I feel that the both of us are rather impatient." (Y/N) let out a small fan of laughter at his truth. "Because of that, I have been thinking and found some old correspondence with a friend that gave me an idea." He paused before continued, as if gathering his words. "Do you remember the Blood Bond I told you about?" 

(Y/N) gave a silent nod. She could recall the short details he had shared with her and the way her mind had traced back to the binding more than once in her daydreams. 

"I know it is a lot to ask of you, as neither of us really understand what a Blood Bond truly entails outside of theory, but I have wondered if... If you might be willing to complete a Blood Bond with me." He rolled his lips between his teeth wrestling with both his nervousness at presenting the idea as well as his hope for her answer. "I found letters from an old friend, someone who knew someone else who had completed the bond with another, and it sounded promising. There weren't many details, but they sounded happy." 

"Were they—" (Y/N) floundered over her question, unable to find the right terms, "Were they both like you? Or was one of them like me?" 

His mouth formed a grim line. "Both were like me. I can't find anything on any couple like us, unfortunately. I suppose we might be the first," Harry posited, the very corner of his mouth turning upwards. 

While (Y/N) was more than warm to the idea of bonding with Harry—marrying him in the way they could without having the follow the steps of courting and engagement while also easing her father into the idea—she was unsure. The lack of details that even Harry knew tickled a part of her mind she had trouble ignoring. 

"Would it...If we did, would it make me like you?" While she loved Harry for who he was, and understood his story, there was little desire in her to completely forgo her own life in favor of a still heart (and the blood thing was still very much not something she had interest in). 

"I do not think so, but, again, I can't be sure." It appeared as if it pained him to give her so little detail. "But, I would never offer this if I did not think it would be a good option for us, darling. Selfishly, even if we can't share this with anyone, I don't know if I can wait much longer before I know I am yours and you are mine."

He peeked at her through his lashes, reflections of green glimmering in the pale moonlight. (Y/N) understood what he meant. While this would be another secret between them, something she couldn't even share with her father, it was enough to look at him and know that Harry was hers and she was his. It was enough to know that there was a place they belonged: at each other's sides. 

Pinching her bottom lip between her teeth she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore than I can imagine a regular bite does," he offered, giving a small shrug of his shoulders, "But, I can't be sure. I would do everything I could to make it as painless as possible, darling." 

There was a part of (Y/N) that stayed wary, and urged her to do the same. It poked holes in the logic and filled everything with doubt. There was no easy way to be the first, there was no safe way. There was so much unknown about what could happen should she bare her neck for him and allow Harry to bind them together in whatever way the Blood Bond would do. There was even a chance that she could drop dead immediately after, leaving the rest of her life—including Harry—behind. 

There was no way to be sure that nothing terrible would happen, but the rest of her wasn't certain if that really mattered. She had no way of knowing that Harry was telling the truth when he revealed his nature to her, or if she could be sure that she was truly safe around him. She had no way of knowing that she was doing the right thing by continuing to invite him to her and to fall in love with him on the way. But she did each of those things anyway, because she had felt in her bones that it was right. She had felt that she could trust Harry with everything—every fall down the rabbit hole of love, every time they were alone with her neck at his teeth, everything that her instincts told her was okay because she trusted him. 

That trust in him piped up, flicking (Y/N)'s gaze to match his as he patiently waited for her answer. "Okay." 

Harry perked up at the word. "Okay?" 

The beginnings of an ecstatic grin bubbled over her features. "I want to bond with you. We'll learn all of this together. I don't want to go another day without being yours." 

In the middle of the greenhouse, Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest before lifting her off of her feet. (Y/N) giggled, looping her own arms around his neck and clinging to him as he spun her around. Her dress twirled around them, enclosing Harry in lily white fabric as if he were the center of a moonlit bloom. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated over and over, his face burrowed in her neck with his nose skimming the column. 

(Y/N) could only smile, her eyes shuttering closed. She buried her hands in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. This is the kind of joy she pictured when she finally found her one and she agreed to spend her life with him—another assurance that she was doing the right thing. Something so wrong or hasty wouldn't feel so good. 

Positing her down on the edge of a sparsely populated table, Harry stood between her legs as he settled his hands on her thighs over her silken dress. He had a bubbling smile on his face as he looked up at her, his eyes almost entirely green with only his pupil and a few slivers of the familiar coal remaining. 

"I will write to my friend, and see if he has any more answers. Then, when you're ready, we can—" 

A furrow pinched (Y/N) brow as she spoke, "We're not doing it tonight?" 

Harry paused to consider her question. "I thought... I don't want to push you or make you feel as if we have to do this tonight. I figured you would like more time." 

While Harry was erring on the side of caution—once again being the more responsible of the two compared to her impulsiveness—she didn't want to do the same. She had no fear of the Venus Fly Trap despite almost being caught in its clutches, and she had no fear of Harry and the unknown. 

"I don't need any more time," (Y/N) cemented, reaching to settle her hands on his shoulders with her fingertips digging into the luxe velvet, "I trust you, and I don't want to wait anymore. I waited my whole life to find someone like you—I practically dreamt you up. I don't need time to be sure." 

As she spoke, Harry had his eyes fixed on her, watching her mouth wrap around every word and the devotion of which she hoped he felt. His own lips had fallen open in a small gape, eyes glimmering as if he were looking at the sun. HIs hands on her thighs pulsed, tightening his grip as if he could drift away at any moment. 

He didn't have to say it for (Y/N) to know that he loved her. That he knew what it was like to wait and hope there was someone there at the end who understood. 

Reaching to cradle her cheeks in his palms, he brought her in for a slow kiss, his lips slotted between hers with his nose brushing against her own. There was an urgency behind it that she had never felt from him before. 

"I love you," he murmured. 

The delicate curl of her lips had him pulling away just enough to drag his kisses over her cheek. "I love you, too." 

"I'm not certain in what I'm doing, (Y/N), so I need you to tell me if I am hurting you. I do not want this to be ruined because of me, so please stop me if you feel the need." His lips never lifted from her skin as he spoke, his words being painted across in sweeps of his breath and skims of his nose. 

"I trust you," she reiterated, dipping her head back as he descended lower towards her throat, "I love you." 

"I love you, too," he responded simply, before pulling away, "But you must promise me. If there's even a moment where you are no longer sure, do whatever you need to do to make me stop." 

His jaw was set and eyes hard as he spoke, determination settling on his features. "I promise," she said, her hands still firm on his shoulders, "If anything changes, I will tell you." 

A small curl lifted his lips as he took her vow, features softening. "I will tell you before I bite, is that okay?" 

"Please," she responded, relaxing into his arms as he wrapped them around her middle with his hands spanning the planes of her back. As much as she did trust him, the fact that his teeth would be biting into her neck in a few moments was most likely going to be her least favorite part of their bonding. 

When Harry dipped his head down, the chill of his touch grazing her throat, (Y/N) expected to feel the scrape of his teeth, the point of something predatory catching on her skin. Instead, she felt the soft press of his lips and the drag of his nose over the column. He worked slowly, familiarly, kissing his way along until he stopped. He paused on the side of her throat, just under where her pulse thrummed. 

"I'm going to bite here, alright?" he murmured, "Just long enough to forge the bond, darling." 

She clenched her hands on his shoulders. "Okay." 

Against her throat, she could feel his lips moving though there was no sound. She wanted to ask what he was saying, but before she had a chance that searing slice she had been waiting for finally struck. 

The feeling took her breath away, her hands tightening on his shoulders. It didn't hurt like a cut from a knife or a stab from a needle, no—Harry's bite burned. It was a bubbling burn, as if something inside her was melting all within the span of a second. The searing brought tears to her eyes, stealing her breath before she had a chance to understand. 

Just as quickly as the burning started, it was gone. In its place was something pleasantly cool, like a breeze on a warm day. Her vision cleared with her breath restored. She was hyper aware of Harry's shoulders under her hands, the warmth of his velvet jacket and the welcome chill from his skin. She clung to him, conscious of every stretch of fabric on her skin and every anchoring touch he gave her. It was overwhelming, verging on euphoric, urging her to shutter her eyes and absorb every second. 

The moment could have lasted anywhere from two hours long to two seconds, (Y/N) had no way of telling by the time Harry pulled away. He kept his grip on her firm, his arms barred around her back as she came back down to the greenhouse. 

With a fluttering blink of her lashes, (Y/N) saw Harry for what he was, for the very first time.

He looked at her with eyes darker than she had ever seen before, no semblance of any green she was accustomed to. She could clearly see a flush on his cheeks, appearing more human than she had ever realized he wasn't. The most jarring part: the blood dripping down his chin. It was a stark rub against his skin, staining his lips and coating his teeth.

That was her blood rolling down his lips.

For the first time since meeting him, she felt that fear she had lacked. It was nothing more than a zip up her spine, but it was there. If he were any other person, any other version of him in the years past, this would be the last thing she saw before she would be laid to rest on the forest floor with her throat ripped out. 

As much as she was startled at the sight, the feel of her blood dripping down her neck, she also saw the way he was looking at her. Within the depths of his dark eyes, he was seeing her and tasting her and knowing her for the first time. There was no way that she had been the only one to feel that overwhelming euphoria, not when he looked at her like that. 

In a distracted movement, he wiped his sleeve over his chin, intending to clear some of the crimson though most of it only smeared over his skin.

He was breathless as he spoke, "Ar—You're... (Y/N)." 

Tears filled his eyes as he clung to her. 

Though her hand shook, (Y/N) still reached to place her palm on his cheek. She couldn't avoid the blood on his skin, but she didn't have the mind to care as she attempted to comfort him. 

"I'm here," she whispered, hooking her ankle around the back of his leg, "You did it." 

His hands on her back curled until his fingertips were denting her shoulder blades by how tightly he held her. He shook his head as if to clear whatever was going on inside. "We—It's—Your turn." 

In that second, she remembered the small detail she had willfully forgotten. For the Bond to go both ways, she would have to also take his own blood. The prospect of him biting into her didn't seem so bad anymore compared to this. 

Her eyes dropped to his neck, floundering suddenly. "I—But, I can't... I'm not like you, I can't... bite." 

The fact seemed to hit Harry as well, though his brain was still clearly flooded with whatever it was he was experiencing with his end of the bond forged. He blinked to clear his eyes as he dropped his gaze to her neck. 

"I think—I can take care of it," he offered on a stilted tongue. 

(Y/N) didn't have any time to question before he was bringing his arm around to his lips, pushing his sleeve out of the way until his pale wrist was on display. The same way he had sunk his teeth into her neck, he now did to his own arm, opening up a gash with decidedly darker and thicker blood than she had ever seen before. 

She understood what he was doing for her—taking out the work so she could close her end of the bond by taking in his blood—but she still felt repulsed at the prospect of tasting any of the ichor oozing from his arm. She wasn't like him. She couldn't see any way she could enjoy the taste or the feeling of drinking his blood. 

All it took was one glance into his shimmering eyes, the same ones that had pleaded to her to not be scared of him, that prosed over his devotion to her, that had her shakily taking his arm in her grasp. 

"Wh-What do I do?" 

"Jus' drink, darling," he swallowed, "Quickly. Before it heals." 

For the sole fact that she wasn't sure if she could stomach seeing Harry bite into himself once more, she closed her eyes and brought his wrist to her lips. The second the blood filled her mouth, she wanted nothing more than to retch over and spit it out. It was metallic and heavy, coating her mouth in a way she couldn't compare anything to. 

The first gulp was the hardest—the most troubling. Just as soon as she swore her throat was closing, urging her to gag and be rid of everything she was taking down, something changed.

Similar in the way that there was an overwhelming stillness when Harry had bitten her, she was now left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. Before she had been contently in her skin, aware of every motion and touch. This time, she was conscious of everything that wasn't entirely her. 

She swore she could feel her own wrist warming, her own thoughts picturing her bent over Harry's arm, the feel of her dress under her palm. 

These were Harry's thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She was no longer just her in that moment. 

The Bond was there, allowing her a peek into who it was that was at her side. 

Including the immense amount of love he was feeling just then. 

She had never been aware of a missing piece in her, never been aware that there could be more of her somewhere, until then. This is what Harry had been feeling when he bit her, when he looked at her with tears in his eyes and clung to her as if she were the only one to give him breath, to make him whole. 

Pulling his arm from her mouth, she didn't think twice of the blood staining her lips or coating her chin before she was throwing herself at him. Looping her arms around his neck, she clung to him with tears leaking down her eyes. 

That was the Bond she could feel pulsing through her system. Harry was now a part of her just as much as she was his. 

There was no doubt their clothing was ruined, blood staining the material that they had no chance of removing, with the ends of (Y/N)'s hair caught in the crossfire, but she couldn't find it in herself to care for more than anything but Harry. 

"I love you," she whispered, her voice brittle under the lump in her throat and the tears glazing her eyes. "We did it." 

"We did," Harry sighed, the smile on his face apparent in his tone, "I love you so much, darling."

(Y/N) could only close her eyes, melting into his hold with the greenhouse falling away around them. She clung to him tighter. 

"I've got you, darling," he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm to her wired nerve endings. 

Relaxing into the moment, a quiet smile etched its way onto her lips. 

This was going to be the rest of her life. 

—————

"Harry, be quiet," (Y/N) giggled into his mouth. 

"Why?" he countered, only pulling away just far enough to speak, "It's just us here, remember?" 

Drawing him back to her lips with her hands on his cheeks, (Y/N) could barely keep the smile off of her face long enough to kiss him back. She sunk further into the luxe mattress under her back with every earnest press of his lips to hers, the first swipe of his tongue darting out to run along the seam of her lips.

After stumbling their way out of the greenhouse and through the gardens, Harry had led her to his bedroom with a kind of giddiness she had never seen in him before. Despite the blood on his face, he was almost child-like in his wonder with the way he looked at her. 

His bedroom was just as laden in luxury as the rest of the castle, though it was clear that there was someone actually inhabiting the space. She could see stamps of his presence everywhere; in the stationery on his desk to the unkempt bedding as if he couldn't be bothered to remake his bed everyday despite having nothing but time to fill. A pile of lavender bundles and chamomile blooms were stacked on his bedside, familiar twine holding the herbs together. 

When he offered her the bathroom to clean off, (Y/N) didn't hesitate, wanting to clean herself from the crust that was forming on her chin and the bits of blood that had dried in her hair. By the time she finished, there was a nightgown waiting for her and an invitation on familiar stationery to join Harry in his room when she was ready. 

Under different circumstances, she would have taken her time, luxuriated in the thick towels and scented lotion. There were different creams and oils that she didn't recognize, the kind she would have loved to take her time and learn. But there was someone waiting for her—someone that was as close to her husband as he could be without sending her down the aisle in a white dress. 

She didn't want to leave him waiting. 

(Though, she did notice that the bite he had given to her neck was healed almost completely. The wound that had bled enough to fill his mouth was now reduced to a pair of pin pricks on the side of her neck, just barely visible if someone was looking. She was going to have to ask at some point if that was the effect of the bond mending her skin).

That was how she found herself with Harry hovering above her, damp hair tossed across his pillow and her hands cradling his cheeks.

"I can feel you right here," he murmured to her in wonder, his hand on his chest where his unbeating heart sat. 

Sprinkling her own kisses along his cheek, she smiled against his skin. "I can feel you in my heart, too," she whispered against his skin.

Drawing away, (Y/N) tried to chase him for another kiss before failing and sinking back into her pillow with a breathy laugh. Harry's smile widened at the sound. His gaze slipped over her with enough depth that she could have sworn his hands followed the trail, goosebumps erupting on her skin. 

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," (Y/N) said, stealing the same line he said to her more than once. 

Matching her gaze once more, he looked at her with gleaming green shards in his eyes. "Just you. Always you." 

Creases appeared by her eyes from just how far her smile stretched. She knew that line just as well. "Of course it is," she teased, petting the pad of her thumb along the height of his cheek bone, 

"I mean it, my love" he smiled, sweeping a hand across her forehead to pull any stray hairs out of the way, "I have never felt before the way I do right now. Because of you." 

(Y/N)'s heart surged at his words. She knew exactly what he was feeling. Through something she was beginning to understand as their bond, she felt the ardent truth in Harry's words as much as she could hear it. There wasn't enough vocabulary available to tell him what it meant to her to feel and hear his love. 

Selfishly, she resorted to tugging him down for a kiss instead, hoping he understood just as well. 

He smiled into the kiss, a good sign, just before he settled in with her. 

With her legs spread wide for his hips to sit between, she couldn't help but to cling to him. There was no other way she could tell him how much she loved him, how deeply excited she was to spend the rest of the unknown with him. The feeling brought her back to the night before, when he had invited her here in the first place—when he had told her he loved her. 

Despite the chill of his touch, she had never felt so warm when recalling the memory. 

Her hands on his cheeks slid down from his face, following the line of his neck to his shoulders. The neck of his loosely buttoned shirt gave way under her touch, allowing more of his cold skin to sit on display for her to graze her fingers over. 

With their mouths slotted together, (Y/N) grazed one hand up the column of his throat unsure of if it was her own warmth being reflected back or if he was feeling the same way as she and something had awoken in his body. Without thinking, she dragged her nails lightly down his skin, entranced by the new skin she had never touched and barely seen before. 

Harry let out a low moan into her mouth, the sound rumbling against her own chest. Through the bond, she felt that touch of euphoria she was only familiar with through the bite in the greenhouse. Her stomach tightened at the thought. 

Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his kisses down the line of her jaw. "What was that for, darling?" he asked, his voice a deep grumble compared to the dulcet tones he typically served her. 

"Did you like it?" she countered, a sheepish tone to her voice. She hadn't meant anything by it, really. 

It was the smile she felt against her skin that had her relaxing. "I did," he answered, dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, "Is that what you wanted?" 

"I always want to make you happy," she simply chirped back. 

Drawing away, Harry hovered over her with a slight curl to his lips and only a sliver of green showing around his dark pupils. "Your job is terribly easy then," he smiled, "As I can't help but feel anything but completely ecstatic around you." 

(Y/N) could only shake her head, suddenly feeling bashful under his gaze. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her with her face buried in his neck. She could feel the plume of laughter he let out as much as she could hear it. 

Pressing his weight into her as he reciprocated her hold, he wrapped his arms around her middle in a snug hug. The length of his body was pressed against hers, including the hard to ignore ridge nudging between her legs. While it wasn't the first time she had felt as much between the sheets in her bedroom, it still took her breath away. 

Harry undoubtedly felt her reaction, causing him to pull away just enough to look down at her. "What's wrong, love?" 

She floundered over her words, unsure of how exactly to phrase what she had caused her gasp and the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. "You—I mean... You're—" 

Pursing his lips, Harry held back his smile. "I know, darling," he smiled, "Don't worry, alright? We've done enough tonight, I don't think we need to add anymore new experiences like we had planned." 

"But—" She unceremoniously dropped her gaze between them as if she could get a peek at what was prodding at her core. "I don't want to... You're not hurting, are you?" 

He couldn't help the laugh that fell from his mouth then. "No, I am not hurting," he smiled, squeezing her to him one last time before relinquishing his hold. 

Meandering out from between her legs, he moved to lay beside her. (Y/N) rolled with him, unwilling to let him go very far before he settled at her side, sharing the same pillow despite the vast amount of negative space available. 

"You don't want me to...?" (Y/N) trailed off, unsure of what exactly she was asking. She knew Harry had asked her over, hoping to take advantage of the time alone without having to worry about the creaks of her own home. Despite the turns that night had taken, she didn't want him to believe she was no longer willing, even if she was a bit exhausted. 

Harry's smile was tender on his lips, adoring just as his eyes were. He took one of her hands that had been clasped behind his neck and brought her palm to his mouth. Pressing his lips to the back in a smattering of kisses, he trailed that line up to her wrist and along her arm until she could no longer contain her giggling. The bright smile he gave in response had to match that of her own. 

"Not tonight, my love," he crooned, "I know we had talked about how we wanted to spend this night by ourselves, but I know my outlook on the night has changed some." His gaze dropped to the pinprick marks on her neck, his features brightening that much more at the sight. "I don't feel any rush to do more. We have all the time in the world to learn each other in that way. I'd rather tonight be about you and I and learning the bond we now have." 

Through that bond, she could feel his sincerity. There was no rush in him, nothing clamoring to take her virginity just to have it. It was more important to him to know his wife—his beloved, his bonded. Through his eyes, she saw the stretch of time they had together and the many nights they could fill between the sheets. There was no rush to be had when he had her for the rest of their lives. 

"You're sure?" she asked, shuffling closer to him over the velvet duvet, "I don't want to disappoint you." 

"How could you disappoint me, my love?" he asked through a dazzling smile, dimples denting his cheeks and perfect teeth on display. He brushed his hand over her cheek, fingertips grazing the fan of her lashes and the height of her cheekbone as if she were the most delicate of flowers in his garden. "You're here," he said in awe, "In my bed, brave enough to bond with me, and looking at me with stars in your eyes. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"

Heart thumping in her chest, (Y/N) looked at him and saw the life he had envisioned.

There were so many nights they were going to spend just like this, laden in velvet and kisses, chilling touches and warm gazes. They had all the time in the world, there was no reason not to savor these quiet moments with him.

All she could do was pull him in for a kiss.

—————

The following morning, (Y/N) was exhausted as she traipsed around the apothecary, though she felt as if she were floating off her feet. She took care to restock each and every cubby, straightening the displays and ensuring only the best of the best were placed out for customers. Her father was manning the register as she did so, leaving her to sit in her rose petal thoughts and appreciate the stiff muscles of her neck and bruises from her early morning climb back into her bedroom.

It was all reminders of the best night of her life, she decided. Her wedding night—even if it wasn't in the traditional sense. 

There was a new piece that now lived inside her, a remnant of Harry's soul that now replaced the piece she had given him last night. It felt easier to breathe, now knowing that he was on the other side. 

More than once since starting her day, her father had asked what had made her so chipper. She had only replied that she had slept well, or simply woke up in a good mood. She couldn't wait for the day that she could tell him that it was Harry that had her heart so full and eyes so bright.

The bell above the door jingled, alerting that a customer was coming in, though that wasn't what had (Y/N) perking up in her spot. There was a fumbling in her chest, as if her heart knew something she didn't.

Looking over her shoulder, her lungs squeezed when she saw who had walked through the door.

Armed with a draping bouquet of wisteria and the tiny bell-shaped blooms of lily of the valley, was Harry. He was dressed immaculately as ever, though she could see a color in his cheeks and his eyes almost glimmering with the amount of green shards that had surfaced. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father stiffen at his presence, though Harry gave her a passing glance with a lopsided smile before even acknowledging his presence.

"Mr. Styles," her father gruffly greeted him, "How can we help you today?" 

"Actually, sir," Harry started, a pleasant voice to match his expression though (Y/N) could see amusement swimming in the depths, "I was hoping I could have a chance to speak with your daughter." 

"She's busy at the moment, but I can help you with anything you need." Her father's voice now held an edge to it.

"Unfortunately," Harry said, skipping his gaze back to her where she stood with her hands knotted behind her back, "I don't think you can help me with this, sir. I was looking to ask for her permission to officially begin courting her—if she is interested, anyway" 

(Y/N) had no hope of wiping the smile from her face, but she did everything she could to keep herself from launching into her husband. Instead, before her father could make any objection of any kind, she piped up with, "I am definitely interested, Mr. Styles. You have all the permission in the world." 

Though she was sure that if she spared her father a glance he would be just as angry as the night he had thrown her invitation into the furnace, but she couldn't draw her eyes from Harry. 

She couldn't wait to marry him. For the second time, technically.

—————

lily of the valley, though delicate, can stop the heart when consumed

ahhhhh that is the end of my little Halloween/fall story! now my break will be starting and ill be back with more writing after the new year!!! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please lmk if you have any ideas for anythign at all!

[chantsdemarins]

New Fic: Breath of the Æsir ⚔︎🏰 (Loki X Reader)

Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬 I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!

Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 2,471

Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!

Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny Chapter 2 The Stranger Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

@lokis-little-fawn @lcolumbia1988 @thesoftboiledegg @anukulee @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @nildespirandum @caffiend-queen @mochie85 @maple-seed @mischief2sarawr @kikster606 @thedistractedagglomeration @glitchquake@simplyholl @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @muddyorbs @vickie5446 @trickster-maiden @grymrayven

Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.

By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.

So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.

Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.

The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.

In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.

Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.

You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.

Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.

Had I found a small shell, not rope I would have held it to my ear The ocean's song would have come to me Instead, I was swallowed wholly

This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.

As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.

On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.

Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.

“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.

“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.

“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.

“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.

“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.

“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.

“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.

“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.

“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.

As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.

“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.

“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.

The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.

A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.

He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”

“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.

“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.

“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.

“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.

“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.

“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.

“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.

“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.

“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.

You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.

“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.

“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.

Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?

You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.

It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.

Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.

“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.

“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.

“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.

It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.

“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.

“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.

You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.

“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.

“How can you be certain?” she queried.

“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.

The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.

The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2 below!

[zombeebunnie]

Trembling Essence:💙Background + poll results💙

Hello hello and welcome new followers! :]

Firstly I just want to say a very big thank you to everyone that participated in the poll I did last week, I was really surprised but happy with the results and responses! This will help me a lot moving forward! :,] If you missed it and would like to say which route you preferred feel free to comment!

Anywho, this week mainly focused on art practicing again but I did work on the game and managed to get my bearings even more!

Here is the new background for the start of the game:

This took a long time to draw up since I sketched out the background instead of looking at references this time. Once I got a basic idea of how I wanted it to look it felt.. too empty and flat. At first I couldn't figure out why until I added more shrubbery and grass. After that I started adding the trees and then added a few more to give it depth and adjusted some of the coloring. So far the immersive symbolism I'm going for is slowly coming together! Since it just finished raining where you're located I tried to give the background the illusion of looking tolerably humid but slowly getting colder over time with a hint of decay in the distance. This is a better look of the dreary foreboding atmosphere compared to the "fairy-forest" from last week. >:,] It took a while but I also added a parallax effect here and optimized the images to save space. I kept getting an error when it came to the middle ground so I had to find and fix the problem which delayed things. I don't have a video to show it in action but maybe next time. I do want it to be known again that these automatically happen and don't follow the cursor. :,,]

Here's a sneak peek of the new choices you can do when you're in this area now. >;]

This part required a lot of brainstorming before I figured out how I wanted the explorative part to go. This was originally going to go a different way completely but a particular day caused me to just scrap it and start everything over. I have a very solid idea on how I want all of this to go better than ever so I can't wait to show some of the new areas! I didn't expect this background to take as long as it did to draw up but hopefully next week I'll have more done!

Progress doodle layout:

Since certain endings are being changed I thought it would be cool to animate a progress layout to visually show how everything is going! It shouldn't take too long to finish this section up since I already have a foundation laid out.

Noah's sprite sheet update:

As far as Noah sprite sheets goes, it's still in sketch mode and I haven't messed with them yet since I've been practicing. :,,]

There are some old drawing prompts I wrote down and sketches that I'm still doodling up behind the scenes so hopefully I can get to them at some point with some attached lore. :,]

Q&A / Ask box is still open:

If you have any questions about Trembling Essence/Noah feel free to ask here please. This makes it easier for me to see and answer accordingly! I would really like to hear from you guys!

Thank you to those who have sent in asks after everything got reset! I'll try to get to them when I can along with the ones that come to mind that got deleted. I just need time to answer since I like to respond with doodles/drawings as practice. :]

Overall that's everything I have to share so far, thank you guys for your continued encouragement and support through all of this, I wholeheartedly appreciate it! :,,]

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter One)

It's 1988. Grian and Mumbo are roommates living in the US. Mumbo leaves on a solo camping trip at Grian's suggestion to get away from his job for a while. But when he fails to check in at the end of his trip, Grian is forced to report him as a missing person. And now the clock is ticking.

It's 1989. Grian takes a job in Shoshone National Forest as a fire lookout, prepared to spend the summer alone in the wilderness. But his primary goal isn't finding forest fires: it's finding Mumbo, who went missing in this location a year ago, alive and well. He expects to be alone. What Grian doesn't expect is having the company of the other nearby lookout, a man named Scar. Their relationship grows through their conversations held via two-way radio, as Grian finally begins to let Scar into the truth about why he's really here and mystery he's unraveling.

A Hermitcraft Firewatch AU.

Chapter One: 7,162 words

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

Welcome to the Firewatch AU! It's okay if you've never played the game, since the plot of this story is different than in the game. If you have played the game, you'll notice some similarities, especially in the setting. If you plan to play the game, this fic will not spoil it. I just really really like fire lookouts :]

Content warnings will be added per chapter as needed. I've done a lot of research on this topic so some there will also be some notes on a reblog. This fic will be Grian and Scar centric, but it's also very much about Mumbo as well. There will also be the inclusion of art with the chapters.

May 31, 1988

Grian remembers it because it’s 7:30 PM on a Tuesday evening, and he’s sitting at his desk in front of the window trying to catch the early evening slanted sunbeams on his sketchbook. The light is golden on the page and his hand casts a shadow on his work. 

That’s when Mumbo crashes through the front door–quite literally, too. The door swings shut with a bang. It’s a heavy door prone to closing on its own.

Without looking up, Grian calls out, “Remember not to slam it! Mrs. Grant complained last week, you know.”

“Right! Right, sorry!”

“Bad commute?” Grian asks. 

He hears Mumbo drop his bag in the corner with a sigh, and the sound of him flopping down on the couch. Grian turns around to look at him sympathetically. Mumbo has dramatically put his palms over his eyes, slowly dragging them down his face.

“Ugh,” he groans. “It was the worst. Someone wrecked on 25.”

“That sucks.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mumbo says. “How long have you been sitting here? All day?”

“Nuh-uh, I had a meeting today with Mr. Perry.”

“Did that go well?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, lying through his teeth. But only just a little. 

Mumbo hops up off the couch and walks over to Grian’s desk. “Is that what you’re drawing now?” he asks. He picks up the sketchbook. 

“Yes,” Grian says sagely. “I have many ideas.”

Mumbo squints at the page. “You’ve only got a tree, Grian.”

“Hey!” Grian says, snatching his sketchbook back. “Look around! There’s plenty of trees out here! Well, maybe not on this street specifically, but give me like 20 minutes and I’ll drive you to a big forest.”

“Oof. Make it an hour. The traffic’s awful today, I told you.”

Grian and Mumbo stare at the tree drawing for a few seconds. “Is it at least a nice tree?” Grian asks. 

“You’re supposed to be drawing houses, mate,” Mumbo says, amused. “Your meeting went terribly, didn’t it?”

“I have absolutely nothing,” Grian says. “Zilch! Zip! Nada! Empty brain. I can tell you there will be at least one tree next to his house, though.”

“Imagine that,” Mumbo says. “Million dollar house on a mountainside. One tree guaranteed.”

It’s Grian’s turn to use the shut up line. “Shut up,” he says. 

There’s something ticking in Mumbo’s brain, and Grian can tell. He looks past Grian through the window with the streaming gold light, out at the mountains in the not-so-far distance. And Grian remembers it, even when he doesn’t want to.

“We should go camping,” Mumbo says. “Get out of the city for a few days. See some trees with no houses next to them. Get away from all that highway traffic.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Grian says. “This weekend? Do you want me to call and see if I can reserve a spot in the national park? Or a little more west and hit a national forest?”

Mumbo screws up his face a little at that. “Let’s go a bit further this time,” he suggests. “Do several days instead of just a weekend. We could even leave the state. Go someplace we haven’t already been a million times. Maybe even a little more remote.”

“When?” Grian asks. 

“Is next week too soon? I could just take off midweek and we could go drive somewhere. Please? Think of all those early summer wildflowers up in the mountains.”

“Dude, I can’t take off mid-week,” Grian says sharply, suddenly feeling very frustrated. “You know that. I need to be finishing these designs! You gotta give me more notice than this, Mumbo.”

“Right,” is all Mumbo says, and he looks so tragic that Grian already feels bad for snapping at him. 

“Is it that bad at work?” he asks. 

Mumbo looks away, past Grian back back out into the mountains in the distance. “I just don’t know if I can take another week,” he admits. “I need to take some time off. And hey, maybe he’ll even fire me this time for giving him only a week’s notice that I’m taking vacation time!”

“You need that job for your visa,” Grian points out softly. 

Mumbo rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll try to keep my job I guess. No trying to get fired. I’m still taking that time off though.”

“He wouldn’t fire you anyway,” Grian says. “You’re much too useful.”

That causes Mumbo to crack a little, and he starts to smile again. “Yeah, mate, that place’ll burn down without me. If I leave for a week they’ll be begging me to come back and fix everything that went wrong.”

“If anything, that’ll just ensure your job security!” Grian says. “Hey, maybe you could just go without me. I’d love to go, I really would, but I can’t lose this deal with Mr. Perry. I’m the project leader this time and he’ll likely drop the whole project if I don't so much as answer the phone on the first ring…”

“Rich people,” Mumbo says with a nod.

“Ugh, yes, rich people,” Grian says, and throws his head down on his desk for dramatic measure.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Mumbo says. He thinks for a moment. Grian lifts his head and watches the way contemplation flashes across Mumbo’s face. 

“Dude, just go by yourself,” Grian urges. “I can’t stand to watch you drive yourself insane another week. You’ve done it before, right? And why don’t you bring the bike? That way you can do all those difficult trails you’re always trying to drag me down without worrying about me wrecking it.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, and he remembers this too, for as long as he lives, “I bet it’ll be fun."

»»———-　　———-««

June 16, 1988

Grian is bouncing his leg, trying to bleed off nervous energy with every shake. He’s bouncing his leg because at least his leg is hidden under the table he’s sitting at, whereas the pen he’d been tapping earlier was about to have resulted in an annoyed client and lost job. 

The table is large, and oval. He’s in some weird conference room-home office place in Mr. Perry’s gigantic house, discussing the floor plan for yet another gigantic house Mr. Perry wants to build. Mr. Perry, of course, hates half of the floor plan Grian has proposed. 

Grian hasn’t quite figured out why Mr. Perry needs two gigantic houses, but it really isn’t his business considering he’s being paid. And he’s being paid very well for this. It’s probably the best job he’s landed since he started and he’s grateful his boss let him take this client, annoying as he is. This newest house would be within walking distance of a ski lift though, and this house isn’t, so Grian can at least see the value there.

He bounces his leg. He tries to count how many times he bounces it in a minute, only to find that he can’t really keep up with the passage of time, number of bounces, and the bouncing itself all at the same time. He loses track instantly. But if he can just get through this meeting, then he can make an excuse to go home. Only 4,000 leg bounces until he’s passed enough time to leave. He’ll be out of this stuffy room like a bullet. 

He’s thinking so hard about leaving this meeting and going home that he forgets that he has to actually be in the meeting first. 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Perry says sharply. “Did you hear any of what I just said to you?”

“Hm?” Grian says back, before suddenly being slammed back into reality. “Oh, apologies sir. Can you repeat that, please? I must have been a little distracted.” He gives a wan smile. 

Mr. Perry gives him a long look. “I was saying that I don’t think I like the placement of this room.” He jabs a finger at the blueprints. “I mean, who needs a parlor these days, let alone a second parlor? I want to change it.”

Grian squints at the room in question. “I think we could open it up to the kitchen and living room,” he offers. “Open concept and all that. There’s a lovely view to be had that’s being blocked by the walls right now.”

“Let’s make it a pool room,” Mr. Perry says. 

“Uh, a pool room sir? On the second floor?”

“Not an entire pool, that’s nonsense,” he says. “Just a large indoor hot tub. It’ll be cold out when I’m visiting this house.”

“I…I think I can do something like that, sir,” Grian responds. “We’ll just ensure that the engineers clear it for the amount of water weight it would put on the floor and add extra support if needed.”

“Can there be some windows or screens in the room?”

“You mean on the inside wall?”

“Yeah. So I could see the hot tub from the living room if I wanted.”

“Um, sure. We can do that.”

He sneaks a glance at his watch. Only 35 minutes to go now. 

He just…doesn’t want to think about it. He just needs to leave. He’ll get home, make the phone call, and it will be okay and he’ll feel silly. But every second he’s stuck in this godforsaken massive house is just another second he has to spend knowing that he’s delaying something very, very important. 

If he thinks about it, he’s going to spiral, so instead he keeps trying to channel every bit of the nervous energy into his right foot. 

“Grian,” Mr. Perry says, and Grian snaps his head back up from the blueprints, a little surprised that the man has used his first name. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like to leave early?” Mr. Perry asks. “Since you clearly have somewhere else you want to be.”

Grian freezes. “My apologies sir, I’m not trying to make you feel rushed in this process. It’s very important to me that you feel like everything in your future home is exactly how you want it, no matter how many tries it takes for us to get to the perfect result.”

“I don’t appreciate it when my employees lie to me, you know,” Mr. Perry says. “Save the corporate spiel for later. You’re making me exhausted just looking at you. I think if you bounce that leg any faster it’ll fly off.”

“Oh,” Grian says with a hint of a nervous chuckle. “Suppose that’s true.”

“You can go home now,” Mr. Perry says. “You’re not paying attention anyway. Just get me some new ideas for that hot tub room and we’ll reconvene on Monday.”

“Yes sir, thank you so much,” Grian blurts, and grabs his papers off the desk, and tries to walk out of the door at a normal speed instead of sprinting.

»»———-　　———-««

He arrives home a little after 3:30 pm, tossing his bag and papers haphazardly on the couch as soon as he runs in. The door accidentally slams again, but he doesn’t really care what Mrs. Grant thinks today. His goal is the phone on the table by the kitchen; even all the way across the room he can see the message light blinking on the answering machine next to it. 

He pulls the phone off its rack and presses to listen to the message on the tape. It plays, and…he sets the receiver back down. 

It’s just his landlord, calling to say that he won’t be around to fix the door for another few days. 

Grian paces once around the living room, then twice. 

He pauses in front of the window. It’s clear and sunny out, with very little smog on the horizon. The mountains are in clear view. 

Grian returns to the phone, and dials 411. Directory assistance. He’s not quite sure the number he needs to call for this, and his local phone books are of no use for out of state numbers. An operator picks up. 

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to place a call to the Shoshone National Forest Ranger Station. Location? Uh, I think it’s in Cody, Wyoming. Yes, thank you.”

A minute or two later with the correct number for the office scribbled on a notepad, Grian is patched through. A young woman answers the phone. 

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” she asks. 

“Erm, hi,” Grian says. “I’m calling because I’m worried about my friend. He was in the National Forest and he’s missed his check-in.”

“How long has it been since he missed his check-in window?”

“Several hours at least,” Grian answers. “He told me it might be late, or really really early, so I was expecting a call last night or this morning. But I didn’t receive one. I left for work early, thought maybe he’d taken a bit more time than he told me, but it just nagged at me. It was supposed to be hours ago. When I came home just now there’s no message on the answering machine.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, darling,” the ranger says. “Can you please give me some information about him? Full name, age, appearance, vehicle, license plate if you know it, and the trails or locations he told you he would be hiking in? We can pass that information on and begin a search.”

A knot in Grian’s throat forms at the word search. “Of course,” he replies. 

He rattles off the information as she asks for it, from Mumbo’s somewhat rickety AWD sedan that he was always convinced he could drag down any road he wanted, to his dark hair and mustache. He gives her Mumbo’s full real name, and feels a little silly when he includes the nickname right along with it, but he figures Mumbo might appreciate it. He tells her the trails Mumbo had mentioned doing, and how many days he planned to spend hiking. 

“He brought his mountain bike too,” he says. “I don’t know if he took it with him on any overnight hikes but he had a setup for that, where he could strap his pack to the bike.”

“Thank you,” the ranger says. “Being on a bike could extend the range he could be in, but it could also limit which trails he could be on due to terrain. Here, I’m going to patch you into the local Sheriff’s office to make a report too, is that okay? I’ll call some of the field offices and get some rangers on this. We’ll start by checking for his car at the trailheads.”

“Thank you,” Grian says.

He calls the Sheriff’s office and makes a report. He tells them much of the same information he told the ranger, and the second time repeating it only makes it seem more macabre. He answers all the questions to the best of his ability. Yes, Mumbo was an experienced hiker. No, he was not having a personal crisis, just wanted a few days off work to unwind. 

And then he sits and waits. The whole process had only taken a little over an hour. 

He paces some more for a while. He goes to the kitchen to get some water, drinks that, and finds it only killed a couple minutes, so he goes and paces some more. He stares out the window for a while again. Then, he organizes some of the papers he hastily threw down when he got home, because it’s still probably not a good idea to risk losing or bending any of Mr. Perry’s documents. 

He gets another call around 8 pm. 

“We found his car,” the ranger says. “It's still at the trailhead.”

“So he never made it back to his car last night.” So he’s not just a spoon who forgot to find a payphone and give his friend a call. 

“I’m afraid not.”

“So…so what now?” Grian asks. 

“We’ll start sending some rangers and volunteers down the trail to look for him, in case he’s hung up somewhere and needs a little help. His bike wasn’t in his vehicle, so he must have had that with him.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Please keep me updated.”

That night, Grian doesn’t sleep, and the next morning Grian doesn’t go into work. He’s already driving northwest. 

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

11 Months Later

He’s grateful when he finally rolls up to the trailhead after being jerked around on the rocky, uneven road for the last 19 miles. He’s the only one in the small lot, which is less of a parking area and more of a clearing at the terminal point of the road. 

He lays his head back on the headrest for a moment just to rest, eyes closed, and sighs. The sun through the windshield is warm on his forehead, but the day outside is pleasantly cool with the bite of winter still on the wind. There’ll still be snow on the mountaintops for a while yet. 

It’s noon. He spent the night in Cody, in an old motel but different room and left in the morning with his whole life packed in a bag. He has a long hike ahead of him this afternoon, and he won’t get there tonight. But he might as well start. 

Grian gets out of the car and inspects it. It’s a 1978 Chevy Blazer he picked up two weeks ago when he realized he was going to need a 4x4 to even make it to the trailhead and traded in his old sedan. Its red and white paint is covered completely in a coat of dust and topped off with several mud splashes from snow meltwater on the road.

Fortunately, nothing rattled off the vehicle during its inaugural off-road journey, so Grian is just left to hope it still has air in its tires the next time he hikes back out. And that might not be for a while, so he’s stocked it with a spare and patch kit. He has an elementary knowledge of how to fix a tire but he figures the motivation of being stranded 19 miles back on this empty road will breed enough desperate ingenuity to fix any problems he encounters. 

Grian grabs his pack from the backseat, and starts down the trail. 

Grian loses himself for a while during the hike. It’s easy to do that–to just walk and turn your brain off completely. One foot in front of the other over and over. The motions over and over tune the rest of Grian’s brain into a nice numbness. He listens to his boots crunch gravel and dry leaves. He looks at how the sun dapples the trail. 

He hikes onward.

The forest is loud in a way the city isn’t. It’s not the type of loudness that announces itself, but the longer Grian hikes onward and alone the more its presence makes itself known. It’s like Grian’s brain is getting rid of the noise that’s filled it for so long and allowing him to really listen to the sounds of life. 

The wind whistles through the trees, shaking the pine needles. It doesn’t blow on Grian; the taller trees around him shield him from the gusts. He hears the light gurgle of a creek well before he comes down a hill to cross it, and when he approaches it a frog leaps away from the bank. 

At one point, Grian’s dragged out of his silent contemplation by the commotion of rattling leaves in the undergrowth next to him. It spikes his heart rate and he freezes in place, until a medium sized brown spotted bird explodes out of a bush at the side of the trail and flies away, low to the ground. 

He smiles a little to himself. Just a bird, startled by a person. He is trespassing, in a way, it seems, to intrude his presence upon such a wild area. This is the bird’s home, not his. He’s just being offered a place in it to protect it. 

He hikes onward as the sun dips lower in the sky.

»»———-　　———-««

June 17, 1988

Grian arrives at the Forest Service office in Cody, Wyoming at half past ten in the morning. The sky is blazing blue and cloudless, but there’s haze on the horizon. 

He stumbles into the office, brushes a piece of greasy hair that’s fallen on his forehead back up, and tells a slightly-startled looking lady at the front desk: “I’m here to join a volunteer search. My friend’s missing.”

She looks him up and down with a critical, yet sympathetic eye. “What’s your name, sir?” she asks, in a way that suggests she might already know. 

“Grian.”

“Grian, where did you drive in from?”

Grian stares at her. “Denver. Why?”

“Denver’s eight hours away,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

She sighs, and gives him a look. A pitying one that he hates. “Darling, how much sleep did ya get? It’s not even noon yet.”

Grian huffs. “I don’t know. An hour or two. I’m fine!” He looks at her pleadingly. “Please, just let me know where I can go to help out.”

She just shakes her head, and picks up the phone on her desk. Grian watches her dial it, and hopes for a second she’s calling another ranger to come escort him or something, but that hope is crushed the moment she speaks again.

“Hello?” she asks on the line, and waits while the other person answers. “Yes, I was wondering if you had a room available. You do? Good. I’m going to send someone over your way. Yeah, I’m doing good, how are you? Glad to hear it. Thanks, darling. Yeah, he’ll be coming in a bit.”

She hangs up and scribbles something on a notebook, before tearing out the page and handing it to Grian. It’s got a short list of directions. Down the road two miles, turn right on the second road after the bridge.

“It’s a nice little motel not too far from here,” she says. “They’ll give you a room and you can get some rest.” 

Grian shoves the paper back across the desk at her. “No. Tell me what I can do to join the search for my friend, please.”

She smiles saccharine-sweet and hands the paper back to him again. “Take it. I don’t want to see you back here for at least another few hours. In fact, I won’t give you any information unless you come back in a few hours. Get some sleep, you stayed up all night and just drove eight hours straight. You’ll be much better equipped to help out if you aren’t too tired to hike.”

Grian feels frustration well up in his chest, consuming the ball of anxiety in his chest. It threatens to break him too, so he looks away from the ranger and at the floor instead, though. Finally he speaks again. “My friend,” he whispers. “Will he be okay?”

The woman answers, “All our rangers are trained in search and rescue. They’re professionals. This is what they do, Grian, and they’re good at it. They’ll do everything in their power to find him.”

Grian nods tightly. 

“Now get some sleep, darling.”

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

It’s night when Grian arrives at the tower, on his second day of hiking. He’s been backpacking many times before, but the rough terrain on this hike was still a surprise. It’s difficult to scale rocky hills with a bulky pack, and his shoulders are sore and his walking is slower now–so it’s night by the time Grian arrives at the place that’s going to be his home through October. 

It’s a wooden tower built on a hill. A staircase winds itself around, leading to the top where there’s a single room surrounded by boarded up windows. Nearby on the ground is an outhouse, small storage shed, a generator, a water tap, and nothing else. 

Well, at least he’ll have electricity. He’ll have water too, but it seems like he’ll have to haul it. He knows from his lookout orientation a few days ago that there’s a water tank with rainwater catchment and filters, but there’s no way to pump it 30 feet to the top of the tower.  

Grian turns on the generator, and heads up the steps with the single-minded determination of an exhausted man who knows there’s a bed waiting for him. When he arrives at the top he throws on the lights, tosses his pack down, and surveys the place. 

He was expecting it to be pretty dusty and ill-maintained, but it seems pretty clean. There’s bedding folded up neatly on the mattress–Grian had been expecting to just use his sleeping bag. It looks like someone had been sent to the tower recently to clean and stock it in preparation for his arrival, which he appreciates. 

He’s not really sure the level of effort it takes to maintain this place out here in the wilderness, and his mind goes down a brief rabbit hole. How was all this wood hauled out here? What about the nails, the rivets, the glass, the tanks? Was it hauled up on the same trail he just spent a day and half walking down? They must have used horses to carry materials but someone still had to assemble all this. He has a lot of respect for that. 

Grian is just starting to lay out the bedding when something over on the table begins to crackle. He walks over to inspect it. It’s a small black handheld radio sitting on a charging stand. He was told he’d have one of these. 

It’s not set on the frequency he was told to keep it at, but before he's able to tune it to the correct one, it crackles to life anyway.

“Two Forks, Two Forks come in! This is KSNF, broadcasting to you live from Thorofare. Your host on this fine spring evening is-”

Grian picks up the radio. “Hello?”

“-none other than Scar.” 

Grian sighs. Of course, this is a two-way radio. He can’t respond until the other person on the line has stopped talking. He waits as the so-called Scar keeps going. It occurs to him that he might be trapped out here all summer with this guy.

“He’s brilliant, he’s handsome, and he’s calling you dear listeners, hoping to hear your thoughts. What ails you tonight? What are your hopes, dreams, loves, losses? Or perhaps, what is your name, Two Forks?”

Grian, sensing the pause, jumps in. “Um, hi,” he says. “This is Grian. The new lookout at Two Forks. And you must be…Scar, I presume?”

“Grian!” the radio chatters. “What an interesting name. Yes, I’m Scar. I’ll be your supervisor this summer, ‘cause I’m so good at this. I’m also practically your next door neighbor.”

Grian looks out the window, but it’s dark and the windows just reflect himself. He looks away. “Uh, yeah. How did you even know when I got here? Where are you?”

“I saw your lights flick on,” Scar replies. “Been keeping an eye out for when you’d arrive. Go outside, you’ll see my lookout to the north.”

Grian steps outside, feeling the chill in his bones again. Once he stopped hiking and rested for a few minutes, the warmth from the movement wore off and he’s reminded again how cold spring nights in the mountains are. Sure enough, out in the distance, snuggled amongst the dark peaks, is a tiny orange light. 

“Oh,” he says. “There you are. I see your light too.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Scar says. “We’re the only lights out here tonight. Nothing else for miles around. Not even a campfire–well, of course not, ‘cause those are banned right now. Please report any of those you see.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Grian says. “That is the job, is it not?”

“Oh, we've got a smart one,” Scar replies, and it’s a sentence that would probably sound acerbic in anyone else’s mouth, but Grian detects no sharpness in the words. Just friendliness. 

There’s an awkward few moments on the radio, before Grian speaks again. “Okay, erm, I’m gonna call it a night, then. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” Scar calls, and then, “Wait, wait, don’t go yet. Your radio, um, write down the frequency band we’re on right now. Keep that.”

“Um, okay,” Grian says. “It’s different from the one I was told in orientation.”

“Yeah, we’ll use that one too. That’s the one you need to report on. This one’s just for us. You don’t want the whole Forest Service to hear us chatting all the time, do you?”

Great. This guy wants to chat with Grian.

“I guess not,” he says finally, not untruthfully. He doesn’t really want anyone to overhear him talking, because he doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone in the first place. Half the point of taking this job was the distinct lack of human contact in every possible aspect, after all. 

“Good! Anyway, talk to you tomorrow, um….Grian. Your name was Grian.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the mosquitoes bite, Grian!”

He flicks the switch on the radio to the off position before Scar can say anything else, and runs a hand tiredly through his hair. This might be a long summer, and he cannot allow this guy to distract him from the other half of the reason he took this job:

He’s here to save Mumbo.

»»———-　　———-««

“Two Forks! Two Forks come in!”

Grian wakes up to the tinny sound of his radio across the room, and streaming golden sunlight over his face. But mostly the radio. 

“Oh wonderful lookout of the tower over yonder, wake up! It’s a beautiful afternoon today, the sun is shining, and I can let you sleep no longer! Alas, our duty calls. Two Forks, answer your radio.”

Grian rolls over and puts a pillow on his head. Scar continues. 

“Perhaps this is like a fairytale,” Scar muses. “Are you sleeping beauty, locked away in your tower, desperately waiting for true love’s kiss? Well, I can hardly speak for your true love, so you’ll have to settle and wake for me instead. Do you like Disney, Two Forks? What’s your favorite movie?”

Grian kicks his blanket onto the floor and slides unceremoniously out of bed. He sways for a moment. His legs aren’t really sure they’re ready to support him today, not after all the mountain climbing he did the other day. Then he strides resolutely to the other side of the room, picks up the radio, and turns the switch off. 

Ah, peace. 

Grian wanders over and sits on the bed for another few minutes, letting his mind spin out and gain traction again. He takes his glasses out of their case beside the bed and puts them on. The sun is bright and high in the sky, so it’s not early. It casts the room in a nice light, and Grian takes his first opportunity to look over his new home. It’s painted an old and slightly chipped white, with little posters and photos pinned to open spaces on the walls. The room is mostly filled by its spacious windows. They frame every side of every wall, almost as if Grian is living in a glass house. 

The view is, of course, spectacular. 

The mountains are both jagged in some places and rounded in others. He can see hills upon hills for miles, wrinkling out into the horizon like a piece of crumpled paper. There’s pockets of meadow and open woodland that contrast with thicker pine forests, creating a patchwork. The hillsides are painted in different greens–an aspen grove there, fir here, golden spring grass, or the bright spring flowers he can see coloring patches of the meadow. The sky is a blazing blue, and there is no haze on the horizon.

It would be spectacular, wouldn’t it? Something so beautiful would have to be so cruel. Grian is already familiar with these views in the way of someone scorned. He’s been here before, and this time he isn’t leaving without dragging the secrets from the darkest valleys. 

Grian stands up again, a little more clear headed, and heads to the stove. It’s propane powered, and he’s grateful it exists at all. He takes out a small metal pot and, upon finding it dusty, casts it aside and pulls his own camp pot from his pack. He’ll wash things later. He pours some water in it, sets it to boil, and tries to figure out where he’s set his tea. 

With a mug of tea in hand–tragically no milk and a supply of sugar he’s decided to use very, very sparingly–and the radio in his other hand, Grian steps out onto the wraparound walkway at the top of his tower. It makes for a nice deck. 

Lazily, he flips the radio back on. “This is Two Forks,” he says smoothly. “I’m awake now, what do you need?”

“G-man!” Scar nearly shouts on the other end. “It’s great to hear your voice this afternoon.”

“Ugh, afternoon,” Grian groans. He checks his watch. “It’s what, 12:30? Lunchtime? Already?”

“You’ll be okay,” Scar says. “You’re not really officially on duty until tomorrow anyway. I always like to check on the new lookouts on the first day anyway, though. You doing good?”

“Fine.”

There’s a pause, like Scar was clearly waiting for more than that. Grian is giving him nothing. After a moment he gets the memo and proceeds. 

“Good to know, good to know. So, G-man,” he starts. “You’re a lookout now. That means your only job, from now until October, is to keep an eye on this forest for any fires. If you see a fire, report it to me, or to the rangers on the official channel. I’m talking campfires, fireworks, lightning strikes, everything. You got that?”

“I believe I can handle it,” Grian says drily. “I’m pretty good at looking out windows.”

“Do you see the round thing on a table in the center of the room?” Scar asks. Grian does not, because Grian is outside on his deck, but he’s seen it before already and doesn’t feel like walking back inside to play along.. “That’s your Osborne Fire-Finder. I assume they taught you how to use that?”

“Yeah. Always keep it calibrated, locate the fire in the rotating sight, and use the tool’s measurements to determine its location and precise angle.”

“Wow, you’re going to put me out of a job!” Scar says, and somehow Grian just knows he’s genuinely beaming on the other end of the line. 

“I can’t be in two lookouts at once, now can I?” Grian says, words sharp. It doesn’t phase Scar.

He continues. “The only other real thing is that you need to report daily first thing in the morning with the weather conditions at your tower. This helps us keep track of what the fire danger is on any given day or week, so I expect you to take that seriously. Additionally, you’ll be expected to keep logs of conditions in your area. Anything else, well, I’ll just help you with it if it comes up!”

“Cool.”

“Any questions, G-man?” Scar asks. 

“Um, yeah,” Grian says. “Just one. Have you been calling me ‘G-man’?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, follow up question. Can you stop?”

“Nope!” Scar says brightly. “Every lookout needs a nickname, it’s only fun. I suppose if you had a nickname you’d rather be called though, I can consider it.”

“Uh, no,” Grian says. “I don’t have another nickname for you to use.”

“Aw, too bad. I guess it’ll just stay G-man, then.”

Grian is nearly overcome for a moment, and, despite the objectively peaceful surroundings, desires to tear his hair out. He does not. Instead he replies, in his most carefully snarky tone, “Fine. Is Scar your nickname, then? What’s your real name?”

“Grian!” Scar exclaims, in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this is my legal name, thank you very much.”

“I have so many reasons to doubt that.”

“I would never lie to you, G-man.”

Grian rolls his eyes at that, but he can’t stop the corner of his mouth from turning up. He takes a sip of his tea. It’s nice in his hands, warm, and the smell alone is making him feel more at home. There’s silence on the radio for a long time, and Grian almost assumes that Scar has gone. He’s fine with that being the end of their discussion for the day. 

Scar isn’t gone, though, and after a while the radio crackles again. “Say, G-man,” he starts. “Now that you’ve asked me your questions, mind if I ask one of my own? A little equivalent exchange, you know.”

“Go ahead.” Grian sips his drink. 

“Where are you from?”

“Denver.” It’s not untrue. 

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude,” Scar says tentatively, “but…where are you from before that?”

Grian sighs. “England.”

“I knew it!” Scar cries. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to shout, there, my bad! It’s just interesting to me, that’s all! You’ve got such a lovely accent.”

“I guess,” Grian says. “You never met a British person before?”

“Oh, sure,” Scar says. “I’ve met several tourists from the UK. But between you and me, most people flyin’ across the ocean for a vacation tend to just stop at Yellowstone or Grand Teton instead of here. And the ones that do don’t stray too deep into the Forest.”

“Yeah, well, s’bit far back here. Took me two days to hike in and then I slept until noon afterwards.”

“Yeah, that hike tends to beat people up,” Scar says. “So. What on earth brings someone from England to Colorado to Wyoming?”

“Maybe I just like the mountains.”

“You don’t have mountains in England?” Scar gasps in horror. “Oh my goodness, that’s a tragedy. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“No, it’s like, well–we do have mountains in England. It’s just, well, they aren’t exactly like this are they? It’s a different sort of landscape. And besides, the place I grew up in just had hills.”

“Oh,” Scar said. “You know, I’ve never been to England. Never really left the western half of this country, actually. Is it pretty there?”

Grian thinks back, to cobblestone streets in town and misty mornings. He thinks of the way everything was just drenched in vibrant green in the summers. He thinks of old churches with ivy on the walls and fields of grass hemmed in by stone fences. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty there.”

“Man,” Scar says. “I’ll have to go one of these days. I am wondering, though–it’s not, uh, very common to meet, um, someone from another country working this job. Since the Forest Service is a federal agency, you know.”

Grian scoffs. “Isn’t this line of question a little forward for a first introduction?” he asks. “Whatever. It’s not like they didn’t poke into my background enough during the hiring process. I have dual citizenship–free, clear, whatever you wanna call it, to work for the US government.”

“That’s so cool,” Scar says. “So does that mean you like, came here and applied for citizenship and got it or–or were you like born here, and then moved to England. Or, even, you got it through marriage? Are you married? Like how does this work?”

“I’m not going to tell you all the details of my life.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Scar says. 

“It’s fine.”

“Hm,” Scar says. “You know, it’s interesting that I met you, almost like a coincidence, right? I remember hearing about another British guy in the park last summer–a tragedy, I tell you. I heard the rangers still haven’t–”

Grian’s blood instantly runs cold at the mention, and the warm mug in his hands isn’t doing enough to pull the heat back into his body. For a moment he wants to dash the mug onto the ground dozens of feet below, and cut his hands on the ceramic when he goes to pick up the shattered remains–leave no trace–on the forest floor, dripping blood onto the leaves.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he flicks the radio off with shaking hands, cutting Scar off mid-sentence, and stalks back into the cabin.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian’s sitting on a rock next to a lake. The sun is slanted now, casting golden orange rays across the water. The air is crisp and, although Grian hasn’t touched it, he knows the water is cold. It’s snowmelt-fed, afterall. 

He’d turned on his radio again an hour or two after he turned it off earlier, once he’d recovered enough to have a normal conversation. Scar had been worried, but he’d accepted Grian’s excuse that he’d left some water boiling on the stove and needed to attend to it immediately. He hadn’t known Grian long enough to see through his excuses yet, unlike Grian’s old supervisor. 

Scar had been quiet the rest of the afternoon, though, as soon as Grian told him that he was going out to explore. Grian appreciates the peace. 

He pulls a map out of his bag to study it. It’s not the map he was given of his lookout area when he started. No, this one is worn on the edges from countless foldings and unfoldings. It’s not so much a map as it is several maps–it’s several detailed topo maps taped together into a square. 

In one map, the Two Forks lookout is circled in red marker. Grian did that a few weeks ago, when he’d learned which lookout he was assigned to. It’s a beacon on the page, his new base of operations for the next few months. And it couldn’t be in a better location. 

The rest of the map is marked-up too. There’s highlighter along some trails, penciled in areas of interest, and shaded areas. They’re search areas. It’s not the first time Grian has been here. 

He examines the maps, cross referencing his with the topo map he was given as a lookout. The Two Forks domain covers much of the locations that Mumbo’s search did last year, but more. There's still a lot of blank space on the maps, especially in areas that were inaccessible by trail. Just because it was off-trail doesn’t mean Mumbo never went there for some reason. 

Grian takes a pencil out of his bag and begins to mark up the map once again. It’s something he’s done before, and there’s spots on the map where his eraser has rubbed off part of the ink. He pours over the contours, thinking, this valley has shelter from the wind, or there’s a source of water here.

When he’s finished he stares at the page for a long moment, and then back out at the lake in front of him. The shadows are even longer now. On the other side of the lake, the ground is cast in shadow already, with the sun disappearing early behind a mountain. 

Did Mumbo enjoy these views, too? Was he here?

Grian would ask him when he found him.

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

[poupeesdecirque]

Posting by Queue, or: why I need some distance from my crafts

It has been some time since my last hobby meta blog entry, it had different reasons and one is that I need distance. Like, yes I of course enjoy crafting and sometimes I am like a little child that runs everywhere to show off things.

But it got ... less intense. And I learned I do better when I keep projects or at least details to myself to sit on them for longer. That the first euphoria is purely mine and not to be shared.

Like for my photos I have a buffer of several weeks now. Yes, I know past-me would have kind of hated that. But I learned I do better when I have a time buffer. I do take photos weekly but sometimes they don't feel special enough to get the weekly photo feature?

Friday & yesterday I went out for photos and while I like the ones from yesterday way more than the ones from friday I am not sure if the set from yesterday will get the feature or not as it's only a hand full of photos giving me that certain spark.

Other than that I am a very emotional artist, I sometimes really fuck up my art and hate it at the moment I worked on it, but then, sometimes, after a few days or weeks I can look at it and just wonder about what was my problem the day I made it.

Another thing is that I, myself, enjoy my art. The process of it. And I like to see my blog updating, sometimes I forget what post will go online and then I check the blog and think "ah yes, this was that thing!", and it reminds me why I made the blog overall, to show myself I had progress and that every tiny step counts.

Which leads to another reason why I hold back in regards of posting. Yes, I do share some snippets in my stories over on insta but not always and not all. I sit on over 300 drawings from the last two years alone nobody ever will see, I enjoyed drawing but it's nothing for the public eye. I will maybe go back and redraw some and share the redraws then, who knows?

But wait, there is actually more reasons.

The biggest or main reason is ... i sometimes go really wild on projects. In January I finished so many dolls it was insane, I worked on Cosplays and other crafts in an incredible speed, I have literally no idea where I found the time but I somehow did and doll parts arriving every week did the rest.

I keep the blog running with partially 2 month old stuff but .... to be honest I don't have doll stuff aside photos to do anymore. All I can do is wait for bodies to be shipped (or dolls even) and arrive. There has been no movement since January. Aside Iza getting the shipping notice for our Split, might take a while until its at her place and I can't really start on the Akuma until I got the body (which I at least have finally ordered this month) as colors need to be matched and mods to be made.

I am truly itchy to do something else than sewing all the time, I do enjoy cosplay but you know how much I like sewing (hint: not at all). So to remind myself of the fun I had in the past weeks I have mixed my blog to bless me with some progress I had which was maybe not sewing all the time. And well, the Cosplays have deadlines and I do get some ideas aside purely sewing while doing them, so that keeps me going for now.

Yes, I could start redoing dolls like Alastor or Erwin. But you know what? IT'S ALMOST ALL SEWING. Urgh.

Aside that real life is pretty good at eating me up and I just want to enjoy crafting. Right now drawing feels like stress relief but I hate the results and just scan the pieces and put them away to never look at them again, I have a bunch of posts queued up without any captions, a wip entry of a current project only has two photos but I lack the spoons to actually get them done. But since those posts are so far back it's fine (yes I know drafts are a thing).

In general I enjoy having my art to myself to get used to it before I put it out into the wild as I just recently got reminded I do bad with direct comparisons still and it hits some triggerpoints from the past and makes everything harder, I don't need that.

I literally have no idea if this blog makes sense even, lol. I just am tired of sewing and stopped working on my current project around lunch time and have drawn so much today and I walked way too much the whole week my friends urged me to stay the ef home and at least try to relax. But I'm restless as my body is too stressed (I know it all I'm a certified relaxation trainer so eh), so, have an over the place blog entry.

[scarlet-traveler]

Thanks to everybody who's been reading my krbk month fics throughout the last few weeks! I really wasn't sure how well they would do over here but I was really surprised at all the attention they got <3

If you happened to miss any, you can find them all below:

Day 2: Rain (Tumblr | AO3) - Bakugou's experiences with rain Day 5: Fantasy (Tumblr | AO3) - runaway prince Bakugou meets dragon shifter Kirishima Day 9: Confession (Tumblr | AO3) - Kirishima unexpected confesses while he and Bakugou are up late at night Days 7+11+14: Sunshine, Long Distance, First Kiss (Tumblr | AO3) - Kirishima and Bakugou have a hiking date and their first kiss Day 17: Free Day (Tumblr | AO3) - mini sequel to previous fic feat. cuddling for warmth Day 18+20: Dancing, Moonlight (Tumblr | AO3) - Kirishima and Bakugou dance together under the stars Day 21: Coffee Shop (Tumblr | AO3) - art student Kirishima uses chemical engineering student Bakugou as his drawing muse Day 22: Alternate Careers (Tumblr | Twitter) - Bakugou and Kirishima open a joint bakery/florist business after retiring from hero work Day 25: Bakusquad (Tumblr | AO3) - Kiribaku tells the rest of the squad about their relationship Day 27: Royalty (Tumblr | AO3) - prince Kirishima meets baker Bakugou while escaping from royal duties Day 28: Soulmate (Tumblr | AO3) - Bakugou's experiences with Kirishima as his soulmate Day 29: Mutual Pining (Tumblr | AO3) - Bakugou and Kirishima confide in Deku about their feelings for each other Day 31: Quirk Accident (Tumblr | AO3) - Kirishima temporarily loses his memories

And for those of you who followed me within the last month, welcome! I hope you enjoy the mess of content here XD

I'll be taking a writing break for the next few weeks since I'm feeling a little burnt out, but I'll still be around! And I've got plenty more fics to share later on, kiribaku or otherwise, so keep an eye out :D

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 47

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You tell a few people about your polycule and get some Spirit's Eve preparations out of the way.

Author’s Note: N/A

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

“So you’re just, like, banging them both?” 

“Pfft–” I choke on my hot cocoa, which is totally too sugary for me to be drinking with such a sore throat, but Leah insisted I have some.

When I told her I was sick and bored (and stressed by how much Magnus and Seb have been coddling me for the past two days, to be honest,) she shot right over with some homemade shortbread cookies and hot chocolate. 

Being much wiser than Seb, as he’s starting to feel a bit under the weather too, Leah arrived with face masks – one for herself, with a forest green gingham pattern, and one for me, a mustard yellow with some autumn leaves speckled around it – at my request. She’s also been keeping her distance. She’s situated at the table, which has some art supplies sprawled around it amidst the cookies, and I’m sitting pretzel-style on my bed, all wrapped in comfy clothes and blankets. 

I came clean about my relationship with the two goobers. She’s a close enough friend now that I think I can trust her not to judge – and based on the enthusiasm behind her response, I don’t think she is judging me in the slightest.

This does make it a little harder to imagine how it’ll go once I eventually come clean to Sam, Abby… everyone else, really. Can’t fathom everyone having a positive reaction to it. But it’s super appreciated, of course.

I confirm, “Yeah, I am.” Still laughing, I clear my throat, then add, “Not at the same time, though…?” Drawing out that last word, I tilt my head and squint up at the ceiling, wondering if our situation the other day counts as a threesome. “Well, technically, not at the same time.”

“Damn, alright Aphrodite!” Curling into a fetal position in her chair, Leah complains, “Ugh… I’m not desirable enough to even get one girlfriend and you have two boyfriends.”

I frown, taking another sip of my drink before raising my mask back over my face. “You totally could, Lee, people just suck. Yoba knows I got lucky.”

“You want another partner, then?” she jests back.

Thankful that my mask hides my blush, and unsure if I should interpret that as a joke or not, I chuckle, softly walking around the subject. “God, two people is already a lot to wrap my brain around.”

“Especially those two,” she adds. 

During her few attempts to become a spellcaster (which failed quite fucking horribly, actually, there isn’t a single arcane bone in this poor woman’s body…) in the week or so after Seb and I were greeted by her in Magnus’ tower, she kinda got the gist of Seb and Magnus’ silly natures.

It was an odd group for sure, but a fun dynamic nonetheless. And honestly, it’s been nice to have a friend to talk to about magic other than people who do it themselves.

“I’m surprised Camilla hasn’t tried to throw herself into our weird little polycule,” I think out loud. 

“Is that the hot witch lady you guys work with?” I nod. “I wonder if she’d want me.” As Leah says this, a dreamy expression falls over her face. She doesn’t even know what Camilla looks like! I wonder what she’s imagining in the woman’s stead. 

“She’s terrifying,” I point out. “Super fucking hot, but like…” I finish my sentence with a shake of my head and shoulders. Shimmying out the jitters. “Here, lemme draw her for you,” I offer, placing my cup beside the bed and making grabby hands at the sketchbook near my friend. She tosses a pencil and the book over one by one.

“You think she and Magnus have…?”

I look up as I open to an empty page, and Leah wiggles her eyebrows at me. Not as flawless as Seb and Robin’s signature moves, but still a solid eight out of ten wiggle, I’ll say. She pulls down her mask to take another sip of her hot chocolate.

“Because I mean,” she pulls her mask up, “as freaky as he is… god. He’s sexy, babe.”

A cough-laugh comes out of me. Once I can breathe better, I respond, “Are you not a lesbian?!”

“I am, but I can make exceptions! ‘Labels are for soup cans,’ or whatever we used to say back in, like, the 2010’s.” 

After crossing one leg over the other, Leah pulls down her mask again just to smirk at me, winking simultaneously. I cover my face with my hands, nervously giggling into them.

“Good lord,” I mumble to myself. She laughs, and as my view raises, she’s covering her face with the fabric again. I take that as my cue to go on with my attempt to capture Camilla’s beauty. “And to answer your question, she’s tried. He’s not into it, though.” I shrug. “I think his hatred outweighs any desire that coulda been there.”

“He’s so sweet that it’s almost funny to imagine him disliking someone.”

“I always think the same thing!” I laugh, swiping away a few eraser shavings before tacking on, “It’s a secret pleasure of mine, seeing him all riled up like that.”

Through some of her own chuckling, Lee asks me, “Doesn’t he just wanna go apeshit?” 

“I’d like to imagine that someday he will. He’ll just, like… give up and deck her in the face or something. I dunno.”

“Maybe a good ol’ slap-and-kiss for good measure.” I love how she said that as if it's a thing.

“I’m just picturing… ok,” I pause drawing again to talk with my hands, “You know that one reaction image of Toad and Yoshi making out completely sloppy-style?”

“PFFT,” Leah nods, snorting. “What, them fighting then kissing?”

I shake my head and elaborate, “In one corner of my brain it’s them,” I hold up my left hand to the side, “and in the other you’re there too, and kinda just…” I hold up my right, and then bring the two hands in front of me, almost like I’m making them kiss, but at a weird angle. “...latched into the middle of them.”

“Like a leech.” 

“A horny one, apparently.” 

I resume my drawing. Leah adds, “A sex leech.”

“Sex Leech…” I echo. “That would be a great band name.”

“Oh! Leah and the Sex Leeches.”

“Would be mood music, for sure.”

A short silence passes after Leah’s responsive laughter dies down. I make a few additions to the quick, small doodle in my lap, then tilt my head as I observe it, tapping the eraser against the page. 

Something’s missing… Oh! I whisper the word to myself as I think it, flipping the instrument around to add her signature artificial beauty mark.

“Here,” I gesture my supplies in Leah’s direction. She readies herself as I toss over the pencil first, then the book. “Doesn’t do her justice, but I tried.”

Leah puts down the pencil before situating the sketchbook rightside up, and I snag my drink, holding it in both hands to absorb some more warmth. I’m not chilly by any means, between all these blankets, Seb’s huge sweatshirt, and the fireplace blastin’ to my right. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try my hardest to sweat out this fever.

Leah’s eyes widen, then she tilts her head to the ceiling and groans. I laugh while she exclaims, “Are you freaking kidding me? I need her!”

“No!” I point at Leah like she’s a naughty puppy or something, and only supporting the gesture, she slinks in on herself a little. I’d like to imagine she’s pouting beneath the mask. “I don’t know what it is about her specifically, but the vibes are horrendous.”

“I suppose if your part– well,” she corrects herself, “ one of your partners isn’t a fan, that’s probably a sign to steer clear.”

I tap my head knowingly. I can see a grin in her eyes before she turns her attention to the book again, staring longingly at the page. 

“So does she have any weird colors about her too, or is that just a Magnus sort of deal?” 

I shake my head. “White skin – a smidge paler than yours, maybe – and the same hair and eye colors as Haley pretty much.” I pause to cough into my arm, then mention, “She does have pointy ears, though. Can’t tell if it’s plastic surgery or if she has some Elven heritage like Magnus does.”

Grabbing the colored pencils, Leah adds some vibrance to my sketch. “They have surgery for that?”

“Yeah, I follow this dude who does it. Lives somewhere outside of Ferngill, though.” I finish off my cocoa before placing down the mug and twisting my torso to pop my back. “I’ve always wanted to go do it myself, but the recovery period outweighs my desire for cute pointy ears.” 

“Your ears are very cute as they are,” Leah compliments cheerfully. 

Caught off guard a little, I cover my face again. She isn’t looking, it’s just more of a self-soothing sorta deal at this point.

“Thanks,” I all but squeak out. Leah glares at me playfully. She’s caught onto the tic too, god damnit. “Grew ‘em myself.”

Lee places down the pencil she’d been using and stares down at the page. “Maybe if I show up at Magnus’ place someday,” she suggests, “I��ll just so happen to run into her, and then… you know…” As Leah trails off, she fucking holds up her middle- and pointer-fingers on each hand and slots them together oh my god.

“Leah!” 

“Sorry!”

“We really need to get you laid.” 

“I really need to get laid, yeah…”

______________

Seb and I both recovered from our illness with enough time to do some last-minute Spirit’s Eve shopping. He’s going to pass on going to Krobus’ sewer party thing — wants to make sure he has enough time to get his work done before going to the town festival — so he’s able to wear whatever he wants. I, on the other hand, am specifically searching for something extra creature-like.

Magnus warned me that shadow people tend to get a little quirky around humans, with Krobus being one of the very few outliers. I’ve gotta disguise myself real good if I want to avoid conflict. Something that’ll help me blend in with shadow people, at least disguising me as some kind of elemental, while also being acceptable for the main event… hm.

Gonna be kinda hard to find something like that at Party City.

“What about this?” Seb mutters, inspecting a cheaply manufactured vampire outfit. 

I purse my lips and tilt my head, trying to figure out a way to salvage this. Because sweet Yoba above, Seb would make a sexy vampire. 

“What if we just get you a cape, fangs, and maybe some pointy ears, and then try to closet-cosplay the rest?” 

“Hmm.” Still turning the package around in his hands, Seb contemplates his options. “I mean, on one hand, I can get corny with it.” He gestures at the costume in his hand. “Commit to the bit, y’know?” 

I nod. A fair point, indeed!

“On the other,” he continues, head tilting a little to the left, “I could try some Astarion Ancunín-type shit and get kinda slutty with it.”

I nod again. Both wonderful options. Secretly rooting for the second, but whichever makes him happy will make me happy. 

“Oh! Y’know what would work?”

“Hm?”

“If we get your ears pierced before Spirit’s Eve, you can wear those red earrings we got in Calico. Would make a sick bloody effect. Sorta.”

“Oooh, you’re onto something, kid. Just gotta check what material they are, make sure they’re safe for a new hole and all that.”

“I’ll give you a new hole...” I mumble.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a threat.”

“A sexy threat.” Seb waggles his brows before returning his vision to the costume he’s holding.

While Seb weighs out his options, I stray a little further down the aisle. “Oh my god.” I practically tear the costume off its hanger and jog over to Seb, holding it out in front of me. “Scratch that. Why be a vampire when you can be motherfucking Wumbus?!”  

Seb chuckles, taking the costume from me. He puts on his best nasally, nerdy voice to say, “Um, actually,” then points at the title of the costume on its packaging, and informs me, “it’s a Big Green Wumbo.” Shifting back to his normal speaking voice as I snort-laugh at his beautiful performance, Seb also notes, “But also, no way. Sam would lose his shit if I showed up as Wumbus. That’s his thing.”

“Technically not Wumbus!” I point out, poking his forehead through his thick fringe. He headbutts it out of the way. I take the costume back, wondering aloud, “God, how do they come up with these names? What even is a ‘wumbo?’”

“Dunno. It’s charming in its own way, though.”

I nod in agreement, then shuffle back to where I found the Big Green Wumbo to place it back on the rack it came from. “Wouldn’t feel like shopping for costumes at a Party City or whatever without the vast array of totally legit characters to choose from.” I turn to look at the row behind me, then pick out a knockoff Katniss Everdeen costume. “Oh wow, I sure do wish I could go as this Braided Archer Girl!”

Scrunching his nose and grinning, Seb walks over to me, tucking the vampire costume under his arm. “This wha—“ He sees the one I’m holding and laughs. “So powerful.”

“So fierce!”

“A force to be reckoned with in the, uh… what’s a good alternative to–”

I chime in, cutting him off, my brows furrowed with determination, “Hungry Fortnight.”

“Nah, dude, Fortnight’s too much of a brand at this point.”

“Ah, true…” I continue to stare at the costume. Oh, wait. “The Famine Games?” I suggest, looking up and to my right to see him. I shrug. “The Hungry Games is probably already taken.”

“The Famine Games it is, then. Great work, champ.” Seb holds out a first for me to bump. Instead of punching it back, I high-five it. Makes a dull smacking noise. Sounds less epic than I was hoping it would.

We spend a few more minutes giggling like a bunch of losers over all the goofy costume names in this aisle before moving onto the next. Some honorable mentions: Speedy Blue Rodent (Sonic), Lightning Rabbit (Pikachu), Ruler of the Countryside (Prairie King), and a couple’s costume of Dolly and Jake Skeleton (Sally and Jack Skellington).

Sighing, I look at the new options. Mostly lady-adjacent costumes over here, and they’re mostly labeled with that “one-size-fits-all” bullshit. Even if I were to fit into any of those, I wouldn’t want some lame fatphobe profiting off of it as a result.

I groan. “I wonder what the chances are that I'll be able to find something here.”

Pulling me closer by the waist, Seb suggests, “We could try other stores if we need to.” 

I lean into him. “I wonder what the chances are I’d be able to pull off being a fully-fledged elf… like some Magnus-looking elf, y’know?”

“Might be harder, but maybe his shrine could help.”

“Oh hell yeah!” I look up at Seb, my eyes and smile wide. “I didn’t even think to try using that thing, it always seemed like too foreign of a concept. Hopefully he’ll let me.” Knowing damn well I don’t have enough mana to make a long distance call, if you will, I opt to wait until later to ask Magnus about this. 

I’ve gotta get home a phone. 

“Who’s Magnus?” 

Seb and I nearly jump out of our skin, “OH MY GOD!” and “WHAT THE FUCK!” being shouted respectively. We simultaneously whip our heads around.

Again, speaking at the same time, “Mom?!” and “Robin?!” are exclaimed by the two of us. She evilly chuckles a little. 

I hold my right palm up to my chest and rest my forehead against Seb’s left arm. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Wanted to surprise your father with a matching costume.” I turn my head to her, still smooshing my temple against Seb. Before my emotional support human can interject, Robin adds, “Yoba knows he won’t want to wear it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t force him.” She’s still got a mischievous smirk on her. 

“Good luck with that,” Seb scoffs.

“So. Who’s Magnus and what’s this something about a shrine?” his mom prods.

Oh god damnit.

Seb and I look at each other.

“Think it’s time to tell her?” I whisper. I’m horrified. I try to hide it.

“I fucking guess so.” 

“Tell me what?” If the woman wasn’t giggling about her own dickheaded nosiness over there, this would be a lot more intimidating. 

“Uh…” I mutter. 

Shit, who am I kidding? It’s still intimidating.

“Straight to the point, yeah?” Seb asks. 

“I guess..?”

In the next breath, I’m saying “Our partner,” while Seb is saying “Her partner,” and gesturing at me. We both look at each other, both sets of brows furrowed.

“My partner?” I suggest, while he counters, “Our partner.”

“This is hopeless,” I whine.

I look at Robin. Her head is tilted and her eyebrows are raised in confusion, her slightly chapped lips slightly parted. I latch onto Seb’s arm and hide my face from her. My anxiousness about the situation takes over. I can practically hear my pulse. 

Seb clears things up while I quietly panic. “So like… (y/n) and I are dating, yeah?” 

“Uh huh…” Robin agrees.

“Well, she — we’re…? Oh my god.” Seb takes a breath to compose himself.

I look up at him, face coated in a furious blush because oh my fucking god this is so embarrassing. His is too, which makes me feel a little better about it.

“She,” he settles on, “is also dating our friend Magnus. But like, we both know about it. It’s chill.”

I turn to look at Robin. She’s biting her bottom lip and there’s a slight grin curling them up. She’s still very clearly bewildered, if slightly amused too. 

I hide my face again. 

“God, ma, please say something,” Seb breathes. 

“I… wow. Do I know this Magnus person?”

Seb and I both shrug. “So, funny story…” Seb goes on.

“Uh huh.”

“You know that super suspicious-looking tower south of (y/n)’s farm, west of Marnie’s?”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s the guy who lives there.”

“Uh huh…”

“He’s a wizard.”

“Uh huh.”

“He has a shrine that can change appearances.”

“Huh.”

“It’s magic.”

“Uh huh.”

“And that’s what we were discussing.”

“Uh huh.”

“Please mom for the love of god—“

“(Y/n), you little minx!”

I squeak, my shoulders tensing up. “I’m not a hussy, I promise!” I try to assure her from behind Sebastian’s arm. I feel a hand on my head and flinch. Feels small, so I’m assuming it’s hers.

“As long as you’re both happy with this guy, I’m not judging.” 

“You’re not even questioning the wizard part?” Seb asks incredulously.

“I’ve always thought it looked like those wizard towers in movies, so no, honestly. It just makes me wonder if he’s… ya know, some kinda crusty, Gandalf-looking dude.” A short pause passes. Robin asks hushedly, “Are you into old guys, Sebby?”

“I– I’m not the one dating him!”

“Suuure you’re not.”

“And you’ve probably seen him!” Seb declares. “Absurdly tall, purple hair, wears cloaks and shit, looks like he’s sick but it’s just his skin color–”

“Oh! I’ve seen him hanging out with Linus, by his tent!”

“Yeah, him!” Seb almost sounds excited that he didn’t have to explain any further. “They’re close.”

“Oh, he’s cute! Are you sure you don’t like him like that?”

“Ma, what the fuck!”

“Not so loud, son. There’s kids… er…” There’s a pause. I’m assuming Robin’s looking around. “Somewhere in here, I’m sure.”

Hesitantly, I turn back towards Robin to interrupt them. “So you don’t think I’m a hussy?” It comes out small and meek. Just like me, right now… Seb snort-laughs and pulls his arm around my shoulders again, pressing a kiss to my scalp. 

Laughing alongside her son, Robin replies, “You’ll only be a hussy if you hurt my son.”

She meant for it to be lighthearted, and I know that, but my eyes brim with tears anyway.

“Oh! Oh no!” Robin laughs a little harder as she notices the true state I’m in. “C’mere,” she offers as she holds her free arm out for a hug. The other is carrying two costumes – looks like Morticia and Gomez Addams, or whatever other names this place gave them.

Hesitantly, I let go of Seb and wrap my arms around Robin.

This is our first hug.

This is weird.

A good kind of weird.

Is this what it’s like to have a good mom? I think to myself.

Oh no.

Oh god, no.

The tears start falling after that thought.

What is with me right now?

“I’m sorry I’m being such a big baby...” I defend myself, in an effort to not seem quite as pitiable as I’m coming off, “I don’t do good with surprises, and I really didn’t expect this to happen yet!” I doubt my save is working. Sounds too wet and pathetic.

Robin hands off the costumes to Seb and wraps her other arm around me, bending a little to let me lean into the crook of her neck. She’s not nearly as tall as Seb, at like 5’6” or so, but still tall enough that it’s necessary.

Huh. I think she uses Bearglove too. That, or something similar. “It’s really okay, hun! It’s okay!”

“Thank you…” I pull away, risking showing my snotty, tear-stained face.

Robin’s hands are on my shoulders. I can’t meet her eyes, but she gives me a friendly pat with her right hand. 

“Seriously,” Seb chimes in behind me. I turn to look at him. He looks relieved. “Thanks, mom.”

“It’s simply my job to love you unconditionally,” she decrees. “And you make him happy,” Robin directs towards me, poking my shoulder and catching my eyes, “so that means you too.”

Oh no.

Just when I thought I was almost done crying!

I bury my face in my hands. 

“Oh gosh,” she laughs. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?”

I nod. “You’re too nice to me…”

“I can be meaner if you want, but that would just be weird.”

“You’re fine how you are!” I agree.

“Are you two done here?” Robin asks.

“I think so,” Seb answers. His words come out sorta like a question, so I nod.

“Why don’t we go grab a bite from that cute diner around the corner? My treat.”

Seb brightens a little. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not! (Y/n)?” 

“Oh! Uh… yeah, sure.” I use my sleeves to try patting my face dry. 

“Perfect! Let’s go check out first.” Robin gestures her head towards the registers, which are across the store but within eyeshot. “As much as I dislike capitalism, I’m not about to go to jail for stealing…” She holds up the costumes to read them. Does that thing older people do where they squint and hold it a little further from them. Guess it’s time for her to get some reading glasses! “Beautifully Creepy Wife and her Spooky Doting Husband…? God, seriously?”

Seb and I both laugh. “This place is the fucking worst,” he retorts. “C’mon, let’s go.”

______________

After paying for our stuff, Seb and I hop on his bike to meet his mom at the diner. Seb told me on our way over that before Demetrius and Maru were in the picture, Robin would always take him here after they bought their Spirit’s Eve costumes from that same Party City we were just at. 

It’s no wonder he looked so happy about this, that’s fucking precious!

The restaurant is cuter than I imagined it would be, with that archetypal overabundance of tiles and wavy glass windows that the best diners always seem to have. The interior looks like an 80’s and 90’s stereotype of a diner had a weird baby, in the most endearing way possible. There’s pastel pink, blue, and green accessories decorating the place, a black and white checkerboard floor, and a wooden jukebox with rainbow lights along its outer rim near the waiting area.

While Robin talks to the host about grabbing us a table, I people-watch.

A handsome middle-aged dude with jet black hair and a matching leather jacket is nursing a coffee at the counter while trying to rizz up two younger blonde women a few stools over. Seems like it’s working, too. Good for them! In the meantime, the server behind the counter is very visibly eavesdropping, pretending to keep occupied with the glass case of baked goods. He looks impressed. 

When we walk past all the booths and tables further in, I continue being a little nosy, taking note of how many old folk are here. Most of them are in groups, some of them are in pairs, and a few sit alone.

One lady with a thick white perm, deep laugh lines, and long crow’s feet, who also seems to be here alone, is loudly chatting with the waitress. They seem to know each other. Maybe that woman’s a regular here.

Once I get a little closer, my hands tingle a little bit and her gaze lands on mine. I notice her irises shift in color – from a deep emerald green to a bright, happy yellow – and my eyes widen. I can’t help but smile, which she mirrors, and we share a nod of acknowledgement before she returns her attention to the waitress.

God, magic is so cool.

Once we settle into a somewhat secluded booth towards the back – with Seb and I on one side, and Robin on the other – Seb begins to lay down some ground rules.

“Alright, so first off.” He holds up his pointer finger. “Nobody can know yet.”

“Well, duh,” Robin shrugs, takes a sip from her complementary cup of water, and then goes on, “Most of the older folk in Pelican Town barely tolerate gay people, let alone non-monogamy.”

“Perfect. Second,” Seb puts up a second finger. His middle this time. “Please don’t try to talk to him the next time you see him.”

Robin practically pouts at her son. “What?! Why not?” 

“He likes his privacy,” I chime in.

Seb nods and tacks on, “Yeah, and he’s not exactly wonderful at meeting new people, so he’d probably want a bit of a warning first.” I nod in agreement.

“Aw man. Fine, I’ll keep my distance,” Robin responds, putting down her glass and holding her palms in front of herself to surrender.

Just before Seb can continue, a waitress comes by to take our orders. We all ask for some coffee to start. Then, Robin gets some sorta huge deluxe breakfast combo thing, god damn; Seb orders a bagel, topped with cream cheese, lox, and some greens; and I get a veggie and cheese omelet with some toast on the side. It’s pretty late in the afternoon, but diner breakfast food is the best breakfast food. Glad we’re all on the same page in that sense.

Once the waitress leaves, Seb continues. “Last thing.”

“Shoot,” his mom prompts.

“Please don’t tell anyone he exists.”

“Why not?”

“Privacy again, but also because of the magic.” 

I nod, adding, “This isn’t something everyone can just… know about. It can fall into the wrong hands and whatever that way, y’know?”

“Dramatic, but reasonable.”

“Besides,” Seb adds, “we’re only safe from monsters and shit because of him. If anything were to happen because an angry mob of old farts from around town made their way over to his place, we’d all be fucked.”

“What, like, the critters in the mines?”

Seb and I shake our heads. The waitress comes back with our coffees, and once she’s gone, I continue, “They’re all over Ferngill. The ones we have down there, and plenty of way more dangerous ones.”

I grab a few sugar cubes and cream packets from near the window before offering some to Robin. Seb drinks his coffee black, that edgelord, so I don’t bother passing any to him.

While Robin and I fix up our drinks, Seb goes on, “There’s a high-proficiency wizard in most of the higher-populated parts of the country, and each of them are in charge of keeping a protective barrier around the area they’re stationed in.”

“Who stations them, themselves?”

“Kinda..?” Seb looks to me. 

I jump in, “There’s like, a whole council of spellcasters that take care of this stuff.”

“So, politics.”

“Basically,” me and Seb respond in unison. We both give each other a look feigning disgust. That’s, what, the third time we’ve said the same thing at the same time today, maybe?

“So are you two involved in it, or is that just his deal?”

Robin squints at Seb, as if to silently tell him, “I’ll be so not-mad-just-disappointed if you left me out of this.” Seb and I look at one another, then at her. 

“Oh you are, aren’t you?!”

Trying to take the load off Seb, I defend, “To be fair, I’m new to it, but yeah, kinda. I’m a mage and the council knows about me.” I sip my coffee, before shyly adding, “They might recruit me at some point, actually.”

“Wait, really?” Seb asks. I shrug. “News to me…” 

“It’s iffy, but I dunno, Magnus seems hopeful. I’m 50/50 on whether or not I wanna actually do it. Seems intimidating.”

My deflection worked, and now Robin is solely focused on me. Nice. “Wait, you do magic too?” I nod. “Can you magically give me a million bucks?” she jokes, holding out an open palm. I snort, lightly slapping it.

Just after this interaction, our food arrives. Thank god. The conversation diverts here, into some less serious stuff. The weather. Spirit’s Eve. How good the food is. How shitty the coffee is. Et cetera.

When we’re all done eating, Robin insists we all split a piece of one of those giant chocolate layer cakes they had in the pastry case. And while the three of us go ham on it, Seb looks up nearby piercing parlors to go to, considering our earlier discussion.

“Huh. I think this is the one I started stretching my ears at.” He tilts the phone towards me, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his gauges with the other hand.

“All the way in Zuzu, huh? Would you wanna go out there?”

“I don’t see why not. Seemed like a solid crew.”

Robin raises a brow. “You’re not making those things bigger, are you?” I can’t help but giggle at her more official motherly side coming through. 

Seb shakes his head, telling her about our cheesy matching earrings, and his Spirit’s Eve plans. She feigns disgust, much like Seb and I did before, but I can see the loving glint in her eye. She really does seem to love us as a couple, it’s super cute.

Seb adds that he might get a few extra piercings while he’s at it, like a triple helix or nose stud or something. He wants more tattoos too, but figured piercings are easier to handle in bulk like this, so he’s gonna hold off on that. While he explains this, he messages the shop in question on Facebook to ask if they do walk-ins. They hastily respond that they do!

Seb clasps my shoulder. “You wanna go out there tonight?”

I wince. “I’m exhausted, dude.” The short-lived panic I endured earlier today took a toll on me. Plus, I harvested a few pumpkins this morning. Those bitches were heavy.

“No worries. I can go on my own.”

“You better drive safe,” Robin warns through a mouthful of cake, pointing her fork towards Sebby. 

“No promises.”

I mime Robin with my own fork before adding, “I’ll kill ya if you die in a freak biking or piercing accident.”

Seb chuckles, takes another bite, and then puts his fork down, proceeding to dip each of his pointer fingers into the frosting. He plops a small dollop on to my and his mom’s noses. A declaration of war... which is nullified by the waitress coming back with our check. 

I’ll get his ass next time.

[hinatastinygiant]

7 | UNVEILING SECRETS

Pairing: Giyu Tomioka x Fem!Reader

Sympathy for a Demon Masterlist

One week later, you find yourself once again pressed between the wisteria trees, accompanied by three other humans who survived the tortuous week alongside you. Your heart quickens as you spot Giyu in the distance, a wave of emotions crashing over you. Uncertainty clouds your thoughts. Do you run to him? Do you let your guard down and show your true feelings? No, you remind yourself, maintaining your facade is crucial.

You turn your attention to the two girls in front of you, Kiriya and Kanata Ubuyashiki. Their congratulations ring in your ears, and you force a smile in response. It is honestly relieving that you've finally finished that week that lasted longer than the entire hundred-year Muromachi period. 

However, the weight of the situation is suffocating, especially when the two of them mention that a demon has somehow escaped. Dread knots in your stomach. Suspicion hangs heavy in the air, and it feels like every pair of eyes is fixed on you. Panic surges within you, spiraling into a full-blown attack that leaves you trembling and gasping for breath.

Amid the chaos, Giyu's firm grip on your arm startles you. He pulls you aside, his voice a reassuring anchor despite the chaos. "Y/n," he begins in a hushed tone, "there's something strange happening here. There's a demon that's somehow hiding its presence. And it's most likely a high-level demon, because it's beyond my detection." 

You try to ease the tension with a nervous chuckle. "Is that really the first thing you're going to say to me after a week of thinking I was dead?" you say, attempting to shift the conversation away from the unsettling topic. Giyu's response takes you by surprise.

"Oh, that reminds me," he says, his voice slightly embarrassed. "What did you say your family name is? I was trying to fill out a few forms for you, but I didn't have the answers to some of the questions." You then quickly make up a random family name.

Giyu raises an eyebrow. "I've never heard of that last name before, especially not for any ancient demon slayer family."

You offer a nonchalant smile. "Well, you know how secretive my family is."

Giyu nods in understanding. "That's true, you did mention that before."

Just then, a demon slayer speaks up with an idea. "Hey, why don't we all pluck a wisteria petal off a tree?" they suggest. "Whoever doesn't do it must be the demon."

You can feel your heart racing at a million miles per hour, your ears burning with the weight of what you've just heard. You desperately hope you heard them wrong, however, in a moment of panic, you glance back at Giyu and grab him by the arm.

"I need to talk to you about something right now," you say quietly. "Privately."

You then lead him away from the group, creating enough distance to ensure your conversation doesn't get overheard. Then, taking a deep breath, you meet Giyu's eyes. You're about to admit something that might change everything between you two.

A heavy feeling settles in your chest as you realize that the time you've spent together might be coming to an end. Despite the circumstances, you've enjoyed his company, and you're going to miss it more than you ever thought.

Giyu looks at you with concern on his face. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft with worry.

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to find the right words. "Giyu," you begin, your voice wavering slightly, "the demon they're talking about... it's me."

His eyes widen, realization dawning on him as if a puzzle piece finally fell into place. "So that's why I could never find the demon I was looking for," he mutters to himself, his tone a mix of surprise and understanding. He then draws his sword and points it at you, a mixture of caution and disbelief in his eyes. "How have you been able to disguise yourself this whole time?"

"It's my demon art," you explain calmly. "For a long time, I didn't use it 'cause what's the point in hiding from humans? But the ability to mask my presence is something I've had for centuries..."

He seems taken aback. "Centuries?" he exclaims. "What the hell?"

Raising your hand, you implore him, "Giyu, please, I'm not going to hurt you. I never planned to. I've enjoyed spending time with you, really."

His eyes search yours, a mix of emotions playing across his face. He asks about your family, and you admit, "Well, it's half true. I do have an ancient demon family... Muzan Kibutsuji is my older cousin."

The revelation hits him like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you think he might faint from shock. The truth is finally out, and the weight of it hangs heavily in the air, like a bridge connecting two worlds that should never have intertwined.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

GIYU'S P.O.V.

"Why were you out in the forest alone?" I manage to ask her, my heart racing as I try to comprehend the reality before me. I try to strike at her, but she evades. 

"Giyu, please don't do this!" She tries not to scream, tries not to draw any attention.

I make another attempt to strike her, this time severing her arm only to watch it regrow before my eyes. There's no doubt about it now and my mind is a whirlwind of confusion and betrayal. 

"Why did you agree to become a demon slayer?" I demand, my frustration evident in every swing of my sword. She then explains that she left her home, living with Muzan Kibutsuji until he drove her to the brink of insanity which, honestly, she deserves props for dealing with him for such a long period of time.

She falls to the ground as I swipe both of her legs off. I stand over her, the tip of my sword beneath her chin, forcing her gaze up. Tears glisten in her eyes, a sight I've never associated with a demon before. Betrayal and disbelief war within me, but I can't ignore the honesty of her emotions. Sighing, I say, "You have the same goal as the demon slayers do, and I bet you didn't even fucking know that."

Her eyes widen in realization, and she stammers desperately, "I... I could work with the demon slayers."

Shaking my head, I reply, "They'll never accept you." And before she can say what I know she's about to, I add, "They'll find out eventually."

Y/n groans in frustration, but I instruct her to get to her feet. Slowly, she complies. "You know, I've never seen a demon with a will of their own before," I admit softly. "Someone who could choose to go against Muzan. But, as crazy as it all sounds, I believe you."

Before she can say anything back, a chorus of calls from the other new demon slayers reaches us. "We need to get out of here," I tell her, my voice firm. I grab onto her arm, knowing she won't be able to make it through the wisteria without a bit of help. And together, we run, leaving behind the place that has forever changed my opinion of the world. 

Sympathy for a Demon Masterlist

Taglist: woodworthti666

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Bisexual!Michael Masterlist

but then i hear u calling (there u are) (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke N/R, 933

Summary: michael and luke have always been the closest. friendly kisses lasting no longer than 3 seconds are shared frequently between the duo- calum and ashton watching from a distance, almost admiring their friendship. until it wasn't a friendship anymore.

How You Get the Girl (ao3) - 1loulu5 michael/calum, michael/ofc T, 2k

Summary: “Wh… What does ‘castrate’ mean?” Michael sounded perplexed.

Calum laughed, “It means I’ll cut your balls off.”

“Oh-”

~~~

Michael calls Calum, his ex for the past 4 years, for relationship advice.

Not Just a Stupid Game (ao3) - coffeemuke michael/luke E, 2k

Summary: A game of truth or dare leads to Michael following through on a dare.

Paint Me - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton, michael/crystal E, 17k

Summary: “Holy shit, hold on a minute,” Calum says, “is that who we’re supposed to be drawing?”

“I can’t draw him,” Michael gawks, “I’m not a Goddamn renaissance painter.”

Or, the one where Luke is an art student practicing realism for a month and Ashton is the nude model in his portrait class.

Promise (ao3) - boomercal calum/ashton, sierra/luke, michael/crystal, calum/ofc M, 115k

Summary: Live music photographer Calum does one favour for a friend (filling in last minute for a show), and his life changes for good. Finding his muse, world-famous pop/rock sensation Ashton Irwin. He thinks once the shows are over, he can pack it in and forget all about it, but a Google search and a phone call set him up on a North American tour where he'll see the man every day... Too bad his Google search revealed the man of his every fantasy has a purity pact with God. So what's a..promiscuous young man to do? Repress it? Sure, that'll work.

Tangled in a Triangle (ao3) - orsumeuphoria michael/crystal/ashton E, 9k

Summary: “You ever have him like this, Crys?” Ashton asks. Crystal doesn’t say anything, but she must shake her head because Ashton continues, “Shame. I think you’d like it. He’s so pretty on his knees.” Michael keens. “C’mere.”

Crystal’s immaculate sneakers appear right behind Ashton’s boots.

The next command he gets isn’t spoken. Ashton only has to tap the base of his jaw for Michael to look up.

The image of both Ashton and Crystal towering over him, Ashton smiling softly and Crystal looking intrigued, is one he burns into his memory.

“Hi, dove,” Ashton murmurs softly, “Fucking missed you.”

The Blower's Daughter (ao3) - MyMy michael/calum, luke/ashton M, 13k (WIP)

Summary: “Did you need something else?” Michael inquires politely a little confused himself.

“I was wondering if I could get your number actually?” The stranger asks biting his lip into his mouth quickly.

“Oh sure!” Michael replies happily. He reaches around the register to the side facing the customer and feels around for the little stack of cards with the shop info on it and the logo embossed in solid black.

“Here this has the shop number right here.” Michael points to the tiny row of numbers on the card. “So if you need anything don’t be afraid to call, okay? We can do special orders as well so anything music related we’ll try our best to get it for you!”

The Gayest Thing I've Ever Done (ao3) - coffeemuke michael/luke, calum/ashton E, 1k

Summary: Band bonding crosses the line between normal and weird, and it's Luke's fault. But the boys don't seem to mind.

The Posse's Origin (ao3) - Jay_isnotokay calum/ashton, michael/ashton E, 6k

Summary: "...I've been apart of the princess posse for a few weeks now and I still don't how you two got 'initated' in the first place." Luke said.

"Alright, LuLu, have I got a story for you."

~

Or Luke wants to know how the posse started and, well, they tell him.

up to your mouth, feeling it out (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke, luke/ashton E, 9k

Summary: Ashton's the one who suggested it; after all, he would know how well Luke would do in the industry, since he spent most Friday nights with his best friend's lips around his cock. Luke, on the other hand, didn't know he would end up fluffing for a record-breaking pornstar who is like, really really hot, and definitely his type.

or, Luke is broke and has a talented mouth (and a tongue piercing).

your string of lights is still bright to me (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum E, 81k

Summary: Michael is struggling to be the father his daughters need. Until he meets Calum again.

[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we’re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ‘Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[amberbeach]

'MUSE'

gif belongs to me

From the moment he saw you, Trent felt drawn to you. When you entered a room, his eyes immediately found you, and he was always sad to see you leave. You became friends after you performed at Hayley's, and Trent admired your talent as he absentmindedly drew.

You never knew of his feelings for you, oblivious to the way his eyes followed you in every room, but Hayley was the first to notice how distracted he became whenever you came to the cafe. And after three weeks of watching Trent fall in love with you while you remained unaware of his feelings, she had came up with a plan. If you caught a glimpse of his drawings the way she had during his break, you would realise just how important you were to him.

When you started dating someone else, Trent grew even more determined to hide his drawings, knowing you were happy - a happiness that didn't last for very long. He endured every conversation about an argument you had with your boyfriend - and like today he threw in a sarcastic remark that made you playfully glare at him.

"You're hilarious."

Trent pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows, looking down at his sketch.

You sighed, looking around the park for a moment, turning to Trent, noticing for the first time the way he was shielding the page he was sketching on. "What are you drawing anyway?"

"Nothing." He brushed off.

"Very onimious." You walked over to him. "Let me see."

Trent immediately closed the book, and you raised an eyebrow. "It's nothing."

"Oh, come on. I've seen your art before." You stated, reaching for the book.

Trent jumped to his feet, and you crossed your arms. "Alright. Fine. I won't look at it..." You grabbed the book when Trent sighed in relief, and his eyes widened when you looked inside.

You were silent as you turned the pages, "Is...this me? I mean, of course it is, your drawings are always realisticly detailed."

"I can explain -"

"I, um, better get going." You handed him the book, "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Trent sighed, watching you walk away. He was afraid this would happen. He was afraid of ruining your friendship.

For three days, you steered clear of Hayley's and Trent was noticibly affected by your distance. He left a panicked voicemail after you walked away, declaring his feelings and when you didn't contact him afterwards he assumed your friendship was unsalvagable.

On the fourth day you entered the cafe, and Trent was picking up a tray of mugs he had dropped. You walked over to him, kneeling to help him. He looked up, surprised to see you.

"Uh, hi."

"Hi." He stood up, holding the tray.

"Do you have a minute?" You asked, walking with him to the counter.

Trent glanced at Hayley who motioned behind you for him to go. "Okay."

You went to a table, and took a seat, Trent sitting across from you. "I want to apologise for the other day...I shouldn't have disappeared like that."

"Look, I get it. You don't feel the same way."

"And if I did?"

Trent wasn't expecting that response. "Wha - Really?"

You nodded, lowering your gaze to the table. "The only reason I started seeing someone was because I thought you could never be interested in me. But when I heard your message..." A small smile formed on your lips, "Well, shocked didn't quite cover it. It's not every day you find out your the muse of a talented artist."

Trent opened his mouth to brush off your claims, but you didn't allow him the chance.

"You are talented." You smiled across at him, "You're amazing. And I'm sorry. The last few months couldn't have been easy for you."

Trent knew this was his chance and he was determined to take it.

"I don't know...it's getting better." He reached out his hand and you held it on the table, a blush dusting your cheeks when his thumb ran across your hand. "Do you want to go out sometime?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" You smiled teasingly.

"Definitely." Trent nodded.

"I would love to."

"Tomorrow?"

You nodded. "I'll see you later?" You asked as you both stood up.

"Okay." He smiled softly.

You squeezed his hand, turning away before returning, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Bye." You whispered, sending a smile as you left.

Trent turned to Hayley who was turning away, trying to hide that she had been listening in on your conversation. He smiled at her poor attempts, walking over.

The smile never left his lips for the remainder of the day.

[personasintro]

universe | myg drabble

❥𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; you're his whole universe, you just don't know it yet – or him

❥𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: stalker au

❥𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit language, stalking (obviously), yoongi is kinda creep, masturbating (he uses her panties)

❥𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.3k+

𝒂/𝒏: commissioned by the absolute sweetheart @minyoongail​, thank you bub for being so patient with me (it took me like 2 months I think ?? to write this) I really hope you and everyone else enjoy this story!

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | © 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

It was a mere coincidence, something he had never expected to happen or notice during his daylife. But even that word doesn't sound right, not to his ears. If you look up the word itself it says – coincidence is a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. This must've been something else, not some stupid coindidence and he calls it differently.

He believes it's all the universe's doing and it happened when he needed it the most. The clueless young man with an empty heart, who was just striding through the busy street in Daegu, just when the universe had decided to give him a sign – another chance maybe, as he likes to think – and he couldn't be more intrigued. There's a whole universe inside his mind and he's not ashamed of it.

The first time he saw you, he remembers how you caught his attention immediately despite you blending with the crowd. But there was something different, maybe it was the way you smiled at whoever you were calling with that time. He remembers vividly the grin that had stretched on your beautiful red lips, before you had to end the call because you went to the little coffee shop. On your way out, with a plastic cup of coffee in your hand, it's unfortunate how you hadn't noticed the guy going inside which slowly led to you bumping into him. It wasn't a disaster, no coffee was spilled and except the guy's frown and something he mumbled under his breath, nothing too bad happened. But then he had seen the little frown on your lips and the way your shoulder slumped, running your day. He couldn't take his eyes off you. And he wished to cross the road to fight that egoistic man, who made sure to give you one last glare before he scurried inside the coffee shop.

And that's how his days slowly went by. At the same hour, you'd always visit that coffee shop with the same order every time, apart of that time when you bought a croissant that one time. You weren't there at the weekends, which meant you weren't working and the small coffee shop was on your way to work. It had become your routine, as much as his, watching you across the street hidden by one of the trees. Not even once your eyes drifted his direction. It made it very easy to watch you from Monday to Friday, you being not aware of the attention you got from the man across the street.

But he got bored after two weeks of seeing the same thing, even though you had always been different each day. The same soft and sweet smile that melted his heart was worth waking up earlier to watch you. But he had become eager, curious about you and your life. That's why he had decided to follow you – across the street from the safe distance, so you wouldn't notice him – until you made your way into the building with a few stairs up to it. He didn't recognize the old building at first, that's why he pulled out his phone and through the maps, he found out there's an art studio. There's no way he could've gone inside without anyone questioning his presence there, nor he could've known if you're really there.

He had wished he knew your name, so he could've finally put a name to your beautiful face and features that couldn't seem to get out of his head.

The week after, he had found out – because of course, he was curious and eager to take another step, so he had followed you – that you live just around the corner in one of the apartment buildings. Unfortunately for him, the security system even in those old buildings is hard to get through, impossible even. And he wouldn't have done that, followed you inside. No, he's not crazy. What would he do if he got inside the building? That didn't make any sense.

He had to plan everything – so for the time being – he stepped away and walked away, your building slowly fading away.

But it's okay, he'll soon see you again. That's what he told himself, a tiny smirk making it onto his lips that were hidden behind the mask.

Universe has a funny way to mess around with people. Or it could be pure luck on Yoongi's side, but whatever it is in reality, it makes him beam in mischief. Who could've known that one time he doesn't avoid his only friend, the cards would play in favor for him. Surely, there had been a bit of grumbling which Jung Hoseok – his friend ever since they were kids – just couldn't accept and dragged Yoongi's ass in the nearest club. It's been awhile since he went among people, he's not the type to search for society and encounters with them. He's a lonely wolf, as you could say.

“See, you look cheered up!” his friend cuts off Yoongi's trail of thoughts, his eyes already set on something much more interesting, than his friend's loud voice that tries to be heard through the loud music. “Think of the pussy you can get tonight!”

In other times, Yoongi would've just shrugged and went along with his friend's words because yes, meaningless one night stands have become a part of Yoongi's antisocial life. He's still a man after all, he has his own needs and even though he doesn't search for people's touch, sex usually involves that.

His friend is completely clueless, thinking Yoongi is cheerful because there's a chance he'll get laid tonight with no strings attached, just like Yoongi prefers. He's not the type to date, to love someone and that's why Hoseok's plan of getting Yoongi out of his small apartment to live a little, goes well.

Little does he know that Yoongi could care less about his friend's secret plan or whatever his true intentions are. Because there's you standing just a few meters away from him, completely clueless to Yoongi's existation but he's not mad at you. And he has the urge to laugh at the situation because after all, the universe must be real. It brought you up to him without him even trying, even though he had been wondering what you're doing on your Saturday night.

At first, he didn't know if it's you but then you turned around and laughed at something, probably what one of your friends said and he could see that beautiful smile which unfortunately, couldn't hear because of the music. Ever since then, he's been stealing a few glances at you, failing miserably in hiding his happiness at the sight of you. And when you suddenly grab the attention of one of your friends that's standing next to you, you excuse yourself and make your way through the crowd.

Without explaining himself, he knows what to do and his legs move on their own as he leaves his friend shouting his name in complete confusion, but Yoongi doesn't turn around. His eyes are solely set upon you and the thought that he can't get you out of his sight. Now it's his chance.

He watches you going inside the ladies' restroom, stopping just around the corner not to look creepy. He's not. He's not a creep, he would never enter ladies' restroom because then what? How would he explain what he's doing there? There's a pinch of annoyance at your friends and how they let you go all alone. Don't they know it's dangerous for you to go alone? Especially in the clubs full of horny men. And the little black dress that you're wearing isn't helping at all. You're showing too much skin, you're drawing too much attention at yourself and he doesn't like that. He wants you all to himself.

But despite him criticizing your friends and their complete ignorance of your safety, it's better this way. He's here, he wouldn't let anything happen to you and it all makes it better to go with his plan. Now is his chance to have your eyes on him, to finally meet you.

When the restroom's door are being pushed open, his breath gets caught in his throat as he notices you delicately brushing your hands against the black fabric, trying to flatten the creases that are invisible to his eyes. Now is his chance. He uses your lack of attention, eyes focused downwards and makes his way towards you. This has to work. From what he could've seen during a few weeks of watching you, you managed to stumble and bump into a few people on your way to work. It always looked like you're rushing, probably stressed from whatever was waiting for you in that old creepy building that you work at. No matter how many times has that happened, you've always apologized and looked extremely sorry. And now, he's going to use that to his advantage. Well, his plan had been different and he wanted to do this in your favorite coffee shop, that you're visiting every morning during the week. But now that he has you so close to him, he can't wait any longer.

It happens quickly. Your lack of attention is a huge help, and Yoongi is prepared for the impact of your body colliding against his, which can't be hardly told about you. A soft gasp leaves your lips, but the impact isn't strong like Yoongi hoped it would be. Your shoulders bump into each other, but it's nothing painful and mindless 'sorry' leaves your mouth. Yoongi's plan is crashing down like a house of cards, watching you not even glancing at him as you make your way through the crowd again. His features automatically twist into a huge scowl, not appreciating your ignorance.

He's been watching over you this whole time, and this is how you repay him? Ignoring him and barely seeing the person you bump into? Okay, he had his own share with that but still – he expected something different to happen and it's causing his blood to boil. You're nowhere in sight, completely blending with people dancing on the floor. He can't feel his jaw hurting from how hard he's clenching it. Oh, how he wishes he could punish you. He'd have you on your knees begging him for forgiveness before you could utter a single word.

You're playing with him. You're lucky enough he likes the chase and games, even though he's not a patient person.

As he's getting back to Hoseok, his sharp eyes notice his friend is not alone and has a company right next to him. Getting nearer, the two guys exchange a friendly hug as the guy Yoongi doesn't know grins at Hoseok.

“Taehyung–ah!” Hoseok yells after the guy that turns around with a boxy grin, not noticing Yoongi's stare in the back. “Don't forget to text me!” Hoseok laughs, seeing the guy nod as he gives him a thumbs up before he walks away.

Yoongi's eyes don't leave Taehyung's figure, wondering who he is since he has never seen him before. He shouldn't be so surprised, Hoseok has many friends. Sometimes, he's wondering why Hoseok is still hanging out with himi, when he's the least social person out of all Hoseok's friends.

Once again, the universe proves to be on Yoongi's side and he can't help but grin, as he watches Hoseok's friend nearing the group of people, among them is you. Although, he really wants to punch the guy's face for touching the small of your back, especially when you smile at him and take the drink from his hands. The drink he failed to notice before.

What was the guy's name? Taehyung.

Surprise, surprise. The chase has only begun and he's already winning.

“Yah! Where did you go?” Hoseok's loud voice cuts him off, frowning at his friend that slowly looks at him.

Grinning, he licks his lips before he takes a shot of Hoseok's vodka. “Bathroom.” he says simply, smirking as he looks back at you.

For now, he'll leave you alone but still makes sure to glance at you every now and then. Making sure you're safe, of course.

And when Yoongi is finally in his small apartment, laying in his bed with phone clutched in his grasp, he has only one intention. Finding you isn't hard, Hoseok's facebook friends are public so it makes it easy to find your friend guy Taehyung. Unfortunately, his friends are private so it leaves him with another option. He browses every available photo of him, checking everyone who liked his photos while opening every profile. The guy's photos are somehow artistic, he's not a complete loser as Yoongi thought. Whenever he sees Taehyung's face on the screen of his phone, all he can think about is his hand on your back. Taking a deep breath, he continues in browsing through Taehyung's liked pictures until he gets what he wanted all along.

You.

And your name.

The sweet melody of pop music resounds through the walls of your modesty apartment, but even the littlest space in it doesn't hold you back from swaying your hips. Humming the tune, you put the last plate back to the kitchen cabinet as a soft knock meets the wood of your front door. You almost flinch back, wondering who the hell is knocking on your door in the evening when you're not expecting anyone. Turning off the music with your phone, you make your way towards the front door to see who's standing behind it.

When you open it, you don't expect to see a complete stranger who gives you a nervous grin as soon as your eyes meet. One thing you know, you've never seen him before and you wonder if he by any mistake mistook your door with someone else's. He's wearing all black, looking tough on the outside but his face is the exact opposite. He looks quite comfortable wearing a large hoodie and black sweatpants, and it's funny how your outfits almost match. Although, your one isn't matched and doesn't look half as good as his does. You're wearing one of the ugliest sweatpants you own because unfortunately, your washing machine broke down last week and the repairman is able to repair it in a few days. For now, you're stuck with unwashed clothes that could use a good washing but there's nothing you can do. You'll wait, you've enough clothes to wear – at least you hope.

“Hey,” he says, completely cutting you off from your little crisis of your broken washing machine. His voice is deep, yet holds a soft tone that makes him sound friendly and causes you to automatically smile.

“Hey,” you say back, repeating his words as you hug yourself with your arms. There's a curiosity in your eyes, the one he notices immediately and opens his mouth.

“Oh, I'm sorry you're probably wondering what am I doing here,” he chuckles, shaking his head at his absurdity that makes you grin in amusement. “I'm your new neighbor, I just moved in today… I was wondering if you have tomato sauce to borrow?”

Only now you notice the white slippers that he's wearing, confirming his words that in fact, he really is your new neighbor. The building is big enough for you not to know every single neighbor, but something tells you you won't forget this one.

His sharp eyes are so captivating, staring right into your soul as you can't help but gawk at your new neighbor. The little twitch of his lips shake you out of your short daze, blush spreading across your cheeks as you rub your forearms.

“Yeah, sure. Let me check it out,” you manage to say, tone light and friendly, trying to hide the fact that you seemed to be particularly interested in your neighbor. He looks young, probably your age – not that this is important. He's just a neighbor, right? “Uhh, come in.” you tell him, feeling like a douche if you'd just leave him in the hallway.

He opens his mouth slightly, but smiles at you when you open the door to give him enough space to come in. You let him close it, which he does gently as if he was scared to break them. It makes you grin, a grin that's hidden as soon as you turn around and tell him to follow you. Your apartment isn't big and the walk to your kitchen doesn't take long (literally five seconds) and you're not aware of your neighbor's curious eyes, and particular curiosity about the three pieces of art that are covered with sheer fabric, leaned against the wall.

“Are you an artist?” Your neighbor asks, voice thick with curiosity which causes you to turn around and follow his line of vision.

“Ah,” you gasp out, “No. Do I look like an artist?” you grin, causing him to do the same as his eyes dance with amusement.

“I don't know,” he muses, pursing his lips. “But you're probably interested in art.” he says, head nodding towards the art that's been sitting there for a few days now.

It's not like you regret letting him in, but you should've considered the fact that your place is a mess. You just hope he's not judging you, or thinks you're an alcoholic as you remember there's a wine bottle on your coffee table. You were about to drink it after you were done with cleaning the dishes. It was a long day…

To occupy your ridiculous worries (because he probably doesn't care what your place looks like), you do what he came here for and that is, to find a tomato sauce which you're not sure if you even have.

“You could say so,” you hum, rummaging through the pasta and different kinds of cans. “My friend is an artist, I'm just helping him to sell some of his paintings.”

He hums in response, his frown hidden from you as you're turned with your back to him.

“Are those for sale?” he asks, surprised when you turn around abruptly as sudden shine overtakes your features.

“Yes,” you answer, “Are you interested?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he hums, “Mind if I take a look?” he asks, your head already nodding.

“Of course, go ahead,” you tell him, seeing him walk towards the art while you stand on your tiptoes and pull out one of the cans. “Got it.” you mumble to yourself, surprised that yes, you've a tomato sauce which you never really use.

You walk to your neighbor, his brows pinched together as he stares at a piece of art. “This one's my favorite.” you comment, holding the can in your hands as he glances at you.

“It's pretty,” he replies, cocking his head to the side as he admires the art that portrays a galaxy. It's beautiful, the purple and turquoise splashes that look like stars create a perfect detail. “How much is it?”

“You--are you--I need to talk to my friend but I'm sure we could work something out.” you grin, not hiding your enthusiasm which your neighbor finds cute as he grins at you. He shows you a gummy smile that makes you just stare at him in complete awe, before you cough.

“Thanks, it'd be nice to have something that'll make the place more cozy. It looks like a complete disaster right now.” he jokes, causing you to giggle as you nod. You feel him.

“Sure,” you smile, staring at him for a moment as realization hits your face. “Oh, here. Found it.” you outstretch your arm to give him the tomato sauce he came here for.

It seems like realization hits his face as well, his mouth leaving a soft 'oh' as he takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, you're a lifesaver.”

You laugh at that, finding him cute how he said it. “It's just tomato sauce. What are you cooking?”

“Spaghetti,” he answers, “Well, thanks for this. I appreciate it.” he says as you both start walking towards the front door.

He opens the door, one hand clutching the doorknob while the other holds the can, before he turns to you. “I'm living just down the hall, number 017.” he informs you, your brows furrowing in confusion, wondering why he's telling you that.

Even though you make a mental note to remember this information. What? It's good to know.

“For the art?” he reminds you, cocking a brow at you. “You can just knock anytime, when you'll know the price.” he smiles, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” you nod, “I'll let you know.”

He smiles, thanking you for the tomato sauce (even assuring you that he'll buy you a new one tomorrow but you quickly decline that, telling him you aren't using it) as he steps out of your apartment and starts to back away, still facing you as you're grinning.

“I'm Y/N,” you call out to him, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so desperate. Your nerves ease up as he gives you a smile, the shitty lightening in the hallway shining against his black hair. “What's your name, new neighbor?”

He chuckles at your nickname, his tongue licking his bottom lip as your heart bursts with sparkles. How can someone be so cute, hot and handsome? You're completely swept away by him.

And you feel like a little kid, ears perked up and eyes wide as you almost stand on your tiptoes, trying to hear his answer. However, you don't realize it because you're too focused on him.

“Yoongi, my name's Yoongi.”

He can't believe it.

He can't believe how easy it was to get closer to you. Getting an apartment, rented apartment, was even easier and the fact you both live on the same floor, had to be another sign from the universe.

It just had to be. Right?

Yoongi is in the middle of cutting an onion when he hears a soft knock echoing around the walls of his quiet apartment. He'd usually put some music on, but his mind seems to be elsewhere. He's not interested in music like he used to be, all he can think about is you.

Wiping his hands with a dishcloth, he stumbles over some boxes that have been laying there for three days (ever since he moved in) before he gets to the front door. Just as he's gripping the doorknob, there's another knock resounding but it's louder this time. He snatches the door open, meeting you jumping in surprise as your eyes widen.

Oh, sweet love. You look so cute.

Even though you're wearing the same pair of sweatpants he saw you while borrowing a tomato sauce from you. A tomato sauce he never really needed, he just wanted an excuse to see you and funnily enough, tomato sauce was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Nothing matters because you're absolutely breathtaking.

“Hi,” you breathe out, chuckling trying to mask that soft pink shade your cheeks seem to have. “I'm sorry for interrupting you.” you add.

“Not at all,” he disagrees, slightly shaking his head. “How can I help you?” he smiles, heart wavering because he can't believe you just knocked on his door.

And this time he didn't have to come to you. You came to him.

“Well, I was just wondering if you're still interested in one of those paintings. I talked to my friend and he said he'll give you a little discount since you're my neighbor,”

Bullshit, your friend is probably glad someone wants to buy his painting. It's a typical move from you, to get him to buy it just because you said the discount word. But he can't blame you, well it's you. That's enough for him not to let common sense take a place in his mind. Plus, those paintings are like a barrier in your own little home.

“I mean… you totally don't have to buy it if you're not interested anymore.” you add, causing the corner of his mouth twitch. He's holding back a smile as he shakes his head.

“No, I'm totally interested,” In you, not in the painting. “You wanna come in?”

The sudden invite surprises you, but you don't hesitate as you nod before he opens the door further for you to come in.

“Thank you.” you tell him softly, looking around curiously as you see the mess in there.

There are a bunch of boxes, still unpacked and filling up the whole place but you can relate. Your place used to be such a mess too when you first moved in.

“Sorry about the mess, I still haven't unpacked most of my stuff,” he says, trailing behind you as you notice a small beige couch with a bunch of clothes draped all over it. “I need to wash my clothes.” he grins, the shade of red coating his cute pale cheeks as you give him a smile.

“Don't worry about it, my bedroom looks just the same. My washing machine broke down a few days ago and the repairman can't come to fix it this week, so I'm stuck wearing the same old, dirty and probably smelly clothes.”

That would explain you wearing the same dirty sweatpants, he thinks but that doesn't say out loud because like he said, you're beautiful no matter what.

“You don't smell,” he blurts out, causing you to raise your brows in surprise but an appreciative smile tugs onto your lips.

“That's good to know.” you chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Wait, are you becoming shy?

“But I could help, if you want...” he adds, interest lacing over your features as you look at him curiously. “With your clothes. I could wash them for you.”

“Oh, no. I've loads of it and I don't want to be a burden, I'm sure you've a lot of work with your own stuff.” you reject, waving your hand as if it's not a big deal but the clothes that are tossed around your whole bedroom are driving you crazy.

Still, your insides shiver with his kindness.

“You're no burden, I swear. At least I would repay you for that tomato sauce. Let me do this for you, my washing machine works just fine. You could go grab your stuff and bring it here, I'll wash it for you right now and meanwhile, we could talk about that painting.”

Shit, he's so good at persuading.

He sees the guilt and uncertainty on your face, but the way you're biting your lower lip he knows you're thinking of it. He's patient with you, offering you one of his soft smiles that you caught onto right away and he knows he's got you.

“Are you sure?” you ask unsurely, nibbling on your bottom lip some more which fuck, drives him insane.

He wishes he could bite into it, feeling your soft and plump lips that are bare with no lipstick on it, but god, are they beautiful. The most beautiful lips he has ever seen.

“Hundred percent.” he says, giving you another smile which this time, you mimic before a set of sentences of gratitude leaves out of your mouth.

“Thank you, Yoongi. You saved my life.” Oh God, how amazing his name sounds rolling out of your tongue.

He could listen to you saying it every day. Oh, how he wishes to hear you saying other stuff too, but no… he has to be patient.

“Don't mention it,” he smiles, “Thank you for the painting. I'll make sure to hang it up somewhere nice where everyone can see it.”

Bullshit. He never invites anyone to his home.

“You do that, maybe I'll stop by to admire it.” Did you just invite yourself? Oh my god, he can feel his heart jumping out of his chest.

“Feel free to do that anytime.” he smirks, giving you a nice view of his wink that he swears makes you gulp as you clutch your laundry basket with fresh and clean clothes in it.

You bid goodbye to him, in the form of a sweet smile and quick but nice wave of your free hand, before he painfully does the same and closes his front door. Three hours of constant talking was not enough for him. He wishes he could talk to you some more, to get to know you even more. Although, he did learn some new things about you. Things he couldn't find on the internet, or by simply watching you from the distance. For example, your parents live far away and you're their only child. They weren't too happy about you moving to a big city but they're supportive nevertheless. You don't share your daily struggles with them, like the problem with your washing machine for example, because according to your words, they would be too worried and think you can't handle and take care of yourself.

Well, one thing is sure. They don't have to worry about that too much. You've got him. He'll take care of you and help you with anything you'll need. For now, he's just your neighbor but as he pulls out his phone and sees a friend request from you, Yoongi knows he's winning.

Pulling out peach colored panties out of his pocket, the same ones he sneakily hid inside of his pants before you could notice. Plopping onto the couch, on the same spot you were sitting on just a few minutes ago, he swears he can still feel your warmth and scent lingering on the cheap furniture. He unzips his pants, already pulling out his hardening cock as he takes a sniff of your used panties. They're cotton, not special and too sexy but he rolls his eyes back at the scent of you. Fuck, you smell so amazing. He wishes he could taste you on his tongue, pleasure you until you're screaming his name and cumming thanks to him repeatedly. He has never gotten this hard so quick, his erected length is gripped by his veiny and big hand as he's already pumping himself. Imagining how you'd sound if he pounds into you, making sure every one of neighbors hears your moan, so they know you're his. He puts the piece of fabric inside of his mouth, the exact spot where your pussy was rubbing the whole day, wetting it with his saliva as he sucks the fabric. He's close, so close but it's not enough. Wrapping his cock around your panties, his saliva mixed with your juices dried on it, he starts thrusting into his hand. Body hot and breath raged, he feels his muscles tense as your name falls out of his mouth every few seconds. Soon enough, he's cumming inside your panties, his seed leaking through the fabric and staining his hand but he doesn't care.

It was worth it.

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Your soft voice carries through the bedroom, your legs laced with Yoongi's as he keeps caressing your exposed back. He can feel your perked nipples brushing against the side of his chest, his cum mixed with your own staining the sheets but none of you truly care.

“When I first saw you.” he answers, kissing you into your hair as you giggle, finding his answer tactical and funny.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff with a laugh, the beautiful melody of it causing him to smile. “We didn't even know each other that well.” you argue, trailing some patterns onto his chest.

“It doesn't matter, I loved you way before that.” he says and you just giggle, trailing a heart on his naked skin.

You don't pressure him into answering differently, even though you know he's just bluffing because you don't believe in love at first sight. You've to know that person before you can love them with all their flaws and everything that comes with it.

“I love you.” you tell him quietly, kissing his chest while you can feel and hear his heartbeat that mimics yours.

“I love you too,” he says immediately, “You've no idea.”

You really don't.

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

For the First Time Again

Hitsuhina Week 2022 - Day 4 Inspired by a Song / Something Sweet

Rating: K / General

Setting: in the past, Toshiro and Momo have only known each other for just under a year.

Synopsis: Momo starts to lose her memories of the World of the Living, but soon discovers there are chances to try something for the first time again the Soul Society.

AN: So, I’m certain that there’s a bit of BLEACH lore that says Souls’ memories are wiped when they arrive in the Soul Society…but for the sake of this fic, lets just say some Souls have memories that stay intact after they arrive and then gradually fade away.

Also, Toshiro is deliberately a bit of character for this one (mainly because he's receiting his Granny's words...you'll know it when you see it).

Anyhow, hope you enjoy this one!

__________________________________

Momo stops before she can step out of the forest and looks away Toshiro's house in the distance.

Above her, the leaves rustle in the wind and two birds chirp to each other, and right in front of her a butterfly flutters down to nearby shrubbery. An image, one that she’d thought she’d committed to memory, flashes before her eyes.

A shrine, weathered and long forgotten, surrounded by weeds, overgrown bushes, patches of flowers, and drooping trees. It’s a lifeless scene, save for the many butterflies that swarm over and around the flora. She remembers being very young, her heart racing in wonder, and her small hand enfolded in someone else's.

The image vanishes, as if swept away by the wind. Her surprise is replace by regret. It’s at times like this she wishes she knew how to draw. Maybe if she did, she’d be able to commit the flash of images and memories in her head to a page. But how long would it take for her master drawing? She can barely draw a Soul let alone buildings or butterflies. And drawing is one thing, coloring is another thing entirely. Did the Junrinan’s art stalls and shops sell every color one could imagine? Did they have the exact shades of blue that made up one of the butterflies from her memory? What about the faded red of the shrine’s wooden beams?

Without realising, she leans against a tree with a sigh and bows her head. With her foot, she draws listlessly, one random line after another.

It had been gradual, so much so that it’s only dawned on her in the last few days just how much she’s forgotten. She remembers having a mother, father, and siblings, but how did they sound? She can and cannot remember at the same time, knowing in the back of her mind what their voices were like but when she focused on trying to remember, it’s just out of her reach.

She’s even starting to forget how they look. She remembers they all had dark hair, her father had the same color eyes as her, her sister had a mole under her left eyelid, and her brother had a scar on the back of his hand. But what exactly did that scar look like? Was it curved or jagged or straight? Did it start comes over his knuckle?

“You just going to stand there?”

She jumps and flings her head up with a gasp. In front of her is Toshiro, usual frown in place and arms folded across his chest.

“Oh, Shiro-chan,” she says weakly. “I-I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly, I was standing over there for a whole minute.” Then, as a grumble. “And what have I said about calling me ‘Shiro-chan’? Stop it already!”

“…Sorry.”

His head perks up at that. “What’s eating at you?”

There’s the faintest hint of concern in his voice, and if Momo hadn’t gotten to know him over the last several months, she likely wouldn’t have detected it. She’s never apologized for calling him by his nickname, it must have been a dead giveaway.

Well, the last thing she wants right now is for him to worry, so she conjures up the most convincing smile she can. “I’m fine, its nothing to worry about.”

 “You’re a terrible liar, bed-wetter.”

“It’s no big deal, really,” she insists with a wave of her hands. “A-And please don’t call me ‘bed-wetter’,” she adds for good measure, but it comes out flat.

She drops her head again, avoiding his piercing gaze. Here she’d been hoping they could spend the day together going into the forest to search for mushrooms and vegetables. She’d been looking forward to it, but now this feeling she can’t name – a heaviness that weighs her down and makes her just want to get lost in memories she’s even remember properly – grips her heart.

She blinks when takes her hand suddenly and pulls her along.

“S-Shiro-chan?” Momo stutters.

For once he doesn’t retort, just looks straight ahead as he leads her to his house.

In the time she’s known him, she’d often take hold of his hand without thinking. It would be to lead him through crowds or away from those who mocked or jeered him; rarely did he reciprocate, usually pulling away and saying he didn’t want to hold hands.

So really, this is the first time he’s ever held her hand. His palm is cool, at odds with the summer heat bearing down on them, and his hold is firm but gentle, as if giving her the chance to pull away if she really wanted to. She fears bringing this up will ruin the moment, that maybe he’ll realise what he’s doing and let go, but she still asks, “Are you okay?”

Something twitches across his face, but still he says nothing.

Coming out of the forest and getting closer to his house, she notices a plate of sliced up food on the veranda. Watermelon, she realises.

She’s seen many of them since coming here at market stalls and in a large field she found with Toshiro, but it somehow also feels like her first time ever seeing the fruit. The thought reminds her of why she’d been sad earlier, and her shoulders droop once more.

Once at the veranda, Toshiro lets go of her hand and rushes to the slices. She watches him take up two of them, one of which he holds out to her.

“Eat,” is all he utters with a neutral tone, but his gaze says more. There’s an urgency there, one that catches her off guard.

Without thinking, she gingerly takes the slice. As soon as her slice is out of his hand, he sits on the veranda’s edge. She’s slow to do the same, watching him as he eats his own slice.

"Where's Obaa-san?" she asks, looking around for the elderly woman.

"She's gone to get leeks. I have to watch the house until she gets back."

"Oh." Without looking away from him, she lifts the watermelon a few inches higher, as if weighing it.

Is this his way of trying to comfort her? One of the first things she’d noticed about him was when he was particularly grumpy, Granny would give him something to eat, whether it be amanatto or a fruit. It could take a while. But by the time he’d finished eating, he seemed to calm down enough that he was back to the usual grumpiness she’d come to expect from him.

When she’s sure she won’t let out a chuckle, she says with a wide smile, “Thank you, Shiro-chan!”

Toshiro mutters something, but his mouth is stuffed with watermelon and it comes out unintelligible.

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” she chastises. He goes to say something else, but stops himself. Again she has to withhold a chuckle, but she’d less successful this time. She chortles at his half-hearted glare, the way his cheeks are puffed out with chunks of watermelon, and the juice dribbling down his chin. His eyes narrow even more, and somehow that just makes it all the more funnier.

“I had no idea you loved watermelon so much,” she says once she calms down and looks at her own slice. “I, uh…” Did she like it? Maybe it’s because it’d been a while since she last had it or maybe it was just this particular watermelon, but doesn’t remember the fruit being this pink, or the skin have such wild zig-zagging green lines.

She vaguely remembers having it when she was a human, but the taste of it is too far for her to even have an inkling of what it was like. She breathes out absentmindedly, “I haven’t had it in a long time.”

In the corner of her eye, Toshiro has stopped eating. He wipes away the juice from his chin. He turns to face the forest, but he doesn’t look away. She can almost feel his anticipation, or maybe she’s confusing it with her own. When did eating a fruit become so important all of a sudden?

With a certain reverence, she brings up the fruit and bites into it. She chews, and it tastes exactly how it looks.

Not following her earlier advice, she speaks around watermelon, “It’s so sweet and juicy! How could I have…?” Why did it taste a little salty? Why does Toshiro look so alarmed? The world is suddenly a little blurry. Oh…

After she swallows down the chunks of watermelon, there’s a lump in her throat. She uses her sleeve to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek. “I’ve had this before, many times, I know I have. How can I forget how it tastes?”

“You’re not supposed to remember in the first place.”

Toshiro's voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it draws her gaze back to him. “Huh?”

“It’s like I said, when Souls come here, they’re supposed to have completely forgotten their lives from the World of the Living,” he continues. “It’s weird that you remember anything at all.”

He looks away and takes a thoughtful bite, chewing on the chunk of watermelon for seemingly longer than necessary. She can’t look at her own slice, only at the floorboards. “I’m starting to forget everything.” She hiccups on a sob. “I don’t want to forget! I-I know the Shinigami told me I can’t go back, that this is where I live now, but I can’t help it. If I forget, then I…I won’t remember my family or my house.”

In the silence that comes between them, she wipes away her tears and tries to calm her breaths. Toshiro continues to stare down at his feet, but he doesn’t eat anymore watermelon. Shadows of clouds shift over them, the gentle gale sweeps through, and in the distance is the hustle and bustle of the Junrinan.

Momo lifts her puffy eyes, taking it all in. There is life here, with sounds and sights that are familiar and new to her all at once.

It’s a full minute later when Toshiro speaks, his voice once again soft. “Baa-chan wasn’t born here. She remembers nothing from the World of the Living, but it’s not all she’s forgotten. In her time here, she’s met hundreds of Souls, but she doesn’t remember even half of them. Sometimes she forgets small things, like she loses count or forgets the date. She said once that forgetting is part of growing up, that a person can’t possibly remember everything because the head is too small for it.”

That brings a hint of a smile to Momo’s lips. “Having a small head doesn’t mean you remember less though.”

“That’s beside the point. She’s saying it’s impossible to remember everything, even things that are important to you.”

That brings back her sombre mood. “It’s hard, though. I want to remember, but no matter what I do, I’m going to forget everything.”

Toshiro’s face scrunches up, as if he’s struggling with a hard puzzle. She's seen him make this face one, when we struggled to express his opinion about Shinigami.

Eventually, he sighs. “I was born here, but I don’t remember anything from when I was a baby.”

He was born here? Perhaps that explains his white hair and blue-green eyes, but that isn’t what makes her blink in confusion. “N-No one does, though.”

“And no one questions it, right? No one thinks they should remember anything from when they’re a baby, right?”

At her deepening frown, he sighs. He puts his slice of watermelon back on the plate and wipes his hands.

“I said all of that to Baa-chan, but she told me I was wrong. She said we do remember a few things.” He tilts forward and stands, still facing her. “We learn to walk and stand when we’re babies, and then how to talk and eat. We don’t remember it, but we know how to do it, don’t we?”

It’s like an epiphany, dawning on Momo like a light shining through a crack in the clouds. “Oh…I never thought about that. She’s right!” Her frown returns. “But what are you getting…?”

Another thought hits her, and it comes with a faded memory. She can’t remember why she was so happy, why she was grateful to be able to run so fast. The street she runs down has festival stalls on either side, and it reminds her of the Junrinan and it conjures up the same feeling of belonging, of being home. Ahead are the backs of her family, and before the memory disappears, they start to turn.

Fresh tears run down her cheeks, but not of sadness or longing. She stands then and walks a few feet away, tilting her head up toward the sky. Her mother and father, maybe even her older brother, had taught her how to walk. They taught her how to run, then talk, then laugh and smile, and eventually, how to commit things to memory.

No matter what, whether she remembered it clearly or not, everything they'd taught her - the most basic and core things to be able to live in the world - would live on in her forever. That part of her doesn’t belong to the Soul Society, and she will remember that for as long as she lives because she was not born here. It might become an echo from the World of the Living, one that will resound with her for the rest of her life.

She bites into the watermelon, chewing on the sweet fruit as she listens to comings and going or the Junrinan, the birds chirping, and the leaves rustling. In the world of the dead, there is somehow life here.

She turns to her friend, and smiles while drying her tears. The uncertainty leaves him, and in it's place is somehow a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

None of his words had eased the longing in her heart, she still plans to learn how to draw so she can commit every memory to a page in a sketchbook. She will continue to feel sad as another memory becomes lost or distant.

But she has memories here in the Soul Society, most of them with him. She has already forgotten some and can easily recall others without my effort. She will grow older and lose some memories and gain new ones along the way.

There are possibilities to create new memories here, to experience things for the first time ever or for the first time again.

[parkerslatte]

Years Passed [Chapter One]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Part Summary: After a decade of living in England, Y/N finally moves back to America to be closer to her family.

prologue / next chapter

Years Passed Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

***

CHAPTER ONE: FAMILIAR FACES

Y/N was always one to follow her dreams. Originally her dream was to become an astronaut but she soon found that she wasn’t smart enough for that. That’s when she found herself falling down the route of art. Y/N had always been a gifted artist since she was a child. While everyone in her class was drawing stick figures and calling it a day, Y/N would take time to get the proportions of the body right. People would always say she was trying too hard or just trying to get attention. Y/N didn’t care - she was doing what she loved.

It wasn’t until high school where she began to take art more seriously, people would come to her to do art commissions. At first Y/N refused, she didn’t want to charge people for her art but once she realised how much she could make from it, doing art commissions became her job. Throughout high school it was her main source of income. However, it wasn’t until the end of high school where Y/N decided that art was the thing she definitely wanted to go down. 

Opening up her own gallery became her dream. A couple of years after breaking up with Spencer Reid, Y/N moved to England. She didn’t exactly know why, all she knew was that she wanted a fresh start. Y/N moved into a small flat in Cornwall. It was perfect for what Y/N needed. She spent just over ten years of her life living in Cornwall and Y/N couldn’t be happier, however there were many instances where she missed her family. Y/N could never afford to constantly go between England and America and neither could her family. A lot of her time was spent on phone calls and video calls with her family. 

It was only recently that Y/N moved back to America. Six months to be exact. After nearly eleven years of being away from her family constantly, Y/N decided to move back to America. She didn’t make the decision lightly, it took her many months to come to the conclusion. Y/N had many friends in England. She had her small art gallery. Most importantly, her daughter had her friends in England and her school - everything she had ever known. 

Y/N’s daughter, Harper, was seven and she was the light of Y/N’s life. Everything she did was for Harper. Y/N didn’t want to pry Harper away from her home, but she wanted her to get to know her family. When Y/N told Harper the news, Harper was excited, she had always been a curious girl and moving to a new country was exciting for her. 

“Mummy!” Harper yelled, running out of her room to Y/N who was sitting on the couch. Her daughter’s accent was a little messed up. Some words would come out in an American accent and some in a British accent - more specifically the Cornish dialect. 

Y/N smiled upon seeing her daughter. As she ran, the wild curls on top of her head bounced up and down. Harper approached Y/N and climbed onto the couch next to her. Y/N wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close to her side.

“What’s got you so energetic?” Y/N questioned. 

“Can we go to the park?” Harper asked, “You said that we could go today.”

Y/N checked the time on the clock on the wall, “You really want to go at ten in the morning? You don’t want to wait until midday then we can go out for lunch?”

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” Harper draped herself over Y/N’s lap dramatically.

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face. Harper was definitely one for dramatics, something she inherited from her father.

“Okay, how about this?” Y/N started, “We wait until eleven and we can invite Melanie and Toby and we can go and get lunch with them?”

Harper nodded her head vigorously causing Y/N to chuckle slightly. The only reason as to why Y/N wanted to wait longer to go out was because she was waiting for Harper’s birthday present to turn up. It wasn’t her birthday for another three weeks but Y/N always wanted to leave time in case the package never turned up in case she needed to buy something else. 

“Why don’t you go and play in your room and I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go?”

Harper nodded before running off to her bedroom down the hall. Checking the clock again, Y/N realised the package wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Deciding she had time to kill, Y/N made her way to her bedroom to get changed. If she was going to be out for most of the day, she decided that being in sweatpants and an old shirt wasn’t going to look so good. 

Picking out a simple sundress, Y/N got changed in a flash before she found herself seated on the couch again. Over the last few days, Y/N had found herself being more tired than usual. Everything she did drained the life out of her, obviously she wanted to run around and play with Harper but she would tire out quickly. Harper would try not to get sad about it as she understood why Y/N got like this once a year. Y/N wasn’t going to explain it until Harper got a little older but she understood perfectly. 

Grabbing her phone off of the coffee table, Y/N pressed on Melanie’s contact. Melanie had been Y/N’s friend for a while. They met a year before Y/N had moved to England, due to their long distance friendship, Y/N had expected that they would fall out of contact but they never did. Melanie was godmother to Harper and Y/N was godmother to Melanie’s son Toby. 

The phone rang a few times before Melanie picked up. 

“Hello?” Melanie’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey Mel!” Y/N greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Well Harper and I are going to the park in an hour and I was wondering if you and Toby would like to join us?” 

“We’d love to,” Melanie answered, “Toby’s been pulling my leg asking when he would see Harper next.”

Y/N chuckled, “We’ll meet you at the park if that’s alright.”

“That’s more than fine, we’ll see you then.” Melanie responded before hanging up the phone. 

Y/N tossed her phone back on the couch and slumped back down. She could easily turn on the television and watch something but she didn’t feel up to it. Getting back up from the couch, Y/N headed over to Harper’s room and pushed it open. Her daughter was hunched over her small desk, scribbling away on a piece of paper. Y/N smiled at the sight. Her daughter had taken after her in artistic skill, always having the dream that one day she would be as good as her mother. 

“Hey Harp.” Y/N said, entering her room. 

“Mummy, look I’ve done a drawing!” Harper said excitedly holding up the picture, “It’s the same one you painted.”

Y/N took the drawing out of Harper’s hands and held it up. Y/N had painted a landscape of a forest a few weeks ago and Harper had copied it almost exactly. Every time Y/N would do a commission or a painting for fun, there would always be smaller versions of the same painting but made with colour pencil. Sometimes Harper would sit next to Y/N while she was painting and they would do it together. 

Y/N always enjoyed doing art with Harper by her side. She would constantly ask questions about it and Y/N was always more than happy to answer. From sitting next to her and watching her paint, Harper had been teaching herself how to paint. Y/N would always offer to help her but Harper always refused the help, letting Y/N only watch from a distance. Their whole house was filled with paintings from both Y/N and Harper. 

“It’s incredible, Harp.” Y/N said crouching down, “Even better than mine.”

“No it isn't, your one is better.” Harper said, “Yours are always better. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of Harper’s head, “I don’t want you to be like me, I want you to be like you. You are going to grow up and be an extraordinary person, like you already are.”

Harper hugged Y/N tightly, “I love you mummy.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.” Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of her head once more before she heard the doorbell ring. 

“Is that Melanie and Toby?” Harper questioned.

“No, it’s someone else, Mel and Toby are meeting us at the park,” Y/N explained, “Now why don’t you clean up in here before we head out.”

Harper nodded before she began clearing everything away. Y/N headed out of her room and opened the front door. Y/N expected it to be Harper’s present however she was greeted by two people - more specifically FBI agents. Y/N looked between the two, very obviously confused. 

When Y/N looked up at the male agent, her eyes widened the slightest amount. His hair was curlier and he had a slight stubble. He looked as if he filled out his clothes more as well. Even if it had been more than a decade, she could recognise him anywhere. 

Spencer Reid.

PERMANENT SPENCER REID TAGLIST

@spenxerslut  @averyhotchner @drayshadow @moviequeen51 @spencer-reid-am-i-right @ssavanessa22 @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat @mbjackie @jklemps @reformedmoneyshovel @nomajdetective @jesuisbenny @jooniehomie @spencerreid-187 @onyourfingertips @uhuhuh @rubyhi208-42 @archer561 @c0rpsecore @sweetandsunny @zoeygraygubler @algonsa @jswessie187 @shemarmooresfedora @kaz-2y567 @alfonsais @aikrus @nani-2305 @death-becomes-her @sarejane @isabelle-558 @measure-in-pain @the-nerd-gang @manuosorioh @luredwithpretzels @ceeellewrites @totallyclearwitch @jekkles @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @sarahpaulsonlov3r @periwinklemax @kuolonsyoja @heartmira @hoodpankow @parahmur

SERIES TAGLIST

​@its-9pm @nani-2305 @reidsfish @mochionly @spencerswildestdreams1 @magnetas @matthewscumslut @madsgraygubler @bakugouswh0r3 @rexit-mo @shinshankai

[vonnart]

XXV - XXXI 🎂

Every year on my birthday I draw a self portrait as a reflection of how I see life and myself within it at that very moment. The 29th is my official bday but I wanted to share the past 6 years of this annual tradition.I'm also sharing what I wrote down last year and it's funny how true this sentiment still holds even through 2021:“2020 has been a year to say the least. 

Everyone seems on edge, tense, or ready to fight at any given second. Most online interactions nowadays feel like walking on eggshells. There is so much tumultuous energy, especially within social media, that it has become a place of contention. While these platforms are great at establishing connections, building each other up, and promoting work, lately it feels like a soapbox for many to give their daily grievances or an inflamed political stance. My own friend group and extended art circle seems to have fragmented and I no longer feel closeness with many people outside of a handful of people, old friends, and family. It seems the atmosphere is no longer set for conversation and learning but rather divisiveness and gatekeeping. I’ve seen growth in others, which has been great but I’ve seen even more lines drawn in the sand and a lack of concern for those that are then placed on the other side. 
I have grown kinda sad these past few weeks especially with these realizations hitting me like a truck. An evident numbness that makes me crave real human connection again. I miss many things from pre-c*vid times and now (like many I assume) I’m waiting for the election to just be over and a cure to be out so that I can see my friends in person without worry and to laugh again. Till then at least Halloween is around the corner and I will do my best to share joy and cheer throughout the month as I simply want to be an artist here on Instagram that promotes what still is good in the world as I want to believe in people and to see the best in them. Sending love out to anyone reading this and a virtual warm hug to those feeling a similar cold distance from people that is hard to shake during these times!” ☀️