#Drop-in copper bathtubs

[made-to-order]

Copper bathtubs are up for sale with two standard color patinas. It can be dark or light. Those are the most often selected finishing options. The copper tub can be polished or supplied with antique as well as honey color which looks like a new penny. Some buyers decide to nickel-plate copper tubs on both sides or inside only. The choice of finishing patina depends entirely on the buyer and usually depends on the bathroom existing decor, type of floor and walls.

[rusticahouse]

The rustic style has a timeless appeal that resonates with many homeowners. A drop-in copper tub effortlessly complements the rustic aesthetic, adding a touch of old-world charm to your bathroom. Whether your bathroom is designed with exposed brick, reclaimed wood, or vintage fixtures, a handmade copper tub can tie the entire theme together, creating a cohesive and inviting space. While the initial investment in a drop-in copper tub may be higher than other bathtub options, the long-term benefits are worth it. Copper is a durable and corrosion-resistant material, making it an ideal choice for a fixture that comes into regular contact with water. Proper care and maintenance are minimal, and with time, the tub develops a unique patina, adding to its charm. In the realm of bathroom design, a drop-in copper tub stands out as a symbol of craftsmanship, luxury, and timeless beauty. Whether you’re looking to transform your bathroom into a rustic haven or seeking a unique, custom-made centerpiece, a handmade copper tub is a worthy investment.

[thefandomdirtymind]

Opla!sanji and a siren/mermaid???

A/N IMPORTANT:  Hi anon ! Thank you for your request, as a big fan or mermaid/siren I was so thrill by the idea ! I had tried many things here and I hope you will like it !

The Mermaid Dream

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji series : SFW Shiny Offering - NSFW The Small Favor

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

---

The notorious floating restaurant The Baratie was, like every other night, completely full. At every table of the large dining room were sat the most famous and wanted Pirates. Adding to the hubbub of their conversation and squeaking of their utensils against their plates, the waiters, in a urge to offer the perfect service and then earn their tips, looked like a swarm of bees dancing around elegant honeycombs. 

The kitchen wasn't any more quiet. In every corner or the overheated room, the crew of cooks was running to prepare the many dishes ordered. Only stopping a millisecond to put the plates under the warming light and watch with nervous eyes if Zeff, the renowned chef and owner of the place, was preparing himself to punish somebody, hoping there wasn’t them.

Even the opened mouth of this unusual boat establishment, occupied by a respectable bar, was crowded and noisy. 

Nervously standing behind the luxurious burgundy velvet curtain, your palm sweaty, you briefly closed your eyes, trying to hear the sound of the wave crashing against the ship hull. It wasn't the first time you were performing for the Baratie. But, you knew that each time was risky. The mermaid folks weren’t still welcome everywhere, most of the population were scared of being bewitched by your voices and the others had used your people to commit crimes and atrocities.

It was why you always wore a long gown covering your temporary legs and politely declined any trace of liquid they would offer you. It only takes a drop of water or a stubborn scale and your life would be in immediate danger. Of course Zeff was aware of what you are and would never let nothing happen to you. But, you couldn’t only count on him to protect you, you had to be cautious.

“ Miss Y/N it’s time, everythings is okay ?“ A polite waiter asked you, the golden cord in his hand,ready to unveil you to the loaded room. Nodding of your head, opening your eyes, you let the noise of the water calm your last knocked nerve before lifting your head to face your public.

The first note of your song, played by the musicians behind you, starts to fill the now quiet hall. It was mostly for you a faceless audience, only a few were really counting : like his. 

Still dressed in his cook uniform, his back against the wall, arm crossed against his chest, Sanji was smiling, waiting for you to operate your tour de force. As you know, the blond sous chef had, so far, never missed one of your performances, even if it had meant being punished by his mentor.

Signing your song, your voice flowing like the water of a peaceful river to finish in a waterfall. You open your eyes under a thunder of applause. Still in his corner, Sanji was clapping his hand with fervor, his face radiant of joy like if he had just discovered a new method of cooking. 

Later that night, as you emerged yourself in the oversize bathtub of your personal dressing room, your fins resting on the copper border and the last scales on your breast taking his place. You smiled. You knew that you shouldn’t think of him, loving a human when you couldn’t keep a pair of legs longer than a few hours was ridiculous. However, you couldn’t stop yourself. Aside from Zeff, he was the only one knowing your secret and never made you feel uncomfortable about it.

Three knocks at the door extracted you from your thoughts followed by the sound of the key in the keyhole. You aren’t kept captive in the Baratie, but for your safety, Zeff had a long time ago asked you to lock the door, preventing anyone to simply walk on you as you were unable to freely move, stuck like a fish in a tank. Usually, your only visitor at these hours was the old chef coming to thank you for the show and often tell you stories about his time of piracy. 

But, it was Sanji who entered the room, this time dressed in a navy suit, a tray in his hand. 

“ Good evening Madam, I thought you should be famished after such an enchanting show “

“ I’m not really a Madam you know Sanji “ You smiled, amused even if the fact that you truly aren’t a human woman stung your heart a little.” I’m indeed hungry, thank you”  

“ Nonsense. You are more a lady than many that I had served in this crappy restaurant “ He replied, approaching the coffee table of the bath to put your plate and silverwares as he pulled himself a chair '' Salmon with his creamy lemon sauce, I prepared it myself with caution. “ 

“ It smells fantastique “ You smiled, lifting your upper body enough to be able to eat. “ Hmm, that's delicious, I truly had nothing like this in the whole sea” 

Here again, that proud smile was plastered on his face, making you regret your own nature as he looked at you eating his own kind of tour de force. The vicious cramps traveling your fins,was another. Trying to keep your expression blank, you couldn’t sadly stop the moan of pain you let escape after a particular strong one. 

“ What happened Miss Y/N, something wrong ?!” A concerned Sanji asked, his hand cripping the side of the tube, ready to take action and extract you of the water if needed. 

“ It's nothing, the side effect of being too long on two legs instead of…fins.” You confessed, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “ It takes me a lot of energy and control to keep the form of my legs, i’m just exhausted, it will be over  when I will leave after the closing of the restaurant” You reassured him, touched by his worried tone. 

“ I see, then why are you pushing yourself to do those shows if it’s hurt you afterward ? Does Zeff know ? “ 

Eating your dinner, you slowly nod of the head, remembering the first time the old man discovered you crying of pain in the tube. He had at first, like Sanji, been worried,but, hearring you out he had finally accepted the fact that he couldn’t make you change your mind.  

“ It’s worth it. For the moment I can’t, people aren’t ready yet, but one day, I want to sit on this stage in this form. I want people to know that they don’t have to be afraid of us. We can sing without bewitching them, we don’t chase them if they fall in the water. when we shed tears, it’s from pain, not to make a profit of their medicinal effect. That’s my dream, that one day I will be able to show people that we are good, not monsters. “

“ It’s an admirable dream “ Sanji smiled, a tenderness in his eyes.” If somebody is capable of such a thing it’s you.  After all you didn’t have to talk or sing, I had been spellbound the minute I saw you and I'm sure that the audience could say the same. “

Looking at his sincere face, you felt the warm sensation of hope blooming in your scaly chest. 

“ I would never use my magic on you, you know Sanji aren’t you ? “ You replied, wishing you had not misunderstood his words. 

“ I know, Madam. The things I feel every time I'm near you aren't an illusion, no lies could be that strong…” 

Your heart racing like if you were hunted by a shark, you gently placed your hand on his, tangling them affectionately. 

“ Sanji, would you walk me to the deck tonight…” You demanded. The walk, situated at the tail of the building, wasn’t very long, but it would let you spend a lot of time in his company before having to go back in the water. 

“As you wish Y/N “ He promised, watching your tangled hand. “ I should go, the restaurant will close soon and the old man will probably look out for me.”

“ See you later, I will wait for you outside, near your usual smoking place” You confirm, gripping the side of the tub in excitement. 

“ I will be there, see you later “ He replied before going out, leaving you alone to realize what just happened.

--

The half moon was high when Sanji got out of the closed Baratie.Without realizing it, he had replayed in his head every of your smile and phrases during your conversation, still amazed that you returned his affection.  But as he arrived at the meeting spot, his heart missed a beat. 

A hand against your mouth, flanked by two customers previously kicked out, you were fighting for your life, your fragile leg giving up under you as you tried to get yourself free.

“ Let her go now” He ordered, rage filling his veins. How could they dare touch your perfection and try to steal you from him.

“ Mate, go back inside mind your own business !” One of the pirates replied, trying to move you.  

“ I say, let her go. “ Sanji repeated, taking his fighting stance. The men were larger and heavier than him, but with his training and under your terrified gaze, he couldn’t lose. 

It didn’t take long to put them down. Sadly, you join them when your knees buckle due to the loss of energy. 

“ Y/N are you okay ? “ The blond jumped, catching you.

“ Yes I…need the water...I…I’m sorry” You said, tears filling your eyes. “ They said somebody saw me coming out of the water, they were waiting for me, Sanji…I can’t sing here anymore…” 

“ I will inform the old man, he will find the person and you will be able to sing here as long as you want.” He promised, caressing the side of your face. “ Let me put you in the water, your skin is cold and you shake of exhaustion  “ 

“ No wait I wanted...I wanted to…never mind” You said, avoiding his gaze as your legs disappeared. 

“ What ? Tell me  “ He insisted. 

“ I wanted to kiss you…during the time I have legs…like a normal girl but…they're gone…I’m sorry it’s stupid.”  You sigh, embarrassed. 

“ A normal girl…Madam, don’t lower yourself to that, you’re fantastic as you are and I would never want anything else. Now if you let me “ He reassured you, lifting you in his arms in a bridal style before gently putting his lips against yours.  

Kissing him was like breathing underwater :soft,warm and perfect. As he gently retreated his mouth, you could still see that something was in this thought. 

“ You can sing here as much as you want but…I think I have a proposition for you. Yesterday a guy offered me a place in his crew, the Old man pushed me to go for it…find the All blue.  Please, come with me…You could show people like you wanted that you not what they thought, I will protect you and these crew seem really good” 

The offer takes you by surprise, you never could imagine The Baratie without him. In fact, you couldn’t imagine yourself singing there anymore if he wasn’t even there to watch you perform, nor could you think of your life without him in it. 

“ Okay, if they accept me I will follow you” 

—

The straw hat crew didn’t just accept you, you became a member of the group. 

Swimming  along the boat, signaling at Sanji to be ready,you take some speed and jump grabbing the dangling rope, letting you perform Luffy's favorite number : The flying mermaid.

Helped by your previous momentum, you rise above the lower deck and fall in the arm of Sanji, always waiting to catch his precious mermaid.

[sashaisready]

Chapter Thirteen - You’re finally awake

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again

Warning: I’m sorry 🥺

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 14

Series Masterlist

Bucky pulls out of you and flops back onto the pillows as he catches his breath. You’re still half collapsed in front of him, the cool organic cotton of the sheet against your face grounding you and bringing you back down to earth.

You can feel his spend leaking from you, seeping down your inner thigh. He gets impatient with your recovery and grabs your waist like a ragdoll, pulling you upright against him. You sigh contentedly as two thick fingers grip your chin, turning you to face him. He carefully moves a strand hair out of your face as he studies you. He notices the flush of your cheeks, the faint layer of perspiration, the heavy breathing. Happiness and satisfaction rises within him.

“Still with me, Doll?” he whispers.

You nod weakly . “Just need a second…”

You turn and get to your feet but a metal hand clamps around your arm and pulls you back down into the bed with a thump. You roll your eyes as you bounce off the mattress.

“Bucky, I need the…”

“Not yet” he barks and wraps his arms around you protectively, kissing your crown. You’re locked in his embrace, your back against his chest and his arms across your torso. You lean back into him, letting him kiss your neck. You’re not a big post-coital cuddler normally but can’t deny it feels nice.

You both sit like that for a little while and you feel your eyelids grow heavy as sleep catches up with you. You don’t really want to fall asleep sitting upright covered in his release, so tap two of your fingers on his hand and try to move forward to show your intentions. He grunts with dissatisfaction but begrudgingly releases you, and you patter over to the ensuite bathroom to go pee and clean yourself up.

Of course the bathroom is enormous, you’ve seen Brooklyn apartments smaller than this. Everything is sleek and marble, with a deep copper bathtub to your left. You briefly wonder if you’d have time to try it out tomorrow, but aren’t sure if Bucky is a wham-bam thank-you-ma’am type likely to kick you out on your ass before his morning coffee. Only one way to find out…

After finishing up you venture back into the room. You can hear Bucky before you see him, the sound of gentle snoring filling the space and you know he’s no longer in the land of the living. As you get nearer to the bed you see him curled up under the sheets on his side facing away from you. You can’t resist leaning over and stealing a peek. The big, bad mob boss looks like an angel while he sleeps and you revel in this rare moment of vulnerability, unable to stop yourself moving a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. You stroke his cheek, feeling the stubble rough against your finger, before gifting him a light kiss on the forehead. The affection you feel for him is almost overwhelming.

You settle down on your side salvaging as much of the sheets as you can (of course Bucky is a bedspread hog). The bed is luxurious and soft, like sleeping on a marshmallow. It’s not long before you feel yourself drift off. But then the weight in the bed shifts and he’s awake again and rolling over to you right as you’re dropping off to sleep.

“Doll…” he whispers in your ear.

“Mmm…What?” you reply sharply, annoyed at having your soon-to-be sleep disturbed. Your eyes stay closed. He wore you out, you're an empty husk!

“How about that date then, huh?”

“Now? Buck, I am barely conscious…” you groan.

“No idiot…next week. When are you free? Wednesday night?”

“Don’t call me an idiot…” you mumble into the pillow.

“Don’t act like one, then. Wednesday?”

“Okay, Wednesday” you surrender.

“We won’t do Gambinos. I know a cute little bistro near your place”.

“Sounds perfect. If I say yes will you let me sleep?”

“Yes”.

“Then yes. I’ll be there with bells on” you tease.

“Good” he whispers with satisfaction.

You reach behind yourself to clutch his face and affectionately ruffle his hair. Then you wriggle into a comfier position, scooping your hand under your pillow as you settle on your side. It’s fruitless as Bucky wraps himself around you from behind, pulling your head into his chest and lifting his leg to rest over yours possessively. You’re practically pinned underneath him.

“Buck…” you whine impatiently.

“Mmm?”

“C’mon, it’s like a million degrees like this…”

“Sorry my bed, my rules. Besides, if there are any monsters under the bed they’ll get me first. I’m helping you out”.

“You’re rich but can’t afford a monster-less bed?” you snap grumpily.

He laughs and kisses your shoulder. You finally relent, your hand running along his and pliantly allow him to hold you any way he wants as you both drift off.

**

The next morning you have a tiny moment of panic when you wake up in a strange bed and don’t recognise your surroundings, how much did you drink at the club exactly?

But then you remember.

Bucky. The club. The alley. The office. The car…coming here.

You smile to yourself as you remember what unfolded; the feeling of Bucky’s lips against yours, his expert hands playing your body as if they already knew the song, the euphoria of your orgasm…well…orgasms.

You turn on your side to face him, suddenly desperate to cuddle up with him and touch him. You were somewhat prickly last night, not a natural cuddler any way and someone who has relished the luxury of sleeping in a bed by herself for years…but you craved his touch now you were no longer sleep deprived.

But he was gone from his side, the space he’d left was cool. Your eyes flicked to the bathroom but the door was wide open and you could see it was empty. 

No sign of him.

You wondered where he was as you found your purse on the floor and dug out your phone. No notifications, it was 10.34am. You used the bathroom and washed your face, catching yourself grinning in the mirror. You couldn’t believe you’d finally slept with Bucky, it had been everything you wanted and more.

You slipped back under the sheets and wondered if you should call his phone rather than wander around the house looking for him…you were still naked and God only knows which of his men you’d bump into.

Just as you pondered your next move, the door whipped open and he came striding in. Already dressed in a three piece suit, hair perfectly teased and looking like he’d been awake for hours. His handsomeness still caught you off guard when you saw him. You beamed at him.

“Morning gorgeo-” you started but he cut you off.

“You’re finally awake” he said, his voice monotonous. “I thought I was going to have to get a foghorn”.

You flinched at the hardness in his tone.

“I’m sorry, it’s just we went to sleep late and..” You found yourself babbling.

Something seemed to have shifted with him, he was tense, tetchy, short. Wanda would say he was giving off a bad energy. He seemed almost a different person from last night.

“Do you have all your stuff?” he asked impatiently. “Sorry to be a dick, but I have a lot of work to do today”. He looked at you expectantly.

“Oh!” you uttered in surprise, suddenly embarrassed at your nudity and holding the sheet close to your chest. “Uh...I’m sorry…one moment…”

You turned away from him as you wriggled back into yesterday’s underwear and dress. It felt silly to be shy in front of him after last night but he was being so…off…and it made you felt self-conscious in the cold light of day. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as you got dressed. You found your shoes and your purse and headed to the door.

He hovered his hand over your back as he walked you downstairs but it felt awkward and chaste, a stark contrast to his protective grip on your waist from last night. You passed several of his men who gave you acknowledging looks as you walked through the house. It suddenly hit you that you were one of many they must see do this walk of shame, all blurring into one faceless woman.

Sam gave you a warm smile and a wave as he passed you at the front door and attentively asked how you were. You nodded back at him and felt a pang of hurt that Sam was being nicer to you than Bucky was.

Bucky ushered you outside. “Nobody has time to drive you home. I’ll get you a cab” he said bluntly, tapping on his phone as he opened Uber.

You stood in silence at the entrance to the house, your eyes welling with tears. What had changed in the last few hours? Had you done something wrong?

“So I’ll see you on Wednesday night?” you ventured. “Looking forward to trying out that Bistro”.

Bucky grimaced without looking up from his phone. “Uh…sorry, might need a rain check for Wednesday. Just so much going on, y’know? Sorry babe. Another time”.

Babe? Since when did he call you babe?

You just nodded pathetically.

“Should be here in a few minutes” he told you as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

You nodded again.

“Sorry we didn’t have time for breakfast. I thought you’d be up before now” he sighed.

You felt a ripple of mortification as you imagined him irritated, pacing the house and waiting for you to get up while you snored away obliviously. So much for trying out that bath tub.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a fresh bill.

“Get yourself a coffee and some breakfast on me” he said, his voice deadpan as he handed you the money.

It was a fifty dollar bill.

You feel your face flush, hurt bubbled up within and you could feel it boiling into anger in real time.

“Please don’t try to give me money after you fuck me and kick me out your house” you snarl through gritted teeth as you bat his hand away.

“Excuse me…?” he replies incredulously.

“I get it. You were all sweetness and light last night and now you’ve got it out of your system and seen me naked you don’t need to be nice anymore. But don’t offer me money” you mutter.

Bucky scoffed, his Brooklyn drawl suddenly thicker. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I’m a piece of work?” you snap.

“Yeah, you. Last night you practically tell me to fuck off so you could sleep as far away as you can and now you’re annoyed I can’t spend my entire workday waiting for you to get out of bed?”

You turn to him, your eyes wide in anger. “I was just tired, Bucky! I wanted to sleep. It was nothing to do with you! And if I remember rightly I fell asleep in your fuckin’ arms in the end so how does that work?”

“Don’t brush me off and then get annoyed when I don’t roll out the red carpet treatment” he snaps. “I’ve got other stuff to do”.

“You know what? Fuck your Uber, I’ll get my own” you storm off towards the gate as you suppress your tears.

“Thank-you for the kind hospitality, James!” you snipe back at him as you barge past the guards and out onto the street.

Bucky scoffs as he stands alone on his porch, sighing to himself.

**

When Bucky woke up this morning it was a bit after 8am. The sun was pouring in through the blinds but you hadn’t risen yet. Sometime in the night you’d rolled away from him and were back on your side at the edge of the bed, snoring lightly. He smiled at your sleeping form, then reached out and ran a finger along your exposed back. You were so lost in sleep that you didn’t even stir.

He wanted to reach out and pull you to him. He was so delighted that he’d finally got to this point with you. It had been weeks if not months of foreplay in the bakery and he’d dreamed of this moment for so long. Then there was the whole business with the tailing you which he can admit he fucked up…and the date, and he’d been so hurt. You had your revenge. But then you fell into his lap again at the club and it felt like fate. He’d been so angry when he’d seen that creep forcing himself on you at the bar, all he wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe. Show you who you should be with. Your lips on his in the upstairs office were like a fantasy coming true.

And then back at the house. Fuck, he’d never experienced anything quite like it. You were so beautiful and he’d never felt chemistry quite so intensely or innately before, he never wanted it to end. It was easily the best sex of his life. He’d become tired with the conveyer belt of girls he met at the club. They were nice, pretty of course, but aside from the fleeting pleasure it had become…boring. Uninspired. Generic.

Not like you. You who challenged him, who made him laugh, who had kissed his scars and caressed his prosthetic and told him he was beautiful. He wanted to hold you and never let you go. He often thought about the mischievous look you’d get in your eye when you were about to tease him. Now he would think about your face as you came, biting down on your lip as your eyes squeezed shut. You had him eating out the palm of your hand.

But a doubt niggled away at him. Last night after you went to sleep you seemed exasperated with him, brushing him off and putting physical space between the two of you. You were probably just tired and not a big hugger – nothing wrong with that. But part of him worried he’d overplayed his hand. Maybe you weren’t as into him as he was to you, maybe you just wanted to go home with someone last night and he just happened to be there.

Bucky Barnes always called the shots. He was always the one in control. He was rarely on the other side of that, and he didn’t like it one bit on the few occasions he found himself there. It’s how he got to the top.

Besides, the truth was that his feelings for you scared him. Despite how good they made him feel, they also made him feel weak, and he didn’t like weak. Didn’t do weak.

He also knew that his world wasn’t your world, he didn’t want to taint your life with the edges of violence and corruption. Deep down, somewhere, he knew he probably didn’t deserve you.

Maybe it would be best if he pulled back a bit, took back control from you and readdressed that balance. Remind you who is calling the shots here.

So he had been cold to you. And it was so hard at first, especially when he saw your big smile as he came back in, your face framed by the morning sun, happiness pouring out of you at the mere sight of him. 

He wasn’t worthy of that smile.

And so he continued, treating you like he would any girl from the club and throwing you out. It wasn’t that hard to tap into that part of him as he’d done it hundreds of times before, it was just muscle memory at this point.

But your face. His heart had ached when he saw the hurt in your expression, your utter disappointment in him. Your eyes wide and wounded. He wanted so badly to take it back, to tell you he’d made a mistake, tell you he wanted to spend the day in bed with you holding you hostage with intense orgasms. That he loved being with you, and that life seemed better when you were around.

Still, it was for the best.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Where We Begin and End [Misunderstood Breakup Trope]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Misunderstood Breakup situation 1. One person thinks the other one has broken up with them due to a misunderstanding "Frank comes home injured and it shakes you to your core, the next morning he’s gone and you think he’s left you"

Warnings: Angst into a happy ending. No gender or pronouns specified for reader. No use of y/n. Established relationship. Nicknames sweetheart and baby. Blood/description of a bullet injury and the repair of it. 

WC: 2,033

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

Your fingers trembled as you worked, the silver tweezers dropped from your shaking hand and fell into the porcelain sink under you with a clang. 

‘Shit” you mumbled under your breath and retrieved them, the metal tool threatening to fall from your slippery, blood-covered hand again.

“S’ alright sweetheart, take your time.” Frank said softly

Usually his reassurance in a dire situation calmed you. But tonight there was an edge to his voice that had your fragile nerves teetering on an already thin tightrope.

You went back to the task in front of you, hesitantly plunging the tweezers into the flesh of his lower back, attempting to remove the bullet that had ricocheted and lodged itself there.

Repairing Frank after a long night out wasn’t an unusual occurrence for you. The sight of his blood didn’t typically phase you, having spent countless nights tending to his wounds as an act of love. But tonight, the injury in question had you fearing for Frank's life. 

You were by no means a medical professional, but you knew enough basic anatomy to know this bullet was dangerously too close to his spinal column and one wrong move by either of you could at best leave him with permanent nerve damage and at worst paralyze or even kill him.

“Almost got it.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to reassure more, him or yourself.

The dulled copper end of the bullet finally poked through amongst the crimson flooding the hole and the marred skin around it. You pulled it out, sighing in relief and releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Frank, always so stoic and calm, faced away from you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on his knees. His nostrils flared and his lip twitched, as the pain threatened to creep past the barrier against it he had plenty of practice building up. You were too busy threading the needle to stitch the hole closed that you hadn’t noticed his subtle signs of weakness.

Getting the bullet out was the hard part and an invisible weight lifted off your shoulders knowing if your mediocre medical repair hadn’t gone awry yet, it probably wasn’t going to from this point forward.

Your skin felt damp. God, how had you not noticed until now? You were sweating buckets from nerves and knew there was some of his blood on your face as well. Probably from unconsciously trying to wipe the sweat from your brow as you worked. Oh wait. There were also tears there. When did you start crying?

The silent air between the two of you felt heavier than a led balloon as you stitched the wound, neither of you daring to speak as you wiped the area down with an alcohol swab. 

“Okay um…” you sniffled, not wanting to let the flood gates fully open until you were out of the room 

“I cleaned up the blood surrounding it pretty good, so try not to get it too wet in the shower.” You finally commented, your work finished. 

Frank nodded his head. Typically a man of few words, especially after coming home from a job, he remained unnervingly quiet as you disposed of the bandage wrappers and gauze in the small plastic trash can under the sink. 

He leaned forward as if to speak, but decided against it, and instead turned on the spigot in front of him, letting the warm water splash against his feet. 

Avoiding his gaze, you washed your hands in the sink. The water ran down the drain in a river of scarlet, then a rusty orange, then eventually clear, the colors increasingly blurring in your vision as more tears filled your eyes. 

A soft thump behind you jolted you upright, adrenaline still buzzing and anticipating whatever might happen next. You relaxed a little again as you realized it was just Frank removing his jeans and tossing them on the floor as he changed the knob from the lower faucet to the shower head and stepped in to clean himself of the blood and grime of the evening. 

You never ask about what happened. No matter how severe the injuries he comes home with are, you never want to know. But tonight shook you so to your core, you can’t help but be curious. 

How did he make such a large miscalculation? Was it because he was getting old? Too distracted by his home life with you? Why had his bullet-proof vest not done a better job at protecting such a sensitive area? Your brain swirled with a million questions. 

He grunted in pain from behind the shower curtain and it made you jump once again. As the hot water hit the plethora of other wounds he came home with tonight, he knew you were still uneasy behind the shower curtain. 

“S’ okay baby. Really.” he reassured again

You proceeded into the bedroom, pacing in circles and not knowing what to really do with yourself, still unable to let yourself fully cry. 

A few minutes later, Frank emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel slung low on his waist. 

“You should be resting sweetheart.”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay before I laid down.”

“C’mon, I’ll lay with you.”

Gingerly, Frank laid on his stomach, not wanting to irritate the wound by sleeping on it. You curled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, no longer able to hold the levee against your tears. They ran down your face in streams, soaking his shoulder and your pillow case.

“Pl.. please Frank. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not asking you to change who you are but I can’t keep loving someone who constantly puts themself in a position where I could lose them. I can’t lose you Frank.”

“Sweetheart, you know this is what I do though. You know it’s dangerous. It’s just part of the job.”

“Don’t make me go through what you went through with Maria.”

Frank didn’t respond, only rolled on to his side to pull you against his chest and comfort you with his calloused fingers running soft lines against your skin until exhaustion finally won out and you fell asleep.

The pounding headache was the first thing you noticed in the morning. The heaviness of your eyelids as you attempted to open them was the second. 

You reached out for Frank, but your hand only met empty space and crumpled sheets.Not unusual for him to be up before you.

A dull ache radiated through your body as you slowly rolled out of bed. Frank was nowhere to be found in the kitchen, not making coffee as you suspected he might be.

“Frankie?” you called out, voice still small and croaky with sleepiness

But there was no answer.

You looked at the front door. Frank’s boots, coat, and keys were gone. He always let you know when he was going out and when he’d be back. You checked your phone. No text. 

Everything else seemed to be in place in your apartment but the feelings from last night still gnawed a pit into your stomach.

You remembered how scared you were and how you’d begged and cried until you fell asleep.

You’d asked Frank to do the impossible, something you’d never ask him, to give up being the Punisher. 

And he seemed he’d made his decision. He was gone. Walking out of the life you’d built together like it was nothing.

Getting ready for work was a chore you struggled through. Any sane person would take the day off after everything you’d been through in the last 6ish hours. But you needed the normalcy and the distraction, not wanting to sit around the apartment wallowing, waiting for something to happen that you knew wouldn’t - Frank coming home from wherever he’d gone.

You grabbed his hoodie from the hook in the entryway on your way out. You always wore it on days he was away, when you were missing him extra badly. God, how sick it was that the thing you were grieving was also the only thing you knew would bring you even a little bit of comfort.

You spent most of the day just sitting at your desk, staring at your computer, not really getting any work done. 

“God you look awful.” your coworker Kate commented when she popped her head into your office around lunchtime

“Frank and I, um… we broke up.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry. What happened?”

“We… something happened last night and when I woke up this morning he was gone.”

“Wait? Did you guys actually have a conversation about breaking up?”

“Well no but…”

“Did he take any of his stuff with him? You know like someone leaving would?”

“Well no but…”

“Did you, ya know, text or call him to see where he is?”

“Kate. Look. I just know Frank and after what happened, I just know this is it. He’s gone.”

Kate took pity on you and offered to take you to lunch to take your mind off of it. As you exited the office and walked to your favorite Thai place on the corner, you decided to take her advice and text him, knowing that you wouldn’t get one back.

Frank. I’m worried about you after what happened last night. Please just let me know you’re okay.

You must have checked your phone 30 times at the restaurant, with no notification of him texting you back showing up.

The walk back to the office was silent, Kate giving up on inventing one sided conversations to keep your mind off things.

A bouquet of peonies sat on your desk when you got back, as well as a pair of dirty combat boots attached to a very tired looking Marine, appearing as though he could use a nap, lounging in your office chair with his legs crossed and up on your desk. 

“Frank.”

“Hey sweetheart. You know your office needs better security?” he said casually as if he was just commenting on the weather and hadn’t just walked out of your life mere hours before

“You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“But you left.”

“Yeah. Sorry to run out so quick this morning, but something came up.”

“But you didn’t text me back. Let me know. You always let me know.”

Frank sat upright, removing his feet one at a time from your desk and walking across the room to stand in front of you. He reached into his back pocket and held up his cell phone between you. The device, cracked across the screen and smashed in the one corner, looked entirely useless between his calloused fingers.

“What do you think the bullet ricochet off of?”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a sob that escaped your mouth, but it finally broke your resolve and you threw yourself into his arms.

“It was in my back pocket and the bullet hit it and it flew up between my back and my vest. Was gonna get a new one today, but Madani yakked my ear off all morning.”

“Madani?”

“Last night had me pretty spooked too. I didn’t sleep. Thinkin too much about what you said. You were right. My biggest fear is you getting hurt, losin you like I lost them. Didn’t even stop to think that losin me might hurt you too. But you remindin me how it felt when I lost my family… made me realize what you go through with me and all my bullshit.”

“So why were you with Dinah?”

“Remember when I told Madani I’d start working for the CIA when hell froze over? Well guess the devil better buy a coat…”

“Pfft I’ll let Matt know next time we see him… God, you scared me Frank. I thought you left me. That we were done. When I didn’t hear from you and you weren’t home. After last night…”

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easy.”

“That so, big guy?”

“Yeah gonna go be a CIA man. Wear a suit and work in an office and shit.”

“You look good in a suit, Frank.”

“Think I look like a dork”

“But you’re my dork?”

“Damn right baby.”

[astarionfixation]

Chapter 12: *That'll teach me not to get all talkative…*

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature

CW: mentions of Abuse and Past Trauma, possibly body dysmorphia if you squint.

Word count count: 4k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/142086958

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

SUMMARY: Just after they finally explore physically intimacy together, Astarion wakes up, she's drawing a bath, and they have a casual chat that turns to be quite vulnerable for both of them.

The water dripping insistently on his face seems unreasonable to be the source of the burbling sound. Astarion looks around and the curtains of water suggest the only reasonable place this could be is the cave behind a waterfall. He walks through the puddle and it feels warm… then again everything seems warmer than his skin since he lost his pulse. He's about to draw his arms through the falling water when he feels the grip at the base of his skull. He knows that feeling: it's not careless, it's actually measured to hurt as he can feel the nails not only scratching but digging into his scalp, his very thoughts dissolving as the pain is all that pervades him. The hand pushes him down, as he is forced to fall to his knees before his head is pushed underwater and even without the need to breathe the pain and panic completely overtake him. After an amount of time he would not be able to quantify through the terror, he feels the nails almost penetrating his scalp as he's pulled up by his grip, and he can hear his voice, as low as it is dangerous

��Lie to yourself boy, but not to me! You are mine. Forever!”

His eyelids are shut tight and then in a flash he takes a sharp inhale and manages to blink himself… aware… awake.

- -

The sound of running water is still present and now he can tell it's coming from behind  and it disorients him. His body fumbles between the bedsheets and turns enough to see… Her.

Still gloriously naked, the curtain just slightly open lets him evaluate the time to be around late afternoon. The sight of her tiptoeing around the large copper bathtub, filled with steaming water, brings him back fully to the present. His fingers go to his bottom lip to verify that indeed that wasn't part of the dream and the sting he feels on it is the consequence of her bite.

*If she wanted to make me lose control, she’s found an infallible way to do it*

He leans on his elbows to just keep watching her intently, focusing on the way her fingertips dip in the water and come out of it letting the water drip back down.

And the faint sound of water drops is enough to bring back the pain in his scalp, the authentic feeling of Cazador's nails digging in his own brain and his head now jerks and shakes to try and push the thought away but the sudden movement catches her attention.

“oh hello… I'm not used to seeing you sleep, I tried to keep quiet because I wanted to make sure you could rest, I hope I wasn't too noisy.”

She smiles sweetly at him before turning around and stepping closer to her portmanteau bag, always filled to the brim with herbs and oils, until she finds something to carry back from it towards the bathtub. As a few golden drops being to drip from the little amber bottle she seem to absentmindedly talk, almost just to herself

“I'm pretty certain you have a soft spot for rosemary, don't you? Until I figure out the other components of your scent I'll add lavender to it, they complement each other… they are technically from the same family… Lamiaceae…”

She raises her dark eyes to look directly at him with a softness and care that's close to what she got him used to, but for the first time she doesn't seem to keep that small part of herself away, the one always hidden by the mask, calm enough to feel detached, as if the world could fall *or I could quite literally sprout tentacles* and she would not be affected. 

And he almost wants to return that smile… though the pain from Cazador's grasp in his dream is still lingering on his scalp. He's stirring up now, his knees bent under the bedsheets enough for his arms to fold over them with his cheek resting on his own bicep as his scarlet eyes follow her movements as she continues to share details about plants and herbs he cannot quite focus on.

She doesn't need to know.

She doesn't need to hear any more of his pathetic neediness or any more pitiful confessions.

And he wouldn't know how to explain it anyway…

*How does it even make sense, that my mind drags me back to that…  the moment that for some reason my skin is not touching hers? What a wretched excuse for a creature I am…*

His expression must have betrayed something though, because she's now stopped in her tracks and swiftly moving towards him, her knees touching the edge of the bed and she crawls towards him with such urgency that he doesn't have time to think how incredibly tempting she looks because she's already reached him and of all the attacks his mind has concocted, glad to give up and let her do anything she deems fit to him, he just finds himself circled by her arms as she kneels and straddles one of his legs. Her delicate fingers threading and yet pulling his head to her and he finds himself inhaling the air that has been sweetened by the valley between her breasts. His arms circle her body almost instinctively pulling her closer to breathe her in.

“Would you like to take a soak with me?”

She could have asked without moving a single finger yet the feeling of her skin pressing on his is what takes the physical memory from his nightmare away, the pull on his scalp replaced by her sweet caresses as her fingers curl around his hair. Maybe she doesn't mean it, she doesn't understand how the comfort of her presence drags him further away every passing day from the past he'd much rather forget so maybe, hopefully, despite his inappropriate confessions that surely can be discounted to the heat of the moment, hopefully she does not understand how crucial she has become to him. His lips are already moving to beg her and just say *yes, please* but what he grasps onto as a shred of dignity ends up sounding like

“Of course, my darling”

And that might be as good an answer as any because the reaction of her body is just to hold him tighter to her as a soft, low hum of approval resonates in her chest and in his own head pressed against her. He can feel her lips pressing against the top of his head before she seems about to disentangle herself from him, which becomes immediately an unacceptable option, thankfully easily avoided as he swiftly brings his arms just under her armpits to then grab her by the waist and in a moment he's on his knees on the bed while he's holding her in his arms. One arm under her knees and the other circling her torso holding her close as he's effortlessly on his feet and everything has been so quick she's only just now letting out a surprised squeal while he's already halfway towards the tub.

“Please be careful Astarion! Please no! I'll fall! I'm too heavy for this!!!”

The simple idea her soft, delicate body could be anything but delightful to hold like this makes his soft laugh resonate in the room.

“Don't be silly my dear, I could carry you like this all day. In fact this might just be the way we travel from now on, you know? It would certainly make it easier for me and you wouldn't have a chance to trail behind every time a shrub catches your eye”

But he can feel her hands grabbing at his shoulders and make him fleetingly realise  *I need to put those nails of hers to use soon*. Her arms circle his neck and  it might really seem like… *Is she really scared? Is she worried I'll let her fall?*

“I'm just… like big cats, you know… no one's ever carried me, I don't think this can work on me!”

Her tone is urgent and she might actually not realise how soft and light her body is for him. He gently lets the arm under her knees give way once he's brought her over the tub and as the warm water touches her toes she quickly tries to disentangle herself to stand in the bath. The way the tub is raised from the floor leaves her standing taller, almost looking directly into his own eyes while her arms are still lingering around his neck. Her dark eyes are framed in a frown and her plump red lips arched in a pout that might genuinely mean that simple, almost mindless gesture of his might have actually worried her?

“Sweet thing…” his voice mellifluous as his finger goes to curl around one of her long dark locks before tucking it behind her ear

 “I think I'll have to spend some time getting in that pretty head of yours how adorably delectable your splendid body is. If you can feel in any way less than majestic and glorious then I've done a poor job in the last few hours at delivering that, and believe you me… I have nothing but time to convince you and make you feel as good about yourself as my eyes see your beauty”

Without waiting for a reaction his lips press softly against hers, the hand that caressed her hair now holds her head just behind her ear. It's just a soft peck but it speaks of devotion as much as ownership. 

“Besides…”

As his voice continues, measuredly low and sweet, he steps into the tub with a graceful movement of his long pale legs. He lowers himself in the water just behind the spot where she's still standing, her head slightly turned to follow his movements, and once his own hands rest on her hips and softly press down on her she follows his motions so that she is now cradled between his legs, circled by his arms around her waist pulling her body closer to his, her back to his chest and her backside softly pressing against his most sensitive parts.

“I am kind of hurt you don't remember our first night together… I carried you to your room just like that… effortlessly I might add, considering how your pretty little feet were stumbling upon everything they encountered”

He can feel the warmth of the water surrounding them which for once feels less scorching than usual, his own skin still a raised temperature from her blood coursing through his veins. A hand goes to gather her long dark hair to one of her shoulders and then to her side so that the naked skin of her back can press directly onto his chest as the arm around her waist pulls her closer still as he gets rewarded with a soft moan her lips let out at the closeness.

“I… I might not have been able to ask for your help had I not had more mead than blood in my veins that night… I didn't know how to get… closer to you… but I couldn't get you out of my mind anyway… so liquid courage had to do I guess… actually… I always wondered… Why did you stay?”

*That'll teach me not to get all talkative…*

His mind is rushing between options and the need to take time and weight his answer makes one of his hands relent his grip on her waist to bring his fingers to run gently on the inside of her arm, caressing the sensitive skin from her inner wrist, rhythmically pumping against his fingertips, following the blood flow to the inside of her elbow and back again.

“Well, how could I leave you in distress when you just seemed to need me… and only Me I might add… I'm sure a few of our conditional companions would have stumbled upon their feet too in an effort to get your attention for themselves… the wizard pushed his luck more than necessary for my comfort… I don't mean to gloat but I was only too pleased when you made our arrangement clear to everyone”

The arm circling her waist moves so that the palm of his hand can press flat against her stomach, pushing her body against his in a clear sign of possession followed by his lips pressed on the back of her head. His fingers, softly caressing her arm, ride up to her collarbone and then his arm disappears under hers, under the water, so that his fingers can begin to draw lazy circles around the sensitive area just under her breast.

“What do you think that says about your delectable body and the desires it inspires in others? Not that that should be the reason but suffice to say… if you think your body is anything less than perfect in the eyes of others… you're even more sweetly naive than I gave you credit for, my darling”

His words hang in the silence of the room filled only by her low breathing and soft heartbeat. He can feel her adjust herself between his legs, surely innocently and without any idea of what her simple stirring is doing to his own body until her head lays down upon his shoulder, her cheek softly pressed against his upper arm as her soft skin caresses his in a small, repeated movement to enhance their contact. After a slightly deeper inhale her soft voice reaches his ears again, pensive and matter of factly 

“You're so kind to me Astarion and truly I don't need anything else… I just… know my limits… and I've accepted them a long time ago… besides… I can make myself be appreciated, given enough time… I can cure a hangover quicker than most herbalists so I have acquired hidden qualities for people to like me… if they stick around…”

He can feel her shoulders shrug as the arm he caressed moves to find his hand once again so that her fingers are now interlaced with his own. His free hand halts his teasing to grip just under her breast, a little bit too tight as the thought of her past comes back to him.

“Is that what your mother told you? That you needed to serve others and be useful in order to have simple appreciation in return?”

Her body suddenly tenses and he instinctively holds her closer, the sound of moving, trickling water overtaking the soft breath from her chest as his nose nuzzles against her hair, close to her ear in a gesture he would usually consider sickeningly sweet for any other reason than to bring her comfort now and despite the mention of her abuser, a reminder of his presence and implicit promise to care and protect. Her voice comes out just as calm as usual, but the time alone it took her to form a response makes him aware of how difficult this must be for her

“I appreciate that if your master did the same  the idea could not attach itself to you… but alas I do still reflect in mirrors so I had reminders as to why I needed to count on something other than my looks to… earn my keep…”

It might have sounded like shyness before but at this point he's baffled

*She actually believes that…*

Then of course she had to pick at his vanity, as if his own ways to distract himself from torment in a semblance of narcissistic hedonism had not taught him well enough to focus on his looks, or rather the way people seemed enticed when they looked upon him, to delude himself enough and believe that all that flattery was indeed valuable for him too.

He's almost tempted to give in to that and let her continue, let her sing the praises of all the ways she adores the smallest detail of his body if it means she will never have the time to even begin to imagine anything remotely close to leaving him. Yet that hint of sadness can't seem to be shaken off and it eventually tumbles out of his own treacherous lips

“You don't know what you're saying, sweet thing…  let's just say his reminders of my constant inadequacy made having to share my body with strangers almost consoling… for the moment I could delude myself they actually liked me at least…”

He can feel her, her body moving against the still water and between his own legs to turn her head enough so that he can see her dark eyes caressing his own body, tip of his toe to his knee and as far back as her position will allow her…

“I’m sorry… I just meant… Have you ever been described as anything less than beautiful, Astarion?”

He can feel her cheek pressing upon the skin of his arm and the sudden warmth increasing… he can't see her face from this angle but… 

*Is she blushing?*

 Before he has a moment to consider the reason why, he can hear her voice so low, a  whisper, almost talking to herself, mumbling, yet the words still reach his pointy ears

“It's easy to see why your body alone ruined so many lives…”

In that instant, inexplicably, that small sentence, barely above a whisper she might have actually not intended for his ears, that is what brings back the dreaded clasp around his throat in a rush. 

Only for an instant. 

The instinct to fight it comes easy, out of habit really, and slipping in his charlatan mask is not only safe but also extremely convenient at this point

“Why, thank you sweetheart… though You'd be surprised… I wasn't always everyone's cup of tea… and at the end of the night I still had to bring prey back to Cazador's… beauty was nothing until I learnt to charm people…”

And that is the truth, a bit too much of it to be honest, and she doesn't need the gory details of the curse a desirable body can be for someone like him who had to live by someone else's desire and rule for centuries. His body used to answer the demands of his Master before he could understand what it even meant, yet he was haunted by his own sense of touch that made him the receptacle of caresses and beatings alike without ever having a saying in it…

“I understand them… I would have followed you too… if you had found me only a few years ago… I would have probably even thanked you for ending me in such a sweet way”

The image flashes in his mind: what if he had seen her in the streets one night? How could he have resisted the temptation to spend a few hours delirious in the delusion that she could have been his, willingly, believing the sweet lie that a pretty thing like her could have wanted him, that he was deserving of her care because she can't help but care. He knows the payment for that moment, gilded with a lying form of happiness, would have been her own life, like it was for so many others. The idea alone stings as if needles are traversing his chest and he cannot linger on it because he knows the truth: he would have indeed led her to her end. Just because she would have made him feel like he could pretend for a night to be the kind of person who deserved to be loved by someone like her.

“Stop talking like that. You are not… this is different… and there truly is no merit to my body… besides… it hasn't been mine for so long anyways…”

“I'm sorry… I didn't mean to say anything reductive… it's just been something I have been told since… ever really… she broke my spirit with that because she knew I couldn't change how I looked… and she made it very clear… what she gave me was the best I could hope for… as if anyone kind or beautiful would have ever even looked twice at something like… me”

*No… fuck this! No! I refuse to let her think that…*

His body moves just enough so that his hands can now grab her arms and turn her body flush against his, her back curving as her knees touch the bottom of the bathtub while he pulls her up to him so that her chest is pressed against his, her enchantingly pretty face looking up at him with a hint of surprise at the sudden movement. His eyes focus on the small red scratch on her bottom lip he caused himself just a few hours before

*Because she's so beautiful, if I left her unmarked I would have to fight them all off… and yet she has no idea*

If he stays too much on that sweetly innocent pout of hers the discussion might end prematurely between the sheets again and, delectable of an idea as that is, no… this feels important… necessary to get through to her

“Sweetling… you really don't know, do you? You are actually… so beautiful. Not just to me, not because I know how incredible you are… you really have no idea how captivating your pretty lovely eyes are, do you? Set within your face which seems to have been brought to life from a painting”

His eyes are fixed upon hers trying to highlight his own words. As her gaze shifts sheepishly to the side his free hand goes to capture one of her locks between his fingers as his other arm still circles her back, pulling her entire body to his

“How the softness of your long, dark curls frames you and how the contrast makes your skin sing a prayer of temptation to anyone who's ever set eyes on you?”

The hand circling her dips to the small of her back and then to the side caressing her waist and then gently grazing lower upon her hips

“How the dip below your ribcage forming your waist must have made people swoon as they followed the curve of you hips and the proportion alone would inspire anyone to become a poet if they thought it would give them a chance to have all the beauty you possess look them back in the eye as they long for you?”

The fingers still threading between her dark locks reach for her chin, pulling softly yet demanding for her eyes to meet his once again.

“Sweet thing… easy as it would be to build on those insecurities to make sure you never leave my side… I can't let you believe you are anything less than absolutely magnificent… and you'd have heard the others sing your praises too, trying desperately to get your attention, had I not been lucky enough to get into your graces first… now just… don't stray too far… and I won't have to regret this moment of honesty… deal?

“I… yes! deal! Of course, deal!”

He can feel her body press against his for purchase as she reaches for his lips, pressing quick, almost frantic pecks over his mouth, and he can feel her fumbling around though he realises his eyes must have closed shut because, before he can give it a sentient thought, he can feel she's now straddling his hips, her hands have somehow found the back of his neck and they cradle his head and thread through the curls at the nape as her lips keep peppering soft yet urgent little kisses all across his face. 

Surely innocently and without the least understanding of how this entire position is already doing things to him. 

His own hands reach for her waist and he tries to hold her gently but resolutely to still her movements

*or soon enough I will have to pin her to that mattress again and… fuck! she's just human… she's just human still… for now…*

His touch gets to her as she pulls away and stills, just enough for her dark eyes to bore into his own, she looks… excited but almost on the verge of tears at the same time. The reprieve allows for his thoughts to come back and as his hands begin rubbing her sides gently he speaks every word slowly as if measuring the honey each and every syllable is drenched with

“Good, then with such an enthusiastic Yes, you can consider yourself well and truly taken, my darling”

[aralezinspace]

Summer Knight Part 6

When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU

~~Masterlist~~

Dividers by cafekitsune

Chapter 10

Hob’s fever finally broke just after breakfast time. Lucienne had brought Morpheus his meal on a tray, along with some bread and water for when Hob woke. She gave the Prince a knowing look as he took the tray- Lucienne always knew. She could tell the Prince had stayed awake all night and had not left Hob’s side for a moment. 

The Prince watched over Hob while nibbling on his breakfast. Some of the color was coming back to his cheeks, and he looked much more at ease. He had even started to snore softly; Morpheus laughed the first time he heard the sound. With all their close proximity, how had he never noticed? 

Hob’s eyes finally cracked open around mid day. Morpheus had been doing his level best to stay awake, but found himself nodding off, his head hanging and eyes heavy. Adrenaline jolted him awake when he heard the drawn out, whining groan coming from his bed, followed by several choice swear words as Hob tried to sit up.

“Hob!” He placed a gentle hand on Hob’s good shoulder and applied the slightest pressure to encourage him to lay back down. 

“Fuck… Morpheus?” Hob rasped, throat dry and scratchy. “Water?” 

Morpheus quickly poured some water into a small tankard and held it up to Hob’s lips. His other hand cradled Hob’s head so he could swallow more easily, and Hob drank the entire thing down in a few seconds. 

“Fuck,” Hob swore again as he lay back down. He turned to Morpheus, and this time his mind fully registered where he was, who he was with: he was in the Prince’s bed, and Morpheus was at his side. A big, dopey grin spread across his face, like he had never seen something so beautiful nor had been so happily blessed. “Feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse,” he slurred, “But this is worth it.” 

Morpheus chuckled and took Hob’s hand in his again. He kissed the back as Hob weakly squeezed his fingers. After a few breaths, the Prince became serious again. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Hob’s grin faded as he tried to concentrate through the fog in his mind and the insistent aches in his body. “Um… We got to the palace, I fell out of the saddle… That’s all.” 

Morpheus nodded and adjusted Hob’s cloak around his shoulders. “That is the long and short of it. The healer treated your wound and you had a fever in the night.” A pause, his voice dropping to nearly a mumble. “You’ve been asleep for almost a full day. I.. I was worried.” 

“A whole day?” Hob repeated incredulously, his uninjured hand flying to his forehead. “No wonder I’m starving.” He flashed Morpheus a roguish grin. “Think you could help me with that?” 

Morpheus rolled his eyes affectionately as he ripped off a chunk of bread and handed it to him. It was a massive relief that Hob seemed so much like his old self just moments after waking up. That pleasant warmth began to bloom in the Prince’s chest, staving off just a little more of the cold that still lingered in his core.

Hob spent the next three days in the Prince’s chambers recovering. Morpheus had Lucienne and Matthew bring all his work and letters, as well as their meals. He finally convinced Morpheus to call for a bath, and the Prince had agreed, but only if Hob would join him. They spent several hours scrunched up in the copper bathtub, gently washing away the dirt and last drops of blood until the water was cold and smoky. Afterwards, they lay in front of the fire on furs taken from their beds in their nightclothes, continuing to caress and talk quietly. 

Hob couldn’t reach back to braid his hair, so he talked Morpheus through it. The first few attempts resulted in knots and tangles that the Prince had to then unravel, gently working his antler comb through the brown and gold and amber strands, but eventually he mastered it. He may have intentionally tangled the sections once or twice just to spend more time combing it, once he heard the contented, purring hum that rumbled low in Hob’s chest.

Cain and Abel paid a visit on the second day, finding Hob seated in an armchair in front of the fire, reading a book. “Hob Gadling,” Cain cried in greeting as they entered the sitting room, “As I live and breathe, you’re actually alive.” He gave Hob a once over, taking in his generally worn and exhausted appearance. “You look awful.” 

Hob chuckled as he closed his book. “You should see the other guys.” 

The brothers joined him in front of the fire, and Hob immediately launched into the tale of what had happened. Their eyes widened when he got to his duel with Randall, both impressed and apprehensive. Abel actually gasped when he tugged at the collar of his shirt to show them the wound that was slowly but surely healing into a pink scar. As he finished his story, a little thorn burrowed into his mind: Chronos had sworn he’d be banished from the Dreaming if he survived rescuing Morpheus. Would he follow through on that threat?

“Holy hell fire…” Abel swore under his breath, armor clinking softly as he sat back in his chair. He shook his head with an incredulous grin. “The gods must have some big plans for you!” Hob just chuckled and shrugged non-committedly. 

The brothers stayed for another hour chatting with Hob while Morpheus worked in the study. The Prince smiled to himself every time he heard Hob’s laugh from the sitting room, glad that his spirits were recovering quickly, even if his body was a bit slower on the uptake. 

By the third day, Hob was starting to get restless. He paced the sitting room, gently swinging his arms back and forth, trying to stretch the healing skin and get some strength back without tearing the stitches- the day Lyta removed them couldn’t come soon enough. He grimaced and let out a little pained noise as one motion strained the skin and pressed his good hand over it, trying to keep the fire of pain contained. 

Morpheus heard the sound from his study where he was once again working, or at least trying to focus on work. He immediately put down his quill and half sprinted to the sitting room, trying not to panic at the thought of Hob injuring himself further. The sight that greeted him had him chuckling as well as rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Hob was in a ready stance, a fire poker held in his left hand like a sword. He did a few advances and retreats before going through the basic attacks- low left, low right, high right, high left, overhead. He moved slowly, but the flow of the iron rod was smooth and controlled. 

He took a breath and settled back into his ready stance for a moment before lunging and thrusting the poker into an imaginary opponent. He held the poker there, strained grunts mixed with deep breaths as the effort of holding its weight aloft pulled and tugged at barely healed skin and muscle.

“Hob,” Morpheus chided with a little smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, finally stepping into his space and gently easing the poker out of his hands. “I’m not sure Lyta would approve of this as resting and recovering.” 

Hob sighed and ran his good hand through his hair. “I’ve been resting and recovering for two days, I need to do something.” Morpheus returned the poker to the rack next to the fireplace. 

“I know,” the Prince replied in a sad murmur. The cracks in Morpheus’ being were starting to deepen. He had put on a brave face, shorn up the supports so that Hob could lean on him while he recovered. Now that Hob was out of danger, those supports were starting to crumble under their own weight, and the weight of all Morpheus had been through and had not started to heal from. The Prince’s limbs trembled as he braced a forearm on the wall above the mantle and leaned heavily on it.

Hob’s agitation immediately warped into concern when he saw how the Prince seemed to collapse in on himself. It occurred to him in a bright spark what he could do while his wound finished healing: pour everything he had into caring for his Prince, into helping him heal the wounds that may not be visible, but were just as deep and ugly, if not more so. Wounds that would leave scars as gnarled as his own.

Hob padded slowly to Morpheus and wrapped his arms around that slender waist, pulling him into a tender, protective embrace. He let his forehead rest on the Prince’s bony shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me, Highness,” he murmured into his neck. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” 

Morpheus’ trembling grew more intense, now full body shudders and shakes. “I’m so cold,” he rasped into the stone of the mantle. “I can’t get warm. My mind thinks I am still in that cell, still waiting for Burgess and Randall to make their demands. Waiting for Randall to…” 

Hob tensed. “Did he touch you?” He tried to keep the growl of cold anger out of his voice, knowing that his rage wouldn’t be of any help or comfort. Morpheus shook his head. 

“No. He did not. He did tell me in great detail what he would do to me once we were wed. It was… disturbing.” Hob snarled under his breath; he definitely should have killed the bastard. Or at least made him suffer. 

Hob held him closer and kissed the delicate exposed slope where his neck met his shoulder. “I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you safe.” The promise was whispered into pale skin that was indeed still chilled, despite standing in front of the fire. “Morpheus.” Hob gently turned the Prince around in his arms and pulled him back into his chest so that Morpheus could hear his heartbeat, ignoring the burn of the Prince’s head pressing into his wound. One arm stayed wrapped around his waist while the other threaded fingers into hair that was once more soft and silky with a wave of relief. 

“I, Robert Gadling, vow to defend Prince Morpheus from any and all that would do him harm, from this moment forth. I vow to stand by his side, in the light and the dark.” Hob paused, the unspoken declaration of love sitting heavy on his tongue. No, not yet. Morpheus was still crumbling under the weight of his ordeal. “My life and my body are his blade and shield, until his Highness release me, or death claim me. By all the gods, this I swear.” 

He could feel Morpheus struggle to keep the cries contained in his chest, caged by ribs and lungs. He closed his eyes and felt the moment that struggle was given up, heard the weak but deeply pained sobs. The Prince trembled and shook, only the strength of Hob’s embrace keeping him upright as he finally broke.

They stayed in the Prince’s chambers for another day, curled in each other’s arms. Just before midday, while they were resting on a sofa in front of the fire with Morpheus seated across Hob’s lap, Lucienne let herself into the sitting room, her ledger held to her chest. “Good day Highness, Master Gadling,” she murmured as she closed and locked the door behind her. They both replied just as softly, the Prince’s slightly more despondent and spoken into Hob’s chest. 

Lucienne’s heart ached. The two had been through something dreadful, and obviously cared very deeply for each other, but they were past the point where staying cooped up would help their recovery. “I trust you’re feeling better?” she asked with a knowing quirk of a brow. Hob nodded as he stroked the Prince’s hair. Lucienne sighed.

“Highness, may I speak freely?” she asked, clipped yet not unkind. 

“You may,” Morpheus replied, flat and nearly dead.

Lucienne let out a breath through her nose as she gathered her words. “It’s been four days since either of you left these rooms, you must get out. Even if it’s just to the library, or the gardens. A change of scenery would do you good. And, it would put rumors to rest.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, Lucienne,” Hob responded with a wry smile as he pulled Morpheus closer. “I’m banished.” 

Those words shook Morpheus out of the stupor he had found himself in. “Banished?” he whispered, “What for?”

Hob kissed his forehead. “Nothing you need worry about. I’ll handle it.” Morpheus frowned, but let it drop, curling back into Hob’s chest. Hob turned back to the Prince’s right hand. “Thank you Lucienne.” The librarian knew a dismissal when she heard it. Her face fell, but she quietly left the room. 

“Morpheus?” Hob murmured, giving the dozing Prince a little shake. “I’m sure you know this, but she’s right. We should at least walk around, let others see we’re alive and somewhat well.” The Prince just hummed softly snuggled further into Hob’s chest. Hob smiled softly and kissed the top of his head. “Alright, later then.” 

Morpheus awoke from his nap roughly an hour later, limbs creaking and cracking as he stretched like a cat. When he found himself still draped across Hob’s lap and curled against his chest, bleary eyes looked up, and dear gods Hob was like the sun- warm eyes and a gentle smile lighting up his face, golden skin glowing in the firelight and midmorning light. If only he could wake up to that sight every time he fell asleep. 

Morpheus groaned as he sat up and rubbed his forehead. Hob stretched his own limbs, sore and stiff from sitting in one place. “Not sure if you were fully awake, but Lucienne stopped by, said we should get out for a bit. Get some fresh air, let people know we’re still alive.”

“I thought you were banished.” Morpheus was now sitting up and staring intensely, anger and worry competing on his face. “Why?” Hob sighed and ran a hand through his hair. So he had been awake. 

“I told you I’d handle it, you shouldn’t be worrying about anything other than getting well-” he held up a hand to stop the Prince interrupting him, “-and absolutely necessary business from Fiddler’s Green.” 

“Tell me,” Morpheus demanded. So far, anger was winning. Hob sighed again and averted his gaze.

“Chronos didn’t want me going after Burgess to rescue you. He said that if I went and survived, I’d be banished. I don’t know for sure, but… I think Chronos wanted to try to bargain with him.” 

Even the normally cheerful crackling of the fire sounded ominous in the silence that followed. Morpheus was dumbstruck, barely blinking as his eyes filled with violent rage. “My father banished you,” he repeated, voice shaking with incredulous anger stronger than an earthquake, “for coming to my rescue.” Hob nodded. The Prince started to crumble again.

“Yes. Morpheus.” He held the Prince’s face in his hands, the gesture tender even as his eyes blazed. “I would do it again in an instant. How could I regret saving the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Hey, look at me, please?” Morpheus had tried to avert his gaze and pull away, but Hob wouldn’t let him. “Morpheus.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “None of this, is your fault. Not Burgess, not your father, and no, not me agreeing to be banished for rescuing you.” He paused and gathered his words. “I swore an oath, I promised to protect you, and I failed. No force in this realm or any other could have stopped me from getting you out of there.”  

More tears welled in the Prince’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “I do not want to remain here if you are not by my side,” he growled, watery and weak but insistent. “I will speak to my father, and he will rescind your banishment.” He spoke the words with such assurance that Hob was sure his banishment had been lifted in that very moment. 

“Oh Morpheus,” he gasped. “You incredible man.” He pulled Morpheus into a loving kiss, hot and wet with tears. Once again the impassioned declaration of his love sat heavy on his tongue, just barely restrained. Instead of speaking them, he wrote the words into Morpheus’ mouth once his tongue slipped past rosy lips. One day, he swore to himself as they continued to kiss and caress, One day I will tell him.

They found themselves occupied with each other for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, and so didn’t follow Lucienne’s advice of getting out until the following day. They took breakfast in the sitting room again, but once they were bathed and dressed, they took a stroll through the halls of the palace. Morpheus held tightly onto Hob’s arm, more than happy to play up his weakness and exhaustion if it meant being this close to him. 

Everyone they met smiled and expressed their gratitude that Morpheus had returned unharmed. But it was once they started to walk away that the rumors and gossip began to air: brief retellings of Hob’s heroism, some more accurate than others. Rumors that he had been banished, ‘why is he still here’ phrased in a dozen different ways. Rumors that Morpheus was abdicating the title of Crown Prince. Hushed whispers that Chronos had wanted to bargain with Burgess for Morpheus and strategic parts of Fawney Rigg.

Even quieter whispers that Hob and Morpheus were in love.

Those were the hardest not to react to. Hob could choose not to respond with words or expressions, but he couldn’t stop the flush that rose to his cheeks, and just barely restrained the urge to gaze adoringly at the Prince every time they heard said rumor. 

Morpheus didn’t fare much better at keeping his reaction contained: every time the whisper of love between them reached their ears, the Prince immediately became tongue tied, stumbling over his words in a way that was clumsy and adorable, but unusual for the normally articulate and eloquent Prince. Not to mention how he would repeatedly glance bashfully at Hob from under feathery lashes. 

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but a glimmer of light had taken hold in Hob’s breast, fuelled by the thought that maybe, just maybe, the Prince loved him in return. 

Life slowly returned to normal for the Prince and his guard, or at least adopted a thin veneer of normalcy. Morpheus attended council meetings every now and then, but most days he requested a summary from one of the advisors taking notes. Most times the Prince felt numb inside, hollowed out and filled back up with ice. However, the thought of sitting across the table from his father and discussing matters of state made him boil with rage. 

Meals were a thrice daily, almost impossible trial. Morpheus was expected to sit at the high table with his parents and whatever suitors or delegates from other realms were visiting. He could only muster the strength to go through the motions- carry on conversation even when his tongue turned to cotton, pick at his food even if he didn’t taste any of it, smile even if it didn’t reach his eyes.

Meanwhile, at the table closest to the dais, Hob was so frantic with anger and concern he could barely keep his food down. He hated seeing Morpheus drift through his days with flat, dull eyes, to continue on as if nothing had happened. He may have been breathing, his heart may have been beating, but the spark of life had left him, or was frozen deep in his core.

Hob wanted to stand atop the dinner table and bare his chest to show the fresh scar from Randall’s sword, physical proof he kept his oath to his Prince and his realm despite the threat of banishment. He wanted the King and Queen to rub the salve into Morpheus’ still healing wrists every morning and night, to confront the light but very present scarring that was a result of their inaction. To bend the knee and grovel and beg their son’s forgiveness. 

He wanted to wrap Morpheus in all the love and warmth he could provide, then furiously brandish his sword at the entire world and decimate anyone and anything that dared touch his Prince.   

At least the King and Queen had enough of a conscience to look deeply uneasy, every time they shared space with their son for more than a few moments. Hob glared at the King every time they crossed paths, and Chronos had at least enough shame to not meet his gaze. Nocturna seemed like she wanted to reach out, to offer what comfort she could, but hesitated every time.

Cowards, Hob thought venomously, Every one of them.

Hob had not slept in his own bed since their return; indeed he barely slept at all. Most nights he merely closed his eyes and rested, somewhere between dozing and sleep, ready to face whatever lurked in the dark that dared disturb Morpheus’ sleep.

Hob’s stitches were finally removed- Lyta had been stunned when she told him that while it would certainly pain him from time to time, he would likely regain full use of his arm and shoulder. Almost miraculous, she had said, for a wound like that. Hob’s first question was when he could start training again. Lyta frowned and pursed her lips, but told him he could start the following day if he took it easy. The eagerness on his face was reminiscent of when he had first become Morpheus’ guard, seemingly a lifetime ago- the Prince felt his core thaw just a little bit more.

Of course, Morpheus awoke the next day to find Hob once again practicing his forms with his fire poker sword, face set in a ragged, determined grin.

Winter settled in to stay over the next few weeks, thick drifts of snow blanketing the palace grounds. The paths through the gardens had been cleared, but all the plants were covered in sheets of white. Normally, Morpheus would have found it exceedingly beautiful; the sun reflecting off the snow, the crispness of the air. Now, it only reminded him of all he endured in that freezing cell.

Despite this, every other day or so, Hob would maneuver the Prince’s reluctant limbs into layers of wool and furs, thick socks and gloves, a cloak with a thick hood, and they would take a walk through the gardens. Hob let him take his arm, or would wrap his arm around the Prince’s waist if he needed extra support as they walked. And every time Morpheus was overcome by tremors and shivers that weren’t from the cold, Hob would press his lips to a pale temple and softly recite his oath in the Prince’s ear, along with reassurances that he was there, that he would keep him safe. 

Most days were too cold to go riding, but some days they went to see Jessamy and Gregory in the stables rather than walk the gardens. Hob had never known horses to be so expressive: on their first visit, both animals both expressed unbounded delight at seeing them, but then promptly turned a cold shoulder, leaving Hob and Morpheus to grovel and plead and bribe with pets and treats. 

That day was the first time something other than Hob had brought a smile to the Prince’s face. 

Another blizzard hit not even a week after that first snowfall. The snow came down in sheets, whipped about by biting gusts of wind. Even with the heat of the fire from the sitting room as well as the heavy drapes around his bed, there was a distinct chill in the Prince’s room. Shivering slightly, Hob got out of bed and padded to the sitting room. 

The fire was low, but still burning. Hob tied his hair back into a low tail as he knelt before the fireplace. He placed two new logs atop the charred remains of the old ones and gently blew on the base of the flames, coaxing them back to life.

It took the better part of an hour, but he got the fire roaring again, and the sitting room quickly warmed. Pleased with his work, Hob went back to the bedroom to get Morpheus- if he didn’t wake, Hob would gladly carry him to the settee. 

“Morpheus?” he whispered as he pulled back the drapes. 

The Prince was laying on his back, his right hand tucked under his pillow, the left draped over his stomach. Hob could see the outline of his casually splayed legs under the sheets. He smiled tenderly at the Prince’s peaceful slumber; it almost seemed a shame to wake him. 

Just as Hob was debating the best way to pick him up, the Prince’s brow furrowed, accompanied by a choked out whimper. Hob paused and waited. After a few moments, dark brows relaxed with a slightly heavier exhale. Hob relaxed as well and slowly peeled back the covers. “Morpheus?” 

Hob put a hand on his shoulder, and the next few seconds happened in a blur. Morpheus sat up in a rush of pale skin and wild black hair, a deadly glint of silver in his hand flashed toward Hob- holy shit where and when had he gotten a dagger- snarling as the dagger came down-

Hob shouted as he caught the Prince’s wrist in his hand, just inches away from creating an identical puncture in his unwounded shoulder. “Highness, it’s me!” The blue eyes that stared back were crazed and frantic and unseeing. The dagger shook in his grip as he continued to try forcing it into his perceived enemy. “Morpheus! Morpheus, it’s Hob!” 

Morpheus blinked. Some of the clarity returned to his eyes and Hob felt the pressure struggling towards him ease up just a tad. “Hob…?” he breathed, just barely awake and frightened to his bones. 

“Yes,” Hob replied as he gently pried the dagger out of the Prince’s hand. “It’s alright, it’s me. You’re safe.” All the tension flooded out of his muscles in a gasp of horror. 

“I…” he stared at his shaking hands in disbelief. “I almost stabbed you. I tried to kill you, oh gods-” 

“No no no!” Hob immediately dropped the dagger and firmly held the Prince’s hands in his. “You were clearly having a nightmare and I tried to wake you, you did nothing wrong, it’s okay.” 

Morpheus didn’t register Hob’s words and burst into anguished, panicked sobs. “Oh gods I’m so sorry, Hob-!” 

Hob quickly folded the distraught Prince in his arms and held him tight. Morpheus was nearly screaming into his shoulder, Hob could feel the tears soaking through the linen of his sleep shirt. He rocked them back and forth, trying to soothe the Prince, or at least reduce his screams. 

It took what seemed like an eternity for Morpheus’ cries to lower in volume and for his fingers to unclaw themselves from Hob’s back. Another eternity later, his cries were reduced to whimpers and he was slumped against Hob’s chest. Hob continued to rock them and whisper soothing nonsense until the whimpers faded into watery little hiccups. 

Biting his lip against the strain and pain in his body, Hob slowly shifted the Prince to gather him in his arms and carry him out to the sitting room. He gently placed the tangle of trembling limbs onto the furs and pillows he had laid out in front of the fireplace and with a murmured assurance he’d be back, snatched every blanket from both his and Morpheus’ beds. 

Hob laid down next to the Prince and covered their bodies with the pile of blankets before pulling the frightened, shivering creature that just barely resembled Morpheus into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his lank frame. Even through their nightclothes, he could feel the chill that clung to the underside of Morpheus’ skin and wouldn’t let go. 

Morpheus finally came back to himself just as the witching hour started to settle over the palace. Hob had only gotten up once in that time to add more wood to the fire, to keep the flames burning bright in what seemed to be a losing battle to keep the Prince warm. 

“...Hob?” 

Hob’s name spoken in that low, flat tone devoid of any life violently twisted at his heart. With the Prince’s head pillowed on his chest just above the aching organ, he hoped Morpheus couldn’t feel it. “I’m here, darling,” he choked back. “I’m here.” 

Bony fingers curled into the worn-soft fabric of Hob’s nightshirt. “I’m so sorry,” Morpheus whimpered, high and vulnerable and desperate. “I could have hurt you, or even killed you.” 

Hob gently shushed him and carded his fingers through silky, feather-soft hair. “You don’t need to be sorry, Highness.” He paused to gather his words, and the strength to make his tongue work. “It was an understandable reaction, considering what you’ve been through. I’m not hurt, and I’m not upset. It’s alright.” 

For a moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. When Morpheus spoke again, the words still sounded hollowed out like a long dead tree. “When they first ambushed us on the road, I tried to fight them off.” Hob didn’t say anything while Morhpeus went down the harrowing, brambled path of his memories. “I tried to fight them, as you taught me. I tried…” 

“I know you did, love.” Hob’s words flared with his conviction as the fire cracked and popped. He may not have been there, he may not know all the details, but he knew deep in his bones that Morpheus Aeterna was not one to give in without a fight. He knew.  

He took one of Morpheus’ hands in his and kissed the remaining scabs of chafed skin and light scarring from the manacles ever so delicately, as if afraid that touch alone could tear the skin open again. A shiver slid down the Prince’s spine at that tender touch. Hob searched his eyes for any sign that such affection was unwelcome- finding none, he repeated the gesture, letting his lips drag all the way around the circumference of the joint. 

“You’re safe, Highness.” Hob’s voice shook with the strength of his emotion. “You’re safe here, with me. I won’t let anything hurt you, and if you’re afraid you’ll hurt someone else, or yourself, I’ll be there to stop you.” 

Morpheus stilled, barely breathing. A stone statue would have had more give. Once again, Hob Gadling had proved himself a better than any other man who had wanted to take up this duty of care. Once again, Hob had shown without hesitation that his care extended all the way to Morpheus the man, not just the current Crown Prince. He shivered again, stronger than the first. 

Hob watched his eyes flutter shut, tentative at first, as if afraid of what awaited him behind his eyelids, but soon it was clear he wouldn’t be able to keep them open. As he drifted off, his cracked whisper settled into the void just beneath Hob’s breastbone: 

“Thank you, my love.”

The following morning dawned bright and clear. The sky was almost as blue as Morpheus’ eyes, the sun gleaming and reflecting off the mounds of freshly fallen snow. The fire was somehow still burning, even if it was closer to embers than actual flames, and sunlight beamed in through the windows, warming the nest of furs and blankets the two were still wrapped in.  

Hob groaned as he slowly regained consciousness, his every muscle sore and protesting spending the night on the floor. Every ache was worth it to see the serenity on Morpheus’ face, still pillowed on Hob’s chest: his skin had some color back in it, the muscles were no longer crunched with tension. Lips that were once again plump and pink were parted slightly, the soft breaths coming from behind them warm and steady. 

A tender heat so intense it made him shake settled between Hob’s breastbone and his spine before making a home just below his stomach and expanding. If he hadn’t been certain before, he sure was now: Hob was in love with Morpheus. Beyond his duty of care, beyond his obligations to the royal family and the realm. Beyond anything he had ever thought possible. 

A giddy little grin split his face open. Hob let his nose rest in the tufts of the Prince’s hair and took a deep breath, unable to smell any remnants of their ordeal. Just herbal soap, and Morpheus. “I love you,” he whispered into the strands- gentle, amorous, besotted. 

Despite his happiness, Hob’s muscles continued to ache, now starting to cramp. He winced; they should probably get up, or at least move to a softer surface, but once again Hob was loathe to wake his sleeping beauty, especially after what had happened in the night. Instead, he focused on his breathing, trying to find that almost-dozing place where he could just drift and not focus on his sore body. 

He had just found his way there when Morpheus stirred. Just the slightest twitch of muscles at first, then elegantly limp fingers curling into Hob’s nightshirt. The Prince let out the tiniest, whining groan, and oh if that didn’t make Hob’s morning erection perk up even more. Hob tried to shift his hips so he wasn’t grinding into Morpheus’ thigh without waking him, but eventually failed.

Morpheus started awake in bits and pieces. First the aching soreness behind his dry eyes from crying. Then the warmth surrounding him from the blankets and fire and sun. Then the shape and heat of Hob beneath and around him and… oh. 

He made a little sound in the back of his mouth when he realized just what was jabbing into his thigh, and his entire abdomen clenched. He froze, tensed, caught between cringing away and tentatively pressing forward for more.  

“Good morning,” Hob greeted, the words thick and scratchy with sleep. Morpheus hummed in response, shifting slightly. His thigh rubbed up into Hob’s crotch, and the esquire shivered as tiny lightning bolts of pleasure shot down his legs. He felt the Prince tense against him, and canted his hips back as far as they could as he brushed his lips over Morpheus’ sleep-sweaty forehead. “You’re safe, Highness,” he reminded him in a rasp. 

Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly and leaned into the kiss, forcing Hob’s lips to linger against his skin. He gathered the hazy, half asleep courage before it was fully lost to consciousness and tilted his head to meet Hob’s lips in a sweet kiss, no less so for the lingering scent of tears on his breath. 

Hob hummed into the Prince’s mouth and let him take the lead, slowly and carefully moving his lips as he was directed. He pulled Morpheus closer, calloused hands lightly catching the threads of the Prince’s shirt as he ran them up and down the expanse of his back. 

Morpheus pulled away to take a gasping breath and whispered, “Hob, I… I want…” Hob could tell how Morpheus had to force his lips to form the words ‘I want.’ 

“Anything,” he reassured the Prince as he brushed wild strands of hair away from shining blue eyes. “Anything at all, my Prince.” 

Tentative fingers shaking with the slightest tremor caressed the bristles of Hob’s beard, carefully pulling free the long strands of hair that had gotten caught and pulled from his braid. “I want…” He swallowed hard. “I want to make love to you, Hob Gadling. I- love you.” 

Hob stared dumbly at Morpheus for the several moments it took his mind to process the Prince’s words. “Love… me?” he repeated with giddy incredulity. Morpheus nodded, resolutely meeting Hob’s gaze as if he were staring down a dragon. 

Hob couldn’t help himself: he laughed. Joyous and pealing and stretching the corners of his mouth. Morpheus’ face fell just a hair; Hob noticed and immediately forced the Prince to meet his gaze. “I’m not laughing at you, darling,” he assured him through his chuckles. “I’m just… amazed, and surprised, and so incredibly happy, because…” He stared adoringly at his Prince, committing every detail of his face in that moment to memory. “Because I love you, Morpheus, my Prince. Have done, I think since the moment I met you that day in the woods.” 

Morpheus blinked, stunned into a stupor. He hadn’t quite thought of what he would do or say if Hob returned his feelings; he was so focused on getting the words out that the after didn’t occur to him. He gaped a bit then finally choked out, “You… do?” 

Hob laughed again; Morpheus was just so beautifully adorable on the rare occasion he couldn’t string two words together. “Yes darling, I do.” The giddy incredulity passed on to Morpheus, until a shadow fell over his face. Hob immediately took the Prince’s face in his hands and brought him back to the present. 

“Morpheus, love. Whatever is troubling you, let it go for now.” He pressed their foreheads together, the strength with which he held them there almost stinging. “Right now it’s just you and me in here. No duties, no realm to worry about. Just be here with me.” He lowered his voice to a delicate whisper. “Make love to me?”

Morpheus’ cheeks instantly flushed a glowing red; such tender words coming from Hob’s mouth shouldn’t have sounded so filthy, and yet… He attacked Hob’s lips with passioned desperation, kissing and biting and licking like he was afraid Hob would vanish if he stopped. Morpheus slowly positioned himself atop his guard, straddling his pelvis, hands braced on the floor to avoid putting pressure on his wounded shoulder. Hob groaned when he felt Morpheus’ erection starting to tent his undergarments and nightshirt. 

Morpheus shivered- it was nervousness, it was excitement, it was residual weakness. “It’s alright,” Hob rasped as his fingers gently bit into the Prince’s hips. “I’m alright, you won’t hurt me.” Morpheus nodded and bit his lip, eager and wanting, but still clearly nervous. 

It took some doing, but eventually Morpheus was able to help Hob wriggle and writhe out of his nightclothes, leaving him beautifully bare atop the blankets and furs. He once again straddled Hob’s hips, carefully supporting most of his weight on his knees as he drew his own nightshirt over his head.  

Hob couldn’t help noticing the Prince’s shiver. “You don’t have to undress if you’re cold or uncomfortable.” His words were thready, breathy and gentle. 

“I’m fine,” Morpheus immediately assured him. “I want to, like this.” Hob tentatively placed his hands on the Prince’s hips, carefully wrapping his fingers around the sharp protrusions of his hip bones. Morpheus was still too thin, the contours of his ribs and clavicles visible in bright highlight and deep shadow in the morning sun. 

Hob’s throat closed up with emotion as he reverently glided his hands up and down Morpheus’ sides, letting his fingers stumble over each bump of rib. Even like this, cold and vulnerable, Morpheus was beautiful. “My Prince, my Morpheus” he whispered as his good arm reached up to draw Morpheus into a kiss, “Make love to me.” 

Morpheus easily followed the direction of Hob’s touch and let him draw him into the kiss, languid and sticky-sweet in the sun’s warmth. Hob’s tongue lovingly traced the words of his oath into every corner of the Prince’s mouth. He pulled away just enough to worry that plush bottom lip between his teeth until it turned red, then dove back in to inscribe his love as deep as he could reach.

When his lungs cried for air, Hob kept the Prince close as he pulled in just enough breath to speak. “I swore my life and my body to you, my Prince. My Morpheus. They’re yours, to do as you will. As is my heart.” 

Morpheus gaped at the man lying open and pliant beneath him. Hearing Hob give voice to the sentiments Morpheus could feel deep in his chest somehow made them all the more real. Not to mention the heated, besotted way Hob had been staring at him for the past ten minutes, like Morpheus had hung the moon and stars and for some unknown reason, had decided to gift such beautiful creations to Hob. 

“Hob…” he breathed, tenderly brushing a few wisps of hair out of Hob’s face. He bit his lip against near desperate tears. “I… You know I cannot offer you the same. My life belongs to the realm-”

“I know,” Hob breathed back. “I know you have duties, and I will be beside you through all of it. All I ever wanted-” he swallowed hard, mustering up the strength to voice the desires he had kept close to his heart for the whole summer and longer. “All I ever wanted, was your heart.” 

Morpheus let out a choked noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You have it, Hob Gadling.” He leaned over and passionately kissed Hob into the floor, letting Hob’s hips fully take the weight of his own. They gasped into each other’s lips when their erections rubbed together through the Prince’s loose linen trousers.

“Morpheus,” Hob pleaded in a breathless gasp. “Gods I want you.” 

The Prince nodded, understanding what Hob was asking of him. He wriggled out of his trousers and tossed them aside. Now equally bare, he shivered slightly and curled in on himself, gooseflesh pebbling his limbs as he tried to make himself seem bigger and smaller at the same time. 

“Hey-” Hob gently coaxed as he sat up with a slight grimace. He drew Morpheus even further into his lap and tenderly held his face in his hands. “You’re safe, my love. You’re safe, and-” his eyes raked over the Prince’s bare form. “-gods you’re beautiful, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” 

Hob could see Morpheus process his words, see the wheels in his mind turning behind those icy eyes. The only warning he had was the slight twitch of his mouth into a devilish smirk before he was once again lying on the floor, Morpheus’ hands pinning his wrists next to his head as the Prince hovered over him. He wasn’t exerting a lot of force out of concern for Hob’s wound, just enough to set Hob’s blood on fire with the idea. 

A groan was punched out of Hob’s chest upon impact, and he swore he could feel the blood in his veins rushing south. Morpheus let his hands slide from Hob’s wrists to his chest, avoiding the fragile pink flesh of his scar. Thumbs dusted over dusky nipples, and it was Hob’s turn to shiver. Morpheus repeated the motion, and this time he caught the twitch of Hob’s prick in response. 

Morpheus continued to explore by touch, trying to pull Hob’s warmth into his body through his fingertips. He pressed into the muscles of golden flanks and watched with fascination as the flesh sprang back when he let up. He ran his fingers through the dark hair on his chest, and down the trail of hair to his groin, stopping just shy of where Hob wanted his hands. 

“Morpheus,” he breathed, “I’m more than happy with you taking the lead, but for the love of all the gods, touch me.” 

“Have I not been doing just that?” the Prince quipped back, the ghost of a smile briefly appearing on his face. “If you want something more, you will have to be specific.” His words were warm like caramel, breathy around a core of playful vulnerability. 

Hob chuckled and intertwined the fingers of one hand with his. “Touch me?” he asked softly, guiding the Prince’s hand to his prick. “Please?” 

Morpheus unlaced their fingers and ghosted his palm over the shaft. “How could I refuse such a request,” he rasped as his grip firmed and Hob bucked his hips. “Be still.” The coaxing order was breathless with desire. 

Hob forced himself to release the breath trapped in his lungs and relax the muscles coiled in eager anticipation. Morpheus gave him a pleased little smile and continued his exploration. His free hand caressed Hob’s side while the one wrapped around his prick began to move slowly, the whisper of skin on skin mingling with the low crackling of the embers in the hearth. 

Hob groaned as a thumb spread a bead of precome over the head of his prick then dug slightly under the ridge where tip met shaft. “Please,” he rasped, his hips writhing squirming towards and away from that delicious pressure. “My Prince-” Hob hissed and cried out when Morpheus let go of his cock.

When he was able to open his eyes again, Morpheus was sucking and licking around two of his fingers the way he would lick the glaze off a pastry, and Hob was unable to contain his groan of desperate want. Morpheus smirked around his fingers, thin strands of saliva starting to drip down them. 

He released them with a pop as his free hand blindly felt around for a pillow or two to place under Hob’s hips. “I do not want to hurt you,” the Prince choked as his wet fingers tentatively hovered above Hob’s entrance, close enough that Hob could feel the residual chill. “Tell me if it does not feel good.” If Hob didn’t know better, he’d say the Prince was pleading with him.

“Of course,” he reassured him with a gentle smile. Morpheus took a breath as he slowly twisted and worked two slender fingers past Hob’s rim. 

Hob hissed- his fingers were freezing against the heat of his insides, but he couldn’t deny it felt incredible. He swore low in his throat and Morpheus immediately stilled. “Don’t stop-!” Hob choked. “Gods love, don’t stop.” 

Morpheus smiled, a quick, fleeting thing of bashful delight. He continued to press his fingers deeper, watching Hob’s face as he twisted and spread and curled, observing what reactions each motion elicited with the meticulous curiosity of a scholar. It gave him a rush of power like nothing he had ever experienced in his role of Crown Prince, seeing a man as capable and dangerous as Hob Gadling falling apart at his touch, and he practically shook with it. 

He could feel the muscles of Hob’s inner walls loosening and contracting around his fingers as if trying to pull them deeper. Hob writhed and squirmed beneath him, holding on to the Prince’s bony shoulders for dear life as the pleasure continued to mount. 

Morpheus stared in wonder as Hob eventually started doing most of the work, thrusting his hips into the Prince’s hand with more and more force. Morpheus could almost swear he felt the bones of his fingers start to thaw from the heat that surrounded them. If only he could slide his whole being into that heat and drive away the chill that refused to leave. 

Morpheus removed his fingers when Hob started to whimper in desperation. He cried out at the loss, his muscles clenching around nothing, hips twitching as they chased the Prince’s hand, begging for more of that frozen heat. Morpheus took his cock in hand and gave it a few strokes, wincing slightly at the dry friction. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped uncertainly. 

Hob jerked his head toward the washroom. “Get one of your bath oils. I’ll be here.” Morpheus nodded and scrambled to his feet. Hob’s eyes were reverently glued to the small mounds of the Prince’s ass as he strode briskly into the washroom. Hob panted for breath as he listened to the crackling of the fire and the clinking of glass jars as Morpheus rummaged through the cabinet. When he returned, a small flask of oil was clenched tightly in his fist. 

He uncorked it as he straddled Hob’s hips again, and the smell of sandalwood mingled with the scent of the fire. He poured a little into the palm of his hand and set the vial aside before slathering it over his cock. 

Morpheus braced himself above Hob’s body that was practically vibrating with eagerness and anticipation, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful strength of the man beneath him. 

“Morpheus…” Hob invoked his Prince’s name in a breathless whisper, and Morpheus hummed when he felt the ghost of air kiss the tip of his nose. He took a deep breath, letting that warm feeling expand and settle in his chest, and gently pushed himself inside. Hob hissed when the head of Morpheus’ prick half forced itself past the rim of muscle, and Morpheus had a jolt of fear that he had hurt him, but then Hob let out a long, decadent moan that could only be described as obscene.

Morpheus beamed, pleased that he had brought Hob to such a state, as well as from the pleasure coursing through him at the feeling of Hob’s heat surrounding some of his most sensitive flesh. He could feel the blood in his cock being warmed, then trickles of that warmth tracing his veins and slowly continuing to thaw the rest of him. He gasped at the small but sudden waves of warmth spreading through his body, a high, short, breathless sound of surprise, but then sighed in absolute joy and relief. 

“Darling,” Hob half wheezed, “This feels incredible, but must I beg you, to make love to me like you said you wanted?” He couldn’t help a playful smirk, even as the rest of his face went slack from bliss. 

Morpheus smiled, warm and loving, and gently pressed his lips to Hob’s. Once he had thoroughly kissed him, the Prince murmured, “You will never need to beg for my love, my Hob.” The weight of his promise would have felt solemn in any other circumstance, but as the Prince began to pull his hips back and gently guide them forward again, all Hob could feel was the warmth of his love. “As Prince, and eventually as King, my love will always be freely given.” 

As if to seal his vow, Morpheus began to move with more speed and strength, driving into Hob as deeply as he could. They both knew that neither of them would last very long this morn, but that was alright, they had all the time in the world to savor each other. Hob could feel it in the air; they had fucked many times before, but this time they were making love, and that made the caramel-warm pleasure all the sweeter. 

“Gods I love you, Morpheus-” Hob’s words were so breathless as to almost be a wheeze; his Prince had stolen the very air from his lungs. 

“And I you,” the Prince gasped back, his normally deep and resonant voice high and watery with tears. “Hob, I’m so close-” 

Hob cried out as his fingers bit into the Prince’s hips, deep enough to leave crescent shaped imprints in the pale skin. The coil of heat deep in his core was twisting tighter and tighter, ready to spring apart at any moment. Morpheus furrowed his brow and bit his lip in concentration as he slowed down just enough to experiment with the angle of his thrusts. Hob knew exactly what he was trying to do, and he squeezed those bony hips even harder. 

When Morpheus found the spot he was looking for, Hob bucked his hips up and screamed as the bolt of hot pleasure slammed through him like lightning. He clenched hard around the Prince’s cock, and Morpheus almost came then and there. 

Any tenderness from before was put aside in favor of ruthlessly chasing that hot ecstasy. Breathy sighs became punched out grunts, loving caresses became hard grips and red scratches, and it was Morpheus who snapped first. Three frantic thrusts saw him buried as deep within Hob’s body as mortally possible, and he would have gone deeper if he could; he would have sank all the way beneath Hob’s skin if he were allowed. 

Morpheus kept jerking his hips into Hob even when it started to hurt, desperate to see him fall apart. Hob guided the Prince’s hand to his cock, straining and red and leaking. Morpheus quickly understood what Hob needed; he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave a slight squeeze before stroking firmly. Hob bucked his hips and clenched down even harder on Morpheus’ softening prick as he came, splattering the Prince’s chest in his spend. 

It took longer than either of them were willing to admit to regain their breath and feeling in their limbs. When they could finally move, Morpheus purred, “Let me take care of you.” He heaved himself to his feet and once again went into the washroom, returning a few moments later with a warm towel. He gently cleaned around Hob’s groin before wiping the spend from his own chest and throwing the towel aside. 

Long limbs folded in on themselves as the Prince laid down next to his still panting guard and curled up around him. After a few moments, he whispered in Hob’s ear as if sharing a secret, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Thoroughly ravished?” Hob teased back, “I thought we achieved that in the forest.” 

Morpheus gave him an affectionate shove. “No, you menace. I meant… thoroughly loved. And safe. That all of me, is loved and safe.” 

Hob felt tears burning at the backs of his eyes at the Prince’s confession, but these were tears of joy, and so he made no effort to hold them back. One of the Prince’s thumbs tenderly brushed over his cheekbones to divert their paths. “You will never need to ask,” Hob choked, “for my love will always be freely given. My love, my care, my devotion, every last bit of me is yours.” He pulled Morpheus close to his chest and placed a gentle kiss in his hair. 

Morpheus hummed with a soft smile. “As I am yours. My love, I feel… warm.” 

Chapter 12

It took until roughly midwinter, but both Hob and Morpheus recovered from their trials at the hands of Burgess. The body healed faster than the mind, but both were undoubtedly on the mend. As Lyta had predicted, Hob’s wound pained him from time to time, the muscles cramping and seizing if he moved a certain way. Thankfully, it had yet to cripple him at an inopportune moment, such as during official business, or in the bedroom. 

Morpheus returned to Fiddler’s Green once the snows began to melt, and this time Hob returned with him. He showed his esquire around his shire and immediately had Hob’s things moved into his rooms- they had no need to fear the kind of gossip that would circulate at court in Istoria. In fact, everyone seemed both happy and relieved the Prince had finally found a partner to share in the joys and hardships of life.

And so it came to pass that the realm of the Dreaming was thrown into a time of upheaval. 

It was tradition and practice in the Dreaming since the dawn of the realm for the heir to assume the throne once married, at which time the previous monarchs would abdicate and serve as advisors. After his ordeal, Morpheus decided that was a practice that needed to be done away with. 

He returned to Istoria with Hob and spent a full day locked in Chronos’ study with his mother and father. When they finally emerged in the late hours of the night, it was decided that Chronos and Nocturna would abdicate at the end of spring, and Morpheus would take the title of Dream King, despite not being married. No one knows exactly what the terms were, but Hob was convinced it was at least in part because Chronos had indeed intended to use Morpheus as a bargaining chip with Burgess. 

One of Morpheus’ first edicts as Dream King was to declare Hob a knight of the Dreaming. It was a short, understated ceremony, despite the King’s desire for a much more lavish affair and disdain for much of courtly tradition. After dinner that night, Morpheus thoroughly worshiped and revered his sworn Knight. 

Around the summer solstice, almost a year to the day the King and the Knight first met, whispers and murmurs began to trickle in to the Dreaming from Fawney Rigg and other surrounding realms. Rumors and rumblings that King Roderick was more desperate than ever to get his hands on the Dreaming’s crown- desperate enough to seek out dark sorcerers that most didn’t believe existed. 

These rumors made Morpheus deeply uneasy. He knew that his break with tradition would leave the realm fragile and shaken; so he very strongly and publicly decreed that any action taken against himself or the realm would be taken as a declaration of war, and responded to accordingly. In private, he worked with Hob, Cain, and Abel to fortify the Dreaming’s defenses and increase the number of scouting companies that traveled the realm keeping an eye out for incursions and reporting back to Istoria. 

Morpheus and Hob were married that autumn, in another private ceremony, this one at the lake where they first met, witnessed by Cain, Abel, Lucienne, and Matthew. They couldn’t have a honeymoon, not with war potentially brewing on the horizon, but they did take several days to set down and step away from their duties. 

A veneer of normalcy fell over the Dreaming in the following months, but everyone could feel deep in their bones and the roots of the land that a storm was brewing, a siege was coming. Tensions were mounting between friends and families as they waited for the storm to break and hell to descend. And sure enough, hell would descend on the Dream King and his sworn Knight, with the fate of the realm in the balance. 

This tale may be over, but the story never ends.

As you can probably tell by the ending, there is a sequel in the works! Not sure exactly when it will come, but I’ll be working on it along with my fic for the Dreamling History fest, Infinitas, and PDD

If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!

[gorbalsvampire]

Room for the OC of your choice :3c

For background's sake, Penny's Sabbat pack are known (never to their faces) as the Slaughterhouse Three. Their haven's an abandoned abattoir, converted into a haunted house attraction, and abandoned again after three ghastly Cainites decided they wanted to squat there.

Penny's quarters are in and around the largest of the meat lockers. This is largely because of her field of study and feeding habits - your girl needs somewhere to hang her corpses for dissection, and if you've ever heard her talking to them, no you haven't. The lights still work, but little miss Oblivion likes to work in the dark. The result is a maze of hanging... things, that were once people, in various arrested states of decay.

Her actual rooms are on the other side of that little lot, and are quite nice. No mirrors, but a copper bathtub and a few rails of clothes - all vintage, and I'd love to tell you they're all thrifted, but I'd be lying. In one corner, a server rack and associated PC, which she built herself.

(I should add at this point that since the Player's Guide dropped, Penny has been on the alternate Bane for Lasombra, to keep up her cryptographer concept and make her online activities a little more believable. Callousness suits her so much more anyway.)

[maree-go-round]

Under the Heng Gate - Chapter 06

Chapter 6 : What kind of man is he, unable to utter a single gentle word?

As Qichi walked away, Luo Xiaoyi quickly turned and darted into the room. The warm air enveloped him in comfort, but he had no time to enjoy it. He hurried to the bed and whispered, "Third Brother, how can you be so generous? I've noticed that everything in this residence has changed. Sister-in-law's expenses are substantial. How are you going to manage this?"

Instead of answering, Fu Ting countered with a question, "Did you use military funds to give her gifts?"

Luo Xiaoyi defended himself, "What military funds? Those are your rightful taxes, which you’ve entirely allocated to military expenses. What's wrong with me setting aside some for your family?"

Fu Ting thought this was nonsense. Without military funds to fend off external enemies, they'd be dead. What family would there be to discuss? He sat silently for a while, then took out his personal seal from his robe and tossed it to Luo Xiaoyi.

Holding the seal, Luo Xiaoyi understood his brother's intent even before he spoke. His eyes widened like copper bells, "Third Brother, are you planning to use your military savings for Sister-in-law?"

Fu Ting said, "If not my money, whose money should she use?"

Luo Xiaoyi mulled it over. Knowing his third brother wasn't one to hoard money, this savings must have been for something important, so he hesitated to touch it. At that moment, Xinlu's voice came from outside, saying the charcoal brazier in his room was ready, inviting him to rest. Fu Ting said, "Get lost."

Clenching his teeth, Luo Xiaoyi thought, fine, since the money is already spent, he might as well sleep until the charcoal burns out to get the money’s worth! With that thought, he turned and left. Outside, Xinlu carefully closed the door.

Fu Ting dropped the long sword by his side to the floor, took off his military uniform and boots, and collapsed onto the bed. The bed had changed too; it was now padded with thick cashmere, soft beneath him. The pillow emitted a faint fragrance, and his fingers found a long, thin strand of hair. More signs of a woman’s presence.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　※

He slept straight through until nightfall. He awoke because the room had become too hot. Sitting up, he found himself covered in sweat.

He got out of bed and walked to the desk, where an exquisite tea set was placed. Lifting the lid of the kettle on the cold stove, he took a swig of cold water. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

Two maids entered with bowed heads, greeting him, "Grand Protector, you are awake. By the order of the head of the house, we have prepared a hot bath for you."

With that, Xinlu went to light the lamps, and Qiushuang set up the screen.

With a dozen lamps lit, the room was bright as day. Hot water was poured into the bathtub, and the two maids left.

Fu Ting noticed how they entered as soon as he moved, clearly having been waiting. He glanced at the Hu chair, where his wife had previously sat so properly. Perhaps all royal women were this impeccable.

Undressing, he entered the bath. Beside the tub was a golden tray filled with dozens of bath beans[1], pure white like snow and fragrant. This kind of luxury was favored by aristocrats in Chang'an and Luoyang, something a soldier like him never used. Each bean was priced like gold, something even the palace might rarely enjoy. Li Qichi, it seemed, was even more pampered than he thought.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　※

When Luo Xiaoyi returned, Fu Ting had finished his bath, and the servants had just cleaned the room.

"Third Brother, this kind of luxury is like a god's life. I don’t want to leave." Luo Xiaoyi, having slept and bathed, smelled heavily of the fragrant bath beans as he used a lot of bath beans, unlike Fu Ting..

Xinlu and Qiushuang entered, suppressing smiles at his remark. They were there to serve food, so they brought the dishes directly to the Grand Protector’s room.

The table was set. Fu Ting and Luo Xiaoyi each sat at a table. Fu Ting, in his outer robe, sat with his arm resting on his knee, exuding a relaxed demeanor no one dared to stare at.

As dishes were brought out, Luo Xiaoyi's eyes widened. The saying goes that food is valued for its quality and refinement, not quantity. These dishes were ones he had never tasted, even as a general. Seeing the servants waiting outside with more dishes, he realized what he had seen before was just a glimpse of the extravagance.

Unable to hold back, he leaned over and said, "Third Brother, why don’t I talk to Sister-in-law and ask her to be more frugal?"

"Cut the crap," Fu Ting said, picking up his chopsticks, indicating that Luo Xiaoyi should either eat or get lost.

Luo Xiaoyi touched his face, thinking his third brother was an iron-blooded man, but Princess of Qingliu was a delicate woman. If this goes on, how can they live?

After finally getting through dinner, Luo Xiaoyi, having had enough, prepared to leave. At the door, he forced a smile and joked, "Third Brother, you spent too much today. You should get it back from Sister-in-law. I won't interrupt your couple's time."

Fu Ting ignored him, his mind flashing to the image of her fair toes. Luo Xiaoyi saw his brother's dark eyes glinting like a wolf’s in the lamplight as he left with a sly grin.

As he turned around the corridor, he encountered Qiushuang, who told him that her master wanted to speak with him. Luo Xiaoyi turned this over in his mind, thinking: it must be about the expenses. Could it be that she was in a hurry to get the money?

Qichi was at Li Yan's residence. While Fu Ting and Luo Xiaoyi rested and ate, she practiced calligraphy with her nephew. Hearing that Luo Xiaoyi had arrived, she stopped. Li Yan neatly put away the calligraphy books, giving Luo Xiaoyi a glance and a slight sneer, then stood by his aunt's side.

Seeing the young lord he had offended, Luo Xiaoyi awkwardly smiled and saluted, "I wonder why Sister-in-law called me?"

Qichi, sitting in the shadows, raised her hand slightly, and Xinlu brought over a wooden box. Luo Xiaoyi, puzzled, opened it. Inside was a dagger, its sheath entirely made of gold, heavy in his hand.

He looked surprised, "What is this?"

Qichi said, "To thank you for your previous gifts."

Luo Xiaoyi's heart sank. According to his third brother, he had to cover these expenses. Why did he take his third brother's things? What a mess.

He was about to find an excuse to decline when Qichi said, "I called you here to tell you that the Grand Protector doesn't have to cover my expenses. We are husband and wife. If we were to bicker over money, it would be too petty."

Luo Xiaoyi was stunned, not expecting her to be so considerate and generous. She didn't ask for money, but rather gave it to him. He tentatively said, "This is not a small expense."

Qichi laughed, "Don't worry. I managed the household of the Prince of Guang Residence for many years. If I were extravagant and wasteful, there would be no me and the prince's son before you."

Luo Xiaoyi understood. She was saying she could afford it. Mother of God, what kind of wife did his third brother marry? Were all royal women so wealthy?

In the quiet of the night, Qichi couldn't linger with a male guest for too long, sparing him little room for idle thoughts. She straightforwardly revealed the purpose of summoning him: "I simply want to know, how has the prestigious Protectorate General to Pacify the North come to its current state?"

Spending money is a small matter; she needed clarity.

As far as she knew, the major frontier protectorates were not required to pay tribute to the court. The taxes collected could be used for military purposes. Without a valid reason, such a situation should not have arisen.

With a wooden box in one hand and Fu Ting's seal in the other, Luo Xiaoyi initially hesitated out of consideration for his dignity. But upon reflection, he realized that the truth would surface sooner or later. It was better to be forthright about it. He sighed and began, "Sister-in-law, you might not be aware. But it wasn’t always like this…”

The northern lands are vast, with many tribes. In the past, taxes were never a concern. Unfortunately, a plague had swept through in recent years, causing massive losses in livestock and crops. Without taxes coming in for several years and with incursions from the Turks in the north, the situation had worsened.

Warfare consumed funds rapidly, and after a few battles, the treasury was depleted. Driving out external enemies required continuous reinforcement of military strength, leading to financial deficits over time.

If a noble family were in charge of the Protectorate General to Pacify the North, perhaps they would have their family support, but Fu Ting had started from scratch. Who could assist him?

Li Yan listened in astonishment, unconsciously clutching his aunt's sleeve. Qichi held his hand in hers and asked, “Has there been no intervention from the court?”

Luo Xiaoyi laughed bitterly, "The court did intervene, but after some initial support, other protectorates also began to claim poverty. With the six major protectorates in the empire struggling, even the Emperor would shake his head. Not to mention that our Protectorate General to Pacify the North still has a strong military presence...”

Realizing he was speaking to a member of the royal family, he quickly stopped, scratching his philtrum.

Qichi understood that while the court had vigorously promoted individuals from humble backgrounds, their growing power had sparked suspicions. The Emperor wanted to use Fu Ting but also to guard against him. Otherwise, why would there be a marriage decree involving her and him?

"Thank you for explaining," she nodded slightly and asked Xinlu to see him out.

As Luo Xiaoyi stepped outside, he remembered the gold dagger and wanted to return it, but Xinlu refused to take it. She explained that anything given by their master was not to be taken back. The implication was that the money spent on his third brother would not be taken back either?

As he walked, he pondered over his earlier words, realizing he had tried to be as gentle as possible. He wondered how the delicate princess had felt upon hearing them. Would she despise his third brother and decide to return to Guang Prefecture?

“What do you think?”

Inside the room, the group was still stunned by the revelation, and Li Yan was the first to speak.

Qichi moved to sit where the light was brighter, showing little reaction on her face. "What else can I think? Since we're here, we can't just turn back," she replied calmly.

Li Yan said earnestly, "It's a helpless situation. If we leave now, it'll make us seem heartless and ungrateful."

Qichi teased him, "You're wise beyond your years."

Seeing it was late, Xinlu stepped forward to remind them it was time to rest. As she spoke, her expression was quite subtle. Qichi's eyelashes fluttered slightly, casting two shadows below. The implication was that the Grand Protector was still waiting.

She gently stroked her chin, recalling the cold touch of his sword. This man, apart from recognizing her, didn’t seem to hold her in his heart at all. She raised her head, saying, "Go tell the Grand Protector."

Xinlu leaned in to listen, furrowing her brows and looking at her in hesitation, but ultimately complied.

Fu Ting stood by the window.

Finding the room too warm, he thought it was too troublesome to extinguish the charcoal brazier and start a new one later, so he simply opened the window to let in the cold air. He held the remaining half pouch of fiery liquor from his military uniform..

He took two swigs, feeling chilled outside but burning like fire inside his stomach. As he lifted the bottle for the third swig, he reconsidered. The strong smell of alcohol might be unpleasant to her. He wiped his mouth and corked the bottle.

In fact, he had no idea what such a delicate woman might like. If she enjoyed this lavish lifestyle, he couldn't provide it for her now.

There were footsteps coming in.

He turned his head and only saw a maid. Xinlu bowed, “My master ordered me to come to apologize to you. She was still shocked from the disturbance at the guesthouse before and is not feeling well. She has been accommodated elsewhere. Please make your own arrangements.”

Fu Ting played with the liquor pouch in his hand, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. She had shown no signs of discomfort before, even when he held her in his arms. Yet now, she brought up the old matter again. Was she deliberately retaliating now?

“Where is she?”

Xinlu was already a little trembling in front of him, and she was stunned when she heard the question.

Fu Ting said without waiting for her answer: "Please ask her to come over."

Xinlu left in a hurry.

Qichi had anticipated his reaction but hadn't expected him to ask her to come over. Did he intend to confront her directly? Calming her worried nephew, she rose and went over.

As she approached the door, she heard faint noises from within. Lifting her hem, she stepped inside to see the man dressed in his military attire with boots on, sword in hand, striding toward her. When he reached her, he halted and looked at her.

Qichi had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. His jawline was sharp like a carved blade.

“You sleep here,” he said abruptly, his eyes lingering on her before he turned and left.

Qichi watched him leave, and Xinlu followed. Soon after, Xinlu returned and whispered that the Grand Protector had gone to the study hall to sleep.

"He's as taciturn as ever..." Qichi muttered softly. Xinlu and Qiushuang whispered to each other. The Grand Protector seemed taciturn; he had barely spoken earlier. He even called General Luo to pass the message before, like a mute, indeed.

Qichi pinched her fingers lightly, casting a glance in the direction he had left. What kind of man is he, unable to utter a single gentle word?

Notes: [1] 澡豆 Bath bean: A delicate type of soap that came from ground beans or peas mixed with spices, such as cloves, eaglewood, various flowers, and even powdered jade. It is often used by aristocrats. For commoners, the bath bean is usually only made from ground peas without spices added.

[holly-fixation]

Sprouting

Summary: It started when he was young, soon after Professor Gast left. Sephiroth tried desperately to hide it. But it hurt, and like everything in the lab, nothing hid from Hojo’s gaze.

Please enjoy.

…

Sephiroth had not left his room. He was three minutes late, three minutes Hojo would rectify through more rigorous training. This was completely unnecessary and disrespectful. 

That boy would learn obedience no matter the circumstances. He had two minutes before the scientist broke the door down. 

“Sephiroth,” Hojo spat with two bangs on the metal door, “get out here.”

“I can't!” The boy's response came much faster than it should have if the boy was telling the truth. 

“Sephiroth.”

“I can't! I really can't!”

“Then unlock the door so we can treat this ailment properly.”

“No!” The child rapidly denied. “No no no- I'll be okay! I just need to stay here until I'm okay! I'll work twice as hard tomorrow! Promise!”

“'I promise', you insufferable child,” The scientist corrected. “And my answer is still no. Stop being so annoying.” Then Hojo heard sobbing. Low, attempted, quiet sobbing, but sobbing nonetheless. 

“I don't wanna be bad… I don’t- I really don’t… Just let me be bad today and I'll be really really really good tomorrow…”

“You will be perfect even if I need to rip out all your worthless imperfections myself, boy!” This bang stung his hand, but he felt no pain. “Open. This. Door. Now!” 

“NO!”

These fruitless minutes already irritated the scientist, but this childish temper tantrum filled him with rage. He slipped his key into the lock and opened the door himself.

Every object was thrown or shoved to every section of the room. Books from the fallen shelf were ripped and open faced on the floor. The mattress rested against the far wall, the bed frame dented and splintering. All loose folders and papers littered the ground, but some were stained with drops of blood. Claw marks marred every wall and surface, some even stained red with bleeding fingertips. But the deepest crimson led to the bathroom.

Still no sign of the boy. 

Hojo grabbed the inner door and tried to jerk it open. A metallic clatter responded from the lock. He didn't warn or ask, inserting a separate key. 

The smell of copper hit him like a wall. 

A ruby explosion soiled every surface, heavy drops running down the mirror as rain does a window. Flecks of beige and white freckled every inch, some even dyed pink with time. The toilet, the sink, the mirror, all were subjected to the same fate. Except for the shower. 

The curtain rod fractured in two, its steel speared points without any red. In the resulting bathtub laid the cardinal sullied curtain that trembled over the boy, blocking and protecting him from sight. However, nothing could muffle his petering sobs.

Only one theory ran through Hojo's mind: did this boy harm himself? Did he try to kill himself? This psychotic break could shut down the program completely, and the boy's life would be terminated to confirm no possibility of continuation outside of Shinra's sight. No. Word could not spread, no matter what. This was unacceptable. 

The scientist clutched the tip of the white plastic curtain, but the boy yelped sharply in pain and jerked him off, twisting and writhing and clenching away but not touching the wall.

“Hojo, please! I-I can stop this! I-I just need time!”

“Let me see it.” He would assess the boy's injuries himself.

The boy shook his head vigorously, and only then did Hojo realize something else was wrong. 

The curtain moved from the bottom of the tub near the drain. Two lumps pinning the curtain remained by his head, obviously his hands, and two others remained at the end of the tub, his bare feet. The single position that could justify the boy's orientation was simply laying down, so what was this large mass sticking above the walls of the tub, tenting the curtain to its limits?

“Let me see it so we can get you the care you clearly need. This isn't up for debate, Sephiroth.”

“It still hurts too much! Please!”

Hojo reached for it again, this time with a bit more caution.

The boy screamed, “WAIT!” 

The voracity in the child's voice made the scientist delay for a moment but only with a very good reason. 

“H-here…” Sephiroth hesitantly released his death grip on the fabric and handed a single corner to his caretaker. “Please… please be careful…”

Hojo took the offering and yanked the fabric up, allowing the boy to suffer the least from its removal as Hojo came face to face with a massive gray wing. 

The wing was proportional to Sephiroth's entire body, at least the span that he was tall. Each feather was perfect down, soft and fuzzy and useless for flight even if the boy had two wings. No, he only had one rooted in his right shoulder blade, somehow connected with a ball in socket joint just as a shoulder itself. It was folded but upward, not touching any obstacles or objects in the room. Sephiroth, however, was face down, trembling, as he carved more scratches in the porcelain like a kneading cat, reaching futility for any kind of relief. Both the wing and the boy were covered in blood and bone debris, but the elbow of the wing also held torn skin.

Hojo scanned and scanned, conflicted deep in his chest. On one hand, this was an incredible discovery, Jenova's cells mimicking even creatures he had not seen out of books. On the other, the child before him was deathly pale, the lost blood and unhealed damage actually threatening the boy’s life. The project itself was threatened.

“Get up,” Hojo grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him to his feet, genuinely avoiding any contact with the newborn wing. He grabbed the child by the waist and hoisted the boy over the tub. 

“I can't train today…” The boy begged as he was pulled out of his cell.

“We're going to the exam room.”

“No- wait- Hojo, please don't touch it-”

“I’ll take X-rays first and determine where to go from there. If it’s still uselessly sensitive, an orderly will bring you pain medication.”

“Th-There’s medicine for pain?”

“Only for absolute emergencies, so don’t ask for any.” They entered the room, and Sephiroth climbed up and laid face down on the cot. Hojo’s black eyes analyzed the growth. “A surgical procedure is necessary.”

“What will a procedure do?”

“We'll find connections between the wing and your body. Muscles, tendons, veins, arteries. Possibly gain some answers as to how it appeared. Now stop asking questions and stay perfectly still.”

Sephiroth nodded, looking down. “Yes, sir…”

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

[claudeng80]

North Sea Storm

Originally intended for “bathtub bonding” for Madness 2022 - Temeraire AU

The Aerial Corps (AO3 series)

The slate roof jitters in the wind off the North Sea, and the sound echoes through the empty warehouse space. Closer to hand, drips of water hit the brick floor with muted thuds, some through cracks in the neglected roof, but far more from the edges of Obi’s cloak. “We should have waited,” Shirayuki says. She’s been saying it to herself the entire time he was gone, but it sounds thin and whiny now that she says it out loud.

“Is she hurt?” Obi looks to the darkest corner of the warehouse, where Persia is fast asleep on a pile of discarded bags. Broken crates cast toothy shadows against the walls, flickering in the light of Shirayuki’s candle.

“Just exhausted.” They blew in on the first front of the storm, just ahead of the worst of the rain and lightning. It made for a surreptitious arrival in The Hague, as every window facing the sea was already shuttered, but Persia was no Royal Copper to beat the wind into submission. She had sailed before it like a tailless kite in a gale, flipping and dropping. Shirayuki had paid her tribute to King Neptune at least once- when she closes her eyes she can still taste acid and feel the whirling. “She should be fine when she wakes up, if we can find enough for her to eat.”

“As long as she wakes up before dawn, I think she can manage that on her own. And at least we won’t starve!” He holds up a bakery bag, sprinkled with rain.

“There’s a hearth in the office here, if you think it’s safe to have a fire.”

Another wave of rain batters the windows with a report like gunfire. “I think it’s a chance worth taking, if it means warming up.” He leans in close. “Your lips are turning blue.”

“W-warm sounds nice. But if we’re thinking big, my hair’s more salt than anything else right now. It would be nice to wash it out.”

“There’s certainly no shortage of water.”

The office is cozy. There’s a kettle hanging on a hook by the fireplace, a pile of dry firewood, and a bed covered in a thick wool blanket. Either she’s misunderstood the purpose of warehouse offices or this one has been used for more than just the storage and shipping of goods. She sets aside thanks for their local contacts, too wet and salty to be any more curious. Best of all, there’s a basin big enough to work as a tub.

“Eat first,” Obi insists. Dinner consists of cold meat stuffed in the middle of a crusty roll of bread- the bread has more grit than she’s accustomed to but a full stomach does make everything seem a bit less dire. Persia’s snores from out in the warehouse continue steady and unabated.

The first kettle of water splashes into the basin, barely making a film of water on the bottom. “This is going to take a while,” Obi says.

“It always does,” Shirayuki agrees, and adds an equal amount of rainwater before setting the next batch to heat. Obi pulls out one one of his knives, drying it off carefully and inspecting the edges before setting it aside and moving on to the next.

**

Obi’s done with his knives by the time the tub is full enough to use. “You can go first,” he says. “You need the warmth more than I do.”

There are blankets put away in a cabinet; warmth is not the primary issue now, but Shirayuki is in no mood to argue as she peels her stockings.off her skin with an audible crinkle. The garters leave lines in their absence. Her hair is crispy under her fingers as she extracts the day’s ribbons and pins, and the salt holds its shape even with them gone. Her fingers are clumsy on the closures of her stays, and a different warmth jets through her as Obi nudges her fingers aside to undo them himself. He’s well familiar with them now, but he finishes in a businesslike manner and then looks away as she sets aside her shift. The muslin is translucent and blotchy from rain and sea salt; hopefully it will dry overnight, or tomorrow will be uncomfortable indeed.

The water smells a bit metallic, the tin of the tub flexing slightly under her weight but retaining the heat of the water and blessedly the stickiness of her skin is washed away. An awkward dunk, and her hair cascades into a tail of red over her shoulder as she rinses it out. She glances at Obi, just to catch his head turning away. The tip of his ear might be a bit pink, and she doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “You should join me,” she says.

“Surely I won’t fit,” he says so fast, it’s clear he’s thought about it.

“Not without touching.” It will be tight, but that’s part of the appeal. Tomorrow they prosecute a war, engage in espionage and offer support to enemies of Napoleon’s puppet kingdom of the Netherlands. There will be no time for softness then. Surely they can take tonight for themselves.

Perhaps Obi thinks the same, because he doesn’t argue further. He undresses away from her, as always- no matter how many times she proves that his scars are nothing to her, he still turns them away- and she has leisure to enjoy the sun-darkened skin at his wrists and the back of his neck.

But by the time he steels himself enough to face her, she’s already pulled herself over into one corner of the tub. The water rises a bit as he steps in, then a lot as he sits. “This isn’t going to work so well for washing,” he says as she shifts to let him encircle her with his legs. She’s not quite on his lap, but it’s a close thing.

“Not at all,” she agrees, plastering the wet cloth to his chest with a laugh. It sticks for a second, then peels free and drops back into the water. She fishes it out and picks up his hand, scrubbing at his wrist, then gently between his fingers.

“How are your fingers so cold? You’re literally in the warm water!” He tugs at her, playfully, and she pinches his little finger through the cloth. “I can wash myself, you know.”

She hums. “Of course you can. But so can I.” She lifts his hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the knuckles before she sniffs loudly. “See, no more ocean smell.”

Obi’s mouth shuts with a click, and she runs the cloth over his wrist, up to his elbow. There’s a small scar there, just across the meat of his forearm, and she traces it gently with the cloth. He looks concerned at her attention, so she just says, “All clean.”

To reach around his shoulder, she slides closer, wrapping her legs around his hips just the way his encircle her. His breath is quiet just above her, and his hands drop to her hips as she leans across to wash the back of his neck. She can’t resist dropping a kiss on his chest, and he huffs something that’s almost a laugh, but distracted. “You’re not leaving me anything to do,” he murmurs in her ear.

“And here I’d heard you were resourceful,” she answers, tracing the line of his throat with her cloth. There’s a line there of salt spray and sand, just where it caught in the collar of his un-distinguished undercover coat. She misses his aviator’s green but understands that spies can’t go about wearing the uniform of their kingdom’s forces.

Water cascades down her spine, sending her forward into Obi’s lap with a gasp. “Who says I’m not?” His hands, until now warmed in the water, rub little circles on her back between scoops of water. So close, her thighs rest on his, and it would be so easy to slide that last few inches forward and press her body to his entirely-

The tub resonates with a dull thud as her knee hits the wall, ripples shivering across the surface of the water. Caught, she fixes her eyes on the other side of Obi’s throat, sweeping the last of the ring away with the cloth. He’s distracting.

She darts a peek at his face, only to find his eyes on her as well. His lips curve in the content smile that he rarely shows anyone but her and possibly Persia; the others know his smirks and his gleeful grins, but Obi is not a man known for content softness. It is everyone else’s loss that they cannot be the object of that look. Not that she has any idea what she’s done this time to warrant it, save banging her knee. “What?”

“Oh, I was just wondering how much longer the water would stay warm. I think the answer is not long enough.” The smile takes on a wicked angle; that one is hers alone.

“Long enough for-” She doesn’t finish the question; when her mind catches up with her mouth she knows exactly what he means and it is absolutely not an option. She may be primarily a physician to dragons, not to humans, but stories get around. The researchers at Pen Y Fan, with its hot springs, had far too many tales of unpleasant consequences. “No.”

“Well, then.” Obi stands, tipping Shirayuki nearly into the bath entirely. It’s a good thing she wasn’t trying to get dry, between a near-dunking and the water cascading off his body. He bends, scooping her out of the tub as though she were no heavier than a coil of rope, and carries her out to where a towel is waiting by the fire. “Let’s get you dry, and then we can see about keeping you warm.”

He snatches the towel from just past the top of her reaching fingers, turning the tables to scrub her dry, catching every nook from her wrists to the backs of her ears, her knees to her armpits, she is surrounded with towel and with his embrace. She’s wondering where those blankets are and how long it will take them to get them laid out, when Obi stills. His finger rests on her lips as be bristles, as on edge as an alley cat. “Someone’s coming,” he whispers in her ear. “Get dressed.”

There’s a knock on the warehouse office door that they’d locked behind themselves; that hadn’t been in the directions, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution. It’s looking justified all of a sudden.

“Do you think it’s the smoke?” Obi shakes his head, still listening. “Or was it a trap?”

Shirayuki’s shift is easy enough to throw over her head, if still smelling like ocean and fear. She wiggles into her stays, still loosened, and pulls up her skirt. The knot will be a bear to undo, but it’s on. Everything else gets stuffed in her bag as she scoops up her shoes.

That, oddly, makes him smile, the same grin he wore fighting the storm with Persia. It’s the look that says he’s about to leap, and by habit she clutches at his arm. “I’m going to wake Persia,” he adds, still bare naked and dripping. Shirayuki throws the towel over him just as he leaves the room.

The knocking turns to pounding, and between shouts at the door she hears wood splinter. She doesn’t know the words - her French is passable, if slow and probably lacking in the phrases that police would yell through doors at foreign spies - but she can only guess that the unfamiliar shouts are in Dutch. She’ll have to get Obi to explain later, assuming there is a later.

There’s a terrible crash - splintering wood and crashing glass, followed by the prolonged rattle of broken bricks and wood hitting the ground. Whether it’s Persia making her exit through one of the windows or their pursuers breaking down the door, Shirayuki won’t know, because Obi hurtles back into the room, snatching his clothes from the floor and tucking them under an arm. Shirayuki pushes the tub against the office door, hoping it will slow them down.

Outside the rain crackles against the wall like pebbles, and the window kicks open into Obi’s hand when he undoes the latch. Out in the warehouse the voices are getting louder, audible even over the wind. “What do we do now?”

“We run.”

[rusticahouse]

Drop-In Copper Tub

When renovating a bathroom, the choice of a bathtub can significantly influence the overall ambiance and aesthetic appeal of the space. For those seeking a touch of rustic elegance and a nod to traditional craftsmanship, a drop-in copper tub is an excellent alternative to the conventional options. Let’s delve into the craftsmanship behind these custom-made, handmade treasures that can transform…

[mycustomcopper]

Buying standard and made-to-order copper bathtubs is easy. At least this term can be applied to Custom Copper internet distributor store. You can purchase the bathtub as it is or have it personalized. The following steps you need to take to make the purchase:

Brows our store to locate soaking bathtub design you like the most.

On tub detail page select its width.

Use patina options to choose bathtub finishing.

Those three steps permit select variables defining your tub general look. If you would like to implement some additional changes send a follow up e-mail describing what exactly you would like to add. Among suggestions and most often used add-ons are requests for cutting the drain in a custom location, producing the bathtubs narrow so they can be brought to the bathroom through exceptionally narrow doors or making the tub back lower. The last request is often present with ordering small copper bathtubs. In any case, we are here to help. Do not hesitate to drop us the line and ask questions prior to purchasing. Copper bathtubs are not cheap so it is better to be well informed prior to clicking add to cart and making the transaction.

[bathandkitchenshowroombroomall]

Understanding Plumbing Supplies: A Homeowner's Guide to Choosing the Right Products

When it comes to home improvement and maintenance, understanding the various plumbing supplies available is crucial. Selecting the right products, from new toilets and sinks to bathtubs and faucets, can significantly impact your home's functionality and aesthetic. This guide will help you learn the essentials, ensuring you make informed decisions for your specific needs.

Toilets: Modern Innovations for Comfort and Efficiency

Choosing the proper toilet involves considering several factors, including water efficiency, comfort, and design. Modern toilets have various features aimed at enhancing both comfort and water conservation.

Water Efficiency: Look for toilets with the WaterSense label, which use 20% less water than standard models. Dual-flush toilets offer two flushing modes to save water and are also a great option.

Comfort and Height: Comfort height toilets are taller than standard models, making them easier for adults and individuals with mobility issues. Ensure the toilet you choose offers adequate comfort for your household.

Design and Aesthetics: Choose a toilet that complements your bathroom decor from traditional to contemporary. One-piece designs are sleek and more accessible to clean, while two-piece toilets are more conventional and often more affordable.

Sinks: Versatility and Style for Every Bathroom and Kitchen

Sinks are a focal point in bathrooms and kitchens, so choosing the right style and material is essential.

Material Options: Popular materials include stainless steel, porcelain, cast iron, and composite granite. Stainless steel is easy to clean and durable, while porcelain and cast iron offer classic looks. Composite granite is scratch-resistant and available in various colors.

Mounting Styles: Consider how the sink will be installed. Top-mount (drop-in) sinks are easy to install and replace, while under-mount sinks offer a seamless look and easier countertop cleaning. Vessel sinks sit at the counter, adding a modern, stylish touch.

Size and Depth: Ensure the sink size fits your counter space and meets your functional needs. Deeper sinks are ideal for kitchens, making washing large pots and pans easier. Choose a size that complements the vanity without overpowering the bathroom space.

Bathtubs: Relaxation and Functionality Combined

Choosing a bathtub involves considering your bathroom size, preferred bathing experience, and the material's durability.

Freestanding vs. Built-in: Freestanding tubs are luxurious and stylish, becoming the centerpiece of any bathroom. Built-in tubs, such as alcove and corner tubs, are practical and space-efficient.

Material Choices: Acrylic and fiberglass tubs are lightweight and affordable, while cast iron and porcelain-enameled steel offer durability and a classic look. For a high-end feel, consider stone resin or copper bathtubs.

Features and Comfort: Modern bathtubs come with various features such as whirlpool jets, air baths, and heated surfaces. Consider these options to enhance your bathing experience with therapeutic benefits.

Faucets: Function Meets Fashion

Faucets are vital fixtures in bathrooms and kitchens, providing functionality and style.

Design and Finish: Choose a faucet design that matches your overall decor. Popular finishes include chrome, brushed nickel, oil-rubbed bronze, and matte black. Ensure the finish complements other fixtures in your bathroom or kitchen.

Functionality: Consider faucets with single-handle or double-handle designs, depending on your preference for temperature control. Pull-out and pull-down sprayer faucets are ideal for kitchens, offering flexibility and ease of use.

Water Efficiency: Opt for faucets with the WaterSense label, which ensures they meet EPA standards for water efficiency without compromising performance.

Additional Tips for Homeowners

When selecting plumbing supplies like an energy-efficient shower, always consider the quality and reputation of the brand. Visiting Weinstein Plumbing Supply can allow you to see and feel the products before purchasing. The staff at these plumbing supply stores can offer expert advice and help you choose products that meet your specific needs and budget.

Furthermore, it's essential to consider the long-term maintenance and repair of plumbing fixtures. Opt for products with good warranties and are known for their durability.

Understanding the different plumbing supplies available and how to choose the correct fixture can significantly enhance your home's functionality and aesthetic. By considering factors such as water efficiency, material, functionality, and design, you can make informed decisions that will serve your home well for years. Whether renovating a bathroom or upgrading a kitchen, the right plumbing supplies are crucial for creating a comfortable and stylish living space.

[cassyfarrar]

Lonely Ghost find a home

Lonely ghost 

Find a home 

Stop haunting me.

Stop finding ways to pry into my life like a cockroach sheltering from the cold,

Prying copper toned thin legs through my cupboard.

you rid me of my appetite  after seeing you, I am repulsed by the very sight of your Vernon body. Your crippled wings that no longer fly,  your poisoned mouth. 

My mind is a kitchen floor you scurry across hiding in the darkest corners 

Lonely ghost you’re nothing but a parasite 

Waiting for your next victim unexpectedly tied in your web, your translucent body red filled with stolen blood, bloated but a hunger never satisfied,

like the bottomless hole you call a heart, unlimited potential to hold but always empty 

Lonely ghost your whaling is unbearable ,

I close my windows,  I try to drown out your sounds, you’re like an empty Echo in my head like an abandoned house plagued with a draft. 

There’s no life left here, it’s since moved on.

 Lonely ghost, you what you’ve done sickens me, your choices bind me like barbed wire wrapped around my what sense of peace I have left .

, Intraped, I sit in a bathtub or freezing water with my hands covered with the blood of a covenant that makes me a woman, that reminds me why you biologically had an advantage over my small weak frame.

Lonely ghost I wish you had a body, flesh and bones, I could drive something sharp through you and feel your delicate skin rip beneath me like fragile slik being frayed and torn.

If only you had blood that spilled below us like the red wine you stole as a child that left scarlet stains all over your mother's precious perisan carpet.

Lonely ghost, you’re nothing to me. 

Nothing but a bad dream, a passing thought at best.  You want so badly to see my pain like a sadist vampire, you want to feel alive,  you want me to fill your cowardly existence with meaning but I void you ever of a chance of that same pain you caused when you striked the heart of me. 

 This time you’re nothing but the serpent beneath my heel, you’re a waste of a gracious god's creation.

lonely ghost. The last you’ll ever get of me is a simple wish to see you cease to exist at all. 

Not a ghost but a light breeze no one notices, a tiny drop of water in the ocean, a tip of a flame from a match blown out in a moment.  A speck of dust, I want you to be nothing but passing, meaningless. Unthought of, forgotten 

To have never been there at all.

Gone.

[gerbloblinwrites]

the food bowl

I walk towards the bowl to find nothing. The human is late for the third time this week. They have been spending more and more time on their large comfy pillow. I fear that one day they will not remember to feed me at all. Walking into their domain I jump upon their pillow, and meow loudly pawing at their face. They don't move. I start screaming, and that seems to do the trick. I am swatted at but I evade with my amazing reflexes.

 My human finally decided to stumble ungracefully out of bed. They stomp through my prison loudly and started to make this bitter, hot, brown water. While they are waiting for their disgusting beverage they open the box of food and eat a handful of dairy of the shredded variety. I swish my tail impatiently, but instead of feeding me they grab the copper things that jingle together and leave the cage. I jump on the windowsill and stare at them as they recede into the distance. I quickly get distracted by a bluejay and watch it flit about in the yard for what could've been hours. After boring myself with the bird. I make my way to my personal comfy pillow and lay down still annoyed at my human for not feeding me before they left. 

Eventually, I fell asleep and for a while all was silent. I awoke to the door opening and my jailer coming in with a strange box. The box intrigued me and I'm immediately weaving myself between the legs of my already unsteady Human. They trip over my barely recovering the box. The box shudders and I’m even more interested in it. Maybe they finally got me my own personal bird to hunt. Or maybe it's some treats or something. My human sets the box down and calls the name they decided to call me “Fiona”. I’ve never been fond of the name but if I come to it I can usually get treats out of it.

I walk over to them and they open the box. I peer in and theirs this ugly ball of orange fur. The fur ball perks up at the sight of me and I hiss at it. The creature leaps from the box and attempts to cuddle up to me and I swat out it out of anger. The true reason for that anger is that I have not been fed yet. Then I hear the sound of kibble hitting ceramic. My heart jumps for joy and i leap toward the bowl. Only to see the orange menace eating out of my bowl. Stealing MY food, and I can't take it anymore. I grab the brat by the scruff and run the thing towards the bathroom and drop it into the bathtub a place I know it can't escape. 

I trot back to my bowl and begin to eat the kibble. When I hear the pitiful mews coming from the bathroom and hear my human walking towards the bathroom. I basically roll my eyes at the brat. For being weak. For needing help from our jailor. Soon I can see the little loser barreling towards me. He can't stop in time and runs smack into me. That is where I lost control and completely freaked out yowling and spitting at the small orange tabby. The human sprayed me with a water bottle something that hadn't happened to me since I climbed up the curtains that one time. 

I felt completely betrayed and I went and sulked on the top of my cat tower. I sat there in a sense of self-loathing. Mourning what my life was before I was betrayed. I still do not get why the human decided to bring that wretch into my domain. Although I do see a change in them they get up earlier and show more affection towards me and my newfound companion. 

After weeks of the routine of hiding from the new tabby, I find myself becoming less and less annoyed at his presence. I missed the days of solitude but I am getting used to the new schedule. In the coming days, I have been feeling stiffer and stiffer. Laying down more. Playing is getting more tiring but I enjoy it greatly. My new companion is actually really warm and cuddly. I enjoy cuddling with him. He and I spend a great deal of time together now. 

As “tabs” grows up he mellows out more and more. Becoming very comforting to me. I keep finding excuses to be nearer to him. Finding solace in his company. My human is less and less late on feeding me and I keep finding myself up to my ears in treats. Im becoming more sleepy. It’s harder to jump up on the top of my cat tower. It's my favorite place to be but I can barely make it up there. My human puts me up there from time to time, I think they know how happy I am to be up there. 

I can't reach a whole lot of spots to groom myself anymore but tabs help me out with that. My caretaker is getting sad again I’m doing my best to fix it but I can't do it. I bring her a snake that wandered into the house. Usually, they would scream and freak out over my gift in joy obviously. Instead, they just smiled picking the corpse up gingerly and throwing it into the trash. 

I can't move as much anymore, and I'm feeling more and more tired as the days pass. My human has been spending more time with me. I like that a lot. I don't like the car rides they make me really woozy. The white room man is even worse. I hate the jabs that keep happening. I can't make it to the litterbox anymore but my human doesn't mind that much. The world is going a little greyer with every day that passes. I don't move much anymore mostly just sunning myself on the floor next to the window.  My owner took me once more to the white room man, they keep crying and hugging me.