#Em writes

[writing-for-marvel]

Right Here, Waiting (2)

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: While out with Bucky’s friends for Sam’s birthday, someone makes a rude comment about your body, leading Bucky to prove just how beautiful he thinks you are.

Prompt: “Hey. Pick on someone your own size.” for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, a man commenting on readers appearance/body in a negative and unprovoked way, VERY insecure reader, slight angst with belief of unrequited love, idiots in love who finally stop being so oblivious!

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: so I was triple dared by @intrepidacious to write more for these two and who am I to break the sacred rules of triple dares? They do deserve their happy ending 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

You don’t want to be here. Not really.

Even though you’ve got Nat by your side and you’re essentially invisible as a group of Bucky’s mates celebrate his best friend’s birthday, there’s something about being in a new part of town, and with a group of people you don’t know that well, which makes you feel on edge.

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach.

“You having a good time?”

“I am now that you’re here.” You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

He looks heavenly, as if a statue of a Greek god was animated to life, donning a shirt which perfectly matches the colour of his irises, which shows off his bulging biceps, and just enough length to his perfectly styled hair which makes you want to run your fingers through it.

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

But while everyone else has their eyes on him, whispering about how gorgeous he is, Bucky’s looking at you, making your stomach somersault. And then the stunning smile he flashes just for you has you melting into a puddle.

Surely there’s no way he can’t see the effect he has on you, how you become a giggling fool in his presence. But that just serves as a reminder that after three months living together and him not making a move, he is very clearly not interested in you like that.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long to come find you then.” You know he’s only joking, but in reality you and Nat have barely had the time to wish Sam a happy birthday and set yourself up at one of the high top tables. Bucky hasn’t exactly wasted any time in coming to talk to you.

“Well it would have been rude of you not to say hello to the birthday boy first.”

“Ahh I see enough of that punk anyway.” He jests, as if he also doesn’t see you every single day at your shared apartment, but you don’t mention that to him.

You notice Nat walking over by to corner of the room in a group with the man of the hour, not even bothering to announce her departure unlike last weekend at your local bar with her attempt to push you and Bucky together.

Somehow being alone with him now, even though it’s a regular occurrence back in your apartment, fills your stomach with churning anxiety. Perhaps it’s the expectation that Nat believes something will happen between the two of you, even though you’re well aware that’s a physical impossibility.

“Thanks for coming tonight, I know you don’t know Sam all that well yet and would probably prefer to be snuggled under a blanket at home reading, but I want you to meet my friends. And I want them to meet the people who are important to me too.”

The implication that you are a prominent person in Bucky’s life gives life to butterflies in your tummy. Even though you’re sure the intention of his words are that you’ve become good friends while living together, it’s ammunition your mind can use to assemble a pipe dream that you serve a much more significant role in your roommate’s life.

“If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me too.” Silly boy doesn’t know you’d do absolutely anything for him, including facing your social anxiety of meeting new people if it means you get to see him happy.

“Well you’re the most important.”

It’s when he says things like this, accompanied with that earnestly affectionate smile, that hope builds brick by brick in your chest - you don’t say that to someone who’s just a friend, right?

But if he somehow did feel that way about you, ignoring all the reasons why someone as attractive and charming as him could do so much better than you, then why had he not made a move?

You come to the same conclusion you always do when Bucky comes out with these overly sweet statements - he’s referring to you as being very good friends. Roommates who would consider each other family.

Regardless, with this small sentence he’s rendered you utterly speechless, your mouth so dry and brings a ferocious heat to your cheeks that you couldn’t contribute to conversation even if you had to.

There’s a silence which passes between you, not awkward like either of you are waiting for the other to come up with some ridiculous small talk, but content, that even in a room packed with people to speak to you’re happy just being in each other's presence, words aren’t needed.

“Oh, how rude of me, you don’t have a drink - you want your usual?” You had never expected him to buy you a drink, but it warms your heart how considerate he is, that he takes the initiative to make it his priority even when it arguably doesn’t affect him.

“Yes please.” You manage to mutter out.

The cheeky wink he shoots you before heading up to the bar only further contributing to you melting into a puddle on the floor. He could do anything and have you in a trance, but when it’s small, doting actions reserved solely for you like this, that have your heart leaping out of your chest.

“So… when’s the wedding?” Nat comments, sidling up to you, however it doesn’t distract you from watching Bucky walk away, admiring his strapping, muscular back and his ass that looks divine.

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

That relentless hope you’re continually trying to shake returns, inflating in your chest when she talks in a way that your romance with Bucky is inevitable, when you spend every waking second actively pulling yourself back to reality on earth from dreaming on cloud nine.

“Nat you know he doesn’t like me like that.” You repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“I beg to differ, you’d been here less than two minutes before he approached you.” The gleam in her eye has become a familiar one, that screams ‘told you so’, as if this was conclusive evidence.

“He knows we don’t know a lot of people here and just wanted to make sure we felt comfortable. That’s what friends do.” At least that’s what you are telling yourself to help suppress any irrational wish your brain could conjure at the reasoning why Bucky sought you out so quickly after your arrival.

“Well he only asked you didn’t he? It was like I was invisible to him.”

“He just knows me better, that's all, we do live together you know.” Is how you justify his behaviour, but you can tell Nat isn’t having a bar of it with the cynical look she shoots at you.

“You keep telling yourself that sweetie. That boy has it bad for you, but you silly kids will work it out eventually.” She says with a certainty that puzzles you, as if there is no question that you and Bucky are destined to end up together. She flashes a quick smile before affectionately patting your hand and making her way up to the bar.

There’s a moment where you’re left alone, pondering Nat’s words and if there is any truth to them - your best friend is honest to a fault, and isn’t the type to blatantly lie to you to spare your feelings. Perhaps there’s something she can see that you can’t, or won’t let yourself notice.

The buoyant hope you always try pushing down floats in your stomach and for once you revel in the small possibility that perhaps you’ve been wrong all along about Bucky. As unlikely as it is, maybe your feelings aren’t completely unrequited.

You feel someone next to you before you hear them speak, a voice that is unfamiliar and which sends a tense vexation shivering down your spine.

“That little redhead friend of yours is gorgeous, think you could introduce me?” It’s not the first time a stranger has approached you interested in Nat. She’s beautiful, slim and wears dresses that flaunt her toned figure, but it nevertheless causes an ache deep in your chest that you're never the person the man approaching you is attracted to.

Just once it would be nice to be the woman they notice, the one lusted after.

“She’s not interested.” You don’t even have to look at the man to know Nat wouldn’t be interested in someone who didn’t have the guts to approach her directly.

You hope that response is enough to send the man on his way, but your experience tells you men with an ego the size of a Mount Everest don’t give up so easily when they have a gorgeous woman in their sights.

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.”

His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

“You really think that’s gonna make me more likely to help you out?” You turn to finally look at the man, and as attractive as he is, there is a pretentious air to him, a conceited smirk you’d love to smack off his face. It’s a face of a man that has never been told ‘no’ before in his life. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be a bitter bitch about it.”

Without you realising, Bucky had noticed you looking uncomfortable in conversation with this repulsive man, and stalked across the entire length of the room, forgetting about your drinks at the bar, to come to your aid.

“Hey mate, how about you pick on someone your own size huh?” Bucky looks dauntingly large as he steps up to face the man, at least a head taller than him with broad shoulders that make the other guy look like a lanky schoolboy in comparison.

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

“Why? Because the whore is so much bigger than everyone else here.”

His mocking tone cuts through you like a sword, hollowing out your insides. You sense all eyes in the room turn to you, and you shrivel into yourself in juxtaposition to how Bucky shines when the centre of attention.

It feels like the air in the room has been suctioned out, your lungs and throat burning from the absence of oxygen, or maybe it’s just your lack of will to take a breath, wanting the world to engulf you and your existence to end right here.

It’s hard enough to live with the understanding of how much bigger you are than every other person in the room when it is etched into your frontal lobe so that you are reminded of it every passing second, but for someone else to actually express that notion aloud, for all the terrible thoughts you believe about yourself to be confirmed by a stranger who only needs to have seen you once in your life to recognise this about you, is enough for you to start decaying from the inside out.

It’s not just you who thinks that, now every single person in the bar is fully aware of how much physical space you’re taking up, how much weight you carry on your distinctly pudgy stomach, around your jawline which is soft unlike Bucky’s sharp mandible, how your thighs rub together when you walk, not having a gap between them as Nat does.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you.

Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

“I dare you to say that again and see where it gets you.” Bucky longs to punch his fist through this man’s nose, the only reason currently stopping him is a potential assault charge, but then he hears you sniffling behind him and he wants to throw caution to the wind.

“Barnes, you need to go after her.” Natasha implores, interrupting the intense staring match between the two men and saving Bucky from spending the night in a jail cell. The mention of you is the only distraction which spares this man’s face from being rearranged.

Bucky practically throws the guy on the ground, searching for you in the sea of patrons staring at the commotion, before chasing after you as if his life depends on it - because it does, you are the reason his heart beats just that little bit quicker every morning at the prospect of seeing you curled up in your armchair, having fallen asleep reading one of your books and him needing to gently wake you from your slumber; you are the reason he stops off at the store on his way home from work and spends half an hour at the grocery store most days, to ensure the pantry is fully stocked with your favourite snacks; you are the reason he has not brought a single woman back to his apartment since moving in, no one on the face of this earth could could make him feel the way you do, turn him on naked in his bed how you do dancing around the kitchen in your pyjamas.

He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

“Sunrise, please.” You're not sure what he’s pleading for exactly, but he doesn’t ask again once you stop scurrying out of the bar. He reaches for you when the fresh air outside hits your face with a crispness that makes your tears sting more than they had inside, tugging on your shoulder for you to turn around and face him.

The completely shattered way you look back at him, with teary eyes that are usually so full of wonder and vivacity, shreds Bucky’s heart into so many pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it back together again.

He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips but you don’t have the brain capacity to articulate yourself better when your mind is rerouting all your thoughts to one central nucleus - how disgustingly large you are.

Typically you’d be mortified about Bucky seeing you in such a distressed state, because not only are you huge, you must also look revoltingly unattractive with tears flowing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, and snot dripping from your nose.

But you know Bucky’s arms, the embrace of the man you love, is also the only cure for the malignant disease which has now infected your mind, so you put up no defence to him pulling you in for a secure, reassuring hug.

Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

It’s a blur of tears, head throbbing, chest aching and Bucky’s soft yet vigilant hands as you make your way home. He leads you into a cab, buckling your seatbelt for you, him taking the middle seat so you can rest your head on his shoulder, his calloused hand resting on your thigh, soothingly rubbing gentle circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

Not a single word is spoken on your journey, comfortable with the solace his presence brings you, and finally feeling secure being miles away from the environment that led you to feeling as giant as an elephant trapped in a zoo enclosure with mice.

Bucky’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you up to your apartment, the feel of his large hand engulfing yours eases the feeling of taking up too much space in the world. Even though you’re much wider than him in size, there are parts of your tall roommate that somehow miraculously still make you feel smaller than him.

His keys get thrown on the hall table with a clang. The familiar environment brings you peace, even if Bucky holding your hand is a new sensation which has nervousness prickling your stomach.

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug.

“No, Bucky I’ll crush you.”

His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are.

“You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

His strong arms snake around you, large hands resting on a pocket of fat on your waist that has always plagued your insecurities, but Bucky holds you tenderly, almost lovingly, and the self doubt slips from your mind and all you can focus on is how close you are to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers with a kiss to your temple. It almost sounds like he actually believes it - but your mind simply cannot accept that as fact, especially not after the humiliation surging through you from the strangers taunt earlier.

“Bucky, you don’t have to lie.”

“Sunrise, I’m not lying.” He retorts almost instantly, not wanting to allow any time for doubt to creep into your mind.

“You’re my roommate, you can’t very well call me an ugly pig, which is exactly what I am.”

Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him.

How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

You sleep one very thin wall away, and all he can ever think of as he falls asleep on his own every night is if you are in the next room thinking of him too, wishing that your dreams will be consumed by him as his are by you.

“Stop. Please stop putting yourself down. You are gorgeous, stunning, and so much more than just my roommate.” He says sincerely, wiping away a stray tear as it trickles over the apple of your cheek. “You are my Sunrise, the stunning star at the centre of my universe that lights up my entire life.”

Never in a million years did you imagine these words coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth. You stare at him, jaw slack in utter shock, waiting for the moment where he takes it all back or to clarify that you’ve misinterpreted the intention and in fact he really means that you’re good friends, just very good friends.

This must be your hopeful heart overreacting after such an upsetting day, because surely he cannot actually think of you as more than that.

“It hurts me that you can’t see how impossibly beautiful you are, how you’re the most stunning woman everywhere you go, how I can’t take my eyes off you even for a minute whether it’s lazing around here in your pyjamas or all dolled up for a night out. You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room to me.”

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode any second with how much warmth is ballooning in your lungs. This isn’t happening. Surely you bumped your head getting out of the cab and this is all just a dream your mind has concocted to heal from the anguish sustained earlier.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of the hallucination your brain is composing.

Bucky's eyes flit down to your lips, slightly chapped and dehydrated from crying your eyes out, but when they return to your gaze again, there’s a palpable desperation which quivers in his pupils.

“My whole fucking world comes to a standstill when you enter a room and like a magnet I can’t help but be drawn to you. You make my heart beat out of my chest just by smiling at me. There is not a day where I don’t wish to be back home here with you, where it’s just the two of us and the world outside holds no consequence because you’re all I’ve ever needed, all I’ve ever wanted. Can you really not see how powerful the hold you have over me is?”

There should be no doubt, given his confession, how much significance you have in Bucky’s heart, and yet you’re in disbelief, utter shock, unable to truly comprehend why he cares for you in such a way, when there are so many other women who are hotter, skinnier, funnier than you.

If this was written in one of the thousands of romance novels you’ve read, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe how much love the protagonists have for one another, but because it’s happening to you, that you are the heroine of this story, your mind is conditioned to reject the premise altogether.

“Bucky…” You mumble, your mind is spinning too much to form a coherent thought, let alone articulating just how consequential your feelings for the man whose lap you're sitting in are.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.” And that’s when your brain kicks into gear - you cannot stand any insinuation that your feelings for your roommate are simply platonic, and not the all consuming, devoted love that fills your heart with as much sunshine as on a cloudless summer day.

Especially not after his admission.

“Not feel the same? Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since you mov-”

At the mention of the word ‘love’ Bucky pulls your face close with a hand on either side of your face, and kisses you so forcefully the rest of your sentence is muffled and completely forgotten about.

You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

He smells and tastes divine, like sweet honey and sharp cinnamon, his lips soft as pillows that move hungrily against yours, like he can’t get enough of you either, and when he moans into your mouth you swear you see the gates of heaven.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, the realisation hits you square in the chest that you’re kissing your Bucky, the man who sleeps in the adjacent room, who cooks you breakfast shirtless in your kitchen, who always thinks to bring home your favourite food after a long day at work where he could arguably only want to think about himself.

The man you love. And who reciprocates that ardent feeling.

The awareness that it’s him knocks all the breath from your lungs and you need to come up for air much sooner than you would have liked, but Bucky gazes up at you with that familiar warmth that you never would have believed was something more than just friendship, but now seems like it was the clue all along that the two of you were never just roommates.

“You love me, huh?” He says in such a playfully taunting tone that makes you smile.

“Yeah… but I’m your Sunrise aren’t I?”

“That you are. My beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sexy. Perfect Sunrise.” Bucky places sweet kisses to your lips between each adjective, each one lasting a little longer than the previous. “I love you too.”

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

Follow @ems-library for fic notifications a

Add yourself to the taglist here

Right Here, Waiting [Roommate!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @mgchaser @vxllys @littleredwolf @apricot1996 @blackhawkfanatic @avengersfan25 @thescooponsof @goldylions @shoutingcardinal @florie1 @basicallynotbreathing @scarletbich @almostglitterybear @x-press-it @https.murdock @looking1016 @rosemary0414 @bamitzzsam @doro @nerdgirljen @forgetthisbull @laughterafter

[emsprovisions]

Happy Sunday y’all! Here’s way more than seven sentences from chapter 2 of my spring break au I posted on Friday! 💕

TK pours coffee into his mug, then dumps half a packet of Sweet’N Low and no less than six hazelnut creamer pods into his coffee.

Carlos wrinkles his nose as he watches TK. “What the fuck is that abomination?” He asks, stirring all of two creams into his own cup of otherwise black coffee.

TK grins and takes a sip, closing his eyes at the flavor. “I like my coffee like I like my men.”

Carlos nearly chokes on his own coffee, his face reddening as he puts his mug down and looks out at the ocean.

TK cackles and leans back in his chair with his mug. His foot brushes Carlos’s leg and neither of them makes a move to stop touching. TK looks back out over the water, and watches the sun rise ever higher into the sky, bringing the heat with it.

“I’ve never been to the gulf before now,” TK comments, the sea breeze gently tousling his hair.

“What do you think?” Carlos asks, watching TK. “I’m sure nothing beats what you’re used to on the East Coast.”

TK meets Carlos’s eyes and shakes his head with a smile. “I’m just starting to see why it’s like paradise here.”

Thank you for the tags @nisbanisba @heartstringsduet @annoyingcloudearthquake @bonheur-cafe

No pressure tags @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders @ironheartwriter @alrightbuckaroo @butchreyes @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @tellmegoodbye @eclectic-sassycoweyes @lightningboltreader @henrygrass @everlastingday @rangersoup @chicgeekgirl89 @decafdino @paperstorm @captain-gillian @lemonlyman-dotcom @lavenderrdaughter @welcometololaland @futures-tense @neversleepuntilfive @your-catfish-friend

[wadewnstonwilson]

needy logan headcanons for when you're busy with work || suggestion by @hiddenavenues

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

logan is always finding excuses to be near you. whether you're at your desk or working late on a project, he’ll casually drop by to “check on you.” his presence is comforting but undeniably distracting, as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, silently watching you with a smirk.

he knows what you like, so he starts bringing your favorite coffee or snack without being asked. it’s his way of saying, “i’m thinking about you,” but he never makes a big deal out of it. you finds little gifts like books, flowers, or even something practical you mentioned needing, left quietly in your space.

logan becomes extra touchy during this time. he’ll walk up behind you and rest his hands on your shoulders, rubbing away the tension, or casually brush a hand across your back. his hands linger just a bit longer than necessary, and there’s always a hint of possessiveness in his touch.

he'll randomly interrupt your work by stealing a kiss or ruffling your hair, knowing it gets a reaction out of you. if you try to shoo him away, he’ll grin and lean in closer, saying something teasing like, “you work too hard. take a break for me, darlin’.”

logan isn’t one for grand gestures, but he’ll leave handwritten notes in your workspace with short, gruff messages like, “missin’ you,” or “don’t forget to take a break.” sometimes they’re playful and flirty, other times they’re almost shy, revealing how much he hates being without your attention.

he takes on small tasks for you without you asking—picking up groceries, fixing something around the house, or even doing laundry. he doesn’t expect praise, but he secretly loves the idea that these small things might free up time for you to spend together.

despite all his gestures, there’s a simmering undercurrent of jealousy. if you mention spending time with someone else, logan’s demeanor will change slightly—his jaw tightens, and he might grip your hand a little harder. he doesn’t vocalize his jealousy much, but the possessiveness in his actions makes it clear.

when logan can’t have the your full attention, he’ll settle for watching you. his eyes follow your every move, as if committing every detail to memory. there’s an intensity in his gaze, a silent reminder of just how much he needs you.

whenever you do get a break, logan will immediately pull you into his arms, practically growling if you try to resist. he craves the physical connection, holding you tightly as if he’s making up for all the time you've been apart. he’s never been the type to ask for attention, but now, it’s obvious how much he needs it.

despite his rugged exterior, logan’s neediness shows a softer side. he’s not good with words, but you can tell he’s feeling a little insecure about being pushed aside. every gesture, touch, and note is his way of quietly saying, “miss you, need you.” even if he doesn’t say it out loud, the affection is constant and genuine.

[the-monkeies-girl]

'come back' this 'why dont you just quit' that SHUT UP ART TAKES TIME and i'M GOING THROUGH STUFF. I swear I'm working on stuff for other characters Caesar is my comfort CHARACTER THO.

Before the Sun.

Caesar was teetering between deep sleep and a lucid state, the fluttering of his eyelids were indicative of that. A soft smile tugged its way onto your expression, fallen with slumber itself as you had only just woken up a minute prior. The Ape King was vulnerable, or at least so you thought as your stare studied the way Caesar was resting on his stomach, his shoulders rising and falling with an inclined pace of drowsiness. It was rare in and of itself to see the broad body of him sleeping, every carnal and primal intent seeped out of the very tips of his fur the night before casting in you in a naked hue beside him.

He never slid his entire large frame on your side, save for the usual arm that was spread against your roused body, ultimately keeping you pinned between the rippled muscles under his thickened furred forearm and the animal hides that helped cushion the nest below on your back. 

It was hard to see the angles of his face much to your displeasure as the dawn had yet to crest itself into the shared bed bringing with it the first morning light that played shadows of delicacies against Caesar’s already sharpened features. Instead, you found your fingers dragging against the grain of Caesar’s furred arm, upwards towards his bicep, never admitting that you longed to have him awake but that was the intent deep inside of your dozy train of thought. 

There was a grumble of a baritone from the Ape beside you. “You… should be sleeping…” “I could say the same.” The retort you had was quick as if you anticipated his words, a smile of acute fondness taking hold against the edges of your lips. Caesar processed your words slowly, hearing the infliction you had used and without even looking towards you, he was able to deduce that you had been smiling. Something he himself desired to see. The Chimp was still lingering in a dream-state as he rolled his gaze open just long enough to make minor eye contact that cause you to yearn to see the green-gold of his irises looking at you and only you as if it were the first time making such intimate contact in the first place. It felt ardent and aggressive, the way that your heart fluttered against your ribcage with his next words, the deep richness like silken honey enough to keep you captivated. “Hm… Council meeting… This morning. Must… Wake soon.”

The words made sense but you were unwilling to waver to them as did Caesar as you were pulled inwards towards him. As if the 'C' shaped position he held his hand against your exposed skin, exploding the nerves to the point of exasperated goosebumps, was gravity itself and you found it difficult not to help the equation by rolling and bringing your face into his neck. You could almost feel the movement of the ripping muscles of Caesar's jugular as he adjusted his head for your placement, always happy and fulfilled to let his face press into the crown of your head as you puzzled your expression into his neck. Eyelids fluttered shut at the impact that felt so natural.

His scent was indescribable as usual to your waking nostrils which then began to tangle happily with the dreams that you imagined were ingrained in some deepened part of your subconscious. Deeply stuck with notes of the Muir Woods, the vines snaking up the trees and musk as if Caesar had accidentally rubbed his shoulder against dampened foliage and the tiny droplets of moisture were still clinging to the frayed tips of his fur.

All so inviting and all too alluring as your eyelids fluttered shut in drowsed bliss for a split second longer than you would have liked as you wanted to do nothing more than admire Caesar before he needed to trudge himself out of the nest to begin his day. Shoulders strong and wide, gait paced and sure. Green and golden catapulted irises that were so intent and detailed on all aspects around him that it was a spectacle itself to watch Caesar scan the Colony in search of answers that bore no inquiry to being with. All things that translated and transcended all attention from Apes and Humans alike in his presense.

“It’s not morning yet…” Your voice is barely above a whisper as Caesar chortled in response, a mixture of innate affection from your teasing phrase and the way that your breath catapulted against his fur, sinking in from the proximity your face was to his thickened neck into his skin below and shattering against it like fire against an ice sheet. Canines peeking out momentarily which captivated your faltering gaze before they rested shut permanently, consumed by the warmth that Caesar always provided along with the shield of protection that always lingered around your Mate.

"The Sun's not even up..." That tapered off with a slumber filled yawn against Caesar's fur, a few strands letting them case between your lips as you beckoned your body closer to the Ape and entangling yourself further much to Caesar's adamance to wake sooner rather than later.

Feeling you soft against his harder body coated with pristine and thickly dense muscles, the ricochets of your breathing along his neck and down the scape towards where his shoulder fused all tempted him to linger, to stay and bide time that was meant for a meeting. Caesar could spare a few moments, maybe even minutes if you wanted to be more persuasive.

You could feel the pressing of ovals against your side as his grip on your tender and naked flesh became more possessive and coated with intentions that were fluttering against the horizon just like the Sun itself. He'd wait to get up until it had risen. Despite it being a Human Technicality. Caesar would have it no other way as he grunted quietly, fusing your body against his to keep warm for the rest of the pre-dawn morn.

[starshinegarcia]

hi!!! Can you do Spencer x fem reader where she is not a part of the BAU but is Spencer's gf and no one on the team knows but they have their suspicions. Then one day he forgot his lunch so she decides to bring it to him at work and everyone is so shocked that he has a gf and they tease Spencer bc he's so infatuated with her and they are so in love!

I love this idea so much!! requested Spencer x Reader oneshot- my first time writing Spencer! feedback appreciated as always! __ stands for Y/N! hope i did it justice! thanks so much for the request lovely 💗

Isn’t it just so pretty to think..

The sun peeked in at you through a crack in the cream colored curtains, a trick of the light casting shadows on your freckled back as you dozed off- again. The slow beeping of your alarm clock came into earshot once again, and you begrudgingly unlocked your phone, trudging across the apartment to take a picture of the fridge (it was the only way to shut your alarm off, Spencer had figured out your sleep habits.) Slowly padding back to your bedroom, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, blinking as you examined Spencer’s side of the bed. Wait. You twirled around, doing a double take as your eyes focused on the blue lunch bag sitting on the counter. Spencer had forgotten his lunch, the one you had packed for him the night before, like you always did.

The love note peeked out at you in the front pocket, an extra reminder to you as you grabbed your phone. Scrolling through a few texts from Spencer from earlier in the morning, you dialed his number, chewing on your lip as it rang. “Good morning, sunshine.” “Spencie, you forgot your lunch.” You heard your boyfriend sigh on the other line, imagining him rubbing his temples. “So much for that eidetic memory, huh? I’m sorry, baby, put it back in the fridge, okay? I’ll order something for today.” You shook your head, but refrain from arguing audibly as an idea sprang into your head. “Baby?” “Just wait there, okay Spence?” “__, sweetheart, what-” “No time to talk! Bye!” Giggling, you DID place the lunch back in the fridge as he had asked, dashing back to the bedroom and shutting the door with a spin.

Spencer had, undoubtedly, been in a rush that morning, having stayed in bed with you a few more minutes then time allowed for. He ended up not being late, and even if he had been he would never sacrifice that time with you, not for the BAU, not for the world. You had been dating for half a year now, but you had been in his life for much longer before that- hence you two moving in relatively quickly. The team obviously had their suspicions, but no formal introduction had taken place- but Spencer was left completely clueless that morning as you hung up the phone, smiling and going back to his files with a loving shake of his head.

So, come lunchtime, the last thing he was expecting was your scent wafting through the office, his ears picking up on the jingling of your bracelets and suddenly feeling slightly crazy. But no, there you were, bouncing up to him with a visitor badge pinned to your blouse, your guy’s favorite Chinese takeout cradled in her hands.

“Hi, babe.” You set the food down on his desk, perching yourself on his desk. “What are you doing here, sunshine?” “Well, I have a shoot later downtown, and, I figured you might want some lunch- free delivery, of course.” Spencer chuckles, taking you in- you were wearing a light blue blouse over a darker blue skirt- two of his favorite colors, though anything looked good on you. “You shouldn’t have. You look stunning, though. I can’t wait to see those pictures later.” You giggle, swinging your legs and reaching out a hand to smooth his curls down. Spencer clears his throat, and you glance up to see the entire BAU staring at you.

The rest of the office watched in awe as you came in, then with even more surprise as you beelined it to Spencer’s desk. JJ whipped a fashion magazine out of seemingly thin-air, pointing to a woman on the front cover. “She is quite literally the top plus sized model in the US right now.” “You’re telling me that Spencer is dating HER?” Garcia burst out in a fit of giggles, “I told you guys, big girls are the way to go!” while Derek shook his head with a smile. “Pretty boy pulls a model. Who knew?” Emily swiveled around to face them, shaking her head. “She looks different than the magazine, though. She looks smart, and look at the way he’s looking at her. Reid wouldn’t date someone without depth.”

Becoming aware of everyone’s eyes on you, you look to your boyfriend for an answer, getting a nod and gentle smile in return. You hop up off his desk, smoothing your skirt down and waving shyly. “Uh, hi, everyone! I’m __, it’s really nice to finally meet you guys, Spencer has told me so much about you and I’m really glad to finally be putting a face to the name and I’m-” “Baby, breathe.” The team stifles a laugh, the resemblance between your rants and Spencer’s tangents clear. You flush. “Anyway. I brought enough food for all, if you guys want? Penelope, I um, got some vegetarian stuff for you, as well.” Garcia, the woman that she is, wraps you in a tight hug, and you laugh, appreciating her silent invitation into the group.

Seated at the round table, everyone passes food around, settling down eventually and eating off of paper plates Rossi had dug up somewhere. Chatter fills the table, and the door abruptly opens as Hotch enters the briefing room. Everyone freezes, and you drop your fork startlingly loudly as his eyes find you. Rossi starts, “Aaron, we were just-” Hotch holds up his hand, cracking a smile as he motions to shake your hand. “You must be Spencer’s girlfriend. I had a feeling we���d be meeting you soon. __, is it?” You blink, standing up and letting out a sigh of relief, eyes twinkling as he winks at Spencer and starts to pull up a chair.

As the lunch hour came to a natural close, Spencer pulled you close as you leaned on his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to the side of your head,Garcia gazes at you two from the bullpen. “They are so freaking cute, I could cry.” Everyone laughs, but silently agrees, happy to know their youngest and most troubled colleague had found someone. Back in the office, you glance at your bedazzled watch and sigh.“I need to get going, baby, my shoot starts in half an hour.” Spencer groans, tugging on your arm as you start to stand up and gather your things. You laugh, rubbing his hand with your thumb. “I’ll see you at home, Spencie.” He nods, pulling you into a kiss and resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll be looking forward to that PB&J tomorrow, sweetheart.”

All along there was some invisible string, tying you to me..

Tags: @discotitsposts @ilikw

Comment 🦋 to be added to my tag list!! :)

[bunification]

SHORT FUSE — ELLIE WILLIAMS

ellie takes you to a club and can’t wait til home to fuck you.

wc: 1.2K

a/n: hiiii so this is my first fic!!! i’m super excited, open to any advice, and likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome!!! my asks are always open :)

Ellie is pissed. The kind of pissed that worms its way into every thought, the kind that lasts for hours, the kind that burns and simmers until it boils over, scalding everything in its way. And because the reason was you, dancing away at a club she took you to, in clothes she bought for you (knowing you’d look like this, like a meal that’s got a garnish, all delicious and presentable), she’s even more pissed because she knew this would happen.

She can’t take you anywhere without people fawning over you, a fact that both satisfies some primal urge within her and activates an equally primal violent one. She’s having fun, she scolds herself. You can fuck her stupid in an hour. You can give her an hour.

And Ellie could’ve–would’ve–if you hadn’t stumbled over, all done up with black smudged around your eyes and glossy lips twisted in a pout twenty minutes later asking to dance. She even tried complying, folding before you finished asking as she dragged you back toward the dance floor.

It was a minute in, when you began grinding your ass against the strap hidden beneath her slacks, that Ellie’s restraint finally snapped. Her hands slot themselves onto your hips, gripping with a strength that tells you she could throw you over her shoulder in a heartbeat. You pause your movements; her hands tighten, gripping the fat at your hips like you might try and escape, then loosen without losing their place.

You’re just barely tipsy, more confused when you mumble out “Els, wha–?” Except she doesn’t let you finish, moving her iron grip to your hand, swallowing it in her own as she spins you around to look at her. She looks debauched. Pupils engulfing her irises, lips recently wet and parted with heaving breaths, furrowed brows caging in her eyes as she looks at you. She’s ethereal.

“Y’r a fuckin’ tease,” she grumbles and then doesn’t waste a moment more before leaning down to press her lips against yours. It starts slow, with a special awareness that this is happening in the middle of the dance floor, before quickly devolving until the rest of the world fades and it’s just eachother. She devours you, pulls you apart and explores each section as her tongue fucks itself into your mouth, before she obscenely sucks your tongue into hers. You can’t help but whimper, and that’s when she pulls back, allows the two of you to catch your breath. You pant into her mouth, breaths mingling, and Ellie leans down to press a quick peck to your lips, like she can’t help it. Her hand, giant and imposing, softly cups your cheek and her thumb dances across the soft skin.

“Can’t wait till home,” she mumbles, and you catch it by reading her kiss stricken lips, the words going straight to your cunt. “Bathroom?” she asks, and she’s hopeful, so cute with bitten lips and a shy grin. Who are you to deny her of something you’ve wanted since you got back from class? You nod, and she winks, before turning around and swallowing your hand in her own yet again, leading a path through the crowd to the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom was a blur, only coming into focus once Ellie manhandled you onto the counter, cool granite a harsh contrast to the way her hands encapsulated your plush thighs. She was kneading at the doughy skin, mouth relentless against your lips, and then your neck. You were speechless for a moment, and then you were sure you’d never shut up again, “God Ellie, so good to me,” And you’re tugging at her roots, just scrambling to pull her into you, to get her face up to yours so you can see her, breath with her, love on her.

Ellie doesn’t move, instead tsks, just a condescending “Ah, ah, ah” before turning her attention back towards your neck. “Supposed to be mad at you,” and she huffs a laugh into your neck when you scoff. “‘M serious,” she continues, “You’re out there looking all pretty, and I don’t really care what you do, babe, but they’re looking. Wish I could be the only one, ‘s all.”

“So you’re really not mad at me,” you clarify, continuing to run your fingers through her hair, and Ellie nips at your skin, a playful little notion. After a beat, she finally folds, “No,” keeping her position buried in the crook of your neck before peeking out to make eye contact with a twinkle in them before asking, “Will you still let me fuck you?”

You nod, and then it’s all unbottoning pants and flipping up skirts, messy circles on your clit over your panties with your face buried in Ellie’s neck. You hiccup against her skin, lazily mouthing at it when you quiet down a bit, patiently waiting for your girlfriend to pull out her dick. Ellie shimmies her slacks down her legs a bit before letting the pink glittery dildo escape the confines of her pants. “Y’want my fingers? Need a little more from me?” And only a sob escapes because she’s been working your clit the entire time.

“Need you now,” You whimper, squirming where she has you against the granite, her big hands palming at your tits through your shirt, and you’re ready for her, slick and pliant and open. She rubs your clits a couple more times before bringing one of her hands to the base of her dick, and the other to slide your panties over. The head nudges at your rim, stretching so easily as she pushes in, and your lips are a breath apart, panting into the other’s mouth when Ellie slides home.

You moan unabashadly, head throw back until it thumps against the mirror as Ellie thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. She’s so deep it hurts, so deep it feels like she might grow roots and build a home here. And god, you want her to, and you tell her as much as she fucks into you, just “Oh Els,” and “Right there, fuck,” and “I’m getting—mmph—close, oh”. Ellie can’t help the cocky grin that stays on her face as her hips slam into your own, knowing she’s got you like this and knowing that, for the rest of her life, no one else would.

“Is my girl close?” She asks, face now right by your ear, “Y’gonna cum? Is my sweet girl gonna cum?” You nod, furiously, letting out a shout of pleasure when her hand sneaks down towards your clit and rubs. It all lasts a moment more before pleasure consumes you, vision going white as the wave crashes. She holds you, carrying you through it with deep, slow thrusts, a milky white ring around the pretty pink base.

Ellie’s hand circles your back, pulling you toward her before seeming to remember that she’s buried inside you, and so she backs up so she can pull out. She slips out of you, and you briefly whine at her absence until she returns, with some damp paper towel. She cleans you up, and kisses your forehead before resituating your underwear and skirt, then her own slacks.

Ellie is content. The kind of content that worms its way into every thought, the kind that lasts for hours, the kind that floats and glimmers until it’s barely containable. And because the reason was you, sitting before her on the counter she just fucked you on, she’s even more content because she had a feeling this would happen.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Can You Hear The Thunder?

Chapter 4: Growth / Earth ghouls

Dew gets closer to Aether as he settles in topside. He meets Terzo who is nothing like he expected the leader of the church would be. Another new ghoul is summoned.

Luckily I wrote most of this before my keyboard broke haha! I've added a bunch more tags on AO3 since last chapter, all things I expect to happen but aren't concrete in the story or my plan yet.

I hope you don't mind 10k of thinly disguised worldbuilding!

P.S. Dew's mug near the start is totally a pfand mug from a Weihnachtsmarkt

Rating: M Content: religion, ghoul summonings Words: 10,838

Link to full fic with associated tags: Tumblr | AO3

Tag list: @cosmicseafoam @ashthewaterghoul @jimothybarnes @zombiequeen777 @rainsbasspick @kentuckyfriedsatan @papaslittlesunshine <33 if I forgot anyone lmk!!

Read below, or on AO3!

Earth ghouls were the eldest species of ghoul, and among the creations He was proudest of. Guardians of His environment and curators of the most spectacular gardens in the Pit, they were the perfect blend of brute and beauty. As was reflected in the boundless variety of nature, the earth ghoul species showed the most variation between them that arose from adaptations to suit their environment. From the cactus-spine skin of ghouls in the desert regions to the lichen-encrusted horns of those in rocky areas, earth ghouls had evolved much as the lands they watched over had.

In the same way that earth ghouls had adapted to their surroundings, so too did their marks adapt to the ghoul they represented. Earth ghoul soul marks were very closely tied to their species’ constantly fluctuating nature and their connection to the world around them, a testament to what secrets the natural world held if one only looked close enough.

Starting at a similar age to the soul mark development in other species of ghouls, earth ghouls would begin to periodically sprout flowers from around their horns in their adolescence. Sometimes they would appear unprompted; small and slow-growing, a passive indication of the native personality of the eternal mate of the ghoul who bore them. Other times they would burst forth like a seedling in springtime, a spray of flowers brought on by a surge in emotions from their other half.

Like with quintessence ghouls, an earth ghoul could use the ancient meanings behind the bouquets on their horns to decipher the emotional state of their mate and how they may react to different situations. Earth ghouls could begin to piece together their soulmate's personality; if they were quick to anger, optimistic in the face of hardship, or a calm peacemaker. Oftentimes, the soul mark flowers would graft themselves permanently to their host and react to the ghoul's own emotions but with a reaction according to that of their mate. Quiet and reserved ghouls could find their horns breaking out into a sprawling mass of vines at something they found only mildly frustrating, yet that would have infuriated their mate.

In another similarity shared across elemental species of ghoul, earth ghouls had elders much like those of the water ghouls who could decipher the meanings of the flowers using their knowledge of the ancient botanical language. Not only were they able to gain some insight into the personalities of their future mate, but also their possible location. In the Pit, as was the case topside, different biomes were home to different families of plants which could provide invaluable hints to where their mate may be raised. Most often though the blooms were familiar, hinting that one's true companion was not far away.

A distinctive yet simple characteristic, earth ghoul soul marks had made the jump to other elements of ghoul with relative ease. Horns were a universal trait amongst all of His ghouls, and as such the growth of flowers around them was a given. However, somewhere in the evolution of other species of ghoul, their ability to sprout flowers from a soul mark had spread to other prominent features within their kind. Most noticeably was in water and air ghouls, whose dorsal fins and feathered spines provided a perfect home for the sprays of vines, flowers and other greenery that had spread beyond the twin protrusions of their horns.

While many crossmated ghouls would long to sever themselves from their soul marks, those with earth marks found it especially challenging. Although it may have been relatively easy to simply rip the handfuls of flowers out as they appeared, it was a thankless task as they would always reappear. Destroying something so universally recognised as beautiful also took its toll on a ghoul’s psyche after a while, often leaving the ghoul with a deeper sense of self-loathing than ever.

~~~~~~~

When Dew woke the next day, it was to a room flooded with light. He squinted against it as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, identifying the source as an uncovered window opposite. He wasn’t used to such blinding light; everything in the Pit had been distorted by the clouds of ash and sulphur, tainting the light with a sickly orange glow. Neither was he used to being awoken by the sun, as his clan had made their homes in the deep basalt caves.

He made to stretch his limbs out, fearful of the pain the sheets grazing against his burns might cause, but was pleasantly stunned to feel nothing but the ordinary caress of well-worn cotton and the plush duvet. Dew threw the covers back, still expecting to see the raw red skin he had gone to bed with. Nothing. His body appeared unchanged from how it had been the morning before in the Pit. Aether’s healing abilities must be more powerful than he had initially thought.

When the shock at his painful burns vanishing had subsided some, Dew became aware of a different, deeper ache in the muscles of his legs. In his haste to reach the portal yesterday, and masked by the adrenaline surging through him, he had failed to notice just how much exertion his full sprint had needed. It was a good ache though; the kind that felt satisfying to push against and Dew let out an involuntary moan as he stretched out fully, like a cat, before rolling himself upright and hauling himself to his feet.

Upon a further investigation of the bathroom, he discovered a plastic wrapped toothbrush and unfamiliar tube of what he assumed to be toothpaste. He gave it a cautious sniff, the icy scent of mint assaulting his nostrils, before he flicked out a forked tongue to tentatively taste it. Dew recoiled at the sensation, throwing it back onto the counter. In the Pit, they had made their own paste for cleaning their fangs and horns from charcoal; maybe other fire ghouls before him had made their own here too? This was still supposed to be a water ghoul's room after all, so he wasn’t surprised that the amenities here would cater more to them.

Feeling no fresher, Dew stared down the pile of crumpled clothes he had abandoned on the back of the desk chair before crawling into bed the night before, as if they could magically clean and fold themselves. Aether had said he could get more today, and he would have to hold him to that. At least the hoodie was free of wrinkles, he thought as he unfolded it and pulled the soft fabric over his head.

As he had suspected he would be, Aether was already in the common room when he emerged, head buried in a paperback novel. He hastily put it down, but not before Dew caught a glimpse of the cover and the muscular, half-naked human man on it. He smirked at the quintessence ghoul and the lavender blush that tinged his cheeks.

“Sleep well?” Aether coughed as he got to his feet, slipping back in his professional welcomer role with ease.

Dew nodded, before forcing himself to acknowledge him verbally; new dimension, new me he had decided, after all.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Well, no one said he had to be the most verbose ghoul this side of the Pit, he supposed. Aether seemed delighted nonetheless and soon busied himself explaining a battered coffee pot that was making gurgling sounds on the counter.

Dew accepted a chipped mug plastered with an unfamiliar cityscape in winter and filled with a dark steaming liquid. He sniffed it while Aether turned away to rummage through another cold-cupboard and, liking what he smelled, he took a sip. The liquid was hot and bitter, warming hum from the inside in a comforting way. By the time Aether faced him again, Dew had already gulped down half the mug.

“You don't take milk or sugar in your coffee then, I take it.” He laughed weakly, topping his own mug off with several heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a glug of milk. Dew knew what both were, and was surprised by the casual attitude with which he produced them. Sugar had been relatively commonplace in his home, but milk had been a rare luxury as it spoiled so quickly in the scorching heat. He couldn't see how it would improve this coffee though; the delightfully tannic aftertaste coating his fangs.

“I thought I could show you around this morning,” Aether suggested as he continued bustling around the small kitchenette, topping up Dew's coffee as he went, “Terzo wants to meet with you first though, to say a proper hello.”

Dew pulled a face at that; he had hoped to settle a little more before meeting the leader of the Abbey, wanting to give off the most well-adjusted and competent impression he could.

“Don't worry, he won't bite,” Aether placed a plate full of toast in front of Dew on the coffee table, “he'll bind a mask to your glamour too, so you can start to work on it and explore the rest of the Abbey properly.”

That sounded interesting, Dew thought as he nibbled on a piece of the crispy bread. He was looking forward to the independence Aether promised they got here, and the ability to work on his human camouflage. A small, niggling part of his brain was also holding onto the hope that the very clearly unearthly marks on his forearms might also be hidden away behind it.

Before long, Aether was leading Dew out of the well-lit corridor of their dorm and into the gloomy stone passages of the Abbey. Intimidating stone arches loomed over every crossing of corridors, and alcoves filled with lurking shadows haunted their every step. Even when they emerged into a cloister bordering a small courtyard, the daylight that filtered in only served to deepen the shadows by throwing them into sharp relief. A lonely fountain tumbled morosely in the centre where, even though Dew had clearly heard birdsong from their Den that morning, not a soul had ventured down to drink from it.

Dew gave up on trying to track the twists and turns Aether led him down after the fifth near-identical hallway. They seemed to be gradually descending, the temperature lowering and the little light that crept in through high windows fading as the corridors were punctuated by single steps down. Just as Dew was beginning to wonder if Aether was taking him a long route back down to the summoning chambers, the corridor opened out into a large antechamber. The ceiling here was higher, seemingly for the sole purpose of fitting a pair of monstrously large oak doors.

Cut into the bottom of the left panel was a significantly smaller door, it’s outline disguised by intricate carvings, although as they approached it became clear it was the size of every other entryway they had passed through so far. The only sign that gave away its frequent use was how the surface had become polished through years of hands pushing against it. Following their lead, Aether led Dew through it and into the chapel beyond.

Here the ceilings rose even higher away from them, smooth columns ascending to accent the vertical space before curving together into the spectacular vaulted construction above their heads. This wasn't what drew Dew's attention however, but rather the patchwork of stained-glass windows lining the walls, casting the whole expanse in a rainbow of light. He stepped forward almost instinctively, drawn by the pull of the illuminated canvases.

Upon closer inspection, they told stories through the pictures immortalised in them. Dew recognised the tale of the creation of ghouls; how He had birthed His servants of the elements to wield their power in the Pit and beyond. Then below that, the binding of ghouls to their eternal mate through their soul marks. The light streaming through the blue glass of the depicted water ghoul fell upon the fabric of Dew's hoodie, in an ironic mimicry of his own mark.

Dew turned his head away, instead focussing his attention to the next window depicting His domains in the Pit. He saw landscapes that were altogether unfamiliar to him; vast forests, oceans, and rocky outcrops in a sea of darkness. The panel that caught his attention though was of his own fiery homeland. The volcano they had made their homes around, that Dew had thrown himself into only yesterday, was in the centre of the image as it was the centre of their world. Every detail about it was faithfully recreated, from the jagged contours of its slopes to the exact shade of russet of the glass. Dew stared at it with a strange pang in his gut: there was a chance this would be the only way he would ever see his birthplace again. The care given to the accuracy of the picture felt almost nostalgic, homesick even. It had to have been created by another fire ghoul; someone who had spent every moment of their life before then in that place, as he had.

“Beautiful, isn't it,” Aether murmured quietly behind him, with no urgency to rush Dew forward from his contemplation present in his voice, “it's like you're back there, just for a moment.”

Dew turned to look at him, the pain in his voice familiar. Reflected in his violet eyes he saw the deep greys and silvers of the landscape with the quintessence symbol atop it. Most of that panel was a deep black, barely letting any light through. It was punctuated by small spots of crystal-clear glass however, tiny dots that let every photon of the outside sunlight beam through, piercing the black nothingness. He wondered what had led Aether to accept the summoning call, what could have caused him the anguish that tinged his countenance.

“Terzo's office is out the back.” Aether quietly explained when Dew looked away to observe the rest of the chapel. They moved silently, reverently, through the solemn space. The architecture was by all accounts the most spectacular aspect of it, but there was something equally inspiring about the rest of the interior. From the perfectly laid out hassocks under the polished oak pews to the meticulous cleanliness of every surface, it was clear that the chapel was a true house of worship in His name, looked after with careful devotion. Even the cool marble beneath Dew's bare feet felt freshly cleaned, lacking the gritty coating of dirt that all other floors clung onto.

They passed behind a dark purple curtain, almost hidden in the shadows itself, that covered another door leading out into a vestry built beneath a choir loft. This room was darker, the ceilings so low Aether almost had to duck his head. The comforting smell of incense hung heavy in the air as Aether knocked on yet another door with a small brass plaque reading Papa Emeritus III. Dew tightened the strings of his hood, making sure his fire ghoul horns were still hidden. Terzo Emeritus might sound like a well-meaning and fair man in Aether's stories, but the others present at his summoning certainly had not and Dew was not about to invite unnecessary questions about his elemental heritage in their proper first meeting.

“I'll be right with you!” They heard a voice call from inside, followed by a lot of shuffling and a concerningly loud thump.

When the man in charge finally opened the door, Dew was struck by how human he looked. At his summoning in their long, hooded cloaks, all four had cut imposing figures, but here he looked so unassuming; a middle-aged human in human clothes, rubbing at his hip with a wince and seeming more than a bit frazzled. His hair, looking like it had been carefully slicked back not that many hours before, was in disarray and his hands bore the clear stains of someone who had been battling with a leaking fountain pen. He was shorter than Dew remembered too.

“Sorry,” he apologised, pushing an errant lock of hair back out of his face and leaving a blue smudge in its place, “Sister gave me a whole load of paperwork last night, all the expenses from last tour.”

Aether winced, sympathetically.

“I can still help you like I used to, you know,” the quintessence ghoul strode confidently into his boss’ office, pulling off his mask as he went, and began picking through the mass of jumbled papers on the too-small desk, “rehearsals haven't even started yet, and Dewdrop's settling in nicely.”

Dew felt both pairs of eyes flick to him in the doorway, the man clearly noticing him stood there for the first time. His eyes were different colours, with one a ghostly white that Dew felt was staring straight into his soul. He squirmed, unsure if he should enter the cramped room too or not.

“Dewdrop!” Papa Emeritus the Third, in all of his infernal majesty, reached out in greeting to clap Dew on the shoulders with both hands. “How fantastic to have you on board! It's been a while since we had a hybrid ghoul here at the Abbey.”

So that was what they thought he was, Dew sighed to himself.

“It's nice to be here, uh... Papa Emerit–”

“Please, call me Terzo,” the man interrupted with a wolfish grin and a wave of his hand, “Papa Emeritus is my father. And my brother. And my other brother!”

Dew forced a polite smile, that he hoped didn't come across as a grimace.

“Aether’s taking good care of you then?” He tossed the question over his shoulder as he strode to a wardrobe built into the wall and pulled out a ceremonial robe. The quintessence ghoul in question appeared behind him, unbidden, and began helping it over his head before smoothing his hair back into place with a practiced air.

“Yes, uh… Terzo.”

“Good, good. We’d be lost without him, wouldn’t we eh?” He winked at Dew conspiratorially, although Dew couldn’t understand quite why. A polite titter seemed to appease the man though.

“Now, I’m sure I know what he’s brought you here for, beyond exchanging pleasantries,” with a flourish, he produced a silver mask from under his robes like a magician might a rabbit from a hat, “your freedom to explore the Abbey. Although why Aether wouldn’t want to keep you locked away a little longer is beyond me!”

Dew didn’t understand what he was getting at with this either, although one glance at Aether’s almost puce cheeks gave him some idea. Unsure if this was some kind of test of his dedication to the values He and by extension His church were spreading, Dew made a split-second decision to go along with whatever game Terzo was playing. He jutted one hip out and plastered a lascivious smirk onto his face.

“Hmm, why did no one tell me that was an option?”

Even the tips of Aether’s ears were blushing now and Terzo guffawed a laugh, clapping both ghouls on the shoulder in turn.

“Well then, I’ll let you two get back to your Den shortly – enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts! I’ll be summoning an earth ghoul tomorrow, another play mate for the two of you, if you know how to share.”

He winked again, and Dew tried to fight against the blood rushing to his face, even as he felt himself failing.

“C'mon,” Terzo bustled past him in a swirl of purple and black, “Let’s get this mask bound to you, then you're free to go and sin however you please!”

He led Dew back out to the body of the chapel leaving Aether to don his own mask again and trail dutifully behind them. Laying the mask on the altar, he glimpsed Dew's expression, still one of confusion and overwhelm, and his smile turned softer.

“Every ghoul has what has become known amongst your kind as a glamour,” he explained, “think of it as a reflection of yourself, an image of what you might look like had you been born in this realm instead of the Pit. The mask ties that parallel form to you, allows you to feel it and wear it as a mask itself.”

Dew nodded hesitantly; he thought he understood, although he still had no idea how to conjure such a disguise.

“Once I have bound the mask to you, a connection to your glamour will open and you'll be able to feel it, like flexing a muscle or so I've been told.”

He looked at Aether, hovering within earshot as he spoke. The quintessence ghoul nodded in agreement.

“It's like opening and closing your eyes. You can choose to do it consciously, but it also happens instinctually. You'll learn to keep it up without even thinking about it.” He confirmed.

“It will take some practice still,” Terzo warned him, “and you'll need to work hard at it. You can rely on the mask around the Abbey for now, but having a reliable glamour is a requirement to leave the grounds.”

Which is part of your job. Dew didn't need to hear the unsaid part to know it was implied. Without a glamour he wouldn't be able to do what he had been summoned for, and then what was the point of him being here.

“The mask will help though,” Aether reassured him, “it lets you see what you have to work towards, at least for everything apart from your face behind it.”

Terzo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stilling him, and Dew realised he had been shaking slightly.

“It will be fine, Dewdrop,” his smile was kind, reassuring, “once I've blessed the mask specifically to you, things should make a bit more sense and you can always ask if you have any problems. I know from Aether's early days topside just how big an adjustment it can be.”

Dew turned to look at the larger ghoul, unable to imagine him being anything other than the polished professional he seemed to be now. Aether was looking at the floor, sheepishly grinding a foot into the ground; Dew made a mental note to ask more about that later.

“Now, let's get on with the show!” He clapped his hands together, shook his robes out, and Aether took his signal to melt away into the shadows.

Terzo beckoned Dew forward until they both stood closer together in front of the altar. It had a similar unostentatious beauty as the wooden pews in the body of the chapel, Dew thought. The dark oak was simply polished, the natural knots and grain of the wood the only embellishment. There were no lavishly embroidered vestments covering it, only a single black satin cushion in the centre on which Terzo now laid the silver mask.

Before the altar and under the glow of a thousand coloured windowpanes, Dew received his first topside blessing as part of the church. He felt Terzo's full attention resting on him as the man reached out with his left hand, placing his thumb and two forefingers to Dew's face, one on each cheek and another on his forehead. With his other hand, he mirrored the points of contact on the mask.

His eyes closed, Terzo began to mumble the words of a prayer only he was privy to the contents of. Dew watched his face, from the minute movements of his jaw to the creasing of his paint as his forehead wrinkled in concentration. When they opened again, they stared straight into Dew's own as he now spoke his final words for the ghoul to hear too.

“Dewdrop, as I summoned your physical form from realms below to this mortal plane, so too do I summon an earthly face for your body to wear. I bind it to this mask, with hope that through this connection you too can channel His power as you serve Him through our church’s song.”

Removing his hand from Dew's face, he picked up the mask and passed it to him. Dew expected the metal to feel cold and hard against his skin as he pressed it to his face, tightening the stretchy strap at the back of his head, underneath his braided bun. To his surprise however it felt the same temperature as him, and as soft as worn leather as it moulded perfectly to his face. Through the eye holes he could see Terzo beaming at him.

Dew felt no different as he took stock of his faculties; he could still feel the gentle pressure of his hoodie against his horns, although when he reached a hand up there was nothing to be felt besides the twin points of the mask. The same was true of his tail, which he could still feel twined around his calf but of which there was no sign.

It was as he looked down to confirm with his eyes that he saw them; his hands. The skin was still pale, but lighter, pinker, human. Dew held them up to his face to examine them more closely. He could see the veins running beneath his skin, a blue-green colour as opposed to the golden sunset hue they usually had. It was a familiar colour, one that made him itch to roll up his sleeves and see if his soul mark was still haunting him. Instead he examined the other strange difference that was clear to him, squinting at the translucent growths that had replaced his dark grey claws.

“Welcome, Dewdrop,” Terzo smiled, out of his role as head of the church and back to his casual self again, “it really is great to have you on board.”

He looked over to Aether, still lurking out of earshot to give them privacy during the mask binding, and beckoned him back over.

“Go explore, have fun today! It’ll be good for the both of you.”

Dew hardly needed telling twice; as nice as the chapel and his new boss were he was keen to get acquainted with his new home, and if that so happened to be with Aether by his side he certainly was not about to complain.

“The summoning tomorrow will start at sun’s peak, same as always,” Terzo addressed Aether, who had his own mask of professionalism firmly back in place after Terzo's earlier teasing, “let's hope it goes as smoothly as Dewdrop's did.”

The pair shared a look Dew did not understand before Terzo turned and strode back to his office, robes swishing behind him, and they were summarily dismissed.

The walk back from the chapel felt slightly awkward at first, neither talking as Dew continued to stare at his hands and get used to his peripheral vision being slightly obscured. Before too long though Aether was filling the silence with more talk of glamours. For all Terzo's talk of it being a reflection of his own self, looking into a physical mirror with his mask on to grow used to his human reflection really had been his turning point in grasping his, the quintessence ghoul explained.

Back in the main hallways of the Abbey the air felt a few degrees warmer, and Dew was starting to get the hand of turning his head to see his surroundings rather than just moving his eyes. Since he had free rein now, Aether took it upon himself to give a brief tour of the places that they passed on their way back to the Den.

Closest to the chapel was a library, a warm and dark room filled to overflowing with bookshelves so tall even he would need a ladder to reach the highest tomes. The air smelled comfortingly of old parchment in a slightly dusty yet calming way. It was clear from his expression that Aether was relaxed here, amongst the maze of bookshelves and hidden alcoves, but to Dew they felt like oppressive obstacles.

He was free to borrow any book he wanted, Aether explained, and Dew feigned interest for his sake. There was also a small stash of movies for the TV in the Den – whatever that meant, other than being yet more words that were entirely foreign to him. Dew was starting to realise that none of that really mattered though – everything important like his glamour seemed to be spelled out for him as clearly as possible, and anything else could come with time.

Leaving the library, Aether gestured down a narrower corridor with several doors leading off. Terzo's old office was down there, as were the offices of his brothers and father from Dew's summoning. Behind the far door, he explained in a hushed voice, was the real mastermind of their activities here: Sister Imperator, the once-lover of the original Papa Emeritus, Nihil. She was the one who truly called the shots, despite each of the Papas' assertions to the contrary. Aether spoke with a cautious reverence. Under her guidance, she had steered the church to loftier heights than the original Papa Nihil ever had, but in exchange the Abbey was ruled by her rod of iron.

Before they got back to the dormitories Aether, as promised, took Dew to gather a selection of new clothes from the storage. They entered a small, windowless room to find a similar density of stuff to the books in the library, although less claustrophobically arranged. Every wall was lined with shelves and cupboards, while the centre of the room was occupied by clothes rails containing a huge variety of garments.

“Go wild,” Aether gestured widely to the room, “I'll make a note of what we take before we leave, but you can pretty much help yourself since you're new!”

Dew hardly knew where to start. He settled on riffling through the clothes first, finding they were helpfully sorted by size. Several duplicates of the tight black items he was wearing went straight into the basket Aether held out to him, followed by a few larger shirts with interesting-looking graphics printed on them. A dark red striped hoodie followed, as did a pile of black underwear.

Moving onto the overflowing cabinets around the edge of the room, Dew discovered what he assumed to be toiletries. Everything he picked up got a tentative sniff while Aether helpfully explained what some of the stranger items were. He had no idea what a hair mask was, but the humans on the container were smiling widely and seemed to have hair that looked less like it had survived a trip through a volcano than his own, so into the basket it went. The triumphant sound he had made upon discovering an entire drawer of hairbrushes had made Aether giggle in a way Dew was desperate to hear again.

He found a body wash that smelled like cinnamon, hot and slightly spicy that he had to resist the urge to taste, and even a small stash of toothpaste that didn't smell of that icy mint like before. Instead, it smelled like cloyingly artificial fruit, but a covert lick told him that it was at least better than the burning cold.

The other side of the room seemed to be mostly snacks and pre-packaged food which Dew was significantly less interested in; everything was wrapped in plastic and covered in similar pictograms as the frozen pizzas had been. As much as he had enjoyed that, the choice here was overwhelming so he simply tossed a few items with flames on them into the basket and called it a day. He was sure he would learn what was good in time; with any luck he would have a whole lifetime to do so.

Back in the corridor, the pair almost crashed headfirst into a pair of figures dressed head to toe in black, save for a white veil. Their faces were clearly human, with no lingering unearthly features like Aether or even Terzo with his singular white eye possessed. They even smelled wrong; warm, alive and organic. Dew wrinkled his nose once they were past them, looking to Aether in confusion.

“Humans,” he explained, “it’s not just other ghouls who live here, but some of the most devout humans too. Papa calls them his Siblings of Sin.”

Dew shrugged in understanding, although he was still unsure how they smelled so different to Terzo. He had an almost neutral scent; clearly not a ghoul, but not so offensively human either. Maybe it was his close contact with ghouls, or even with Him below, but either way Dew was just relieved that it wasn’t one more thing he would have to get used to.

He put the thought out of his mind and continued proudly dragging his stash back to the Den. Rather, as his brain unhelpfully pointed out, Aether was the one carrying the unwieldy basket while he just trotted along beside him. The larger ghoul seemed unbothered by it however and Dew, unused to such chivalry being extended to him from his time in the Pit, was happy enough to play along.

He did at least get the door to the Den for Aether, holding it open before he attempted to shoulder his way through without dropping the basket. Dew felt a strange flutter in his gut as he laid his mask on the table beside Aether’s.

“There’s an empty shelf in the pantry you can fill,” Aether explained, pointing at the cupboard in question as he put Dew’s hoard on the coffee table with a thud, “and just dump the clothes you don’t want from your closet on one of the other beds, I’ll deal with them later.”

Grappling the bulky laundry basket, Dew staggered back to his room with it. Resisting the urge to upend its contents straight onto his bed, he instead put it on his empty writing desk. With a quick glance to check Aether was still in the common room, Dew darted back out to the entryway of the Den and snatched up his new mask.

His gathered spoils from the storeroom sat abandoned as he shut and locked his door before ripping off his hoodie and shirt. The anticipation of the sweet relief of finally seeing his arms unmarried by the soul mark that had tormented him for so many years was almost suffocating. He took a deep breath against his pounding heart, then stood in front of his mirror with closed eyes, put his mask on, opened them again and…

They were still there. Granted, they were less garish against his human skin, looking like the blue ink of a tattoo embedded into his skin rather than an alien vine growing upon him, but they were very much still there. A mad dash to the bathroom confirmed that they didn't glow with water in this state, some small relief, but any hope he felt that with this new appearance could come a new relationship with the idea of having a soulmate was dashed like a fragile boat against cliffs in a storm. He would never escape his marks, instead he would be forever running from them.

A therapeutic cry later, and Dew had wriggled into the camouflage of a clean shirt and begun sorting out the wardrobe full of spare clothes, more as a distraction than anything else. He dumped the basket's contents onto the floor, refilling it with everything that wasn't his style or was the totally wrong size and abandoning it in the empty room next to his that had an air symbol on the door. Everything else he hung up or folded away into drawers, neatly lining up his new toiletries as though they could compensate for the mess he felt like inside.

Finally re-emerging into the common room, he again saw Aether reading his book and looking for all the world as though he was just killing time waiting for Dew. He wondered what the ghoul had spent his days doing before his summoning – Aether had seemed intimately familiar with Terzo's office, and especially so with the mess of paperwork on his desk. Dew knew he had been Terzo's personal ghoul before, whatever that meant, but it seemed as though he had been reassigned as his babysitter? Or was it all part of his move to being in the band and replacing the last group of ghouls he had yet to meet? Either way, it didn't seem like he was feeling very fulfilled given the way he leapt up from his position lounging on the couch the second he heard Dew's light footfalls.

“All sorted then?” He asked, looking as though his tail was about to start wagging like a puppy at the prospect of continuing Dew's introduction to the Abbey. Dew nodded, forcing a smile and hoping Aether couldn't see the red rim around his eyes.

“How about some lunch? I thought I could show you the dining hall next.”

Dew's stomach agreed with that idea and, given his experience with topside food the day before, he was also looking forward to trying more. They headed in a different direction when they reached the inner courtyard this time, heading down a well-lit corridor flanked with crystal clear panes of glass and far fewer shadowy nooks that the path to the chapel. As they got closer, the smell of warm bread tickled Dew's nostrils making them flare in anticipation.

Entering through a modern, almost industrial door, Dew found himself in a large, well-lit room that seemed at odds with the foreboding stone of the rest of the Abbey. The walls were a light yellow, a smooth painted plaster, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different that the sombre atmosphere from earlier. The smell of humans permeated the room, but he was able to put it aside in favour of the other food smells and the more familiar ghoulish scent. There was a hubbub of conversation echoing off the walls, yet it was at a volume that made it feel friendly and welcoming rather than oppressive.

The actions of the figures within the room were less friendly, although by no means hostile; the other ghouls, all in human glamour either with or without a mask to aid them, seemed to be studiously avoiding looking their way. Dew in turn ignored them, and the human siblings as well. Aether seemed unbothered by their reactions and by the mixture of scents in the room and so Dew chose to simply follow his lead.

They collected sandwiches from a countertop with a hatch leading to a kitchen beyond, the source of the more pleasant smells, and Dew helped himself to ones from a pile Aether told him were filled with the same pepperoni he had enjoyed on the frozen pizza the night before. The pair sat alone on a table in the far corner of the room, with no one else making any move to join them which suited Dew just fine. The sandwich was by no means as good as the pizza had been, although he had to admit it was nice regardless. Fresh ingredients had been a rare treat in his fiery home, and he was determined to enjoy every bite of them get got up here.

On their way back to the Den, Dew was beginning to feel more comfortable in the hallways. Sure, they all looked the same and he was certain he would be getting lost for weeks to come, but the similarity between them made each new twist and turn feel somewhat familiar.

“I could show you the lake next, if you like?” Aether had suggested, seeing Dew peering out of a window at the haze of green beyond. He seemed excited at the prospect, Dew thought.

“Alright,” he agreed, trying to feign greater enthusiasm than he felt – if he was going to continue to this charade of being a hybrid ghoul, seeing a lake would be something a water ghoul would be interested in, “sounds good.”

He didn't have to fake any excitement to see the grounds of the Abbey though, hurriedly throwing on his hoodie as soon as they were back in the Den, and meeting Aether back at the french windows of the common room before he had even finished tying his boots. Dew knew the outside world here would be drastically different from all he had known before, it certainly wouldn't be anything like his volcanic prior home; his brief glances out of the windows as they walked had confirmed as much. He had heard stories in the Pit of topside weather cycles called seasons too and wondered how much of that would come to be true.

“Ready then?” Aether asked, standing up. Dew nodded happily, but something stopped Aether in his tracks.

“Shoes?” He gestured at Dew's bare feet.

“Don't need ‘em.” Dew shrugged. He'd spent his life running up and down the volcano's slopes barefoot, the soles of his feet were practically leather now.

“Dew, you have to wear shoes,” Aether sighed, “it's muddy out there and I don't care if you think you need them or not, you are not tracking dirt in here!”

Dew went to argue, to suggest that he could just wipe them clean on the mat he could see right there in front of the doors, when Aether interrupted him.

“Oh Satan, you went to Terzo earlier without shoes didn't you,” he sank onto the arm of the sofa and groaned, “what a great start, you're lucky Sister didn't catch us, or she'd have my head!”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Dew really didn't think so and couldn't see why Aether was making such a fuss. “Terzo didn't notice.”

The quintessence ghoul huffed, head in his hands.

“I'm meant to be in charge of helping you assimilate up here, and I can't even remember to check you're fully prepared for a meeting with the head of the church!” He ran a hand through his short hair in panicked exasperation. “She didn't want me to be promoted to a band ghoul anyway. I can't fail so soon; I'm not going back to the Pit!”

Dew recognised the spiralling – something he was uncomfortably familiar with – and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Okay, shoes. I'll wear shoes,” He reached out a cautious hand to pat Aether on the shoulder in a way he hoped wasn't condescending to the larger ghoul, “no more barefoot chats with the Boss, got it.”

That got a weak smile, which Dew considered a success.

“Uh,” there was one slight issue remaining that would prevent Dew following through on that promise, “where are shoes, exactly?”

Once Dew had been informed that shoes were in fact in the bottom part of his wardrobe behind a door he hadn't bothered to open yet, he finally had something more substantial on his feet. He'd hastily picked through the small selection, finding a pair of slip-on sneakers with soft foam soles that were about the right size. They still felt like they were compressing his feet, even in places where they were barely touching him, but they were strangely lightweight and infinitely more comfortable than any leather plimsoll he had reluctantly stuffed his feet into before. From a purely aesthetic point of view, he would have liked boots like Aether was wearing but there hadn't seemed to be any in the closet; Dew supposed they would have taken up too much space in the bare bones selection his room started with.

He shuffled back into the common room, getting used to the feeling of the elevated soles of the sneakers, and saw Aether's face relax with relief at his new charge doing as asked.

“Much better!” He got back to his feet and put his mask on – Dew noted that he seemed keen to wear it rather than relying on his own glamour – and gestured for Dew to do the same. Together, they exited via the french windows into the small, paved garden the common room overlooked. Dew had seen it out of the window but not thought much of it; it was enclosed by stone walls much like the rest of the Abbey and its only purpose seemed to be to house a rusty table with a few chairs and an ashtray.

What he hadn't seen before was the side gate that Aether now led them through, passing from the enclosed courtyard to the grounds beyond. Here, the fact that the Abbey was located at the top of a hill became clear, as a carpet of green grass swept down and away from them. Dew couldn't hold back the gasp he let out at the sight; it truly was like nothing he had ever seen before. The colours were so different to the reds and browns of his home in the Pit, the vibrancy of the grass was such that it felt like his eyes were seeing completely new colours. It was a slightly foggy day, the low clouds obscuring the world at the base of the hill and filling the air with a cool moisture. If anything, that only served to make the grass appear greener.

“Just wait until it’s spring,” Aether smiled at his awe-filled expression, “it’s enough to make you jealous of the earth ghouls who get to see this all the time in the Pit!”

He began plodding down the hill into the fog, and as Dew followed behind him the reason for Aether’s insistence on shoes became clear. The path they followed was well defined but unpaved, and with every step Dew found his shoes picking up soupy mud that stuck to them like glue.

The mist thickened as the incline began to flatten out and they neared the foot of the hill. Emerging from the haze, Dew spotted a figure heading towards them and looked to Aether as they came into view, unsure if he had been expecting them. He saw the quintessence ghoul’s expression morph from squinting into the fog, to recognition, to sheepish awkwardness. As they came into focus, Dew realised the mystery person was a water ghoul – or a water ghoulette to be precise. She was short, shorter even than Dew and had a shock of cropped white hair lying wet against her scalp. Dew guessed she must have come from the lake, given the large terry cloth robe wrapped around her.

“Hello, Mist.” Aether said stiltedly as she was about to pass them, clearly out of politeness rather than a desire to make small talk. The water ghoul slowed to a halt as though she too had hoped to avoid the interaction.

“Aether.”

The silence that followed was so tense Dew could have split it open with a claw.

“How are you doing? And the others?”

Mist sighed.

“We’re doing about as well as you’d expect, Aeth. No one wanted things to end up like this, I’m sure you can understand.”

Aether nodded, looking at his feet, while Dew tried to make sense of the whole situation.

“And Meg? Is he–”

“Omega needs time, Aether. He doesn’t want to talk to you right now, not after everything that went down,” her expression softened slightly and she laid a blue-tinged hand on his arm, “I’ll let you know as soon as anything changes, alright? I know none of this was your fault, but he’s hurting.”

“’Kay.” Aether muttered. He looked small, Dew thought, as though something in the short water ghoulette’s words had cut him down to size. He clearly wanted to move on, and Dew would have been more than happy to do so too, but at that moment Mist’s eyes fell on him.

“Who’s this?” She asked, tone more friendly than before.

“This is Dewdrop,” Aether hesitated before continuing, “he’s the new bass player Terzo summoned yesterday.”

Mist’s face visibly fell for a second before she recovered herself, smiling widely at Dew with shark-like pointed teeth.

“Welcome, Dewdrop. I’m glad Aether’s taking good care of my replacement.”

Her words were tinged with ice but lacked any malice. Dew nodded at her in greeting, his tongue feeling frozen in the arctic atmosphere both ghouls had created.

“Right, we’d better get going, I’m just showing him the lake.”

The tension getting the better of him, Aether finally disengaged them from the conversation. Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they separated, Mist plodding back up to the Abbey and Aether steering Dew further down the path.

“Replacement?” Dew eventually asked, once they were well out of earshot. Aether sighed before replying.

“She’s one of the ghouls who was in the band until recently,” he winced at some unspoken memory, “none of them are very happy at being demoted. Or at my promotion. Normally ghouls are summoned for certain roles here and only replaced if they choose to leave.”

“Why? What changed?”

“I don’t know, Papa didn’t say.”

Dew knew better than to push – for now, at least.

At that moment the path ahead of them opened out, the well-worn track leading up to a wood-panelled deck. The ground around it was dark, the fog clinging tightly to it. As they approached, Dew realised it was water. The blackness of the lake stretching out before him into the grey void filled him with a bone-deep terror, and Dew couldn’t suppress his shudder at the wave of fear rushing over him.

Even with his eyes squeezed tight against the encroaching darkness of the body of water, Dew could feel Aether’s concerned eyes on him. He was quintessence; of course he could tell how uncomfortable he was. Aether was polite enough not to say anything though, either about Dew’s clear fear of the water or of what that meant for his supposed hybrid elemental status.

“Want to go see the greenhouses next?” He asked instead, gesturing back up the Hill once Dew opened his eyes.

“They’re pretty interesting, even to non-earth ghouls,” Aether started up his nervous chattering again as they walked, “some of the plants they’ve got to grow in this climate are crazy!”

Dew was grateful for the distraction and more than happy to turn away and follow him back up the hill. Even the few seconds at the lake had been more than enough for a lifetime, unlocking a new fear he hadn't even known he had.

Aether led him round to the south of the Abbey where a cluster of glass buildings stood.

“They each mimic a different climate,” he explained, “I’m sure we’ll be back here again when I show the new earth ghoul around, but I thought you might want to see inside the one the fire ghouls say is closest to their lands in the Pit?”

Dew was curious to see how much familiarity with his home they could conjure, although the reminder of tomorrow’s summoning and the excitement evident in Aether's voice stung. He didn't like how enthusiastic he sounded about this new ghoul; like Dew wasn't interesting enough for him and he was just waiting for his next new toy. Was he really that unimportant to Aether that he could be set aside when someone new came along?

As if hearing his misgivings, Aether didn't move on from the subject of the new earth ghoul as he held the door of the greenhouse open for Dew.

“It's a crazy schedule the Clergy have Terzo doing these summonings on. Most summonings are super spread out so the new ghouls have time to settle, so I'd have weeks to get you used to everything up here.”

The rush of artificially warm and dry air hit Dew as he entered the greenhouse, a stark contrast to the cold and moist air of the outside.

“There's one summoning every other day this week,” Aether continued, “they want to gather all the ghouls for the band to start rehearsing for the next tour as soon as possible, but it's going to be a struggle having so many new ghouls at once. I'm not sure how they expect me to help all four of you as much as you need.”

Dew felt a little better knowing Aether was also surprised by the frequency of the summonings, although his own reaction to the news that he would not be the new guy for long still irritated him. He couldn't let his insecurities and jealousy over a ghoul he had just met ruin his chance up here, even if his mind seemed to be trying to derail him already. Thinking of the positives of meeting all his new pack at once – not having to re-assert his boundaries for longer than necessary for starters – he focussed on trying to put Aether at ease.

“It'll be nice to settle alongside everybody,” he suggested, “then we can learn from you together.” Dew still wasn't looking forward to meeting the new fire ghoul they would inevitably summon though.

His words seemed to help and Aether beamed down at him. He led Dew deeper into the maze of the greenhouse, guiding him with a wide hand resting on his hip that lingered longer than was strictly necessary. Dew leaned into the touch; maybe he didn't have to worry about holding Aether's attention after all.

The raised beds around them were filled with a sandy soil not dissimilar to that in the Pit, although it was lighter in colour. In them grew a mixture of plants both faintly familiar and totally alien to him; tall, spiny plants well-suited to the dry and arid ground. Cacti, Aether called them. Dew wondered how they had come to be here in the Abbey: were they all native to this topside realm, from a different environment to this? Or had some managed to find their way up and out of the Pit?

Picking along a small path, Dew quickly realised that Aether's insistence on footwear was again proving to have been a sound decision; among the unfamiliar plants was a creeping vine with inch-long spikes which seemed to have decided that the walkways of the greenhouse were its optimal environment.

“It'll be nice to have a pack again,” Aether mused quietly as they walked, “one of my own this time. A real one.”

His words held a vulnerability that deeply resonated with Dew. He wasn't excited to replace him with a newer, more interesting ghoul Dew realised; he was simply longing for a pack. Dew didn't know Aether's situation before he was summoned yesterday, but he sensed he had been lonely for a while. He could relate to that, more than anything.

“It will,” he agreed, meeting Aether's eyes when he looked back at him, “I'm looking forward to it.”

The next morning, Dew was woken by Aether knocking on his door. They had both had a relatively early night after eating in the dining hall, but Dew had slept soundly through for almost twelve hours regardless. As he grew more comfortable at the Abbey, he was beginning to feel the exhaustive effects both of his summoning and of his difficult life before.

“Dew!” Aether's muffled voice filtered through the door as Dew burrowed deeper into the soft duvet. “Wake up! The earth ghoul summoning is in an hour!”

Dew groaned loud enough for Aether to hear he was awake and stop trying to make the whole Abbey shake with the force of his knocking. He wormed his way out of bed, missing its warmth the second the colder air of his room hit his skin. The light streaming through his window, that he had once again forgotten to close the curtains of, confirmed what Aether had said; it really was almost noon already. He shuffled into his bathroom and turned the water on to heat up.

This morning Aether had his coffee waiting for him when he shuffled out, hair wet but brushed.

“I cleaned your shoes,” he announced, gesturing to the sneakers now mostly free of the mud that had been caked onto them when they returned the previous afternoon, “we're supposed to look our best for summonings, since the senior Clergy are there.”

Dew pulled a face at having to wear them again.

“It's only for an hour or so!” Aether laughed, tossing a pre-wrapped pastry at Dew who barely avoided slopping his coffee as he caught it one-handed.

“Good catch!”

I know you are but what am I? Dew’s brain unhelpfully supplied.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” He observed instead, continuing to tamp down the lingering jealousy.

Aether shrugged with a loose smile.

“Summoning days are pretty fun,” he chuckled at Dew’s sceptical expression, “or at least they are when you’re not the one being summoned. It’s nice meeting new ghouls, showing them around. Makes you feel like you’ve learned something up here too, y’know?”

Dew wasn’t sure how much of an advantage he would have given he hadn’t even been topside for two full days at this point, but he understood where Aether was coming from.

“And hey, Terzo's last summoning turned out pretty well.”

Aether placed his empty mug on the counter and tossed a wink over his shoulder, before exiting the common room to finish getting ready. Dew was grateful that only the eyes of the strange creature on this morning's coffee cup were there to witness the blush that crept up his cheeks.

A short while later, both ghouls were ready to leave for the summoning chambers deep within the bowels of the Abbey. Aether had produced two heavy, woollen cloaks from the hall closet, which Dew realised now the quintessence ghoul had also been wearing two days previously when he was summoned. They were rough and scratchy, a world away from the soft covering that had been laid over Dew’s shoulders. He supposed that would be used for the new earth ghoul today. Even though his burns were healed now, he could still feel this cloak irritating the skin where they had been. Combined with the sneakers pressing on his feet Dew was left feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

As a final check before they left, Aether poked his head inside the room with an earth symbol carved into the door. Dew imagined him doing the same to the fire ghoul’s room before his own summoning, a room that he had never ended up using but one that Aether had taken care to make sure was fully ready for him nonetheless. With all seeming to be in order, Aether donned his mask and motioned for Dew to do the same.

The walk down into the depths of the Abbey was quiet; Dew lost in thought imagining what a summoning looked like from this side of the portal and Aether not feeling a need to fill the silence this time. The air grew chilly as they descended a narrow stone staircase that Dew had only a vague memory of, before they passed under a carved archway and reached a heavy iron door. Aether paused with one hand raised to push the door open and turned to face Dew.

“Whatever you do, don't approach the portal.”

The room beyond was dark, darker than Dew remembered. The ceiling was low and arched towards the centre, leaving the space nearest the walls barely high enough even for him. Terzo was already there, nodding his head at them in greeting as he shuffled through the pages of a heavy tome resting on a lectern lit only by a small candle. Aether led Dew over to a corner, far from their leader and shrouded almost entirely in shadow. They watched as Terzo paced around the patch of floor where Dew had found himself after the flames subsided, muttering incantations as he went.

The door creaked open again and Dew felt Aether stiffen beside him. Leading the three retired leaders of the church into the room was an older woman, her once-blonde hair pinned up in a severe bob and her heels clacking loudly against the stone floor. Everything about her, from her upright posture and the way her eyes bored into Terzo to how the other Papas followed her obediently all screamed that she was to be respected, maybe even feared. It was at once abundantly clear to Dew that this was Sister Imperator, and he fully understood what Aether had meant when he said she was really the one in charge. As Aether had, Terzo also appeared to become instantly uncomfortable upon seeing her and Dew made a mental note to ask Aether about it later.

Finishing his round of incantations, Terzo returned to his lectern.

“Greetings, Sister.”

“Good morning, Papa,” her tone was saccharine-sweet, yet her words had an unmissable edge to them, “another summoning, and so soon! I'm glad you're getting on with things at last. Let's hope you don't mess this one up too, hmm?”

Dew bristled at that remark, and he felt Aether doing the same beside him. That was yet another thing to ask about later, he supposed. Despite its unpleasant roughness, Dew was glad of his cloak in that moment. It covered him and all of his traitorous elemental markings well, letting him blend into the shadows unnoticed.

Terzo made no comment, but it was clear he was as irked by the comment as his ghouls were. Examining a pocket watch, he cleared his throat to indicate he was ready to begin: demanding silence from those assembled. As was the case when he blessed Dew's mask to him, the first parts of his prayers were silent. His lips moving wordlessly, the air around them grew colder than ever and Dew tried not to shiver.

Slowly Terzo's prayers became audible, although they were in the ancient language Dew had only ever heard in the deepest parts of his realm in the Pit. Resonating with the weight of his words, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble and a low rumbling noise started to reverberate around the small room, echoing off the stone walls and intensifying into a suffocating din. Dew dared to raise his eyes from where they were fixed on the centre of the summoning circle and saw several of the retired Papas rubbing their hands together in glee: this was clearly a spectacle they were looking forward to seeing.

The rumbling increased as Terzo's voice continued to become progressively louder, until he was almost shouting to be heard over the roar in the chamber. With a final crack and a violent quake that nearly knocked Dew off his feet, a hole ripped open in the stone floor, right in the centre of the summoning circle. Dust swirled out of it, barely lit by the low candlelight, and slowly began to take shape. The form in the circle grew larger, its limbs elongating like sprouts in the springtime.

Eventually it became recognisable as a ghoul. A tail curled around their thigh and horns sprouted from their head. They were nothing like Dew had seen before; long and branching, dusted with moss and adding almost a foot to the height of the figure. It was clear the ghoul was tall as they slowly unfolded their long, muscular limbs and tried to stagger to their feet like a foal learning to walk. They cut an impressive figure and Dew couldn't help but stare, his mouth watering slightly.

His gaze was broken however by Sister Imperator, giving her nod of approval and sweeping out of the chamber before Terzo had even given Aether the go-ahead to pass the new ghoul a blanket. Her heels clacking on the floor, it was an implicit acknowledgement that Terzo had succeeded in her eyes this time, but that simply meeting her expectations was not deserving of any undue praise.

In his fully professional mode once again, Aether quietly stepped forward at Terzo’s signal with the summoning cloak. That didn't stop him from exchanging a glance, visible in the twinkling of his eyes through his mask, with Dew as the large earth ghoul gratefully tightened the fabric around them, its hem barely hitting in the middle of their toned thighs. Dew smirked back from beneath his own mask and hood; the Pit really had spat out a fine specimen of a ghoul. He didn't even have it in him to feel jealous, not when Aether had chosen to break his perfectly robotic image to share a hungry glance with him.

Dew hastily followed after the pair as they left the chamber, ahead of Terzo and the other ex-leaders of the church. It felt instantly warmer as soon as they were outside of the dark room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light as they ascended the stairs. Following behind, he noted how much taller the new ghoul was, even compared to Aether. Much like he had seen of the quintessence ghoul so far, they had no visible soul mark, although Dew didn't think he had any clue what an earth soul mark would manifest as, nor a quintessence one for that matter.

Back in the well-lit corridors Dew was able to finally catch up and walk beside Aether, just as he asked the new summon his name.

"Mountain."

[justmeandmysickies]

Good to see you back! No pressure but I'd love to see a fic with Key getting sick in the middle of the night. Maybe he's trying to be extra quiet because Jay has work or something the next morning so he doesn't want to wake him up...

Gotta get up early

"Can you please hurry up?" Jaylen asked, very obviously annoyed. Key turned around angrily - this was getting frustrating. He just wanted to get some grocery shopping done so he wouldn't have to do it tomorrow and he'd only been at it for 10 minutes so what was his boyfriend's issue? "What is your problem? I'm going as fast as I can and you're still giving me shit."

"You know I have to get up early tomorrow! My day is absolutely packed and I told you that I want to go to sleep early tonight but no, my boyfriend wants to go fucking grocery shopping at 8 in the evening." And with that Jaylen took off towards check out to wait there for Key.

Key stood dumbfounded. Yes, Jaylen had told him that he'd be going to sleep early tonight but who on earth could have guessed that early legitimately meant 8 pm? He sighed as he went back to getting his groceries. This wasn't worth fighting over but he couldn't help the annoyance he was feeling.

The pair met up again at checkout and got to their car without really speaking to one another at all. Once they'd loaded their groceries into the trunk, Jaylen grabbed Key's hand as he turned towards the driver's side to get in. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just haven't been getting much sleep lately and I wanted to fix that today. Tomorrow is gonna be stressful and to be honest I'm feeling the anxiety already."

Key turned around to face Jay. "You still had no right to speak to me that way."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. Let us get home then so you can get some proper sleep." He gave Jay a quick peck on the cheek and got into the car.

At home Key unpacked while Jaylen took a shower. As he was putting their veggies into the fridge he suddenly felt an intense wave of nausea wash over him and he had to stop. He was leaning heavily against the fridge, panting as he was trying to figure out if he was going to be sick or not. The fridge started beeping as the door was still open and Key closed it in slow and deliberate movements. The nausea wasn't letting up and he gagged into his hand. Jaylen was still in the shower, he could hear the water running. So he turned towards the sink and tried to take deep breaths. His stomach seemed to calm down a bit and Key let himself sink to the floor to sit for a minute and take some measured breaths.

He scrambled up as he heard Jaylen exit the bathroom, he hadn't even realized the water had been turned off. The quick movement jostled his stomach and a bubble of air made it's way up his esophagus. He couldn't hold it back so just as Jaylen turned the corner to the kitchen, Key burped. Loudly.

"Whoa! What a greeting. I'm happy to see you too." Jay laughed as he stepped further into the kitchen. Key still had his fist in front of his mouth while staring intently at the floor. The burp had brought some relief but for a second Key had been convinced he was going to throw up on their kitchen floor.

Jay paused. "Hey, you okay?" He put a comforting hand on his boyfriend's shoulder.

Key straightened up. "Yes, just fine. Sorry, that snuck up on me." He laughed and went back to packing away the rest of the groceries that still lay on the table. He was still feeling slightly nauseous but it wasn't bad enough to worry Jaylen with it. Key figured he'd simply sleep this off.

Jaylen wasn't entirely convinced but Key seemed happy enough so he let it slide. "Any problem with me going to bed now? I'd really like to try and sleep."

"Of course, babe. I'll join you in a bit. Sleep tight." And with a quick kiss Jaylen left the kitchen. Key finished up and followed soon after, still feeling slightly iffy.

He lay awake for what felt like hours. Jaylen was sound asleep next to Key as he tossed and turned, failing to get comfortable. The nausea ebbed and flowed constantly causing Key to sit up several times, each time considering if he needed to make a dash for the bathroom. At about 2 am he was so frustrated that he decided to sit in front of the toilet to maybe trick his body into throwing up and just getting it over with so that he could sleep. He got up as carefully as he could as not to wake his boyfriend and tiptoed to the bathroom.

Of course his body wasn't doing him any favors. Now that he was sitting on the bathroom floor, knees and ass hurting from the hard surface, he was actually coming to the conclusion that his body was set on torturing him on purpose. What he'd done to deserve this, he didn't know.

Key was starting to fall asleep, head on the edge of the bathtub as the nausea suddenly surged again. Key barely had time to sit up before a wave of vomit rushed up his throat. He'd been sitting too far from the toilet and he cringed internally as he heard some vomit splatter on the floor. He managed to position himself properly for the second rush. He coughed and spluttered as his body purged everything he'd eaten that day. He tried to keep as quiet as possible but that's a rather hard task when your insides are trying to become your outsides.

Wave after wave of sick landed forcefully in the toilet and Key couldn't seem to catch his breath. His back and stomach muscles were hurting from the constant heaving and tears of exertion were streaming down his face. He was choking on another wave when suddenly a strong hand started pounding on his back while another grabbed his shoulder.

Key was faintly aware of Jaylen talking but he couldn't make out what his boyfriend was saying. He was too preoccupied with the agony he was currently experiencing. After what felt like hours to Key the vomiting tapered off and he could finally draw in some much needed breaths. The pair sat in silence for a couple of seconds with Jaylen dutifully rubbing his boyfriend's back.

Finally Key groaned and straightened up a bit to grab some toilet paper and flush. "I am so sorry."

Jay switched to slightly massaging Key's shoulders, careful not to apply too much pressure. "Why are you sorry, babe?"

Key melted into Jaylen's touch and sighed. "I did not mean to wake you up. You have to get up soon."

Jay cursed himself. "Oh babe, you should have woken me up. I don't care if I don't get sleep because I'm taking care of you. My heart hurts at the idea of you suffering by yourself. Please don't do stuff like that. Just wake me up, your health and well-being will always come first for me."

Key hummed in acknowledgement. He was getting sleepy and struggling to keep his eyes open. Jay realized and chuckled lightly. His boyfriend was cute when he was tired. "Okay, come on. To bed with you." And so he hoisted Key up to his feet so he could tuck him into bed. "I love you, baby. Feel better." He whispered as he placed a gentle kiss onto Key's forehead. He was answered by another affirmative hum as Key's breathing already started evening out.

[writing-for-marvel]

Right Here, Waiting

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

PART 2 > >

Summary: You’re pining after your insanely attractive roommate, but are convinced he doesn’t feel the same way.

Prompts: Roommate AU for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration & you can’t lose something you never had for @elixirfromthestars’s cinema writing challenge 🎥

Warnings: strictly 18+, talk of sex, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, sucking in her stomach, VERY insecure reader, angst in the form of belief of unrequited love, jealousy, idiots in love

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: as the winner of this very close poll, here is a little roommate AU with our beloved Bucky 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“You’re telling me you share an apartment with a man who looks like that and you haven’t fucked him?” Natasha stares after your roommate as he heads to the bar to grab the drink he promised to purchase you for losing a bet the weekend before.

“Men and women can just be friends you know.”

“If my roommate looked like yours, I’d be jumping his bones every chance I got.”

He’s way out of my league, and as much as I might want him, he doesn’t think of me like that, is the rather depressing thought that has been replayed on loop in your mind since the devilishly attractive yet sweet as an angel Bucky Barnes moved in with you.

But instead of voicing aloud your insecurity, you simply hum in agreement. It’s easier than trying to explain your one sided crush that’s only ever going to end in heartache.

“Well if you’re not interested, do you mind if I go for it? Pretty sure he’d be the best sex of my life.” Your heart drops through your stomach like an anvil. The thought of Bucky being intimate with anyone, let alone your best friend, is enough to send you into a spiral.

Nat’s much more the type he’d go for anyway, beautiful, skinny, quick witted. Everything you’re not. She’s always the one who gets attention from guys at places like this, whereas you’re the ‘approachable one’ who gets asked if Nat’s single.

No one’s ever interested in you, especially not when you’re sitting next to your much hotter, thinner best friend.

“C’mon, there’s lots of guys here you could take home. You really have to make things awkward by sleeping with my roommate?” You try to sound as calm and collected as possible, but the lump in your throat betrays you.

Nat gives you a knowing look, seeing straight through your weak facade. She is your best friend after all, and knows you better than practically anyone in the world. “Of course I wouldn't, darling - I’m just trying to get you to admit you like him.”

There’s something almost worse about Nat knowing you’re crushing on Bucky - she can be so incessant, honing in on something and making it her mission to see it come to fruition, even if it’s to a bitter end. Which is exactly how your one sided crush will play out if she tries pushing you together.

You have an understanding which she hasn’t grasped yet that Bucky would never be attracted to you like that, and you’d rather spare your poor heart from his rejection and find a way to be content with friendship than risk hearing you’re too big, too unattractive, too much not his type for anything to happen.

“Can we just drop it. We’re roommates, nothing more.” But you know Nat’s incapable of letting something go once she’s got her claws sunk into it. You mostly love her for it, but in this one instance, it’s a right pain in the ass.

“You know if you give it a chance, you might find he likes you too. He’s got a smitten little smile for you.”

This is what you’re afraid of. Hope.

The buoyant feeling in your chest which swells as you picture what dating Bucky might actually be like. How soft his lips would be against yours, how he’d mumble sweet devotions against your skin before tasting every inch of you, how in a room packed to the brim like the bar you’re in now, his eyes search for yours and everyone else in the periphery fades into nonexistence because you are the focal point of his entire world.

But it’s that blind belief which will tear your heart to tatters. Hope will be your cause of death in the end. The expectation of a happy outcome despite all available evidence which will be your ultimate downfall.

“Don’t be ridiculous, look at him, there’s no way he’d ever be interested in me.” But yet, despite how much you tell yourself you’re destined for heartbreak, you can’t quite snuff out that last ember of hope deep in your chest when Bucky turns around with your drink in his hand and smiles reflexively as his eyes set on you all the way across the room.

“I hate it when you put yourself down like that.” There’s a glint in Nat’s eye like she wants to say more, but she notices Bucky returning from the bar and the words die in the back of her throat.

“Here you go, Sunrise.” His nickname for you ignites a flame in both your cheeks, and you’re forced to look down at the table in attempts to hide your reaction. He started calling you that within the first week of moving in, realising your love for staying up to read all night, until the sun came up the following day.

You try not to read into it too much that you are the only person you know of that Bucky has a nickname for. He’s just being friendly. A nice roommate.

“That’s the last time I bet you anything to do with food. Clearly you can eat and drink me under the table any day.” You know he’s just teasing about your bet, who could eat more spicy Indian food without needing to take a drink to subdue the burning heat on your tongue, but any comment related to the amount of food you eat or your weight always hits a little too close to home.

“Thanks Bucky.” Taking your drink from him, your fingers brush, sending goosebumps shivering down your arm, and his dazzling blue eyes regard you with what your hopeful heart believes is warm adoration. “At least you’re not being a sore loser this time round.”

“Excuse you, I’ve never been a sore loser. You just like to bend the rules to suit yourself.” He retorts before taking a sip of his beer, and you find it impossible to look away from how his perfectly plump lips cover the opening and his Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a sip.

You are so far gone for him.

“Sore loser.” You call in a sing-song voice that makes him chuckle in that way you can feel down to your bones. “Don’t blame me just because you can’t handle the heat, Barnes.”

His finger traces a light trail down your bare forearm which lights your skin on fire. You’re not even sure Bucky’s aware he’s doing it, it seems so casually intimate, such a soft touch as his eyes bore into yours, but it sends your brain into a meltdown.

“Oh Sunrise, you don’t know the kind of heat I can bring if I really tried.”

His face is so close to yours you can smell the beer on his breath and see how he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. He’s got these freckles scattered along his high cheekbones which reach the tips of his ears, that you want to place delicate kisses to, learn the constellations of pigmentation over his body so you could point them out blindfolded.

And those fucking eyes, they’re impossible not to fall in love with. Those saxe eyes which hold so much wonder and tenderness, which seems to pool in the slightly darker flecks at the centre. You really would be perfectly content if those eyes were the last you ever see, being lured underneath the waves of blue to your doom, but like a siren's victim, you’d dive in with a smile on your face.

There’s a cough from your left which breaks the trance Bucky’s eyes have you in. You would never admit it aloud, but you’d forgotten, just for a brief moment, that your best friend was at the table with you.

Nat’s looking at you with a bold grin and you know before she even opens her mouth that she’s about to say something cheeky and probably completely against your wishes to keep your yearning devotion a secret.

“I’m gonna go up to the bar and see if I can flirt my way to scoring a shot.” She announces as she stands, a shameless look passing between you and Bucky. “Some of us don’t have sex personified living in the next room we can flirt with to buy us free alcohol. You kids have fun continuing whatever that was. Just make sure to use protection.”

Nat walks off without another word, but after her quip, you find you can’t look Bucky quite in the eye.

You’re positive in this moment he’ll laugh at the insinuation that anything remotely romantic or sexual exists between you two and you brace yourself for the puncture to your heart.

But instead, he just looks at you with those big blue eyes and smiles warmly, as if Nat had simply commented about needing to use the restroom to excuse her absence.

“Sex personified, huh? Is that what you two were whispering about behind my back before?” You might just burst into flames if you actually admit that to him, but the cocky smirk he shoots you suggests he is already fully aware how much sex appeal he has.

It feels like your heart is beating in your throat as you answer and you pray he can’t hear the difference in your voice.

“No, not that it’s any of your business, but don’t act like you don’t know how gorgeous you are Barnes.”

There’s a sparkle in his eye as he smiles and scrunches his nose in that way which makes your tummy somersault. You could be fooled into thinking you were back in your apartment alone with him, the only girl within a hundred miles with the way his pupils grow wide and fixate solely on you in this bar crowded with people much more alluring than yourself.

You shake your head, almost imperceptibly, trying to rid your mind of sanguine thoughts that are just setting you up to be greatly disappointed.

You can’t get your hopes up.

There’s a dartboard which becomes available beside your table and you stand with your drink. “C’mon, last weekend you told me you’d show me how to play this ridiculous game and I’m holding you to that.”

It’s not that you don’t already understand the principle of darts, but when Bucky promises to spend more time with you, you’re not about to turn him down.

There’s this gleam in his eye you can’t quite place as he stands and follows you to the dark corner of the bar. You want to believe it’s something of endearment at calling him ‘gorgeous’, a fondness he reserves only for you, but you try reminding yourself that’s the kind of false hope you’ve been desperately shoveling out of your chest and you have to be stronger to not allow such optimistic concepts to penetrate through your defences.

Bucky quickly goes through the rules you were vaguely familiar with already, then shows you how it’s done by throwing two darts into the single twenty score area and then hitting a bullseye. He looks proud of himself too, and it brings a smile to your face just how cute he looks. Is he trying so hard to impress you?

Pushing that thought from your mind, you step up to take your aim. Your first throw goes very astray, not even hitting the dartboard at all, but instead sticking into the wood panelling about a foot below it.

You feel horrified that you’ve just embarrassed yourself, not only in front of Bucky, but the entire bar. Looking around with a sheepish grimace, you find fortunately no one is paying any attention to you, and when your eyes land on Bucky, you can’t help but both burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasts so long you’re cheeks start to hurt.

“It takes a special kind of talent to miss by that much Sunrise.” He snickers, but his eyes still softly gaze at you even as he teases.

“Shut up, it’s my first attempt.” You playfully rib back.

“C’mere, let me show you.” He stands at your back, so close you can smell his aftershave, a spicy cinnamon that reminds you of home, as his touch ghosts along your arms.

He fiddles with your fingers, delicately directing them where he wants them on the dart. You’re pliant to his every command, conforming to the stance he wants you in, you even tilt your head up when he uses two fingers under your chin to carefully guide your eye line to where he wants it.

Holding the small projectile in line with your eyes, you’re extremely aware that Bucky’s examining you, gazing at your profile, the curve of your nose, the undulations of your lips. You feel exposed, like he’s critiquing you, but when the outcome of that is him beaming a besotted smile in your direction, you feel like you must have done something right.

You let the dart fly, barely able to concentrate on where it’s going, too caught up in how close Bucky is, how his hand rests on your waist like he was made to hold you, how his broad chest behind you is as solid as a wall, yet would be the perfect place to rest your head as you fell to sleep every night.

It punctures into the board this time, scoring a measly four points, but it’s sufficient for Bucky to wrap his arms around your middle, rest his head on your shoulder and give you a squeeze as he lowers his husky voice in your ear. “There you go, great job Sunrise.”

You try not to think about how large your stomach is as he holds you, sucking in slightly, instead trying to savour the feeling of being in his arms. If he recognises how fast your heart is now beating against his chest, he doesn’t mention it.

The two of you continue to play your game, forgetting all about the hearty atmosphere of the bar, just enjoying each other's company, and your atrocious attempt at beating Bucky in a game he’s had far too much experience with.

You suspect he downplays his skill - you hope to spend more time alone with you, but more than likely just so you don’t feel completely embarrassed by your endeavours.

Once he’s beaten you for a second time, you find a free table to set yourselves, before you go up to the bar to order a second round. You can’t seem to shake the smile off your face as you give the bartender your order. A sense of light optimism builds in your chest, Bucky’s just given up his night to spend with you as you make a fool of yourself playing darts.

He could be out with anyone, giving them all his attention. But instead he’s with you. Eyes softening and an enchanting smile spreading on his features as if he’s already precisely where he wants to be.

You turn to look back at Bucky to find the one thing in the world that could dampen your high spirits.

He’s sitting at the table where you just left him, chatting up one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.

It’s as if someone’s poured a bucket of ice cold water over you. This devastating, borderline nauseating, chasm cleaving your chest in two is exactly why hope is the most dangerous feeling to cultivate unchecked.

She’s absolutely stunning, with shoulder length blonde hair, a glittery, low plunging top that brings out the radiance in her light eyes and accentuates her fit figure. She’s everything you’re not, everything Bucky deserves, and everything that makes you so acutely aware of how much physical space you take up in the world.

How someone as beautiful as Bucky could never be attracted to the likes of you when women like her walk on this earth.

It feels like there’s a cyclone wreaking havoc in your stomach as you watch their interaction. It looks sort of casual, at least given how far they are seated apart in such a noisy room, but there’s an axe carving your heart into splinters at the mere thought of what flirty chat is bouncing between them, the smile curving on his lips, and you find yourself needing to turn away.

You know you can’t lose what was never yours in the first place, but then why does it feel like your soul is disintegrating and being sucked out of your body through a hole in your sternum?

Bucky’s single, the two of you aren’t even remotely dating, you are purely roommates. You just so happened to have a spare room available at the same time he broke up with his ex and needed somewhere to sleep. You were a convenient solution to the awkward situation he found himself in.

And you’ve never been anything more.

He has every right to flirt, fuck and date whomever he pleases. Which decidedly isn’t you.

You search out Nat who’s over by the other side of the room, your extremities almost feeling numb as you walk past so many groups of friends and handsy partners, knowing that the one person who consumes your entire world simply views you as just someone whom he shares a bathroom with and occasionally bets wagers of buying a round of drinks.

She’s flirting with some handsome, tall stranger who appears to have bought her a couple drinks. You don’t want to ruin her night either, but you know she’d be irate if you disappeared without telling her.

All you want is the comfort of your bed, snuggled underneath a mountain of blankets where you can escape into a world where Bucky isn’t flirting with someone who is both much prettier and much thinner than you.

Should you even go home if Bucky brings her back to the apartment where you’d be subjected to listening to the entire affair?

Probably not, but at this point you just need to get out of here, as far away as possible from the scene which is causing your throat to constrict and tears to sting behind your eyes.

You touch Nat on the upper arm to pull her attention. “Imma head home.”

Her line of sight specifically redirects to the table you were seated with Bucky at, to find the source of your crushing heartbreak.

“Alright, then I’m coming with you.”

“No, please stay, have fun, I’m fine it’s just getting a little loud in here.” You lie through your teeth, but after pretending all night you're not about to start admitting your feelings now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The look Nat gives you is a clear indication she doesn’t believe your fib, but you simply turn away from her piercing eyes and stalk towards the door, trying to avoid bumping into the crowd of people in your path.

What you don’t realise as you make your hasty exit, head down to avoid watching Bucky flirt with the beautiful blonde, is that he watches with an aching heart as you take every step without so much as saying goodbye - because he notices everything about you, in every scenario, hoping for any fraction of your attention in return.

He swiftly grabs his jacket to chase after you, muttering a quick apology to his coworker he really doesn’t mean. He sees enough of her Monday to Friday for her to consume his weekends as well, especially when it's taking time away which could instead be spent with you.

“Sunrise, wait up!” You hear a very familiar deep voice call from behind you just as you’re about to put on your headphones. You’d know that voice anywhere, even if he hadn’t used your nickname.

“Bucky? What’re you doing?”

“You think I’m gonna let you walk home alone this late at night?” He says with such an ease, as if it were the only possible outcome given the situation. Like he didn’t have a drop dead gorgeous woman in the bar waiting to take him home and do downright pornographic things to him.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your fun. It’s only a couple blocks, I can walk it myself.” You can’t find it in you to feel guilty about pulling him away from the woman inside, especially not when he looks so content having followed you out into the cold night air.

“Firstly, you're daft if you think I’m letting you walk that far by yourself. I’d be worried about you the whole time.” He tilts his head to the side and it reminds you of a sweet puppy gazing at their owner with fondness, willing to pursue them anywhere. “Secondly, you’re not ruining anything. It’s no fun without you there anyway.”

Warmth blooms in your chest that even though it’s just as roommates, you’re the one Bucky’s returning to the apartment with. He’s not going home with Nat, or any other stunning girl he could pull with a single flirty glance. Instead it’s you who he drapes his jacket around when he notices you shivering and slows his large strides to allow you to keep up as you walk casually back home. Taking your time to extend your conversation and absorb the scent of his coat as you pull it tighter around yourself.

Dammit, there’s that incessant hope again.

You really are too enamoured with him for your own good. Even if it wasn’t tonight, you're just setting yourself up for a more agonising downfall in the end.

Part 2 > >

Follow @ems-library for fic notifications

To be tagged in additional instalments of this AU, please add yourself to the taglist here

[emsprovisions]

Hey y’all! Happy Wednesday 💛 here’s a bit from my spring break au which I’m hoping to have chapter 2 up on Friday! :)

TK looks beautiful in the morning light. He can see now that his eyes are green, and his dark brown hair seems to glint golden in the sunlight. He’s gorgeous, and Carlos wonders, not for the first time, if a week spent around this boy will be the death of him.

TK will surely haunt him, when he goes home to NYC and forgets all about the dull boy he met during spring break in Texas. TK probably meets lots of beautiful men all the time at school. Probably has endless choices in men that want to take him to bed, or out on dates.

He doesn’t need Carlos, with all his insecurities and baggage. But if Paul and Marjan were here to be the devil on his shoulder, they’d remind him that he needs someone like TK. Someone to let himself be free.

If only for one week.

He gets to try on Carlos Reyes, a guy who’s comfortable enough in his sexuality to hookup with any hot guy he wants. TK is just the first on his list to letting loose.

Only TK has eyes prettier than the ocean, and Carlos wants to drown in him. And maybe if he had longer than a week, he would.

Thank you for the tags @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @thisbuildinghasfeelings @strandnreyes @paperstorm @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlossreaders @bonheur-cafe @annoyingcloudearthquake @tellmegoodbye

No pressure tags @ironheartwriter @alrightbuckaroo @butchreyes @reyesstrand @eclectic-sassycoweyes @lightningboltreader @henrygrass @everlastingday @rangersoup @chicgeekgirl89 @decafdino @captain-gillian @nisbanisba @welcometololaland @futures-tense @neversleepuntilfive @your-catfish-friend @whatsintheboxmh @lavenderrdaughter

[wadewnstonwilson]

not helpin' your case.

summary: wade refuses to let logan sink into despair, constantly teasing him to lighten the mood. logan pretends to be annoyed, he secretly appreciates wade's presence, which keeps him grounded.

warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), none just fluffy goodness

word count: 1.4k

a/n: okay so i absolutely adore writing for wade because my adhd gets to go off the rails. tons of fluff, tons of dumb idiots being dumb idiots. i'll probably keep my poolverine fics to one shots because i just like little things of them here and there but enjoy!

Logan’s healing factor made him damn near indestructible. No matter how many bullets tore through him, how deep claws or blades sank into his flesh, his body always knitted itself back together as if nothing had happened. But the pain? He felt every second of it. The tearing, the ripping, the burning. The scars may not last long, but the memory of the agony lingered.

The physical pain, though, was the easy part. Logan could take a punch, a bullet, or an explosion and keep going. What he couldn't shake were the emotional scars. Decades—no, centuries—of loss, betrayal, and endless fighting. It was a constant burden, a weight that settled deep in his bones, refusing to let go. The faces of the people he'd lost, the betrayals he'd suffered—they all haunted him in the quiet moments, in the dark of night when the world stopped and there was nothing left but his thoughts.

And then, there was Wade.

The walking contradiction, the human cartoon, the man who turned every nightmare into a punchline. Wade had his own trauma—probably more than Logan, though it was hard to tell with him—but Wade’s way of dealing with it? He laughed. He made jokes, crude, sharp, and relentless. Where Logan brooded, Wade cracked jokes. Where Logan tried to bottle it all up, Wade exploded with it in a constant barrage of sarcasm and humor.

And while it drove Logan insane, it also saved him. Wade didn’t let him sink into the darkness. Wade wouldn’t let him dwell on the pain for too long. No, Wade kept him tethered to reality, whether Logan liked it or not.

“Yo, Claws!” Wade’s voice cut through Logan’s thoughts like a knife. “What’s with that resting murder face? You’ve been staring out that window for, like, an hour. What, are you brooding about your tragic past again? Or are you just trying to figure out where your hairline went wrong?”

Logan, arms crossed, leaning against the window frame, didn’t even flinch. He’d gotten used to Wade’s voice crashing into his internal monologues like a freight train. He grunted in response, refusing to turn around.

Wade was sprawled out on the couch, his legs kicked up on the armrest, a katana in his hands that he was polishing far too enthusiastically. “Come on, man, you can’t be doing the brooding thing again. You’ve got more angst than a whole squad of moody teenagers at a My Chemical Romance concert. What’s going on in that big, furry head of yours? Still thinking about your tragic backstory? We get it—everyone you’ve ever loved has died, you’ve got an animal inside you, blah blah blah. Yawn.”

Logan’s lips twitched, though he didn’t give Wade the satisfaction of turning around. “I’m not brooding,” he muttered, voice low and gruff.

Wade sat up dramatically, hand on his chest like Logan had just insulted his honor. “Oh, really? And I’m not wearing pants!” He stood up, glancing down at his fully clothed legs with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh fuck, wait, I am wearing pants! Looks like we’re both liars, Lo.”

Logan finally turned, slowly, his arms still crossed over his chest. “You ever stop talking?”

Wade grinned, sauntering over with the swagger of a man who absolutely loved hearing himself speak. He tilted his head at Logan, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Nah. Someone’s gotta keep you from turning into a walking tragedy, and I guess that’s my job now. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Logan let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t brood.”

Wade poked him in the chest, right between his crossed arms. “Sure you don’t, Moody McStabberson. You just stand by windows staring off into the distance, thinking about all the people who betrayed you, probably playing sad music in your head. Real original, man. What’s next? You gonna write some dark poetry and start a Tumblr?”

Logan couldn’t help it this time. His lips quirked, just a bit. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Wade threw himself back onto the couch, dramatically flinging his legs back up as if the weight of the world was too much for him. “Ridiculously awesome, you mean,” he shot back, grabbing the TV remote and flipping through channels. “So what’s it gonna be tonight, claws? You wanna watch some depressing documentary about the fall of the Roman Empire or maybe something more your speed, like... I don’t know... a show about emotionally constipated loners who don’t know how to ask for help?”

Logan moved from the window, finally sitting down beside Wade, though he didn’t say a word. Wade’s constant barrage of sarcasm and jokes was like background noise now, a familiar hum that kept him grounded, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Wade’s face lit up as he found some late-night talk show with overly enthusiastic hosts and an absurd number of bright lights. “Oh, shit, this looks good,” he said, grinning. “Nothing like watching rich assholes pretend to care about regular people. Warms my heart.”

Logan leaned back, rubbing his temples as the bright lights of the show flashed across the room. “You’re gonna give me a headache.”

Wade shot him a grin, clearly delighted. “Aw, come on, Logie Bear. I know you’re having fun. You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen that twitch of a smile, you can’t hide it. Admit it, I make your life better.”

Logan let out a soft, begrudging chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass, Wade.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who took a bullet to the ass last week and then said it was ‘just a scratch’,” Wade said, flipping the channel again. “Seriously, I had to fucking dig a bullet out of your hairy Canadian ass, but sure, just a scratch. How’s the ass feeling now, by the way?”

Logan snorted—a rare sound from him—and Wade’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. He leaned over, jabbing Logan in the side with his elbow. “Admit it, you love when I get all Florence Nightingale on you. It’s like a sexy version of a nurse, except with more swearing, fewer clothes, and zero actual medical knowledge.”

Logan rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re not helping your case.”

Wade nudged him again, his voice full of teasing. “Oh, come on. You know I’m the only person who can make you crack that grumpy exterior. It’s like my superpower—breaking through the Wolverine angst. And trust me, pumpkin, I love using it.”

Logan finally gave in, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Yeah, you’re real special, Wade.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” Wade said, stretching out on the couch, draping his legs across Logan’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He flipped through the channels with his usual reckless abandon, not really looking for anything specific—just something to keep the noise going.

For a moment, the two of them sat there in companionable silence, the TV flickering in the background. Wade’s energy, usually a hurricane, seemed to settle, just for a moment. His legs were still draped lazily over Logan’s lap, his head resting back against the couch cushion, and Logan found himself relaxing, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.

“You ever stop to think,” Logan began, his voice low and thoughtful, “that maybe you’re the reason I’m not as messed up as I could be?”

Wade paused, remote still in his hand, his gaze flicking up to meet Logan’s. For a second, the sarcasm faded, the usual wall of jokes and bravado dropping. Wade tilted his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I kinda figured that was the deal.” He winked, the sass returning full force. “But don’t go getting all mushy on me, alright? I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I mean, I’m an asshole, not a Hallmark card.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that."

Wade leaned back, kicking his legs up higher as he flipped to another channel. “You need me, Peanut. Admit it.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but as he glanced over at Wade—at the way his presence filled the room with life, with noise, with something that kept Logan’s mind from spiraling into the dark places it so often wandered—he knew Wade was right. The man was a walking disaster, but he was Logan’s disaster.

“I guess I do,” Logan said softly, and for once, Wade didn’t make a joke.

Instead, he smiled, turning his attention back to the TV, his legs still draped lazily across Logan’s lap.

And for a little while, everything felt just a little bit easier.

[ethereal-will]

Wrote Sylvix being weird (as per usual) for the Candy Hearts Exchange!

[whollyjoly]

manifesting may and buck talking at the hospital, in a parallel to the may and bobby conversation in 6x11:

buck, trying to keep it together: "im sorry im such a mess, you must be taking this a lot harder than i am"

may, putting a hand on his shoulder: "buck, we're both worried about our dad. it's okay"

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

tfw you start writing a wilson lives au and the more progress you make the more it dawns on you that, despite watching 8 seasons of a medical drama, it turns out that apparently not one ounce of medical knowledge has stuck with you

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Can You Hear The Thunder?

Chapter 2: Burn / Fire Ghouls

Rain was so excited to develop his soulmark, until he wasn't. Nothing could have prepared him for the pain that knowing your other half would always be a world away would bring. Dew has been dealing with that pain for years, meanwhile. So when the opportunity to be summoned to the surface arises, he jumps at it.

Rating: M Content: angst, parental abandonment mention Words: 3150

Link to full fic with associated tags: Tumblr | AO3

Tag list: @cosmicseafoam @ashthewaterghoul @jimothybarnes @zombiequeen777 <33

Read below, or on AO3!

Fire ghouls were volatile creatures. Forged in the deepest, hottest pits of Hell, their tempers were quick to flare and their emotions keen to ignite. After generations of misunderstandings causing untold carnage, fire ghouls had been the first to develop language. They used words to communicate and had formed the earliest example of what could be considered a civilised society. Law and conduct were highly regarded in fire ghoul communities, and throughout the millennia this had allowed their temperaments to mellow out. 

A soul mark from a fire ghoul, therefore, was strongly indicative of their form’s respect for words. They spoke to civility, and the strength of a society based on clear and open communication. The mark would show up on their mate's skin in neatly printed script; the first words that would be spoken to the mark’s host by their mate if and when they were to meet. Always creatures with strong connections to their feelings, the proximity of the mark to the ghoul’s heart would outline the strength of emotions as the words were spoken. 

From this, fire ghouls could work out a little of the situation in which they would meet. Words of greeting twined around the recipient's wrist could be the casual meeting of two strangers, whereas words across a ghoul’s torso could indicate that the words were spoken with some force; said in astonishment, excitement, or even anger.  

True to the fire ghouls’ elemental connection, their marks would show up as burns on the skin. A deep greyish brown, they looked like trails of still-smouldering ash that complemented the red-toned fire ghoul’s skin. In non-fire ghouls however, a fire soul mark was an ugly thing. Without a shared heritage surrounding language, the words could seem overly brash and direct. The beauty of the mark itself was lost, the colour appearing more the red of an unhealed burn. In air ghouls, a patch of feathers around the mark would singe away, leaving a bald spot that would never regrow. Likewise, patches of a water ghoul’s scales would curl and disintegrate as they burned. The angry red glow made the mark stand out, looking like a disfigurement to those not of the species. To a fire ghoul however, they were a beautiful manifestation of how reason and logic had helped them to overcome their basest nature and emotions, creating harmony through their words. 

~~~~~~~ 

Rain hated his fire mark. The hideous words stuck out bright red against his blue scales, the edges of them singed and deformed all along the path the words took below his collar bone. Such an obvious mark, from the day it had appeared he had wanted to claw it off his skin. It might not have been so bad, had the words been even slightly kind. 

Growing up as a water ghoul, Rain had been surrounded by happily mated pairs all his life. Everyone else in his pod had found that they had known their mates since kit-hood. As their marks appeared in their early teen years, the young water ghouls would compare their natural bioluminescent patterns with each other to work out who their match was. Rain had watched his older siblings develop the darker scales of adult water ghouls, seen their tails become thicker and their horns longer, these signs of ghoulish puberty indicating the imminent appearance of their soul marks. He remembered in painful detail the excitement in their squeaks and clicks when they had awoken with fresh soul marks on their hands, arms, shoulders, and rushed to show their parents and friends. He had seen the delight on his eldest sister’s face when her marks matched the distinctive leopard shark pattern of their neighbour, her oldest and dearest friend. 

Rain’s parents were such closely bonded ghouls, he wondered how they had coped before meeting each other. Each seemed to feed off the other’s energy when they were in the same room, they were so clearly two halves of a whole. Rain had eagerly awaited the appearance of his own soul mark his whole childhood, daydreaming of his future with a water ghoul who wore his swirling patterns, and speculating with his friends about who they thought they though each other’s match would be.  

As his own scales began to darken, he could barely contain his excitement. He was considered a late bloomer; most of his peers having already gained their marks and many their mates as well. The youngest of his siblings, Rain had begun to feel like the last ghoul left without a mate, stuck in a permanent limbo of kit-hood while he waited impatiently for his mark to appear. 

Rain knew that he would never forget the day his own mark had finally appeared though, no matter how hard he might try to. Waking up in his nest of soft seaweed, he had felt a tickling, almost burning, sensation along his chest. Having heard that some ghouls felt a tingling when their marks appeared, he had raced to the mirror to see if he could watch as the marks wound across his skin. That kind of story would make its late arrival worth it. 

To Rain’s horror, the mark that was appearing was not a glowing trail of water ghoul bioluminescence however, but rather words, and horrible words at that, branding themselves into his skin. The scales around them began to char and shrivel, a repulsive frame to the unkindness that now permanently marked his once-beautiful skin. It burned. Rain had screamed out for his parents, convinced he must be having a nightmare. 

They had burst into the bathroom, concerned by the urgency in his voice, but assuming it was simply excitement at his long-overdue soul mark's appearance. Nothing could have prepared them for the sight of their son, tears streaming down his face, with a foreign elemental soul mark, and a fire ghoul mark at that, emblazoned across his clavicle. Rain’s mother had screamed, and gathered her baby in her arms as if she could protect him from his future. As Rain’s legs finally gave out, she had sunk to the floor with him, sharing in his sobs as she gently rocked him in her lap, her webbed fingers gently stroking his hair. Looking back, Rain would recognise this as one of the last acts of comfort he had received from his family.  

Where his mother was upset, Rain’s father was angry. Rain had never seen him like this before and it scared him almost as much as his soul mark had, only making him cry harder. He had stormed out of their cave and into the water, the froth left in his wake a mimicry of his fury. Many hours later, once Rain’s mother had stopped crying and had dried both of their tears before finding him a high-necked shirt to wear around others, his father had returned with the village elder in tow.  

A senior water ghoul with ice-white hair, she was used to being called upon to decipher the meanings behind soul marks, her knowledge of the stories and characteristics they described having been passed down for generations. However, upon seeing Rain she had gasped in horror. Cross mated ghouls were so uncommon; she had only seen a few in her long lifetime, and all from the complimentary elements of earth and air. Rain’s deeply unpleasant fire mark was like nothing she had ever seen before. It was a curse upon him. 

With no helpful advice to impart the elder had left shortly after, declaring Rain a lost cause. She had suggested he find a hobby, pursue a fulfilling career, and most importantly of all: keep the mark hidden. Over the following weeks and months, Rain had become more and more withdrawn. Keeping the mark concealed had worked for a while, but before long word had got out about the unfortunate young ghoul with a fire soul mark and the foul message it contained.  

As time passed, his friends had abandoned him, some not knowing what to say to him, and others afraid his bad luck could be contagious. On what should have been the happiest day of his young life, Rain's whole existence had collapsed. What future could he possibly have now? He had gone from relative obscurity, the youngest son of a perfectly average and happy couple, to the pariah of his whole pod. Known by everyone, and yet the most alone of them all. 

Several years on from the appearance of his mark, that loneliness was all Rain had left. The uncommon strength of the soul bonds within his family only served to rub salt in the wound, and he had become increasingly shut in and withdrawn. Rain was now firmly into adulthood but still young by the standards of his pod. The only ghouls who left their family groups at his age were those who knew their soulmates and were impatient to settle down with them and begin their own families and lives together. 

Barely out of adolescence, Rain had swiftly realised he couldn’t live his whole life surrounded by so many happily paired off ghouls. He sat alone in a kelp-lined alcove on the edge of his settlement, a small space he had found far enough away that no one could hear him cry. Rain rubbed his webbed fingers along the raised scars and frayed scales of his soul mark and looked at the twirling teal patterns on his own body. There was no comparing them. 

“What kind of ghoul are you?” he asked out loud. A crab in his peripheral vision scuttled sideways as if shrugging at him. “How can you say such cruel things to me, when you have my marks?” 

That hurt as much as anything; the thought that such a callous fire ghoul was walking around bearing his glowing and beautiful swirls. Rain knew what his own markings meant – he thought they were quite flattering really. As a kit, he had been told that his future mate should be honoured to have them, that they would wear them with pride given the deeper meanings they described. Now though he couldn’t help but feel jaded about the whole situation: Rain didn’t feel kind and brave, like the intertwined motifs depicted. He didn’t feel loyal, not when he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as his family. He especially didn’t feel beautiful, not when he was so marred by his own soul mark. 

No one Rain had asked had been able to tell him anything of use about fire ghoul marks beyond what he had assumed already. They must be words spoken between them, what other significance could they hold? And the location must have a meaning, although he hoped it was different to water ghouls. The thought of a first touch, if it ever happened, being around his neck made his blood run cold with fear.  

The one hope Rain held onto was the possibility that the mark spoke more to the fire ghoul’s heritage, in the way his own patterns did. Maybe they represented their family, or perhaps who they were when the mark developed rather than who they were now? They seemed to have so much anger stored up inside of them, so full of hatred. 

“Are you just hurting?” Rain asked the rock the crab had disappeared behind. He thought about how his life had changed since the mark developed, how ghouls he had once considered friends now turned their backs on him. “How much pain have my marks caused you?” 

Rain stroked his mark more gently this time, as though he could comfort the fire ghoul through it. Maybe it wasn’t the infamous fire ghoul temper that inspired such an outburst, maybe they were just in pain too. He sighed, and picked at the seaweed beside him with a long claw. Regardless of the true meaning of the outburst now carved into his skin, he was left with just one burning question: what sort of creature was prowling the lava fields with his markings on them? 

~~~~~~~ 

Half a universe away, Dewdrop was sat mirroring Rain’s position. Perched on a rock overlooking a deep pit of rolling lava near the summit of a volcano, he brushed at the teal marks on his forearms as though he could slough them off and into the abyss below if he tried hard enough. He knew nothing of the true meaning behind them, only their current denotation of loneliness, otherhood, an instinct unfulfilled. Surely there had to be a better life than this somewhere? Dewdrop knew of ghouls being summoned to serve the Dark Lord on the surface. Maybe that was what he needed – a fresh start away from all reminders of his current life? 

There was certainly nothing about his current existence that he felt was worth keeping. Dew was the runt amongst his tribe; the shortest and slightest despite all of his prayers to the one below. Both of his parents were large and stocky, the perfect fire ghouls, and they had never understood how their kit could have turned out so different to them. Dew had the sharp tongue and quick, cutting words of a fire ghoul, but none of the brawn to back them up.  

Like many others in his clan, he bore the scars of fights lost; times where logic and reason had failed, and their species’ base nature of fire and anger had taken over. Unlike his peers however, many of his scars came not from another ghoul, but from himself and the losing battle he fought inside his own mind. To Dew, the unavoidable turquoise streaks that marked his forearms were just that; another scar. A part of his vessel that the world saw first and fixated on but that, when he closed his eyes, would melt away. He felt a similar way about the twin silvery crescents across his chest; a small victory to him inside, yet also another long-healed wound that others felt a need to obsess over. 

Dew longed for an escape from the torment that came with everyone knowing his history and his self-perceived shortfalls. He had thought that some independence and control over his own life could provide some respite, might allow others to see him outside of being his parent's unlucky disappointment of a crossmated son.  

In an attempt to reinvent himself, he had moved out from his family nest as soon as he was old enough. Instead of a fresh start though, all that had done was make his loneliness even louder and more present. Somewhere, he knew there had to be others who felt a similar pain to him. Ghouls who wouldn't see his marks as signs of failure but as just an incidental part of who he really was. There had to be other ghouls out there who would understand, ghouls who would be happy to just let him be Dewdrop. He let his lungs fill with the sulphurous air of his surroundings, the burn grounding him to reality and pulling him out of his painful thoughts. 

As if hearing his mental anguish, thunder began to rumble overhead. Dew knew what that meant: a portal was opening. A gateway to the surface, and possibly to a world that possessed the understanding his insular clan so dearly lacked. No one ever truly knew what would be waiting for them outside of the Pit, wherever He was calling them to be, but Dew had to assume it was better than here. Either way, whoever was performing the summoning might at least be grateful to see him. 

The sky grew dark as clouds of His energy began to roll across the sky before settling over the peak of the volcano. Summoning portals were rare and unpredictable events throughout the pit, their destructive nature usually tying them to natural disasters. In the volcanic region of the fire ghouls' territory, they almost always manifested atop volcanos. Heralded by thunderstorms and forged by a lightning strike, these links across dimensions only stuck around for a short time, just long enough for Him to call a single ghoul through. 

Dewdrop took off running, stumbling uphill over burning rocks and past pools of molten sulphur. He had never been this close to an opening portal before and couldn't risk missing it now if he wanted a chance at life on the surface. Nobody knew when a portal would open, they were entirely unpredictable, but it was a well-discussed theory that their creator below would choose their locations for a reason. What if He had heard Dew's despair and offered him this escape? It would be unforgivable to turn it down. 

His lungs burning with exertion and the sting of the acrid air, Dewdrop reached the summit. He inched forward to peer over the rim of the volcano with trepidation, the heat from the magma within blasting his face. He stumbled backwards in shock at the intense blast, his foot catching on a stone and sending it skittering over the edge of the crater. It tumbled into the roiling pit of fire, glowing a bright red before it was consumed by the molten rock below. Despite the searing heat, Dew shivered in trepidation.  

The roaring of thunder overhead intensified until it was so loud that Dewdrop had to put his hands over his ears. The sky above grew darker and the clouds denser, until they seemed almost solid, trapping him within. With an earth-shattering crack, a bolt of lightning burst from above. It struck the surface of the pool of lava, sending splashes of fiery lava flying in all directions as easily as a rock into a lake splashed water. The passing heat of a projectile drop almost scorched Dew's hair. Slowly, the magma began to draw back from the point of the lightening bolt's impact as though it was being pulled by otherworldly hands. The bubbling orange retreated up the edges of the crater, leaving a dark, gaping maw behind in the centre.  

Swirling darkness rose out of the pit like a fountain, reaching up with dark, grasping fingers to connect with the clouds above. Other tendrils curled towards the rim of the crater where Dewdrop stood and twined around his ankles. The smoky shadows caressed his exposed skin, feeling pleasantly cool against the burning air around him, and a voice seemed to cry out from the portal in front of him. It was simultaneously like nothing he'd ever heard before, and like the comforting call of an old friend.  

Encouraged forward by the soft caress of the portal, Dew took one last look over his shoulder, down the volcano's slopes to where his village that contained all he had ever known would stand if he were not shrouded in a fiery mist. He couldn't think of one thing he would miss, or anyone who would miss him. With a deep breath, Dewdrop jumped.