#I was trying to balance between descriptive and entertaining

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Seven

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

Gwayne,

I cannot bear the way thought of you near, nor far from me. You are correct, that I did not want it to be you. I will admit, you were on my list. Your sister insisted upon it. I did not want your name to be on my list, despite the fact that I could not ignore that you matched the description and traits of my Unfamiliar quite closely. I feel like perhaps I knew, and wanted to play pretend like I did not. 

You are true in your presumption, I did fall for your words. 

However, I do not know if I can fall for you. 

It feels that there has been too much between us. Animosity, anger, pain, and much humiliation. The whispers of the court no doubt carry our names on their lips, and they only add to the warfare we wage. I fear Lady Rosby already thinks me as your paramour.

Part of me wants to believe in you, Gwayne Hightower. Play the fool and fall swooning into your arms like I was so determined to do when I found my writer. However, I feel as if I cannot let that happen. As if; should I allow you to court me, I would be losing. Whatever this cruel game it is between us, I would lose by allowing your affection after all that has transpired between us. 

I do not know how I can believe you, believe that you wish to truly court me and be my love. Part of me desires this, but my rational mind refuses.

I fear that these letters will be a stain upon arranging any marriage I may be sought for. Alicent will have a hard time marrying me off because of you. If this is some convoluted ploy for you to keep me by her side, I commend you for its success. 

My worry is that all of this may still be a farce. Whatever my heart wants, it does not matter. 

I do not trust you, Gwayne Hightower.

I will not bid you leave, that is your decision. 

Sincerely, 

Y/n

Those are the words you wrote to Gwayne, if he even read them. The parchment was crumpled, the words maybe even smeared in the mess of the scuffle that had happened three nights ago. It feels as if you balance on the edge of a sword, wondering if he even read them, and if he did what he might have thought of them. You also struggle with your own thoughts about them. You wrote those words before he revealed to you he was on the Streets of Silk. Do those words even still stand within your heart? You had cried the entirety of your walk of the tunnels, silent tears soaking your face and the rim of your hood. Gwayne had dared to say that he would court you and decided to spend his night in a pleasure house. Garishly, you had even allowed yourself to ask: did the woman he hired look like you? Was he sweet to her the way he promised to be sweet to you? You hope she was paid well, and treated even better. You do not fault the woman, whoever she is. She does not know you and she is simply doing her occupation. Gwayne, however, Gwayne is a different story. You aren’t sure if you can look him in the eye again, and that’s thought alone scares you. 

 Since then you’ve hardly slept. You’ve recused yourself even further into Alicent’s apartments, only leaving now to bring the princes to their lessons and the princess to her septa. After you had scrubbed the night from your body, you left your chambers for the Queen’s and stayed there. The first night, you had woken and scared her. But that had subsided quickly, and she welcomed you in to lay beside her like she had when the two of you were still young and Helaena and Aemond had not come yet. By supper the next evening, she had a bed made up within her rooms for you, and talked with you until she fell asleep mid sentence in the hour of the wolf. Alicent, if she worried, did not question you. Alicent seems better for the company, even having laughed this morning. And not just a chuckle, you noticed, a full bodied open-mouthed laugh as she clutched your sleeve while the two of you broke fast. It is truly lovely, to be in Alicent’s constant company. 

“What is this game?” you ask, leaning over the temporary bed as you look to where three of the four royal children are playing another card game.

“I do not think they know,” Alicent chimes in, her lips upturned.

“Well then I hope at least one of them is winning,” you remark with your face contorted with confusion. If the children can hear you, they do not pay you any mind. Alicent is currently working on a lovely cloak, of deep emerald and four golden dragons embroidered on it, one for each of her children. You know that she is intending for it to be a warm symbol of her allegiance during the coming winter. Allegiance, of which two factions have started to break out at court. Green and Black seem to be the two colors mixing and quarreling in the shadows. You yourself have not given much thought to the growing social chasm only making things more odd with Alicent’s letter writing idea. Already, four betrothals have occurred thanks to the letters, and as couples they seem to be standing for one side or the other. You suppose you must be a green. Obvious, really, with your close proximity to the queen and her children and no real love for the heir besides the niceties that occur when she speaks to you. Rhaenyra seems decent, but the hurt between her and Alicent runs deeper than you dare to know. You will wear a matching gown of emerald for Alicent, if she so asks.

“How has your husband been?” you ask, her husband the king who seems to not pay these growing tensions any mind.

“Well enough. Though he did say something to me the other day for dinner,” she pauses, and then when she speaks again her voice is slightly lower to imitate him, “Four matches is not a hundred, and you are no Alysanne, but what you have done is good work. Maybe you will be in one of my history books.”

She smiles inwardly, as if that were a great compliment. To you, the mention of history books is frought, and condescending even. Alicent will be in them for just existing, for being his wife, for being Otto Hightower’s daughter. That is what history will remember; not her gentleness or her quiet smiles or the way you know she means it when she hugs you and her children and her brother because of the way she curls her entire body onto the person she embraces.

“I suppose he thinks that is a glowing praise,” you speak quietly, as if he could hear.

“I will take it as one,” she says, looking off to the floor, as if searching for pattern within the smooth stone. You suppose some men are better with words than others, and perhaps King Viserys is more occupied with running the kingdom and his own health than his words and their impact. The same way that a certain auburn knight is gifted with words on paper, and if only his lips and actions matched.

No, you mustn’t let yourself think of him, you tell yourself, not to let him weasel his way back into your mind. Yet, your mind drifts to him, to his embrace, to the ghost of what might have been a kiss. Your memory of the night hazy around the edges, though you are not sure if that is helping or hurting right now.

The children continue to throw down their cards, in something that looks like a pattern, some convoluted array. You and Alicent can only giggle to yourselves at the incomprehensible ideas of children. Children that will one day lead the kingdom, grow up to be wise princes and princess, and earn their places in history.

“Boys, take my hands,” you tell the little princes, and Aemond immediately complies and gets ready to lead the way to lessons and his favorite part of the day. Aegon, however, refuses with a pout on his face.

“I don’t want to,” he says, clearly perturbed.

“And why not, Prince Aegon?”

“Well, what will people say?” he asks, adding, “You are very pretty, but I do not want girls thinking I am courting you.”

Aegon stuffs his little hands into his pockets, determined to win this. You wish to ask him: What girls? Why is this his concern when just the other day he was asking you to read to him and his siblings like they were all babes?

“Aegon that is silly, you are a child and I am your mother’s friend,” you tell him, and Aemond begins to pull on your occupied hand impatiently.

“And I am getting older! Father married young, so did mother!”

But not to each other and not at eight, you wish to point out, but the messy dynamics of his birth are not something you actually want to explain to him. He huffs again as Aemond yanks your hand a little harder, eager to get to his lessons. Earlier he had told you that they were learning about how to speak their actions in High Valyrian.

But Aegon speaks up again before you can even think of a good comeback.

“Uncle! Can you please take Lady Y/n’s hand so that I do not have to! I wish for the little ladies of court to know their prince is free for romance!”

You stand straight, back rigid as the prince calls over his uncle in haste. No, gods no not right now, you think, wholly unprepared to face this man.

“My Lady,” Ser Gwayne greets, and you greet him back, though quiet and refusing to look upon him.

“I was just… on my way to see my sister,” he explains, “I have been trying for days but she has been occupied.”

“That—“ you falter, “That has been my doing. My apologies, Ser.”

“I would also like to speak with you,” he continues, and you must stop yourself from the gasp that threatens to leave your lips. Your pulse picks up at the idea of having a real conversation with him.

“So let him!” Aegon pipes up, “We know the way!”

And with that he yanks upon his brother’s free hand, more or less dragging him away as he slips from your grasp. Aegon makes it mere meters before Aemond bites at his wrist to release him. It makes you realize, in that exact moment, that Alicent’s boys are going to cause chaos as they get older.

“Y/N, the other night—“ Gwayne begins once the boys are out of earshot, but you interrupt him.

“Never happened.”

“But it did,” he responds.

But it did, and you cannot erase what has been done, even if details are fuzzy and obstructed.

“I wish to forget it,” you tell him.

“I do not. I haven’t slept since,” He tells you, and you finally raise your eyes to look at him. He looks as if he is speaking true. His usually sparkling eyes are lined with dark circles, his hair limp and in disarray.

“I cannot stop thinking of you or your latest letter,” he says.

You sigh, moving to lean yourself against the wall. The cold stone feels truly wonderful against your skin, an anchor to keep you from igniting. 

“Nor I you, though I wish I could,” you admit, as there is no point in lying to him. He has read the letter, and he knows where you stand. 

“So is that it?” he asks, his voice flat and hollow, “Are we to become strangers?”

You shake your head, sinking lower onto the wall. 

“You have ammunition against me, I guess I should say you have final say in that.” 

With one word, he could ruin you. He could bar you from any marriage, have Alicent send you away, arrange you some other unsavory situation. He has all of the power within this situation, and he dangles that above your head whether that is his intention or not.

“Do not be so difficult, Y/n, I have been worried for you. What were you thinking?”

Attempting to respond to him, you think. He is what drove you to the tavern that night. He is what drove you to drink. He is what still drives you mad. 

“I think you forget where you were that night,” you frown, the scrape on your knee now burning as if it is growing angrier as you do. You had done well to clean it and bandage it, hiding the wound from Alicent even as you hunkered down on couches and beds and kicked your feet up with her. 

“Please spare me the accusations, you seem to be purposely hold your hurt at the forefront.” Gwayne turns upon you, face filled with hurt and irritation. He is right, you do hold your hurt for him purposely. It is a weapon as much as it is a shield. It is your lifeline in all of this, this game of love and hate. A safety blanket crafted on threads of animosity. It is the easiest place to hide, and Gwayne’s letters attempted take your defenses from you. Your hurt is a weapon when in one moment he admits his affections for you and in another moment visits a pleasure house. If your words be a sword, let them be sharp. 

“You are off to see your sister, yes? Tell her whatever you should like regarding the other night. Tell her about the letters, how you made me swoon. I am done with this silly game you’ve brought me into. I wish to be free from the fear of rumors and free from thinking of your arms around me.” You could cry, but you wish not to give him that. 

Gwayne steps in closely, too close for it to be considered proper. Anger flashes in his eyes before it settles again, his mouth curled into a tight frown. 

“If that is what you wish, who am I to deny you? I accept your rejection, My Lady.”

He gently takes your hand, raising it up as he presses a soft kiss to the knuckle of your middle finger. His lips, undeniably soft, linger upon your hand longer than need be as if to tease you. As if he is saying: feel what you are throwing away, what you will miss out on. It feels as if a trail of fire has been lit in your veins, connecting from your knuckle to your chest where you believe your heart should be. His eyes meet yours, and his gaze is penetrating. You stare back, truly searching him for… anything. He presses a second kiss to your knuckle, never breaking his gaze or blinking. You thank the Gods for the wall behind you, surely that you would buckle under the intensity of his gaze. The phantom feeling of his lips upon your head haunts you again, and you want nothing more than to fall into his arms, to accept this affection. But you have set this in motion, you have said things you cannot take back. His kiss is a goodbye.

Gwayne’s lips leave your skin, and his tongue darts out to lick them, as if to taste you on his mouth before he turns to walk away. 

You dare not move as you watch him leave towards Alicent’s apartments. 

Regret settles into your bones. You should not have said anything. 

[jolalibrary]

ii. the borrowing of honey

joel miller x f!reader | chapter two of honey stained hands

Chapter summary: lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?” Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

wordcount: 3.9k warnings: no physical descriptions. joel calls you honey (ellie calls you bee - because you look after the bees). no use of y/n. typical canon-angst. brief mentions of reader handling some raiders (murder couple yesss). my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: doesn't matter how much time passes, i still get so nervous when it comes to sharing joel.

Your name is present on the tip of his tongue whenever he sees you.

It’s there when he watches you walk by; when he finds you in the centre of the sheep pen, Ellie and other kids circling you, listening attentively.

For Joel, what he likes the most, is the teeth showing when Ellie grins, when she moves closer to you, when it’s clear in the way her arms aren’t folded anymore, that she trusts you—this person, this neighbour of theirs.

Against all odds, he has also found your name coming to him with ease when he opens his door to you, the chill of the outside air mixing with the warmth of his home.

Your appearance, as always, knocking him off balance, especially when he spots that apron again—flecks of flour, a stripe of it against your cheek.

You don’t happen to have any honey, do you, neighbour?

From morning to night, it’s there, ready—hanging on the tip of his tongue.

He swears it’s as though your name has been scratched into him, etched into some space he hadn’t known was still there, existing, being.

A pull within him.

One that led him to your door the following day, a book in hand—one you’d lent Ellie and had been meaning to return—as he found you baking. All smooth movements, unbothered by him stopping by as you combined ingredients with your hands.

Hands he was unsure how they’d made it here. A question, that circles his brain in constant whirrs.

Because, until the scent of honey hit his nose, Joel wasn’t sure you could appear any sweeter.

“What y’baking?” he’d asked, nodding to the jar of honey open beside you—the one he’d given the day prior, the label scratched from his thumb picking at it as the two of you idly chatted. Talks of the day, whether he’d had any more run-ins with the animals.

Your lip tugged into your cheek, pausing in your crumbling to wipe your forearm across your brow. “Shortbread—but it’s only my third time making it.”

“Three times more than me.”

Snorting, you grinned. Large, unfazed—as though the world had never ended for you. “When you’re done fixing fences and homes, I can teach you.”

“Not sure I can learn much, honey.”

“I think you sell yourself short.”

Smirking, he nodded, mumbling a funny as he continued to watch, and admire. Paying attention to how your hands moved, how they rolled whatever you were making inside the bowl before you held up your dough.

You hadn’t shared much, just that you had learnt to bake when you were younger—something you’d begin doing when you couldn’t sleep. How the honey had been an easy (in terms of sourcing) replacement for sugar. That, you’d amassed too much once, so you shared your goods, left treats at the Tipsy Bison, took some to the shops that could spare some cheering up.

Joel didn’t share much either, just nodded to the questions you asked, whether he’d travelled far, whether he liked fixing porches and whether it was true a sheep had tried to eat his lace.

The main things that Joel learnt, was that you were too good for a person like him.

A person maybe years and years ago he’d have been able to entertain with witty stories and charisma. But both were few and far between now. That however you’d survived, however you’d made it here, had been likely on luck and not because you, like him—and likely others—had found themselves in the shadows of who they once were.

Then, he saw a different side.

Your name almost hangs from his lips when he watches you dismount weakly, almost stumbling—falling before you catch yourself.

There are snowflakes in your hair. Ellie had said the weather is ‘all fucked. Now, he can see it for himself. How drops from the clouds had clustered, clung to strands, it almost making you look innocent—like the version of you Joel had sculpted in his mind.

That is except for the scarlet splattered across your clothes and face—chunks of something mattered in your hair. It’s sticky, that much he can tell. It catches the sun's rays, reflecting across the parts that haven’t dried. Lit up further by the wild look in your eyes, the one that makes him realise, that for all your sweetness, there’s something uncaged inside you. A look, that is both a mix of haunting and adrenaline, thrumming in the depths where he’s usually basked in goodness.

The earlier thought, the one which had been irking him—festering in the back of his mind—wondering how something so kind had managed to survive, is now answered. It is on display, proudly there for him to see. You’d done well to drill it down, hide it deep inside of you, conceal it, but it was bellowing now, hammering its fists on your chest, all proud to be out, breathing, living.

Because you disguise it too, the monster. Thing so many of the people around the two of you aren’t. But a beast recognises another—and Joel sees yours.

There’s no mask or sheet big enough to hide it now. No way he can’t see where it’s stitched itself to the person you were before civilisation snapped in two and hell poured out from the core.

It’s that, he reasons, as to why he steps closer—tries to stabilise, soothe. Even if your body is calm, barely a shake in sight—no infliction as others come to your ‘aid’ that anything is even wrong—less so when the questions begin to rise.

You—a clever thing—wait until Tommy arrives. Letting him, and only him—guide you, lead you. Those who need to, follow, and Joel finds his feet carry him too. Joel finding a spot, remaining stood, just watching from the corner as you begin to share what had happened on patrol.

Your report is clinical, stiff. All to the point.

You speak it as though you were itemising, giving a list, and he suspects it isn’t because it’s a coping mechanism. It sounds normal from your tongue, loss—death. It’s all a matter of fact, with no emotion—no semblance of kindness or grief as you describe how your patrol partner was gutted in front of you. How they talked about you, not realising, not knowing…

He listens as your voice trails off then. Knowing, more than many of those who have been comfortable here for too long, what it is you’d left unsaid.

Then, you’d added Raiders. You chin lifting, eyes cold, unbothered, adding, low-level ones—as if there are grades to this shit.

“Do we need to send others out to deal with them?”

A valid question, asked by someone Joel has no fucking clue what his name is.

Instead of replying, your eyes flick to his. A momentary hold, a prolonged stare. It doesn’t claw at him to steal his breath or dig in to take a swipe at the fractured parts of him. It is just a stare—an almost cold one—as though he could have been replaced by anyone else in the room, and it would have been the same.

But you sought him out. You looked for him—stamping the answer into him. The one you say in a second or two, but makes him body relax before the rest of them can think of doing as much.

Because Joel knows this is you showing him who you are, the monster unwilling to be caged—the demon inside of you still breathing, snorting and spitting smoke.

“No,” you say, devoid of emotion. “I sorted it.”

Somehow, even after spending the night watching you bake, he doesn't doubt that for a second.

He knows something shifted, changed, the day after your patrol.

Something ebbing, flowing—commutated in the way he finds your eyes even through a sea of people. Mostly, he discovers that he doesn’t hate it when you find yourself beside him, sun in his eyes making him squint, you leaning close by as he repairs whatever is on the agenda.

The times begin to bleed into one. Something he’s distantly aware means something—even without Ellie pointing it out.

Because even she knows you, more than bits and bobs—more than someone who teaches them things. But intimately. You, who the kids have dubbed Bee likely due to the bees you’re often around and the honey that you tend to. Something that makes him smirk, a thing he struggles to hide.

He knows things have changed. Had known it the moment you stood giving a detailed account—letting another man’s blood dry on your face—that he had misunderstood you. Joel had made an assumption based on those he’d come across before, kind things—soft, pliable souls.

Now, he couldn't unsee the fire. The ferocious thing inside of you that you stuffed away and hid behind baking and tending to fucking bees.

“Didn’t realise you had access to all the honey, honey.” “You trying to flirt with me, Miller?” “No jus’… trying to figure out why you needed my honey.” “Maybe I thought yours would taste better.”

He was aware the idle chatter had turned flirty—more tinged in power, dominance. Who could make the other uncomfortable, snap or make the move first. Each day, the answer was different—sometimes him, sometimes you, oftentimes both.

Joel was old, worn—aching all over—but he didn’t like the idea of bowing, not after all he’d done to get here to begin with.

“I think you’re softening to me, Miller.” “You’re just my neighbour.” “Yeah, yeah. That’s what it is.”

A part of him reasons that he goes to the Bison to see if you’re okay, spotting you in the corner, at an empty table—a book open in your hands before you nod at him to join you. You tell him, quickly, he doesn’t have to make conversation, turning your attention back to the book, just no point sitting by yourself being ogled at.

Joel found he did talk.

First, about the book in your hand, and then questions about other things—the two of you floating them back and forth. Nothing major, nothing too deep. Enough to spark a smile or a laugh here or there.

No more pages of your book were read, not even as you eventually closed it—bidding him goodnight. He’d almost let you walk home alone, almost. A sudden emotion flared in him as he downed the drink and hurried after you.

Knowing you were safe mattered.

He repeated the sentiment over and over as though it was the only reason—or, better yet, the only one he wanted to believe, especially when the two of you stopped at the steps of your porch.

A goodnight rises, sitting on his tongue, but it never forms. Your eyes stare at him, shimmering, but you blink it away and replace it with a smirk. Because he’s sure if you were any other woman, you’d be jingling your keys and sending him all the signs. But you’re not like those women.

It’s the reason you’re the only one he doesn’t want to roll his eyes at when you speak.

“I’m not someone you should want to be more than friends with, Miller,” you say gently, shifting the book over your front.

“That so?”

Nodding, you flash him one of your usual smiles, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Yeah, I bite.”

Joel tells himself there’s plenty to do when he’s alone.

He can read—learn about space, study carpentry, maybe even just be, relax. He could pick at guitar strings until chords and melodies came back to him.

Instead, he finds himself in front of your door, knuckles out, hammering away at the wood until he hears you shouting for him to come in.

Fuck. The sight of you knocks into him, more prominent this time—more air stolen than just a gasp. Finding you hidden behind your kitchen counter, lips spreading into a smirk, he wants nothing more than to rid.

Powder streaking your cheek, your face free except for it—all bare, natural—the strap of your bra having fallen, all black—lace. The rest of it is hidden beneath a white vest top, your apron shielding the rest of your attire except your bare legs. Bruised, healed scars and thick woollen socks.

“You here to fix somethin’?”

He shouldn’t feel so much from just a smirk, but his mouth is dry, eyes glazing up and down your frame as you lick your lips.

“Or you here to see something?”

Lingering, he digs his hands into his jacket pockets, finding the usual leaning post of your doorframe—watching, secretly admiring but not admiring.

“Your silence doesn’t intimate me, Joel. If anything, it just allows me to talk more.”

Snorting, he shakes his head. “S’not what I’m doing.”

You stop mixing, hands hovering over the bowl, eyes narrowing, assessing, but smiling. “Right. Of course.”

He doesn’t like it. The tone. The way you let each letter fall from your tongue, laced in something he can’t quite work out. So, he steps closer, boots booming as he moves more into the kitchen.

“Whatever errand Tommy has you on, I’m fine. It’s only me here now, anyway.”

He nods. “Y’have someone else here then? Before.”

Before, even he hears how it moves around the room, pulsating, thickening. Your eyes drop back to the bowl, moving ingredients and making flour dust tinge in the air.

“A while ago, yes.”

For you, it’s curt—sharp. Another notch rallied against the evidence that sweet and fucking kind wasn't all there was to you.

Then you lift your eyes, devoid of all he’s used to in them. “I don’t need anything fixing, Joel.”

He stands. Loiters. A part of him wondering what you mean by fixing, because he suspects you don’t mean furniture, porches and doors. He suspects there’s more ravelled inside of you, a thing he wants to tug on, yank at—let it unspool out until he can digest it all, and consider, just maybe, if he can unspool his out too.

It’s why he’s unwilling to leave, more out of sheer stubbornness because, in truth, you’re the only one he doesn’t despise talking to. One of the few who don’t look at him with questions, with a scowl. A scarlet letter stitched into him, sewn by the things he’s done to breathe and survive.

So, he remains. Watching as your movements become more erratic, more charged. Your anger ploughed into the dough, it forming, thickening at your fingers as though your whispered hissed sweats were like enchantments getting it to form.

“No good comes from staying, Miller.”

He lifts his chin, brow raising. “That so?”

Nodding, you lightly smirk. “Yeah. Because then you’ll realise I’m not all that to be around, and it’ll mean you have to talk to another human.”

Moving to your side of the counter, he stares at the contents of the bowl. “Y’not too bad to be around.”

“Fuck, you flatter me, Joel.”

It’s there again. That sparkle, the shimmer. The glint in your eye that shoots down to his cock, the same one from the porch. The one he sees when he passes you in the street, and you tell him he’s looking good—

“Why d'the kids call you Bee?”

“Because I didn’t like that they called me miss, and you know, I’m often with the bees.”

Something uncurls inside of him—a fire partially ignoring, a fuse switched. A thing which made him feel both young and old all at once as he leaned, the scent of you mixed with whatever you were baking, all intoxicating—enough to burn the odour of decomposition from his memory for life. A smell that is so reminiscent of you, so genuine and real.

Lifting his chin, he finds you already watching him. “What’d y’like me to call you?”

Your hands pause, flour clinging to your palms, your hands. “I like that you call me Honey, Miller.”

Nodding, he smiles, folding his arms as he leans again—just like he had done over a week ago. “Honey, it is.”

He doesn’t just see you around, he begins to see you in his dreams, too.

Not frequently, but when he’s able to enjoy a night’s sleep not ruined and tainted with nightmares, you’re there. Sometimes fleeting, sometimes more present. A thing, an anchor—looping yourself around him, figuratively, literally. A different kind of heat on his cheeks when he wakes after those, a different fist to his chest as he tries to level his breathing.

He doesn’t show it when he’s awake. When the bitter chill in the air makes his hands rub together and your eyes find his over the top of Ellie’s head, her interest suddenly in bees is unsurprising. Joel has learn, that anything that stings, seems dangerous, or kicks, seems to get the kid intrigued.

Joel just smiles at you, burning a thank you into your eyes—for doing this for her, with her. Giving her something to chatter incessantly over food with him. But it’s the one you give him back that sticks in him, remaining with him until he closes his eyes—it’s another one added to the collection which you wear like an accessory when he dreams.

He likes that you’re there. In his newly formatted dreams—greeting him there too. Little flashes, soft smiles and alluring stares hide your monster and make his bury itself in his chest. Sometimes, you wear white, the picture of innocence—all pure and unbroken. Others, he finds you coated in scarlet, a beautiful oxymoron—his own real-life Carrie.

It’s why he misses your usual comment when you pass his house on the way to the pen. It’s why he looks out for you when he’s tending to some shop door—why Tommy finds him looking around when he’s packing up.

“Y’missing something—or someone?”

Shooting a look, he’s met with a snort, a grin.

“Get outta here, will you?”

Tommy just snorts louder, “She don’t work today—Bee.”

He almost shoots back that’s not your name. It all unfurled on his tongue, the weight of it sitting there. But he swallows it.

“Don’t know what y’mean.”

“Come off it, brother—you’re across the street from me. I see things.”

It lingers with him. Sticks. Clinging to him as he trudged back, Ellie hammered her feet down the stairs to greet him, a thousand and one things shooting out at him. Question after question—some he hears clearly, others get lost in the excitement. More names, more people she’s made friends with—

“So can I?”

“Can y’what?”

She shifts—shyness present, a look he’s not used to seeing on her. “Can I go watch the movie at theirs?”

All he can think is, that she looks like Sarah—that same permissive look that children adopt when talking to their parents.

The unease. The hoping—but not wanting to show too much. Just in case. As though by expecting, it’ll hurt more if he says no.

Not that he would. Not that he does.

Her chorus of thank you’s painting the house in glitter and gold, his smile challenging to hide as he puts away the toolbox—and removes his boots.

“I heard Bee’s at home.”

Turning his head, he knows he’s pulling a face. A mix of how do you know and what you getting at, all mushed and rolled into one.

Ellie just shrugs, that annoying knowing one that he remembers back when she cracked the radio. The look of deviousness and mischief swirling in her eyes and spreading to her lower face.

“Get outta here, kid.”

You bought him a batch of shortbread.

They’re encased in a tin—it’s small, circular. It’s old, likely restored as best as it could be from wherever it was taken from. But, the contents are new—sweet, rather perfect, even if your note attached had been describing them as anything but.

Joel hadn’t been here when it arrived, coming home to the lid already off, a small plate next to it, adorned in crumbs. He supposed if Ellie liked it, he would—and fuck did he.

“So, she just baking you things now?”

“Looks like it.”

He knows all of Ellie’s faces—each emotion stitched into it. A scowl here, a surprised look here. Tonight was a cross between sarcasm and, really, man.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shifting his weight, he dips his chin. Staring, right over his nose as she holds her hands up, excusing herself, dashing up the stairs before signalling his lack of an answer with the slam of her door.

He could admit that each time he sees you, you flirt—that you’re still all kind, sweet. But, Joel knows there is an edge to it. Something simmering, bubbling. A current attempting to wrap itself around the two of you and pull you under—laced with flirtations, them prickling in the air.

It reaches a new height quickly, his fingers plucking at strings as you walk past. Your eyes glazed, the night heavy—a storm brewing in the air, something he can feel, half-expecting rain to fall down and do its usual cleanse of the soil, leaves and muck.

He had seen you pause, turning your frame to his porch. Climbing it, stopping yourself from stepping on the top step.

“Y’good, neighbour?”

He snorts. “You’re drunk.”

“Merry.” Your correction comes with a smirk. “Drunk makes me sound like I can’t handle it—and I can handle it.”

Sliding the guitar from his lap, he looks at you leaning, that same smirk. The one that’s been growing over the days, weeks. One that makes his blood boil and his jeans tighten.

“You know, if you ever feel like playing with something that sounds just as pretty, Miller, you let me know.”

Whatever retort he’d been about to give, fizzles, dies. It slides back down his throat as you throw up a wave, practically skipping down his steps. Not even looking back as you walk that bit further to your own place, before you’re out of view.

He should go in, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches your home, as you flick a light on as you move through your home—hidden by curtains and blinds.

Joel can’t hear anything, but a part of him wishes he could.

Wondering whether you sing to yourself, whether you’re clumsy—and you paint the air with fucks and shits. Whether you’re thinking about him…

Joel picks up the guitar again, calloused fingers ready to brush over strings.

But he just hears you. A ghostly echo of your statement, humming, swirling around the porch.

Leaning it against the side of the house, he stands, bones creaking, porch chair groaning, as he heads inside.

Needing another door and wall between you and your confession and the relief he needs to find to be able to look you in the eye tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE ->

[venusgirltarot]

What Would An Album About You Sound Like?

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, envision the person you are thinking of and then choose the pile(s) you feel most drawn to.

Pile One

Ahhh okay this is so cute. Im going to try to explain this as best as I can, Pile 1. So this seems like a concept album. The idea of the album (not the sound but idea ya know) reminds me of “Melodrama” by Lorde. I’ll leave a quote here for a better description but it’s like a concept album about a single night

“Melodrama is described as a loose concept album that explores the theme of solitude, in the framework of a single house party with the events and moods that entail it”

The album about you is similar in the sense that it’s a “loose concept album” but it’s about the writer seeing you. It’s like you’re at this party that the songwriter is also at and they’re obsessed from the moment they lay eyes on you. You’re like this beautiful unobtainable being to them and they want to get to know you so bad but they just can’t seem to talk to you. This could also progress to a one night stand that never progresses to more because of a lack of communication to this album is going through the writer meeting you and watching you throughout the night and then goes into their regrets and what they wish they would have said to you the next day, if that makes sense.

They see you at a party and think you’re so beautiful but can’t seem to find the words to tell you that. I keep hearing “I like the way my bedsheets look on your body” from “hello!” By role model. (I believe that’s the right song but lmk if it’s wrong so I can fix it!) and I keep being reminded of this musician on TikTok “Chappell Roan” and their song “Red Wine Supernova” I think that’s similar to what this album would sound like and it also fits the aesthetic. I highly recommend you listen to this song because it fits your album so perfectly. I tried to find a lyric that resonates the best to include but they all work so well that I couldn’t choose.

Despite this entire album being about only you and just one night leading into the next morning, it’s still so diverse (I hope that makes sense) like you’d think there’s only so many songs you could write about a 12ish hour time frame and one person but this writer has endless things to say about you and the night you met them. I could see one song having a feature and it’s later in the album somewhere between tracks 7-12 or so. The aesthetic of the album is very neon lights, the dance floor on prom night after everything has died down and people are starting to go home, slow, melodramatic and just really pretty. Again, I highly recommend you check out “Red Wine Supernova” because it fits so well.

Track list:

1. Pretty

2. Blooming

3. missing you

4. Shinning Eyes

5. Dying Slow

6. Party Streamers

7. Old Fashioned (Feat. Another Artist)

8. Starlight

9. Nova��s Surprise

10. Sunset

11. morning after

12. You

Pile Two

Pile two, your album sounds like one written by Hozier, Noah Kahan or The Lumineers. It reminds me a lot of “Angela” by The Lumineers. Specifically the lyric “Angela, spent your whole life running away” and “vacancy, hotel room, lost in me, lost in you” it also reminds me of Ethel Cain in the sense that it’s a concept album about running away and starting a new life (but not as dark as ethel’s and with a much better outcome than she got. I heard “success story” it’s about leaving behind a difficult past and moving forward. There’s hope for the future in these songs, remembrance of the past and healing trauma. It’s a beautiful album with a good balance of different emotions. I could see this album coming with a short film or a series of music videos that piece together to tell a store. Similar to “III” by the Lumineers.

I keep hearing a few snippets from the deluxe version of “Stick Season” (that will be out June 9th 👀) like “Medicate meditate swear your soul to Jesus / Throw a punch fall in love give yourself a reason” or “we ain’t angry at you love, you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost” it’s such a beautiful album with so much soul and emotion.

I could see this album getting an acoustic live version that artists do sometimes like “Album, live from Wherever” you know? This album has very unique and catchy lyrics that stick with people, the type of lyrics people take and sell on things in their Etsy shop or use as a quote in their yearbook or put in their instagram bio. It almost feels like poetry. I also heard “escapism” this is the type of music that paints a picture and takes you somewhere else. This album will kind of chronologically tell a story about you moving forward and healing from trauma and finding a peaceful ending. Ending with a song like “Angelia”

Track list

1. movement

2. Adelaide’s Interlude

3. mother

4. farmhouse

5. leave me behind

6. baby blue

7. mustang

8. you’re gonna go far

9. more than this

10. peace

11. at your own pace

12. growing pains

13. at last

Pile Three

I feel like this album has a soft rock sort of sound? Like hozier with a rockier edge if that makes sense? It reminds me of the way hozier sings about love. He sings about a very deep and impactful love and his writing his like poetry and I think that’s what an album about you would sound like. I think this album could be about the writer/musician fighting feelings for you because they’re focused on career or are just concerned about the outcome of the relationship. They might have a fear of falling or something.

However, the last card I pulled was the 10 of cups so the outcome is very good. I feel like this album is coming from a reflective place like this is after yourself and your spouse have settled down and had kids or pets or whatever you would like and your partner is looking back at your relationship from the very beginning up until now and writing about it.

I keep hearing “I’m in love with an emo girl” I don’t think this is what the album will sound like but maybe that’s your aesthetic/vibe? This might just be conformation for you. I also keep hearing that Shania Twain song “you’re still the one” this is the kind of album that fans would dissect like narrow down the time you met your person and talk about every lyric and how that lyric relates to you and your relationship etc. this album talks about how devoted and in love with you your person is but also talks about the (I heard “trials and tribulations”) it took for you two to get there so it may include religious reference. Like religion by Lana Del Rey or Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift where there’s this slight aspect of religion/devotion to your partner.

You hear a lot about how you have to actively choose your partner everyday to make a long term relationship work and this album would definitely delve into that a little. It could also be produced by you and your partner’s mutual friends or people who have been there since the beginning or very early in in your relationship. I think this would be a longer album and there’s definitely 18+ songs on there 👀

Track list

1. October

2. Cosmic

3. Full Moon

4. Bourbon Street

5. She’s All Over Me

6. Starla

7. The Empress

8. Diamond Eyes

9. Find More of Me

10. Dreamscape

11. Escapades

12. Midnight

13. You’re All I Need

14. Mirror

15. Apartment 32

16. Deep End

17. Eternity

[magicfootballstuff]

Strictly Unprofessional - part 5 (alexia putellas x reader)

Summary: You’ve just landed your dream job as a photographer at FC Barcelona Femení. The only problem? You hooked up with the captain five years ago and haven’t seen her since.

Part 5/9

Read other parts here.

———

As Christmas approaches, you and Alexia continue to get closer. You’re careful about getting too close and try to keep a professional boundary in place, especially conscious about how others might perceive your closeness since Mapi accused you of flirting with each other, but you can’t help the way that you’re drawn to Alexia’s side.

You often wonder if your fondness is reciprocated.

You sit next to Alexia more often than not while travelling to away games and when you ask Alexia if she wouldn’t rather sit with her teammates, she answers with a shrug.

“I spend all day with those idiots,” Alexia says, her words punctuated with a shriek at the back of the bus, followed by raucous laughter that just highlights Alexia’s description of her teammates. “Anyway, I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too,” you reply, the words rolling off your tongue too easily.

You didn’t really think anything of your growing closeness with Alexia until Mapi’s question about flirting. In fact, you thought you’d done a pretty good job of moving past whatever happened five years ago by building a new relationship with Alexia that’s firmly in the friendzone. 

But now that Mapi has planted the idea in your head, you can’t stop thinking about it. There’s nothing overtly flirtatious in the conversations you have with Alexia, but you overthink every interaction, every smile, every touch. Is Alexia just being friendly and Mapi’s winding you up, or is there actually still something there?

———

In December, Barcelona launches a new line of winter leisurewear - hoodies, sweatpants, Christmas jumpers, and more - and it’s your job to get some photos for the club shop and social media to advertise the range.

What that means is a Tuesday afternoon in one of the media rooms with Mapi, Jana and of course Alexia. 

The room has been set up for the shoot with a makeshift studio in one half of the room, as well as tables with piles of clothes for the three players to model. A privacy screen has been set up in one corner for them to change behind but they don’t really use it, used to changing in front of each other every day anyway. You make an effort not to stare as Alexia strips unashamedly out of her clothes and into the first outfit, but so what if your eyes get caught on Alexia’s tattoos? You don’t remember exactly which ones were there five years ago but you’re certain there’s a couple of new additions to the tanned canvas of her back.

“Hey,” Mapi says, nudging you back to attention with her elbow. “Which clothes do you want me in first?”

“Start with the navy. Then we’ll move onto the grey.”

The shoot goes smoothly. The three players are easy to work with, just the right balance between professionalism and playful banter that means the shoot is easy but also entertaining. 

You get most of the pictures you need in the studio, before each of the players dresses in a different set of clothes and you head outside with a couple of footballs to an empty training pitch to take a few more shots out there. 

Once that part of the shoot is complete, everyone is keen to get back inside quickly to get out of the cold. Alexia and Jana walk ahead, Alexia with her arm wrapped around Jana’s shoulder, and it’s not jealousy that you feel but more of a realisation that Alexia is probably just touchy-feely with all her friends. You’d be stupid to think you were special.

“So, you and Alexia, huh?” Mapi asks, falling into step beside you as she helps carry your equipment back inside.

“What? She told you?”

“Told me what?”

Your stomach drops as you realise that in your distracted state, you’ve possibly just let slip something that you shouldn’t have done.

“Shit.”

“Told me what?” Mapi asks again, her eyes widening in delight as she realises that she’s probably just uncovered more gossip that she intended to. “Have you two…? Oh, this is juicy!”

“Wait, what were you asking me about Alexia?” you ask confusedly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I was gonna ask about the fact you’ve been staring at her with heart eyes all morning, but clearly I’ve missed something bigger than that.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole to save you the ordeal of having this conversation.

“Are you dating?” Mapi presses you. “Or just sleeping together?”

“Neither,” you answer honestly. “Look, I agreed with Alexia that we wouldn’t say anything to anybody else.”

“Okay, sorry,” Mapi apologises, though you can tell from her body language that she’s desperate to know the gossip. “I won’t push.”

The problem is that you’re also desperate to talk about it with somebody and you’ve basically already accidentally confessed to Mapi, which is why you last about five seconds of silence before spilling the rest.

“I met her five years ago in Ibiza,” you admit. “I had no idea who she was and we slept together once. She didn’t even remember me when I first started working here. But we’ve talked about it now and it’s cool.”

You wait for Mapi’s laughter, or her judgement, or some other overstated reaction to your current misfortune, but her actual response is much more measured than you expect.

“Okay, but my original point about the heart eyes stands,” she says. “You wouldn’t be looking at her like that if it was cool.”

“I’m not the first poor idiot to fall for Alexia and I won’t be the last.”

“You’re falling for her?” Mapi asks, her eyebrows shooting up.

“I don’t know,” you shrug defeatedly. “Maybe not. Maybe I just think I am.”

“You know what this means?”

“I’m a pathetic idiot?”

Mapi doesn’t let you embrace your self pity, instead she nudges you with her elbow and grins like this is something to celebrate.

“No, it means you deserve some congratulations,” she tells you. “You know, some people say you’re not an official part of this football club until you’re caught up in some lesbian drama. You managed it before your first day. That might be a new record.”

“That means a lot coming from the queen of complicated relationships with coworkers,” you joke back.

“It’s why you always should listen to me,” Mapi says, with a matter-of-fact shrug. “I’m an expert. And if you need me to put in a good word with Alexia, or talk some sense into her, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

———

The revelation that you might be catching feelings for Alexia is a weird one. It’s not particularly news, but until the conversation with Mapi you hadn’t wanted to admit that your affection for Alexia was anything more than coworkers-turned-friends. 

Talking to Mapi has both helped and made things more confusing. It’s definitely a relief to have talked about it and you didn’t realise how much bottling up a five year old secret had been bothering you. But now it’s out in the open, even if it’s just between you and Mapi, makes it harder to ignore. You thought you were happy just coasting along as Alexia’s friend, but now you feel like you need to make a decision - either draw a line under what happened and move forward without any flirtiness, or acknowledge your feelings and try to make a move.

If this was somebody you knew from anywhere else, you’d shoot your shot and accept the possible rejection. 

But Alexia isn’t just some random girl you can afford to mess things up with. And there’s more at stake than just your love life. It’s not like you can avoid her if she turns you down.

You’ve not explicitly talked about your personal lives since that first conversation where Alexia let you know that she remembered where you met before. For all you know, she might be dating somebody else. You’ve heard mentions of an ex who used to play for the team, but it sounds like that’s definitely in the past and while you haven’t heard that she’s seeing somebody else, you’re sure that somebody with Alexia’s high profile has no shortage of dating options.

In short, you have no idea what to do. The safest option seems to be to stay quiet and hope that whatever feelings you may or may not have for Alexia eventually fizzle out. 

But what if she feels the same? Would it not be worth taking the risk?

———

You’re alone in the media office, everyone else having gone for lunch, when you hear a knock on the door and glance up to see Alexia leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” she grins at you.

“Can I help you?” you ask, relaxing back in your chair.

“I’m just here to say hi,” Alexia answers with a shrug. “You get to watch me at work every day. I thought it was only fair that I do the same.”

“My work is a lot less watchable than yours,” you point out. 

Alexia enters the office and grabs one of the empty chairs, wheeling it towards your desk before she sits down in it.

“What are you doing?” she asks, peering at the screen of your computer.

“I’m editing those pictures we took for the club shop,” you explain. You glance across at Alexia with a mischievous grin and ask, “Do you think anybody would notice if I photoshopped your head onto Mapi’s body?”

“I’ve always wondered what I’d look like with a tattoo sleeve,” Alexia jokes back.

“I like the tattoos you’ve got,” you shrug. You point at the one on the inside of her left bicep, just visible beneath the sleeve of her t-shirt. “I think this one is my favourite.”

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” Alexia asks.

“How do you know I don’t already have one?” you quip back.

“I don’t remember you having any.”

Alexia raises her eyebrows and you blush, reminded of the fact that she has indeed seen all of you, even if her knowledge of your body is five years out of date.

You spin the office chair around and lift the hem of your top to expose the side of your ribcage to show off the tattoo you got a few months ago. It’s an outline of an old fashioned camera, mostly minimalist in design, with a few flowers surrounding it.

“It’s a cliche, I know, but I got it when I got the job here. It was my first full time photography job and I wanted to celebrate the occasion.”

“It’s beautiful,” Alexia tells you, leaning closer to examine the tattoo. 

It’s probably a HR violation to expose this much skin during work hours but you and Alexia are the only ones in the media office so you don’t really care.

Until there’s a noise behind you as one of your colleagues enters the room, and you let the hem of your top drop to cover up your tattoo again. You turn back to your computer, back to the pictures you were editing before Alexia showed up, at least wanting to make it look like you’re working.

“Anyway, I did have something to ask you,” Alexia continues. “What are you doing on Saturday night?”

You rack your brains. The girls don’t have a match this weekend and they’ve also been given a couple of days off from training, which means you’ve got a free weekend too.

“Saturday? Nothing yet, why?”

“What’s your dad doing on Saturday night?” Alexia asks a follow up question.

“My dad?” you ask, shooting Alexia a confused look.

“I’ve been given a box at Camp Nou for the men’s Clasico on Saturday,” Alexia explains. “A few of the girls are coming and of course you’re invited too, but you mentioned your dad was a big Barca fan. I thought maybe you’d like to bring him along too?”

You’re taken aback by Alexia’s generosity. That she wants to invite you is nice, but that she also remembers you telling her about your dad bringing you to matches at Camp Nou when you were a child and extends the invitation to him too is a gesture of kindness that only reinforces your affection for Alexia.

“I think he’d love that. Thank you. I’ll text him and let you know.”

You make a few final clicks with your mouse, adding the finishing touches to your rushed attempt at photoshop.

“Look,” you say, turning the computer screen to show Alexia your edit of her head onto Mapi’s body.

The photoshop job is messy, nowhere near the level of technical skill you can show with a bit more time, but with your only aim to pull a laugh from Alexia, you’re not fussed about cleaning up the sloppy edges or making it look professional.

And laugh is exactly what Alexia does. It takes her a few seconds to realise that you’ve followed through on your joke from earlier, but when she does, a burst of warm laughter erupts from her chest. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I love Mapi but that’s all wrong. It’s not even the tattoos, just the way she stands is different to me. It just looks weird.”

“Damn, I was convinced I’d just made you a new profile picture for social media,” you tease her.

“Can you send it to me?” Alexia asks with a grin. “I want to show Mapi. She’ll hate it.”

[eustasscapitankid]

Eustass Kid x Reader | GN! AFAB! Challenge: Kikitober 2024 "Modern" & "Knife Play" Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern, Knife Play, Choking, Teasing, Alcohol, Swearing, "Pet", One Use of "Boy/Girl" Summary: You were used to being disappointed on a night out at your local bar--but there was a new face in the crowd tonight. You just couldn't help but stare... Word Count: 2,160

"I just can't wait to get under your skin."

Notes: • Lightstruck - damaged or fogged by accidental exposure to light; a beer that has undergone a reaction to create MBT, which can cause it to smell like skunk spray. Other descriptions of the flavor and aroma include musky, foxy, dirty, dank, and marijuana-like • Oban - (14 Year Old) A balanced whiskey with a mix of maritime notes, sweetness, and a hint of smoke. • Amber - a warm, bright color that is a mix of yellow and orange; see here.

The bar is full of cheap beer when all you want is a tall glass of whiskey. Colored light filters through bottles on the shelves, blending with the soft glow of neon lights decorating the walls. Clinking glasses echo over boisterous voices. Large open doors let in sea breeze, obscuring the scent of lightstruck beer. Staring at the ring of liquid on the bar as you raise your glass, taking a sip of the golden liquid before placing it back in the small puddle. You shift your eyes across the room, a monotonous sea of plain t-shirts and slimy men.

How heavy is the weight of observation? Is it true that one can feel the pressure of a stare? Kid turned his head slightly, searching for the daggers that pierced his skin. His eye’s met your gaze, holding an unabashed intensity that made his cock twitch.

What’s this? A new plaything?

Downing the last dregs of his drink, his face twisted into a sardonic grin as he removed himself from his seat. Predatory eyes bore into you, footsteps seemed to echo impossibly through the bar as he approached—cutting his way through the crowd. The redhead was a striking figure with a grace that belied his towering frame, hulking over the men surrounding him. The soft fur coat that graced his shoulders stood in stark contrast to the sharp abs that peaked through his black vest.

“Well, well, well,” Eustass drawled, sliding into the open barstool next yours. He leaned closer, propping his chin on his hand as he inspected the specimen before him. “Seems like I’ve caught you staring, pet. Care to tell me why—or do we skip to the part where you buy me a drink?” His voice was a low purr, a teasing invitation.

Finally. Some hard liquor. “I think we skip to the part where you buy me a drink.” You didn’t even try to prevent the wide grin that spread across your face.

A rich, dark laugh reverberated through the air as he sat up, leaning back in his new seat with crossed arms, his gaze fixed on you in amusement. You’d have remembered seeing this man at this bar before—you hadn’t—yet the two taps of his fingers on the wooden surface seemed to materialize the bartender out of thin air.

“Two glasses of Oban,” he ordered without so much as a glance in the staff’s direction, his accent a mix of Gaelic lilt and South Blue roughness. “Neat.”

As the drinks were poured, his amber eyes remained glued to yours. A look radiating such unreserved fervor that it made you pulse.

Oh...fuck this is going to be fun.

He slid one of the whiskeys in front of you. “Here’s to new...acquaintances.”

You raised your drinks—letting the sound of glass meeting glass ring in the air between you, tapping it back on the wooden surface before each taking a swig.

“So, what brings a pretty thing like you to an ugly place like this?” He mused, his hand lazily drifting to the hilt of his blade, slotted into the hem of his pants, fingers tracing over it’s textured surface.

You fingered the rim of your glass. “Oh, just looking for some...entertainment.”

A wicked grin met you in response. He took another sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat before returning to his mindless stim. “Entertainment, hmm?” he unsheathed the knife, twirling it idly between his fingers, “If you’re looking for some fun, I promise you’ll find nor shortage of that with me.” Your eyes followed as he let the knife drop, it’s tip coming to gently rest on your thigh. “The thing about fun though—it comes with a price.” His eyes raised to meet yours. “Are you willing to pay it...?”

Unflinching, your fingers run up the blade, “What’s fun if it doesn’t come with a risk?” A challenge. Solidified as you finished the last of your drink.

Eustass felt a jolt course through him as he watched your fingers glide along the blade of his knife, the sensation like a surge of electricity.

I deserve a reward for this level of self-restraint alone.

He let the tip linger on your thigh, a small dimple pressed into your skin. “Shall we find somewhere else to continue this...conversation?” He answered with a question of his own, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he gestured toward the exit with a tilt of his chin.

In a fluid motion his knife was sheathed, money left on the counter, and a hand was outstretched in your direction. You accepted, using the leverage to slide yourself off the barstool. Fingers laced around the back of your neck guiding you out of the bar, the cool night air calming your heated skin. A shared glance. Kid’s eyes flicked to the nearby alley but you were already making your way to a small inlet within.

As soon as you’re out of sight, you’re spun around to face him. The assertive hand on the back of your neck now wrapped around the front, face close as his breath mingles with yours. “Are you sure you can handle what I have in mind?” It wasn’t a question. It was a promise. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss, your lips parted, his tongue greeted by the taste of remnant whiskey and unfettered lust. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he broke the kiss. The hand on your throat twisted as his thumb slipped under your chin, turning it up as he ghosted his lips over your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

I don’t care if this is a night of bliss or a storm I won’t survive.

Teeth sank into your neck, ravenous, threatening to break skin. His hand loosed it’s grip on your neck, tracing over your shoulders and down your arm before settling on the small of your back. He pulled your center flush against his body, hard muscle pressing against soft skin. The evidence of his arousal now pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into yours, relishing in the delicious gasp that escaped your lips. Fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. A light kiss pressed against your neck before pulling it over your breasts, the fabric, stretch and fit to form, staying perfectly in its new pace across your chest.

Fuck—they’re not even wearing a bra.

You felt his dick pulse against you, making you to bite your lip at the thought. You looked so handsome under the dim, flickering light. Your skin so soft under his touch.

He lifted the hem of his shirt with his thumb, followed swiftly by the sound of his blade leaving it’s sheathe with a soft whisper. His eyes shifted to the metal, appreciating the warm reflections that flickered along it’s edge. “Do you trust me?” his voice was low—kinetic—as he awaited your response.

You smirked, “Enough.” a light shrug tugging at your shoulders.

“Enough, huh?” he mused, bringing the flat side of the blade to rest against the curve of your neck. Your pulse thrumming through the knife, syncing with his own heartbeat. His tone was teasing, but the hunger carried behind it was unmistakable.

The cold steel traced down your chest leaving goosebumps in its wake.. He let the side pass over your right breast, his mouth following suit as he leaned forward to capture your hardened nipple in his mouth. The modified tip followed it’s path, tracing down your stomach. As it reached the hem of your pants he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting him to you. Removing it, he adjusted his grip, now teasing your cunt with it’s flat side pressed against your clothes. The resulting quiver like a gift.

Your lips parted, and he mirrored your expression. The resulting whimper causing the corners of his mouth to tilt up in subtle mockery. Placing the blade in your mouth, resting it between your teeth, he reached to unleash the button of your pants. Fingers teased at the hem of your underwear before slipping inside. His eyes darted down to his hand buried in your clothes.

God damn.

Wet fabric now clinging to the back of his hand. You had already soaked through your underwear. His fingers glided along your slit, coating them in your slick. The blade acted like a threatening gag, and you started to drool as his finger slipped inside of you—eliciting another pretty little whimper. He continued his ministrations, enjoying the feeling of your spongy insides against his fingers and the perfect little sounds you made. He added another finger to his ministrations, making it easier for him to press deeper into you, curling them into a spot that was…

“Nnnghh!” your moans were muffled by sharp object held in your mouth...but he wanted to hear those beautiful noises! His face fell close to yours, holding sharp eye contact as he grew closer. His teeth wrapped around the hilt of his knife. In return, your expression eased, giving way to a soft panting as he continued fucking into with his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, a genuine admiration laced in his voice, “like a storm waiting to be unleashed.” But his compliment, while sincere, was only to act as a balm as fingers left you empty in it’s wake. In spite of yourself, you let out a pathetic whine.

So cute.

Knife still firmly between his lips he knelt down in front of you, looking up at your confused expression as his hand found it’s way to the hem of your pants. With an expert grip that only someone with one arm could manage, he ripped your pants down, letting them fall to the floor. As he rose, he removed the blade from his mouth by it’s hilt, letting it trail down your stomach. Eye’s never leaving yours as it reached lower, lower—silently asking for permission to continue. A slight nod was all he needed. The steel slipped lower, the cold metal in stark contrast to the heat between your legs. With a swift motion, the knife moved to your inner thigh, it’s path now heading north. He chuckled darkly at the sharp intake of breath as it found its place, hovering just over your now exposed folds. Watching you twitch as it made contact with your leaking cunt. After teasing you for what felt like eternity, he brought the wet blade to his mouth. You watched as his tongue cleaned the blade, savoring every last drop of your sweet mess.

Ambrosia is real.

The look this evoked was enough to make him snap. He didn’t bother sheathing his knife. He let it drop to the floor as his hands sought his zipper. Ripping it open and unleashing his cock in a single movement. You knew it was big from when it was pressed up against you earlier, but seeing it bounce out of his pants made you drip. His hands laced around your waist, forcing you to turn toward the wall behind you—your palms bracing against it.

His fat tip traced along your entrance, teasing your pretty little pussy. But he couldn’t take that for long. After all, he knew he needed to go slow. He was here to have fun. Not break you. He aligned himself up with your entrance and pressed into you. Not even having his fingers inside of you just prior could have prepared him from the tightness that met his girth. He forced his dick inside of you, inch by delicious inch, before feeling confident enough he could bottom out without hurting you. His hand on your hip held you still as he pulled most of the way out before slamming back into you.

No longer able to hold back, he fucked into you with a punishing force. His hand doing all it could to steady you as he abused your hole. He continued his assault as the pressure built inside you like a rubber band. Heat pooled in your belly and your walls started to clamp around him. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Now be a good boy/girl and cum for me.” The rubber band broke. He rode into you as you found your climax, the feeling of your walls fluttering against his dick sent him over the edge into his own release, filling you with hot ropes of his milky cum. Wrapping his arm around your stomach, his head found the crook of your neck. Both sweaty and panting as you came down from your respective highs.

When both of you regained enough composure, you helped him as he pulled your pants up back over hips, the feeling of the still wet fabric cool against the battered space between your legs. You turned to face him. “Want to go back to my place?”

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 11 + 12

The journey comes to an end. Out of trouble and on good terms at last, Rain and Dewdrop can finally begin to build a friendship. But other lingering feelings might derail that…

Y'all the words don't stop writing themselves, double update this week because I wrote enough for two chapters, but don't want to drag out a camping trip for more than 3 updates!

Rating: M Content: short description of a panic attack, nightmares, mild gore, mild violence, mention of vomiting, possible dubcon if you squint (in a dream) Words: 9161

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3! some entertaining lines from the plan in the end notes this week

Chapter 11

The memory of the warmth in Dew’s wiry, but deceptively strong, embrace stuck with Rain until they went to bed that night. Dew had squeezed him so tightly Rain was afraid he would crush him. He made no move to escape however, and instead clung to him as a drowning man would cling to the last piece of floating flotsam in a shipwreck.

Rain was still coming to terms with how the conversation had just unfolded: never in his wildest imagination had he thought Dew would apologise. He had needed to; his antagonistic behaviour of late had become beyond unreasonable, but Rain had assumed any apology would be insincere and forced out of him by a packmate, possibly at knifepoint.

The shock of Dew both taking accountability and begging for forgiveness had left Rain frozen in place, too many thoughts fighting to break the surface for any to succeed. In the end, his outward appearance had been that of a frozen lake on a calm day: glassy smooth from above, but churning below the surface with invisible turmoil. Dew's scorching embrace had been what he needed to thaw the icy shell around his heart, and he let himself melt against the shorter ghoul who stumbled to keep his balance.

Dew got himself ready for bed in a daze. The relief at having finally cleared the air with both Mountain and Rain was only outweighed at the elation of realising that, after almost two weeks of near-constant worry, his pack really were going to be alright. Drowning in Rain's arms, he was finally able to feel his tangible presence. Rain was here. He was safe. Dew felt like his mind was a runaway train that had been tearing downhill in the pursuit of safety for so long, that he hadn't stopped until now to look and see Rain really stood there in front of him. He squeezed him so tightly, his unglamoured gills popped open.

Dew shivered, although not unpleasantly, at the lingering coolness of Rain's arms ghosting over his skin. The tall water ghoul was stronger than he looked, especially given his current weakened state. Dew decided to file that type of thought far, far away in his mind for now.

That night they finally drifted off to sleep without straining to stay separated. Rain’s long tail, set free at night for comfort, thumped contentedly on the ground between them. If it happened to brush against Dew’s leg with every twitch, neither ghoul mentioned it.

~~~~~~~

Men were chasing him, beating him and kicking at him as he ran. They screamed abuse, calling him ‘murderer’, ‘monster’, ‘demon’. Rain tore forward until his legs burned and his lungs screamed at him to just give up and collapse. His pulse roared in his ears, racing to the beat of a frenetic marching band. Other voices that sounded like those of his packmates howled that he was worthless, a disgrace to them and to his kind. Above the cacophony rose a shriek of cruel laughter; his ghoulette sweetheart.

Rain whipped his head around, trying to make sense of the blur of too-bright colours surrounding his vision as he continued hurtling onwards. The abstract shapes rearranged themselves into the dead faces of those at the farm: the two boys who worked the land, the girl with the painfully familiar ebony hair. Her empty, sunken eye sockets stared at Rain accusingly.

As Rain was distracted by her once again, the ground took it opportunity to race to meet him. His knees hit first, the crushing pain only registering briefly before his jaw hit next, and he felt his front teeth shatter on the hard stone. Blood streaming from his mouth and nose, Rain struggled to lift his head amidst the hail of pain raining down upon him from clubs and boots alike. The faces of those he had killed morphed in front of him, transforming into those of his pack; the decomposing faces of the ghouls he loved.

“No!” he rasped out, but his voice caught in his throat.

The partially defleshed skulls laughed at his pathetic attempt to talk and began to speak, mocking him.

“You doomed us to this!” one with crumbling, decaying antlers rasped. Mountain.

“Stupid, cowardly ghoul.” Snarled another, the only feature identifying it as Swiss was the single gold tooth still glimmering deep within the gaping maw of its mouth.

“This is all your fault.” Aether.

The worst came from the monster resembling Dewdrop. It stalked towards Rain, where the men of the village had left him battered and broken on the floor, begging for the sweet release of unconsciousness. Looming over him, Rain smelled the stench of death and decay on its breath. Its skeletal arms reached out to encircle him, squeezing him. Rain shuddered at the macabre hug, as the limbs tightened around him even more like a boa constrictor with their prey.

“You killed us,” it whispered in Rain’s ear, “we were all so happy until you came along. Now look at us.”

Rain clenched his eyes shut, but the image of the dead humans and his zombified packmates was seared into his retinas. The animated corpse of Dewdrop leaned in closer, until Rain’s nose was all but inside the cavity in its skull where its own nose should have been. The edges of Rain’s vision began to turn dark, flickering with static.

“Useless little water freak.” It whispered, before pressing what was left of its lips against Rain’s. Sucking out the last of his consciousness, the world went black.

~~~~~~~

Rain woke with a start, his whole body spasming from the shock as he gasped, open-mouthed, for air. His heart felt as though it was trying to leap out his chest, only held in by the crushing weight of whatever was stopping his lungs from fully filling with air. Panic gripped every inch of his body, and Rain clawed at his chest as he hyperventilated, hunched over, but still couldn’t get the oxygen he needed.

Beside him Dew, always a light sleeper, awoke with a jolt. The smell of Rain’s hysterical fear assaulted his nostrils, and he could hear his harsh breathing. Dew recognised the tell-tale signs of panic immediately.

“Rain,” Dew bolted upright, “what’s wrong?”

Rain wheezed at him wordlessly, his eyes frantic. In his state, he half expected Dew to snap at him again for waking him, despite yesterday’s apology.

Dew instinctually reached out to grab Rain’s hand that was as cold as ice. With his other, Dew rubbed soothing, rhythmic passes on Rain’s back to encourage him to breath slower.

“C’mon Rain, breath with me,” he begged, “you’re okay now. Deep, slow breaths.”

Rain’s terrified scent was the same as the same as the one Dew had tracked to his jail cell that first afternoon, and the memory of it made him almost retch. He shuffled in closer to the whimpering water ghoul, pulling his larger frame in against his warm chest. Seeing Rain like this, he shivered at the thought of everything he had failed to protect the younger ghoul from over the past weeks; all his suffering he hadn’t been able to prevent.

“It was just a dream, you’re safe here. We’re all safe.” Dew whispered, gently rocking him side to side as Rain’s lurching breaths slowly subsided.

“I’m sorry.” Rain gasped out between lungfuls. Hiccupping sobs threatened to send him back into full body shudders.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Hummed Dew.

The pair sat together in near silence until Rain’s breathing was mostly stable and his tears had dried.

“Let’s get you warm,” Dew helped him back under the covers, still never letting go of his hand, and tucked Rain protectively into his chest, “try and get some more sleep.”

Dew held him close, as much for his own comfort as for Rain’s. He tried to stay awake, instincts screaming at him to protect the ghoul from harm as he drifted back to sleep in his arms, but his own exhaustion won out eventually.

When the pair woke again a few hours later they were totally entangled, a intimately braided pile of limbs and tails. In the cold exposure of the morning light they couldn’t hide their positions. Awkwardly untangling themselves, they silently packed their stuff to move on. Both snuck concerned glances at the other when they thought they wouldn’t be noticed: Dew out of concern for Rain’s wellbeing after his attack during the night, Rain out of fear that he had collapsed the fragile truce they had just built. The day continued as it had started, with both ghouls seeking to avoid each other from embarrassment.

As the ghouls were preparing to leave their camp, Mountain pulled Dew aside.

“Is Rain alright?”

Dew cast a gaze his way. The water ghoul was reinstalled atop the horse. His breathing was still slightly laboured, his lungs exhausted after their intense trial during the night. He looked rough.

“He had a nightmare.”

Mountain nodded sagely. Neither one of them needed to specify what it was about: anything from the catalogue of Rain’s recent traumas would be similarly horrific to relive. After a sober moment, Mountain changed the subject,

“We need water soon,” he spoke slightly louder, so the rest of the pack could hear the plan, “you know where you found the river again Dew, do you want to lead the way?”

If there had been any doubt in Dew’s mind about the sincerity of Mountain’s apology the day before, it crumbled in the wake of his actions; the earth ghoul effectively announcing his trust in Dewdrop to the whole pack. He proudly took his place at the front of the group, and they began their slow march further north behind him.

Mountain used this opportunity to have the final difficult conversation he had been putting off; this one with Rain. He had no idea if Rain attributed any of the recent strife to him, either through his implicit pressure to go to the farm that morning or his less than stellar actions since. Selfishly though, Mountain wanted another taste of the freeing feeling he got from clearing the air between him and Dew.

He sidled up beside the horse, where Rain was sitting staring straight ahead, a faraway look in his eyes.

“How’re you doing, Rainy?”

The water ghoul startled slightly, jolted from his thoughts.

“Alright,” he shrugged, “I'm glad you and Dew made up.”

“Me too,” hummed Mountain, before taking advantage of the perfect opening to segue into why he needed to talk to Rain in the first place. “I want to tell you I'm sorry, too.”

Rain, who had only been half focussing on the earth ghoul plodding along beside him now fully pivoted in the saddle to look at him.

“What for?” he seemed genuinely confused.

“I pressured you into going that morning, into using your powers even though you weren’t ready.”

“Oh Mount,” Rain sighed, “none of that is your fault! You didn’t pressure me into going to the farm that day, I wanted to go.”

Mountain opened his mouth to object, but Rain kept talking over him.

“I’m a grown ghoul, I can make my own decisions. I thought I was capable, and I should’ve stopped when I realised I wasn’t.”

“I should’ve at least stopped Dew being so mean to you!”

Rain snorted wearily: as if it was that simple.

“You tried, you couldn’t do any more than that. Dew’s got his own issues we still need to work through, but I should’ve been the  one to stand up to him sooner.”

Mountain stared at him in confusion. Only yesterday the pair had been silently feuding, yet today they seemed almost amicable. He had even thought he spotted them cuddling when he awoke that morning, but had written it off as the imaginations of his own barely-conscious mind. He wondered what had sparked this sudden, positive change.

“Things are gonna be okay Mount, I promise.” Rain looked at the earth ghoul in mild concern. He had gone very still, his face scrunched up in confusion. Rain knew he had a habit of beating himself up over things beyond his control, and it saddened him that he hadn’t been able to stop it sooner. At a loss for what to do, and unable to simply give Mountain a hug from his horseback position, he reached out and patted him gently on his head.

Exhausted, Mountain wrote the odd interaction off as the result of his tired insanity. Rain didn’t seem angry with him, and he felt better now the words that had scared him were out in the open. He dropped back in pace until he was walking in step with Swiss – that felt easier. Aether resumed his post from previous days next to Rain, while Dew happily ploughed on ahead. Mountain and Swiss quietly chatted as they walked, Swiss carrying the conversation but frequently interrupting himself to ask Mountain to name the various flora they passed.

The environment around them was beginning to change: leafy trees gave way to evergreens, the sandy soil beneath their feet was becoming harder and chalkier, and the sounds of the fauna were foreign. The air temperature was dropping too; no longer a balmy summer heat but more temperate and breezy. For the hiking ghouls this was a relief – they were no longer sweating with every step the took under the beating sun. Rain however was becoming uncomfortably cold. None of them had brought more than a few extra layers with them, and the airy linen shirt of Swiss’s he wore held little warmth.

“You’re cold.” Stated Aether, sensing Rain’s discomfort. Rain wanted to deny it, but the shiver that overtook his body when he went to shake his head belied his insistence that he was fine.

Pausing for a moment, Aether dug around in his pack before producing his neatly rolled up blanket. He tossed an end of it up and over Rain's shoulders, allowing him to arrange it around himself without even needing to dismount.

“Let me know if you need more, okay?” He said, softly.

Rain nodded, already snuggling down into the slightly scratchy but warm fabric that smelled comfortingly of his packmate. All bundled up, the water ghoul quickly regained some warmth. A short while later, he and Aether were back to their companionable silence, lost in their respective thoughts.

Rain's mind kept returning to his dream. Not just to the vivid physical and verbal attacks of a hundred nameless villagers, or the dead and decaying faces of his victims. Not even just to the reanimated corpses that resembled Mountain, Swiss and Aether. These were all things his subconscious had conjured to torture him with previously in his own personal horror show. Rain was no stranger to nightmares, both before recent events and since. Most of his attempts at sleep in jail had been disturbed by some kind of night terror, reminding him of what he had done, how he had uprooted and destroyed the lives of many in their sleepy village. In the end, Rain had stopped trying to sleep at all. He had been doing well on this journey so far, still having unpleasant dreams but free of ones of this intensity, until now.

The mutilated face of his childhood beloved affected him less than he thought it would, especially given how her resemblance to the farmer's daughter had sparked his catastrophic loss of control almost two weeks prior. She had come to him in a nightmare that morning too; could witnessing the death of her lookalike have finally robbed her of the power to hurt him further? Her presence in Rain's personal nighttime horror shows had been a constant for as long as he had been away from his home clan, the one constant in his life until he met the pack.

Perhaps she had simply been replaced in his mental playbill by someone else. As hard as he tried, Rain could not get the creature with Dew's face out of his mind. How it stared at him, single-minded in its focus as it stalked towards him. Despite its horrifying nature, skin almost melting off its face, Rain found himself recalling the press of its lips on his, remembering how they felt as it drained his soul.

Hot. They were so hot, Rain felt as though they would burn him if he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t though, not with the iron grip the monster had on him. Rain hadn’t even tried. The world of his nightmare had faded to black as he let the creature with fraying blond hair and a rotting face consume him, before waking in a panic.

Rain shook his head to dislodge the memory, horrified at himself. Was he really that desperate? So lonely the thought of any lips on his own could invade his dreams and even his waking thoughts? The abomination from his dream was neither ghoul or human in appearance, and bore only a passing memory of a resemblance to his packmate, so why was he still thinking about it? Especially given how terrified he had been when he woke afterwards.

In trying not to think about the horrors of his nightmare, Rain’s thoughts drifted to Dew himself. His arms had been so warm when they were wrapped around him, both the night before and again when he was comforting him in the middle of the night. Dew had held him so tightly, grounding him and making him feel truly safe, but the dream had twisted that into danger and fear. Rain’s mind wandered to what the real Dew’s lips might feel like. He imagined they would be warm, still scorching against his own, but not hot enough to burn.

Huffing out a sigh, Rain threw his gaze outwards to his surroundings in search of a distraction from his thoughts. Dew wouldn’t appreciate him having them; despite their recent truce and his freely given comfort last night, Rain still didn’t think the fire ghoul liked him much. His eyes settled on the short figure in front of him, walking along with a spring in his step Rain had never seen before. Dew’s enthusiastic acceptance of his task at leading them today made him feel strangely fuzzy inside: it was an adorable sight really, seeing the normally grouchy ghoul so fervent in his task.

Rain resigned himself to his fate. Daydreaming about Dewdrop was still better than dwelling on his nightmare, or letting any other memories of the time between arriving at the farm and being swept from the gallows resurface. Besides, Dew was technically his husband after all, so surely no one could blame him for any impure thoughts he may be having.

While Rain continued stewing in his own mind, the pack made good progress. Before long, Dew was directing them to stop for a break. They were almost back at the river, he promised, just a few more hours and they would have a constant supply of fresh water for the rest of the journey and not need to carry it around with them anymore.

Aether helped Rain scramble down from the saddle. He was feeling much warmer now, and not just from the blanket.

“I’m going to walk for a bit.” He answered several inquisitive glances as he repacked the blanket with a slight struggle.

Dew had been feeling great all morning. The liberating effect of a clear conscience had finally lightened the load he felt pressing down on him, and Mountain unambiguously demonstrating his trust in him by asking him to lead the way had left Dew feeling like he was walking on air. Watching Rain walking around, chatting happily with a tired and half-listening Aether, Dew would never have suspected the water ghoul had been in such a state he previous night. He didn’t know exactly what his nightmare had been about, but his own imagination could surely fill in the gaps if he wanted it to. Judging by his behaviour now though, Dew was hopeful that it was not continuing to affect him in his waking hours.

The path re-joined the river in the late afternoon, to everyone’s relief. It was wider here than when they saw it before, stretching vast and deep between the two shores. Dew turned around to proudly point it out to the others, only to see a grey blur shoot past him and cannonball into the water with an almighty splash.

“Rain!” spluttered Dew, giving chase, “your clothes!”

The water ghoul resurfaced, fully clothed and soaking wet.

“You’ll dry them.” He replied cheekily, smirking before dipping back under the water. Dew stared wordlessly at the ripples left behind until he suddenly had to dodge the bundle of sodden shirt and trousers thrown at his head by Rain, who had resurfaced again closer to shore.

He was still stood there, holding the wet bundle of clothes, when the others caught up with him.

“Where’s Rain?” Asked Aether. Dew gestured widely at the river. “Of course.” The quintessence ghoul sighed, before sinking down to the floor where he stood, glad of a break.

Dew stared at the soggy fabric a while longer before shaking it out to begin drying it off. As a fire ghoul he was a naturally warm-blooded creature, but the feeling of hot blood flowing beneath his cheeks was strange to him. He didn’t know why he was blushing: they’d both bathed in their underwear together countless times since Rain arrived, several times just this trip even. Here he was though, flustered by Rain effectively undressing for him.

It wasn’t that he thought Rain was unattractive – far from it – but he had always managed to suppress those thoughts before. Now they were on more even terms, they seemed to be coming back with a vengeance. Dew knew he had seriously misjudged Rain before, and he desperately wanted to make amends, but these new and distracting thoughts were really complicating things in his head.

Like earlier, when Rain had been reaching up to bundle Aether’s blanket into a saddlebag. His flowing sleeves had fallen to his elbows, revealing pale arms crisscrossed with an intricate lattice of blue veins, flexors tensing beneath his skin as he struggled. Dew had been struck with the thought that those arms had been tight around him the night before. It tugged deep in his stomach, making him feel almost queasy, and he was equal parts disappointed and relieved when Rain’s sleeves fell back to his wrists.

Strange fascination with his arms aside, Dew told himself that his physical appreciation for Rain was actually perfectly understandable: he was an undeniably handsome ghoul. He had long suspected it was only his youth and naivety that had stopped their older packmates from trying something on with Rain by now. The pang of jealousy that lanced through him at the thought of one of the others claiming Rain as their mate was trumped only by his envy of Rain himself. He was effortlessly attractive but didn’t seem to realise or even care, meanwhile Dew could only compare himself unfavourably to the statuesque water ghoul, feeling more at odds with his own body each time.

Ugh, what was he thinking? Dew huffed in frustration at himself, and started folding Rain’s newly warm and dry clothes. Rain deserved better than him, the miserable fire ghoul who almost let him die at the hands of mere humans. He deserved a water ghoul as beautiful as he was, one who could give him everything he wanted and more. Dew wasn’t even worthy of thinking such thoughts about him, especially given how they were only arguing a day ago. He let out a dry laugh to himself; they were married, supposedly, and Dew couldn’t help but wonder if subjecting Rain to that was his greatest crime of all.

Yet as he watched Rain finally be relaxed enough to properly enjoy himself in the water, splashing around like a puppy and waving at Dew begging for his attention, he realised: the water ghoul was supremely, unavoidably cute.

Dew avoided addressing his thoughts further by staring at the fire all evening. Once Rain, plus a few fish, had been extracted from the river, the pack had settled down for a quick dinner and an early night. Everyone was exhausted, and it was starting to show in the unusual quiet that descended upon the tired ghouls. The greatest excitement had come when Swiss proudly added the assortment of herbs he had gathered under Mountain’s direction throughout the day to the cooking pot.

It was a companionable silence that enveloped the camp that night, thought Aether. The strenuous journey was affecting him more than the others, but the time for rest would come later once they had a roof above their heads. Dew had assured him they were nearing the Abbey now, and their journey would be at an end in a few more days. For now, he was content to watch the blooming relationships of his packmates. He’d had his eye on Swiss and Mountain for a while now, watching the pair dance around each other like planets, destined to collide. Dewdrop and Rain were a new development however, and one he hadn’t been expecting. When Rain had first showed up, Aether had hoped that the two young ghouls would find companionship in each other. However, the immediate animosity between them had swiftly dashed his hopes. Now, watching the pair both pretend they weren’t sneaking glances at the other across the fire all evening, he wondered if there was a chance for them yet.

That night was cold. Their northward journey had also taken them gradually uphill, and alongside the decrease in temperature, the wind had also picked up. At least it wasn't raining, thought Dew as he stoked the fire that night, all five ghouls huddled around it to absorb all the warmth they could. Rain was suffering the worst: the wind whipped through his hair, lifting it up only for cold rivulets to tickle the back of his neck, making him shiver.

As they crawled under blankets that night, Rain was still cold. Unlike earlier in their journey when he would have suffered in silence, praying Dew's warmth would eventually seep over to him, Rain was much more comfortably in voicing his discomfort. Selfishly, a part of him was glad of an excuse to try to snuggle into Dew's warm arms again.

“Dew it's cold,” he griped, aware of how whiny he sounded, but not caring, “warm me up please?”

“Oh, stop being such a princess!” Dew huffed a laugh at Rain's behaviour before reaching out and pulling him close, against his better judgement. Under the cover of darkness, his own actions felt less scary, the implications smaller. The water ghoul wriggled happily as he got what he wanted and settled down to sleep, warm at last.

Dew tried not to think too hard about how easy it felt, holding Rain like this, or about the low purr rumbling from his chest as he fell asleep. This didn't have to mean anything; it probably didn't mean anything to Rain. He was just helping his packmate, Dew argued. He chose to ignore the overwhelming feeling of comfort he found in their position, and before he could torture himself by ruminating on the implications of that further, he was also asleep and quietly purring himself.

Chapter 12

The next morning when the pair inevitably woke even more entwined than the previous day, they both acted as though it was a perfectly normal situation. Feeling emboldened by Dew initiating the hug, Rain made no move to release him. He had slept through the night, mercifully unbothered by night terrors, and didn't want to do anything which might scare Dew off or make him reluctant to repeat this the next night.

Dew was normally the earliest riser among the pack, but that morning he blinked into consciousness to find long, cool fingers gently combing absentmindedly through his hair. The only other ghoul he had let play with his hair was Cirrus, and he melted into the familiar, relaxing sensation. He hadn't felt this cared for in a while so he closed his eyes again, content to stay in this quiet space halfway between waking and sleep for a bit longer. They could afford to; they were so close to the Abbey now that Dew could feel his skin prickling with nerves about introducing the two groups of ghouls he called family to each other. He twitched slightly as he tried to free his arm from where it was going numb, but Rain’s own tightening around him in response, accompanied by a tiny growl, made him quickly abandon that quest.

It was a slow start to the morning, once they eventually crawled out of the blankets and each other's arms, and back into reality. Mountain and Aether seemed particularly affected by the collective exhaustion. Now that they were settling into a routine and any lingering adrenaline had long dissipated, the swiftness of their journey was beginning to take its toll. All of them felt they were simply going through the motions, eating their dwindling rations and packing up their camp on autopilot.

Swiss, although also tired, seemed to be faring slightly better. Dew could tell however that his struggles laid elsewhere: he spent the morning trying to get Mountain's attention like a lost puppy, getting shot down every time. The old Dew would have branded him pathetic, he thought to himself. Now though, Dew could see the fear lurking around the edges of Swiss’ every move, the multi ghoul clearly scared by Mountain's robotic behaviour.

Rain noticed Dew watching them in concern as they walked. Any semblance of leadership seemed to have vanished, the two oldest ghouls single-mindedly barrelling towards their destination with little heed for the other ghouls, and horse, behind them. He bumped shoulders with Dew to get his attention,

“You're worried about them.” he stated, following Dew's eyeline to where Swiss was almost jogging to keep up with Mountain's long strides, chattering in his ear with little to no response.

“They're going to exhaust themselves,” Dew shook his head, worry clouding his eyes, “I should stop them, we're almost there but we won't make it if we keep going at this pace!”

He made to catch up with them, but Rain paused him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not your fault though, remember?”

“Not my fault, not yours either.” Dew smiled up at Rain. If the water ghoul recognised Dew was about to spiral, then it was likely he was too.

“C'mon then, let's go slow them down!” Rain grabbed Dew's hand, pulling him forwards.

Swiss watched as Rain and Dew appeared from behind, hand in hand, skilfully manoeuvring themselves to the front of the pack and declaring it was their turn to navigate. He couldn't help but be impressed at how efficiently the pair put the brakes on the pack; as soon as they were adequately blocking the path, they slowed their pace forcing the others to follow suit. Finally, Swiss could catch his breath. With their progress slowed he fell into step with Mountain, lending him his silent support, rather than chasing him from a few paces behind.

Jealousy gnawed in his stomach at how quickly their two youngest packmates had gone from being constantly at each other's throats, to each other's closest ally. He had always been on good terms with Mountain, yet no matter how much he longed for more, their relationship was developing at a glacial pace. These last few weeks of endless stress and change had somehow sparked some of the greatest developments between them in months, and Swiss hoped that once they were settled and safe that would continue.

From their position at the front of the pack, Rain and Dew settled into their own rhythm. Dew had eventually let go of Rain's hand under the guise of reaching into his pack for his waterskin, both having held on for so long that letting go would have been awkward. They walked and talked, sticking to safe topics like their surroundings and Dew's journey a week earlier, before lapsing into comfortable quiet. After a while though, it became clear that there were still things unsaid that neither could avoid forever.

“What did you mean you were angry at me for things that weren't my fault?” asked Rain, finally. Dew paused. He had been expecting the question, at some point, but not Rain’s directness.

“You want the abridged version, or…?”

Rain gestured widely at their surroundings,

“Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Dew chuckled, and began talking.

He started at the beginning; describing his parents’ tumultuous relationship, how his mother’s youthful rebellion had backfired with his birth. A kit born of spite, into a house filled with hatred; he had been doomed from the start. Dew explained that his father had stuck around for long enough to be disappointed, before abandoning him and thus initiating his mothers descent into resentful neglect.

“So that’s why you smelled like water!” Rain exclaimed. Dew was confused: he had no connection to the water portion of his elemental makeup. As far as he was concerned he was simply a fire ghoul; that was just how elemental inheritance worked. Ghouls with connections to multiple elements existed, take Swiss for example, but they were so unique they were effectively their own species.

“Only faintly,” Rain elaborated, watching the cogs slowly grind in Dew’s head, “you still smell like fire, but more like a driftwood bonfire. When you’re angry you smell like burnt seaweed.”

Huh, that was news to Dew. He supposed he had never really known many water ghouls before to point it out to him, and Mist would have been too discrete to unless asked.

“It’s why I brought you fish, that day when I was first here,” continued Rain. Dew winced at the memory of his own reaction – he had been appallingly rude over what had been a polite gift, “It’s a gesture of respect between water ghouls, and I thought you might be a multi ghoul like Swiss or something. He doesn’t smell much like water at all though.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Dew felt awful – Rain had been trying to be friendly with him since the beginning, and he had been nothing but cruel in his response.

Rain shrugged, and Dew figured that was the most acceptance he could expect to get. The silence between them grew slightly strained, until Dew worked out that Rain expected him to keep talking.

“I was angry at you, because I was jealous,” Dew realised just how true that really was as he spoke it, “you arrived, and you were the perfect water ghoul. I thought maybe if I’d been born like you my father might have stuck around, and the my mother wouldn’t have become so resentful to everyone.” Dew stared at his feet as he spoke, not wanting to meet Rain’s eyes. “I saw you as everything I’m not, and I hated you for it.”

Reaching out a hand for Dew’s, Rain seemed at a loss for words. That was understandable, thought Dew. What could he expect him to say? The water ghoul ran his thumb over the back of Dew’s knuckles as he chose his next words carefully.

“You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control Dew,” he said finally, “but I guess I understand why you don’t like me now.”

“Didn’t like.” Dew corrected him immediately.

“Didn’t like.” Rain confirmed, smiling.

“I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you though, you didn’t ask to be thrown into my issues.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” nodded Rain, “but you know that already.”

An awkward quiet fell again. Rain was acting with a maturity in stark contrast to his frequent kit-like playfulness, and it made Dew feel young and ignorant. He knew better than to expect any sort of immediate forgiveness though; and Rain’s understanding was he best he could hope for right now.

“I’m not perfect either, though.” Rain added eventually. “I can catch fish, but other than that I’m a pretty useless water ghoul.”

Dew stared at him in shock.

“You have got to be joking.”

Rain was the most perfect example of a water ghoul he could have pictured – from his strong tail and delicate gills, to the grace with which he carried himself, Rain was Lucifer’s finest specimen from head to toe. Dew stopped himself dwelling on his physical appearance – there was a time and a place, and now was neither. Thinking instead about Rain’s newly developing magic, it was clear judging from the destruction he had unleashed by accident that he would be tremendously powerful given time to hone his skills.

“If I was a good water ghoul, my first love wouldn’t have left me for the first fire ghoul she came across.” Rain shrugged.

Dew wasn’t sure which part of that shocking revelation to deal with first. Luckily, Rain saved him the trouble.

“We were childhood sweethearts. Everyone thought we’d settle down and raise a brood of kits ourselves.” He sighed wistfully. “Until on the day I wanted to ask her to be my mate, she brought home the most awful, loud fire ghoul you could imagine.”

Dew wrinkled his nose at the idea – he’d met his fair share of uncouth, brash fire ghouls in his time. Rain’s delicate, sensitive mannerisms were as different from them as night from day.

“I was obviously such a bad prospect for her that even someone outside our species was preferable.” Bitterness tainted Rain’s words, and Dew so badly wanted to hurt these ghouls that caused the sweet water ghoul such enduring pain.

“I was scared of you at first too, I thought you would be like him.” Rain admitted. “It’s why I didn’t stand up for myself when I should’ve done, why I tried too hard to make you like me. I thought all fire ghouls were as intimidating as he was and I was frightened you’d be the same.”

“Sorry,” Dew apologised again, “I was probably as nasty as you were expecting.”

“I could tell you didn’t mean it after a while, not always.” Rain looked at him with an evil glint in his eyes. “You’re really not as scary as you think, Dewdrop.”

Dew gasped in mock-offence.

“Besides, you didn’t make the whole pack laugh at me with you like he did.”

Now that Dew could relate to. There was another lull in the conversation, both digesting the wealth of new information they had learned about the other. One last tiny thing stuck in Dew’s mind: Rain’s assertion that his only skill was catching fish.

“Some humans make their whole careers out of fishing, you know. It’s a very respectable livelihood.”

Rain snorted a laugh at the comment, shattering any tension that still lingered.

“Thanks, Dew.”

The pair continued walking and talking as the morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon became evening. Rain was keep to learn as much about Dew’s past as he could, prompting him to continue taking.

Dew explained how he stumbled across the Abbey, and the ghoulettes there had cared for him as one of their own. Dew was careful to gloss over some parts of his initial time at the Abbey, as well as his real reason for leaving. He’d tell Rain eventually, he was sure, but he had made himself more vulnerable in the last few hours than in his whole time ever knowing Rain, so that was a story for another day.

Dew was able to dodge the topic entirely, as the clearing he planned for them to camp at came into dim view in the fading light. He swiftly finished his recollection of joining the pack, skipping over most of his difficulties with survival in the woods, and jumping to Mountain and Aether taking him in. Dew didn’t need to tell Rain all of the embarrassing parts at once, and he was sure either one of the others would delight in telling the tale from their point of view as his heroic saviours.

Their rations were running dangerously low. They had tossed all they had into a pot, too tired to make anything more extravagant. Rain could have caught more fish, but by this point the thought turned their stomachs. Dew had promised that they should make it by tomorrow night, and everyone was hoping his prediction would remain true. The miserable soup simmered gently, as the ghouls watched sleepily, transfixed by the flames.

Dew rifled through his pack, looking for anything edible. Nothing presented itself, but as he groped around the very bottom his fingers brushed against something two items, cold and smooth. One was his birth amulet, that could stay put for now, but the other was the pebble he'd saved from Rain's bedroom. He pulled it out, and it sat heavy in his palm, firelight dancing across the pale surface and illuminating the tiny fossils within. He turned to Rain, presenting it to him like the precious object he supposed it was.

“I forgot, I saved this from the house before we left. It seemed important to you.”

Rain's eyes widened as they landed on the stone, before filling with tears. Dew panicked; he hadn't meant to make Rain cry.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think it would make you upset, I thought you would want to keep it–”

Before Dew could finish apologising, he found himself with a lapful of water ghoul. Rain sobbed wetly into his shoulder, arms thrown haphazardly around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he choked out between gasps for breath, overcome with emotion and delight at what Dew had thought was a tiny gesture. Dew held him while he recovered his composure, although he made no move to leave the fire ghoul's warm lap.

“I never thought I'd see it again,” sniffed Rain, eventually, “I know it's just a rock, but...” he trailed off, but Dew knew what he meant; he understood sentimentality.

“Where is it from?”

Rain hiccupped another sob before answering,

“I found it in a deep cave, not far from the cliffs my family lived by. I was preparing my mating gifts at the time.” Rain paused, “Wait, how much do you know about water ghoul traditions?”

“Nothing really.” Admitted Dew. He had only ever grown up surrounded by fire ghouls and their very minimalistic traditions.

“We prepare gifts for our prospective mate, before we ask them,” explained Rain, “we catch fish, weave kelp blankets for a nest, and we collect trinkets. Traditionally a water ghoul or ghoulette with multiple prospective mates would choose the one who presented them with the best gifts. There's no real competition like that anymore, but we still give an offering to show our dedication to them.”

Dew nodded his understanding. He'd noticed Rain tended to collect pretty objects he came across; it must be a water ghoul trait.

“I found that rock the very day I planned to ask my sweetheart to officially be my mate, and knew I had to give it to her.” Rain sighed sadly. “Of course, that was before she brought that fire brute right to the spot where I planned on asking her. I found the rock still in my pocket that night and couldn't bear to throw it away.”

“I don't know why I've kept it so long. My life back then wasn't great, and it reminds me of what was the worst day of my life until–” he winced; the new holder of the title ‘worst day of Rain's life’ was clear.

Dew felt he understood the attachment – he had kept hold of the engraved metal pendant he was gifted at his birth for all these years, even though he was long-departed from the unhappy life it represented. Sometimes a reminder of the worst parts of life put every small hardship or minute achievement into better perspective.

Clutching the stone to his chest, Rain admired how its polished surface reflected the contrasting colours of the light of the fire and the full moon. From his perch atop Dew's thighs, Rain thought that the pebble now had an additional meaning: Dew had noticed he kept it close and thought to save it, even before they were friends.

The three other ghouls snuck glances their way, pretending they weren't watching the small spectacle in a mixture of concern and intrigue.

Rain had eventually had to move once their supper was ready, but he stayed glued next to Dewdrop all evening. As Dew fell asleep that night, staring at Rain's face bathed in the pale moonlight, laid only centimetres from his own, he realised they had barely been apart all day. More surprising still; he felt good about it, relaxed, dare he even say happy? Despite the gloomy exhaustion of the others, he felt lighter than air. Had he really been blind to the sweet and funny water ghoul this whole time?

Again, Dew was uncharacteristically the last to wake. It was as though his body was finally allowing him to relax after years of constant tension. For the third night in a row he had gone to sleep cuddled close to Rain, and at this point he was too relaxed to care what his packmates might think. For once, his face looked his young age; free of worry and wrinkles. He knew they needed to get up and get moving if they wanted to reach the Abbey today, but it surely it wouldn't hurt if he rested his eyes for just a moment longer...

Rain was wide awake. He felt full of energy, stronger than he had in a long time, and he could even feel that new buzzing sensation beneath his skin again. It didn't feel dangerous like before when he was threatened, now it felt powerful but controllable. He carefully wriggled free of Dewdrop's iron grip, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders popped.  Looking down at Dew, he was struck by just how youthful his face looked, unburdened with the woes of his pack in his sleep. He snuffled slightly as Rain crawled out from under the blanket but otherwise stayed sleeping.

The others were in varying stakes of alertness; Mountain was already scouting around the edges of their camp for the blackberries that grew there, while Swiss was watching him from under his blanket. Rain padded down towards the river, feeling especially drawn to it this morning. He crouched down by its shores, splashing some onto his face and shivering at the icy temperature. The thrumming in his veins intensified, and almost instinctually he reached out a hand, hovering it over the river's surface. He felt the vibrations concentrate in his palm and then, so suddenly he could have imagined it, a jet of water leapt from the river to curl around his hand. Rain gasped, and the water fell back as though frightened.

Hardly believing it, he stretched his hand out again, focussing on his fingertips this time. A thinner stream jumped up, forming an unbreakable ribbon of water that moved when he did. Rain swirled his index finger in a circle and the sparkling droplets followed him, spinning themselves into a small tornado. He giggled in glee and the fine spray celebrated in a glittering shower of their own with him. Finally. His connection with his element had always been shaky but by some miracle, it at last seemed to have clicked.

He spun around to tell the others and found Aether watching him proudly.

“I knew you'd get there eventually Tadpole!” he grinned a lopsided smile at Rain.

Bounding back over to the rest of the pack, Rain found Dewdrop still sound asleep. That wouldn't do – he had exciting news! Rain poked his shoulder to try and wake him, receiving only a grunt in response. He poked him again; nothing. Next, Rain concentrated a tiny bit of the buzzing from his veins into his fingertip, touching it to the fleshy part of his shoulder once again and allowing a small spark to transfer. The screech Dew let out was neither elegant nor restrained.

“Ouch!” he was instantly awake, leaping from the blanket like a cat doused with water. “What was that for?”

Maybe it wasn't as small a spark as Rain had intended. He smiled angelically.

“Good morning, Dew!” he chirped. Dew looked at him, confusion clear in his still sleepy eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked at last, once it was clear that the slightly guilty, but still beaming, water ghoul was the culprit.

“Oh, you haven't seen Rain's new trick?” cackled Swiss, out of bed now and failing at holding in his laughter.

“New trick?” Dew asked weakly, as his heart rate returned to normal. Swiss and Rain's cat-like grins were ominous.

“Rainy can tell you all about it!” drawled Swiss.

“Let me wake up a bit first!” begged Dew, stumbling down to the water's edge with Rain dogging his heels the whole way.

Whatever he had been expecting, Rain's newfound electric eel abilities were far more interesting. He had stared in wonder as Rain showed him, watching blue sparks flash down his arms and instantly stun a fish with a single touch.

“And you just woke up able to do this?”

“In the cell. I woke up down there, feeling this weird buzzing and when I concentrated, I could do this!” Rain pointed his index fingers at each other, and a spark arced between them. “I can control water better too now, not just feed the plants – look!” He made a series of jets of water spring from the river, twirling around each other in a beautiful, magical dance.

Dew was astonished; he'd never heard of powers developing so quickly before. He wondered if there was some catalyst for water ghouls that he was unaware of. He didn't wonder for long though, as Rain jolted him from his thoughts with a well-aimed spurt of water to his forehead.

Before long, the pair had to return to the most pressing task at hand – the final day of their journey. Despite his rude awakening, Dew seemed in a better mood than ever. All the ghouls seemed perkier in fact; the end was in sight, and they were spurred on by Dew's promises of warm beds and hot food. Mountain and Aether were storming ahead, finding new strength as the miles ticked down. Rain had valiantly tried to keep up with them but, even with his burst of energy today, he was soon out of breath and forced to resume his position on horseback. He seemed to have burnt himself out with his earlier exertion, as he was almost falling asleep in the saddle. Dew worried they were heading for a tremendous crash once they reached the Abbey and their exhaustion caught up with them, but at least they would be in the safest possible place for that to happen.

Talking with Rain, already a tall ghoul, when he was on horseback was almost impossible without shouting so Dew brought up the rear of the group with Swiss. The multi ghoul had been having consistently foggy visions ever since they left the village behind; a blur of trees and leaves and rivers that swam in and out of his mind like passing birds. This morning alone however, he had already experienced three sudden premonitions, a loud and demanding jumble of unfamiliar faces and voices. Dew was getting nervous, and hoped the invasive thoughts would not sour him to the Abbey’s residents when they finally met.

To distract him, Dew used this opportunity to ask him about Mountain. He would have tried to be subtle about it, but even when he was trying he was about as subtle as a brick through a window, so he didn't bother.

“What's going on with you and Mount?”

The tips of Swiss’ ears went pink.

“Nothing, yet,” he squinted at Dew, “why, what has he said?”

Dew guffawed, were they both so oblivious to each other's attentions?

“Nothing, but the way you're both acting its clear there's something up. Did something happen while I was away that I don't know about?”

Swiss shook his head.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Dew smirked, “but pay attention next time – he's been sat at your feet every time he's had to keep watch, that's pretty smitten behaviour if you ask me.”

“As if you can talk, cuddlebug.” Swiss shot back. It was Dew's turn to blush now. Foolishly, he'd been hoping none of them had noticed him and Rain's current sleeping arrangement. He spluttered indignantly while Swiss snickered.

“Seriously though,” Dew paused his teasing for a moment, “we were worried about you yesterday when he was racing off ahead with Aether, like they're doing now. You looked scared.”

“S’okay.” Swiss shrugged.

“I've seen them like this before you joined the pack, they get in their old travelling mindset where survival comes first. Don't take it to heart alright?”

Swiss nodded slowly.

“But you think he likes me back?”

Dew nearly bent double with his laughter; they were like a pair of kits with a crush.

“Talk to him, Spark! He's as dense as rocks with this sort of thing. You remember what Aether said the other day; it took months before he even acknowledged they were friends.”

Golden eyes glimmering with poorly concealed hope, Swiss tugged Dew into his side in a one-armed hug as they walked. Dew stumbled to keep his balance, laughing all the while.

“I'm blaming you if this all goes tits-up, Spitfire.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less.”

The pack kept moving, feeling exhaustion licking at them but persevering, nonetheless. The air around them changed, beginning to crackle with magic. The sun was falling fast, the growing darkness and their lengthening shadows only adding to the eerie feeling.

“Just a few more miles.” Dew promised to himself as much as the others, as he panted to keep up with the longer-legged ghouls in their final charge forward. Rain was clearly flagging now, and it was concerning him more than he wanted to let on. 

As the last of the sun was grazing the horizon, the main path curved off to the east while the smaller way ahead lead into dense trees. Rising above them was the Abbey steeple, twisted iron beckoning them in. The ghouls exchanged a final glance of anticipation.

“Go on Dew, you lead the way.” Aether smiled encouragingly. Dew steeled himself and started down the path. The trees sapped the remaining light, and the birdsong went quiet. The only sound now was the reassuring footfalls of his pack close behind him.

Emerging from the trees, the deep brown oak doors stood in front of them as tall and intimidating as ever. The brass bell glinted in the fading light as Dew reached out a shaking hand for the bell pull.

[donnerpartyofone]

Even though it pains me that my expensive new phone's camera refuses to focus on an entire close-up image, even a flat one, and I am assured by many forums and reddits and the like that I'm doing it right and this camera just sucks, I will still share one of the great, sadly uncredited illos from my little old copy of Ray Bradbury's The Golden Apples of the Sun (great title stolen from a Yeats poem).

I've never read any Bradbury before, except for Fahrenheit 451 in high school which I compared so unfavorably with 1984 that I maybe didn't give it a fair try. Anyway, some of these short stories are good--or parts of them are, individually. I find him overly flowery at times, like he'll start out with a really strong description that catches my interest, but then he ruins it by continuing to add adjectives and similes just to be novel, and it's like buddy you nailed it a minute ago, what are you doing to yourself? And a lot of it is excessively sentimental in this kind of condescending way. For me the perfect example of his affect (so far) is a story where about 90% of it is just this beautiful description of a guy walking around in the suburbs on a November night, it's just captivating and the pleasure the character takes in this activity is so vividly conveyed--but then at the last minute it turns into this thing about how he's being thrown in a mental institution because he likes to go outside and read books instead of watching TV all the time, and it's just so smug and obnoxious.

There's a certain trend in science fiction, maybe it's partially his fault but it seems like a natural temptation, to congratulate the present, or even the recent past, for being so wholesome and righteous. Which is like, dystopia is a trope that I enjoy for sure, but there's a difference between saying "Humanity could be headed in a bad direction due to certain vices and imbalances," and saying "Humanity should leave everything exactly the way it is right now (or the way it was in my romanticized memories of my own childhood) because it's already perfect." It's very easy to become hyper-conservative and self-satisfied about your personal good old days. I wish I had a bunch of examples at the ready, I'm sure you can think of some or you'll notice it next time you see one, but very often the hinge issue is books. Like even as a reader and also a writer, I feel a little insulted by stories where ultimate virtue is exemplified by a character's love of reading, or villains are clearly identified because they hate books for whatever reason. OK, we get it, you're better than everybody else because you write! Good thing we're in the club too, how else could we be reading a book right now if we weren't inherently superior to the rest of the universe?

Anyway, the story this illo is from got me thinking about the notion of prescience in fiction. Like once in a while you get truly weird visions of the future (I just wrote this thing about futuristic frissons in each of the Cronenberg kids' first films), but I suspect that sometimes what seems to be a prophecy of the future is really just an acknowledgment of something inevitable. "The Murderer" takes place in a future where there is absolutely constant stimulation being broadcast from every quarter; all of life is one big billboard, there's no relief from being in constant electronic contact with everyone you know, and there's entertainment blasting out of everywhere in a continuous onslaught of overstimulation. The title character starts "murdering" all the devices, and all the stuff in his smart home, until he gets institutionalized. And on the most obvious level it's just Bradbury congratulating himself for being such a balanced and thoughtful person, again, but it's also like well, all that stuff was really coming. And did Bradbury really need to be (as they called him) the Greatest Living Science Fiction Writer in order to see it coming? Or was it just obvious, from ordinary trends in human behavior, that life would inevitably tend toward this state of constant connectivity and constant stimulation, with an eventual eradication of peace and privacy?

I used to like to listen to Damien Echols talk about all his occult learnings from his monastic existence in prison, and something he would say (he probably got this from somewhere else and I missed it) is that a prophet is not someone who predicts the future; a prophet is a person who understands the past. This made a lot of sense to me, that if you're sharp enough to see what generally happens, it's easy enough to see where things are headed. I think this is probably true of a lot of fiction we'd call prescient-- that if you look closely, it becomes clear that what it describes is sadly obvious.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

i'm not entirely sure i have a point here but i do find the intersection between ted's "not letting anyone get by him who might be hurting" philosophy and his "stay out of other people's business (particularly when that business is their personal relationships)" philosophy kind of interesting because they are to some extent contradictory — there are three notable instances where other characters in the show are hurting specifically as the result of their relationships with other people, and in each case, he finds a different balance between the two.

with beard and jane, we get the most straight-forward articulation of the "stay out of people's business" philosophy, but it's also the case where ted arguably has the most grounds to intervene — he and beard have been best friends for years, and he definitely knows him better than anyone in england. trying to help his friend out of a bad relationship is just kind of part of the best friend job description, or should be. with jamie and his dad, he offers (bad) advice, encouraging messages, and even brings jamie back on the team, but doesn't intervene when james is actually around (though i don't blame him for wembley since he was having a panic attack). but then you have rebecca and rupert in 1x08 (i think), and in that case ted actually does intervene, and intervene without being asked: he bets that if he wins a game of darts, rupert will stop showing up at nelson road (this is, incidentally, my favourite ted scene of the entire series. he can be manipulative when he wants to be and i am here for it).

i'm not sure i have a watsonian explanation for this — it might be that although ted and rupert are very different people, they both operate using a (performative, in rupert's case) kind of politeness/friendliness that means ted can get him to do what he wants using the skills at his disposal, whereas james and probably jane almost certainly wouldn't honour or even entertain that kind of bet in the first place. my doylist explanation is that especially in season 3, the writers only conceptualized rebecca and rupert's relationship as abusive and therefore worthy of outside intervention, but not beard and jane's or jamie's with his dad

[heartkyeom]

election

politician!boo seungkwan x campaign manager!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: light political talk but nothing too complicated (fuck capitalism), choking, fingering, descriptions of female anatomy, hate sex (!!!!)

notes: once again got a random idea in the middle of the night and wanted to run with it! thanks to @junhui-recs and @flowerwonu for beta reading <3 hope you all enjoy it!

taglist: @weakforsvt @junhui-recs @rasparagus @just-here-to-read-01 @baekhyunstruly @enhacolor (join my taglist here!)

“I didn't think you could do it, actually.”

“Why doesn’t my campaign manager believe in me?”

“Because your pre election polls were fucking abysmal- shit!” He smacks your clit unexpectedly at your comment and your voice goes up an octave. 

Over the past few months, you’ve learned Boo Seungkwan is a glutton for punishment. You assume that’s why you keep having sex with him despite how horribly wrong it could all go, seeing as you’re both in extremely visible positions.

With him running for an extremely coveted city council position with you as his right hand, all eyes were on the both of you.

Yet, his fellow candidates were far more experienced so you thought there’s no chance in hell he could make it to the runoff election.

However, that sickeningly sweet charm of his landed him in 3rd place amongst voters. It’s been an impressive rise to say the least, but now you have to face the consequences.

You lost the bet that he couldn’t make it this far, hence why he was torturing you with open mouth kisses against your pussy, moving his tongue torturously slowly into your entrance.

You could feel the pulsing of your clit in your ears at this point, internally fighting off the urge to push him to go faster. The sight of him between your thighs is equally disgusting and perfect, seeing as how you shouldn’t even entertain him as a sexual partner but you can’t resist it.

He’s more often frustrating than not, especially now when he decides to move at such a nonchalant pace with your orgasm hanging in the balance.

“What is it gonna take for you to shut the fuck up and enjoy what I’m giving you?” He lifts his head to tell you off, face glistening from your juices. 

“Start by making me cum first, mister third place,” You knew it wasn’t nice, but you wanted to.

He sucks his teeth and sighs against your skin, making your cheeks burn from the warmth.

“That’s not how you ask, peach,” He reminds you gently. He knows calling you peach makes you cave every single time, no matter how much you hate being compliant with him.

“Please make me cum, shithead,” You offer a biting smile that gets you a knowing look from him, but he accepts it anyways.

He returns to his previous motions but with a stronger sense of urgency. The sound of your arousal on his lips is driving you insane, and his tongue prodding against your entrance every two seconds just reinforces how badly you need him to fuck you. 

“Fuck,” You moan out in frustration. He’s always good at this, but tonight your desperation requires a bit more than he’s giving. 

“Seungkwan,” You try to call his attention.

“Hmm?”

“Need you to fuck me instead, please,” You admit.

“Oh? What’s with the sudden change of heart?” He stops to climb up the bed to meet you. He lazily grazes his fingers across your belly. You don’t want to think about how his touches make you feel so relaxed.

“As much as I love you eating my pussy for an entire hour, I’d like to cum before the sun rises if that’s okay with you,” You find the bite in your voice again and he chuckles.

“That didn’t take too long,” He smiles and pinches your nipple. “Now don’t talk about my poll results again or you’re not gonna cum. You’re not supposed to be thinking about work,” He continues to work his fingers against your nipple, rolling it slowly with the occasional pinch. You don’t want to whimper, but it’s making you internally melt.

“That’s hard to do when I’m having sex with my boss, but sure,” You attempt to free your mind of the million different things that take up your daily life, including the hassle of trying to keep this campaign in one piece.

He’s a handful and he knows he is, but you suppose that’s the allure of him.

He moves his hand from your nipple to your neck, slowly pressing his fingertips into your skin. The slight restriction of your breathing makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Well, try harder,” He whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss against your cheek without a second thought. He removes his hand from your neck to place his mouth there instead.

You feel his teeth begin to sink into your skin and you curse.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You breathe out shakily. 

“You lost the bet, remember?” He fully sucks against your skin and you hesitantly accept your fate. His kisses soon become feverish and he attempts to cover as much skin as possible, leaving you with red marks that go across the expanse of your neck.

He was a dick for that, considering how long it’d take for you to cover it with makeup.

His cock has been torturing you this entire time. It’s been pressed against your abdomen for the past few minutes and you can practically feel yourself drip onto the sheets.

“Think I’ll let you have what you want now,” He finally sits up and settles between your thighs again. He doesn’t need to stretch you out from how wet you are, and you’d probably kill him if he tried to do more foreplay at this point.

He slides into you without warning and the impact has you moaning far too loud for your own good.

“You’re always so fucking tight for me, peach,” He reminds you, his strokes gradually wind up faster until you’re shaking underneath him. 

He pushes your leg up to hit you deeper than before, and the sudden movement springs tears up to your eyes. 

You can’t hold back your whining anymore, but how could you when he’s practically ramming into you? 

“Shit, Kwan,” He knows he has you in the palm of his hand when you call him that, the name you only use for him in the bedroom. 

You finally look up to see his face and he’s a goner. He’s so concentrated on you that his eyes have gone completely black, lust overtaking anything else. You almost want to pull him closer until you hear your phone vibrate.

Your mind is broken out of the trance instantly.

“For fuck’s sake,” You look at your phone before looking at him again.

“Answer it,” He hasn’t slowed down his movements and you think you’re imagining his response.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He raises his eyebrows. 

You eye him again before picking up the phone and bringing it up to your ear. 

“Hello?” You turn your head to the side to avoid his glance. It’s his secretary, calling you for god knows what reason.

It was after 6 pm at this point, and it was definitely something that could’ve waited for the next business day, so you can’t hide your disdain.

“Look at me,” He whispers. You glare at him and he smirks. You’ve been murmuring your way through the call, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Yeah, I’ll let him know,” You breathe out gently, trying to hold your composure. You notice him moving his hands to your chest, palming your breasts in his grip. It forces a small moan out of you and he bites back a smile.

She doesn’t seem to notice though, as she continues with her train of thought.

“Just email me everything and I’ll take a look at it when I can,” You can’t believe you’re functioning halfway normally with his relentless pace. You can feel your orgasm approaching and it’s almost pathetic how hard you’re trying to fight it off on this call.

You screw your eyes shut and Seungkwan leans down, placing his head in the crook of your neck. It forces you to hold your arm up with your phone still pressed precariously against your ear.

He starts pressing kisses against your neck that she can almost certainly hear on the other line.

You could kill him.

“Okay, thank you, bye,” You rush through your words and hang up, throwing your phone onto the floor instantly.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” You whimper. He laughs against your skin and moves to your mouth. You’re both still shaking from how hard he’s slamming into you, and you’re dangerously close to cumming around him. 

“That kind of focus is what I pay you for,” He knows you’re close and it’s his version of praising you, in a backhanded sort of way.

“You don’t pay me enough,” You whine pathetically, you grab onto his hair to ground yourself.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” He kisses you so deeply, knowing that you could cum at any moment.

“I bet you wanna cum, huh?” He teases.

“Please, please I can’t take it anymore,” You beg and he finally grants you mercy.

“Cum for me,” He whispers into your ear, he finally lets you go and the coil inside you snaps instantly.

You let your head tilt against the headboard as you flood around him, you can’t tell how much you’ve cum until you feel the wetness seep out underneath you. 

He doesn’t stop moving, forcing you into overstimulation as he fills you with his cum moments later. His moans sound strangled against your skin, but he’s satisfied by the way he sighs.

After a few minutes, he finally leans up to kiss you on the mouth. It’s far more passionate and sloppy than earlier, but you’re not complaining.

“Clean me up, now,” You let him have it as you try to regain your energy. He laughs at you and leaves one last kiss against your lips before getting off the bed.

“Anything for my favorite campaign manager,” He calls out as he disappears into the bathroom.

—

You wake up to the sight of Seungkwan’s face against your shoulder. His cheeks are slightly fuller than normal, and you chalk it up to morning puffiness. He’s quite pretty when you don’t let yourself think about the technicalities of this.

You almost think you missed it, but you feel a slight movement against your leg.

“Are you fucking humping me?”

“Maybe,” He rasps out. His length is hard against you and you sigh.

“Are you gonna do something about that?” You retort.

“I wanna finger you before you run out of here, at least. I can handle the other part,” You picture him jerking off and promptly regain focus before you get too horny for your own good.

“It’s the weekend, where would I even go?”

“Well, you don’t ever linger,” He kisses your cheek and the realization hits your chest. You always get away before you can consider the weight of all this, making your hookups with him just fleeting memories amongst the hustle of your everyday life.

You think you can afford this, just once.

“Fine. Don’t get greedy,” You face him and give a peck on his lips. He wastes no time before slipping two fingers into your core. You can’t deny how good it feels, how wet you are for him already with no prep. 

You suck his fingers in instantly and you both let out quiet moans. 

“Does that feel good, peach? Do you like it when I make you fall apart like this?”

“Yeah,” You moan against his mouth before capturing his lips in a kiss. You’re deliberately sweet with it, cupping his face with your hand.

You hook your leg across his hip to trap him further into your hold. You’re too tired to be mean, too tired to come up with some witty comeback. His fingers curled inside of you so precisely that it made you want to cry from pleasure. 

He knows your body well, and you wanted to enjoy it.

Your hips start to rut against him and you highly doubt that you’ll make it out of his apartment without being split open again.

He starts to move faster after you make your desperation known. He uses his free hand to grab your ass, gently kneading his fingers against your flesh.

With all of this stimulation, you press yourself against his lips and he swallows your moan with a long kiss.

“Just let go, okay? Let me take care of you,” He breathes gently against your lips.

You’re done for, cumming around his fingers the moment he finishes speaking. It takes a moment for you to come to your senses, but you feel him plugging your cum back inside you. 

It’s terrible how good he is to you, how enamored you are with him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He mutters with a smile.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me again, or else you’re not leaving this bed,” He turns away from you with a gentle pat on the head.

He’s awful, you’re sure of it, but you know the butterflies will be fluttering inside your stomach long after you make it back home.

[practically-an-x-man]

Here's one: Crossover with Jamie and one of your Marvel OCs? Could be MCU or X-Men

Ooooh, I've got a neat idea for this one!! Thanks for the prompt!

____ Godly Wagers

Word Count: 2.2k Content Warnings: some swearing but that's about it ____

"Y'know, something sleek." Jamie said, "Maybe silver? And purple- like a reddish purple? She likes that color."

As she spoke, Jamie wandered the lab, haphazardly fiddling with objects she found on the various tables and shelves. It set Ophelia's hackles up - she hated people touching her things without permission, especially when it came to her lab - but she did her best to keep a pleasant face. After all, Jamie had saved her life.

It was her bad knee again. She'd get used to it eventually, she knew she would, but for now Ophelia still struggled with having that as a weak point. And when it came to the battle, well... she shouldn't have been fighting alone, not while the wound was still healing.

So here she sat in her lab, her knee propped up and iced, jotting down notes about a new project- because apparently, fair repayment for saving someone's life was a new leg.

It was worth noting that Jamie Zhang had two perfectly healthy legs.

"You realize I'll need specs if you want this thing to actually fit her," Ophelia pointed out, "I can make an adjustable cuff for her residual limb, but I'll need to balance the height and weight to what she's used to."

"Well... yeah," Jamie agreed, though she seemed more preoccupied with a handheld device roughly the size and shape of a Geiger counter. She pressed a button on the side and the little device let out an earsplitting shriek, loud enough to make the both of them flinch. "Oh, shit-"

Jamie looked ready to smash the thing when it kept screeching, and Ophelia desperately stuck out a hand before she could.

"Just give it here," she huffed, and promptly shut off the machine with a single flick of her thumb, "It detects jump points between the multiverse - spots where the energy barrier is thinner, or overlaps closely with the energy barrier for another universe. I've been in and out so many times now, that thing goes nuts if you turn it on in here."

"Huh." Jamie muttered, "Oh- and it has to be magic-compatible. I'll give you a diagram of the runes."

Before she could stop herself, Ophelia let out a sharp, dry laugh like the snap of a firecracker.

"Magic is bullshit."

"You went flying through the multiverse and you don't believe in magic?"

"Magic implies something that cannot be achieved through any other means. Something that has no other conceivable explanation or scientific equivalent." Ophelia argued, "Which just isn't true. Anything that can be empirically observed naturally has a rational explanation."

"Aren't you Jewish?" Jamie pointed out, "Doesn't believing in a higher power kinda negate the whole... conceivable explanation bit?"

"Which is exactly why I said anything that can be observed," she replied, "I don't seriously believe that Moses parted the seas or that the lamp oil magically lasted seven nights instead of one. Most of that is just storytelling- like Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, or Odysseus shooting an arrow through twelve axeheads. It's not meant to say that these things actually happened some time in the past, it's more just... a way to generate hope and entertainment to help people through the hard times."

As she spoke, Ophelia found herself fidgeting with the clutter on her desk. Faith was a difficult thing for her to articulate, even to herself. Placing it into words for another person, trying to translate so many nonlexical thoughts into verbal descriptions, was even more difficult. Especially not when she'd stumbled into the conversation unexpectedly like this. She wasn't sure she could ever really put words to it, not completely.

"So I believe that our evolution stems from single-celled aquatic organisms which eventually led to early hominids, and I believe that my ancestors did flee Egypt after years of slavery," she continued, "But I also believe that most of that overt 'magic' is really figurative language for the sake of the story, and anything left over is natural phenomena that they didn't have the scientific means to understand at that point in history."

"You're such a scientist," Jamie huffed, somewhere between exasperated and amused, "I'm a demigod. My mother was a god. That's real. You can't logic your way out of the fact that magic exists."

"Oh, I certainly believe power exists," Ophelia conceded, meeting Jamie's jade-green eyes with her own shrewd dark ones, "And maybe that power comes from means science hasn't put an explanation to yet. But that doesn't make it innately magical. What's the tallest mountain in the world?"

"Everest?" Now Jamie just looked confused. Ophelia tended to have that effect. Sometimes her brain made connections her mouth didn't quite keep up with. But she pressed on.

"Right. And what was the tallest mountain in the world before Everest was discovered?"

Now she looked like she was catching on. She was quick, Olly would grant her that much. Stubborn, but quick.

"Still Everest."

"Right. Whether or not it had been discovered, the mountain itself always existed. That's the interaction between science and comprehension. The phenomena exist, and eventually we find a way to categorize them. Calling it magic is just a way for people to convince themselves it's something they can't understand. Hell-"

Ophelia smacked her palm on her desk with a sudden bang!, the idea striking her like a bolt of lightning.

"I'd put money on it. Anything you can do with your 'magic', I could do with logic and engineering. Try me."

She officially had Jamie's attention. The promise of a challenge, a wager, had put a mischievous spark in her eyes, and she'd finally stopped picking through the clutter of Olly's lab. She lifted an eyebrow, officially intrigued by the idea.

"Hundred bucks?"

"Sure. My wallet's in the pocket of my coat- the gray one, not the blue one. Excuse me if I don't get up," Ophelia said, gesturing at her swollen knee.

Another person might have hesitated, she thought, if only out of the social politeness to not go reaching into another person's clothing for another person's wallet, but Jamie didn't waste a moment. Within moments, she'd pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket, joined with five twenties from Ophelia's wallet.

"You've got a bet." Jamie said, with a smile like Ophelia had just signed her very soul away.

She had a feeling she knew which "god" this one stemmed from, if her words were to be believed.

But Ophelia had never ducked away from a good wager, especially not one she was so intent on winning.

"Whenever you're ready, godling."

Jamie reached over Ophelia's shoulder and snatched a pair of needle-nosed metal forceps - normally used for making micro-adjustments to wiring or other components. She held the forceps pinched between her thumb and index finger, green eyes gleaming.

"We'll start things off easy, brainiac."

The tips of Jamie's fingers turned a brilliant blue, and frost crept up the metal forceps in a fine white film. She tossed the forceps on to the surface of Olly's desk, watching the frost begin to melt. Ophelia just scoffed.

"Please. This is just taking me back to my eighth-grade science fair." she said, and snapped her fingers for her actuators at the other side of the room, "Ammonium chloride and a beaker of distilled water."

The machines jumped to action in a heartbeat, opening cabinets and depositing the materials on Ophelia's desk in a flurry of motion. When the chaos died down, Olly calmly opened the container of ammonium chloride and tipped a few spoonfuls of fine white crystals into the beaker. She gave the solution a quick stir, then picked up the forceps and touched the tips to the outside of the beaker.

Much like Jamie's attempt, frost quickly began to gather on the metal's surface and creep towards Ophelia's fingertips. She couldn't help but fire Jamie a smug look.

"Point one for chemistry." she said, and waved a hand for her actuators to begin clearing the materials away, "Got anything else?"

Jamie just rolled her eyes.

"That was just the warm-up round," she replied, "Didn't want to humiliate you on the first go. Try this one on for size."

She lifted a hand at Ophelia's coffee mug (black enamel, with the chemical formula for caffeine etched on the side), and a second mug appeared right beside it. Experimentally, Ophelia brushed her fingers across the illusion, and watched it disperse like a cloud of fog before re-forming.

"Holography's been around since 1948." Ophelia said, already rifling through the drawers of her desk. She'd had plenty of time to tinker as her knee healed, and yet had spent very little of that time organizing her creations. Finally she found what she was looking for, buried in the bottom of a drawer: an old cell phone, reprogrammed and retrofitted with what appeared to be a large, dome-shaped camera.

"Let's hope this thing still has a charge..." she muttered, mostly to herself, as she tried to power it up. Hologram illusions could be made through any number of means, the simplest being a pyramid made of cut-up CD cases (that had been another, much earlier science fair project), but this little device would be much more impressive.

Finally it powered on, and the screen bloomed with a 3D-modeling interface. Ophelia tapped a few icons, then directed that odd dome-shaped camera at her coffee mug. Red light danced across the mug and the desk below it, mapping the object in a laser grid, and it appeared on the screen alongside a list of specs. Olly tapped a second icon, and the device projected an identical mug onto the desk beside the first.

"Voilá," she said, voice dripping sarcasm, "And I'll do you one better- I can adjust the specs, size, color, you name it."

She fiddled around for a bit, shrinking the illusion to half its size and shifting the color to a vibrant lime green. She returned it to its original appearance a moment later and shut the machine off, turning her face to Jamie with yet another victorious look.

"Hm. Alright." Jamie muttered, "Match this."

And with that, she vanished.

She appeared on the opposite end of the lab, near the cradle that held Ophelia's actuators. The machines flinched at the sudden appearance, and Ophelia waved a hand before to call them off before they flew into an attack. Jamie looked unperturbed- no, she looked proud, like she thought for sure she'd cemented her victory.

"You're really gonna make me get up?" Ophelia sighed, but set aside her ice pack and pushed herself up out of her chair. Her bad knee protested the movement immediately, but she shrugged the pain aside as she limped over to her actuator cradle.

The vest clamped around her body with a comforting pressure, and her actuators lifted her to the other side of the lab. The upper claws rose and began to give off orange sparks, weaving a rift between worlds in much the same way she'd once seen that so-called wizard do with his rings.

Ophelia stepped into the other world - the same in shape but completely devoid of other people, a world she'd begun to use for large-scale storage or experimental testing - and allowed her actuators to lift her fifteen feet across the room. Another portal, just as quickly, and she was back in her own lab. Ophelia spread her arms and gave Jamie a haughty mock bow.

"That wasn't teleportation."

"Manipulating dimensional planes to cause an intentional displacement of matter," Olly fired right back, "It's the same in principle, just different execution."

"Bitch, please. You know it's not." Jamie argued, "What I did was instant, and occurred entirely in the same damn universe. That multiverse shit is cool, sure, but it's not teleportation. I win."

She reached for the pile of bills and Ophelia swiveled on her actuators.

"Hey- hang on, now." she snapped, "Just because I haven't done it yet doesn't mean it's impossible. We thought multiversal interaction was scientifically impossible until last year, and I cracked that too."

"Fine. If you crack teleportation, I'll give these back." Jamie agreed, brandishing the wad of cash.

"You're expecting me to recreate The Fly for a hundred bucks? My own hundred bucks, no less? You're kidding."

"Well, either you crack it or you don't. And if you don't, I win. Simple as that."

Ophelia just rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the prickling in the back of her mind. Jamie had to know exactly what she was doing, at this rate: the idea had wormed its way into her head, it wasn't even about the hundred bucks anymore. It was both infuriating and oddly exhilarating. She'd been looking for a new big project, now that her multiverse tech was largely solidified.

"Fine. Keep the cash." she muttered, "I'll get it back from you soon enough. And find me Maya's measurements for that prosthetic you want."

Boy, Peter was in for a surprise when he got home.

[alligator-dreaming]

12/17/2024 - This One Should Have a Name I Suppose

I had a strange interconnected series of dreams last night.

It began with a dream about sharing a hotel room with two girls, and I was dating one of them, so I was really spending a lot of time making out with her. Things were getting hot and heavy, but at a certain point I sensed that things weren't going that far, and I pulled back, and we stopped.

I think part of the problem was that I had been training a praying mantis while we were making out. Kissing and rolling around and stuff was helping me gain experience points, and periodically I would put those experience points into upgrading my mantis. My mantis didn't realize that I was trying to improve it and so it kept biting me while me and my date made out.

Anyway, after things slowed down I excused myself to go find something to eat. I wandered out of the hotel room and found a huge bookshelf. However, the shelf was nearly entirely covered in Final Fantasy licensed mangas, which I was not interested in. After looking through the selection, I found one that broke from the mold, and took it to a table at a cafe in the hotel to read.

The book was the strange story of a girl in an alternate timeline where many of our reality's conflicts and violence never happened. Though she came from this other world, she had the power to see into ours in her dreams. She could then psychically manifest the violence that happened in our world into hers as bright bursts of energy in hers. She was very unhappy with her powers because they upset the balance of her world, and she grew fearful that her Earth might start to have the violent conflicts of ours because of her. She looked just like the girl I had been dating.

Then right when the story was getting good, a man walked over to the table, sat down next to me, and turned the book away from the page I was on so he could read the description on the book jacket. At first I let him read it, but then he took so long that I realized that he was being unspeakably rude. I called his attention to the fact that he lost the page I was on, and he apologized. Then I found the page I was on, and instead of picking up where I left off, I walked away to find something else to do.

In another part of the hotel, there was a big theater and event space with an aquarium exhibit located off to the side that had seals in it. I saw a bunch of my friends in the room and went to join them, and managed to get a seat just before the event started.

An internet funnyman I like walked on stage and announced himself, preparing to introduce the night's show. He had plenty of beloved special guests and exciting acts planned for tonight, but first, the seals! He entered the seal exhibit and the seals did a musical performance of "VS Star Dream" from Kirby Planet Robobot. I was jumping up and down and running between tables in excitement. The performance was beautiful and my friend Wally agreed.

The show went on. The host brought on a multitude of special guests for a panel/game show. One of them was Wally. Most of them were also Internet personalities, and in some cases they preserved their anonymity by joining the panel as two-dimensional PNGtubers in real life. One of them was a voice actor in a series I like wearing a Doctor Robotnik costume. Towards the end of the panel, he went offstage as his 2D self and came back onstage in person, still wearing an Eggman costume. The audience went nuts for it. It was, all in all, a great show.

Things took a strange turn toward the end, though. Before the show could properly wrap up, people on stage began acting very unlike themselves. Audience members began to disappear, and by the end, I was alone in the theater. It all snuck up on me so quickly that I had never noticed anyone leaving - one moment the panel was doing silly bits to entertain the huge crowd, and the next the stage was empty and the theater was dark.

I had to figure out what happened. I began snooping around the space, looking for any indication of what may have happened to everyone. While searching the backstage area, I caught a glimpse of Wally. He pointed me toward a door hidden in a stairwell, but warned me not to draw attention to myself.

The passage was crowded with phantoms in the guise of early presidents of the United States. They floated and rushed around the narrow winding passage that led down into the earth and I had to take great care not to bump into them or trip on them. They were greatly agitated but seemed oblivious to my presence as long as I did not touch anything. Wally rushed ahead of me, and by the time I reached the bottom of the passage, he was gone.

The passage emerged into a small, barely furnished living room. The ghosts were still thickly crowded and agitated here, so I hid under a staircase and waited for them to disperse. While I hid in wait, I realized that this room was a copy of the living room of the home I lived my first two years of my life in. It was nostalgic despite its bareness and hostility. Eventually I peeked out and saw that the ghosts had disappeared. With the coast clear, I snuck out and pressed into the next room.

The room next to the living room was a home office, just as barely furnished as the living room with the exception of a desk cluttered with paper files. This was the office of whoever was behind everyone's disappearances, and in command of the ghost president legion. I heard ghosts re-emerging outside, so I returned the way I came before the way back became too thick with ghosts to navigate safely.

I carefully snuck back up toward the theater, encountering many fewer ghosts this time. When I got back up, the audience was back, watching the action onstage with the same enthusiasm they had earlier. But the host and the special guests were gone from the stage. When I took a closer look, I realized that the special guests were now in the audience, also becoming victims of the scheme's mastermind. Taking their place onstage was a mysterious figure who had charmed the audience into thinking the show was still on so they could work their evil undisturbed. I took them to be the person whose office I had just seen and the person behind all this.

Seatbelts appeared across the audience to lock everyone in place as the final preparations took place. However, one row of seats was partially empty, so the seatbelts missed the people in that row. Quickly trying to recover this, the seatbelts lunged at the people in that row, but were too aggressive about it. One of the people in that row, the Eggman costume guest, was snapped out of the villain's glamour by the seatbelts' sudden attack, and managed to worm his way out. Now there were two of us free.

There was a scuffle in the theater and things became hazy. The mastermind sent dark forces to attack us and we tried to fight back. When the dust settled, the audience was gone again. All that was left were their clothes, hanging in midair. Then, through a window at the back of the stage, I saw the mastermind as a cloaked figure, levitating and bursting with energy. They were drawing the audience's outfits into themself one at a time, absorbing the life force left behind to upgrade themself to their ultimate form.

Thinking quickly, I ran backstage toward the window and burst out toward them. They were floating far above ground, so I leapt up from outfit to outfit until I reached the mastermind. I slammed into them and knocked them back toward the theater, into the ground. The audience reappeared, and the mastermind's power drained. Now it was just me and them. I grabbed their hood and ripped it off. Underneath was Wally.

I was in shock that my friend was behind all of this chaos. We grappled, and he freely gloated about his plans to ensnare everyone in the theater to drain their life force as we fought in front of everyone, and revealed that his true name was John

Freaky

Adams. Despite being significantly depowered, he was still stronger than I was, and we were deadlocked at a disadvantage for me. Thinking quickly, I lunged forward and used a special technique I had spent the whole day practicing beforehand. I planted a big wet kiss on his lips.

Wally was stunned by the turn of events, but I just kept chewing on his lips and making out with him sloppy style. Eventually he pulled back and a devious grin came over him. He shapeshifted into a beautiful actress and kept at it, actively competing with me to be the better kisser. Then his mouth hinged open like a snake to reveal a toothy claw inside. He gloated that I was fully in his clutches and that nothing would stop him from killing me now. But he was wrong. I shoved him away and revealed that I had been synthesizing a poison in my mouth the whole time we had been kissing. The poison began to take effect and Wally grew weak. The audience cheered as Wally's evil life-sucking scheme was thwarted once and for all.

Afterwards, the theater was a mess. People began trickling out, but I stayed behind to help clean up and to chat with the voice actor. The floors were wet and slick, so we slid from wall to wall like roller skaters while cleaning and talking about how we figured out it was Wally (apparently the voice actor had figured it out before I had.) We laughed a lot and it was great fun.

At the end, before leaving the theater, I saw a flash of light and knew it was the girl from the book bringing violence from our world to this other dimension.

[the-monkey-ruler]

what is sha wujing’s purpose in the story?

Oof there is a lot of way to answer that.

Entertainment wise he is meant to be the straight man of the group. Level-headed to balance Wukong's hot temper and Bajie's hot passion. He is meant to reign the other two in when Sanzang isn't there himself or if there needs to be more ribbing on either Wukong or Bajie. He does show to talk more in later arcs at least from what I notice either from encouraging Wukong to give teasing remarks to Bajie as well. He doesn't do pranks like Wukong does but rather just sly dry remarks at his expense.

Allegorical wise he is to represent Emotions and earth/ground (hence the sha in his name) Wukong is the Mind and Bajie is the Body and Bailong is the Will but Wujing is to show what an emotional mistake can direct the rest of your life.

There isn't a lot that was said when it came to the hows and whys of Wujing's punishment. Whether it was on purpose as a sign of disrespect or a true accident that was made in the heat of the moment. While we don't see any other reasons to be behind his accident I do like the theory that @antidotefortheawkward-art has about the implications of what a cup smashing could mean to imply 摔杯为号 meaning 'breaking a cup as a signal' to hint that an attack is happening usually at a banquet.

I think that would just add another layer of clever writing but if that is not the case I've heard that he smashed the cup in a fit of rage. Against who and to what, unknown, but that Wujing made a mistake at the height of his emotions.

Wujing has been seen as a voice of reason but there are quite a few outbursts that he has had throughout the journey, mostly letting his anger get the best of him but I think that might be his struggle to keep himself in check. Honestly, he seems the most serious when it comes to following the scriptures, seeing the pilgrimage as the true way to redeem himself. Whenever Bajie or even Wukong want to quick when things are getting too hard or even impossible he is the one to shake them back into it. He gives more than one pep talk in the book if I recall.

That is to say, he is very vicious as well when he can be, ruthless with his enemies and his words when he is pushed far enough. He was a cannibal that ate anyone that came to his river, still with a conscious mind of his life in heaven. He was turned into a demon that is without the largest build and the wildest looks but his personality does not fit his description. He doesn't get a lot of attention as Bajie is the more humorous one and Wuking is our main protagonist to save the day but he does provide that level of groundedness I think the team needs.

I also love that he has Nine Scripture Pilgrim's skulls around his neck, which to me highly suggests that Wujing mayhaps has eaten Sanzang's past lives.

I think this is to still highlight his name meaning Sha Wujing and how it means "Sand awakened to Purity" to show how devoted he was to better himself not just for the sake of running away from his punishment but to become a better version of himself.

I think that honestly, Wujing is the most sincere in his desire to follow Sanzang, being very loyal and trustworthy even if he didn't have a lot to say. But when he did speak I think he always do so with meaning.

In the end, he became an Arhat one who gained insight into the true nature of existence but just short of reaching Buddhahood. It could be that he did not have enough merit as Wukong and Sanzang were the ones taking up most of the toil of the trails or that he was the last to join and simply missing a few more merits to allow him to ascend but I think he still plays an important role in showing that even just wanting to make a change is the hardest part to continue down a path a change.

Between Wukong's pranking on Bajie and Sanzang trying to reign Wukong's temperament in I think that his purpose was to provide a more neutral character to have a more logical outcome. I see a lot of interpretations of this character as being a more philosopher or inquisitive role. The gentle giant so to speak seeks knowledge for the sake of knowledge and I can see how this can derive from his origins. Or he has been a soft voice of reason, more emotional in his outbursts but well-meaning. Or he has been a huge brute of a man, trying to reign himself in but often speaking his mind first.

No matter how he is portrayed I always love him.

I hope that answers your question!

[amelikos]

More interviews. They were released when chapter 3 was ongoing (translation here).

There are several interviews with different VAs. As usual, I'll go over the parts I find interesting to keep reference of them.

Liko's VA (Minori Suzuki)

Liko's VA talks about how Liko used to be introverted and insecure and how she grew a lot over the course of her journey. Her whole answer to the "Early on, Liko often acted due to external factors, didn't she?" is great all around (Liko growing to understand her own desires, her optimism becoming more pronounced, going from having lots of internal monologues to putting her thoughts into words to convey how she feels to others etc). I love Liko, and I love seeing so much care and understanding put into her character arc.

I also have to point out that part with Minori Suzuki bringing up Liko's monologue when she wondered if she was the lead in a shoujo story. This is not the first time I see Horizons being called a shoujo in interviews and the likes. I remember another interview mentioning it. Some of the Horizons manga are also officially serialized in shoujo magazines (such as Liko's treasure). There is basis for this stuff. Truly, Horizons is my favorite shoujo anime (anyway, something something, if Horizons shoujo, then AmeLiko budding shoujo romance etc).

There is also talk about Liko's Pokemon, mentioning that Nyarote comes off as an older sister (which is super cute). They also mention the battles Liko had against Chili and how Minori Suzuki felt voicing these scenes.

Minori Suzuki also describes the bond between Liko and Nyarote. I like the description that they aren't too close, but not too distant either and how both of them maintain a perfect balance between the two. She also describes what she thinks is the ideal bond between trainer and Pokemon (and she mentions Friede and Cap).

Roy's VA (Terasaki Yuka)

Terasaki Yuka talks about how Roy has grown through his adventures. I like the part where she mentions that Roy used to run off and do his own thing when Friede was watching over him, but he's grown to be more conscious of how his behavior would affect others since he started traveling with only Liko and Dot and would warn them before going off on his own etc. It's a very neat detail (I don't like when male characters cause lots of trouble and let girls pick up after them, so Roy is a real one for not being like that). The mention that Roy would encourage Dot by saying the destination isn't far away when she says she is tired is also very cute (genuinely gives me more appreciation for the character because I didn't consider that he would be trying to encourage her in his own way by saying that, which is very sweet).

They also mention other sides of Roy's character, such as how he is observant and intuitive, on top of his straightforward nature.

I also liked the mention that the sound director specifically told Roy's VA to deliver a line in HZ052 (telling Hogator to stay away from the water etc) as if she was warning her own child about danger, and not just saying that to a friend.

Also, the answer to "which group would you join" question is heartbreaking in its own way ("Amethio always looks like he is suffering so much...").

Dot's VA (Yoshino Aoyama)

Just like with Liko and Roy, they talk about how Dot has grown as a character. Dot's VA brings up the fact that Dot's desire to entertain others as Gurumin is something she inherited from her mother and her love for talking (I like this side of Dot, since it shows a lot of nuance in regards to her relationship with her mother).

They also talk about how reliable Kuwassu is, Dot's relationship with her Pokemon, and how they both motivate each other.

Dot's VA also talks about Nanjamo and Poppy and her thoughts on their characters.

"You learn whether you win or lose" is also a line that stood out to me.

--

Afterwards, there are many interviews with the Elite Four VAs. They all bring up interesting stuff. Such as how Dot's battle against Aoki was more of an evaluation to ascertain Dot's skill level than an all-out battle. The interview with Chili's VA was also a nice read (lots of talk about Liko's character).

They also ask the cast their thoughts on the Elite Four characters. Roy's VA talking about how Chili is great at psychological warfare (putting Liko on the spot by telling her she represents her school and then making her relax with a joke afterwards) is something I didn't consider. Chili is a fun character for this.

The VAs for Liko, Roy and Dot also talk about how they feel about each other's characters (summer love letters to each other). Liko's VA talking about how she feels about Roy and Dot's characters, and so on. It's pretty interesting seeing how they perceive the characters.

The parts that stood out to me were: Dot's VA talking about how different Liko's relationship with Nyarote is compared to Dot's relationship with Welcamo (the talk about Liko's love is cute too), and her insight on Dot's friendship with Roy. Roy's VA talking about how considerate Liko is (which is not something easily done) and how trustworthy and dependable she is, and her talk about Dot taking steps forward. Liko's VA talking Liko's respect towards Roy, and her insight on Liko's friendship with Dot. Especially liked the mention that Liko and Dot's friendship is not one-sided, and Dot's loyalty towards Liko and how she shows courage for her friend, and the way she analyzed Kuwassu's relationship with Dot.

Overall, very interesting read. These interviews had lots of stuff to ponder about. I just like reading what the VAs have to say and how they perceive the characters, and seeing the things they point out which I don't think about, etc. "An introverted girl, a boy who longed for adventure from an island, and a girl who used to be holed up in her room" describing our current trio is still something I find amazing.

[fanfic-recs-01]

Tododeku Fics

This is a list of Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Updated 5/15/24

The Roundabout Way of Fate by itsmyartfam

~Midoriya Izuku wants to become a hero. Midoriya Izuku is born with a healing quirk. He learns how to save people a different way.~

Checks and Balances by indirectkissesiniceland

~Izuku Midoriya was a competitive cheerleader up until an injury to his hand made tumbling and stunting an impossibility. It's devastating to think that cheer could be out of his life for good—until a pair of enthusiastic classmates show up at Izuku's dorm room with a signup sheet for a new hockey cheerleading club. All that's left to do is learn how exactly hockey works...and try not to think too much about the prodigious freshman right wing, who's just about the most wonderful person Izuku's ever met.~

read between the lines by realfakedoors

~Quirkless as the day he was born, Izuku is determined to become a hero and takes the Yūei entrance exam. With the highest written exam score in over a decade, he is offered admission to General Studies, Class 1-C. The editor-in-chief of the school paper approaches Izuku after finding his misplaced notebook and asks if he would like to to become a staff writer. Urged to turn his Hero Analysis journals into a column, he agrees, with the caveat he can go by a pen name.~

Fallacy by CrzA

~Todoroki Shouto has become very affectionate towards Midoriya Izuku, thinking they are together. Meanwhile, Izuku is having an internal crisis because his best friend isn't really helping his hopeless crush for him go away with all the embraces.~

Please be nice to your server by meiishu

~a self-indulgent restaurant AU where Izuku's the poor waiter stuck with the pickiest customer ever, Enji Todoroki: the well-renown medical hero. Izuku's only now learning he has a son: a very, very pretty one.~

The Joys Of Brotherhood by eddiewrites307 (burnthebodiesandbedonewithit)

~Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki are (practically) brothers.

Midoriya Izuku is Quirkless.

Midoriya Izuku starts dating Todoroki Shoto.~

Waking Hours by Graendal

~Izuku squints at the menu, written in calligraphy on a chalkboard that spans the entire wall behind the counter. The surrounding walls are black, too — are they all chalkboard surfaces, or is it just for the aesthetic?

He frowns. There doesn’t seem to be any descriptions of what the drinks actually are. There aren’t even ingredients listed. “Um, what does the vastness of eternity contain?”~

@tshoutoskates and @mizukudances by Graendal 

~Izuku drops his face into his hands. “I thought you were going to edit out all that stuff, Ochako!”

“I’m sorry,” Ochako says, as if that makes any difference now. “I tried? But I couldn’t cut it all out or there’d be nothing left. It’s getting a lot of views, at least?

He groans, sitting back in his chair. Maybe it would have been better to feature a different skater. One that he wouldn’t have felt the need to pause and swoon over every five seconds.

He can’t help it. Todoroki is just that amazing. No one compares.~

Hand to Heart (Right to Left) by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory

~Shouto indulges Midoriya's curiousity about how his Quirk works. Just like everything he does with Midoriya, Quirk study sessions quickly become life-changing.

In other words: Shouto learns how to spite his dad, scare his friends, and how teenagers are supposed to act when they're in love.~

skip a beat by Esplodeyoface

~Todoroki Shouto did not develop crushes. He simply didn't. He didn't have the time, or the energy, or the emotional capacity to entertain the idea of having a crush. His time was much better spent in other ways. Like training, or studying, or sleeping, or finding new and creative ways to completely shun his father's existence. He quite simply didn't develop crushes.~

Faking It by Gallifrey101

~When Endeavor won't stop harassing Todoroki at school and making him uncomfortable with constant phone calls, Midoriya decides to fight fire with fire.

OR Midoriya realizes the best way to piss Endeavor off is to be the boyfriend Endeavor never wanted Todoroki to have.~

Romancing For Dummies: A Book Specifically Addressed To Todoroki Shouto by Julietwasanidiot 

~If this is what Midoriya thinks, that these results come from a genuine effort on Shouto’s part to smooth over the romantic tribulations of his classmates, and not from the awkward fumbling of some hormone-ridden teenage homosexual disaster, Shouto’s going to defend that belief if it kills him.~

Half Hot, Half Cold and Fully Dense by asthmaticbee

~Shouto doesn’t realize Izuku is confessing to him and it takes him two months to realize that, oh, they’ve been dating. Cue his very silent gay panic.~

Thanks for Saving Me by Esselle

~Midoriya Izuku is a university sophomore, a fanboy, quirkless. On the list of things he is not: a hero.

That's why he's more surprised than anyone when he rescues Todoroki Shouto, his favorite pro hero, from a deadly villain attack. His actions fling him into the media spotlight, grabbing the attention of the entire country, including Todoroki himself. But Todoroki actually wants to get to know him past the headlines.~

what are they? by gotthatbrainrot (Todobakudeku)

~Class 2-A is...confused.

Scratch that.

They are absolutely flabbergasted.

And it is all thanks to two childhood...friends? Rivals? Boyfriends? Mortal enemies?~

Bad Timing by OhneHerz

~Shinso is messaging Midoriya (who's back at the dorms because he's sick) during class, when he hooks his laptop up to the screen to present a project to a class. Midoriya's messages come through and the whole class sees him roast Endeavor and subsequently hit on Todoroki.~

Gross by thecacoethicaspect

~5 times Kirishima accidentally made people think he and Todoroki were dating + 1 time he finally realised what was going on~

The Great Sports Festival Seduction by katydid 

~Izuku wins the Sport Festival by (accidentally) seducing Shouto Todoroki.~

Confusion by bortzy

~Todoroki has just figured out he's gay. Kirishima is the only openly gay person he knows, so he goes to him for advice on what to do about his feelings. They end up bonding over their hopeless crushes on Midoriya and Bakugou, but people start to get the wrong idea.~

it's love and i got the proof by halcyonrole

~“He's slightly unhinged,” Shouto admits, “but I like that about him.”Midoriya flips over Bakugou, cackling evilly as he snags one of the grenades off his belt and flings it at an approaching Iida. Then Midoriya picks Bakugou up and lets out a feral scream as he throws him at Jirou. Aizawa sighs heavily but doesn’t stop the training exercise.Shouto cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, “You’re doing amazing, Midoriya!”~

Graffiti On The Walls by 11peach_bunny11

~Or, where Izuku is the vigilante known as Graffiti--named for the occasional political pieces he spray paints on alleyway walls and billboards to call out bad apple heroes along side the giant folders of evidence he likes to leave on the media's doorstep. Nobody has been able to arrest him for years, but what happens when a certain hero catches his eye? Will Izuku be able to keep his feelings in the shame box, or will he be caught with paint on his hands?~

every road you take will always lead you home by pusser

~Midoriya Izuku passes out in his world and wakes up in one where Number One Hero, Deku, has been dead for three years.~

release the dogs of war by IceEckos12 

~Izuku is a dimension hopper who accidentally breaks his arm after a rough jump, leaving him helpless in this strange new world.And then he finds out about the superpowers. Well if he wants to get specific, quirks.If there's one place where a super-powered quasi-immortal technology stealing jerk would be hanging out...~

Something in Between by moonbabyscoot

~Todoroki sighed again and stared out at the city. “I just...I can’t trust someone not to date me for my money, so can I just let someone date me for my money?”Mina snapped her fingers. “Todo, what you want is a sugar baby.”“A what? That sounds gross.”~

[spaceofentropy]

20 questions for fic writers (and artists)

I was tagged by @dragonflylady77 and, why not? Why not procrastinate a bit? :P

1. How many works do you have on ao3(Tumblr)?

14.

2. What's your total ao3 (Tumblr) word count?

253,035 as of right the fuck now. Holy moly that's a lot.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for Why R U? and now for Stranger Things.

4.What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Of soulmates and colors (a chonky metalsandwich soulmates AU)

What happens in Vegas... (a WhyRU? canon divergence with Tor waking up in Vegas, married to his ex)

I just came to say... (modern era Harringrove meet cute)

Amok (modern era Harringrove thing about Billy meeting his mom by chance and being conflicted as fuck)

Like a curse (the WhyRU? heist AU nobody had asked for but they still had to face)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try. Sometimes I'm slow as fuck and sometimes I'm perched on my inbox like a starving hawk, but I always try.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably What doesn't kill you makes you a monster, which is an angst fest built around body horror and body mutation which ends with Steve having basically no hope about the future. But then, months after, I went and wrote a follow up fic where Steve gets to find another monster and fall in love with him and have a HEA, so I guess it only half-counts ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh... I honestly don't know. I mean, I mostly write fics with a good ending or at worst a hopeful ending (like Come Close) and I honestly don't think I can't rank which of my HEA fics is the happiest, so, all the happy ones? I guess?

8. Do you get hate on any fics (Art)?

So far, never.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep, I do, even if it's hard as hell and I always feel like it sucks. As for what kind... uh... I don't know how to answer... The smutty kind? Sometimes it's soft. and sometimes it's hurried, and sometimes it's filthy monsterfucking because monsters, too, deserve to get laid.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

My heist AU is a crossover between one show, a different show, and an AU of the first show. Two actors from the first show play minor parts in the second show. It's a wild, wild thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Harringrove.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Probably that one Gallavich thing I wrote 90k words of because I had to put it out of my head and is close to the end but when I look at it makes me feel eh because Ian's part of the plot feels to passive and NOPE!, that's so fucking wrong, vade retro Satana!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Plotting and dialogue. And wild ideas.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. Smut.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

To quote Guin, "get it checked by a person who speaks that language before you post". Preferably a native speaker who can tell you if it sounds like your easy going teenager was possessed by the ghost of a stuffy academic from the 1820s. Also, it's a hard balance to make it not too distracting, to make sure it doesn't kill the pace of the story, so good luck in your endeavours, fellow writers!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Honestly no idea.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I love them all, they are my self-indulgent nuggets of entertainment and I won't pit them one against the other trying to choose a favorite. I reject this question. U_U

I should tag people, theoretically, but honestly I don't have the brain power for it tonight. If you read this and want to do this, consider yourself tagged. Have fun! :3

[bookstarotwriting]

Hello!! I am now offering Tarot Readings on my Etsy shop!

How this reading works:

1.Once purchased, please message me here on Etsy with your question or situation that you would like clarity on. The more specific you are the clearer the message will be. Please send me all the information that you feel I should know going into your reading.

2. Your name and a bit about yourself. Age and general location are helpful, but are not necessary if you aren’t comfortable with sending.

3. If your reading will involve other people I will need a little bit about them as well.

With this reading, I will use one card to help bring you clarity to your situation or to answer your question. When asking a question, try to not ask a yes or no question. As I don't use a pendulum, I am not comfortable answering a simple yes or no question.

Example questions:

*How can I balance my career and personal life?*

*Am I on the right path?*

*What can I do to attract the best partner for me?*

*What is holding me back?*

Some back and forth may be necessary here on Etsy or per email, if you prefer, in order for me to give you the best reading.

An open, honest energy is the best way to receive an excellent reading. The more open to receiving you are, the better. If I feel like you’re not entirely honest with me or if your energy feels closed off, the reading may not be as clear.

I am direct and honest, but will try to be as sensitive to your feelings as I can. I want you to feel as comfortable with me as possible. This will ALWAYS be a judgment free zone. And everything that is shared between us is in complete confidence.

I DO NOT:

-do time frame predictions

-answer legal questions

-answer pregnancy questions

-answer other medical related questions

-give names when doing soulmate-love readings

*Same Hour Readings hours are 1pm - 9pm CST. Please understand that this is not my only occupation and I will do my best to make sure you receive your reading in a timely manner. However, if purchased outside my scheduled hours, you may NOT receive your reading within the hour.*

Disclaimer

You must be 18 years or older to purchase this reading. All readings are for entertainment purposes only. Information provided by reader is not to be substituted for professional, legal, and/or medical advice. No guarantees are offered and all sales are final.

*You will receive your reading via Etsy messenger or E-mail. Please let me know which you prefer.*