#I’m kind of not really available at all for the next four hours and I forgot to eat… I think I can speedrun smth quick in an hour tho

[obstinaterixatrix]

ack I’m too suggestible I saw burgers in a manga & was immediately like. I want a burger…

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Run, pretty girl, run Chapter 2

Summary:  Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Warnings: violence, pregnancy, childbirth, death of minor character, language, eventual smut

“Бегать”: run “Подтвердить” : confirmed “Enkosi”: thank you “Дома”: home “Добро пожаловать”: welcome

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They drove for hours until it was nearly nightfall.  Bucky pulled off the highway and started taking a complicated route of back roads until they came to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned house.  He reached back and grabbed their bags as Y/N got out of the car.  She stretched, grunting at the heaviness she carried as she walked up to the house, Bucky not far behind her.  He looked around carefully before pushing the doorbell with his flesh thumb.  A small keypad appeared on the side of the doorbell and he punched in a four digit code.  A whirring could be heard as locks moved and the house seemed to wake up.  The door unlocked and he quickly opened it, ushering Y/N inside and shutting it behind them soundly, punching in the code again.

The inside didn’t match the outside, a fully furnished front room that was clean and tidy being lit up as Bucky switched the light on.  He dropped their bags on the couch and headed towards the kitchen to see what food was available.  “I’m sorry we drove so long,” he called out, opening the fridge to a fully stocked spread of food, pulling out ingredients to make something for them both.  “I promised you dinner, so give me a bit and I’ll make something.”

“Okay,” Y/N said quietly.  “I’ll pick a room.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky replied, quickly putting things together.

He heard Y/N rummaging around in the room just down the hall as he made some simple sandwiches, making sure hers was made the way she liked, but with no deli meat.  Bucky had been surprised that that was one of the things pregnant people couldn’t have, and instead made her a play on a grilled cheese.  As he finished the food he put it on the dining room table and got them some drinks.  “It’s ready Y/N!”

Her footsteps scuffled through the hallway and she appeared in the kitchen, already changed into a long sleep shirt.  “Grilled cheese…you know me so well,” she smirked at him, gripping his arm and squeezing it appreciatively.  Bucky smiled as he helped her sit and then sat himself next to her.  They ate in silence, Y/N looking around the kitchen and into the front room absentmindedly.  When she finished she drank a lot of water then sat back tiredly.  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“More driving.  We’ll probably reach the coast by tomorrow night, then we’ll have to figure out the next best thing.  Flying isn’t really an option with it being so close to your due date,” he said, eyeing her belly.  “So we’ll need to see what kind of boat options are available to us.  Or see if we can get a hold of somebody else who got out who might have more access to resources than us.”

“Like who?” she asked, rubbing her belly worriedly.

“Well, I’m assuming Yelena will be reaching out soon for an update.  Or maybe Shuri.  She’d be the most secure option,” he rattled off, finishing his food and wiping his mouth.  Y/N nodded, her brow furrowed as she contemplated what he was saying.  He licked his lips and reached a hand out again, covering the one on her belly.  “It’s gonna be okay, pretty girl.  We’ll get there before he comes.”

Y/N nodded again, but she didn’t look convinced.  She sighed and looked up at him with a tight smile.  “Yeah, we’ll make it.”

They cleaned up and went to their rooms that were right across the hall from each other.  Y/N turned in her doorway to face him.  “When do you wanna head out?”

“0800 hours?” Bucky asked, yawning and stretching as he leaned against his doorway.

“Sure,” she agreed.  “Well, goodnight Buck.”

“Goodnight, Mamas,” he smiled tiredly at her.  “Sleep well.”  He leaned down to her belly and poked it lightly with his metal finger, making her giggle.  “And you better let her sleep or so help me God–”

“Oh so now you’re threatening my unborn child?” Y/N laughed.

“Damn right I am,” he scoffed, glancing up at her.  He leaned a little closer to her belly, “Watch it,” he grumbled before standing up straight.  

“You’re so dumb,” she giggled again, rubbing her eyes.

“But you love me,” Bucky smirked.

“Yeah yeah,” Y/N rolled her eyes and walked backwards into the room, grabbing the side of the door.  “Sleep well, hot stuff.”

Bucky slightly blushed at the pet name and rolled his eyes back at her.  They both closed their doors and went to bed.

It was a fitful night’s sleep, Bucky feeling constantly on high alert.  Any small noise made him jump, his hand reaching for the one of the three weapons he had placed around him.  At four in the morning he heard something that made him jump out of bed.  It was like a scraping noise coming from outside, and he silently stalked to the window.  He subtly pulled back a part of the blinds and peeked out.  The super soldier serum made it so he could see well in the dark, and outside was a team of agents, fully equipped and dressed for a stealth mission, sneaking around the side of the house.  Bucky gritted his teeth and stopped himself from swearing out loud, slowly moving away from the window, gathering his things and slipping on his shoes before opening his door as quietly as possible.  He snuck into Y/N’s room, gathering her things into her bag before going to her bed.

“Y/N,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder gently.  Y/N jolted, turning to look at him with wide eyes.  She had obviously had a fitful sleep like he did.  She inhaled and opened her mouth to speak but he covered it with his hand.  “There’s a team outside.  I counted at least 7 on the side of the house.  We need to go.  Now.”

Y/N nodded against his hand, her breathing becoming shaky.  He helped her get up slowly and quietly, slipping her shoes on before guiding her down the hallway to a set of stairs that were hidden in a wall.  They went down the stairs, locking the door in the wall behind them with another keypad.  Under the house was a basement that doubled as an underground garage.  The lights turned on automatically as they walked on down the steps, displaying three vehicle options.  Bucky chose the high speed suburban nearest the exiting door.  This safe house had a mile long getaway underground track that would eventually spit them back out on the highway.  Y/N got in and strapped herself in as Bucky put their bags in the back again.  He started the car, opening the garage door with a button inside the car and driving down the tunnel track.

They went at a normal speed at first so as not to attract attention with a rumble under the dirt.  As they got further away Bucky sped up until they started to see the beginnings of sunrise shining down into where the tunnel started to slope up towards the road.  When they finally drove out of the tunnel they were able to merge onto the empty highway, and Bucky took off like a shot down south.  Y/N looked behind them, making sure no one was in sight.

“I don’t see anything,” she said, turning back around.  “God, how did they find us?”

“My guess, they had some information on Stark’s old safe houses somehow,” Bucky mused, his brow furrowed low with anger.  “We need to call Shuri.”  He fished his burner phone out of his pocket and gave it to Y/N.  “Dial 7 three times.”

Y/N nodded and did as he said, putting the phone on speaker.  After four rings the phone was answered.  “Sergeant Barnes, Бегать,” Shuri’s voice filled the car.  

Both Y/N and Bucky sighed at the sound of her voice.  “Подтвердить,” he replied.

“We’re on a secure line.  Where are you?” she continued.

“Leaving the safe house in Virginia,” Bucky replied.  “They made us.  We’re driving down south as fast as possible.”

“Us?” Shuri asked.

“Hey sweetie,” Y/N spoke up, a small smile on her face.

“Y/N?!” Shuri shrieked.  “Bast, aren’t you due any day now?”

“In 6 days,” Y/N informed her, her voice tense.

“Shit,” Shuri whispered.  “I would send one of our ships to pick you up but we’re being watched by the Americans,” she said quickly.  “Can you make it to the port in Miami by tonight?”

“It’s a bit of a long drive, but yeah, I think we can make it,” Bucky said.  He felt something was off and looked in the rearview mirror, seeing a row of black cars coming from the horizon.  “Fuck!” he yelled, pressing down on the accelerator.

“What?” Shuri asked, Y/N looking back at the road, gasping at the sight of the cars following them.

“We’re being followed,” Bucky growled.  “We’re not gonna make it.”

“Just keep going.  I’ll get the Talon sent now, damn the Americans,” she said, the sound of beeping screens on her end.  “I’m tracking you.  We’ll be there as fast as possible, but it will still take just under an hour.”

Bucky swore again as he tried to think quickly.  They were sitting ducks out here on this long open road.  He pushed even harder down on the gas, the car slightly rattling at how far he was pushing it.  The cars behind them were still a ways off, so if he could just outrun them for a little longer, they’d be able to evade long enough for the Talon to reach them.  “Okay, just get here,” he said, trying to keep breathing evenly.  Panic would only make it worse.  Shuri agreed and ended the call.  

Y/N was starting to hyperventilate, her hands shaking as one held the phone and the other protectively covered her belly, rubbing it up and down.  Bucky glanced at her.  “Hey pretty girl,” he called out to her.  She looked at him frantically.  “We can’t panic, okay?  The Talon will be here soon.  We just gotta keep driving.”  Y/N nodded, breathing deeply through her nose and exhaling heavily through her mouth.  He reached under the seat and grabbed the gun hidden underneath.  He handed it to her and she automatically checked to see if it was fully loaded and fire-ready.  He smiled at how strange the sight was of a heavily pregnant ex-agent holding a cocked gun.  “But just in case…you got this Mamas.”

The gun in her hand seemed to somehow calm her, her hands stilling as she focused on the task at hand, her training coming back like second nature.  The cars the agents were driving must have been made for high pursuit, because within twenty minutes he could see them start to close in on them.  Y/N saw them approaching in the side mirror and suddenly unbuckled herself, slipping into the back seat with surprising agility with such a large belly.  She dug into her and Bucky’s bags, pulling out the guns they had and making sure they were all fully loaded.  The first car was coming up on their rear.  Y/N could see one of them roll down their window and point a gun at the car.

“Duck,” she said loudly.

Bucky ducked down just as the first shot rang out, ricocheting off the back window, barely leaving a scratch.  “Gotta love bullet proof glass,” he murmured.

“Roll down the window,” she instructed him.  

Bucky did as she asked and she leaned into the door, slowly holding the gun outside the car window.  She aimed carefully, letting the agents waist their bullets before taking her first shot.  Bucky could see the agent leaning out of the passenger window in the car behind them get hit right between the eyes, his body falling limply out of the window and onto the road, making the first car swerve and the second car try to move and lose control, flying off the highway and into the ditch along the side, rolling a few times.

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked.

Y/N hummed and moved to the other side of the car.  He rolled down that window as well and she aimed at the next agent that was more careful this time in not completely hanging his body out the window.  She was one of the few sharp shooters he’d come across that rivaled Bucky’s prowess as a sniper.  She took a moment to get the perfect shot and the next agent’s head hung limply out of the window.  Y/N took down each shooter one by one, then shot out the engines of two of the cars that tried to come too close with the high power guns hidden inside the car.

The last two cars suddenly accelerated and got on either side of their car.  Bucky rolled up the windows and Y/N sat back far into the seat, keeping herself low.  He tried to speed up but the car was no longer able to go any faster.  The two cars alongside them tried to box them in to slow them down, but Bucky veered into the one on the right, sending them off the road and into the ditch, causing it to roll.  Y/N was bracing herself in the back, twisting to face the other car and keeping the gun steady in her hand.  She saw a panel open on the car on its side, and a thick pole starting to come out of the opening.

“Battering ram!” she screamed, moving to the opposite side of the car as fast as she could.

Bucky looked and saw the pole rear back.  He stepped on the brake to make it so the battering ram would only fit the front of the car, launching himself into the backseat just as it made contact with them.  He tried to wrap himself around Y/N but the car jolted to the right, making it skid at high speed before rolling on the cement then off the road.  The crashing, scraping and glass breaking was deafening.  Bucky felt himself bouncing around the cabin of the car, trying to protect his head then feeling himself fall from the car out the broken front window.  He rolled in the dirt and grass until he finally came to a stop, trying to catch his breath.  He did a quick inventory of himself, moving his fingers, toes, rolling his ankles, wrists, making sure everything could move.  His head was pounding, most likely a concussion, but other than bumps, bruises and scars he was miraculously okay.

He looked around and saw the car a good thirty feet away, upside down and smoking.  He got up and ran over to the car, dropping to his knees and trying to look inside.  “Y/N!  Y/N?” he called out, trying to move debris out of the way to see.  He heard a moan and used his vibranium arm to start ripping at pieces of the car.  After a few minutes he was able to move enough out of the way that he could see Y/N.  She was wedged between the roof of the car and the backseat that had warped in the crash, pushing against her belly dangerously.  Bucky gasped and crawled into the car.  “Hey pretty girl,” he greeted her, trying to keep his voice calm.  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he said, reaching out and touching her face.  “Can you hear me?”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, looking around in shock.  “Yeah,” she said simply.

“Okay, do an inventory,” he instructed her.  “Where’s the pain?”

Y/N subtly moved her fingers, wrists, toes and ankles like he had done, slightly rolling her neck.  “Just…sore, but my stomach hurts real bad,” she said, looking down.  She gasped when she saw the seat pressed hard against her pregnant belly.  “Buck!  Get it off!”

“I’m trying, Mamas, just give me a second,” he said, then felt someone pulling at his feet.  “Fuck!  NO!” he screamed as multiple hands started pulling at his feet and legs, pulling him away from Y/N.  She reached out for him but he was too far.  He was hoisted out of the car, surrounded by multiple men.  He swung, taking out two with his vibranium arm before kicking the two behind him.  He fought hard, but they were nearly meeting him in strength, taking him by surprise.  The fighting was making his head pound harder at the exertion.  One particularly hard punch to one of the agents’ faces produced a dark green blood to spurt from his lip.  Bucky looked at him in shock.

“Enough Sergeant Barnes!” one of them yelled out.

He turned and saw one of the agents knelt down by the car, pointing his gun at Y/N, who was struggling to push off the seat on her.  “Don’t,” he stepped forward.

The agent pushed his hand into the car through the broken window, pushing the gun against her head, making her freeze.  “Come with us, and she gets to live,” he sneered.

Bucky glared at him, assessing the situation.  He was starting to feel queasy at the pressure in his head, and he blinked rapidly, panting breaths as he looked around at all of them.  Then he heard it…a sound above them that the others hadn’t heard or recognized.  He smirked.  “No, we’re leaving,” he said.

The agent looked at him puzzledly before he suddenly stiffened, an electric shock going through him, falling with a thud to the dirt.  The other agents looked around in panic, shouting at each other as each of them were shocked and fell.  The air vibrated above Bucky as he looked up and the cloaking on the Talon cleared away to reveal itself.  He heaved a sigh of relief and ran back to the car.  He lifted it enough to help free Y/N from being pinned against the seat, her body falling to the roof of the car.  She slowly crawled her way out and he dropped the car before picking her up and running toward the Talon as it opened the stairway.  He helped get her seated before turning to the motherboard.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri’s voice echoed through the cabin.  “Are you both alright?”

“Alive,” Bucky replied.  “Just set course for Sibiu, Romania.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come here?” she asked.

“I’d love to, but the checkpoint is Sibiu,” he said quickly, rubbing his temple.  

A chittering sound was heard and then a scan of both of them appeared momentarily.  “Barnes, you’re going to want to come here first.”

“It’s just a concussion, I’ll heal,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Not for you,” Shuri replied quietly.

Bucky froze and then looked behind him at Y/N.  She wasn’t moving, one hand settled on her heart and the other on her belly, her brow furrowed and her mouth slightly agape.  “O-okay,” he agreed, and the Talon moved.  He walked over to her and kneeled down in front of her.  “What’s wrong, Mamas?” he asked cautiously.

Y/N blinked.  “He’s not moving.”

Bucky swallowed harshly.  “I’m sure he’s just resting after all we just went through.”

Y/N shook her head.  “Scan fetus,” she called out loudly to the Talon.

The system on board chittered again before speaking in a clear Xhosa accent.  “Scan complete.  Fetus has suffered from a placenta abruption and fetal trauma.  Fetus is, unfortunately, deceased.”

Y/N’s eyes shut tight, a shaky huff falling from her lips.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  Her hands fell away from her belly and her chest, hanging limply at her sides as her head leaned back against the wall behind her.  Bucky blinked rapidly, staring at her still very pregnant belly.  Dead?  The baby was just…gone?  All those doctors appointments, the long nights crying over her boyfriend up and leaving her, how she and Bucky had gushed over how cute the baby clothes and accessories were, getting the nursery ready that she would now never use, all of it just…done.  Y/N looked like she physically deflated at the news, but there were no tears.  Bucky watched her carefully as he reached up and took one of her hands.  

“Pretty girl,” he said, rubbing her knuckles.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

She didn’t react, her eyes still closed as she breathed evenly.  “It’s okay,” she murmured.  “Would have slowed us down, anyway.”

Bucky blinked at her in surprise, but he knew that this was her way of coping at the moment.  If there was anything they had learned about each other while being mission partners was being able to read one another, knowing each other’s tells, ticks, what buttons not to push, and in moments of severe trauma or pressure how they coped.  She wasn’t feeling safe enough to grieve just yet, so he didn’t push it.  He just leaned forward and laid his head on her knee, his other hand gripping her ankle.  She inhaled deeply at that, and her free hand reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp like she would during his worst nightmares.  They sat like that the whole way back to Wakanda.

@vioplay19 @mrsnikstan @scott-loki-barnes @tufflepuff23

[annieqattheperipheral]

HER STORY IS INCREDIBLE EVERYONE SIT DOWN AND LEARN FROM THIS QUEEN ⤵️

Kiana Scott, who played minor hockey system for 11 seasons, including four seasons on boys teams, gravitated to scouting from watching her brother’s games and critiquing his strengths and weaknesses.

Unaware of jobs available in hockey, she enrolled in makeup artistry college after high school, but knew her heart was in the sport.

She eventually enrolled in an online hockey general manager scouting course.

Scott joined the International Scouting Service Hockey mentorship program in 2018 and scouted for the service for two years while holding down two jobs.

“I love scouting future prospects, and the evaluation process,” she said. “I think that's kind of where my passion lies. It's just the evaluation process. And it's exciting, building a team.”

Scott spent two seasons as a full-time scout for Erie before she took a bold step and left the organization to move to Calgary and became an independent scout in June 2022.

“I just kept practicing my craft and kind of paid my own way, like, throughout the whole year,” she said. “All of the tickets to every game, all of my travel expenses, everything. I just put all my money into scouting and trying to evolve and then I ended up getting my (Avalanche) internship the next year.”

Scott had some financial help from her family for the move and she supplemented her income by working as a bartender at a Calgary casino, a job with hours that allowed her to scout games.

If all that wasn’t enough, she also enrolled in the University of Florida’s online sports management program.

“I've always had the mindset to just keep betting on myself and working hard and evolving,” she said. “I think I've taken a lot of risks to get to where I am, but I wouldn't try to change the journey for anything.”

Scott said she hopes women, women of color and people who don’t come from a so-called “traditional” hockey background will follow her on the journey.

“I grew up playing hockey, but I didn’t play professional hockey, I didn’t go to college or university for hockey,” she said. “I just had a passion for it. I love scouting. I worked at it, and I continue working at my craft.

“People that don’t necessarily come from the traditional background, I hope they see themselves in me and believe that they can put their minds to it and get it done.”

-----

The 2024 NHL Draft was as eventful for Kiana Scott as it was for the players who were selected in the seven-round event at Sphere in Las Vegas last month.

The 25-year-old Barrie, Ontario, native signed with the Colorado Avalanche at the draft to become a full-time amateur scout, fulfilling a goal she has had since she was a teenager.

“This is something that I've worked really hard for my whole career to be able to sign my first NHL contract,” Scott said. “I was elated. The Avs have been really good for me the past year, and I’m excited to keep building with them.”

Scott joined the Avalanche after working as an intern for the organization.

Colorado general manager Chris MacFarland said he and executive director of hockey operations Suzanne Borchert “were impressed with her work ethic and her passion."

MacFarland said: “Kiana was on our radar when she was scouting in major junior circuits ... and it worked that a few years ago we had an internship opportunity for her.

“She did a good job in that role and was an integral part of our amateur scouting department. We’re excited to see her contributions moving forward in her full-time role as an amateur scout.”

-----

Scott made history when she became the first woman scout in the Ontario Hockey League with Erie in March 2020.

She was among the initial of a wave of women who were hired in recent years as scouts at all levels of hockey, including Cammi Granato (Seattle Kraken), Blake Bolden (Los Angeles Kings), Krissy Wendell-Pohl (Pittsburgh Penguins), Meghan Hunter (Chicago Blackhawks), Gabriella Switaj (Anaheim Ducks) and Brigette Lacquette (Chicago Blackhawks).

Granato moved on from Seattle to become an assistant general manager for the Vancouver Canucks on Feb. 10, 2022, and Hunter was promoted to assistant GM by the Blackhawks on June 22, 2022.

“When I first started scouting, I didn’t know of any women in the industry already,” she said. “Cammi Granato got her job with the NHL a year after I started scouting. That’s when I kind of knew it was possible. But I never had anyone to look up to. I just had this dream and the passion for hockey. I knew that I had to the talent and skill to do it, and to try to keep building on them.

"That’s what I’ve always gone off on -- keep evolving, never give up on what you love.”

[kinardsevan]

Prompt: Buck finds out that Tommy is actually related to TK Strand.

(ahem. you asked for this.)

ETA: I have a serious problem with word skipping when reading if you can’t tell 🙃

He never intended to find out this kind of information. He done the 23&me on a whim after joking around with Eddie and Chim at work when Chim had randomly dropped into conversation “did you know I’m eight percent Scottish?” And of course they didn’t know, because how would that information have been freely available to him? How would he ever have known? 

And then Chimney had gifted him and Eddie each tests for Christmas, and at the time, Evan had figured ‘why the hell not?’ So he’d done the whole thing. Spit in the tube, sent it in, figured maybe he could at least find out if he had to worry about cancer in his future due to the Daniel of it all. 

“You sure you want to mess around in that,” Tommy had asked him over dinner one night. “I’ve heard about people finding out about murderers in their family.” 

But he’d been so sure. So sure there would be nothing interesting that would come back. There was nothing fun about the Buckley’s. His parents are teachers. His grandparents died of natural causes. What’s the worst that could happen? 

Turns out it was a lot. 

. . .

He’s on the stairs when Tommy comes into the loft, duffel still hitched up on his shoulder. They’re supposed to be spending the weekend together, but Evan’s not really sure what’s going to happen after the last twenty-four hours. 

“Hey,” Tommy murmurs softly, letting his bag hit the floor as he walks over to the stairs. He perches down at the base of them, resting a hand on Evan’s knee and ilfting the other to his face, brushing away the tears there. 

“Hi,” Evan rasps back, still staring at his hands folded in front of him. 

“Eddie said Bobby sent you home,” Tommy murmurs. Evan nods. 

“What’s going on,” Tommy asks softly, concern laced around his words. 

Evan’s eyebrows are knit so tightly together they could one into one another and the line his mouth is pressed into could crack peanut shells. 

“I-…My…Um, Maddie…” The words keep dying in his throat before he can get them out, and it just keeps making the knot in his chest tighter. 

“Is something wrong with Maddie?” 

Evan’s head lifts then, meeting Tommy’s eyes. There are conflicting emotions in the blonde’s sapphire eyes. Sorrow. A little bit of anger. Something else Tommy can’t place. Loss? 

“No,” he replies rapidly. “No, she’s fine. B-but she’s… she’s not-…”  Evan shakes his head at himself and reaches for his phone next to him on the stairs. He unlocks it, swipes at it a few times, and then passes it to Tommy. Tommy stares at him for a moment longer than necessary, and then looks down at the screen. 

“Family tree,” Tommy comments, moving the screen around to see the connections. It takes him a moment, but then suddenly he’s pulling the phone closer to his face, moving things around. “Where’s Maddie and Chim?” 

Evan lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, pressing the back of a hand to his nose as he sniffles. Tommy just keeps staring at the phone. 

“This has to be wrong,” Tommy comments. He sets the phone down and looks back up at Evan, cupping his face. 

“It’s not,” Evan rasps, blinking more tears down. “I got the first set of results weeks ago. Told them the same thing. They had me send a fresh sample and retest.” 

Tommy deadpans at him, eyes widened. “Evan.” 

“They’re not my family, Tommy.” His voice is so small and broken that it breaks Tommy, and he can’t stop the tears in his own eyes. “I never fit in because I didn’t belong to them. I’ve never belonged to them.” 

Tommy slides his hands off Evan’s face then and stands, pulling the blonde up with him as he does and into a tight hug. Evan burrows his face into Tommy’s neck, crying softly into the fabric of his maroon henley.

“I’m so sorry, Evan,” he murmurs to him, hand to the back of his head and lips to his temple. For all the jokes everyone has made in recent weeks after Chimney had gifted his friends the test, nobody, not even Tommy, could’ve forseen this outcome. 

They stand in that position for a while, letting Evan process. When it seems like he’s calmed enough, Tommy pulls him over to the table and they sit down next to each other. Tommy pulls Evan’s chair right up next to his, stretching his arm across the back of it and resting his free hand in the blonde’s on the table. 

“There’s nothing that says you have to do anything with any of this information,” Tommy tells him. “Maddie is still your sister. Your family is still your family.” 

Evan sniffles, leans over and rests his head on Tommy’s shoulder. 

“I know them,” he murmurs a moment later, his voice cracking. “The-…my biological family. I know them.” 

“You do,” Tommy asks. He tries not to sound overly curious in case Evan doesn’t want to give more information. 

Evan nods, lifting his head back up. “You remember my friends who came through a few weeks ago to visit?We went to dinner with them?” 

Tommy’s brow furrows as he tries to recall what Evan is specifically referring to. When it clicks, he looks back over at him. 

“TK and Carlos?” 

Evan nods. “H-his parents-… o-or I guess….” He pauses, shakes his head. “Owen and Gwyn had a kid their first year of college. Me, apparently.” 

Tommy frowns at him. 

“They placed the baby for adoption,” Evan continues. “With the option for the baby- me… to seek them out if I decided to once I was an adult.” He pauses for a moment, scowling at his table. “I don’t know h-how, but m-my parents...they tried to have a savior sibling, for Daniel. And it didn’t work. But they knew people through the hospital, a-and when I was born…” His voice trails off, his expression shifting to one of disgust. He looks up at Tommy. “I was technically a match to Daniel. But the graft didn’t take.” 

Tommy narrows his eyes at him, the weight of what Evan’s telling him sinking in. “They adopted you so they could have your bone marrow?” 

Evan lets out disgusted laugh, shaking his head. 

“And then when I couldn’t save the son they actually wanted, they acted like I wasn’t their problem,” he mutters. “And they never told me. “ 

Tommy huffs. He lifts his arm from behind Evan and pulls him in, presses his lips to the blonde’s birthmark. 

“I know it’s not a consolation, but you can still know them,” he states softly. “You already have TK in your life.” 

Evan shakes head, pulling away and looking at Tommy again, more tears in his eyes. 

“Gwyn is dead,” he tells him. “She’s been gone for two years now.” 

Tommy’s head tilts at the information, sorrow and compassion crossing his face. TK also had mentioned when they met that his father was a cancer survivor, and the realization of both of those factors is almost gut-wrenching. 

“I don’t have the right answers for this,” he admits softly. “But I can be here with you through it, whatever you want to do.” 

Evan nods. He leans back over, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy presses his face into Evan’s hair, leaving quick, gentle kisses there as his fingers massage gently on his scalp. 

“You’re the only person who’s ever loved me just as I am,” Evan murmurs, snuffling back a small whimper. “The only one who’s ever decided I was enough this way.” 

Tommy gulps down past the knot in his throat as he fists a handful of Evan’s hair, holding him close a beat longer. 

“Never gonna stop,” he rasps after a moment. “This version of you is enough, no matter what anyone else thinks.” 

[stylesloveclub]

Pleasing (stressed blurb)

In which y/n is really stressed with school, and Harry just wants to take care of her. 

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

Y/n has a lot of work to do today.

She still hasn’t finished her reading for her sociology class, nor has she finished writing that lab report that’s due next week. There’s a physics midterm coming up soon that she hasn’t studied for yet at all, and she reminds herself to finish that practice test her prof posted during their lecture today.

If she’s lucky, she’ll have some time to work on her lab report tonight, and then she can do the sociology reading before she falls asleep… or maybe she should do the sociology reading first, just in case they have a quiz on it in lecture tomorrow. Oh gosh, and she can’t forget that she has a shift at the restaurant tomorrow night too…

“Baby?” She snaps out of her thoughts. Harry stands at the food of the bed, his condom wrapped cock bobbing up and down in the air. She suddenly remembers that she’s naked, in his bed, waiting for him to grab a condom so that they could fuck. “Y’with me?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” She’s been fading in and out on him all night, so stressed and caught up in her school work that she could barely focus on the time they were spending with each other. He’d just spent 30 minutes eating her out to no avail, sucking and licking her clit with the kind of fervor that would usually have her writhing on the bed and cumming in less than 10 minutes. 

But tonight… she’s just distracted. So when his jaw was too sore to keep going and she still hadn’t cum, he got up to get a condom on so that maybe he could fuck an orgasm out of her.

He shakes his head, climbing into the bed next to her. “Don’t wanna do this if you’re not in the mood,” he whispers, kissing her cheek softly. 

“No, I do…” she whimpers, looking up at him with big eyes. “Was just thinking about school, m’sorry.” 

“You’ve been working so hard baby, you need to relax.” His nose nudges her cheek softly, his soft breathing tickling her skin. “Need to stop worrying or else you’ll burn yourself out.” 

“I know, you’re right,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m already so tired and I’m not even halfway through the semester.” 

“That’s why you need a break,” he murmurs. “Can’t do all this studying if you’re running on four hours of sleep…”

She pouts up at him as his large hands skim over her stomach. “But I haven’t finished–”

“Hey,” he shushes her. “You haven’t got any exams tomorrow, right? No huge assignment due?” She shakes her head no. “Then stop worrying. You’ve got all weekend to catch up on your homework, just relax with me right now.” 

Finally, he feels her relax into the bed, her tense shoulders falling and her eyes delicately fluttering shut. “Okay,” she whispers, “okay, yeah. I can finish it tomorrow.” 

“Good girl,” he hums, lips skimming her throat. His warm palms raise goosebumps on her skin as he brushes over her hips, rearranging himself so that he’s on top of her. “Gonna let daddy take care of you now?”

She nods as he presses soft, wet kisses down her shoulders. 

“Gonna relax and let me make you feel good?” he murmurs with his soft drawl, kissing down her tummy and over her hips. 

She shuffles around in his expensive sheets, letting herself sink into his luxury memory foam mattress. “Please.”

His finger teases at her slit, testing if she’s ready for him. Her entire body shivers at the contact, hips twitching when his cool finger slips into her warm, wet center. She clenches down around him, and lets herself forget about all her assignments and exams. All she needs to focus on now is Harry… let him take care of her the way she’s been craving. 

It’s not easy, being a college girl. She’s been running herself thin for the past few weeks, barely giving herself a break. Her days are spent cooped up in the library, studying and doing stupid physics problems, and her nights are spent at the restaurant, trying to make enough money to pay for her rent. Whenever she can spare time, she goes home with Harry so that they could have their romantic, quality time… but it’s midterm season, and she hasn’t been able to see him that much recently. 

She always feels guilty, going over to his penthouse after one of her shifts, when she could be at home finishing up her lab reports. Or, whenever she sleeps over and spends an extra thirty minutes cuddling in bed with him, she can’t help the voice in her head that nags her to get up and get to school extra early so that she can do some physics homework in the library before her lecture. Her classes are hard this semester, and she’s really been struggling to keep herself afloat, especially with all the time she has to spend working in order to pay her bills. 

So, she’s been isolating herself from him. Telling him that she can’t go over that night because she needs to study (he always insists that she let him drive her home, though), and refusing when he offers to come over and cook for her. She’s a big girl, she needs to be able to take care of herself! She refuses to let herself depend on a MAN. 

But… it’s a lot. At the end of the day, she’s just a girl. She’s tired and burnt out and sometimes… all she wants is to let go and be taken care of. She misses being a little girl with no worries, eating her mom’s homemade meals and reading all the books in the Magic Treehouse series. She misses the time when she didn’t have to worry about paying her water bills, or calculating the force of a stupid spring.

She’s spent so much time trying to handle all of her stress by herself, but now… now, she has Harry.

It feels really nice when he dotes on her, she has to admit. When he texts her throughout the day, asking for updates about her schoolwork, or reminding her to eat before she comes into work. It makes her feel cared for, like she’s not alone.

And she craves physical touch so badly. It’s like she needs it to survive. Depriving herself of Harry’s touch, of his kisses and cuddles and even the simple act of holding his hand – it’s been making her feel off. That (mixed with how daylight savings makes her get so depressed during the winter months)... it’s been sending her on a downward spiral. 

She’s hanging on by a thread… so maybe letting go, and letting Harry take care of her would do her some good. 

He sucks on her neck, warm tongue poking out to lick a mark on her throat. It feels nice, a fuzzy feeling bubbling in her chest as he pulls her skin between his teeth, then presses a gentle kiss to the bruised mark. Her heart flutters as he takes care of her, each of her worries floating away with each kiss he presses down her neck.

She loves the way his hands feel on her, so big and manly, yet touching her so gently… it makes her feel small and fragile, like a delicate glass doll that he fawns over and protects. His strong biceps bulge next to her head as he braces himself above her, the broad expanse of his shoulders hovering over her and shielding her from the troubles of the world. She traces her hand over his chest in a trance, feeling the hardness of his chest, the ridges of his prominent six pack.

He is… so hot, it’s actually unbearable. Her head spins a little bit at how strong and large the man above her is, and a gooey feeling bubbles in her tummy when she remembers that he’s all hers.

“My poor baby,” he murmurs softly into her ear, “you’re too pretty to be this stressed.” She tilts her head towards him, a silent plea for a kiss. His lips skim her cheek, puckering in slow, sultry pecks.  “Deserve to relax, be treated like a princess,” he continues to whisper, a slew of sweet words and praises filtering through the small space between them. 

His words get to her head, helping her detach from reality just a bit more. He’s right, she does deserve a break! She does deserve to let her hot and rich boyfriend take care of her! Fuck physics!

He kisses her cheek one more time and lines his cock up with her center, nudging himself in slowly. A happy sigh leaves her lips as he slides into her, stretching her so nicely and filling the empty pit that had been forming in her tummy. This is what she needed. Not an extra hour in the library, or some useless review session. She needed Harry… needed him to clear her mind, kiss her cheeks, and stuff her full of his cock. 

“How is it, puppy?” he coos, looking down at her fondly. “Feels nice?”

“So nice,” she sighs. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers toying with the tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. She looks up at him with her soft eyes, half-lidded and filled with a dreamy haze. He gazes down at her softly, green eyes glimmering prettily with an adoring glint as he sees how soft and gooey she’s turning now that she’s filled with him.

Her body has gone completely pliant, her once tense shoulders now loosened and her furrowed brow relaxed. Her limbs wrap around him like a koala bear clinging onto a bamboo tree, hugging him close as he rocks into her softly. And her cheeks have this warm glow to them, matching the glowing sunshine aura that he always sees around her. He can tell that there’s not one stressed out thought floating around in her brain anymore, and that she’s falling into her soft, dreamy state. 

A sweet moan leaves her lips. “Daddy,” she whimpers, pressing her fingers into the broad of his shoulders. She just wants to be close to him, feeling him all over. 

“I’ve got you baby, don’t worry.” His thrusts are steady and deep, pumping into her softly at a gentle pace that won’t overwhelm her, but still reaches deep enough to stimulate her. “Needed this, didn’t you? Needed daddy’s cock to help you feel better?” His palm cups her jaw, thumb rubbing over the apple of her cheek. She nods like a puppy, a small pout on her lips. 

Sweet sighs fill the space between them, quiet whimpers falling from her lips that she tries to contain. Her teeth nibble on her bottom lip, chewing on it so it’s red and swollen and slick with her spit. Harry can’t help himself from leaning down and sucking it into his mouth, kissing her sweetly. She keens upwards, loving it when he kisses her. His soft stubble scratches against her lips so nicely, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip and into her mouth. Warm lips slick over each other continuously, a gentle pattern of tangling and untangling as he fucks her slowly. His teeth capture her bottom lip in a delicate teasing bite, one to just make her tilt her head upwards and closer to him. 

His lips make her lightheaded, kissing her until she’s breathless and whimpering into his mouth. Even though she’s running out of breath, though, she whines when he pulls away, pouting up at him with her puppy eyes. “Kiss,” she whimpers, her voice high pitched and watery. 

“Need to catch your breath, puppy,” he warns, but she whines again.

“Please daddy,” her voice cracks around the plea, “kiss me.” 

He gives in, of course. His sweet girl, more precious to him than anything in the world, begging for a kiss – it breaks his heart to see her eyes so sad. So he kisses her lips again, gently, pulling away every few seconds so that she doesn’t go breathless again. And once she’s calmed down, no longer fussy about not having his lips against hers, he moves to kissing all over her face. Down her jawline and over her cheeks, soft kisses that tickle her skin and make her smile sweetly. 

It had been hard, seeing her wearing herself so thin. He could see it – saw the bags under her eyes from all the late nights she had, and how her normal glowing aura had gone dull from not taking care of herself. He did his best to look out for her, always offering to cook something for her, texting her and checking in on her, and giving her all the support he could… but it was hard when she tried so hard to be independent. He admired her for it, of course! She was a strong, independent young woman. So smart and mature, always working so hard. 

But… he cares for her so much. It means the world to him when she lets him care for her, baby her a little bit. He wants to wake her up to breakfast in bed, take her shopping and buy all the expensive things that she’s always fawning over on pinterest. Wants to cuddle her to sleep, play with her hair the way that he knows she loves, trace over her back in soft circles until she’s dozing off on his chest. 

Those moments when she just relaxes and lets him take care of her… that’s when he feels he can fully prove to her how much she means to him. 

Pumping himself into her, he feels himself getting closer and closer to his end. He wants her to finish first though (he’d rather die than not make her cum), so he brings a hand down and starts rubbing her clit gently. 

The more time that they’ve been together, the better he’s learned her body. So it doesn’t surprise him when she flutters around his cock as soon as his fingers meet her pretty clit. The shock of his cool fingers sends electricity up her spine, and she arches her back. Her soft tummy brushes against his hard abdomen, and she involuntarily clenches around him.

“That’s it baby,” he praises, “y’getting close?”

She nods eagerly, breathing picking up and her heart beating fast in her chest. She tries to keep her eyes open so that she can look at Harry, stare into his pretty eyes as he fucks her so nicely, but the feeling of her incoming orgasm is so overwhelming. Her lashes flutter shut and her eyes roll into the back of her head. “Daddy,” she babbles, “feels so good daddy.” 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, grunting into her ear softly as he keeps his composure together. “Gonna cum?” “Yes, please,” she whines, “wanna cum.”

“Go on then, cum for me baby.” His fingers work her clit faster, in tight little circles that he knows will make her cum, and he buries his face in her neck, lips skimming a special spot right below her ear where she’s super sensitive. When her orgasm hits and her pussy starts gripping his cock even harder, he bites down, choking down his own moans and focusing on thrusting deep inside of her, his cockhead pressing against her g-spot every time he presses his hips down. 

“O-Oh,” she cries, hips jutting as she lets go. Her cheeks go warm and a ringing starts in her ears, that familiar feeling exploding in her core and spreading into her bloodstream. Her fingers go numb and her chest tingles, and she thanks god that she has Harry to make her cum. The orgasms she used to have with her fingers are so bleak and sad compared to how Harry makes her feel. 

With an arched back she cries out sweet moans of “daddy,” Harry still thrusting into her so that she gets the most of her orgasm. Only when she finally goes limp, arms falling to her sides as if they’re made of jello, does he start to slow down. Her hands shake at her sides with the remnants of her orgasm, legs twitching every once in a while from how hard she came. He stops fully inside of her, despite how hard he and desperate he is for release, and he brushes his hands over her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes and gently petting her cheekbones. 

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, “so pretty when you cum for daddy.” She looks up at him with soft eyes, dazed in a post-orgasmic haze. Her brain feels gooey and all she can think about is how much she loves Harry. “Prettiest girl in the world, did y’know that?” 

His words float around on heart shaped clouds in her head, filled with nothing but rainbows and fluffy thoughts. She leans into his touch, and when his thumb traces over her bottom lip, she eagerly opens it and sucks his thumb into her mouth. It nearly catches him by surprise, how willingly she takes his finger into his mouth and starts sucking on it for comfort - but with how dreamy her eyes are, he supposes he should’ve expected her to be feeling especially soft and vulnerable. 

Her pussy is so warm and wet, encasing him perfectly, and he shivers at how achingly hard he is, sitting still inside of her. He thinks he should just pull out, go wank himself off in the bathroom and come back to comfort her… but then y/n looks up at him with the cutest look in her eyes. “Did you cum?” 

He smiles, “Not yet baby, but s’okay. Want to take care of you first.” He starts sliding himself out, hissing at how her pussy practically sucks him in, almost in protest of him leaving.

“Nooo, please,” she whines, “Want you to cum daddy.” 

“Y’so sensitive baby, don’t you wanna clean up instead?”

She shakes her head, furrow in her brow. “Inside please.” 

His eyes roll into the back of his head, and he takes a sharp breath, “y’want me to cum inside you, puppy?” She nods her head. 

With a deep breath, he starts thrusting himself back into her plushy heat, surrounded by her slickness. This time he doesn’t use as much self control, letting himself revel in how amazing she feels wrapped around his cock. He swears she was made for him – her perfect body, soft and beautiful. Pretty tits that he loves to suck on, her cute tummy and soft hands. Her lips, heart shaped and candy flavored, and her eyes, filled with stars that he wants to gaze at forever. It doesn’t take long at all, before he’s pressing his hips firmly against hers in one final thrust and cums. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, kissing her cheek repeatedly as he spurts into the condom. His arms shake as he holds himself up, and his breathing falters in his chest. When he feels her soft fingers gently skim his back, he looks up at her. She smiles down at him with that pretty smile of hers, and he feels his heart explode. 

“Thank you baby,” he whispers into the delicate bubble of intimacy surrounding them, “you were so good for me, so proud.” 

He pulls himself out, and though she pouts sadly, she lies there and waits patiently for him to run and discard the condom. She expects him to run right back, maybe with a towel in hand to clean her up, but then she hears him start filling up the tub. She pushes herself up on her elbows, and contemplates getting out of bed to see what he’s up to, but he comes running out before she can move a muscle.

His hair sticks messily in all sorts of directions, so he pushes it out of his face and ties it back with a tiny little clip that she recognizes as one of her own. Standing at the edge of the bed, she thinks he looks adorable, with his flushed face and floppy curls. “Want a bath?” he asks. She nods with a glowing heart – it’s like he read her mind! She loves baths after sex! 

He picks her up bridal style and carries her into the bathroom, kissing her cheek and making her giggle in his arms on the way there. When he sits her gently into the tub, she can tell that he’s saturated the water with her favorite bath oil, a relaxing persian rose scent that she had once offhandedly mentioned to him (she doesn’t have a bathtub in her shitty college apartment, so Harry went out of his way to get all her favorite bath products to have in his penthouse so that she could take a nice bath whenever she wanted). 

He grabs another hair clip from her little stash that she keeps in his top right drawer, and twists her hair up for her so that it doesn’t get wet and bother her while they’re soaking together. And, before he finally hops in behind her, he runs to the living room to grab her hydroflask from her backpack, so that she can rehydrate and won’t get lightheaded in the steamy bathroom. 

Stepping into the bath with his long and lanky limbs is always awkward, and he would never take one for his own enjoyment. But ever since y/n came into his life, he’s gained a newfound appreciation for bath time. It’s a soft and serene place, quiet and peaceful with no need for conversation. They have some of their most intimate and vulnerable moments here in this very tub. Sitting bare with each other, without any wild passion or desperate need to ravage the other. Just… peaceful love.

Whenever he’s in his bathroom now, he’s reminded of her. The rose scented bath products that crowd the edges of his tub, the hair clips that clutter his once barren drawer, the pink handled toothbrush that sits next to his… they’re all reminders of her. 

Y/n leans back on his chest, sinking herself into the water and closing her eyes, while Harry’s hands lay on her stomach in an almost protective manner. Her breathing is steady, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Harry takes this time to admire his pretty girlfriend, her heart shaped lips and cherub cheeks. Her after sex glow makes her look like even more of an angel, he thinks, especially with how soft and relaxed she is in this moment. He rubs his thumb in small little circles on her stomach, and she twitches gently at his touch, eyelids fluttering and her abdomen jumping. 

“Stop,” she whines softly. “It tickles.”

A soft grin dimples his cheek, and he stills his thumb. “Sorry, baby,” he apologizes gently. Another sweet kiss to her cheek makes her smile.

She opens her eyes and looks around the bathroom momentarily. Harry, so attentive to all her needs, knows exactly what she’s searching for. He grabs her water bottle and flips the straw up, holding it up to her lips. She takes a few sips, the water cooling her down and clearing her head from how lightheaded the steamy bathroom was making her. “Thanks,” she murmurs, laying back down on his chest.

He kisses the back of her head, probably the hundredth kiss he’s given her that night.

When she’s done soaking, Harry’s quick to hop out and wrap a towel around his waist, before grabbing the larger, fluffier towel and holding it out for her. She stands up and lets the water drip off for a sec, before stepping out and letting Harry wrap it around her shoulders. While she dries herself off, he picks out one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants for her to wear. They swallow her whole, the t-shirt big on her shoulders and the sweatpants pooling around her ankles. 

With a pair of sweatpants on himself, he coaxes her into bed with him, letting her snuggle into his side with her cheek nestled on his bare chest. His hands rest on her back and hold her close, and she falls asleep within minutes. He stays awake a little bit longer, though, planning what he’s gonna cook for her for breakfast tomorrow. 

˙· .° ｡  ˚ ｡  ° . · ˚ ˙ · . ° ｡ ˚ ｡  ° . · ˙ · .° ｡ ˚ ｡ °.  · ˙ ‧̍̊  

HI BESTIESSS HOPE U ENJOYED THIS BLURB :) NEXT PLEASING BLURB IS ALREADY UP ON PATREON!!! 

HERES A SNEAKY 

DONT FORGET TO RB AND LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK :-) 

[noopienoopiernoopiest]

Leo Knut - #1 - A Terrible Idea

Day One: @noots-fic-fests - Fic-O-Ween. Thanks as always to @lumosinlove

Rated: G

CW: Food

Warning: Vaincre Spoilers

Leo liked to think that he was a good partner.

He was always there to lend a hand when Finn or Logan needed it. He was always available for kind word or a big hug. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his two.

And this was simple.

Should have been simple.

Their families had decided on various different plans for American Thanksgiving, and the three of them had decided that more than anything they wanted to spend it together. The ink was barely dry on Logan’s contract with the Rangers, and they knew now that for the next four years, this was going to be one of the few times during the season that none of them would have a game and get to see one another. As luck would have it, Logan had played an early home game Wednesday against the Penguins and had driven down to Gryffindor early. By the time Finn and Leo were done with their game against Montreal, he was there.

Leo wanted everything to be perfect. And perfect for Thanksgiving meant a dinner. A good one. The best one.

He’d done Thanksgiving dinner more times than he could count, but he’d always had his mama and her sisters as back up. Wyatt had surprised Eloise with a trip to Bali, so she was half a world away and without a phone. This was the first time he was attempting it all on his own.

Still, it shouldn’t be too complicated. It was just a lot of simple dishes all together at once. How difficult could it really be?

“Are you sure you want to do all this, Soleil?” Logan had asked, taking in all of the various groceries and prep that had taken over their kitchen by the time he got there.

“I already tried to talk him out of it,” Finn said, putting his chin on top of Logan’s head. “He said—”

“It’s a tradition. Besides, I want to do it for you,” Leo said, ignoring Finn.

“Exactly.”

“Is there anything we can—” Logan started again.

“Our instructions are to go to the living room and stay out of his hair,” Finn replied dutifully, nodding.

Logan’s eyebrows pulled together. “But I want to see you, Leo.”

Leo smiled. “You’ll see me plenty afterward. I promise.”

“But it’s, like, ten in the morning. Are you really going to start cooking now?”

Finn snorted. “Lo, he started like three days ago.”

Leo came up to both of them, kissing Finn’s cheek and then Logan’s forehead. “Trust me, it’ll all be worth it.”

That had been six hours ago.

Now, it looked as if a battle had been waged in the kitchen. Leo was usually pretty militant about organization while he was cooking, but that had been before his gravy had broken for the third time and he’d managed to scorch the rice and beans and had to start them over.

He was frantically trying to keep the cheese sauce from splitting and trying to figure out exactly how he was going to fit in three pans of various vegetables into the oven in the last thirty minutes of the turkey cooking.

“Baby, do you need—”

“I’m fine, Fish.”

“…You don’t seem—”

“Fine, Finn.”

“Are you s—”

“Finnegan.”

And then a few minutes later. Leo had his back to the doorway, but he could feel someone lingering there. It had to be Logan. Finn would have already started talking.

“Tremz, not now. I’ll be done soon.”

He couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand he was doing this for them. It had been effort. Lots and lots of effort over days of work. Baking pies and preparing bread, stewing turkey giblets and necks for stock that underpinned the gravy and the stuffing. Planning the menu, the grocery lists, the shopping. Weaving all of that in between practice and games and travel and everything else. It was almost done if they could give him an hour it’d be finished and he could relax.

He didn’t even turn around. He heard a sigh and the shuffling of feet and that was it.

Leo tried to distract himself from the lead weight in his stomach with mashing potatoes and pulling the stuffing from the oven, but it was there anyway.

And then, finally, it was done. The table was set.

Finn and Logan were both silent when they sat down.

“Looks great,” Finn said quietly.

“Ouais, Soleil.”

They made their plates, and Leo was finally ready to sit back and enjoy the fruits of all that labor.

And then tragedy struck.

Well, tragedy had started three days earlier when he’d decided to salt brine the turkey. Salt and baking powder. Salt and single action baking powder.

Finn reached for his napkin, discreetly trying to make a gagging noise without being rude.

It wasn’t the kind of mistake he made. But he did. The turkey looked perfect.

Logan winced, but kept chewing, swallowing determinedly.

As soon as he put it in his mouth, he could tell it wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t have been farther from perfect.  

Single action baking powder. Not double. Double would make it…

Taste like metal. Like baking soda.

Suddenly, Leo was aware of the wreck in the kitchen behind him, the sweat and stains on his T-shirt, the reserved, cowed expressions on their faces.

If it hadn’t already tasted vile, it would have tasted like ash anyway.

He wasn’t aware of the tears before they started to fall.

“Excuse me,” Leo said before leaving the table.

He just made it to the bathroom before the crying really started. What was he doing? He’d spent all day on this, and for what? He turned on the sink and wetted his hands, pressing cool water to his cheeks. He studied his red eyes in the mirror. His hair was frizzy, and he looked tired.

There was a gentle knock at the door before it was pushed open and Logan was there, pulling him into his arms, and the tears started again.

“Shhh, Soleil. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. It didn’t matter that Leo was six inches taller than him, in an instant, Leo folded himself into his chest and let himself cry.

“I’m sorry. God. I’ve been the worst,” Leo snotted.

“Non. No. Leo, no. It’s alright. You were stressed. We know that. We know you wanted it to be good for us.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Leo said.

“It wasn’t. Shh. It wasn’t. You always try to make everything so good for us. Finn and I know that.”

“And you’re not here that long!? You’re leaving tomorrow and I spent all day snapping and distracted,” Leo continued to rant.

“Peanut, look at me,” Logan pulled back, using the sleeve of his too long sweatshirt to wipe at Leo’s face. Leo was sure he looked a mess.

Logan didn’t seem to care. He offered Leo a small smile.

“You’re okay. It’s okay. We love you, Leo. It’s so good that you want to do things for us, Peanut, but it’s all okay. I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, nodding his head like that was all there was to it.

Maybe it was.

“Okay, folks. Good news. There’s Thanksgiving pizza arriving in t-minus seven minutes,” Finn said coming in the doorway. “Everything else is delicious and who even likes turkey anyway? Worst poultry in my opinion,” Finn sniffed. 

Leo couldn’t do anything but pull him into their hug.

---

Afterward, after Finn and Logan tackled the kitchen and Leo was showered and snuggled into Finn’s oldest Harvard crewneck, Leo thought that it had been perfect anyway. Perfect as they’d laughed watching Finn try to combine cheese pizza and cranberry sauce, perfect as Logan balled up pieces of rolls and put them in the hood of Finn’s sweatshirt for him to find later.

Now they were all crammed on the couch. It was big enough for all of them, but each of them preferred to gather at one end and invade one another’s space. Leo’s head on Finn’s shoulder, breathing in Logan’s cologne as they watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

And Leo was so grateful for them.

“Thank you,” he said quietly into Logan’s hair.

Logan didn’t say anything, just reached up to kiss temple.

Leo figured it maybe wasn’t what he’d expected, but maybe that was exactly what made it better.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Mattias' Arrival (1)

Author’s Note: This is Mattias’ introduction into the Astartes’ Husbandry AU and is connected to Cedric’s current character arc. For other adventures click here and here. First. Previous. Next.  Thank you very much @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow her oc Petras

Tagged:@egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34 @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Warnings: Lying, manipulation, blood, violence, Petras being Petras

Summary: Mattias goes from chatting with one of his brothers to finding himself on M3 Terra. Luckily for him, he’s immediately found by a group of older Black Templars and made a member of their Crusade. 

“So… What do you think it’s going to be like when we are deployed with our firstborn brothers?” Matias asked as he gently nudged one of his siblings.

Lestra hummed briefly before shrugging “I don’t know. Hopefully they are a bit less uptight on the rules than our Ultramarine minders have been.”

“... Can you really blame them for that, though? Their Primarch arose from near-death while Maccrage itself was being invaded by Chaos and Xenos alike. For the first time in ten-thousand years a primarch leads the Imperium. Their gene-sire walks amongst them once again.” Mattias points out, a tiny smile appearing on his face and he sighed wistfully “Imagine if you will, if Lord Dorn were found alive and willing to lead the Imperium once more…”

Lestra let out a small sound, muffled by the hand they’d pressed to their mouth, as their eyes widened “I… Oh. I get it now. Yes, you’ve made your points, and made them well. I’m… I’mgoing to need to take a moment to process that last thought you’ve given me…”

Mattias nodded, stretching and yawning a little. He found the strict training schedule that the Ultramarines kept them on to be both familiar and comforting. “It’s about to be lights out so we should head to our assigned bunk room to sleep.” He pointed out. They had four and a half hours of downtime that they were allowed to use to do any number of tasks or even… Learning a new skill outside of their assigned roles as Battle Brothers. It was amazing if mildly terrifying.

It was an unprecedented amount of free time, and Matias was eagerly learning to wield some of the other kinds of melee weapons that were available to practice sparring with in the Ultramarines’ armory. HIs favorite so far was a spear and short-sword combo that gave him all sorts of two-weapons techniques to learn and practice drills with.

“We still have over half an hour before our assigned sleep time and we’re in real-space.” Lestra pointed out “I want to look at the stars on the observatory deck. It’s so much better to be able to see them, rather than trying to memorize star charts that the Mechanicum gave us to memorize during basic training.” Lestra pointed out, green-blue eyes shining hopefully at his Brother as he asked.

Mattias heaved a sigh. Some of their more wary fellow Primaris brothers had quietly insisted that if Primaris marines were to wander around different parts of the ship and away from where larger groups of them were, to at least stay in pairs, for their own safety. While the Ultramarines had been accommodating and pleasant hopes, some of their more tightly wound fellow Primaris marines were convinced their kindness was some sort of test, and that the usual misery would fall upon them all at one point. Mattias was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen - if the Ultramarines were going to be cruel to them, why pretend to be nice at all? But he dutifully stuck to the request. “Alright. We’ll go to the observatory deck… Again.”

Lestras sulked a little “Yes, again! The star charts that we were given to memorize have so far not been entirely accurate! Some of them were wildly inaccurate. I suspect that the reason why the star charts are incorrect is because of the time it takes to survey a given star system and get it sent back to Mars means that the drift and motion of the planets and star or stars in the system have already shifted out of alignment… Or because one or more of the planets have been destroyed for one reason or another. But I find it really fascinating to compare the information we were given to what is actually tr-”

Mattias held up a hand, pausing his sibling’s rant, the amused grin on his face dropping a little “I’d be happy to accompany you to the observation deck. I know how strongly you feel about this… But you know to question the veracity of certain things is heresy! Please be careful with your words, dearest sibling of mine. I know that you are loyal and true, but our hosts don’t know you as I do and the walls have ears and eyes everywhere.” He kept his voice light and calm, trying to shake off the ominous worry gnawing at his hearts.

Lestras huffed and grumbled “It’s just… It’s possible to travel through time as well as in space in the Warp, both backwards and forwards relative to one’s starting point. There have been several documented cases of that happening on a massive time-scale. If we ever do end up in the past, the differences in how the star charts we memorized are, versus what we see before us is one way to have a relatively accurate guess as to when in time we are. That is all I meant by it.” Lestras grumbled, though they nodded slightly in understanding.

“Mmm-hmm. Do you want to tell me more about it?” Mattias asked, even though he had heard this particular rant from Lestras more than once. It was a favored topic of theirs, and he enjoyed the passion and joy in which they took in talking about stars and astral-navigation. Mattias found their enthusiasm to be very charming and hoped to find a similar passion one day.

The Ultramarines encouraged their attempts at varied learning, which was a breath of fresh air. Compared to the rigid training of the Mechanicum. Especially as they did not like questions beyond the acceptable ones, and punished incorrect questions and lines of thinking with heavy mecha-dendrites…. Unless one’s questions were unfortunate enough to get The Creator’s personal attention. While he seemed to enjoy indulging others’ curiosity when in a mood… Those brothers were often taken away and never seen again.

Mattias managed to pull himself free of his mauldin musings when he and Lestras arrived at the Observation deck. His sibling was too focused on the stunning spectacle of stars and planets to notice the lurking Ultramarine Captain standing near one of the armored windows. They rushed in, dragging Mattias along with them and pressed their hands against the toughened glass, looking at the planet that the ship was in geo-stationary orbit around.

Mattias couldn’t remember if he had been told the name of this world… But this was where the Primaris Lamenterts, along with their assigned ships and supplies were being dropped off at, to be led by Brother Sargeant Hagiel of the Lamenter’s third company. “Woah, hey, Lestras!” He called out as the other dragged him across the floor, glancing briefly at the Older Cousin who was watching them, a small smirk appearing on his face as he watched them. 

“What? It’s such a beautiful sight, and it’s not as if anyone comes into the observatory! It’s one of the least-used parts of the ship… Which I do understand, while we are in the warp, as it is quite dangerous to observe the warp, even through the gellar fields, madness and worse lies for the fool who does that… But in real space the view can be-” Lestras rambled, unaware of the Firstborn watching him. 

The Ultramarine’s shoulders were shaking a little, and he put his red and white crested helmet on, presumably to prevent the laughter that was clearly shaking his body to be heard by either of them. 

“Yes yes I know all that. But see, we-” Mattias started, before falling silent as the firsborn Marine raised an armored finger to his face plate, over where his lips would be, as a shushing motion before he slowly started to leave the observatory, moving soundlessly as he did so “-should be fine! Sorry, I thought I saw something. Now what do you think of the system?”

“The planets and other major bod-” Lestra started to say, before a blinding flash of white washed through the room, causing Mattias to cry out in alarm, throwing an arm over his face to try and preserve his vision, the other trying to grab blindly for his sibling.

~

Mattias could not say how long it took him to blink the blinding white out of his eyes. He knew for certain that he wasn’t suddenly teleported somewhere - teleporters had a different color and he both would have been forewarned about being teleported, or activated a teleporter beacon if he was high enough ranked to merit such an artifact… Mattias found himself at the bottom of some kind of ravine or canyon. The orange-brown stone walls stretched several hundred feet above, carved over time by the river that he could see. The water was a stunning shade of blue-green and shone in the bright light of the single star he could see in the sky. It was a cloudless day and he could feel a light breeze on his face. 

He fumbled with his helmet, which had been clipped to his belt, before placing it on his head, hearing it click into place before he activated the vox-caster in his helmet, broadcasting on all Black Templar frequencies first “Hello? Is anyone nearby? Do you know where we are? I don’t know how I got here, I was in orbit around a habitable planet moments ago. This is Brother Mattias of the Black Templars, can anyone read me?”

There was a deafening silence that lasted for what felt like an eternity before there was an answering voice on the vox “This is Brother Cazzard of the Sprechembriech Crusade of the Black Templars. From the confusion in your voice, I’m guessing that you’ve just landed on Ancient Terra. Send me your coordinates and I’ll come get you… What’s your rank? I am a veteran battle brother.”

“Uhm… It’s a little complicated?” Mattias answered as he dutifully sent his exact location to the Brother he was speaking to “I’m a Primaris marine, sir. I am… I was with the Indomitus Fleet, along with the rest of the Primaris Black Templars, heading to where the Black Templar fleet was being assembled to swear fealty to the Imperial Regent, who is leading the Indomitus Fleet.”

“Ah so you don’t technically have a specific rank within the Black Templars because you haven’t met your older brothers, yet. Given what I’ve heard about Primaris Marines, you’d be considered an Aspirant, until one of us takes you on as an Apprentice. Who’s the Imperial Regent, by the way?” Brother Cazzard asked “Got your location ping… I’m close to the top of the canyon you’ve found yourself in. There’s a footpath that you can use to get to the top of the canyon. This place is a pretty popular attraction to the local mortal populace. I’ll bring you to the sarge and he’ll explain the hows and whys of where we are, Mattias.”

Foot path?... Hmm… Oh! He could see small groups of mortals, some of them riding four-legged animals, walking down the path. They were across the river from where he was standing. “I see the path. I’lll need to cross the river to get there. Is the water safe to move through?”

“It is. Are you in armor?” Cazzard asked. “And is it void-ready?”

“Yes sir, on both counts.” Mattias answered promptly.

“Good lad. Just walk across. There shouldn’t be enough pressure in the water of the river to cause you issues, and the water doesn’t run fast enough to cause you problems when crossing. See you soon, little brother.” Cazzard rumbled. 

Mattias pouted a little as he did as he was ordered to, as he could hear the amusement in his voice.

~

Two months passed without Mattias noticing the time. The realization that he was on Holy Terra was a huge shock to the young Black Templar, who had never had the honor to step foot on those sacred grounds, despite having been trained ever since he could remember within the halls of the priesthood of Mars. He had briefly interacted with other wandering Crusades of older brothers, but mostly kept respectfully quiet and to the back of the group, observing how his older brothers interacted with one another.

There were groups of Firsborn Cousins who preferred to stay in one place and dig in, fortifying whatever town or region that they lived in. It was in one of these forts where he had briefly met a couple of his fellow Primaris Marines - an incredibly anxious Judiciar and a tightly wound Apothecary in training.

Both of them had been nice enough, but they had also been really weird and borderline hostile towards his older Brothers - who while strict, had taught him much. They also interacted with traitors on purpose and without the due venom and wariness that warranted, so Mattias avoided interacting with Ramiel and Cedric more than absolutely necessary. 

Captain Deitrich - a venerable Dreadnaught who serves as the leader of their warband - called out to Mattias. He had been speaking with the leader of the other Templar Warband who were in the area, a Chaplain Captain. “Mattias, come here, lad.”

“Yes sir.” Mattias answered obediently, standing up from where he had been sitting on the ground, making minor repairs to one of his boots, sliding his foot inside of it before walking over to where his Crusade Leader was standing. “Did you require something of me, sirs?”

The Chaplain Captain looked him over critically before humming “You are indeed a Primaris Marine. Of the handful or so I’ve heard of being on Ancient Terra, you’re the only one I know of who is part of a proper Crusade… Which I find strange, given that there are at least two, possibly as many as a half-dozen Primaris Black Templars within the nearby mortal city. Not that the Cousins who run the base will allow us to meet any of them.”

Mattias blinked in confusion “Are… Are you talking about Judiciar Ramiel, and Apothecary in training Cedric? I’ve met them once or twice… They were a little strange, but nothing that some time around Older Brothers wouldn’t fix.”

“Care to explain that comment, apprentice?” The Chaplain asked, his steely blue gaze sharpening a little as Mattias spoke. 

“Both of them were tightly wound and very anxious. I imagine being surrounded by strangers and forced to be polite to filthy traitors and corrupted heretics is awful.” Mattias answered, shuddering a little at the very thought. He couldn’t imagine staying in one place all the time. Being unable to wander and explore, on top of all of the nonsense that they had to deal with. He was perfectly happy to stay with his older brothers. 

“... I see. Walk with me, if you please, Matthias. I think I may know this Ramiel, from Before, and I’d like to discuss what you know of him in greater detail, privately.” Captain Petras murmured, his voice quiet and thoughtful as one of the other’s hands lightly pressed against the middle of Mattias’ back.

Toroz looked up from where he was leaning against a nearby tree and tending to his chainblade “If you wanna talk about the other primaris marines, why not in front of us? They’re our little brothers too, same as Mattie here.”

There was a flash of emotion that crossed the Chaplain’s face, but it faded as quickly as it came. HIs voice was clipped and curt “Ramiel may be my apprentice, from Before. He…” There was a tremor in his voice and he looked away from the two groups “He was killed, in M42. I was unable to avenge his death, before being brought here by the whim of whatever brings us here.”

“... Oh.” Toroz responded, a guilty look appearing on his face as he took a half step back, looking away from the chaplain captain. 

“I’ll tell you know about Judiciar Ramiel, but truth be told sir, I don’t know much about him.” Mattias answered earnestly, dutifully walking alongside the older Black Templar, mentally going over what he did know of the other Primaris marine.

~

“You know, you very nearly had me fooled for a moment or two.” Chaplain Petras murmured his voice light, and almost pleasant, if not for the strangely intense expression on his face. 

“What do you believe that I’ve fooled you about, sir? To my knowledge, I have done or said nothing that would present myself or anything that I know of in a false manner, sir.” Mattias asked, a genuinely confused expression appearing on his face as he looked at the older templar.

There was a very strange and disconcerting look on Petras’ face as he stalked closer to where he had ordered the younger Astartes to sit. “That you didn’t recognize me. That you didn’t remember our last encounter. It did take me a few moments to place which of the abominations whom I had culled in M42 you were. But then I remembered your timid, babbling Brother. The one who rambled uselessly about star charts.”

Mattias felt his hearts lodge themselves into the back of his throat, and his eyes widened in utter confusion and distress. Cedric and Ramiel had both warned him that not all Firstborn Brothers had reacted well to the Primaris Rollout, particularly within their own chapter. “Are… Are you referring to Brother Lestras, sir?” He asked, voice cracking in grief and anger at the thought of his sibling being killed for existing. There was nothing wrong with them!

Petras sneered down at him, raising a power-claw clad fist and attempting to strike him across the face “Did I tell you that you could speak, abomination? But yes. Lestras was that waste of resources name, I remember now. I found him here, you know. On Ancient terra. His wounds were grave, but survivable. I knew that those soft-hearted fools would be coming by soon so I could not kill him fully, but I ensured that his wounds would kill him.”

Mattias had been so startled by the reveal that, had he not been trained since he could begin to move combat maneuvers, he would have allowed the blow to hit him. As it had been long-engrained inside of him, Mattias rolled backwards off of the rock he’d been sitting on, evading the strike. “You… You killed them here? On Ancient Terra? Why?!” Mattias snarled, now up on his feet, fury boiling in his hearts. How dare this bastard do this?

“You Primaris Marines are wasteful abominations of flesh and gene-seed. You should not exist, and it is my duty to cull you miserable wastes of sentience wherever I find you. The God-Emperor himself has granted me this second chance to continue the culling. Why else would I have been brought here, after I was struck down by that fool, otherwise?” Petras revealed, the utterly terrifying look on his face intensifying “I did not say you were allowed to move, abomination. You will kneel before me and take your punishment for existing and for daring to endear yourself to proper marines. To true Black Templars.”

Oh like fuck he was! Mattias hissed “The fuck I will! You just admitted to murder and you’re calling me the abomination? That’s fucked. You want to hurt me? Just try it old man!” With that he charged the chaplain at full speed, pulling out his blade and trying to slash at the other with an overhead, two-handed strike.

It felt as if time had slowed down to a near stop, as Mattias tried to continue his charge.

Petras laughed, one hand on some kind of device, the other hand curling into a fist as the electricity crackled in the power-fist before slamming his fist into Mattias’s rib cage. “You poor, foolish idiot. Do you think that you’re the first abomination to try and lash out?”

Mattias let out a pained whimper as he felt his ribs crack and the electricity set fire to his nerves, still stuck in some strange sort of temporal slowing unable to dodge or attack back. “You… Bastard!” He slowly, agonizingly slowly, staggered towards his helmet, intending on calling out for help. 

In between one moment and the next Petras had somehow snatched up Mattias’ helmet and threw it out of his immediate grabbing distance and struck him with impossible speed, this time striking his back with another electrified punch from the depths of the warp itself “Oh no. I will not let you -”

Mattias heard something snap in his back and he felt the feelings in his legs go numb. His hearts were pounding away so loudly and so swiftly in his ears, his breath rapid and shallow, and yet… His body was so slow to respond. “Bastard!” he hisses, interrupting the other’s rant. There had to be something he could do? They weren’t too far from the rest of the group, so if he yelled loudly enough… They should hear him. Mattias took in as deep of a breath as he could manage and screamed “HELP! HELP ME PLEASE! HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”

The sound of his voice seemed to echo strangely off of the trees and bushes and Petras laughed, dark and amused “You poor, naive fool. Do you really think that I would have been so careless as to make sure that they could hear you? I am quite familiar with how far Primaris Marines’ voices can carry. How loud they can be, when they are desperate, sniveling and hoping for a rescue that will not c-”

The sound of several sets of armored footsteps echoed reassuringly back and hope blossomed in his chest, even as Mattias could not stop himself from falling to the ground. He used his hands to catch himself so that he didn’t smash face-first into the ground. “Please… Help!” Mattias called out, forcibly rolling himself so he was face up, yanking his limp legs to help in the movement with his hands. 

Pain continued to blossom around him as Petras continued to hiss and strike at him until Toroz came charging into the clearing, staggering to a halt at the sight before him. “What… What are you doing?” He demanded.

Petras looked over and stated “I am punishing this insolent whelp. He has been incredibly rude to me while out of sight and hearing of you and his other superiors he actually listens to so I am administering the punishment he deserves.”

“Then why was he screaming that you were trying to kill him? Stop hurting him! You know the consensus - if an underling from a different crusade needs punishing, you need to go to their highest ranking Brother, not administer the punishment yourself. Not without permission.” Toroz snapped back, rushing over to Mattias side, blocking Petras’ next strike by grabbing the other’s hand. 

“You have no right to -” Petras hissed, visibly incensed.

“I have every right to intervene. He’s already bleeding and I think you damaged his spine.” Toroz hisses, cutting off Petras mid-rant. “This isn’t the first time that your punishments have clearly gotten out of hand. I’m going to ask the captain to pull the council together to fucking censure your ass. I swear to-”

Petras yanked his hand out of Toroz’ grip and slapped him with the other, growling “You have no right to threaten me! I will have you punished for your cheek. Besides, Brother Sargeant Toroz has been dead for ten years. I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re certainly not him.”

Toroz growled and kicked Petras square in the chest, sending the other flying through the clearing and through a tree, his black and white armor turning to teal and silver. “Get fucked, you stupid bastard. To hell with this assignment, I’m not letting an aspirant get mauled to death by a lunatic in front of me. Come on, hatchling, let’s get you treated.”

“You… You’re teal?” Mattias whimpered, eyes going wide as the older marine walked over, bent down and scooped him up.

“Sure am. Don’t struggle, I am trying to help you. Alpharius’ tits, he’s done a number on you.” Toroz or whatever his name was swore, putting Mattias on his back and sprinting off “Keep talking to me. Yell at me about how much of a low-life I am. Come on, where’s that fiery temper your chapter is so well known for?”

Mattias whimpered again, the jolting pain from the other’s movements causing him increasingly difficulty to breathe “Oww… He said. He said I was an… ‘bomination… Why was he so mean to me? I didn’t do anything wrong? I didn’t not do stuff I was supposed to… Why does he got to be so mean?”

“I don’t know. There’s something deeply wrong with that fucker. But don’t worry I’ll not let him hurt you anymore, hatchling. You just focus on staying awake and keeping breathing.” Toroz ordered him.

[zmbienii]

༘⋆ lost

pairing daryl dixon x f!reader

summary in hopes of doing something kind, anxiety induced instead

w/c 1.3k

your dog was the only thing that was keeping you sane during this part of your life. from being by your side losing your family and closest friends. he kept you grounded, reminding you who you were still alive for. 

when you first showed up in front of the gates, they didn’t wanna let you in. 

scared that you’d set the dog crazy on them. they kept questioning you as if you were one of them walkers. after what felt like hours of interrogation, they finally let you in. 

taking your appearance in, they studied you as well as your dog. treating him as if he was a human too. 

but soon you found your place in the prison, so did goose. you took your trips and helped out as much as you could, you took runs out to get food, you kept watch, you helped kill. you two finally fit in somewhere. 

you and goose lay in your cell, covered up under your blanket. still deep into sleep the sun peered through the window, gracing your skin with a golden glow. 

the sun finally rose to the point where you were getting blinded. sputtering awake you stretched out. sighing to no one. reaching out to pet your comrade, you were left with an open hand. the space next to you left open. 

shooting up in the bed you scanned the room for him. to no avail, you got up to search around the prison block. looking in every nook and cranny around. anxiety filled your body. buzzing as tears slowly slid down your face. 

you passed carol’s cell multiple times and she must've noticed. dragging herself out of bed she came up to check on you.

”what wrong hun?” her gaze lingered on you.

”goose. dunno where he is.” you shot out harsher than you meant it to be. her hands fell onto your shoulders. “hey, we’ll find him.” you huffed in reply.

”have you asked maggie and glenn if they’ve seen him? they’re on watch”

you laughed. “like they’d notice anything. probably been fucking up there all night.” 

“worth a shot, i guess.” you mumbled as you shortly thanked her before walking off. making your way out of the prison and to the watch towers, nervousness filled your stance.

you yelled up to the two in the tower. rustling and clattering emitted from the tower.

maggie slid her way out of the tower and met your view. 

“ya’ll seen goose?” you shouted up to them. maggie turned to glance at glenn, maybe he had seen him. 

after a few seconds she turned back to your gaze. 

“nah, i’m sorry. maybe rick knows?” she said curtly. 

another huff fell from your lips as you stormed away. anxiety fell way as anger bubbled inside you.

everyone knew that goose meant a lot to you. for them to not pay attention to where he might’ve gone, pissed you off. 

you reached rick’s cell. clanging on the bars and gaining his attention. 

“ya seen goose?” 

his eyes turned to sorrow. “no, i haven’t.” 

“any idea where he might be?” you shot out. 

“i really don’t. i bet someone here knows though. i can help you look for her?” he offered. 

a scowl filled your face. “nah, i’ll keep lookin’ for HIM by myself.” 

majority of the day had passed as you questioned the group members. none of them having seen where your puppy may have gone. you sat out by the gate as the sun fell. night slowly taking over the day. small tears falling from your face as you throught about where goose may be.

he might be out there fending for himself? maybe a walker in the prison got him? maybe he was stuck in a cell somewhere, waiting for you to come and get him?

you thoughts were soon cut short as you heard rustling in the woods. a branch being thrown onto the ground and a short four-legged creature running to retrieve it. 

the animal stayed where the branch was thrown, waiting for someone to catch up.

now that you truly thought about everyone you talked to today, you realized. daryl was no where to be found. he was the last person you thought of to go look for, the last person you thought of in general. 

you watched the person emerge from the woods, crossbow thrown against their back. 

you watched closely as both of them came closer to the gates. anger fueled inside of you as you watched them enter through the gate. 

you stood up without thinking as they walked further into the yard. 

“hey!” you shouted, gaining both of their attention. your dog hearing your voice and running over to you as fast as he could. tackling you down to the ground. 

“ya never heard of telling someone when you take their fucking dog?” you shot to the man.

“not a big deal, girlie.” he chuckled. oh was he in for it now. you stood up harshly. gaining up on him quickly. 

“not a big fucking deal? you must think you’re so funny, huh?” 

“never said tha’.” he spoke as he kept walking. 

“oh fuck you.” you shot at him. a chuckle fell from his lips. “you’d like tha’ huh?” 

you were done with his shit at that point. turning back on your heel and back towards where you once were perched, goose trailing behind.

——

you had sat up in the watch tower for who knows how long. a tired goose laid at your feet. silently rubbing shapes into his spotted fur, you watched the stars. sleep overcoming the animal, soft snores falling from his snout. 

silent tears fell onto your skin as you thought about the past day. 

you thought you lost the closest being to you. the one who had been with you through it all. the one thing that could calm you down during your worst days. it pissed you off how daryl thought he could just take your dog right from your cell. 

even through your thoughts you could hear the sounds of boots coming up the stairs of the tower. placing your leg over it, you silently wished he would give up and walk away. 

he knocked on the top of the hatch, but to no avail. 

“c’mon jus’ let me in.”

”why? you wanna grab my dog again?” you scoffed.

“jus’ let me in.” he huffed. your thigh slid away from the hatch, pulling back to your body.

hands connecting onto your dog in front of you again.

the hatch opened as daryl emerged from it, climbing up into the space. a silence fell over the two of you. neither of you wanting to speak first. 

the silence edged on for quite a while. the only noise filling your ears were goose’s snores. 

“look, i didn’t think it was a big deal.” he finally spoke. 

“wasn’t a big deal.” you scoffed. “i woulda let you take ‘im if you’d asked.” 

“well my bad.” he rolled his pretty blue eyes.

you hummed, not knowing how else to reply. 

“though’ rick tol’ ya.” he spoke digging into his pocket. “i asked him. didn’t say shit.”

”why’d you ask rick to tell me but not tell me yourself.” 

“was tryin’ to get somethin’ for ya.” he spoke softly, barely being able to be heard. your eyes glanced over to his, examining him. 

“why would you get something for me?” you questioned. “carol gave me an idea.” he spoke as he fiddled with the object in his pocket. 

you raised your eyebrow at him. silently questioning him. 

“remember when we found you after we left the farm? you lost your necklace?” 

“what about it?” your expression softened as you glanced up at him. ”tha’s why i brought goose. we went ‘n found it for ya.” he stared at the floor as he pulled the object out of his pocket. 

the shiny silver chain glimmered in the moonlight, softly falling into your hands. a small smile filled your face as you examined the object.

”how’d you find it?” you gazed up at him. “goose did most of it, we were in the area and we were lookin’ around for it.” 

“oh, thanks.” you held it in your hands. “no problem.”

”need some company?” he offered, a lopsided smile itched your face. 

“sure.”

[swampstew]

Captain_CumShot - Chapter 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: You treated yourself to a tier upgrade😘

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

Admin: Thanks for upgrading your subscription to Tier III! The Captain will want to thank you personally ~ drop your next available hour slot and we’ll set it up.

You: 10 PM

Admin: Talk to you soon ~

10:00 PM

Captain: Hey doll. I’ve seen your likes and comments around here for a while and I’m chuffed that you finally upgraded. What changed?

You: Truthfully, I challenged myself to save up so I can really treat myself when I felt I needed it. Especially after the last year and four months at work.

Captain:…

Captain: You waited ONE YEAR and FOUR MONTHS before you felt like you needed a break?

Captain: I’m flattered you’ve chosen me as your reward but gat damn girl. You need to treat yourself more often.

Captain: What the hell do you do for a job??

You: I’m an accountant at a small but valued firm, so we’re kind of just always busy! Especially at tax time which is ALMOST over. So I spoiled myself a few days early.

Captain: Congratulations ~ Do you work in a stuffy office with a buncha dorks?

You: Well I wouldn’t say dorks and it’s not a closet! I work in an office building with maybe less than 50 other people. I have a corner office so yay for small wins!

Captain: Aye that’s the least they can do fer’ya!

Captain: Do they make you dress business professional like you’re gonna meet the president every day or is it a normal place that lets you dress like a human being?

You: Haha, nothing so refined. Business casual for the most part, Fridays we can wear jeans, and sometimes during the seasons they’ll do a morale boosting themed clothes week thing.

Captain: 🤔

Captain: Does anyone enjoy that?

You: Some do, some don’t. The bosses buy a big lunch spread though so it’s not all bad.

Captain: Tell me, are the morale boosting bits mandatory?

You: You’re not required to dress up. They don’t technically say you have to be at the luncheon but they do have someone sweep the desks to make sure no one is still working. I think they legitimately think they’re providing a “break” for us but like, a paid lunch hour would be a thousand times better.

Captain: Bet.

Captain: You ever skipped it all together? Just said fuck it and hid on the roof to scroll on your phone and eat lunch?

You: Sometimes my car! We have a secure parking garage and its air conditioned so it’s quiet and not boiling hot.

Captain: Hooray for small victories.

Captain: Have you ever gotten uncomfortably turned on enough that you’ve escaped to your car to get relief?

You: 😳

You: Maybe once or twice. I’m always afraid of getting caught.

Captain: I’d make sure we wouldn’t.

Captain: See I personally fucking hate it when instead of just paying people more, employers make their people do a whole dog and pony show. Leave people alone!

Captain: This is literally a crime.

Captain: If you’d let me, I’d come and save you from those stupid lunches.

You: 🤔

You: I wouldn’t hate that!

You: Not sure you could pull it off though, you would garner a lot of attention just from standing, you’re just that attractive 👉👈🥺

Captain: Relax, I’m nothing if not professional. Want to hear my grand scheme that I cooked up, just now?

You: Oh go right ahead!

Captain: I’d start by doing research into your company and get the lunch reservation details of these luncheons. I would then pose as an employee dropping off the food order/doing set up and while everyone is gathering, I would linger a little, totally incognito, and slip out to find your office if you haven’t already entered the room.

Captain: Should I continue? I’m really proud of this scheme actually.                           

You: Please, I wonder how you plan to get away scot-free and not get me fired!

Captain: You’d not only get fired – you’d get off, repeatedly and it would be a seasonal thing cause I’d never get caught. I think it would be a professional bonus because then you’ll be so satisfied at work, you might even get a promotion or pay raise or some shit😏

You: This I gotta hear

Captain: Where was I?

Captain: Just kidding

Captain: I would then smuggle you to the parking garage under the guise that you’re my ‘job equipment’ or whatever, and then, I’d take you to your car. Ideally, I can convince you to get in the van I rented as part of my infiltration disguise so I can actually sit and stand without breaking my neck. The windows are blacked out, I keep anchors and blocks on the wheels to keep it stable, and then I rock your fucking world.

Captain: Still with me?

You: I am

Captain: You’re probably thinking, ‘but if you’re as beastly as I think you are, won’t I be screaming my brains out?’

You: I was!

Captain: As a professional content creator – amongst other trades – I know a thing or two about sound proofing. There’s always a gag if you’re into that.

You: I could be persuaded…

Captain: I have a lot of things I’d like to persuade you to do in there.

Captain: Do you normally participate in the themed clothes or do you keep it professional?

You: I don’t usually, not really my thing.

Captain: I see.

Captain: Back to my scheme ~

Captain: After I’ve successfully fooled everyone and have you in my clutches, I’d take you to my van where you can have a lunch break actually worth attending.

Captain: I would first take off my disguise and reveal that it was me all along! After you get over your initial surprise, I’d ask you what you’re hungry for.

You: Oh I get options?

Captain: Hell yeah doll. Your choices can range anywhere from a quick snack to a mega meal.

You: Do the options change too?

Captain: I don’t believe in constraints. Unless they’re kink-related.

Captain: I think since you’re the kind of doll that doesn’t splurge too much on ‘erself, I’d start you off with a ‘left no crumbs.’

Captain: What that entails is me, sitting you all pretty like on a seat cushion, starting ngwith something soft and sweet. Kisses up the arm, on the neck, slow, building up anticipation. I’d tease you over your clothes, petting your kitten until I feel your wetness through the fabric.

Captain: Pepper your body with kisses and bites to keep you on edge. When I have you down to just your undergarments, I’d sit you in my lap. Spread your thighs open. Start rubbing your pussy until you’re leaking all over my hand. I’ll let you have a quick orgasm, a small and sweet one. But don’t think we’re done.

Captain: I might take my pants off to feel you a bit better. Push you down on my hard-on as I wrap an arm around your waist to keep you still. I’ll use my free hand to play with your pussy again. Rubbing you, flicking you, lightly smacking you, rubbing your clit, finger fucking you. Rub my big dick against your trembling body to make you even more sensitive.

Captain: Since you only have an hour, I’ll make sure you look presentable before you go back to the office. Where you can spend the rest of the day sitting in the mess I’m going to leave. How does that make you feel?

You: I’m…speechless, in a good way…Shit that’s really hot. It makes me feel devious, a bit dirty, like I really want to do it.

Captain: Damn and I haven’t even finished telling you what’s included in your lunch?

You: 🤐

You: Please forgive me

Captain: I could never stay mad at you doll.

Captain: As I was saying ~

Captain: I can’t let you leave your break without feeling fully satisfied.

Captain: Before you go, I’d spend some time with you against the van wall. If you’re into it, I can use rope to help keep you standing. I encourage it, you’re gonna need it.

You: I’m into it, I’m into it 🤤

Captain: Heh. Freak.

Captain: I’d keep you still and propped up, putting your blouse on, keeping my lipstick stains and bites hidden underneath. I’d pull your panties and bottoms over your ankles, slide your soaked underwear up your thighs…

Captain: And give you dessert.

You: What am I having??!

Captain: Me.

Captain: I’d pull your panties up your thighs but not put them on entirely. Leaving them maybe a few inches from your twitching pussy. Then I’d finally let you see my cock.

Captain: Do you want to touch it?

You: Yesss🥺please let me touch.

Captain: Don’t worry you’ll be feeling it.

Captain: I’ll prod my cock against your clit, slide it up and down your puffy lips, maybe push in a little bit.

Captain: After I get it nice and wet with you, I’d stand in front of you and fuck your body. I won’t go in in, I’ll slide in between your desperate lips, make you clench over my cock with your needy pussy, I’ll hit your delicious ass cheeks, pull back out and rub against your clit until you’re crying.

You: Oh my fucking god.

Captain: I’m not done.

Captain: While I do this, I’ll rub my thumb down on your clit, and I won’t stop until you’ve cum over my cock, frustrated yet relieved.

Captain: But don’t be disappointed just yet because the next part is my favorite part.

Captain: As you’re coming down from your orgasm, I’ll finish myself off. Jerking myself in front of you and finishing right on your cunt.

You: 🥵

Captain: Yeah.

Captain: I’d milk my length to cover you, watching it drip from your vulva and trembling lips down to your underwear and thighs. Whatever falls further down I’d wipe with my thumb and make you lick it off.

Captain: Then I’ll pull your panties up nice and high, make sure they sit on your hips just right, don’t want any of me to spill out. For good measure, I might even rub your underwear against you some just to smear it in you some more.

Captain: I love cum play.

Captain: I’ll pull up your bottoms, wipe your tears, and send you away with a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.

Captain: How does that sound doll?

You: I would fucking die!!! I want this so bad fuck why would you DO THAT TO ME?!?🥵🤤 FUCK! You’re so hot, all I want is to touch you and be touched by you😩

Captain: Are you touching yourself?

You: If I said yes?🥺

Captain: I’d say me too. Check out the photo gallery later, you’ll see the load I blew for ya😘

Captain: Glad to add you to my harem of Cabin Hoes. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m gonna grow fond of you.

Captain: G’night doll. Thanks for subscribing😘

<end chat>

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[ginoeh]

This is the second part of three for my entry for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang 2024! The awesome banners were done by @lalaithquetzallicaresi who is also on Deviant Art !

The story is available on AO3, where I will post chapters serialized!

To the Edge of Night

Explicit || Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless || Part 2 of 3 || 14k

Part 1

Part 2

*** *** ***

Chapter Three

The reconstruction of the New Inn was coming along swimmingly. The tap room was nearly all done which was great, really, because that meant Hob was perfectly in time for the day of the planned grand opening. He’d set it, nostalgic fool that he was, for the 7th of June. 

But on the other hand, there was this:

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to work behind the bar, Bobbie?”

Hob sighed and resisted rolling his eyes at Martin. The man understandably thought he was ‘Bobbie’s’ elder by several decades. But Hob could really do without his repeated attempts at motherhenning him into a healthier lifestyle. Which, according to Martin, included more friends and more social interaction.

Usually, Hob would agree. It was just… well, it was just that so far, his attempts at interaction had been met with mixed results. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want more friends apart from Emily and Oswin. The actual reality of that was turning out to be somewhat more difficult to achieve, though. 

It was hard to be entirely genuine when he knew the fears and nightmares of every person he came across. He simply didn’t know how to work with that, yet. Maybe in time he’d get used to it all. So far, all he’d managed to do was inadvertently alienate a lot of people; his inborn sociable nature didn’t fare well when coupled with this new kind of knowledge. 

Martin sighed as well but he wasn’t half as good as Hob when it came to hide annoyance and concern. 

“Kiddo, you need to get out more. I kept telling the same to your uncle. Ya need friends and people to talk to! Bartending is exactly what you want right now.”

It wasn’t but Hob had to concede the point. He did need to get used to people.

“I can do the late shifts, if you absolutely insist.” 

Hob made sure to sound as longsuffering as possible. Wouldn’t do to seem like he was giving in too easily, after all. Otherwise, next he turned around, Martin would try to ply him the sunday roast left-overs from his wife. It was very much enough that Emily kept trying to get him to eat.  

Hob was perfectly aware that he didn’t necessarily need to eat, to stay alive. That didn’t mean that he enjoyed starving but the thing was, he simply didn’t. He wasn’t hungry because he didn’t need the food. He was not starving. He knew intimately how that felt, after all. Looking back, Hob was pretty sure it had started at the same time when his lucid dreams began to outnumber his normal nights, at the same time that he started seeing the shape of people’s fear in their eyes.

He wasn’t sure he liked the conclusions that could be drawn from this. 

“The late shifts? That is a stupid idea if I ever heard one, Bobbie.”

Hob shrugged. He appreciated Martin, he really did, but he had to put his foot down somewhere. He wasn’t going to let the man dictate the schedule of his waking hours, after all, no matter if he’d usually find the caring nature endearing. 

“That’s all I can offer right now. You do know that I have my coursework to do, right? If you say it would be good for me to get out more, then the late shifts it is.”

Martin levelled him with a dark glower that Hob was sure not to find too amusing, and set his empty glass of coke onto the table between them. For a guy in his seventies he sure had a lot of life in him yet.

“Three nights a week, tops.”

“Are we really haggling over this now, Martin? I’m still your boss.”

Martin crossed his arms on the table and kept his large hand on the signed papers that declared him manager of the New Inn. 

“You want me in charge of the staff as well, Bobbie. And I take care of my staff, believe me. Three nights a week. Four during semester breaks.”

Hob smothered a laugh at the stubborn look his future manager shot him. Exactly that was why ‘Bobbie’ had insisted to employ Martin, his ‘uncle’s’ closest living friend. 

“Okay okay. You win.”  

Hob ginned and gamely shook Martin’s hand in agreement. There wasn’t really any reason to tell the other man that Hob hadn’t actually felt any real need for sleep in weeks - months maybe even - and therefore the late shifts wouldn’t impact him at all.    

*** *** ***

The rise on which the forest ends slopes down gently into the valley. There is fog hanging around bare tree tops and over the houses and a pale sun lurks behind a thin white cloud cover. Hob becomes aware of the dream, or maybe steps into it might be a better descriptor at this point, at the edge of  the forest, half lying between the tall stalks of damp, yellow winter grass. He appears to be wearing something like a cloak this time, its unadorned black fading away into wisps of smokey grey towards the frayed hem. Underneath, there might be just a normal jumper and trouser combo but Hob finds he’s entirely unable to concentrate his sleeping mind to look beyond the shadows of the ominous cloak.

It feels a bit like a game the dreamworld is playing with him and Hob is amused despite himself. He’s had the usual nightmares of being butt naked in the middle of the city so he’s a bit glad it’s not that. 

The Gargoyle that he has glimpsed the last time gamboles around the shingled roofs and over a crooked chimney, dips playfully behind a barn and clips one wing on the branches of a massive oak tree before it rights itself midair and continues its dizzying game of hide and seek. Hob makes his way down, the nightmare Otter - and he thinks he should maybe find a name for it - contently lingering on his shoulders. It’s an unexpectedly reassuring weight even if it offers no warmth like a mortal creature might. 

It’s when he draws closer to the two storeyed houses that a rather stately figure with carefully coiffed hair steps through one doorway. He’s in a three piece suit but bears an iron rake in one hand that gleams like polished steel knives. 

Hob slows down when he approaches an old bridge that leads on into the yard between both houses. The man stands on its other end, one arm at his hip and the other tightly wound around the rake that he holds in front of him like a weapon. 

“Who goes here.”

His voice is a nice baritone but it carries his mistrust as easily as his drawn brows do and Hob is, for once, thrown. This is the first time since entering this world of dreams that someone - or some-thing - isn’t naturally inclined to be friendly towards him. 

It’s also the first time since his very first awakening that an inhabitant of his dreams speaks to him in an audible voice. This might be the chance he’s been waiting for to gain a bit more information about this strange strange world he’s in. 

“I’m just… passing through,” he says and holds up both hands placatingly. In answer, the man grips the rake harder.

“To where.” It’s less a question and very much a demand. 

“Um…I don’t know? On, I suppose?” Hob gestures vaguely into the direction of the valley behind the two houses, where he now knows a large part of the landscape centres around something like a palace.

The man frowns, annoyed, and levels Hob with a look that speaks volumes as to the intellect he thinks Hob possesses.

“So you come here, to the gateway of the Nightmare marshes, and you don’t know where you’re going? Are you mocking me?”

This is turning out to be one very unique dreaming experience, Hob realises. It’s not an unpleasant realisation at all. Hob is living for new experiences after all, and while he certainly loves the land he has for some reason been chosen to traverse in his dreams so far, this is a welcome interruption. 

On his shoulders, the Otter lifts its head to lay a proprietary claw against Hob’s neck. The man startles at that and Hob looks a bit closer. There’s apprehension in his eyes, something that looks like anger but veers closely towards fear.

And quite suddenly, Hob has another epiphany. The strange mind-reading powers that he has gained while awake, the same thing that lets him feel his little nightmares intentions, work just as well on this different dream-creature. Because no matter how human he looks, Hob is pretty sure that the man before him is both less and more than simply a human man.

“Are you,” he starts and lifts one careful hand to cover the smile that threatens to break out on his face, “perhaps afraid of intruders?” Of old enemies, he wants to say, or rogue nightmares, because that is what he sees when he concentrates. But he’s not really looking to make the man more uncomfortable than he already is.

“I’m Hob,” he offers instead, when there is no answer, “And I think I’m on my way to… the palace.”

The man gears up to say something cutting, Hob can see the way his shoulders draw up and how his glower deepens when they are interrupted by a cheery yell.

“H-hey b-broth-ther! Is this a g-g-guest you’re holding u-uu-up there? Ca-can w-we inv-vite him in fo-fo-for t-tea?”

The man that turns around the corner of the leftmost house looks nearly exactly like the one barring Hob entrance - they are brothers, without a doubt, even if the way he eyes his much more personable sibling promises murder.

“Shut your jabbering gob, Abel. He’s a dreamer. He’s not supposed to be here. So no, we can not invite him for tea.”

The so-called Abel hurries closer, an amicable smile on his face for Hob and a fearful glance for his brother. In it, Hob sees flashes of blood and pain, shallow graves and wooden crosses. He winces. This is… not what he’d expected, really.

“B-b-but h-h-he’s a r-real my-my-my-mystery, r-r-right? Don-don-don’t y-you want to k-know it? Really?”

Despite his fear of violence and death by the hand of his brother, Abel rolls neatly past him and manages to make him lose his grip on the rake. He comes to stand in front of Hob, a hopeful smile on his face, and holds out a meaty hand.

“I-I’m Abel. And h-h-he’s C-cain. Welcome t-to- the H-house o-o-of Secrets! W-we have t-t-tea. An-and c-c-cookies.”   

The vision of blood and murder flashes across Hob’s new sense again and Hob knows, intrinsically, that these are ‘the’ Cain and ‘the’ Abel. It’s all a bit much to swallow and he’s sure that if this weren’t a dream with all the ingrained suspension of disbelief he’s desperately been clinging on to since his journey started, he'd be much more pole-axed by this revelation. Instead, Hob shakes the hand of the first murder victim.  

“And I have Earl Grey and digestives,” the biblical Cain, first murderer, interjects. He looks miffed but the threatening rake has been abandoned for now and he as well holds out his hand. “I welcome you to my house of Mystery. I’d be honoured to have you as my guest, dreamer. You can tell me all about how you came to be here.”

“B-but he was my guest f-f-first! A-and I can tell him nice s-s-secrets. Ma-maybe the o-o-one about th-th-the Thing in the b-b-b-basement!”

Hob does end up going with Cain first. He has the vague hope that it might avoid or at least postpone the clearly inevitable bloodshed that’s sure to be in Able’s future. There are a lot of crooked crosses and mounds of overturned earth that peek from the strip of land that borders the half-hidden backyard of the houses.

His nightmare, though, has no inclination of going with him. As soon as they reach the door, it nimbly hops off Hob’s shoulder. Cain casts it a long glance. 

“If you don’t wish to come, you can visit Gregory. My soft-hearted fool of a brother insists that he’s getting lonely. You wouldn't owe me either way.” 

The Otter bares its teeth in something that Hob thinks might be equal parts amusement and threat. Cain just scoffs and turns to step through the door. 

The nightmare glances at Hob and if there were words they’d be a flippant ‘so long’ before it summarily abandons Hob for the first time since he’d arrived on these shores.

“Oh very well then,” he says gamely, “no one forces you to have tea, after all.”

Cain’s house is dark and warm and narrow. Everything is wood panelled, from the carved ceiling squares to the soft grey planks of spruce that make up the walls, and down to the unnaturally long and gleaming floorboards.

There aren’t many right angles in the house. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t seem to be built sturdy, quite the contrary even. But the angles are all just slightly off and despite the bookshelves, knick knacks and homely fireplace, there is something eerie to the place. 

Cain is backlit by the glow of the fireplace where he takes a steaming pot of water from the hanger with a glowing poker. 

“Gregory is the Gargoyle, I’m guessing?”

“Gregory the gargoyle, yes. He lives here.”

Hob thinks this is a paltry amount of information to give about an actual Gargoyle but then again, this is the land of dreams and nightmares. So maybe having a mythical creature as pet isn’t all that strange, all things considered.

“How did you come to be here,” Cain asks abruptly after they sit over sturdy mugs of tea. 

“What do you mean, how?” Hob swallows around his digestives. They taste of nothing. Neither does the tea.

“You are a dreamer, a human one at that. You should not be able to traverse the Dreaming like you do.” 

The firelight reflects eerily in Cain’s thin glasses. In the background the iron poker heats up in the open fire. This, Hob realises, is still a nightmare, after all. 

“This is what the place is called, then? The Dreaming?” 

“Don’t you know? These lands are the sleeping marches, the nightmare lands, where all dreams and nightmares dwell.”

Queen Mab’s country after all, after a fashion Hob thinks with a mixture of amusement and apprehension.  No wonder his Otter had been so thrown by naming the offering he’d made. Hob’s wild guess had been close to the truth, after all. Though he’s reasonably sure that’s not all there is to it.

“Huh. I knew I was sleeping. Dreaming, as it were but - I didn’t know that there is a name attached to the place. Are you telling me that this isn’t just… in my mind, then?”

Cain stares at Hob and Hob can’t read his expression at all. 

“Are you asking me if you made all of this,” he gestures around and to himself, “up in your sleeping mind?”

Hob has the grace to look chagrined. He’d been lucid dreaming for months now. Years if he wants to count the many times he’d been dragged into the sea of dreams and nightmares by the nightmare he now has as a travelling companion. He has developed strange insights while awake and he has had more than just a suspicion that these dreams hold more truth to them than mere figments of his imagination.

“No. No, not really, I guess,” he finally mutters. “I s’ppose this is as real as anything I experience when I’m awake.”

Cain looks at least marginally mollified. 

“So you don’t know how or why you arrived here, I gather? That… is disappointing. Rarely do things like these happen without reason or will of our Lord.”

There are many things Hob wants to unpack here; so this isn’t the first time someone has gained access to the Dreaming in a way that resembles his; and there is a Lord - and not a queen - who holds the power of this place. He’d known that one already, considering that he’d been greeted once, so very long ago, by this Lord’s librarian.

“Who is this Lord,” he decides to ask, “and isn’t he… missing?”

Cain straightens and spears Hob with his glare.

“And how have you come by this information? Has your… nightmare blabbered? Talked about abandoning the realm?”

“Nothing of the sort,” though now Hob wonders; had many nightmares left the Dreaming? What then about those that he encountered? “When I first woke up - at that dock over the endless sea? -  there was this woman, Lucienne. She told me.”

Cain doesn’t look convinced at all. He stands with narrowed eyes and leaves Hob at the table in favour of stoking the fire with the red-hot poker. Hob debates telling him about the neglected air of the places he’d travelled, about the feeling of bruised and yearning emptiness he'd seen in every world he’d rushed by on his mad dive through the nightmare sea. He decides not to, in the end. It feels… personal, somehow. 

“Why would Lucienne travel all the way to the Dreaming Sea, just to greet a… dreamer. Now this is a mystery…”

Hob snorts. “Well, her greeting wasn’t all that enthusiastic. Was surprised to see that I wasn’t her Lord after all.”

It is silent for a while apart from the crackling fire. Hob discards the tea and digestives; he doesn’t know why he thought dream food would do anything for him, really. When he’s about decided to leave the brooding Cain to his own devices and instead go and try his luck with Abel, the man finally turns.

“Yes… there is something about you, dreamer. Hob. I thought for a moment at first, that you might be… but that was foolish, of course. You are nothing like Lord Morpheus, after all.”

“So that’s your missing Lord’s name?” It does have a bit of a ring to it, admittedly, even if it’s only due to Hob’s much longer memory of Morpheus the roman god of dreams that he doesn’t immediately think of the new movie that has just hit the cinemas. He doesn’t suppose Lord Morpheus looks quite like Laurence Fishburn in The Matrix. 

“The Dreaming is the Realm of Dream of the Endless. Morpheus is one of many names he holds. And why he’s missing or where he’s gone - that is the greatest mystery of all, isn’t it?”

Hob leaves Cain’s house feeling not one jot more knowledgeable than when he entered it. 

“The Dreaming is governed by Dream. Go figure.” He makes sure to keep his voice down but this one is a bit of a let down. At least he’s rather sure that Lucienne the palace librarian is something of a known entity. Which in turn promises the palace he’d glimpsed in the Ruby’s facets to be an actual place as well. 

But this Lord… there is his missing Stranger in the waking world, there is a missing Lord on this side of dreams and between them, a deeply magical Ruby has found its way into his hands. Hob isn’t sure how much he believes in coincidences like that. 

He’s nearly bowled over by a diving Gargoyle when he clears the awning of Cain’s house. Shingles shatter on the crooked pavement in his wake and a wildly gesticulating Abel rounds the corner.

“Gr-gregory, s-s-stop that!”

Abel hurries over on the beast's heels but doesn’t manage to deter him at all. The Gargoyle dances around Hob a few times, inspecting him, it seems like, before it comes to a stand squarely in front of him.  

“Hello there,” Hob croons, enchanted.

Intelligent eyes consider him, before he bobs into the likeness of  a shallow bow. Then, he buts up gently against Hob’s side.

“G-gregoy don’t bo-bo-bother our g-g-guest!”

When Hob’s hand comes into contact with Gregory’s rough scales, something like knowledge suddenly sparks between them.

“So you’re a nightmare, too.” Hob strokes Gregory’s scales behind the spikes on his head. “Or were, at any rate. You like this better now, don’t you?”

Gregory puffs hot breath across his neck in silent bliss.

“Have you met my- the nightmare I arrived with, yet?” 

Hob gets the impression of sleek black fur rolling between moss and stone and grins. 

“G-g-gregory c-can you p-p-please s-stop destroying m-my house!” Abel looks forlornly at the shards of mossy green shingles he’s swept into a sad little pile. “It’s ge-ge-getting worse a-and worse e-e-either w-way. N-no need to ma-ma-make it g-go f-f-faster.”

Gregory looks repentant but Hob gets the sense that the Gargoyle, however much he might want to try, can't really stop destroying things in his wake. It’s in his nature to be disruptive and playful. 

“I can help,” he offers instead.

“Th-that’s t-t-terribly n-nnice b-but the r-repairs ne-ne-never stick anyway.” He pokes the pile with the tip of his shoe. It’s so pitiful that Hob feels like it’s a kicked puppy and not a grown man. 

“Why don’t they, though? Mine alway do.”

He kneels at Abel’s side and takes a few fitting pieces out of the shard pile. They slot together easily.

“I've repaired a lot of things on my way here. My repairs always go well.”

He swipes over the shingle in his hand and some of the moss comes off, leaving it a faded, dusty red. The breaks are thin lines still, but it all holds together. He’s really gotten better at this.  

Abel watches him, something guarded in his jovial face.

“N-no repair ha-has stayed wh-wh-whole, since o-o-our L-Lord le-le-left.” 

Hob thinks of the dock that regained its sturdiness, or the little bridges in the moor that repaired themselves with barely any effort from him. Then he glances back at the forest that rises over the valley’s far side and takes in the lush dark green it has become in his wake, teeming with lively nightmares.

“I don’t know,” he says and smiles, “maybe you need to have a bit more faith in this whole thing. It works fine for me.”

He holds up the shingle for Abel’s inspection. It’s unbroken again.

“I think most things here know what they’re meant to be. It’s a dreamworld, after all. Just help them get back to that. That’s all. Do you have a ladder?”  

Abel does have a ladder, though it’s a rickety thing when Hob starts ascending it. He’s pretty sure that on his way down it will be much sturdier. It is not hard work to set the roof to rights again, Hob has had much more strenuous jobs over the centuries. Though admittedly he’d never been a roofer before. 

“H-hob?” 

Abel calls him over where he’s taken off his shirt - it does after all exists under that terrible cloak - because the sun has decided to peek out behind the thin white cloud cover. It fits his mood well; he has a goal now and something like a plan. 

“I w-want to t-tell you so-something. I-it’s a se-se-secret.”

“What is it?”

“A d-dreamer who rem-m-members h-himself ca-ca-can ch-change th-their d-d-d-dreams.” 

Hob thinks he knows all about lucid dreaming by now and this seems spot on, even if it’s not really a secret. Abel and Cain both aren’t really very inclined to part with useful information, it seems like. It does pose an interesting question though.

“And you and Cain, you aren’t dreamers, are you? But then, how does the upkeep of this world work? Only by the Dreamlord’s will?” 

Abel shrugs. “The D-dreaming sh-shapes itself o-o-only for th-those that l-l-love it. B-but a-a-a few ca-can do th-things, w-w-with His b-b-blessing.” 

It sounds as mystical as impractical - and this power imbalance surely has its drawbacks, considering the state the Dreaming is in with its Lord’s disappearance. 

“Maybe he should consider sharing a bit of his power then,” Hob mutters and slips into his shirt again. It’s time to go on, he thinks. There’s the palace waiting for him and possibly, hopefully, answers to his questions. 

“L-lord Mo-mo-morpheus d-doesn’t share. He i-is the D-d-d-dreaming.”

The strange emphasis Abel puts on the last sentence perlocates in Hob’s mind, sleeping and waking, long after. 

***

He leaves the Houses of Mysteries and Secrets behind without mentioning the magical Ruby or the Stranger that used to wear it. Neither does he mention anything about his immortality or the growing suspicion that the Dreamlord’s absence and Hob’s presence in the Dreaming are intrinsically connected.   

Instead, he finally starts to tell his nightmare companion a bit about his life. He starts, of course, with the greatest reget he holds. It’s a nightmare after all, and probably much more interested in the things Hob has had nightmares about than in the general comings and goings of a human life. 

“He could just as well have simply left me hanging to prove a point, you know,” he tells the Otter when the Houses of Mystery and Secrets  behind them are swallowed into the last wisps of fog. “I mean I was a bit of a berk, all things considered. Not that I wanted to be, but you know how it goes, don’t you? Wanting something so much that you just… overreach. And by doing so destroy what you try to build.”

The Otter doesn’t answer, of course. But it does clamber up Hob’s truly terribly threadbare cloak and settles again on his shoulders. 

“Thanks, my friend. I really appreciate that. I hope one day I can apologise and make it up to him. I mean it’s been a hundred and fifteen years now since that cursed meeting. Who knows what happened to him in the meantime…”

Hob thinks of the invisible weight of the Ruby at his chest and wonders how or why the Stranger had lost it. Because there is no way he had gotten rid of it on purpose. Not with the way it had been the main and centre piece of each of his statement outfits. It was important.    

The muddy path underneath his feet stretches into the far distance, where the cloud cover isn’t quite as heavy any more. There is the pink light of a friendly sunset that beckons him on in a perfect reflection of his own tentative hope.

Maybe he’ll meet his Stranger again. Maybe he’ll find answers at the palace. All he needs to do is make his way there. He needs to find Lucienne. 

*** *** *** 

His dreams were occupying Hob’s quiet hours more and more. Sometimes, after waking, he thought the reflection in his bathroom mirror mocked him - there was red and black in his eyes where there should be the browns he was born with, the shadows he cast looked like writhing masses of nightmares and the deepest waters, his face the same one he had seen when he’d thrown the flower crown into the cursed pond. And then, within the blink of an eye the illusions were gone again.

The Ruby was warm, as always these days, when he took it out of the box. He’d bought a new chain to match its delicate gold casing and wondered if it was normal for a magical jewel to seem proprietary and unwilling to leave its owners hands. All the same, it looked entirely unchanged in all other respects and he knew that if he looked closer, there’d be the same pictures, the same views in its facets as the last time he’d done so.  

There hadn’t been any more incidents of surprise souvenirs from his dreams after that first time. Instead, the phantom sensation of wearing the Ruby as a pendant underneath his clothes didn’t stop with his dreams.   

But there were two other things that reluctantly joined Hob’s mental list of changes that were most likely connected to the jewel:

Emily had kept up pestering him about eating - it was the thing that had started their friendship two years ago. But by now, Hob was starting to become suspicious of his lack of need for food. Usually, he loved eating. Physical pleasures were part of the experience, after all, and food was one of the many things that changed constantly, to Hob’s neverending delight.

And the newest and most concerning thing: Hob didn’t remember the last time that he had felt truly tired. 

The Ruby, even though he was never wearing it, rested like an unseen weight on his chest. 

*** *** ***

As if the Houses are a gateway that Hob has passed, beyond them the Dreaming feels like a different world. He finds himself in an endless landscape that looks like it's been well tended and designed but with harrowing signs of neglect everywhere. There are skeletons of trees where a lush forest once grew, dry earth and cracked stone in place of meadows and rivers. 

Hob doesn’t see any paths or streets as such, at first glance but he discovers fast that wherever he steps, paths try to form or emerge from the debris. 

The Otter on his shoulders grows quiet - Hob hadn’t noticed actively because of course the little nightmare has never made so much as a sound at him; but there had been, for lack of a better description, a sort of humming at the back of Hob’s mind, a susurration of unheard whispers that conveyed laughter and wit, disdain and hope and all things the nightmare wanted Hob to know. 

It’s never been as clear to Hob as now when it is entirely absent, how the Otter has indeed talked to him in its own way.     

“This is wrong, somehow, isn’t it?” Hob hushes his voice down to fit the horrifyingly despondent mood of his surroundings. He’s equally as horrified if he’s being truthful. This is not how it’s supposed to look, he knows that much without needing it explained. 

“Where do I even start setting this to rights again?” 

He can’t see what most of the landscape was supposed to look like so he doesn’t know how to start fitting things back into place. There are no structure for him to mend, only barren landscape. 

“You don’t, “ says a high-pitched voice at his back. 

Hob swivels around and feels his Otter’s needle sharp claws prick through his clothing to keep its place. Behind him are two androgynous figures, holding hands. They look like children at first glance, if children were monocolored including skin and hair. 

“You can’t,” says the second one, voice nearly identical with the first. 

They sound like children as well. 

“And… why can’t I?” Hob gentles his voice even though he knows that these are, of course, not actual children. 

They feel like nightmares as much as his Otter does and as Gregory did. Where their hands touch, their skin is the oppressing colour-leached grey of foreboding twilight; otherwise, one is entirely white and the other, entirely black. 

The first one, black as a moonless night, shrugs.

“The power here,” they start. 

“It’s gone back to the palace,” the other finishes.

“It’s needed there,” the white one whispers.

“Because if that place vanishes…”

They look at each other and Hob can sense their fear. But that means that he can probably help more at the palace or close to it, where there is something left to draw from and form. Here, he only feels the hollow phantom pain of a missing limb when he tries to look and see what the ephemeral path he’s on wants to become. 

His own capability of repairing the Dreaming seems to be dependent on the power of the Dreaming itself, at least in parts.

“Then what about the other part of the Dreaming? The ones I came through?” Hob gestures to the far away reaches of the Dreaming, where he woke.

Again they shrug in tandem.

“Oh that’s a bit different…”

“...it’s nightmare country, after all.” 

“They’re wild.”

“And know how to take…

“...and take…”

“...and take…”

“...what they need…”

“...from the dreamers.”

The Otter shifts on Hob’s shoulder and Hob finally finds that its quiet stream of thoughts and feelings are back. What it projects feels to Hob a lot like dissociation - a loss of identity and directed thought, of watching from the outside, going under and only remembering in short glimpses when breaching through the surface of confusion. It’s helplessness and impotence and a strange kernel of hope when the little nightmare looks at Hob. 

“And it takes from the nightmares, too,” Hob realises out loud and for the first time, dares to run a hand over his nightmare’s slippery fur, “you were once… something bigger, weren’t you. The Nightmare of Drowning. Until the sea swallowed you up.”

The Otter presses into Hob’s careful fingers and he understands more. The sadness and rage of being diminished, the knowledge of going back to what it was before its creation, the hope when it found, in Hob’s dreams, persisting memories of itself and then clinging to them.  

The twin nightmares share a glance but don’t contradict.

“That’s why the two of you are here. Instead of there.” 

“We didn’t want to…”, they begin. 

“...disassemble. We like…”

“...how we were made.”

“So we came here,” they finish in tandem.

“We could have left,” white mutters, discomfited and black squeezes their hand. “No. We’re not Arcana. We’re not strong enough to last long.”

“I travel to the palace. Do you want to come with me?” Hob has offered the same to the nightmares of the nightmare country after all.

They share another long glance, a communication that Hob feels but doesn’t yet understand. He thinks he might, one day if he keeps trying. He rubs his chest and thinks of the Ruby in his bedroom. 

“For a part of the way,” they finally decide.

“We can’t go everywhere here.”

“Lead the way, dreamer.”

Hob turns, leaving both of them in his shadow and walks for a few short steps before he suddenly stops. He can’t help the delighted laugh. He’s been thoroughly had there.

“I know who you are now,” his grin is so broad that it rings in his voice.” I used to know you well when I was still young.” 

“Yes you did,” they giggle.

“C’mon then, you terrible two. Let’s get going.” 

He doesn’t need to turn to know they are following. After all, behind him walk the Nightmare of Being Chased Through Empty Streets and the Nightmare of Being Too Slow. Hob grins quietly to himself for the better part of this dream. 

***

Sometimes, Hob thinks he hears the churning waves of the sea of nightmares and dreams from the shadows of this scorched landscape. It takes him a while to realise that what he hears is an echo of a place within himself. He doesn’t know how it works but he knows that he’s hollowed out a part of himself to make space for that which is the foundation of the Dreaming. 

He’s not sure if he can ever make that undone. And he doesn’t know if he even wants to. He loves the place, after all.

Sometimes, they come acrossother nightmares. All of those who cross their path are small. They might have been bigger once and found sanctuary in this powerless stretch of the Dreaming out of fear of being swallowed back into the sea. He talks to them, the many-eyed and tooth-limbed and creeping-fears, even if they can’t answer back like the twins do. The way he’s learned to listen to his Otter works on them as well. So he listens when they in turn tell of themselves.

They meet only two more of the bigger nightmares; where the rest is, Hob doesn’t want to know. There is the Nightmare of Empty Houses that Should Be Lived In and the Nightmare of Gone Loved Ones - both of them Hob recognizes at first glance - but other than them, it is empty here. He wonders where all the dreams have gone.

“Closer to the palace,” the Nightmare of Gone Loved Ones answers. 

“It has been empty here for a long time now,” the Nightmare of Empty Houses adds.

They don’t walk with him far, not like the twins who still follow in his shadow, but they do offer their help if Hob needs them.   

***

Hob doesn’t know how many nights and dreams he has spent traversing this part of the Dreaming. He’s never counted any of them and anyway, he can’t decide if he should count nights in the waking spent sleeping or rather the progress of time as it flows in the Dreaming. They are not at all the same, after all. 

Rather, he measures his progress by how far he feels he still has to go to reach the palace. And that is, despite all of Hob’s attempts to measure the distance any other way, the only manner to do it: by some vague compass in his chest - if he had to put money on it, he’d probably say that it is the Ruby and its strange connection to the Dreaming that helps him out. 

During one visit, he comes across the most wretched sight he’s ever seen. Or not seen as it were. Before him is a stretch of land that simply - isn’t. A place that has once been somewhere, but now exists only in broad strokes of bareness - like an artist colour blocking the barest shapes of a background; the reverse of an actualized idea. 

“I can’t go through there.” 

The words barely make it past his lips and after they leave them, they seem to vanish in the vague emptiness. His head hurts from looking at the stretch of - of bloodless heart-tissue. His own heart hurts as well.  

“You must, if it’s the way,” says black, unimpressed.

“You are the one deciding on the path,” adds white.

“Can’t I go around?” 

He knows before he speaks that that’s impossible. He knows the way and to detour from it is not a good idea. There are places here that he might get lost in and never leave again.

A suggestion of darkness and soft fur swims into his mind’s eye.

“Do you think that will work?” he asks the Otter, “Don’t you think that I should see where I’m going?”

The equivalent of a mocking ‘are you an idiot?’ tickles his ears without sound.

Hob sighs. “No, of course I don’t. This is a dream after all. Why would I need my eyes to see, really.” 

The Otter stretches, satisfied in Hob’s answer. The twins, though, remain silent.

“We won’t go through here,” black finally says.

“It’s not a place any more.”

“It hurts to go in…”

���What is it then? Or, what was it before it became - this?” 

“It was Fiddler’s Green…”

“...the Heart of the Dreaming.”

Hob shudders and averts his eyes from the stretch of horrifying bareness. The place left behind when a dream leaves, when a heart is gone…The Ruby he’s not wearing beats a warm and calming rhythm against Hob’s skin. What does one put in the place left empty by a missing heart, Hob wonders. It’s probably not so surprising that the Dreaming is so receptive to Hob's attempts to help - he’s grown to love the place after all and a thing without its heart… Hob wonders if he’s reading much into it. ‘Heart of the Dreaming’ might be an entirely metaphorical name after all.  

The Otter, impatient as his little nightmare is, clearly decides that it has had enough of Hob’s woolgathering and puts its tail firmly across Hob’s eyes. It is unexpectedly soft but doesn’t budge one bit when Hob tries to push it down again. Bossy little bugger his nightmare is. He feels the tickle of laughter at the back of his mind

“Thank you for keeping me company, you two,” he says and gives up trying to dislodge the tail.

“You are welcome.”

“We will wait here and listen…”

“Incase you need us.”

Hob smiles in the nightmares’ direction, or he hopes at least that it’s the right direction, and concludes that he definitely won’t call for them if travelling closer to the palace is something they’re uncomfortable with.  

“Take care.” 

In his mind’s eye, the Ruby glows. Beneath his feet, a street starts forming in the dark of his imagination. He hopes the Otter can see it too and won’t lead him astray. 

 *** *** ***

Hob’s shift at the bar is long over, the New Inn empty and dark. He’s moved into the freshly finished upstairs flat only a week ago and already it feels more like a home than the apartment he’s had for nearly five years ever did. 

He hasn’t switched on the light after coming in. It’s not really necessary, after all. While the streetlights are more than enough for navigating the space, he feels comfortable in the darkened shadows. He can feel them, like an extension of the Dreaming or doors connecting into it. They are the home of many nightmares. Hob wonders how many of them he’s gotten to know during his travels through the Dreaming. 

He perches at the edge of his bed and stares listlessly into the London summer night beyond his window. He’s not tired at all, but strangely hollowed out even here in the world of the waking hours, where he’s nothing more than a human with a magical jewel. The ebb and flow of the sea of nightmares and dreams thrums underneath his breastbones at all times, by now. Something is missing but he doesn’t what it is.

The bed sheets are nicely cool underneath Hob’s bare thighs when he finally decides to settle. He doesn’t really feel like he needs the rest but all the same he’ll dream as soon as he’ll have closed his eyes. There have only been the lucid dreams for him, for weeks now.  

Next to him the ruby sits on the bedside table, sparkling invitingly. He’s given up keeping it in the metal box. When Hob closes his hands around it, it beats in time with his pulse. In the mirror on his new wardrobe he thinks for a moment that he can see into the Dreaming, a bird’s view of a ravaged landscape yearning for its Lord. 

The ruby screams in his mind and Hob flinches. 

And then he realises that whatever it is he is missing - love, life, his heart maybe - it has come alive in the ruby, has fed it and given it power. 

*** *** ***

On the other side of the missing Fiddler's Green, the palace suddenly looms closer than ever. There is a cobblestone road stretching from where he stands and into a quaint assemblage of houses and huts. To his right there are steep hills with the obvious ambition of becoming mountains at one point. To his left, there are swaths of burnt and grey meadows and dried out rivers but between them, the remnants of flowers and fields still shimmer like fading dreams. 

The sound of a hammer being swung rhythmically onto wood drifts from the village. With the sound comes the smell of tobacco and the low scratch of off-key singing. 

Chapter 4.  → chapter 6?

There is a man with a pumpkinhead trying to fix a bullock cart. Or maybe it’s a pumpkin that play-pretends to be a man. He - it - he wears a simple white shirt underneath a worker’s overall. There is a cheroot cigar clenched in his gaping black mouth and puffs of its stinking smoke spiral slowly out from beneath the cut out lid of the pumpkin’s stalk. He hums a terrible rendition of ‘In the Army Now’ that has Hob’s toes curl in sympathy with his ears.

“Hi there”, Hob tries.

The Pumpkin man doesn’t react.

“Hello, good sir,” Hob begins again, several decibels louder and takes a step closer. 

“Fer fuck’s sake what -” The pumpkin whirls around, angry words dying on his lips when he sees Hob. The hammer falls and narrowly misses the wooden sticks that serve as his legs and feet.

“Who’re you then?” He squints at Hob who holds up his hands placatingly. “And watcha doin here. Huh!?”

He rudely points a wooden finger straight into Hob’s face and leans closer.   

“If ye’re an intruder then ye’re shit outta luck, my man. Cause I’m gonna flatten yer ass and feed ya remains to the birds. Ya hear me?”

Hob does hear and that’s the only thing he gets from the pumpkin man except for his general presence as part of the Dreaming; there are no flashes of fears, no general sense of what he wants or feels. This, Hob concludes tentatively, is probably a dream. 

“Okay,” Hob says, “then it’s a good thing I’m not an intruder. I‘m here to see Lucienne the Librarian. Do you know her?”

It’s likely, after all, this close to the frankly enormous palace that looms behind the little hamlet.

“Sure do. What’ch want with ’er?” 

“I need to ask her something that I’m sure she can help me with. See, I might have come across something that originally belonged to the Dreaming.”

“Something from here? But ye’re a dreamer. Dreamstuff doesn’t live long in the Waking ‘s far as I know.” 

Hob shrugs. “So you see that I do need to talk to her, right? I’m Hob Gadling, by the way. Pleasure to meet you. Can you tell me where I can find her?”

The pumpkin-man spits his cigar onto the dry ground and stomps one of his wooden stick feet on it. Hob wonders if he’s ever managed to set himself smouldering on accident.

“I can do ya one better. I’ll bring ya to her. You’ll need a guide into the palace of the dreamlord. Not just anyone can come and go as they please.”

He puffs out his chest. 

“Mervyn is the name and I'm the facility manager of this dump.” 

He gestures around himself grandly and kicks the offendingly rickety ox cart. One wheel tilts sadly sideways on its frayed hub.

***

Mervyn prattles on and on as they make their way around the outer reaches of the palace. It’s forebodingly large this close to it. The onion domes, turrets and minarets he’d seen from afar tower so high above him that they might as well belong to the clouds. It probably was once a gleaming white jewel but now, there are signs of decay everywhere. 

They detour around fallen remains of grand arches, climb over broken pieces of beautifully carved balustrades and take a shortcut through something that might have once been a rose garden.

“We gotta go all th’ way round to the front. Used to be doors here too but they’ve all vanished - poof - a while after Lord Murphy left. There’s only the Bridge now ‘n’ the main gate.”

The bridge is magnificent. Was magnificent and Hob sees only the sad echo of something fantastically great. There are hands holding it up over a ridiculously broad moat but they are crumbling, missing whole fingers that lay broken and shattered in the dried out basin like the remains of some grand beast.

The dereliction makes Hob’s heart ache. He wishes he could make it go back to how it was before but this… he eyes the broken balustrade and the deep drop where part of the bridge has fallen. Beneath his skin, he feels the Ruby like a physical weight.   

Could he? If he tried - if he threw everything he has into it - could he repair this?

“There ya are,” Mervyn says and stops them before a pair of grand doors that hang askew on their hinges. “Used ta quibble with tha gate guardians. The pegasus is a right uppity li’l shit if ya ask me. They stopped movin’ though. It’s just Lucienne holdin’ down the fort now.”

There’s sadness behind Mervyn’s gruff words.

“Great woman, tha’ Lady. Must’a been an incredible raven to his Lordship back in the days.”

Hob is too close to his goal now to ask after either the fantastical gatekeepers or how Lucienne was once a raven. The only thing he wants to know is what the Ruby is, and how his stranger is connected to the Dreaming. The palace calls for him, or something in it does. He can feel it better, now that he’s closer but it is the same thing that helped him navigate the dead parts of the Dreaming after leaving Cain and Abel. Or maybe, it calls for the Ruby.    

“So we just go in?”

“Nah.” Mervyn cups his hands around his mouth. “LOOSH! LUCIENNE! YA GOT A GUEST!”

He clears his throat while Hob’s ears still ring and adds, a bit awkwardly, “I don’t like entering the palace anymore. Haven’t been in there in forever.”

They wait in silence.

Once, Hob thinks the Pegasus - no matter how uppity it might have been - blinks but he’s not entirely sure. He is sure, though, that the Griffin on the other side of the door has turned his head towards them. 

It doesn’t take long until a figure emerges in a brisk pace from the darkness beyond the gate.

Lucienne looks exactly as Hob remembers her from his very first foray into the Dreaming, sharp suit and sharper eyes. 

“Mervyn. What are you shouting about?”

***

She notices him right away, of course, before she’s stepped far enough into the entrance hall to be seen. There is a dreamer at Mervyn’s side and he’s very clearly lucid. He is also familiar. 

Much more familiar than he has any right to be, even considering that she once found him, aware of himself, on the dock to the dreaming sea. He’d been a strange case back then already. His arrival in the Dreaming proper had been felt by her in a swell of power that swept through her entirely unexpectedly. For a few painfully hopeful moments she had thought that the surge might herald Lord Morpheus’ return. She’d hurried to where it had come from, taking every shortcut the Dreaming could still provide for its last keeper. But even on the way there, she’d felt the quick decline. Still, she continued to hope.  

Instead, she’d found a dreamer on the dock. Yes, he’d reeked of remnants of Lord Morpheus’ power but it was fading fast, becoming nothing more than a quiet little hum until it finally vanished from her innate raven sense for Dream of the Endless completely. 

It is back now though, steady and strong, like a thread woven through the dreamer’s own soul.  

“Ya know the guy, Loosh?”

“We’ve met before,” is all she says to Mervyn, “thank you for bringing him.”

Mervyn squints suspiciously at the dreamer who looks entirely nonplussed - there’s even an amused smile at his lips if she’s reading him right.

“She’s right. And thanks Mervyn.”

“If ya say so Loosh…” He grumbles and turns to the human, “if ya so much as put a toe out of place, I’ll find ya and mince ya.” 

He leaves with the threat, throwing occasional glances back at her and the dreamer until he vanishes behind the broken southern hand of the bridge. The dreamer stays, eyes focussed neither on her nor on Mervyn but on the solid statues of the former gate guards. Lucienne remembers the grim loneliness that had settled once the both of them had grown back into stone. 

“I think the Griffin turned his head,” the human says and tilts his own.

“That is unlikely. They have not moved for a long time now.” Still, when she turns around and follows his gaze, the Griffin indeed looks different. 

His whole head is turned towards the dreamer, inclined as if the lifeless statue had tried for a bow. 

Impossible.

She’s unable to keep the hope and fear contained completely and she knows it shows through her next words. They aren’t as unaffected as she wants them to be.  

“Usually I wouldn’t have to ask but since these are the most unusual circumstances I am without a choice: What is your name, dreamer?”

He finally ends his appraisal of the Griffin and gives her a most charming grin. There are dimples at his cheeks and his eyes nearly sparkle. He looks … warm, all around.

“I’m Hob Gadling, my Lady. And you are Lucienne, the Palace Librarian.” He says the name like the title it is. “A pleasure to finally meet you properly. I’d apologise for taking so long, but it was a while until I realised that this is where I have to go.” 

Not an unknown entity after all, she thinks, slightly validated in finding him familiar. 

There has been talk about Hob Gadling the Immortal in the Dreaming, once long ago; the only connection close to something like friendship their Lord has ever had. The emotions his meetings with the human could evoke in Lord Morpheus had been rivalled only by those he expended for his lovers and family.

Hob Gadling, as far as she is aware, is neither.  

That setup had lent itself to both positive and negative outcomes. There’d been bouts of furious creativity, begetting dreams of hope and nightmares for healing, there was April weather, capricious and bewildering, and of course the oppressive tension of 1789 where even decades later there had still been gossipy wondering whether that had been budding anger or another tension all together.  

The dreary and awful weather that had persisted for a good while after his meeting in 1889 had prompted her to seek out Jessamy in a bid to find out what had gone wrong. Her Lord had been - furious and upset. More upset than furious if she was being honest but she hadn’t gotten a good enough look on him afterwards to ascertain if the tears in his eyes had been of hurt or of anger. With Dream of the Endless, it was often both at once if someone did manage to get close enough to truly hurt him - the kind of privilege rarely afforded to anyone.

When Hob Gadling bows, half in jest and half serious court manners that she knows are the genuine learned thing of a noble, she notices that what she’d thought was an odd patch of uneven sable fur on the strange clothes he wears, can move and nimbly clambers down from his shoulders. 

The human doesn't look surprised in the least.

“So you don’t want to come with me?” he crouches down and Lucienne can’t see what it is he does but then he says, “I see. Take care and - thanks for … bringing me here.”

This is a nightmare, Lucienne realises and watches in disbelief as the human continues to hold a conversation with it.    

“I’m glad I could help. You don’t owe – okay then. Anyway, you were a great guide.”

The nightmare in the form of an Otter gives her a mocking half-bow and a leer and then slinks into the shadows along the edges of the bridge until it vanishes through a gap between several broken columns. Hob Gadling seems absolutely unfazed and the smile with which he follows the curious form of the nightmare is fond. 

“Sorry about that. That was the Nightmare of Drowning. It… found me, I guess you could say, and stuck around.” He grins quickly and Lucienne is sure that he has no idea about the unlikeliness of what he has just said. Nightmares do not ‘stick around’ dreamers like that. Neither do they converse with them or share their names. This one nightmare in particular, if the human has the right of it, she had thought lost or dissolved back into raw dreamstuff decades ago.

It is… heartening, to see that it is not so. There is one more dreamthing left in the Dreaming when she had feared that their number had nearly reached zero.     

“I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind? I think I … might have found something that came from here, originally. But I'm not sure. May I - come inside?” He gestures towards the shaded awning, and a bit of tension creeps into his shoulders. There might be something like a frown on his face as well.

“You are welcome,” she decides and hopes that this is not a mistake, “You may follow me.”

He crosses the threshold in front of her and then wavers. It’s a movement small enough that Lucienne nearly wouldn’t have noticed it if there hadn’t been at the same time a flash of red that ran across him and drawn her curiosity. Hob Gadling is half turned towards her and so she sees how he presses a hand against his chest where the light seems to gather for a short moment. The curious hum of Lord Morpheus’ power that seems to hang around him, grows stronger.

Before she can even blink the human straightens and keeps walking. 

Lucienne hesitates too long then and before she can decide on a course of action - maybe it would have been better to bar Hob Gadling entrance after all - the man starts walking into the depth of the palace by himself, feet carrying him in a straight line towards the corridor that leads on the shortest route into its heart.

He could not have seen the corridor from where they stand, Lucienne is sure. Silently, she follows him. Maybe she should warn him about staying on the path - the palace isn’t any nicer about lost wanderers notwithstanding Lord Morpheus’ absence, after all. 

She does not and stays behind him.

“You have come far since I last met you, Hob Gadling.”

“Just Hob is fine, Lady Lucienne. And yes, it was a long way. I suppose you took a shortcut to the palace?”

“Of course I did.” 

She doesn’t offer him the same familiarity of using her given name and  has no intention of using his but - Hob Gadling seems like the embodiment of friendliness, despite the strangeness of his presence. 

He laughs. It’s a warm sound like the palace hasn’t heard in the longest time. Longer than the century Lord Morpheus was gone. She wants to believe that he is a sympathetic character. They walk in the dim light of the corridors, past junctions and up several stairs, around twisting bends - a spiralling, illogical maze that makes sense to exactly no one but Lord Morpheus and, at best, those that he allows to serve him in the palace. 

It should be impossible for a dreamer to navigate it without following a clearly set path.

And yet… Hob Gadling does.

Lucienne takes care to stay just half a step behind him at all times, just to be entirely sure. He never hesitates, he never slows his steps or turns to Lucienne to take point. On the contrary, he seems entirely unaware that she is the one following, instead of him.

“Why did you seek out the heart of Lord Morpheus’ Realm?”

“I thought that title went to Fiddler’s Green?” The question sounds like idle small talk, not something Lucienne likes to indulge in normally, but it has been so long since things have been normal in the Dreaming. 

“How do you know of Fiddler’s Green? Has the Drowning told you?”

“The Drow- oh yeah right,” he laughs sheepishly, “I suppose ‘The Nightmare of Drowning’ is a bit of a mouthful. And no, I met other nightmares on the way. A few of them fled to…” 

He flounders for words for a moment and doesn’t seem to notice how the crumbling relief on the wall he musingly runs his fingers over while walking is glowing with a red sheen.

Everything about this human is ludicrously impossible.

“...hm that strip of scorched Dreaming that starts after you leave the Houses of Mysteries and Secrets in the direction of the palace? I don’t know what it’s called. It’s not the nightmares’ country any longer, though.”

There is no such thing as a direction in the Dreaming, least of all for dreamers. 

The relief he has touched starts reassembling, stone chips and dust gently lifting from the floor he walks on and agglomerating in pristine shapes along the wall. 

Absolutely, gallingly impossible.

She swallows a soft inhale and when her eyes start watering, she tries to tell herself that it is just the unexpected dust. This is a sort of power and care that she has last seen employed in the hands of Lord Morpheus. 

“The Heart of the Dreaming - It is the title Lord Morpheus bestowed on one of his Arcana - Fiddler's Green, a long time ago,” she finally answers when she finds her voice again. “But this here, the palace, it is where Dream of the Endless resides. Without him, there is no Dreaming. It is all him.”

Hob Gadlings looks contemplative at that, as if the words remind him of something.

“…It empty though,” he finally says, some unnamable thing in his voice.  “I know that Lord Morpheus is missing. You told me so already. But still it’s… empty.”

“So he does. I did not expect you to remember. Dreamers rarely do.”

They come to a stand in front of elegant double doors. And Lucienne realises that she hasn’t kept an eye on their path at all for a while now.

Despite this, Hob Gadling has unerringly brought them to the remains of the throne room.

***

There is power in every stone, every filament and tapestry. It suffuses what he breathes as air, and the hollow part in him that has been replaced with the Sea and the Ruby vibrates. It’s a high pitched humming at the back of his mind that nearly makes him want to scratch at the inside of his skull. 

It’s hard to keep still, to not try and touch everything. It crackles under his fingertips, the power he associates with the Ruby, like the prelude to a storm. The palace is empty, yes, and it is yearning, screaming, pleading for its missing Lord. And Hob isn’t it; what it wants is not Hob and his power but it’s rightful ruler.  

“What would happen if Lord Morpheus never returns?” 

He’s curiously pushing at the double doors. They are finely wrought in carvings of illusive fairytale scenes and end in a pointed arch that makes him think of the gothic architecture of the Minster of York. 

“The Dreaming would decay entirely. The waking world as you know it would descend into chaos.”

What is left in the absence of a dream; or Dream, in this case. Weren’t dreams and hopes two sides of the same coin? 

“That sounds… awful, actually.”

“Very. Yes.” Lucienne steps up beside him. “So far, his absence has caused an ailment called Encephalitis Lethargica in the Waking. We still have dreamers here that have not left the realm in decades, and some who do not even reach us. I dare not imagine what would follow were the Realm to collapse entirely.”

Hob… can, actually. There were friends with him in the trenches that never woke up after falling asleep in 1916. He remembers the confusion and horror vividly. A new weapon of the Germans, they’d feared. More though, never found true rest again. They’d called it shellshock and yes, trauma was surely a large part of it but…The onset of the Sleepy Sickness was followed by the worst stretch of the First World War. 

Nausea churns in his stomach. To imagine that the impact has already been felt in the Waking - it’s hard to swallow that a world of dreams might have such an influence on the Waking. What would the world look like if its access to respite and hope was - restricted; or gone entirely. He doesn’t want to remember the Second World War at all. If it got to be even worse… 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, right?” He hopes his grin isn’t as shaky as he feels.

Then, he finally pushed open the doors in front of him.

Lucienne slips past him, when he can’t manage to gather his wits fast enough in the face of what lies beyond. There’s something curious in the press of her lips, something between disapproval and naked hope.

“This is the throne room of Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling. Will you not come in? You have led us here, after all.” 

The room is grand. 

Or rather, it was grand but the decay has not left even this innermost room of the palace untouched. The room stretches long before him, debris strewn in columns and shards up to the foot of winding stairs that rise unsupported towards three magnificent stained-glass windows.

The windows are unbroken, filtering colourful beams of ambient light into the cavernous room. It illuminates the remains of enormous arches that reach up high above him like the skeletal ribs of a slain beast. Beyond them, there is no ceiling. Glittering stars and nebulae make Hob feel as if he’s falling into space.   

Hob doesn’t have a lot of time to take it all in. 

The moment he has crossed into the room, a wave of power expands within him. It’s the nightmare sea’s full weight, it’s the ruby’s unfiltered heat and it drowns out every other sensation with him. He’s vaguely aware that he stumbles and manages to barely catch himself against the wall beside the entrance. His visions swims and he thinks he might lose consciousness if something like this was possible inside a dream

Under the hand he uses to support himself, marble carvings, once finely wrought like thinnest porcelain but now broken and chipped, regains their pristine edges and shapes. He hadn’t even meant to repair this. 

He takes a deep breath and then another, trying in vain to pull the power back underneath his skin and into himself. It’s there to stay. 

Lucienne, the only orderly thing inside the chaos of the throne room, observes him with sharp eyes. 

When he finally manages to right himself and steps between the debris and shards of glass to join Lucienne, dust starts to swirl around his feet and the insistent pull of the ruby’s power has him stumbling like a newborn foal. He’s too small for it, not enough by far.

“Lady Lucienne? I think… I think we really need to talk about what I came here for, now.”

It’s hard to swallow around the words, his teeth and tongue are unwieldy.  

“Indeed, we should.” Her voice is quiet and barely makes it above the insistent sound of crashing waves and static humming he hears. There is a careful hand on her shoulder and he finds himself led to the set of impossible stairs where he sits heavily.  

“I found something in the Waking,” he forces out and does his best to calm the grip the ruby and the nightmare sea have on him. It’s… exhausting, and his stomach churns uneasily under the greedily pulling sensation. 

“A jewel. I think. I think  it might have come from here.”

“A jewel you say?” 

“A… ruby. Or at least it looks like one. Since I found it, I have started this - this dreaming journey. It has… a strange power to it.” 

Lucienne’s face is shuttered and her glasses make it hard for Hob to evaluate her ecpression. She’s taken a step back from him, tense and straight but her words are gentle.

“There are many magical stones and artefacts in the Waking, Hob Gadling. Some of them, in the right hands, might even allow you some measure of control over yourself in this realm. They must not necessarily have come from here, to let you dream lucidly as you do.”

That would explain the very beginning he guesses but nothing of the rest of it all.

“This here is not exactly the same as lucid dreaming, though, is it?” He makes sure that he’s as gentle as she is, that nothing of his fight to stay above the pull of the ruby gets out. “This is not really my dream at all, am I right? This is the place where dreams and nightmares dwell and I don’t think I should be able to perceive it like I do.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Before she unfolds her staunchly crossed arms.

“You are not wrong, Hob Gadling. There is a way to prove it, once and for all. If this jewel is truly of the Dreaming, then you should be able to take it with you when you come here. If it is of the Waking, it cannot cross into your dreams with you and retain its properties.” 

“Just like that? I could have proven-”

Hob breaks off. There’s no need to make himself look even more foolish. If he’d just dared to wear the ruby after all…

“Yes. Just like that.” The small crinkle of her nose and eyes is silent laughter. There’s unexpected warmth to it. 

Hob grins self-deprecatingly and braces himself for having to wait out his time in the Dreaming. He’ll have to leave the palace before long; he doesn’t think he can sustain himself against the power of the ruby very long any more. He feels as empty as the palace, hollowed out and scraped clean by the tides of the Dreaming Sea and the jewel. There’s not a lot left for him to give without getting something, anything really, in return. Otherwise there’ll be nothing left of him. 

He shudders and makes to stand with trembling knees.    

“I need to wait until I wake.” It goes without speaking, that in Dreaming time that could take a long long while, still.

There’s something considering in Lucienne’s gaze before she turns and walks towards the part of the wall he’d accidentally repaired when coming in. She runs a hand over the intricately carved wall cornice musingly and looks between him and the broken stairs to the throne.

“Try willing it,” she says quietly. 

“What?”

“Try it. Tell yourself that this dream is over and will yourself awake.”

“I don’t think that’ll really work.”

It couldn’t be that easy, could it? He could just -

***

Hob opens his eyes in the dark of his bedroom and rears upright with his heart rabbiting against his ribcage. It did work; and it was truly that easy.

“Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face. He’s not sleepy but wide awake. Like always. 

“What the actual -”

It worked. How has that worked? Granted, he’s never before tried to actively make himself wake up - why would he after all - but this was just… this was too easy and too real. The power he’d felt in the palace tingles in his fingertips like static. It’s not gone entirely but for now, in the Waking, it’s manageable.  

He disentangles himself from his bedsheets and plants his feet squarely onto the cool floorboards. It doesn’t help much against the feeling of waves crashing against his insides. 

The ruby glows where it sits innocuously on his bedside table, hypnotic as always. It resonates somewhere within Hob’s mind and makes his head ring faintly. It stays, no matter how hard Hob rubs his face. 

“You’re the real thing then.”

Dread pulls at his stomach. This has terrible implications for his Stranger. If he even is a stranger any longer. Because if this ruby is of the Dreaming - what are the chances that his Stranger isn’t. There are many dreams and nightmares missing, as far as Hob has seen, but there is not a particularly large likelihood that someone who holds a power that belongs to the palace of Dream of the Endless is a mere dreamthing.   

It’s… a staggering thought and Hob shies away from it. Waking up on purpose is not enough proof. He needs to bring the ruby back to Lucienne. It’s the only way to be absolutely certain about what he fears.  

The gem is warm to the touch and slips around Hob's neck without second thought - as if it belongs there. It’s unexpectedly heavy and the fine gold chain he’d bought seems suddenly insufficient to carry its weight in the long run. The moment the stone settles on his skin the ringing in his head stops. So does the staticky feeling. Instead, it’s just the deeply thrumming growl of waves breaking against waves. 

It fills him, every nook and cranny and pore of him until he feels he might burst with the sheer might that suddenly runs through his much too human body.  

He’s too small, too tiny in the scope of things to hold this power without it changing him irrevocably. 

He doesn’t know what is different this time; it's by far not the first time he touches the stone. But maybe it's not mere physical contact at all, he realises slowly, thoughts nearly sluggish under the weight of the Dreaming Sea and the ruby combined. He is now actively acknowledging its power, after all; for the first time he accepts it in a way he has never dared to before. 

He’s always felt it reaching for him, surely. It’s only now that he is reaching back. He’s made space for the ruby and its power after all. It’s time to accept what it gives in return. 

Hob only realises that he’s closed his eyes, when he finally deigns to open them again. He’s still sitting on the bed in his flat above the New Inn. It’s still the night hours of a new day. Around him, there is a spread of awareness that reaches out into the world. It starts small but he can feel it expanding with every heartbeat.

His neighbour is still sleeping, as is the old couple one floor up. Their visiting grandson teeters on the edge of waking. Across the street a man is in the last throes of a nightmare, its presence a brush of warm water to Hob’s cold black sea. Fears, old and new, linger in the wake of the shadows. 

There is a shimmer to the world, a curtain behind which he glimpses the Waking in strands of truth and story and fears. 

He becomes aware, mind reeled back into himself, at the window. London is sleeping and Hob can feel all those dreamers like little pebbles sinking through the Dreaming sea. And beyond the humans, beyond London and England - he snuffs the thought, suddenly nauseous, his unspooled awareness like the sting of a rubber band that has been stretched too far before snapping back. 

Is this how his Stranger had felt when he’d worn the ruby? Because this is more than just a paltry bit of magical power. This is responsibility and duty. Hob could decide hold them all, those Dreamers, and guide them … or clench his hand mercilessly and -

This is inconceivable.     

He falls heavily into his armchair. The ruby needs to go to Lucienne, as fast as possible. Natural sleep, though, feels a million miles out of his reach at the moment. On the other hand, he did will himself awake once already. Curiously, he prodds the veil that sits ephemeral somewhere at the back of his too small mind. 

He might just as well try the reverse of waking up and will himself to sleep. Slowly he leans back and gets comfortable in the armchair.

“Sleep, Hobsie,” he mutters as he reaches into the power of the stone and pulls at the veil.

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes before he appears in the throne room between one heartbeat and the next, the ruby hanging heavily around his neck.

Beyond the palace, there's the raging sound of heavy rain and booming thunder. 

***

Interlude

Dream cannot stop the shudder that runs through his crafted, cold body when it happens. He carefully unfolds his limbs until he is upright again and sitting in his temporary prison. 

Where the warm flow of stories had settled underneath his skin, there is now the gentle hum of power. He cannot reach for it, not through the bindings of the circle but it is there nonetheless - the ebb and flow of his might and his realm as he hasn’t felt it in longer than a century. 

It is the culmination of a development the true reason of which he can only speculate on. The warmth that had burrowed unbiddenly underneath Dream’s skin has persisted. No, not persisted. It has grown - steadily and unnoticeably at first until it flowed nearly like mortal blood though every part of him. 

But it’s not only power and warmth he feels. 

He has bent his whole focus on it, dissected its flow, its cause, its effect. What he has found  is gentle care shown to the Dreaming that has grown into something more. So much more that it changes him even in his prison. He is the Dreaming, even here, even cut off from it.  

There is endurance in his limbs where there was the strength of rage before. The colour of faith is a new blush on his cheeks and lips, a trickle of spring that contrasts the winter of his cell. He has - grown used to it, over the months. Cherished it. Awaited each increase.

This, now, is more than that. It is a surge, a rising wave that blazes through him without an inkling of remorse. He tilts his head up and smiles at the painted ceiling. A large part of his power has just been fully returned the Dreaming. 

Someone has brought his ruby back and restored it to its primary purpose. 

He wonders how long it will be until he finds an opportunity to leave. He wants to see for himself who serves him undaunted and bold like this. 

*** 

It’s worse than wearing it in the Waking. 

Much much worse.

The jewel is heavy, chain cutting deeply into his neck. It's bright, nearly too bright to look into and it hums with the voices of millions, billions of Dreamers all vying for Hob’s attention at once simply for being there. When Hob closes his eyes, he’s swimming in a dark, endless sea, lost in between all the beings that make up this realm. 

Quickly he slams his eyes back open, panting as if he’d really been caught in the deep sea. For the longest moment he can’t differentiate between the thunder crashing around the palace and the booming waves of power pounding inside him.  

There‘s too much in his head. His skin is wrong, his body is wrong. 

In the many facets of the ruby, he can see his own face - thinner than he's used to, black-bleeding eyes staring back at him. There’s no trace of the brown he’s used to, only the same black he knows from the eyes of the nightmare of Drowning. 

“I knew it,” he pants, out of breath simply from trying to hold on to his sense of self, “I knew it was from here.” 

The grin he shoots at Lucienne is probably more a grimace. 

She doesn’t return it anyway. She has a hand in front of her mouth and there are unmistakably tears running down her cheeks even if she’s quick in wiping away the evidence. She’s not looking at Hob at all, though. She’s entirely fixated on the ruby that lays heavily on his chest. 

“Yes,” she breathes, voice thick, “this is a thing of the Dreaming. It is Lord Morpheus’ Dreamstone.” 

She brushes new tears away before they fall. “He would never be parted from it of his own will. It is an extension of his power, a sign of his sovereignty.”

“Lord Morpheus’... Dreamstone.” 

He’d known it, hadn’t he? At one point, he thinks, he must have realised the possibility that his Stranger and the missing Lord of the Dreaming were one and the same, right? He’d simply - decided to ignore it.  

“Do you want to know why I kept it at all after I came across it? It wasn’t for any kind of power I felt from it. To be honest, I didn’t feel shit at first.” 

Hob hears himself laugh but it’s an ugly, self-deprecating sound.

“I kept it because it reminded me of my Stranger. The one I met up with over the many centuries of life he gifted me with. One century, one meeting. I kept it because it reminded me of the stupidly large gemstone he would wear each century. Except he didn’t show up last time, did he? And I… missed him; miss him now even, more than a decade later.” 

His eyes are hot and he doesnt think he could stop the tears if he tried. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling so betrayed by this. He’d come here purely because he wanted to know about a magical stone. He was an idiot. An utter and complete fool.

“You’re telling me- What you’re telling me is, that the man - being - who I owe my immortality to, who is most likely missing in action, is your Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.”

A foolish human meddling with forces beyond his imagination. Why is he so angry that this is the way he learns about his Stranger? It’s not as if it makes a lick of difference. Hob still misses him, still wishes he could have had a chance or a way to show him that he’s come to care for him. 

“Yes, of course that is him.” 

“What do you mean, of c- “ He breaks off at the curious expression she looks at him with. It’s nearly apprehension. It dawns on him at once “… You knew. You knew who I was the moment I said my name, am I right?” 

“I did. There has been a lot of talk in the palace about you over the centuries, Hob Gadling.”

The storm outside howls against the stained glass windows and Lucienne frowns uneasily.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”  But why should she have? Hob himself had given no inkling of recognizing her Lord’s name or station after all. He’d given her no reason - he’d only asked for advice.

“I… apologise,” she says, “I should not have held back the information.” 

Again she throws a tense glance at the windows. She says more but Hob can't hear her over the howling inside his dreaming body and the winds battering the palace noisily. He’s angry - at himself mostly or at fate maybe. Why hadn’t he wanted to wear the ruby? If he had, would he have found out earlier? He hurts, everything hurts and bends and stretches in ways that are impossible even in his worst nightmares.

His Stranger hasn’t come to their meeting, Dream of the Endless doesn’t freely part with his Dreamstone, has been missing since 1916 if Lucienne is to be believed - something horrible must have happened. And Hob has squandered precious years by dithering, pitying himself, by being to much of a coward to- 

He grips his arms with nails that are much too long to belong to him. They shimmer, black and shiny and sharp. He feels thin and hollow and angry. Something in him hungers. He hasn’t felt hunger in so long. 

“Sir! Hob Gadling! Hob!” Lucienne’s hand on his too pale arm rips him out of his spiral.

“L-Lucienne. What is-”

“I apologise,” she says again, more softly this time and despite the howling in Hob’s ears he hears her easily, her touch on his skin a steady grounding point. “I should have been frank with you from the moment I recognized who you are.”

“It’s- it’s fine. I’m mostly angry at myself,” he grits out and then closes his mouth again. There is something wrong with his teeth.

“What is happening to me?”

“I do not know, Sir,” Lucienne's voice startles him despite having expected it. She’s much too close now, nearly hovering. “But whatever it is that the Dreaming is doing to you, it is trying to help you fulfil the purpose you set for yourself. It… is partial to you. Very much so, I fear.” 

���It’s the ruby, though. Not the - not the Dreaming.” 

“There’s no difference. None that matters at least,” she says, “The Dreamstones are as much a part of the Dreaming as they are a part of Lord Morpheus. Here, in his Realm, it is the Dreaming’s tool. Just as it is Lord Morpheus’ when he wields it.” 

Hob's smile is a shaky thing as a long overdue realisation slowly takes shape. 

“The purpose I set myself, huh… What I wanted…” 

What had he wanted, at first? He’d wanted to see his stranger again when he first found the ruby, wanted to find him and apologise. Then, when he began his journey in the Dreaming, he'd been curious, and enchanted. 

But after that, he'd just wanted to help - help those sadly decaying things of beauty he’d come across - full of teeming possibilities but slowly falling prey to hopeless dereliction - help that fantastical landscape who’s scorched bones screamed for something that had been ripped away.

And he’d wished to help that depthless sea that had hummed and whispered underneath his skin and in the shadows of the world he had so easily come to love the longer he had walked in it… 

“I wanted to help this place,” he whispers, “because I've… grown to love it.”

The Dreaming and Dream of the Endless are the same, he remembers. He doesn’t think it makes any difference at all to disentangle which one he’s fallen in love with. 

It’s okay, though, he thinks as he considers his nails and feels his teeth. He’d given freely of himself and he doesn’t begrudge the Dreaming for trying to give something back. It’s only fair. He’s not going to eschew the gift it offers in reciprocity. 

[harrytaylorluke]

The boss ~ Louis Tomlinson (Prt 1)

Summary - Louis manages his own record label, known as a professional boss. His newest assistant may be the thing to finally break that purely professional reputation.

- no real warning, that’s for part 2 😏🙌🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is your desk okay?” The slightly passive aggressive older woman, who looks like she’s only ever worked here, says. She’s looking at me like I’m an infant and she’s teaching me to use a spoon.

“This is your phone, you can eat lunch here or go out, it’s a half an hour break at 12:30, okay?” She’s nods her head at me like I’m 3.

“Yes Sheila, thank you for the help. Can I ask where the toilets are?”

“Yes my love, down the hall take a right. This here is Mr Tomlinsons office” she points to the door set into the wall across from us. The office is entirely black with massive windows, posters of celebrities taken here and record awards across the walls. His door has a small window in it, but I can already image his office being the size of my flat.

“He shouldn’t be disturbed, try not to go in unless he asks for you or you have something you know is of importance to him. He’s not really the, make friends with all the workers kind of boss, y’know?” She’s shrugs with a smile.

Everyone knew who he was, even if you didn’t like music. Coming from the biggest boy band in the world, to a massive solo career, to eventually creating his own record label before the age of thirty was one way to get respect. I didn’t even meet him in the interview, just two men in suits described as his “left hand men”, whatever that means.

Sitting down at my rather large desk, I’d been briefed on what to do in my second interview and in an email after getting the job.

I was to:

Answer any phone calls for Mr Tomlinson, put him through after asking if he is decent to speak.

Bring coffee and any other refreshments/ documents Mr Tomlinson may need.

Arrange meeting based on Mr Tomlinsons availability.

Inform Mr Tomlinson of these set meeting.

Discuss and assist him with transport and travel for every meeting he had.

Remind of important task and deadlines.

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH… the list goes on. Menial tasks that when you have enough money, you pay someone to do for you. But by 10am, just an hour after coming in, I learned how busy one man can actually be. His calendar was booked, I was already getting emails and phone calls on whether he was available for podcasts, radio shows, interviews and even being sent the most random MP3 files that had been begged for him to listen to.

Overwhelming slightly, writing them all down as I had been told he wasn’t in the office yet. My palms were actually slightly sweaty, I was here because his four previous assistants had expressed “unacceptable behaviour of the sexual nature” to him and been fired rather quickly after that. I didn’t want to make a bad impression, like I was some crazy fan girl who signed up to the job to sleep with him.

At 10:30, he walks in and I soon understood why the sexual misconduct had occurred.

He walked with this confidence I’d never seen before, I guess that happens when a whole building full of people respect and want to impress you more than anyone else. He had these black skinny jeans on and a black hoodie, rather casual, suddenly making me feel overdressed in my knee length black dress and black wedges. It seemed to be how everyone in the office dressed except him, Sheila in a midi skirt and long sleeved top.

He was taller than I’d read about (of course I had to google him beforehand), looking at least 5,9/10, and his hair looked messily thrown and styled around his head. The smartest thing about him was his briefcase. My desk was right next to his office, whereas everyone else seemed to be more spread out. It was mostly just the most important men and women from marketing and business, there couldn’t have been more than five of us in the small area.

He smiled at them individually, some saying a polite hello and earning one back. He finally gets to my desk, looking down at me as I can feel myself getting a rush of anxiety. Do I put my hand out to shake it? I know I should introduce myself, right?

“Hiya, you must be y/n, I’m Louis” too late. He sticks his hand out as I rise from my seat doing the same, wanting to smooth my dress down but stopping myself. The rest of the room has gone back to work already, something unfamiliar to me coming from a drama filled, love a bit of gossip office. His hand is warm as it connects with my freezing one, he keeps eye contact and I realise I haven’t said anything yet.

“Hi, yeah I’m Y/N, I’m really looking forward to working with you” very professional, well done. He blinks and this cheeky, almost smirkish, type of smile spreads across his face.

“Just let me know if you need anything, it can get a bit hectic up here” he says, releasing my hand that I didn’t know was still holding his. Disappearing into his office, I’m feeling almost starstruck, but not like I’ve met a celebrity. Like I’ve actually been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Keeping my composure, I shake my head and get back on with my work of arranging meetings, he leaves his office once for lunch and other then bringing people in to for his meetings and the occasional coffee run, that’s the most I see of him till the next day.

~~ 6 weeks later ~~

He was right, it’s more hectic than I thought. People are constantly in and out either coming to see him or the other people in the shared space. The building is massive, right in the centre of London with at least 500 people working all across it. My office was on the very top floor where I could see all across London, making me feel less stir crazy when the seventh man that day had told me to ‘put my boss on the phone’ after I’d told him not twice already.

I’d actually learned Louis was rather friendly, he could be stern about something but not humiliate you over mistakes. I’d started going with the flow, taking my lunch break outside to the park three streets down and understanding who was important and who wasn’t. I learned how he liked his coffee, that he had a balcony attached to his office where he was allowed to smoke, what brand of cigarettes he did smoke, where to buy them and how often.

I was working late tonight, it was at least 8pm but I couldn’t get this schedule sorted. He had things overlapping, I also had to call people over in America who were just getting to work, rather than calling in the morning like I had been doing and finding out it was 7pm over there and they were long gone.

Being pitch black outside, I turned my lamp on for the first time since I’d gotten here. It dimly lit up my desk, the only other light coming from the street light, and Louis office. I never really knew how late he stayed, I knew he worked hard but I was always leaving by five and he was always still here.

“Yes sir, I’m wondering if we could rearrange your meeting with Louis Tomlinson? It’s currently on the 13th of January, however, I’ve noticed an overlap with another client is the 17th of February possible for you?” I spoke down the phone to one of the owners of Sony, trying to be as polite as possible as, even though it was only November, I knew it wasn’t ideal to mess things around.

“Thank you sir, that’s great I’ll put that in the schedule…yes thank you, goodbye” I put the phone done, pulling down my seamless t-shirt I’d put on under my oversized knitted jumper for the day. Running my hands through my long, dark and now slightly wavy hair, after a day of pulling whereing off the straightening this morning.

“Y/n” my heart fell straight to my chair, startled and with a slight jump I looked to my left to find a smartly dressed, slightly stressed, Louis. His voice was deep and gravely, like he’d been talking and smoking for hours. The thick Doncaster accent coming out more than ever.

“Sorry didn’t mean to startle you” my body is turned towards him as he pokes half his body out of his large office door.

“Can I borrow you for a minute?” He says with a small smile, his blue eyes being lit up by my own office lamp.

“Yes, yes of course” I suddenly feel like I should put my jumper back on, not feeling quite as hot and bothered, or as alone, as I did the hour before. Scattering up, he waits for me to get to his door, holding it open for me. I pull my black, above the knee skirt down a little as I hear my heels clicking on the cream floor.

His office wasn’t as big as I’d expected, except for the massive balcony, it was rather cozy. He had sheets spread out across his desk with a warm beige lamp sat on the corner. With two leather chairs in front, one more comfortable looking one in the corner and his own brown leather one behind his desk. The room had a few plants in that i’d been asked to water every few days that somehow managed to get enough sunlight with the floor to ceiling windows across his back wall.

He sits on his chair as I pull one of the spare ones to his side. “What can I help with” I ask, looking at the chaotic mess on his desk.

“Right so” he begins, leaning down a little and picking up a piece of paper. “These kids are coming, some band called ‘The Health Fiasco’ whatever that is suppose to represent” he continues shaking his hand in the air, I laugh slightly. “They’re trying to make me come all the way to bloody Australia, when I’ve got a meeting in New York the day before?” He looks at me with a ‘wtf’ kind of face.

“Right well, one, stupid name means stupid band” I say, earning a laugh and a shake of his head. “Let me look at your schedule again” I say reaching over him.

I soon realize just how close our chairs were, our knees were slightly touching and I could feel how close he was to me when I reached over. Feeling slightly embarrassed and hoping to God he didn’t think I was pulling a move, I sat back in my seat. Staring over the paper in my hand when I feel him tap the top of my knee over and over again with the palm of his hand as he says “hold on you may need this” whilst handing me another piece of paper with his 2024 schedule on it.

He leans over my shoulder slightly and I can smell his aftershave mixed with the cigarettes and coffee I’d got him a few hours ago. His hand gently rubs against mine as he hands me the paper.

“So” he clears his throat slightly, “the flight to New York is at 8am and I’ve also got meeting all through Friday” his long, tattooed fingers run down the paper in front of me. Stop thinking about his fingers god y/n, he’s your boss for god sake this man has control of my livelihood.

“Yeah well we could move Sony around but I did just rearrange with him once” I say looking up, something I wish I hadn’t done.

His face, more specifically his lips, were impossibly close to me. He had leant in to see the paper next to me and now I could basically feel his breath on my face.

“Um, yeah, yes” he stuttered out “let’s not rearrange that again” he seemed..nervous? He hadn’t moved away yet and neither had I. Looking into his impossibly blue eyes, I could feel my heart getting a little faster. I was definitely reading this wrong, I was praying this wasn’t putting thoughts in his head of me being like his last assistant. The money was too good to loose this job.

“Anyway” I say, moving away quickly as he did the same with a deep breath. “Maybe we can move some of those meeting to the next day so you’re not as jet lagged”

We carried on like the world hadn’t stopped for those few seconds, talking business like I wasn’t thinking about being over his desk with him right behind me. He was hot, but I’d never let myself think like this, I knew the rules and the consequences.

9pm roles around, after me calling and moving people around with him in his office. “We should probably leave it at that, maybe look at these other issues with fresh eyes” ,with my hands in my hair and Louis with his head practically on the desk with how frustrated we both were. It was neither of our mistakes, he just had to much going on to fit it all in.

“Yeah alright” he says puffing out air between his lips and pushing the papers into a pile in the corner. I stand up, getting my stuff together on my desk outside. Putting my jumper back on, my long wool coat and turning my lamp off, I’m about ready to go, and it looks like Louis is to.

“Got anything going on tonight?” I thought he wasn’t friends with his coworkers? This was new territory.

“Just gonna make some dinner and fall asleep probably, what about you” I say, pushing the lift button.

“Smoke, eat, sleep” he shrugs. Riding down in the elevator, I lie against the wall across from him. It’s not awkward, just a little tense. I feel like we’re both thinking about the same thing, each other.

He looks so good today too, he’d had a big meeting and dressed up for it. This black tight fitting shirt with dress pants and a loose fitting jacket. His hair was still the same, just a little less messy. The harsh elevator light flashed as I stood thinking about the man across from me, something I planned on doing most of the night.

The elevator opens, we walk out together, our cars two spaces apart from each other. His being an Aston Martin and mine a black ford.

As we walk, I can feel us getting closer together, most likely because we’re walking to the same place, but I can feel the tension getting weird again.

“Thanks for staying late, and for all that help” he says stopping in front of my car and facing me, his shoulder could be rubbing against mine if he got an inch closer, dangling his keys in his hand.

“It’s not problem, I actually really enjoy it” why am I chatting on, get in the car and go home already.

We’re just looking at each other, the two street lights in the car park make it dimly lit. It’s like we’ve been on a first date and we’re trying to figure out if we’re having a good night kiss or not.

My skin feels like it’s burning the way he looks at me, like if he touched me I’d explode. “That’s good to hear, you’re doing a great job, I’d struggle to live without you now I think” we both share a chuckle as we inch towards our cars, still as close as ever.

Why can’t we stop fucking looking at each other, what is wrong with me, get in the fucking car already for christ sake.

But then he touches my arm, and I’m done for. He doesn’t just touch it, he grazes it with his hand, I almost think it’s a kind of ‘proud of you’ rub of the arm, that’s sweet and innocent, one you’d give a friend when they get a new job or finish something they started months ago. But it’s not, it’s gentle and goes down to my hand where our fingertips touch slightly. I can feel him staring at my face, maybe to gain a reaction, but all I can look at is that hand of his touching my covered arm. I play with his fingers slightly with mine, somehow getting a some sort of confidence.

I think about how I got here, this morning I was excepting a normal day, maybe be home a little late, watch some crap movie, sleep and do it all over again. Now he was the one looking at our hands, mine moving slowly and gently between his, before he starts doing it back. We’re like two 16 year olds who’ve never been this close to someone before.

I want to say something, but I think it’ll spoil it.

We’re both breathing silently, cars and people are going past in the street but I’m positive no one can see us, even if we weren’t doing more than 16 year olds do.

Our fingers interlock as he moves forward slightly. It’s nothing and I can barely breath. His hair is close to touching the top of mine as we both stare down at this contact that, to put it frankly, is getting me hornier than I’ve been in months.

Pulling my hand from his, I push it up his sleeve, moving myself close to get higher up. The closer I get to him, the closer his hand gets to my hip. It’s inches away and all I want is for him to rest it there. He goes under my coat with his hand, grabbing my side less delicately than he did my hand. My cold hand is rubbing circles under his sleeve and I knew if I lifted my head, my night would be set.

It’s been less than two minutes of this back and forth in silence, it’s intimate yet we’re stood in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world. My head is lifting slightly, his head being above mine, almost resting his cheek on the side of my head at this point. I can feel in his body he knows this isn’t right, that it’s unfair to fire so many women for one reason and then disregard another for the same issue.

I just don’t think either of us could control ourselves, I finally lifted my head fully, looking into his eyes. His hand gripped me harder, our lips millimeters apart, moving as slow as possible, they meet slightly. Moving our heads up and down slightly, lips touching gently, like neither of us wants to be the one who truly made the mistake of interlocking our lips.

We give up, connecting them fully, my hand shooting up to his hair, tangling my finger in the sides. He takes both his arms around my waist, lifting me up to my tip toes where I wrap my other arm around his neck. His lips are warm, soft and delicious. You can taste the coffee I’d slipped on his desk just hours before mixed with the cigarettes he’d smoked while we were working. It was slow, but so intense, it’s like it had awakened these feelings I didn’t know I felt.

His hand finds it’s way to just below my throat, his fingers spread over my collar bones as his thumb gently tips my chin up, opening up my mouth. His other hand is firmly around my waist, pressing me against him. Slipping his tongue past my lips, he deepens the kiss. The world feels like it’s spinning, like we should be doing this every second of everyday.

His hand replaces itself onto my waist, turning me around as he backs me up into the side of my car. It’s hot, it’s intense and it’s getting faster.

“Fuck” I hear him say under his breath, pulling away slightly and looking down. I press my hips up towards him as his hands support the bottom of my back. His voice is raspy and I can feel something happening in his pants.

I rub my waist up against the tent I can feel forming in his pants, going in circular motions as he does the same. One hand around my waist the other on the back of my neck, I let out a slight whimper than causes him to let out a deep breath he’d been holding in. My back pressed against the car and waist pressed up against him, I can feel wetness pooling in between my legs.

My mind goes into overdrive, what if this is what he does? He’s get with these girls and fires them? Am I gonna be next? The mood is quickly ruined for me, and I think he can tell.

My hips are going slower, I’m thinking way to hard.

I pull back from the kiss.

“This is stupid sorry, I’m not the kind to do this with a boss” I lie, I would, if I knew I wouldn’t be fired the next day.

“What?” He looks so hurt, I feel bad, but I’m old enough to know this is a stupid thing to do, especially in a parking lot with other peoples cars in, people that probably work in the same building as us. He pulls his hands away from my hips slowly, likes he so desperate not to.

“I gotta go, can we just forget this” I say, turning around and opening my car door with a wave of my hand. I momentarily think ‘god what the fuck is wrong with me, turning down a rich, hot, famous dude who can kiss like a god?’

“Y/n, you’re not going to be fired you know? This isn’t what’s going on?” He’s stressed, almost rambling, like he’s desperate for me to stay. But I feel like he’s said that before, I need to leave, I need sleep and I need to move past it.

Driving away from him as he watches my car drive out the parking lot, why do I want to punch myself?

[recurring-polynya]

Renruki Week Day 1: Alternate Universe

I have, um, written a lot of Renruki Alternate Universe stories over the last few years. I really did intend to continue my Spirit Society AU, but I totally writer's blocked it, so instead you get Dr. Renji AU: Part Three. This chapter is sadly lacking in Unohana, but it is very Renruki, so, I think it fits the occasion.

If you're behind, this is an AU where Aizen had Renji shipped off to the Fourth instead of the Eleventh. You can read parts one and two on ao3, or here.

| ao3 | ff.net |

🩹 💔 🤕

“Second floor, east wing…” Rukia repeated to herself, her eyes scanning the identical office doors. “This really doesn’t seem right.”

She’d already been shuffled through three different departments downstairs before a harried nurse had directed her up here. It was very quiet in this part of the Coordinated Relief Station, and the few people that she saw seemed to be going about their business more sedately than on the ground floor.

“Excuse me!” Rukia said, accosting the next person to pass, a slender, nervous-looking young man with kind eyes. “I think I’m lost?”

The young man bobbed his head and smiled shyly. His nametag said ‘Yamada’. “How can I help, ma’am?”

Rukia sighed. “I’m trying to find the, er, the head of the trauma department, and I was told to look on the second floor, east wing, but this doesn’t seem like…an emergency room.”

Yamada tilted his head to one side. “The emergency room is downstairs.”

Rukia groaned.

Yamada waved his hands. “You seem very calm and there doesn’t seem to be any blood coming out of you, so I’m guessing you probably just want to talk to the Third Seat, right?”

“Er, right,” Rukia agreed.

Yamada nodded happily. “You’re in the right place then! His office is that one over there!” He pointed at a doorway just past the next cross corridor. “I’m not sure if he’s in or not, but if he’s down on the floor, he’s not available for talking, anyway.”

“Oh! Right. Of course,” Rukia realized. Obviously the guy wouldn’t have time to talk to her if he was trying to reattach someone’s arm. A small wave of disappointment washed over her. It would have been kind of cool to see an arm get reattached. “Tha--” she started to say, only to realize the little shinigami was already bustling away. “Thank you?” she called anyway.

Heaving another sigh, she walked over and rapped on the doorframe. There was no answer. Rukia sucked her teeth for a moment then rapped again. “Er, hello?” she called. “Doctor Third Seat, are you there? It’s…um, Kuchiki Rukia.” She thought about adding her squad, but she supposed she wasn’t actually here in her professional capacity. “First Daughter of the Kuchiki,” she mumbled instead. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t in.

After all this, she would just have to come back later, she decided, although she had no way of knowing when this guy might actually be in his office. Kiyone said that everyone at the Fourth was terribly overworked. For all she knew, Dr. Trauma Boss spent twenty hours a day packing people’s livers back into their bodies and the other four sleeping it off in a supply closet. Now that she thought of it, maybe Kiyone could ask Isane to ask him to give her a call when he had a minute.

Rukia was so lost in her own thoughts as she headed back down the hall, that she didn’t notice the voices coming from the cross corridor, and nearly ran face first into the chest of a tall shinigami who was talking a mile a minute to one of the pink-clad Squad Four nurses.

“I am so sorry!” Rukia sputtered. “I wasn’t looking where I was…” Suddenly, all the words fell out of her brain. “R-renji?”

Rukia had never really understood why humans found the prospect of seeing a ghost so alarming. She had seen quite a few ghosts on the occasion that she had been deployed to the Living World with Kiyone, and it had, for the most part, been a very professional and not-at-all affecting experience.

Now, confronted with a person whom she hadn’t seen in thirty years, she got it.

For a second, she tried to convince herself that she must be mistaken. (But how could she be mistaken? Who else would get eyebrow tatts?) Renji was taller now, his shoulders broader, and his rangy frame filled out with cords of muscle, a fact made obvious by the fact his sleeves were tied back, putting his handsome biceps on full display. His hair was longer, a long, neat braid hanging out from under a pale green scrub cap. His eyes were familiar, though, brown and wide with surprise, behind the dorkiest pair of heavy-framed glasses Rukia had ever seen.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” she demanded.

Renji’s face split into a sheepish, goofy grin. “Rukia! Ah, um, hi!” He blinked and shook his head like he was trying to get his brain back into place. “Er, Nurse Yuki, did you--?”

Nurse Yuki was sizing up Rukia, like he was ready to throw hands over Renji’s honor. Rukia realized belatedly that the little fellow also appeared to have an eyebrow tatt. Maybe it was a Squad 4 thing. “I got it, sir,” Yuki said, icicles hanging from every word. “I’ll go see to Mr. Fueki right away.”

Rukia’s brain raced, still trying to make sense of it all. At some point, she’d heard Renji was no longer at the Fifth, but she didn’t know any of the details. She’d avoided trying to find out any of the details, to be honest. Renji had never been very careful with himself when left to his own devices and, well…as long as she never heard anything to the contrary, she could assume he was out there somewhere, working hard and making a name for himself.

He was still alive, though, and right in front of her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. The very moment after she said it, her brain put together the tied-back sleeves and the scrub cap and the fact that the nurse had called him ‘sir’. Fuck.

“I…uh…work here,” he said stupidly.

“You work here?” Rukia repeated. “In the Coordinated Rel-- wait--in the trauma department?”

“Yeah, actually.” He looked confused. “Um…why?”

“I am supposed to talk to your department head, but he’s not in. Do you know how I could get ahold of him?”

Renji blinked at her for a moment, then frowned. “He’s in.”

“He’s not! I just knocked on his door and no one answered!”

“I tell you, if he’s not in, he’s gonna be back very shortly.” Renji straightened up and strode past her, back toward the office of the errant Third Seat. As Rukia scrambled to catch up to his stupidly long legs, he bent over and squinted at a placard mounted on the wall next to the door, just underneath the room number. “Hey, Rukia,” he said, his voice dripping with trollish delight, “come read this for me.”

“I didn’t see that,” Rukia grumbled as she finally caught up. “‘Trauma Department, Chief Officer,’” she read off, “‘Third Seat… Abarai…Renji.’” With horror, she looked back at him. He was grinning and waggling those stupid eyebrows at him.

“I didn’t see it!” she repeated.

“I gathered that.”

“This isn’t a prank? You’re really…” she waved her hands vaguely at him, “a surgeon?”

“Surprises me too sometimes.”

It seemed completely absurd, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. Renji had been a funny kid. His public face had been as pure a son of Inuzuri as there had ever been-- sneering and swaggering, a temper like dry kindling, tough as a wild boar and twice as strong. But all this was a defensive armor that Rukia had watched him construct, brick by mud-packed brick. Underneath, there was a certain tenderness, a heart that couldn’t help caring about everything and everyone. He patched holes in their roof and learned which wild herbs were edible. He somehow always ended up with the smallest blanket, even though his legs were the longest and stuck out ridiculously. He never hesitated to offer a piggyback when Mameji got too tired, or a kind word when Fujimaru got down in the dumps. Just because he held a sword like he’d been born with one in his hands didn’t mean that’s what he actually wanted.

A doctor. Go figure.

Renji cleared his throat politely. “Um. So…you were looking for me?”

Rukia tried to pretend like she hadn’t just tripped headfirst into her feelings. “My brother,” she announced, pulling herself up to her full height, “came home yesterday after spending two days in the Coordinated Relief Station! He won’t tell anyone what happened. Even his lieutenant doesn’t know. I haven’t even seen him, but this morning, he sent me this note.” She rustled around in her sleeve and pulled out the little folded slip of paper. She almost just handed it over, but changed her mind at the last second and shook it open so she could read it out loud. “‘Rukia. Please go to the Fourth Division and speak to the Head of the Trauma Department.’ That’s it!”

Technically, that wasn’t ‘it’. There was another line, which read, “Dress in a manner befitting the First Daughter of the Kuchiki and comport yourself accordingly.’” She still wasn’t entirely sure what the reasoning behind that was-- she certainly would have felt more comfortable facing a senior Gotei officer--childhood friend or not--in a shihakushou instead of the wisteria-patterned semi-formal kimono her maid had stuffed her in before shoving her out the door.

“Ummmm,” said Renji.

Rukia narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “So what the Hell happened? Is my brother going to die?”

“What? No!” Renji squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Look, let’s go into my office to talk about this.”

Byakuya was definitely dying. Rukia could feel it in her bones.

Renji led her into his office. It was small, and full of stuff, shelves packed with medical books, primarily, but also practice swords and weights and the ubiquitous piles of Gotei paperwork. Unlike her own Third Seats’ shared office, at least there was some order to it. The walls were crowded with various framed certifications, as well as pictures of Renji with his friends-- playing soccer, dressed up for something fancy, manning what looked suspiciously like the safe sex booth at the annual Squad Four Health Fair with a horrified looking Kira Izuru. His zanpakutou sat on a wall-mounted sword rack behind his desk.

“Can I make you some tea?” Renji offered, waving vaguely at a kidou-powered kettle and some tins of tea crammed onto a shelf next to a precariously leaning ikebana arrangement of chrysanthemums and greenbrier.

“Do you still make tea so strong that a stick would stand straight up in it?” Rukia asked.

“Only when I’m pulling graveyard shifts,” Renji replied. “And don’t say that too loud. My captain takes tea very seriously.”

“I’ll pass, then,” Rukia said, sitting down in the visitor’s chair, as he settled down behind his desk.

“So,” said Renji.

“So,” Rukia echoed.

Renji folded his hands in front of him, and composed his face into a very professional mien. “Your brother is fine. He lost a fight, and I put him back together afterwards myself. Captain Unohana signed his discharge papers personally. The only reason he was here for so long was because we have a mandatory 48-hour observation period for infection when someone’s had an open abdominal cavity in non-sterile conditions.”

“He lost a fight?” Rukia’s brows furrowed. “To whom?” There weren’t that many people in Soul Society who could beat Byakuya, and even fewer who wouldn’t have bragged about it to the entire city by now. “Was it the Kenpachi?” she guessed. “Or Captain Ichimaru? Have you ever met that guy? He’s really creepy.”

“I…have, but let’s hold off on badmouthing other people’s captains for now.” Renji sucked his teeth for a moment. “It was me. I was the one who fought your brother.”

Rukia blinked at him. “What?”

Renji sighed. “This is really not how I pictured explaining this to you. He really…he really didn’t say anything?”

“Just the note!” Rukia singsonged.

Renji looked down at his desk and nodded for a moment. “Of course he didn’t. Why would he? I deserve this, I suppose,” he mumbled to himself. Then, suddenly pulling himself together, he slapped his palms on the desk, and looked up at her, jaw set and eyes blazing behind those stupid, nerdy, unspeakably hot glasses. “Rukia,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”

Rukia stared back at him and waved the note again. “Yeah? That’s why I came here?”

“It’s not about-- well, not directly-- that is to say--” He screwed up his face again. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Am I what?” Rukia echoed.

“Seeing anyone. You know. Romantically.”

“I am not, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh! Great!”

“‘Great’? ‘Great’?! What is that supposed to mean?”

“In that case, may I prevail upon you to go to dinner with me? This weekend maybe?”

Rukia squinted at him. “Are you a person who says ‘prevail upon’ now? Ew.”

“Not--not usually! I was trying to sound classy!”

“Well, stop it. I get enough of that at home. Anyway, can’t you just tell me the thing right now? I am not a patient person and I will explode if I have to sit on this until this weekend.”

Renji squinted back at her, and for a long moment, they made faces at each across his desk. “Are you serious?” he finally said.

“Just tell me!” she insisted.

He laughed softly for a moment, then flashed her a fangy grin. “Fine. Here goes: Kuchiki Rukia, I think you’re the best girl in the world, even though you’re a huge blockhead. I like you so much that I trained every free hour I had until I could beat your brother up and ask him for permission to ask you out. Then, I studied and practiced every working hour I had until I could heal him back up afterward, so you wouldn’t get too mad at me for doing it. I’m sorry, I thought most of this was implied when I asked you out, but I honestly had forgotten about the blockhead thing.” He studied her gobsmacked face for a moment. “So, do you wanna go out or not? I’m paying. I got a place picked out and everything.” His face softened. “I’ve really missed you, you know.”

Rukia stared at him blankly for a moment. Absolutely none of this made any sense. She pulled the note out of her sleeve again, and re-read it. Dress in a manner befitting the First Daughter of the Kuchiki and comport yourself accordingly.

“Are you telling me, Abarai Renji,” Rukia said slowly, “that you just attempted to win me back from my brother?”

Renji’s face flushed. “No! Well--I guess you might see it that way, but my intention--”

“I guess you won,” Rukia mused. “So I guess you did just win me back from my brother.”

“No, it’s not like--”

“What the Hell, Renji? And for that matter, how did you manage to beat him anyway? Hit him over the head with a frying pan while he wasn’t paying attention? I’m still grappling with the fact that you’re a Third Seat. There’s no way you beat up my brother.”

“Look,” said Renji, having abruptly snapped free of his stammering and stuttering when there were fight retrospectives to be done, “Captain Kuchiki’s been in a lot of public fights and he makes no efforts to keep his zanpakutou’s abilities secret. His fighting style is well documented. He always trash-talks his way through the first half of a fight, and slow-rolls his bankai, which after enough study, I realized is because it takes him some time to build his reiatsu up to the nosebleed levels he’s capable of. I went in hard, straight to bankai, and didn’t let up until he was on the ground. If I’d let him get up any head of steam at all, he would have rolled me over, so I…didn’t.” Renji made a thoughtful face. “He says he wants to fight me again, and I kinda want to see how I would do outside of win-at-all-costs mode. Could be fun, you know?”

The way he explained it, so matter-of-factly, sent her right back to Inuzuri. He could have been telling the story of how he distracted a fruit merchant while palming an apple instead of talking about his--

“Renji,” Rukia said slowly. “Did you just say you have bankai?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at him. “How the Hell did you find the time to get bankai on top of,” she waved vaguely at his bookshelves, “learning to be a doctor?” She thought she had been doing well with two sword attacks and getting up to 60’s-level kidou.

“Those two things turned out to be weirdly complementary,” Renji scratched his head. “Makin’ bones do stuff that bones normally shouldn’t be doing.”

“What is it like?” Rukia blurted out. “I want to see it.”

Renji’s eyes widened. “My bankai?”

“Yes! Do you do something with your own bones, or is it extra bones, like do you get bone armor? I don’t even know what your shikai does, is it bones, too?” Rukia’s mouth snapped shut, as she abruptly recalled why she had never seen his shikai. She stared down at her knees. “I’m sorry. That was very forward of me. I…I forgot.”

Renji regarded her very somberly. “Forgot what? That we aren’t friends any more?”

“Mm,” Rukia replied noncommittally, rubbing her fingers over the intricate woven texture of her kimono as a distraction.

Renji sighed. “Look, Rukia. I’m sorry I hit you with the dating thing out of the gate. I never told you how I felt about you back then, and I wanted to be upfront about my intentions. If you’re not interested in that, or you don’t feel that way about me, I still--”

“How am I supposed to know how I feel about you, you dumbass?” Rukia snapped. “I haven’t seen you in thirty years! And for that matter, it’s not like I’ve stayed the same, either. How do you even know you still like me? This is just like you, latching onto some stupid idea and--and going to the trouble of getting bankai over it before even asking my opinion!”

“I’m sorry,” Renji repeated. “I just wanted it to be a sure thing, that’s all. And you’re right. You’re absolutely right. But what if we started slow? Get to know each other again. We can figure out what we want to be later.” There was open desperation painted on his face. “I just want to see you again, Rukia.”

Rukia crossed her arms over chest. “Answer one question for me, Abarai.”

Renji looked like he was torn between horror and hope. “Okay?”

“What kind of face did my brother make when he conceded to you?”

Renji stared at her for a moment. “Oh. Um. Well, he didn’t exactly concede. It was very…pbbbbblllth!” He made a vague gesture with both hands that suggested fountaining. He thought for a moment. “Hmm, his normal face is kinda like this?” He lidded his eyes, tilted his chin up slightly, and made a face like he smelled something unpleasant.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s pretty good,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, the face he made was more like this.” Renji made the same face, only he opened his mouth ever-so-slightly. He still managed to look about a thousand times more surprised than Rukia had ever seen Byakuya.

She nodded again, curtly this time. “I wish you had invited me.”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t know how I feel about you or about any of this,” Rukia decided. “But based on this note, you asked Byakuya for full courting permissions, didn’t you?”

“Er, maybe?”

Rukia scanned Renji up and down one more time. Everything about him--the braid, the glasses, the scars, the muscles-- it all screamed down-to-earth practicality. He was exactly the opposite of the rarefied assholes her brother regularly surrounded himself with, the stuffed-up peacocks her aunts constantly tried to interest her in. “No,” she said. “No, you beat him fair and square, so you’re my boyfriend now, and he is going to deal with it.”

“Ummmm,” said Renji.

“Do you own any nice kimono?” Rukia asked.

“I do, actually!”

“Perfect! We’re going to a garden party at the Shihouin’s on Sunday afternoon. You will escort me. I will be wearing green.”

Renji looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he set his jaw and nodded. “Okay!”

She could get up and leave now, Rukia reminded herself. She had done exactly what Byakuya had asked her to do, and was being more than generous in upholding his end of this stupid bargain. Renji knew it, too.

Except that Renji had the courage to say a bunch of things out loud, and just because she couldn’t bring herself to process any of them at the moment didn’t mean he didn’t deserve better than this.

“If you show me your bankai on Saturday morning,” she said slowly, “I’ll let you take me to lunch afterward. Lunch! Not dinner! And if it turns out your bankai is lame, I’m walking.”

Renji’s facial expression relaxed into an obnoxious smirk she recognized all too well. “I think I’ll take those odds."

[ladytrevelyan99]

Chuck FanFiction Scene - Part 1

Thought I'd write a little scene from a FanFic I want to write. It's a CaseyxOC one. Been watching it recently and felt like writing a few scenes I been thinking about. Been watching House as well, so some Fics might come from that too.

Fan Fic Below

The four of them stayed in silence for what seemed like hours, removing the gear that they were wearing. Sarah had gone off to consult with the organisers of the event, whilst Casey and Chuck tidied up. Chuck gave Casey a concerned look, as he looked over at his friend Lilith, sitting in one of the few seats available in the wide-open space of the room they’d found, in the parking lot. She had been sitting in silence for some time, her eyes mainly trained on the floor glancing over dents and holes made by previous cars and people that had once travelled through this area. 

“It’s completed, we are officially done!” Sarah called as she entered the room. A beaming smile came from Chuck, and he immediately looked over at Lilith catching her attention from the floor.

“You hear that! We’re done! We’ve officially completed a spy mission. How exciting was that? Am I right?” He walked over to her his hand out for a high-five, she glanced up at him, there was a short pause before she smiled politely and stood up but didn’t give him a high-five.

“Yeah, that’s great Chuck, can we go home now?” She asked as she walked away.

“I uhh… I don’t get it, I thought you’d love this.” He questioned her unexcited response and glanced at Sarah and Casey looking for any kind of aid. Sarah was going to speak when Casey spoke first.

“A car should be here in 10 to pick us up.” Lilith looked at him and nodded, he was packing a large black duffle bag and had placed it on the ground.

“Great.” She stated and tried to look for something else to look at while she waited.

“Lilith-. “Chuck started, but before he could finish, she interrupted him.

“Can I offer some friendly advice?” She stated as she moved slowly to turn to face him, he paused at the interruption and smiled, nodding.

“Sure, of course, anything.”

“If you plan on doing anything like this for anyone else?” She motioned with her hands as if the area around them was the entire ordeal they had gone through and then looked directly at him. “Don’t.” She stated plainly. He knew he had messed up, she was usually quite cheerful, something in this event that they had planned really didn’t sit well with her.

‘I’m really sorry, I just thought you’d enjoy this.” She shook her head, Sarah moved to stand next to Chuck.

“We really just wanted to surprise you and show you a good evening.” She interjected.

“Give the kid a break, he just wanted to make you happy.” Casey jumped in on top of that and instantly Lilith felt backed into a corner and ganged up on, she frowned, which as Chuck was very aware of, wasn’t an action she did often.

“Listen, listen. They’re right, sure, I did this to make you happy, I truly truly didn’t know it would get so intense. I honest to God just wanted to have a fun adventure filled night with you guys and things got out of hand. I’m really sorry, this won’t ever happen again.” His hands moved whilst he talked, she knew that every word he said was genuine, but she could still feel that angry ball in the centre of her chest, she glanced away for a moment and contemplated how she would react to this.

“I believe you Chuck.” she eventually said, and a smile began appearing on his face as she continued talking. “Being shot at and those explosions, I would definitely call getting out of hand.” She was on the verge of explaining in a calm matter why she was so upset with the whole thing.

“It was all fake, you know.” Sarah added and the fury built up more. Chuck chuckled and nodded.

“Exactly! Exactly, it was all fake, even though it seemed real, you were never in danger.” Lilith had her polite smile on and nodded.

“Is that so?” She questioned.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean you have Casey to thank for the explosions. Man should have been a pyrotechnic or something for movies, right Casey?” Casey glanced over to him and looked back at her; she was making her way back to the couch to grab her gear that she wore during the fake mission.

“You know me. I love to blow something up.” He added his version of a grunt laugh when he finished talking and she walked back nodding.

“Oh well, you know, if it’s all fake then it’s all right huh?” She was smiling and Chuck seemed to have fully relaxed. Lilith placed her hand in her pocket. “It was just a fake gun fight we ran through.” She stated while smiling and Chuck and Sarah smiled with her. “And this is just the fake bullet.” She pulled out a bullet that looked like it had hit something and threw it on the floor to roll at Chucks feet, Chuck and Sarah were no longer laughing and Casey stepped away from the table he was at towards her. “That hit my fake bullet proof vest.” She chucked the vest that had clearly been hit on the floor in front of them. “And left this fake bruise.” She had stopped laughing now and lifted up her top to show her stomach that had severe purple bruising on it, the verbal poison she left on the word fake increased every time she used it and noticed the very concerned looks they were giving each other. When Chuck saw the bruise, his hands instantly went over his mouth, and he stepped forward.

“Oh my god Lilith, are you okay? I am so so so sorry.” She dropped her top, Sarah became concerned and stepped forward.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She questioned; Lilith shook her head.

“Because I knew it wasn’t fake!” She increased the volume of her voice before lowering it again. “When this thing started it was fun and dandy, but from the moment you guys started giving each other random looks and giving me hesitant unrehearsed lines. I knew it wasn’t fake anymore.”

“I’m calling an ambulance.” Casey stated as he began walking away, she was tempted to tell him not to, but stopped herself, she was in a lot of pain and something to help her would be could. She could feel her body heating up from the pain, having cold sweats and a nauseous feeling in her stomach. Moving around this much wasn’t helping, but she was too angry to sit down.

“You should have said.” Chuck pleaded, looking extremely concerned.

“You should have pulled the plug!” She raised her voice again, Sarah looked between the two, knowing this could lead to a conversation no one wanted to have, she was going to say something but got interrupted. “The moment you knew something was wrong. You should have gotten me out of there!” Lilith took a step forward, closing the gap a bit more between her, Chuck and Sarah.

“Chuck was just doing what needed to be done.” Chuck nodded along with Sarah’s input. Lilith nodded and looked to Chuck a sad smile came across her features.

“Right… Can’t risk it huh? Even if it means putting one of your friends in danger?” She stated, the questions obviously rhetorical. Casey came back into the room.

“Medical unit will be here soon.” They looked at him.

“Medical unit?” Sarah questioned; Casey shrugged as he approached Lilith.

“Figured if she already knows, this way it stays off the record.” He moved his hand out obviously trying to assess the bullets damage done to her. She backed away.

“Off the record. Oh, so not only is it okay to just put some random civilian… Wait not even a civilian, A tourist! In harms way, it’s better to have the medical treatment of said tourist off the record?” Casey gave her a look, suggesting what she said was obvious.

“Gun shot wounds must be called in by medical officials. Our guys don’t have to do that.” He made another attempt the check her injury and she backed away pushing his hand away.

“Casey- .“ Chuck called, Casey looked at him.

“I need to see if the injury is bad.” He said to him then looked back at her, she was looking at Chuck now.

“That whole situation may have been made to look fake to me Chuck. But my life is not fake. I am a living, breathing human being and you and your…” She paused looking between them trying to think of the right word and continued when she thought of it. “Team, put me in danger, just to further your own interests. I thought I was your friend.”

“You are my friend.” Chuck shouted taking a step forward but didn’t want to get too close to her and Casey in case she felt threatened.

“There was no time to extract you. Chuck wanted to get you out of there. I was the one who made the call to keep you in.” Sarah stated, her cold stare looking right at Lilith. Lilith met her gaze and nodded.

“Is that supposed to make it better Sarah?” Lilith questioned, Chuck looked to Sarah and back to Lilith. “Is that supposed to make me less angry at him? I’ve seen you do it before, maybe what you’re saying is true, but I’ve seen you interject yourself to take the blame from Chuck, even if he might actually be the one at fault.”

“It was my order.” She demanded; Lilith shook her head.

“You don’t get it. It doesn’t matter. He chose to do it your way, he chose to keep me there, instead of fighting for his initial instinct to get me out of there.” Chuck looked to Lilith as if realising something.

“You’re right, I should have fought harder to get you out of there. I just… I don’t know, I trust Sarah.” Lilith nodded.

“He knew you could handle it.” Casey’s voice next to her spoke, she had momentarily forgotten he was there, the pain had subsided for a moment as she had stopped moving around.

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But you were wrong.” She stated calmly and no one seemed to have anything else to say.

“Now that we’re done talking about our feelings. I need to see that bruise.” Casey stated, he moved his hand, but Lilith wasn’t having any of it, she was angry with him. She didn’t want him touching her. She lifted her arm quickly to push his arm away, the quick movement and hitting Casey’s arm to move it was a bit too much for her side where the bruise had hit and pain shot through her. She grit her teeth and a pained moan left her lips, her left hand immediately lifted to grab her right side and felt her legs get weak. She could feel herself falling, her legs reacted and tried to balance her, but Casey caught on to the pain in her body almost before she even felt it and was ready to grab her.

“Oh my god Lilith.” Chuck called out and he rushed forwards with Sarah behind.

“Is she okay?” Sarah questioned.

“This is what I wanted to find out.” Casey stated a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he moved her over to a seat and knelt next to her. She had her hand firmly on her side and had her eyes tightly closed, she didn’t seem to be breathing. “Breathe Lilith, breathe.” Casey all but ordered, she hesitated for a moment before a slow, shaken breath left her lips and an equally shaky and shallow breath was taken in again.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? Casey, should I get anything?” Chuck questioned as he loomed over Casey’s shoulder as he was knelt. Casey slowly turned his head and only slightly and annoyed growl left his lips and Sarah placed her hand on Chuck’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go keep an eye out for that medical unit.” Chuck looked back at Sarah, then at Lilith as she took her shaky breaths, her eyes still closed, before looking back.

“Right, right, sure.” He nodded and they started moving back to the door. “We’ll be right back; it’ll be okay Lilith.” He shouted as he got further away”

“Moron.” Casey said under his breath before looking back to Lilith, he scanned her face and took a breath. He needed to be calm if he was going to be able to check this wound. Angry wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Lilith. I need to see where the bullet hit, alright.” The words he used made the sentence sound like a question, but it was very much an order, she opened her eyes and glanced at him, she was trying very hard not the throw up and keep her body under control, his eyes were stern, but somehow there was this sympathy hiding in there somewhere. It’s not like she wanted to stop him from having a look, her focus was purely on herself, she didn’t want to move in case she cause herself more pain. She wasn’t used to this; this was by far the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. She didn’t know how to tell him she couldn’t move, she decided to suck it up and just move her arm. As her muscles in her arm relaxed, she instantly regretted her choice, it seemed that applying pressure to the area was actually making it hurt less. Her eyes snapped shut and her whole body tensed causing her to whimper softly in pain.

“Woah, woah. It’s okay.” He noticed she had tried to move. “Don’t move, just keep breathing.” She kept her eyes shut now, she was getting worried at the pain she felt. She felt fingertips and then fingers grip the wrist of her right arm, she opened her eyes to see what he was doing, he slowly and careful lifted her hand up and away from her stomach and placed her hand on her leg. She felt more pain as he moved her arm, but she kept breathing and he didn’t stop despite the flinches, she was great full of that, it made it hurt less. When her hand was moved, he lifted her shirt and looked at the bruising, when he looked up, he noticed she had opened her eyes and was looking back at him.

“Well, good news. You’re not bleeding internally, at least not badly. You’ll need an x-ray to check for anything acute.” He paused and moved, grabbing something, when he was done, he tilted his head to the side. “Bad news, I need to check for broken ribs.” He showed what looked like a leather holster for a small weapon, maybe a knife. “I’m gonna need you to bite on that.” She furrowed her brows at him, as he brought the leather to her mouth, she seemed to refuse to open her mouth, he shrugged and moved to put it away. “Or you can bite your tongue off and maybe choke on your own blood.” He stated, her eyes widened and she stared at him, he stared back, unflinching as if it was all the same to him either way they did it.  She grimaced slightly and reluctantly opened her mouth.

“Good girl.” He said in a low voice, she felt her whole-body flinch, he placed the leather strap in her mouth, he then moved her right had onto his left arm. “Keep your hand there.” He ordered, she did so, he then moved his arm to rest on her leg and under her other hand. “Keep that hand there too.” Another order, she did it. Then he lifted her top again and without warning arm pressed three fingers hard onto her rib cage. The pain was so sudden and intense, she immediately clenched her hands into fists, grabbing fist fulls of his shirt, the material stopping her nails from digging into her skin. She bit down hard on the leather, she groaned in pain when he first pushed down, but now held back any kind of painful noise, not wanting to appear at all weak. She raised her head and looked at the top left of the ceiling, trying to make it so that Casey couldn’t see her face, her arms and back strained, his fingers walked across each rib, pushing on her skin. She wanted him to stop but couldn’t even think about anything else other than the pain she was feeling. For Casey, he was being gentle. If she had broken a rib, the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse by pushing it open, he needed to know if she had a severe fracture now so he could report it to the team that was arriving, and they could attempt to treat it immediately. He knew that she was going through a lot of pain, she he didn’t stop to make sure she was okay between each rib, he just kept going.

His fingers walked across the last rib and the moment he was done he quickly retracted his fingers, it hadn’t taken long, but to her it felt like an eternity, she hadn’t stopped gripping his top, he knuckled were white, her back, arms and legs were all cramping and her jaw was so sore, it took a moment before her body began relaxing. She took a deep breath, which she retreated immediately and winced, she let go of him and her arms fell limp, she looked exhausted, he didn’t say anything as he removed the make shift strap from her mouth, her mouth and lips were dry. She didn’t try and move at all.

“They’re here.” Chuck came rushing in with two men carrying large bags, Casey looked at the men.

“Took you long enough.” They didn’t respond to him and knelt down in front of Lilith as Casey stepped away. “She has no severe internal bleeding and no major breaks in her ribs.”

“Roger that Colonel.” One of the men stated.

~~~

That's the scene, I've got another that I'll post after editing. I edited this one as best I could, but I'll probably see some punctuation mistakes.

Hope you enjoyed reading it

[inkofamethyst]

July 2, 2023

!!! Song of the Summer !!! On a Journey by Theresa Ambat (I’m in love with the vocals, I’m in love with the instrumentation, I’m in love with the production, I’m in love with the themes and lyrics, and that Night Vale episode’s weather (222 (which is my birthday which is kinda wild)) was so unbelievably timely for this mental space that I’m in right now (bonus: You Sure Are Something by Theresa Ambat has also been a favorite these past couple of weeks, got me kickin my legs like a romantic fr))

Rules for a good gelato place (as I learned from the best):

must not be piled high like a mountain in the tin!!!  that means there’s air in it.  the person must scoop downward into the gelato tin where the gelato is level or below the rim

several flavors available!!!  this probably means they know their stuff and aren’t just some random sweets place that decided one day to sell four or five flavors of gelato to attract a few more customers

non dairy in the fruit flavors!!!  fruit flavors should have no milk, just ask if they do and walk out if the person behind the counter admits to the crime

mostly muted colors!!! pistachio should be greenish-brown, not bright green.  brighter colors means they’ve likely added coloring artificially (though some of the fruit flavors like berry and mango tend to be brighter)

You know, I’ve never really put thought into decorating a room before.  Like, in both my childhood homes, I had purple walls but nothing hung on them.  I mean I have a dresser-vanity and some whiteboards, and I used to have a fishtank and for a short time some butterflies pasted around the place, but literally no decor of my own choosing.  When I moved into my dorm freshman year, I got some canvas prints from amazon and went with a gray/mint theme, and it was cute and pretty and looked like a lot of the other dorm pictures I’d seen online, but it wasn’t really me, if you know what I mean.  I remember a few months (a year?) into living in my apartment when I put up my red starfleet academy banner and stared at it for an hour in awe of how amazing it made me feel.  It remained my only piece of decoration for the entirety of the time I lived there.  I don’t want live like that in my next place, but I do want to expound on that energy.  

I have ~ideas~ both for common and personal spaces.  In common spaces, I know I want to have a fake bouquet on the table.  Maybe switching them out occasionally.  In my room, I think I want to go for a very specific theme: “starfleet ensign whose ship crashed on a presently uninhabited class-m planet several years prior and whose crew has been living off the land and uncovering the buried civilization that existed there eons before they were marooned” or “Explorer Vibes plus my star trek banner lol”.  I just.. Rachel Maksy said in a video once that she likes to tell stories with her outfits, and I sort of want to try that with my room.  I really love the “mosscore” and academic looks, with scientific drawings on aged paper, maps, vines and wisteria, knicknacks.. but I kind of want to make it my own, where if someone were to look closely they’d see all the treky things and it’d just be a little whimsical, like me.  I just want to make my room into a space that I love.

Oh my god wait it’s space academia is what it is.

Anyway I’ve started filling up a new pinterest board and while it’s a bit of a mess I’m kind of in love with it.  Now, as I’ve been going through this thought exercise, I get this pervasive thought about how there’s no permanent sense of self and for that reason it’s foolish to try to chase the whims of my own style which may change with the next passing fad.  But.  I look back on the years when I was obsessed with my galaxy jeans, and I’m happy for that Nina, even if she’s not me anymore.  And I think maintaining that outlook is better than expecting to shame my current self in the future for doing something that’s with or against the grain.  So as someone with not much money, I think I’m going to look into getting furniture pieces that are stylistically modular, at first, which I could add a covering to (or make a covering for?  hm..) to match my most recent whim.  Like getting a black saucer chair but crocheting a green granny square blanket to cover it, like otherworldly moss (to fit in with the ~bedroom story~).

So last thing, I’ve been on a bit of a mild movie binge these past few days.  Shazam 1 and 2 were alright, nothing too terribly innovative for the genre, but I really did love the diversity all around.  Airplane 1 and 2 were literally hilarious.  I don’t know what kind of genre it is exactly, but they made me laugh and giggle aloud so many times, I mean the wordplay and physical humor were golden.  Superman: Red Son was an unexpectedly good WB DC Animated Movie.  It interesting all the way through, Travis Willingham made an appearance, the animation style/character design was good... honestly it had the intrigue and impactful climax I was looking for but found lacking in the Injustice: Gods Among Us movie.  Now, I fully recognize that there was a pretty pro-American lean to it disguised under those pro-communism plot points, but I’ll let it slide.

Today I’m thankful for graduation gifts.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Welcome to the working week although, for those of you working in the NHS, welcome to just another day.  And welcome to SEPTEMBER!  The 9th month!  Where did that bloody year go?

I’m suddenly realising that birthday notifications are a great way of unfriending people.  If I can look at a name and I don’t even recognise it as someone who’s had any contact with me in the last 12 months, do I need them on my page?

Many thanks to everyone that listened to the radio show.  Thanks for all your kind comments.  Great work by Executive Producer, Lucy Gill, who does not do social media, so she’ll ever read this.  Next week: The Letter A (Part Four).  Executive Producer: Emma Peters, who has constructed a brilliant show.   

Straight after the show, we made our way down to Hove and spent 24 hours with Lady Wesker.  I have a grey, three-quarter-length pair of trousers that I love!  Here is a typical conversation between my mum and me.  “I hate those trousers!  I hate them with a passion!” she said.  “I don’t care,” I replied.  End of conversation.  When mums reach that age (88), that say and do what they want.  She can’t really hear that well anymore, however, I love every minute I spend with her.   

On Sunday morning, there was a triathlon happening on the beach.  I kid you not!  Thousands of athletes swimming, riding bikes and then running.  It was very warm on Sunday too, so I take my hat off to these people.  What a gruelling event!  I was in complete awe!

If you’re not doing anything this Sunday, I will be spinning tunes at Mi-Soul’s FREE Sunday event, Soulful Sundays at UNDER, Thorpe Close, just across the road from Ladbroke Grove tube station.  It happens between 4.00 – 11.00 and there is delicious food available, if you get hungry.  Resident DJ is Jon Jules and the living legend Booker T will be there as well.

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday.  I love you all.

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

I don’t know about y’all but I’ve taken the week between Christmas and New Year off. I do it every year and it’s a nice way to wrap up the year. I’m never sure what I’m going to do during my time off but I do hope to work on Stream a little bit and with any luck we’ll have the grandkids over at least one more time. They’re here now and we’re having a great time together.

The Verge

More than 200 Substack authors asked the platform to explain why it’s “platforming and monetizing Nazis,” and now they have an answer straight from co-founder Hamish McKenzie

I follow a number of writers I really like on Substack and I have a terrible feeling they’ll all continue to use the Nazi loving platform because of the money they generate.

I will no longer be supporting any of those authors or linking to any of their work until they abandon the platform.

There are options. You could move to Buttondown, use WordPress, or roll your own like Ben Thompson did for Stratechery.

I know that last option is not for the faint of heart but Ben has managed a successful, paid, newsletter for over a decade.

WordPress is still a bit of work, but much easier than roll-your-own. You can pay WordPress to host your site.

Buttondown is not a VC backed venture — that supports Nazi’s — so it takes money to keep it going. Yes, Buttondown is a paid service.

I’d imagine there are other options. Look around and get away from Substack as quickly as humanly possible.

Figma

Figma and Adobe have reached a joint decision to end our pending acquisition. It’s not the outcome we had hoped for, but despite thousands of hours spent with regulators around the world detailing differences between our businesses, our products, and the markets we serve, we no longer see a path toward regulatory approval of the deal.

Time certainly does fly! I had no idea it had been 18-months since the proposed acquisition began.

I know there were equal parts excitement and dread around the deal but know all folks need to worry about is Figma surviving as a company.

Will Adobe blow the dust off of XD and get back to work or has that season passed? I was on the XD beta and thought it was a really great piece of software. It was a shame to see it go.

<rob.crabapples.net/uploads/2…>

Bill Lazar

If you want an overview of how things are in Lahaina four months after the fire, check out Jesse Wald’s video. TL;DR: The EPA just completed the hazardous materials removal project and now the main debris removal will start and take about a year.

Devastating. That’s the only word I can use to describe the Lahaina fire. As Bill notes it’s going to take years for things to get back to “normal.” As if normal can ever really return to these poor people. 💔

Chance Miller and Ben Lovejoy • 9to5Mac

The Apple Watch Series 9 and Apple Watch Ultra 2 will no longer be available to purchase from Apple starting later this week.

This is interesting news. It makes me wonder how much Apple will eventually pay to make the problem go away or will they buy the company?

Andrew Hutchinson • Social Media Today

As Threads continues to gain momentum, especially among journalists, a next key step will be the development of an API, which will then enable direct publishing to Threads, as well as scheduling, third-party analytics, and more.

I can kind of see why they’re creating this input only API. They want to support news organizations and the like who schedule posts or have them setup as a part of their publishing workflow.

But Threads could do it by setting up a Weblogs Ping server and accept RSS feeds!

Weblogs ping is a way to tell a server ”Hey, I have an update” and the server goes out and collects your RSS feed. This would be really great for batch updates. Threads could even define their own namespace extension to RSS if they need additional data. Problem solved!

David McCabe and Nico Grant • The New York Times

Google said on Monday that it would allow developers on its Play app store to offer direct payment options to users and would pay $700 million to settle an antitrust suit brought by state attorneys general, in the company’s latest move to navigate increased regulatory scrutiny of its power.

It was kind of strange to see Google lose and Apple win their respective cases. Google chose a jury trial which seems to have lead to their loss.

No matter. It now makes Apple the only company that requires using their store and payment system. Will this help a Government case if they ever push on Apple to allow third party stores and payment systems?

Laine Campbell • Facebook Engineering

While the app’s production launch had been under consideration for some time, the business finally made the decision and informed the infrastructure teams to prepare for its launch with only two days’ advance notice. The decision was made with full confidence that Meta’s infrastructure teams can deliver based on their past track record and the maturity of the infrastructure. Despite the daunting challenges with minimal lead time, the infrastructure teams supported the app’s rapid growth exceptionally well.

This is an incredible engineering feat. I’m not a fan of Facebook but they do have amazing engineers. If you’re into what it takes to power millions of users the world over go read the piece. It’s really good.

The Kyiv Independent

Ukraine’s military intelligence didn’t reveal what forces fighting on Ukraine’s side were responsible for the attack, hinting that it could have been one of the Russian battalions employed by Kyiv.

It’s heartwarming to see Russians push back against Putin. We 100% need to continue our support of Ukraine. Putin and his authoritarian regime cannot be allowed to take another inch of Ukrainian soil. If Ukraine falls, who’s next?

Brent Simmons

Since RSS is an open web thing that brings you stuff people write, and ActivityPub is also an open web thing that brings you stuff people write, it’s an obvious good idea to do both in the same app. Totally.

I thought about supporting ActivityPub — Mastodon in particular — as a first class citizen in Stream but the truth of the matter is it’s already a first class citizen because Mastodon supports RSS natively and it’s really good! Case closed.