#I’m putting together a light up book nook

[rhysdoesstuff]

I have super glued all over my fingers. I don’t like it. Alas- the lengths I go to for crafts.

[maiiuelle]

❀ warnings: minors dni, alcohol, “daddy” is used, phone sex, mutual masturbation

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your room is like a sanctuary; poofy pink pillows, a silky canapé over your bed, and your fluffy duvet just melt your anxieties away at the end of the day. before bed you have a sort of ritual — after your extensive shower and skin care routine, you tip toe into your princess suite and shut off every light except the floor lamp next to the window overlooking the street.

you have a gorgeous vintage bench beneath the window that functions as your reading nook, complete with floral pink and cream cushions, lace curtains, and your favorite blanket. you’ve been loyal to your nighttime reading since you were little, always setting aside at least an hour to read before going to sleep every night. to really set the mood, you light your favorite cinnamon vanilla bean scented candle and put on a relaxing record.

humming along to lana’s soft voice, you shuffle to your towering bookshelf to look over its contents. the shelves are overflowing with books and knickknacks — most being calico critters and sonny’s angels that live happily amongst the hardbacks, complete with appropriately sized furniture for them. you carefully squeeze past the animal tea party you carefully set up to retrieve tonight’s read—

buzz buzz.. buzz buzz.. buzz buzz..

you sigh, your eyes softly closing in annoyance at your phone ringing against the wooden end table where it’s charging. one peek at the bright screen and you stomp over to answer.

“rafe? its 11:30.”

“yeah? what’re you doing up so late?” you can hear the smirk on his lips, and you roll your eyes.

“well, i was trying to read.” you snark, looking at the book in your hand and skimming over the summary on the back, pacing mindlessly over to your reading bench with the phone pressed to your ear. “what’re you doing? working?”

“nah, actually — i was just thinking about you.” in truth, he was supposed to be working, but the scotch in his glass distracted him. now he’s reclining in his office chair, tapping his pen against his wooden desk as he speaks. “missed you today.”

“mhm.” you muse. he’d invited you to come golfing with him, topper, and kelce but you refused. sometimes it felt like he was a completely different person with them, and you don’t want to be around that. you hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the day, until now.

“what? you mad at me or somethin’?”

“no.. i just — i’m frustrated! i wanted to see you.” you admit, throwing the book down on the bench cushion beside you. “and only you — not top and kelce — just you!”

“aw, pretty girl, m’so sorry.” his tone is almost mocking, clearly not actually apologetic as he slides his toned hand over the bulge in his pants. he really does miss you, and he certainly missed watching you prance around the country club in your mini skirts. even now you’re just too cute when you’re angry, it’s driving him crazy. “how ‘bout you lay down, i’ll help you relax, yeah? yeah.. lemme make it up to you.”

you pause, all of a sudden very aware of how his breathing has deepened. he couldn’t be.. “rafe? what’re you doing?” you ask again, listening closely to the muffled sound of his clothes rustling.

he has the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, both hands working to pull off his belt. “didn’t i just tell you to do somethin’, princess? go lay down.”

you blink like a deer in headlights — you want to stay mad at him, after all he had completely blown you off all day. but his gravely voice is already making you push your thighs together, you’d rather he take care of you than prove a point. “mm.. okay.”

“yeah, s’what i thought.” rafe breathes over the phone. you’re always so pliant for him, so desperate to please him you’d do anything he says. you jump onto your poofy bed, scaring your poor cat awake as you roll onto your back.

“wanna tell daddy what you got on?”

you look down your torso, manicured fingers dragging down your thigh as you try to stay patient. “just a tank top n those cute panties you got me. you know the pink lacy ones?” you play with the bow attached to the front of them in thought, remembering how he’d ripped them right off of you last time he snuck over.

“oh yeah? that’s it?” he’s amused, his smirk growing as he pictures you putting on practically nothing to go read. he groans at the thought, freeing his cock from his boxers. “i like ‘em better off.”

“i bet.” you bite your lip, giggling as your fingers slip under the thin fabric to pull them down. you want more than anything for him to appear at your door so he can take care of you properly, his encouragement over the phone just isn’t the same. “you should come here n help me.”

“oh, believe me, i want to. could sneak in the window and fuck you right — like you deserve.” rafe coos. “remember last time? had you on your back, spread out on your bed with your pretty legs around me.” the memory makes you whine, hips moving on their own in search of friction. “you playin’ with that pussy like i do, baby?”

you take that as permission, humming a soft, “mhm..” as you dip your fingers into your mouth to wet them, then settling them in between your folds.

“don’t tell me i’m gettin’ you all wet already, princess.” he teases, his smugness interrupted with a grunt as he slowly strokes himself to your soft moans. “such a good girl, see what happens when you listen? feels nice, huh?”

“ah.. rafe—”

“shh, i got you. you just worry about playin’ with that pretty pussy n daddy’ll handle the rest, a’ight?”

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to skip reading for one night?

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[dollywheeler]

October 4th, 1996

Dear diary,

We survived the night!

At first, when Mike opened the door for us, it was as awkward and uncomfortable as I’d feared. Mike was clearly nervous, which I found stranger than mom responding in kind, seemingly clutching to basic courtesy and manners as they landed on polite chatter about the weather. As if it’s ever anything other than dreadful in the beginning of fall.

I understand why mom was nervous, knew she wanted tonight to go well, but Mike was the one in control - he shouldn’t have been just as anxious, worrying about mom’s opinion. He’d already proven that he is capable of burning every bridge if he has to.

I stayed quiet as we crossed the threshold; I didn’t want to fall into the same pretense of everything being normal, and wouldn't have known what to say even if I did. Instead, I distracted myself by looking at the decor as Mike lead us further into the house. I’d never known there to be any developments in the neighborhood, but the house had clearly been a newer built than I’d expected. If I’d have to guess, I’d say late seventies, judging by the wide spaces and high ceilings. There was no divide between the entrance hall and the living room to the left, a set of stairs against the right wall climbing up to a second floor landing that overlooked the space beneath. The ceiling above the entrance and living room was made up of glass, as was visible from the street, the skylight tilting up until it meets the roof above the second floor. I had to admit it must look lovely during the day - or with the lights out at night - though I wouldn't want to be the one cleaning them.

The floor-to-ceiling windows facing the streets were partially covered by shrubbery and had tasteful white curtains that were left open for now, the glass reflecting the scene back to them and somehow making the lighting appear more cosy.

The furniture was minimalistic - clean wooden lines and modern sofas fitting the style of the house itself - and though the space was clean now, I could tell it's usually covered in clutter. The strip of wall that somewhat separated the hallway from the lounge was covered in picture frames, some holding snapshots of Mike’s time in Chicago, others showcasing Will’s artwork. I even spotted some old drawings above the fireplace that surely had to be from when they were kids. The outside wall was taken up by massive wooden shelves, covered in books and knick-knacks. It seemed empty now, but I’m pretty sure that’s due to the recent move, free surfaces they intended to fill up over the years to come.

The lounge, where Will met us with drinks and told us to sit down, was in the same room as the dining table, and in the back I could see a corner that led to the kitchen. though the kitchen itself was out of sight, I could see a small breakfast nook in the corner. Just like everything else, it was surprisingly cosy and intimate.

It seriously makes me wonder how long they intend to live there. It seemed surprisingly put together for a bachelor pad. Then again, not everything is like the movies, so I might just have to readjust my assumptions.

I didn't really tune in for most of the conversation, which was as awkward and stilted as I'd expected. Mom kept asking questions, and Mike kept answering almost reluctantly, as if he was seriously struggling to respond to to the most basic of inquiries about he and Will had been up to in Chicago. Honestly, one should rethink ever giving him an English diploma if he has this much trouble stringing a sentence together.

Will cut in a few times with updates on his family, which was a lot less awkward because mom had been keeping up with Mrs. Byers and thus could more easily contribute to the conversation. It was quite strange, even as we actually sat down at the table and they started directing more questions at me.

Surprisingly, Mike had actually cooked himself. Mom was quick to reassure him the food was good and the house was nice and all of that but it felt... weird, somehow. I didn't feel natural, even though she definitely wasn't lying, like she was afraid to say anything less. Meanwhile, Mike just looked more tense with every comment, as if he could sense it too. Will seemed to be the only one even the slightest bit relaxed, being quick to pick up conversation when either Mike or mom got stuck, trying to smoothe over the awkwardness to the best of his abilities. They kept bringing the conversation back to me, asking about school and friends and hobbies, but whenever mom and I tried to ask about them, it got weird again, dodging questions and dancing around the subject.

By the time we finished the main course I needed a break - couldn't stomach the weird energy anymore. So when Will and Mike started clearing the table, I got up and started wandering around. There were French doors made of dark wood near the kitchen that lead into a sun room, clearly used as a more informal living room. there were couches set up in the corner facing the giant floor-to-ceiling windows, tilted skylights similar to the ones at the front of the house allowing natural light to fill the space.

I would have bought the house just for this room alone - Will had set up an easel in the corner where two glass-lined walls met. In the corner away from the windows, a desk was set up cluttered with papers, and folders with white corners haphazardly sticking out, a typewriter stored on the floor next to it.

More so than the rest of the house, I could imagine them living here, sharing the space on lazy Saturdays or late Sunday mornings. Hell, I could take the images from when I was five, of Mike and his party set out around the coffee table in the basement, and implant them into this room, loud and boisterous and warm.

At least in this room the smell of teen-boy could be more easily aired out.

The one thing out of a place, which both surprised and excited me to see, was a shiny acoustic guitar standing next to the couch. It was new, clearly no more than a year or two old. I picked it up and it definitely felt smoother and more expensive than the one the Stevenson's had, and more importantly, it was actually tuned correctly.

"Do you play?" Mike asked, stepping into the room right as I had tried the first few chords, making me jump. He looked amused, though there was an edge of surprise or confusion on his face.

"Do you?" I fired back, because honestly I wouldn't have thought in a million years that Mike could play as much as the triangle, if anything. I wouldn't even have thought him capable of fine motor functions in general.

"Yeah, sort of," Mike shrugged, stepping further into the room and sinking down on the sofa. He held out his hand and I reluctantly handed the guitar to him.

He started playing, and it took me a moment to recognise it as Hey Jude from The Beatles. I raised my eyebrow at him, because as much as the song was a bit of a cliché choice, he was good. He stopped after the first chorus, and held the guitar out for me. I would have thought it a challenge, but instead he just looked genuinely curious to see me try.

I caved and sat down next to him, trying not to be nervous because last time I'd only managed to get to the first verse without making any mistakes. I was quite pleased with myself once I was done, and Mike's look was thoughtful even as he was smiling.

"I know that song, but-"

"Pixies," Will said from the doorway, and we both turned to look at him in surprise. "See, Mike, why am I not surprised your little sister has better taste in music than you?"

I couldn’t help but preen at the praise - I know it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Music is an opinion, and Will’s shouldn’t matter to me at all, and yet it felt nice to be complimented on it, as if I’d passed some kind of test. Interestingly, Mike didn't argue, just squinting his eyes at Will and sticking his tongue out like a child.

"To be fair, I've also been influenced by Jonathan," I reasoned, and told them about how Jonathan always makes me a Mixtape when Nancy and him visit. Where is my mind? was on the last one he brought when they visited in June, and just yesterday mom had picked up the new Oasis tape that Jonathan had pre-ordered for me as a late birthday present.

Will was immediately interested, coming over to sit next to Mike as he asked about my favorite song, so I let myself gush about how much I love Champagne Supernova - seriously, it's ridiculous. I've been listening to it on repeat ever since I got my hands on it.

I told Will I'd make a copy for him if he wanted, which he eagerly agreed to, but the conversation was interrupted as something moved in my peripheral vision, making me jump. It was just a cat, however, jumping onto the coffee table next to me. Startled, I ran a hand over her soft coat in awe, her big blue eyes uninterested even as she pushed into my touch.

Will, to my surprise, rolled his eyes when I asked for her name, but there was a smile on his face as he glanced towards Mike. “Her name is Cat.”

“You named your cat, “Cat”?” I asked, incredulous - because, seriously? - and Will shrugged and told me to blame Mike, who immediately gawked in affront.

“It’s short for ‘Catherine’!” Mike insisted as if that was a vital piece of information that somehow made it better.

“Mike sucks at naming things,” Will sighed as he reached out a hand to run over Cat's - Catherine's, because Cat is just too stupid - back, eyes cutting to Mike as if there was an older joke there, and to my surprise mom laughed. I hadn't noticed her come in, but she was sitting on the edge of the couch right next to the door, leaning back against the wall as she watched us with an adoring tilt of her head.

“He does,” mom agreed, fond smile curling at her lips, “what did you name Nancy’s stuffed horse again?”

Mike shrunk into himself, clearly embarrassed. “Neigh-nay is a perfectly acceptable name. As is Catherine!”

As if agreeing with him, Catherine jumped away from my petting and crossed the space into Mike's lap as he started scratching behind her ears. Mom laughed again, loud and deep and happy, and the sight made me smile as well.

“Honey, for someone that like those fantasy games so much you sure lacked creativity at times.”

That made Will snort, eyes filled with glee as he nudged Mike's shoulder, getting Mike to relax into a smile as well. “He was really good at coming up with the stories, though.”

Mom then went on to ramble in agreement, telling story after story about Mike’s imagination running wild from an early age. I was content to sit and listen and try not to die of boredom as we migrated back to the table for dessert. It was mostly things I already knew, Mom’s regurgitations of her favourite memories of Mike nothing new to me, but Will seemed to enjoy himself, and Mike was flustered but didn’t seem to mind either, chiming in to offer more context or correcting her at times when he remembered things differently.

The night was surprisingly pleasant after that, the initial frost finally broken as everyone got to enjoy themselves. They even relaxed enough to finish their glasses of wine and refill them, stories coming more easily after that. Mike and Will more freely talked about the classes they'd taken at UC and Northwestern respectively, and the apartment they'd shared after spending their first two years in the dorm.

There was still always that air of trepidation, of care hidden beneath each word, but it was easier to not fixate on it as we were all busy laughing at their crazy roommates and high-strung RAs. And by the end of the night I almost regretted having to go.

It was nice to have dinner like this - a proper dinner. Where the edges of the room fade away the further you're carried into the night, the deeper you sink into the conversation, when all focus shifts to the table at it's center and the people surrounding it, candlelight illuminating the sparks of joy in everyone's eyes. Everything suddenly seemed easier, the future shinier and more perfect, as if everything outside of the glow of the overhead lighting had ceased to exist.

And then we came home to a dark house, to dad asleep in his chair, and I realized none of my questions were answered.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's only the first step. I have to admit I don't want to go back, don't want to give this up. Even if it makes me feel guilty, even if I feel bad for leaving dad on his own.

Maybe I can take it one step at a time.

I'll think about it out tomorrow.

Love, Holly

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hiii ivy! i wanted to ask for a snowmance if you're up for it

likes: I love reading, writing, dancing singing, listening to music and all that jazz. i love trying out new things and always up for a get together or a trip with friends. i do get reserved around strangers tho. i like spicy salty food, sunsets are my favourite. a walk in the sunset with earphones in or a car ride in a highway etc etc. but mostly I like quieter places best, and usually prefer to stay in

dislikes: ignorance, believing in something you have no idea about, two faced people (sweet to you, then bitch about you to others), people who refuse to learn and are adamant

fav movie/book: not a big movie watched but tangled is my comfort movie. and my favourite book is the hunger games probably 😭

ideal winter date: anywhere where you could huddle up together and probably watch a movie, or read a book together

byee! love you<3

Love you too, bestie!

ivy's 1k celebration ⛄️ navigation ⛄️ fandoms

ˋ°•*⁀➷ REGULUS BLACK

For your snowmance, I’m matching you with Regulus because WOW!

Regulus would absolutely adore your love for quieter places and staying in. He’d plan the perfect winter date in his sleek, dimly lit library, setting up a cozy little reading nook just for the two of you.

He’d bring you your favorite snacks (spicy and salty, of course) and your favorite book (The Hunger Games) so you could read together, occasionally exchanging soft smiles or quietly chatting about the characters.

When you shyly suggest a movie, he’d light some candles, put on Tangled, and mutter something like, “I suppose Flynn Rider is tolerable.” Meanwhile, he’s totally enchanted by the way your face lights up at your favorite scenes.

During a walk at sunset, Regulus would be the perfect companion—silent, but deeply present, offering his arm and sneaking the occasional glance your way when you get lost in the view.

He’d love those moments of shared silence, feeling completely at peace by your side. And if the evening got chilly, he’d drape his scarf over you without a second thought, smirking when you pretend to complain but secretly love it.

Ugh, the vibes are immaculate, and I’m obsessed with how effortlessly perfect you’d be together.

[lifeofkaze]

Scattered Stars

Saturday morning began early for Lizzie. 

The sun had just begun to show its face on the horizon, its first tentative rays filtering into the dormitory, when she gently pushed her cat off her, quietly got dressed and slid from the room with her peacefully sleeping friends. 

The Hufflepuff dormitory was close to abandoned, with only a handful of house elves wandering about cleaning out the fireplaces. Lizzie smiled as she passed them, even more so as her eyes fell on the other person who had just stepped into the common room.

“You’re up early, Captain,” she greeted Orion with a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s barely even light outside.”

“What’s early for one is late for the other.” Orion inclined his head. “Care to join me to greet the rising sun?”

“If only I could,” Lizzie sighed, only partly as a joke. “I’ve got a full day ahead of me. There’s loads to prepare.”

“An evening of peace tastes much sweeter after a day’s worth of work.” When Lizzie didn’t reply, he tilted his head. “You haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you?”

A smile spread on Lizzie’s face. “How could I?” 

Having given her a short but sweet kiss goodbye, Lizzie pulled herself together and fetched some parchment from one of the study nooks. For now, she would have to put the thought of her date with Orion aside; she had other things to take care of first.

Almost an hour later, Lizzie wearily put down her quill. Preparing the study material for her tutoring lessons had taken longer than anticipated, and the common room had begun filling with students in different states of sleepiness. Her stomach rumbling noisily, she stuffed her notes into her bag and joined the stream of Hufflepuffs headed for the Great Hall, her mind already on the next task on her list. 

After a quickly gulped-down breakfast, Lizzie made her way to the Transfiguration classroom, where a flustered-looking Andre Egwu was already awaiting her.

“Where were you?” he called out as soon as Lizzie had closed the door behind her. “I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

“I’m only five minutes late, at most.”

“Five minutes we could have spent working,” Andre tutted. “No time for squabbling now, darling. The Spring Ball is in two weeks, and I have so many outfits to finish. I’ll be forever grateful you’re helping out with modelling but I do need to ask you to get undressed now. And stop laughing,” he added when Lizzie started giggling, “this is fashion, not fun.”

Over an hour Andre directed Lizzie to try on dress after dress, turning this way and that. They were still far from done, and way behind the schedule Lizzie had worked out for the day. When Andre was finally satisfied, both their patience had worn thin, as had Lizzie’s cushion of extra time. She hurried on to the empty Charms classroom, in front of which Penny was pacing back and forth.

“The meeting of the ball committee is about to start,” she called out as soon as Lizzie was within earshot. Hectic red spots were dotting her cheeks. “What took you so long?”

“I got held up.”

“By what?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s get inside.”

The meeting turned out to be more of a chore than Lizzie had expected. The discussion turned from matters of drinks and snacks to whether Firebugs were a suitable means of providing ambience light. Lizzie grew increasingly frustrated with her peers��� unwillingness to reach any sort of conclusion and earned herself more than one irritated glance from Penny. 

As soon as they were done, she shot out of her seat and from the room. When she arrived at the library slightly out of breath, Rowan had already piled up Arithmancy books and writing utensils all around her. She looked up with a frown as Lizzie slumped into the chair next to her.

“Where -”

“Yes, yes, where have I been, I know. Late, sorry.”

Rowan pushed her silvery glasses up her nose. “No, I meant, where is your bag?”

Lizzie looked down at the feet of her chair in astonishment, half-expecting to see her bag with her notes and parchment standing there. Realising she must have forgotten it either at Andre’s or Penny’s she cursed, which earned herself an indignant look from Madam Pince, and hurried to retrieve her things.

Studying usually came easy to her, but today, Lizzie had trouble concentrating. She was hungry and tired, and the topic Professor Vector had them cover rather complicated. When she was nearly done with her assignment, Rowan glanced at her parchment with a frown.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, pulling Lizzie’s parchment toward her. “That’s different from what I have.”

“Of course I am,” Lizzie said, sounding more irritated than she had meant to. Rowan had broken her from her thoughts about her upcoming tutoring session. “I did it exactly according to the book.”

“The new part, yes,” Rowan said, shaking her head, “but the base calculations are all messed up.”

Lizzie snatched her parchment back, groaning when she realised that Rowan was right. 

“I’ll change it tomorrow,” Lizzie sighed, rolling up her parchment and cursing quietly when she realised the ink hadn’t fully dried yet. “Looks like I need to rewrite it anyway.”

“We can revise it together if you like.”

“I know what I’m doing, alright?” Lizzie snapped. “It was just an oversight. And I don’t have time anyway, I have some tutoring to do.”

A couple of minutes later, Lizzie arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, once again late. The parts she had prepared in the mornings went well, but when it was time to improvise what she hadn’t been able to complete beforehand, Lizzie found herself becoming increasingly snappy with the hapless students trying to turn their mice into snuff boxes. 

Everyone was glad when the lesson was over. On Lizzie’s part, the sentiment faded when overheard their students whispering among each other as they left the classroom.

“What was up with her today?”

“Snapping at Maddie like that for making a small mistake.”

“Have you seen her snuff box? I swear it still had whiskers.”

Feeling the strange urge to accelerate her steps and bump into the gossiping students from behind, Lizzie let herself fall back. When they were out of earshot, she slumped into one of the cloisters, fighting the tears welling up in her eyes. 

They were right. Her Transfiguration had been awful, but she had still been thinking about what Rowan had said about her assignment, and Penny’s strong case for roses in favour of peonies, and all the gossip Andre had told her without asking and her head was so full that it felt close to bursting. 

The rest of her day carried on much in the same fashion. Somehow, Lizzie was always late, always distracted, and wherever she went, her annoyance grew. Hungry, tired, and thoroughly fed up, she made straight for her dormitory once she was done and curled up beneath the covers to instantly fall asleep.

She woke hours later when the door creaked and light spilt onto her face.

“Oh,” Penny’s voice gasped, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Where else would I be?” Lizzie grumbled, turning from the light and pressing her face back into the pillow.

“Don’t you have a date tonight?” 

At that, Lizzie immediately sat up straight, almost falling over herself in her hurry to get changed. Hastily pulling fresh clothes from her dresser, she risked a look at the alarm on Rowan’s nightstand, cursing when she realised the time. Not bothering to give Penny a goodbye, she rushed from the dormitory and out of the common room.

By the time she reached the foot of the Astronomy Tower, she was breathing heavily. Heart still thumping in her ears, she tilted her head back to where the metal staircase in front of her spiralled upwards into darkness. Contrary to when she had first gone up there with Orion exactly one year ago, there was no moonglow lighting the way up but even from down here she could see the stars glittering through the openings in the walls. 

Taking another deep breath, Lizzie began to climb. She had almost reached the top when footsteps sounded on the metal above her, prompting her to stop. A moment later, Orion came into view on his way down. A look of surprise crossed his face.

“Thank Godric you’re still here,” Lizzie blurted out before he had a chance to say anything. “I’m so so sorry for standing you up. So sorry. I just wanted to quickly lie down for a second because the day was so horrid and I must’ve fallen asleep and I… I…”

Before she could say anything more, the tears she had pushed away for the better part of the day finally spilt over. The end of her sentence got drowned in a sob, and Lizzie had never been more glad than when Orion took the last few steps separating them and closed his arms around her.

“I didn’t get to see you the whole day,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her spine in a soothing manner. “As fleeting as a gust of wind.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Lizzie sniffed. “You know I didn’t. I hope you know I didn’t because I honestly didn’t.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing. Everything,” Lizzie said. She wiped at her eyes, furiously so when her tears wouldn’t stop coming. “Everything I touched today went wrong, and everybody is angry with me, and the only thing I was looking forward to was stargazing with you and now I’ve even missed that.”

“The stars will be here for a little longer, but when your mind is scattered like a pile of leaves you won’t have the mindset it takes to enjoy them,” Orion said gently. “I need you to pull your thoughts together, Chaser. I need you to be here with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. Come on.” 

He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs until they stood on the platform of the Astronomy Tower beneath the starry sky. 

“Look up,” he told her, doing so himself. “How far away they are. And yet, don’t they look so close?” 

Lizzie dipped her head back, breathing in the cool night air. “As if you could touch them.” 

“As if they’ve come to tell us something.”

“And what would that be?”

“Listen.”

Sceptically, Lizzie turned her face skywards again and became still. Having listened intently for several moments, she glanced at Orion from the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Because I do. I hear the rush of the trees below. I hear the wind falling from the sky, blowing around the castle. I hear the beat of my own heart. Don’t you hear these things, too?”

“Sure, but…”

“That means you have arrived,” Orion said and pulled her into his arms, “right here, in this very moment.”

“Haven’t I been here before?”

“Do you think you have?” When Lizzie didn’t reply, he continued, “The whole day, your mind was torn apart, dwelling on things that lay behind you and in the future alike. Splitting yourself up like this, you won’t ever be able to live in the moment at hand, finding balance in all the small wonders surrounding us.” 

“I just wanted to help my friends.”

“Have you, though?”

Lizzie hung her head. “I promised them. I can’t just go back on my responsibilities because I don’t feel like I can ‘appreciate the moment’.” 

“I never said you should. A gust of wind can scatter leaves, or it can blow away the dust and leave behind nothing but clarity. It’s a matter of perspective.” 

“I don’t know about this, Orion,” Lizzie sighed, resting her head against his chest. “I messed up, there’s no talking around it. We all have bad days. It is what it is.”

“One bad day shouldn’t spoil a beautiful night.”

“I’m trying, okay? It’s just not that easy to let go.”

“Then I know exactly what you need.”

He leaned in and kissed her, long and lingeringly. When he pulled away, Lizzie took an inadvertent step after him.

“I might need more of that.” 

Orion laughed and turned from her, and it was only now that Lizzie saw that he was holding his wand behind his back. Before she could ask the reason, he’d already stepped towards the platform’s railing, where two slender shadows had appeared, hovering at knee level.

“You’ve summoned our broomsticks?”

“It appears to be so.”

“Why?”

Orion mounted his broom, pushing Lizzie’s towards her with his foot. “You’ll find out in a minute.”

Her curiosity sparked, Lizzie climbed onto her Silverswift and followed Orion as he steered his broomstick away from the castle. They flew down and away from the lights twinkling in the old windows, staying well out of sight, until they reached the shore of the Black Lake. 

Much to Lizzie’s surprise, Orion didn’t land. He accelerated instead, going so low over the water that his feet would have gone beneath the surface had he stretched them. Confused, Lizzie did likewise. Wind whipping through her hair, she lay flat on her broomstick to become even faster, flitting over the surface of the lake until everything around her was reduced to a blur. 

When they reached the middle of the lake, Orion stopped.

“Look around, Chaser,” he said, taking his hands off his broomstick and crossing them behind his head as he turned his face skyward. “Up is down. Down is up. Earth and sky, both the same.”

Still somewhat sceptical, Lizzie did as he had bade her, and the sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue faded. 

The wind that had blown around the top of the Astronomy Tower had ceased. The water beneath her feet was smooth and still, a perfect layer of black ink in which the myriad of stars in the firmament above were mirrored. The sight stretched as far as the eye could see, and as Lizzie raised her eyes, the sea of stars continued there, scattered everywhere around her, above her, below her, as if she were floating in the endless vastness of the universe.

“Up is down,” she whispered.

“The world is full of wonders, full of beauty and inspiration,” Orion said softly. “We only need to be present enough to see it.” 

Lizzie pried her eyes away from the glittering star-sea, resting them on Orion and his patient, loving smile. Suddenly, her throat became constricted and she could feel the tears rise in her chest but this time for entirely different reasons. She flew closer to him, so close that she could lay her hand against his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for everything. I didn’t know how much I needed this.” 

“I wanted to show you this for a long time.”

Lizzie’s eyes went soft. “I love you, you know.” 

If Orion was surprised at her admittance, he didn’t let it show. “I love you, too.” 

Butterflies swarming in her stomach, Lizzie leaned in to kiss him but before their lips could touch, a sudden gust of cold water had them break apart. Too stunned to even squeal, Lizzie had just enough time to see the end of a giant tentacle vanish in a big ripple on the otherwise smooth surface. 

Shaking his wet hair from his face, Orion burst out laughing. 

“Something tells me the Giant Squid isn’t a fan of romance.” He chuckled at Lizzie’s dark look. “Let’s go back. This little universe around us may be beautiful, but it sure is also pretty cold.” 

When they had reached the Quidditch pitch and changed into the training gear they had found in the changing rooms, Orion took Lizzie’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they made their way back to the castle. 

“How do you feel now?” 

Lizzie grunted. “Cold and wet.”

“And besides?” 

Lizzie paused and turned her head so that she could see the surface of the Black Lake in the distance. The wind had picked up again, and it was bitingly cold and made her shudder, but it also made her feel the warmth of her cheeks, and Orion’s hand in hers, and how her body was thrumming with the heat of her blood as if there was fire coursing through her veins.

“Lizzie?” she heard Orion ask. “Are you still with me?”

“Yes,” Lizzie smiled, turning her back on the lake and its beautiful darkness and toward Orion and the light of the castle. “I’m here. Right here.” 

[swiss-mrs]

Chapter Four: Day and Night

Life Eternal Series

Eddie Munson x Rockstar!POC

Word Count: 5k

All writing is in second POV, but No Use of Y/N

The next morning, Eddie wakes to the shining of the sun through the curtains, the sliver of light hitting him perfectly on the eyes. He groans as he regains consciousness. He goes to move his head and spare his eyes from the sunlight but realizes his face sticking to something. He squeezes his eyes shut before forcing them open, blinking a few times to adjust them to the world around him. He soon remembers how he fell asleep. He must’ve passed out while he was writing lyrics. The pages of his note book were now glued to the side of his face. He lifts his head and pulls the book off his cheek, moving it to the side before slamming his face back on the blankets below him. Eddie then registers the smell of breakfast being cooked and muffled noises coming from the kitchen. He moves his head to the other side to look towards the bathroom door. With sleepy blinks, a lazy smile finds its way onto his face. He rolls over onto his back with a groan and a stretch. His body aches from the odd sleeping position, but he ignores it, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. He kneels next to his still open suitcase and grabs the generic brand toothbrush and toothpaste still in its new packaging. Wayne bought him these new for his trip.

Eddie stands slowly, stretching again when he reaches the top. He lazily makes his way to the bathroom, accidentally knocking his shoulder on the door frame and letting out a whiny groan as he makes his way in. After he finishes his morning routine, he heads back to the room. Just as he makes his way out of the bathroom, a knock raps on the bedroom door. “Eddie?” The sound of your voice puts a jolt of electricity in his body. He’s over at the door within two seconds. He swings the door open, startling you with the unexpected burst of energy. You look up at him with wide eyes.

“Goooooood morning, sunshine.” He says with a minty fresh smile, drawing out the ‘O’s in ‘Good’. You let out a small laugh, drawing your brows together in confusion.

“Buenos Dias, Senor Munson.” You reply with a skeptical smile. “You seem wide awake.”

“What can I say? I’m a morning person.” He lies. You squint up at him with a teasing smile.

“It’s nearly 12:30 in the afternoon.” You reveal with a chuckle. You turn on your heels and head back towards the kitchen. “I just figured you’d still like breakfast when you woke up.” Eddie can’t help but smile as he watches you walk away, despite the obvious white lie he was just caught in. He’s quick to follow, jogging up to close the distance between you two.

“Soooo, what’s the plan for today?” He asks. Once you both round the base of the stairs, Eddie finds two plates sitting on a small table with two chairs in a little breakfast nook outside the kitchen. You motion for him to take a seat, which he ignores and continues to follow you into the kitchen and up to the fridge.

“Well, after breakfast” You grab a drink carton from the fridge before closing the door and turning to Eddie. “I’ll expose my not-so-secret, secret home studio to you,” You wiggle your brows, “Then we can get to work.” You finish, walking around him and heading back to the table with your breakfast and empty cups. Eddie follows closely behind you, quickly moving to pull out your chair for you before you can take a seat. You give him a suspicious look, but the smile growing on your face is difficult to hide. He pushes your chair in as you go to take a seat. “Thank You?” You say, a bit confused at his manners. He quickly goes to sit across from you, accidentally bumping his knee on the table leg. You both reach to grab the glasses on the table to make sure they don’t fall. Once the table and everything atop it stops shaking, you both go back to your conversation.

“This is exciting.” He says without acknowledging his clumsiness. You let out a laugh.

“Uh-huh.” You agree.

“Bone apple teeth.” He mimics before lifting his fork and digging in. You shake your head with a smile and follow his lead.

That was the last mundane conversation you two had for three days. After breakfast, you two had cleaned the dishes like you had done the night before, then went straight to the studio. Turns out the door next to the guest bathroom that was across the hall from his bedroom led down into the sublevel of your house. Your basement studio setup was like a dream for Eddie, an assortment of instruments all over. His favorite was your guitar wall. Though some were practical to have, different acoustics and electrics to produce a specific sound, there were some that were just for show. You’d gone through and gave him the details of each one, because he asked. The white and cream Stratocaster was one of your most prized possessions. You’d gone on about it being a treasure. It was just like Jimi Hendrix’s iconic guitar. You desperately wanted to get a Rusan Cloud guitar like Prince’s in Purple Rain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to spend upwards of eight grand on it. “In the grand scheme of things, it might not be that much, just growing up with nothing changes your perspective on a lot. I’m still a bit stingy with my money.” You’d laugh.

Once you two got started, there was no stopping, even bathroom breaks were few and far between. Naps were all taken on the couch or leaned over on the desk in the office chairs. The chemistry between you two made making music so easy. It took so much pressure off of your shoulders and brought back all the fun you were missing. By the end of that third day, you had recorded two new songs, written and demoed three, and finished tweaking six others that you’d narrowed down to from the original batch of songs you presented.

This last 30 minutes of going back and forth on the computer was the first time there’d been an actual silence between you two. Eddie let out a huge sigh and stretched so far that it caused his chair to squeak in protest. He leans back, starting up at the ceiling and swiveling side to side in his roller chair. “These last couple days have been an experience of a lifetime, you have no idea.” You laugh, still staring at your computer screen, messing around with the sequence of different tracks.

“I agree. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me already.” With your eyes still trained on the computer, you could hear the squeaky protests of Eddie’s chair again. His sudden presence behind you causes you to jump.

“We’re a great team, superstar.” He says, one hand on the back of your chair and the other resting next to you on the desk. You sneak a quick glance up at him. Even sleep deprived and in desperate need of a break, he still had a determined look in his eye. He was still beautiful. Your head whips back to your computer screen at that thought. Did  you just call him beautiful? Still beautiful? Your heart pounds in your chest. He was so close that you could feel his warmth. You desperately needed a shower. How the fuck does still he smell so good? Still? Girl, get yourself together.

“Play this real quick.” He points to the screen, knocking you back to reality. You relax your furrowed brows, not realizing you brought them together. He had no idea you were experiencing such inner turmoil. You click a few things on screen before playing the clip he asks. He takes a step back to turn and start pacing the room, listening intently with his eyes closed. You turn in your chair to face him as he walks back and forth, studying the music. You lean back and just let him focus, waiting for what he’s going to say. He uses his hands to follow the music and your vocals. His brows furrow like he’s concentrating really hard. He stops in his tracks. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He snaps, opening his eyes and turning to you. You raise your brows and wait for what he’s going to say. “Here!” He says, and you quickly pause the song as he silently instructs. He takes two long strides up to you to lean back over and point at the computer again. “Can we add a little more here? Like I need a guitar solo or some extra vocals or something.” You look up at him with a small chuckle.

“Of course, whatever you want, big guy.” You raise a brow and swivel your chair back to face the computer. Eddie looks down at you through the corner of his eyes, smirking a little at the pet name.

You two continue working through another night. This time when you see midnight roll around, you stop what you’re doing and spin your chair around to face Eddie. You stop and bite back a smile. He was leaning back in his chair and spinning in circles while staring up at the ceiling. “I think we should call it good for now.” He stops abruptly in his chair once he’s facing you. He leans forward a bit, swaying dizzily. You give him a few seconds to gather himself.

He lifts his head up to look at you once he’s better. “I think we still have a few more hours before we’ve reached burn-out.” You shake your head and stand up, making your way over to him.

“We don’t want to reach burn-out.” You say. He looks up at you with wide puppy eyes. You put a hand over his face and push it away gently. “No, no, no. Don’t try it.”

“Try what?” He faces innocence. You glare down at him.

“You know what. Those eyes aren’t working this time. Come on. It’s time we get out of this basement.” You say. He tries to give you sad eyes again, adding an extra pout for good measure, but you turn on your heels. “Nope!” you start walking up the stairs, “Come on.” He whines dramatically but follows anyway. Once you reach the top of the stairs and hear Eddie’s footsteps catching up with you, you speak up again. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, so you better get some good sleep.” You turn to him and start walking backwards down the dimly lit hall. He cocks his head and gives you a curious look.

“Are we not continuing on the album tomorrow?” You shrug.

“Nah, I have some surprises for you. It’s gonna be another busy day, but different.” You reach the doorway to his room and lean on the door frame, just like you did three days ago. “We’ve already spent four out of your seven days here cooped up in my basement-”

“I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.” He interrupts with a smug grin. You roll your eyes. He leans on the door frame across from you, mimicking your cross armed posture. “Now, what’s happening to-”

“Ah, ah, ah. I just told you.” You cut him off and stand up straight. “It’s a surprise.” You say sternly. “Now, go on. Off to bed. Tomorrow is a big day ahead.” You state, lifting your head confidently with a knowing look. Eddie squints at you as if he’s trying to read your mind. You two have a stare down before you lift yourself off the door frame and turn your back on him, walking down the hall and hedging up the stairs, Eddie’s eyes following you the entire way.

“Goodnight, superstar!!” He yells obnoxiously. You turn to lean over the railing.

“Goodnight, rockstar!!” You yell, matching his crazed energy. You two smile at each other before disappearing into your respective rooms.

》》》

This morning, actual morning, Eddie woke up before you. He looked at the bedside table to check the time, 10:07AM.  He got a full nine and a half hours of sleep. He doesn't remember the last time, if ever, he had slept so well. The combination of minimal sleep over the last 72 hours and the large luxury bed might’ve had something to do with it. Eddie rolls out if bed elicited for the day. He didn't know what was coming, but he knew it was going to be spent with you, and that was good enough to make him move with purpose.

He made sure to take extra care during his morning routine. He changed into his best jeans, put on some socks, and was in the middle of trying to decide between band shirts when he heard light footsteps pattering down the stairs outside his door. He quickly grabs a shirt without looking and rushes to the bedroom door, slipping an arm through a sleeve as he walks. “Morning, beautiful!” Just as you reach the bottom of the stairs, the bedroom door swings open. You jump, startled and turn to the direction of Eddie’s voice. Your eyes widen and you immediately avert your eyes to the very interesting blank wall just next to the door frame.

One thing you were not expecting to see this early was the half naked torso of Eddie fricken Munson. Your freshly awoken form could not properly function under these circumstances. Your expression couldn’t go unnoticed. Eddie smirks playfully, leaning against the door frame with crossed arms once he’s done putting on his shirt. Without another glance, you continue on your path to the kitchen, “Nice shirt.” Eddie’s eyes quickly look down at himself, now his turn to be flustered. Proud and loud on his chest was one of your band’s t-shirts. He bites back a smile with burning cheeks.

He is quick to follow your slow moving form to the kitchen, hopping up to sit on the island as you make your way to the fridge. “Sooooo,” He starts, swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler, “What we doin’ today?” You start to gather some ingredients out of the fridge.

“Well,” You start with your back still facing him, “We’re gonna get in a quick breakfast. Then in about,” You turn to squint at the oven clock for the time, “an hour and a half, we’re going to get picked up.” You close the door and turn to face the island, laying out your ingredients. “We’re going to be taken to an undisclosed destination, and your best day ever begins!” You say enthusiastically cryptic and start preparing your breakfasts. Eddie’s brows draw close, and he squints, pointlessly trying to enter your mind. Instead of breaking, you only tilt your chin up and give him an unwavering grin. He only glares harder before sighing and admitting defeat. Your grin widens, and you playfully widen your eyes at his lack of success, scrunching your nose. Eddie can’t help but let out a small laugh at your cute, maniacal expression. He is starting to get used to this little morning routine.

The next hour and a half goes by with ease. You two spent that time eating breakfast and goofing off. You prepared yourself for the day and dressed yourself in your favorite black pants, a matching black t-shirt and a biker jacket. You put on your most comfortable black shoes and headed down the stairs to meet a waiting Eddie. He was lounging out on the couch in your living room tossing one of your miscellaneous trinkets up in the air and catching it before it fell on his face. “All ready.” You say, announcing your presence. Eddie catches the trinket in his hand once more, turning his head to look at you. He pauses, arm still up in the air from his last catch. His brows shoot up ever so slightly. He watches you in awe as you close in on him. You give him a small smile. ~beep beep~. The short honks of a car out front interrupts his focus. You break eye contact to look towards the source of the sound before turning back to him, giving him a smile. “So it begins.” You start walking away from him and towards the front door, “Come on, lazy bones!” You call. Eddie is quick to hop to his feet, putting the trinket down on the coffee table in front of your couch and following you out the door. You both head to the all black vehicle in your driveway and get in.

“Headed to the city, yeah?” The driver asks through the partition. You lean forward and give him a smile.

“If you please, Danny Boy.” Dan, a driver you’ve come to trust, throws you a smile over his shoulder back at you.

“You got it, sweet cheeks.” You lean back in your seat with a smile, buckling up. Dan closes the partition, and you look over to Eddie. He’s giving you a curious look. “Dan’s my go to driver whenever I need to go into the city. He’s the best.” Eddie raises his brow.

“Going into the city? We’re going into the city for something?” You give him a huge grin.

“Yeah.” You shrug sheepishly. “For your best day, I figured we could have a proper New York day. I know you’ve never been before, and you talked about how badly you wanted to experience the city for-ev-er when we would talk on tour. What better tour guide than yours truly?” You say with a small smile. Eddie returns your small smile with a huge toothy grin. He leans his head over like a puppy in love, resting his head on the cushion next to your shoulder.

“You’re the best, you know.”

“I know.” You reply with a growing grin, his smile contagious.

You two spent the drive from your home to the city enjoying each other's company and jamming to the low volume tunes, you two whisper singing to one another, Eddie playing air guitar every so often. “Here we are!” Dan announces, pulling over for you both to get out at your first destination.

Eddie leans over you a little to get a better look at what's outside. “A bus stop?” You chuckle a little, opening your door to get out. 

“Thanks, Danny!”

“No problem, kiddo! Just give me a ring when you're ready to go!” Eddie scoots over to get out the same way, closest to the sidewalk. You hold the door open for him as he gets out then close it behind him. Eddie looks up at the tall buildings all around. Dan drives off, and you just stand next to Eddie as he takes in the wild bustle of the inner city. You throw on some dark shades, more so to obscure your face a little. You bring down a hand on Eddie's back, grabbing his attention. You whips around to face you, his expression of wonder and overstimulation calming to one of security and adoration. You give him a small smile.

“You ready for your formal tour?” You ask, motioning widely to the big red, double decker bus that pulled up. Eddie looks up at the bus behind you, that star dazed look returning.

“Just for me?” He asks in a dramatically high pitched voice. You let out a laugh.

“Royal treatment.” You lead him one to hop on the bus. You both find seats together at the open top to ensure the best views. The first “stop” is a drive through Time Square.

Even though you have a tour guide, you can't help but quietly add in your little bits by leaning closer to Eddie and telling him about the time you did this, ate that, shopped there. No matter how small, Eddie always gave you his full attention. Your shoulders were practically glued together in the small seats, so the way you leaned in even closer to him when talking made his heart race. “Ooo, come on. This is our first stop.” You say, hopping up to make sure you guys make it off in time, Eddie running quickly behind. One you two are of the bus, you throw your arms up to motion to the tall building in front of you. “Welcome to the Empire State Building, Rockstar!” Eddie is amazed by the sheer height of the skyscraper. You grab his hand and lead him towards the entrance.

The further up the elevator you go, the more Eddie starts to bounce in excitement and the more quiet you start to get. The doors separate and you two finally reach the platform. It's incredibly chilly so high up, the wind whipping hair like mad. Eddie is quick to run out and take in the view. You slowly trail behind him, careful to stay as close to the center of the building as possible. Eddie nearly walks a full lap around with you tailing him. You watch with a nervous smile on your face as Eddie goes over to one of the viewing points, looking through the binoculars. He calls out to you, “Come over here, superstar! You gotta see this. It's crazy!” He backs away just long enough to look over his shoulder at you then immediately goes back to looking. You left out a soft laugh and shake your head. When you don't meet him at the edge, he looks back up from the binoculars and turns to get a proper look at you. He has a bright smile on his face, but as soon as he sees you it falls ever so slightly. His brows draw close the tiniest bit and his head tilts. He walks away from the edge and closes the distance between you two. He reaches out for you, putting his hands on your arms and looking deep into your eyes. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, concerned.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” You lie, “I've seen it before. Go on! This is your day! I want you to enjoy all the city has to offer.” You give him a smile, but he sees through it. He raises a brow with a knowing look.

“It's our day. You are what makes this enjoyable.” He throws an arm around your shoulders and starts walking with you, away from the edge. “I can get a pretty awesome view from here too.” He gives you a wide grin. You two continue to walk back around to the elevators at a leisurely, cautious pace, enjoying eachothers company. Eddie takes in the view from all sides as you walk. The weight of his arm on you ground you and provides a sense of security, so much so that you're able to enjoy the view as well, kind of.

After the Empire State, you two take a cruise to see the Statue of Liberty. It's just as cold as just as windy on the water as it was on the building, but it gave Eddie good reason to initiate physical touch and gave you good reason to lean into him.

You made sure to take photos of and with Eddie every big so you made sure you two could cherish these moments forever. For lunch, you took him to your favorite pizza restaurant, Margarita's. “You can't come to New York without getting a slice of pizza.” you'd tell him. You luckily got a good picture of him first bite. Absolutely mind blown. You two had stopped a few more times to ensure he got in all the tourist spots. You even made a stop at a jewelry “making” store that allowed you two to put together your own necklace with a small assortment of charms that reminded you of one another.

As the sun sets, you two now found yourselves waking through Central Park, sharing dumplings and sesame pancakes. “This has been such a great day.” Eddie says with full cheeks. You laugh at him, mouth equally stuffed. You swallow your food before replying.

“The best day, wouldn't you say?” You say with a sly grin. He gives you a close mouthed smile as he chews, nodding, chuckling a bit. You two continue to walk around the park until you've finished eating. You find a trash can to throw away your wrappers and take a seat on a bench.

Eddie throws his arms behind to rest of the back of the park bench, perching up his right ankle into his left knee. You're seated with your hands in your lap at his right. Both of you sit and people watch, gazing out at the park around you. A few moments of comfortable silence go by before Eddie leans his head back to stare up at the warm sky. “You know, superstar, you sure know how to treat a guy to a great time.” You scoff with a smile.

“I don't just treat any guys.” You reply, leaning into the bench and resting your head back to look up with him, your head slightly resting on his arm. Eddie looks at you through his peripheral before going back to gazing at the sky with a goofy grin on his face.

“I'm special?” he asks, grin evident in his voice.

“Yeeeuuup.” You draw out, popping the P at the end. Both of you are now grinning like idiots up at the sky.

As the sun starts to turn the sky into an angry orange, you give Dan the call to pick you guys up. When you finally make it home, you exit the car giving him thanks. “Yo, kid.” He says before you can walk away. You walk to the driver's side window.

“Yo, old man.” He scoffs at you, sucking his teeth. You give the balding, beer-bellied man a teasing smile.

“Nevermind, asshole.” You chuckle as he continues, “I just want to wish you a nice night. I'm glad you're back in town, safe and sound. It was nice seeing ya, baby girl.” He says like the caring uncle he is. You give him a genuine smile.

“It was nice seeing you, too, Danny. Thank you for the ride as always. Get home safe, and tell the girls I love them!” you wave, walking the rest of the way up the driveway with Eddie.

“I will! You gotta find time to come over for dinner. The missus misses you!” You shouts through the now rolled down passenger window.

“I'll give you a ring!” you shoot back.

“Take care and remember to wrap it up, kids!” Dan yells as he drives off.

“Assface!” you yell back. though he's already driving away, you could still hear the faint sound of his loud cackle. Eddie chuckles beside you. “Sorry bout him. He's you know…” You unlock the door and start waking in, “a bit much.” your face a heated a little at the implied actions Dan yell halfway across your lawn.

“He's not wrong.” Eddie laughs. Your eyes widen but it goes unnoticed as Eddie has already passed you and made his way to your living room couch. “Don't worry about it. He seems like my kind of people.” He plops down in the couch with a loud oomf. “Man, today was awesome, but my feet are numb.” You turn to lock the door behind you and chuckle.

“Told you it was gonna be a big day.” You walk over to his sprawled out figure on the couch, throwing one of his long legs off. “Don't get too comfortable. Get changed. We're having a movie night to finish it off.” You walk away, heading towards the stairs. You hear Eddie getting up with a dramatic groan, footsteps dragging behind you.

“What movie are we gonna watch?” he asks, curiously.

“One of my favorites.” You say with a grin, turning to glance over your shoulder at Eddie. He tilts his head, stopping at the bottom of the stairs once you start to ascend them. “Get in some pjs and you'll find out soon enough.” He groans.

“You always have to string me along?” He pouts like a baby.

“You always have to be so impatient?” you throw back playfully, disappearing into your room.

You both get changed into your pajamas and get some snacks and drinks going. “Can I know now?” Eddie moans out like a toddler.

“Just look at the screen.” you say just in time for the title screen to pull up.

“You like The Dark Crystal?!” Eddie asks loudly, surprised at the movie choice. You chuckle, giving him a curious look. 

“Yes, you've seen it?” Eddie scoffs.

“Like a million times. It’s a classic!”  He boasts. Your face lights up at his reaction. You rush to the couch to plop next to him. He has his legs kicked up on the extended portion of the L shaped couch and one arm draped against the back of the couch and the other resting on the arm rest. You lean against him and bring your feet up to hug your bent knees. Eddie's face warms at the feeling of you cuddled up against his side. You press play on the title screen, and it begins.

The opening credit song gives you chills, filling you with nostalgia. You couldn't stop yourself from whispering along to the opening monologue. Eddie peers down at you. Regardless of how many times you've seen the movie, the magic of it never dies. The wondrous expression on your face can attest to that. Eddie's face breaks out into a wide grin, and he takes over, joining you in reciting the words in his best narrator voice. As soon as he starts, your attention is immediately brought to him. You find him looking down at you as he talks. It makes your heart flutter, and your face breaks out into a huge smile. That look, that wide-eyed innocence, admiration. That look brought him to his knees. There was no doubt in Eddie's mind that you were his person. He'd do anything you'd ask of him, anything to keep you in this space, feeling warm, happy, secure. From that moment on, he knew. You're his everything.

Life Eternal Taglist (OPEN): @ali-r3n @starmilks @madelynraemunson

Swisslist (General Taglist): @rosecentury @smashingmodels

[sapphireginger]

Title: Mama’s Song

Pairings: Gen

Word Count: 1,193

Warnings: None

Square Filled: Bucky Barnes

@sebastianstanbingo

Summary: 

“Sleep, mama.”

Sarah hummed softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “Would you sing for me, my shooting star?”

With a thick swallow, his throat clicking with emotion, Steve inhaled sharply. “Sure, mama. What song?”

“My song, please?”

The winter he turned eight, had been long and bleak. Steve was disappointed that he didn’t get to see Bucky as much as he usually did. It was okay though, because he was needed at home. He blew into his hands, rubbing them together to rid the chill as best he could. Then he wrapped his coat tighter around him and tucked his feet under the small blanket he always had with him. Steve used to think it made him weak or something to carry it around, but Bucky said no one is weak for needing comfort. It was something Steve needed to hear, and his best friend knew that. With a sigh, his eyes flickered over the seemingly endless sea of white. He really missed his best friend.

At the sound of a cough, he turned away from the window and moved over toward the bed. Little hands tucked the quilt tighter around his mama, not wanting her to get cold.

Two years ago, his mama had gotten sick and a year ago, she was bedridden. His papa, Joseph, said he was going out hunting and just never came back. It was fine and while Steve was upset at his papa leaving him, he knew he could look after his mama. Being man of the house at the age of six had been hard but now at the age of eight, he had everything down pat.

Another cough brought him out of his thoughts, his blue eyes settling on his mama. “Mama?” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open, slowly, and it took a lot out of her to do so. “Hello, my shooting star.” Her voice was hoarse, and he quickly helped her drink some water. “How is Bucky? Did Joseph come back with dinner?”

That was another thing that made Steve’s heart ache. His mama was losing her memory. The books in their small little nook didn't help him get any answers and when the doctor was able to come last fall, he had no idea why she was forgetting things.

Still, Steve put on a brave face and spoke softly. “Bucky went on a trip with his family, mama. He’ll come see me at the end of winter.” He wanted to stop there but as she always did, his mama asked again about Joseph. Steve stopped calling him dad the moment he abandoned them.

“He left us, mama.” He kept his voice gentle and watched her closely. He had learned quickly that she never took it well. “He’s been gone for over a year.”

Her face shuttered and she turned her head to look out the window. “I’m tired, Stevie.”

Steve nodded and stood up. He placed a kiss on her forehead and checked once more to be sure she was warm, comfortable and tucked the quilt tighter around her. It was something he did multiple times a day. He may have been able to do the cleaning, cooking and mending but repair was harder. The snow had been too thick and deep for him to wade out and fix a small loose board in the roof.

“Sleep, mama.”

Sarah hummed softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “Would you sing for me, my shooting star?”

With a thick swallow, his throat clicking with emotion, Steve inhaled sharply. “Sure, mama. What song?”

“My song, please?”

A nod, that she could not see, was his response before he settled on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his.

♫ ♫ ♫

“Close your tired eyes, relax, and then Count from one to ten and open them All these heavy thoughts will try to weigh you down But not this time…”

“Way up in the air, you're finally free And you can stay up there right next to me All this gravity will try to pull you down But not this time…”

“When the sun goes down and the lights burn out Then it's time for you to shine Brighter than a shooting star So shine no matter where you are Fill the darkest night with a brilliant light 'Cause it's time for you to shine Brighter than a shooting star So shine no matter where you are tonight…”

♫ ♫ ♫

Steve’s breath hitched, his eyes welling with tears. When he was barely even two, his mama had written the song just for him. She had always said he was the answer to her greatest wish. He was her shooting star and he thought back to his seventh birthday, the last one before his mama began to forget things. They had been curled up in the living room and watched the starry sky twinkle with a thousand lights.

═ ⋆★⋆ ═

“Make a wish, Stevie. Wish on a shooting star,” she had whispered to him as though it was a secret just for them.

He had waited and as soon as he saw the star shoot across the sky, he closed his eyes and wished.

“Did you make a wish?”

“Yes, mama.”

She smiled and kissed his forehead, her arm around him as she pulled him closer to her side. He snuggled against her side as he thought about his wish.

‘I wish for mama to get better and for her to be truly happy again.’

═ ⋆★⋆ ═

A hand slipping into his, drew Steve from the memory and he kissed his mama’s small frail hand. He sniffled softly and finished singing his mama’s song.

♫ ♫ ♫

“Whoa-oh, whoa-oh, whoa-oh Brighter than a shooting star Shine no matter where you are…”

♫ ♫ ♫

His breath hitched again, the last word coming out in barely a whisper.

“Tonight.”

The wind picked up outside their small home in the woods, and as her breathing evened out, Steve couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He just wanted her to get better and let him be a kid again. It made him feel guilty to have such thoughts and feelings, but he was only eight years old and had been so strong for two whole years. There were things he needed to clean, chores to do and food to cook but none of it mattered at the moment.

Blue eyes were glued to his mama’s sleeping face. Only in her sleep did she look peaceful, and only then could he forget, for just a little while, that nothing was the same as it had been two years ago. It was always quiet, too quiet, but as sad as he was, he was grateful that she was still alive, and he still had a mama. The day when he wouldn’t have his mama anymore, was terrifying to think about. So, he shoved all those sad thoughts aside and curled up next to her. Steve settled in a small ball against her side and shivered slightly as his breathing even out.

He was so tired and that always seemed to be the case now. His eyes fluttered shut to the lullaby made just for him. The howling wind, the dripping faucet, the soft inhales, the sharp exhales and the beating of a heart full of love, the melody that lulled him to sleep.

[soft-bellied-tannies]

SBT Little Bite #7

“Uh, Jinnie? Can you come here?”

Jin threw his book to the side and made his way quickly to the kitchen, recognizing the genuine concern in Jimin’s voice.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?”

Jimin was standing in front of the fridge, staring inside with a worried expression.

“The order we made for Mrs. Choi is gone.”

Jin’s eyes widened and looked for himself, confirming that both bottles of the light purple potion were missing.

“Did she stop by while we were out this morning?”

Jimin shut the fridge and leaned back against the counter with one hand in his hair, giving it a stressed ruffle.

“She shouldn’t have. I told her to give us a week. We just got ahead on orders so I let it be.”

Jin’s eyes shifted up toward the ceiling, taking a head count of who was home. Namjoon and Yoongi were both gone for the day on a house call two villages over and Hoseok had been doing rounds in their neighborhood gardens.

“You don’t think they drank it, do you?” Jimin asked, trying to make the argument that their youngest coven members wouldn’t just drink a clearly bottled potion from the fridge without asking.

Jin wanted to say no, but he turned to the staircase and waved for Jimin to follow him, needing to find the answer for himself.

They stopped in front of the lofted attic door after finding the bedrooms and workrooms empty.

Jimin put his ear against the door and heard nothing on the other side, doubting that the other two were even home at that point.

Jin opened the door, revealing the obvious culprits of their missing order.

Taehyung was slumped against the pillows in the window nook with their black cat wrapped around his feet.

Laying across from him on the daybed, Jungkook was sprawled on his side in a way that had his shirt riding up and arm overhanging the side.

They were in a deep sleep sporting a new addition to their previously slim bodies. Both had ballooned up - round potbellies, plump cheeks, and soft thighs had taken shape on their tired figures.

Jin and Jimin shared an exasperated look, partially happy to see how well their potion had taken affect but also pissed off that their partners once again ignored the labels on the order shelf of their fridge.

“Should I go start on the antidote? It’ll take me at least a day to put together,” Jimin said, arms crossed as he thoroughly observed his partners’ new plush frames.

Jin took Jimin’s hand, stopping him from leaving the room. “Not yet, they need to grovel. I’m going to make them work for it.”

Jimin giggled, loving when Jin got on a mean streak. “Okay, Jinnie, sounds good to me.”

“Also…” Jin started.

“Also?” Jimin repeated, encouraging the elder to continue.

Jin turned to him with a smirk and wink. “I don’t hate what I’m seeing. Maybe we could make it work for a little while.”

“I like the way you think, Jinnie,” Jimin replied, going up on his toes to kiss his cheek before making his way over to the window seat for a little wake-up call, not needing to turn around to know that Jin was doing the same.

[munstysmind]

OTP Qs

Evens for Chris and Maddie

Odds for Steve and Harper

So, I’m not sorting these into groups so you’re getting them as they are 🤣

Chris and Maddie / Steve and Harper

Who’s more likely to put the milk back in the fridge empty?

Probably Harper, only because she doesn’t pay much attention to stuff like that, unlike Steve.

Which partner will squeeze the toothpaste in the middle, and which one hates this?

Chris, and it drives Maddie nuts 🤣

What’s one book/DVD/CD they both owned a copy of before meeting each other?

Cool Runnings.

Do they wash their clothes in the same load or separately?

Together. Separated by lights and darks. Maddie does wash her bras and underwear separately on the delicates cycle though.

If they’re married did they live together before they were married?

Yes. Harper moved in with Steve after about 8 months together.

Who picks what colour bed linen they buy? What does it look like?

They both love neutrals in the bedroom. Their sheets are almost all white or a light beige, sand colour.

Who makes a shopping list, and who just shops from memory?

They both make lists. They each have a running list on their phone they jot down anything they need in and compare whenever one of them goes to the store.

Who’s more likely to buy something that’s not on the shopping list?

Chris. He’s terrible for buying ice cream and sweets.

Who will buy Girl Scout Cookies when they knock on the door?

Steve. His favourites are the Samoas.

When they moved in together, who moved into whose house? Or did they start fresh in a whole new place?

Maddie will eventually move into Chris’ place in LA

Do they play music in the background while they’re just hanging out at home?

Sometimes, depends on what sort of mood they’re in.

Does either partner have an allergy? How does their spouse help keep them safe?

Luckily neither of them has any allergies so it’s not something they have to worry about.

Do they share personal items like razors/hairbrushes/toothbrushes?

Nope. They love each other but Harper refuses to share a razor or toothbrush with Steve.

Which partner snores more loudly? How does the other person cope?

Maddie snores but she’s not loud. Chris finds her little snores cute.

Who goes to bed first?

Harper. While Steve can function on very little sleep, she needs at least six hours a night. She either takes herself to bed or fall asleep on the couch or at her desk at work.

Who’s more likely to go over-the-top with decorating for holidays? Chris. He loves Christmas. Live Tree. Lights. The works. Maddie lets him do his thing.

What’s one song/movie one person loves that the other person can’t stand? 22 by Taylor Swift. Steve says it’s like nails on a chalkboard.

What’s each person’s favourite place in their house? Chris loves the back patio, spends most of his free time out there when the weather is good. It’s not uncommon for Maddie to find up asleep on the swing bed. Maddie loves the reading nook. It’s a safe space for her, especially when she’s overwhelmed.

How do they help each other get ready for a night out (zipping dresses, straightening ties etc?) Definitely, of them while telling each other the things they want to do when they take their outfits off. Harper always checks his tie and medal bars when Steve is in his dress uniform. It’s her little routine.

Do both partners buy any personal items (sanitary items/contraception etc), or is it one specific person's job? They have no hang ups on buying each others stuff. However Chris likes to buy his condoms himself, even the ones stored at Maddie’s place because he’s of the mindset that it’s 100% his responsibility so he wants to be the one to do it.

What number is their house/apartment? 2727

Which partner is the one that forgets to hang up their towel? They’re both pretty good at picking up after themselves

Which partner writes love notes in the steam on the mirror? Steve has once, after the first time Harper stayed over at his place

Was there a moving-in-together talk, or did someone just stop going home? Chris brings it up. They’re spending basically all of their free time at each other’s places anyway so it makes sense that they live together.

Do they have an office or a study? Who spends more time there? There’s a small study area in the dining room. Steve often has files from the current case scattered over the desk that he goes through when he can’t sleep.

What’s the big item they had to compromise on to make room for when they moved in together (Piano, pool table, bookcase etc)? There wasn’t really any compromise that a needed to be made, however Chris did a big clear out of the whole house and git rid of a lot of random stuff that he didn’t need to declutter and make way for Maddie’s stuff so she doesn’t have to get rid of anything.

How do they organise their books/DVDs/CDs? Are they kept separate, or together? Alphabetically? By genre? They don’t have many DVD’s, Harper got Netflix a few years back and they use that most of the time, but the DVD’s they do have are organised alphabetically

How many kinds of milk will you find in their fridge? Two, light and full cream/creamer. Maddie can’t stand stomach full cream dairy products and Chris can’t have his coffee without full cream/creamer.

Do they know each others’ tea/coffee orders? Can they make it well? They do. They make each others if they’re the first up. Steve does coffee with sugar and butter which makes Harper’s stomach churn. Harper likes green or fruit tea. She can’t stand coffee. Loves the smell of it though.

Who forgets there’s wet laundry in the washing machine and leaves it till it smells funky? Probably Maddie.

Who never stacks the dishwasher ‘right’, and who always ‘fixes’ it? Neither, they don’t have a dishwasher. Harper’s been trying to convince Steve to get one but he argues it’ll be a waste since it’s just the two of them.

How do they decide which photos are on display? They don’t really have a system for deciding. It’s more a case of they print the photos they like the best and add them to their ever growing photo wall in their living room.

Is this their dream home, or do they plan to move again someday? They love their place. It belonged to Steve’s parents. He grew up in it and they hope to raise raise their children in it. They have no plans to move.

How do they divide the chores up? Does each person stick to their agreed job? They’re both pretty good at dividing everything fairly evenly. They don’t really have set cores they each do, more of they just do a chore if/when they see it needs doing.

Who’s always turning the thermostat down? Who’s always turning it up? They don’t have a thermostat. Their house was built in the late 70’s/early 80’s and nobody ever got round to upgrading the heating and cooling.

Do they rent, or own their place? They live in the home Chris owns in LA. Maddie also owns her apartment in Vancouver which she plans on renting out if/when she leaves Supernatural.

How long were they a couple before they moved in together? They were together for about eight months before Harper moved in with Steve

Who’s bed/couch/fridge did they keep, or did they buy a whole new one? They kept all of Chris’ stuff because it was already there and Maddie was living with Seb so it made no sense to take the fridge and couch. She did leave her bedroom

Who’s more likely to lock themselves out? Neither, they both know how to pick locks.

Who’s more likely to invite other people over? Chris. It’s not uncommon for Maddie to get home to find him in the backyard cooking on the BBQ with a few friends or Scott having a beer.

TAGLIST @aussieez @rookiemartin @babeyyemor @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @chickensarentcheap @dhoruwolfie @themaradaniels @cali-nyc5 @darsynia @muchadoaboutcj

[nik-knight]

Tracy’s home looked like any other countryside cottage from the outside. There were the usual flowering shrubs along the footpath to the front door and a few verdant plants resting in the front window boxes. It perfectly matched any other home that you would find resting in the English countryside.

The inside… not so much.

It was as if the home was split in two.

One section of it looked like it was used to hold seances meant to speak to the dead. There were mystical doodads lying about the shelves and tables and more candles than should be allowed in a home with so many flammable tablecloths and shawls about. Crowley was even sure he saw a crystal ball lying around among the paranormal paraphernalia.

The other side of the home looked more or less like a library. It was nothing but shelves upon shelves of books all laid out in some order that didn’t look like it used any sort of known sorting system. There was perhaps the odd stool or side table that housed a teacup or coffee mug atop them, but otherwise it was near identical to an antique bookshop.

“I’ll go and put the kettle on for the tea then, dears,” Tracy announced once the front door was closed. “Aziraphale dear, why don’t you show Crowley to your reading nook while Anathema and I catch up as the kettle boils?”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help, madame?” Aziraphale looked like he was split between wanting to prepare the tea and also not wanting to leave Crowley by himself if his tail swaying lowly side-to-side towards Crowley was any indication. His ears, Crowley noted as well, were laid flat in a way he knew some cat-folk used to look demure, but one ear, the one closest to Crowley, was twitching towards him, as if checking that the other cat was still there.

“Oh, nonsense, dear. I’m sure you’re excited to talk to your new guest, so let me prepare it this time. Lord knows Anathema and I have a bit of catching up to do, don’t you think so, dear?”

“Sure, Tracy” said Anathema, not hesitating to follow Tracy into the kitchen. Soon it was just Aziraphale and Crowley left at the entrance.

“Well then,” Aziraphale turned towards Crowley with a shy, but excited smile. His tail slowly lifted from its low swaying position to a higher, interested one. “Shall we?” He inclined his head over to the more library-looking part of the house.

“Lead the way.” Crowley put on his best flirty smirk, but hoped it wasn’t skewed by the strange fluttering feeling he got in his belly from the thought of Aziraphale showing him his territory. It wasn’t the same for all cat people, but it was common knowledge that a cat’s personal space was their sanctuary, and someone poking their nose in a cat’s home could likely lead to a few claws to the face.

Though here Aziraphale was, happily guiding Crowley into the depths of his personal den. Crowley was suddenly overcome with that same cozy scent of hot cocoa and old books (well now he knew where the book smell came from), but this time it was coming from everywhere. He was led into the maze of shelves only to find that it ended in a little enclosed area towards the back. It was covered on all sides with either a wall or a wall-length bookshelf closing it off from the rest of the world. Against the back wall rested an old, overstuffed sofa that had a few throw blankets lying over the back. It looked large and wide enough to hold two people napping side-by-side together.

Why was that the image that came to Crowley’s head?

Also, inside the ‘reading nook’ (that was definitely Aziraphale’s cat den) was another side table, a standing coat rack, and a wall lamp that was shining a cozy yellow light across the nook, making it look like the most comfortable place for a cat nap.

“I do apologize for the mess, dear. I’m afraid I hadn’t had the chance to spruce the place up.” Aziraphale carefully slipped off his oxford shoes and divested himself of his coat before hanging it up on the coatrack. He then turned to Crowley and reached his hand out, smiling kindly to him in a way Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone do with him besides Eve. Crowley blushed as he stared down at Aziraphale’s soft hand. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale wanted from him, but he was having an awfully hard time not stretching his neck out to rub his cheek all over the backs of those knuckles.

“I know it can get a bit stuffy in this area, so I usually don’t have my coat on when I read back here,” said Aziraphale, mercifully snapping Crowley’s mind away from wherever it was trying to go with that train of thought.

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, uh…” He pulled his coat off his shoulders quickly and placed it gently in Aziraphale’s outstretched hand. The shining smile he got in return made him want to rip the shirt off his back and give that to him, too.

Wait, no, stop thinking weird thoughts in front of this angel of a cat, idiot!

And an angel he was. Even here, the soft glow of the wall lamp silhouetted his fluffy curls and ears enough to form a halo of soft, fuzzy light around him. Crowley felt like he was melting, but it had nothing to do with the supposed stuffiness of the room.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale gingerly sat down on the sofa and wiggled happily into his seat to get comfortable.

“Well, do make yourself at home, dear.” Aziraphale patted the open space beside him to beckon him.

Crowley, already despising that there was any amount of space between them, kicked his shoes off and more-or-less leaped onto the couch next to the angel-cat. He landed squarely on the cushion, just barely remembering not to use his claws to try to stick to the fabric. He squatted down put his hands down on the cushion in front of him and faced Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked slightly startled by Crowley’s leap, but before Crowley even had a chance to worry, Aziraphale’s face lit up in amazement.

“Goodness! That was quite a leap! A rather agile fellow, aren’t you?”

Crowley swore he could see stars dazzling in those beautiful green eyes.

“Yeh, a bit.” He shrugged, playing it off as cool as he could. “Never know when you’re gonna need to skedaddle in a hurry. Gotta say though, Anathema isn’t a fan of me sitting on top of the fridge. Says she gets nervous that she’s gonna shut my tail in one day.”

Aziraphale’s face crinkled up a bit when he chuckled, and Crowley was scarcely prouder of himself in that moment than he’d ever been in his whole life.    

They were briefly interrupted when Tracy showed up with a tray of tea, but Aziraphale simply thanked her and set the tray aside on the side table. Neither one of them were particularly interested in tea at the moment. Aziraphale was rather eager to continue his conversation with the other cat before him.

“I would have liked to see that. Not that I’d want your poor tail getting caught, though.” Aziraphale blinked at Crowley, then seemed shocked at something. The next thing Crowley knew, there were two emerald-green eyes right up in his face, looking at him like he was a marvel. “Oh, my dear! You have slit pupils! I’ve never actually seen a cat that still has that particular gene!”

That wasn’t surprising considering that traditional slit pupils were almost completely bred out of cats in the last few centuries. Seeing a cat with slit pupils was a rare sight, and they were often associated with being more animalistic. Unfortunately, that meant they were also associated with being feral and dangerous. Hence the sunglasses.

But those had seemed to have fallen off at some point, likely during his great leap onto the couch. And now Aziraphale was staring him down in wonder, which was strange to Crowley since all he ever got when exposing his eyes were worried faces or grimaces of disgust.

“Er, yeah. They’re pretty uncommon but they’ve upset a lot of people in the past, so I usually keep them covered. Sorry about that…” He tried not to think of all the potential adoptions he missed out on in his kittenhood based on the looks he got whenever his eyes were exposed. He turned to look anywhere but Aziraphale, hoping to find his glasses in the process.

“Whyever would you do that?” asked Aziraphale, sounding distressed. Crowley looked back at him to find him pouting a little. “They’re so beautiful! They look like pools of golden sunlight.”

Crowley paused, only managing to blink once in response before going: “…Really?”

“Oh, yes! Aziraphale sat up straight again, looking satisfied with himself for stupefying Crowley. “Most definitely so. I find them quite charming, actually.” The base of his super fluffy tail twitched once, proving his statement to be true. “Is that the reason young Anathema chose you as her companion? I perhaps thought it was because a witch was not complete without a black cat, and she does so have a penchant for witchcraft.” He giggled at his own assumption, probably believing the black cat thing to be a joke.

Though part of it was true: black cats were still thought of in that kind of light, even in the modern day. Witchcraft, curses, and bad luck. That’s all some people thought of black cats. If it wasn’t the eyes that kept him from being adopted, then it was likely the color of his fur that kept people away. It wasn’t uncommon that black cats were usually the ones who were stuck in shelters the longest, and Crowley was just another example of that. Just a demon wrapped in fur.

Though that wasn’t what threw him off.

“I’m… not actually Ana’s companion.” He was hoping to keep this conversation out of their lovely afternoon chat, but it seemed inevitable at this point. “She’s just fostering me as a favor to a friend.”

Aziraphale’s mirthful expression soon turned to one of confusion and concern.

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” Crowley looked away and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m… I’m still a shelter cat, actually. They just thought it’d be a good idea for me to get out of the shelter for a bit. You know, to get some fresh air and all.” By the time he eventually looked back at Aziraphale, the angel looked devastated.

“You mean, you’re not staying in Tadfield?” He quickly backpedaled and amended his question. “I mean, how is it possible you’ve never been adopted? You’re a very handsome cat; I’m sure any family would be honored to have you. That just doesn’t make any sense!”      

Crowley just shrugged, not wanting Aziraphale to pity him like this.

“Nah, I’m not… Well, I’ve been adopted a few times, but it never stuck, you know? None of them were good fits, and well... Well, no one really wants used goods either, really, so it’s not that big of a surprise.”

He had hoped that would quell Aziraphale’s protests, and they could leave that at that, but now Aziraphale was looking at him more intently, as if he was missing an integral part of the picture and Crowley just hadn’t given it to him yet.

“What do you mean by ‘used goods?’ Surely no one would know one way or the other if you’d tried other families before…?”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed he’d mentioned that.

Yet somehow, he couldn’t leave Aziraphale’s inquiries unanswered. He looked so desperate to understand, that keeping him in the dark seemed cruel. Especially with that concerned look that was directed full force at Crowley. He wasn’t sure he could get used to that.

“It’s nothing serious,” he began trying to play it off. He just wanted to make his point without thinking about it too much. It wouldn’t do them any good if he began to panic in the middle of their conversation. “I thought I had made it once. I thought I had found my forever home with one person, but… It didn’t go well, and I found my way back at the shelter again. I was a full-grown cat at that point, and I figured if I couldn’t have a home by then…” He let his sentence trial off. It hadn’t been the whole truth about what happened, but he didn’t want to share the rest of it yet. Aziraphale didn’t deserve that kind of burden, and Crowley didn’t want that kind of pity.

“Oh, Crowley, you mustn’t give up on yourself like that! Truly, I’ve only known your acquaintanceship for a short time, and I already really like you! I know you’ll be adopted soon!” He smiled so hopefully that Crowley almost believed him for a moment. “Buck up, dear. You’re a wonderful, handsome cat with many good years ahead of you.” Aziraphale leaned closer and patted Crowley’s leg. “You just need to give it a bit more time. I know for a fact that if I could, I would have adopted you in a heartbeat.” It must have taken a second for Aziraphale to think about what he said, because just a moment later, his face began to grow pinker around his cheeks and just above his belled bowtie.

“…Really?” Crowley asked again, still stunned by the angel-cat’s words.

“Well… yes,” Aziraphale admitted. His face was still flushed like a beat and getting redder, so Crowley decided not to press any more than that.

“Well, thanks… Um, enough about me, though, what about you, then?

“Pardon?” Aziraphale’s face started returning to normal, though Crowley thought he flushed up nicely when flustered.

“You and your person. Tracy, right? You two seem like an odd pair. How’d that happen, eh?

Aziraphale’s face suddenly went from an adorable pink to a frightening white. He paled rather quickly and looked to the ground at his feet. His tail wrapped up close around his lap and stomach, and his ears flattened out again.

“Oh, it’s not the most exciting story, you know. The usual, I suppose. I was fortunate enough to be assigned as a young kit. I knew Tracy since she was a child, and we’ve stuck together since then. You know. All quite standard, I assure you.”

Well now Crowley was curious. On one hand, he didn’t want to press Aziraphale too much and make him uncomfortable. On the other, that damned curiosity that had always gotten him in trouble was back at it again, and this time in full force. Truthfully, he wanted to know everything about Aziraphale. When was he adopted? What kind of institution did he come from? Was he the only cat in his home? Why did he call his adoption an “assignment”?

He wanted to know everything.

And so, he asked.

“Sounds like it’s more than that. What was your shelter like? I bet you came from one of the fancy ones down south, eh? I bet you had your own room with an en suite bathroom and fancy fixtured lighting, right?” he teased. He knew there were some nicer shelters out there. His wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t like one of those “purebred houses” that he’d heard about in the past. Those were supposed to be fancy.

“Um…” Aziraphale dithered in his response. He simply wrung his hands together strangely so that the tips of his fingers were tucked under his hands. “Well—”

“Crowley!” called out Anathema from the other side of the little library. “We should be getting back to the cottage. It’s starting to get dark out.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale, looking half relieved and half disappointed, fished out his watch from his waistcoat and looked at the time. “Oh, it is getting late. Here, let me walk you to the door, my dear.”

They collected their coats (and Crowley found his glasses), and both of them walked, rather slowly, back to the front door where Tracy and Anathema were wrapping up whatever conversation they were having.  

“Oh, don’t worry dears,” Tracy said, seeming to notice how downtrodden both of the cats looked at the thought of separating. “If you two like, we could arrange another meeting of sorts while Crowley’s in Tadfield. After all, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale’s ears instantly perked up, and his tail instinctively wrapped itself around Crowley’s waist.

Crowley believed he deserved every medal in the world for the effort it took not to scream, melt, and swoon at the same time. Though he was sure he couldn’t keep the blush away as he felt the heat rushing to his face. Well played, Aziraphale. (Aziraphale for his part didn’t seem at all to notice that his tail took on a mind of its own when he wasn’t paying attention.)

“Ssssure,” Crowley nodded while trying to keep himself from burying his face in Aziraphale’s fur and never leaving. “Whatever Aziraphale wants I’m fine with…”

“Oh, that’s just splendid! Anathema dear, just give us a ring whenever it’s convenient for you, and we’ll set up a time.”

“Sounds good to me.” Anathema nodded and checked her phone for the time. “I’ll call tomorrow when I’m free. But for now, we should probably head back before it gets dark.”

“Of course, dears, mind how you go, yes?”

“I do so look forward to seeing you again, dear.” Aziraphale gave Crowley another smile that Crowley was sure could light up the black chasm in his chest for the rest of forever.

“Yeah, same here, angel.” Crowley gathered up all his will power to be able to step away from the comforting warmth of Aziraphale’s tail. “See ya.”

And although there was probably supposed to be some sort of somber silence that filled the air after the other two left, the evening was not quiet.

Still, Aziraphale would not be as aware (as Tracy was) about just how very loud he was purring.

“He called me angel.”

SO 👏

someone mentioned my other catboy omens stuff in a few tags (thank you btw <3) and I decided I'd just dump all of it in a single post outside of the main tag

... I've spammed enough of my things on it today

*cough* Here's that post :D

(Backstory sketchy ass comics under the cut)

(Yes, that's Eve)

(Madame Tracy and Aziraphale are adoptive siblings in this :D)

CW for grooming and SA attempt committed by one (1) Lucifer on this next one.

It's nothing explicit but it's definitely heavily implied.

And ofc I left it there bc I got distracted with other things.

Sorry if the story and dialogue are wack, I'm not a writer and english ain't my native language.

This is all before Azi and Crow meet, they were supposed to have a really cool adventure with lots of feelings after this, but... yknow what happened

Also dont think for a second that Azi had it any easier, my boy was declawed and forced to act more human before he got adopted skgkd

If there's any questions (of course there are, I didn't explain shit for the sake of not making this post any longer than it already is sjgbc), I'd be pleased to answer them

I'm sad that I couldnt bring myself to do anything with them romancing around besides those two first drawings

But at least there's this

Thank you if you survived this post, have a free cookie and a lovely day 🍪

[fangirleaconmigo]

Fun little smut prompt: in honor of spooky season coming up, could we get some monster loving? Maybe a Geralt/Jaskier werewolf/tentacle/other monstrous happenings going on? Or just straight up Geralt being a witcher has some interesting smut possibilities. Always down for Geralt being Different(TM) and Jaskier being Horny for It (TM). (Or the other way around. Maybe Jaskier's hiding something and Geralt is really really a-okay with it . . .)

In the witcher books, Dandelion says that Geralt won't kill night spirits because they're "sweet". So for my first monsterfuckery fic EVER, guess what I picked?

--------------------

Sweet.

Geraskier. Explicit. Monsterfuckery, but make it sickeningly sweet.

“I know you said they were sweet. You didn’t say they were that sweet.”

Geralt was hung over. And worse, he had apparently told Jaskier about his arrangement with the night spirits of the Black Forest last night. This morning, he just wanted to forget he ever brought it up. He pictured the fresh bread waiting for him at the little shop around the corner. He walked faster.

“Stop trying to lose me!” Jaskier protested.

Geralt sped up.

“Is it a relationship??" Jaskier panted while he hopped to keep up. "Or is it just fucking?”

Geralt stopped and Jaskier ran into the back of him and bounced off.

Geralt crossed his arms and glared at him. 

“What?” Jaskier flailed. That was what he did when he was frustrated with Geralt. It was kind of cute. “ I just want to know! What’s wrong with asking a question?” He grinned a little too wide.

“This is why I don’t tell humans anything,” Geralt groused. “You lot think it’s a fucking joke.”

“I am not mocking! I am merely asking your relationship status, so I know whether I can invite myself to your next rendezvous, and not get punched.”

Geralt blinked. “Seriously?”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “Seriously! Remember that splinter I got on my ass?”

“How could I forget? The trauma of staring at your ass for an hour haunts me in my dreams.”

Jaskier huffed dismissively. “Oh stop. As though you didn’t draw it out.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “I was trying to tempt a leshen. It was not in the mood. That is how I got that splinter.”

Geralt massaged his temples. “You told me--

“Nevermind what I told you! Now answer me about the night spirit.”

“Godsdamnit. Look. It’s….neither. We’re—-friends.“

“So—-can I come?” Jaskier’s face lit up hopefully.

Geralt opened his mouth. He expected his response to be ‘no’. The last thing he needed was to throw oil on the flames of his idiotic and ill advised crush on the bard. And yet, when he went to form the word, what issued from his mouth sounded a whole lot more like ‘yes’.

Jaskier drew in a breath and bounced happily on his toes.

——-

When night had fallen and the forest sounds grew loud and bold in the cover of night, Geralt and Jaskier stood together in the midst of a clearing in the Black Forest. It was sort of a clearing, but it was small. It was like a nook.

A towering, luminous being hovered above Geralt. It had no face, but it did have a head that was reminiscent of the moon. Tendrils of flowing light flicked around it like whips or tentacles.

The witcher spoke in a language Jaskier did not understand. Then he bowed his head. The night spirit did not reply. It simply disappeared.

“What did she—-he—-they—-say?” Jaskier asked. He had already put on his night clothes for, as he put it, easier access. However, he still had on his favorite coat, that had several bows running down the back. 

Geralt jerked his gaze back to him. “You wouldn’t mind if it...if the spirit were... a him?”

Jaskier laughed. “I’m trying to have sex with a night spirit. I tried to seduce a leshy. Did you think my ability to be attracted to a person was so limited?”

Geralt rubbed the back of his own neck. “I suppose not.”

The night spirit returned with friends. They hovered, like a chorus of apparitions, casting a lovely glow on the witcher and the bard. They made a series of noises. It sounded practically musical. Jaskier tried to commit the tune to memory.

“They said yes,” whispered Geralt.

Jaskier grinned triumphantly and waved expansively as he turned his body in a semi circle to allow his eyes to fall on every single night spirit. “I look forward to sexual congress with you ALL!”

“Fuck.” Geralt muttered. But he was smiling.

——

Geralt stood, facing Jaskier. Only, he wasn’t really looking at him. He was looking at the ground and speaking more quietly than normal. He glowed from the reflection of the light from the night spirits. His white hair made him look like he was wearing a halo.

Jaskier thought he looked quite beautiful like this. He had always been afraid to tell him when he thought he looked beautiful. He assumed he’d kick his ass and leave him.

But now.

Well.

Maybe Geralt was a bit more open minded than he gave him credit for. Also, Geralt had agreed to bring him along. So maybe he wasn’t entirely repulsed by the idea of seeing Jaskier naked either. This was turning out to be a most thrilling night.

“I didn’t catch that Geralt, I’m sorry.”

“I said,” Geralt repeated, with effort, and barely louder. “They think our skin is…pretty. So they like us naked.”

Jaskier already had his coat half off. “Well, who am I to deprive them of all of this!”

He was naked before Geralt could gather his wits.

And ok.

Geralt thought he was spectacular.

“Well, aren’t you going to get naked too?”Jaskier felt like a pervert because he was unable to keep the absolute glee and anticipation out of his voice. To make up for it he offered to look away. “Want me to look away?”

Geralt startled. “No. No of course not.”

The witcher started to take off his shirt, and the night spirits moved towards him as one. A glowing tendril of light touched his cheek.

A lovely expression came over Geralt. He closed his eyes and smiled.

Gods. Thought Jaskier. Fucking hell. He is so beautiful like this.

Jaskier realized he so rarely saw Geralt smile like that. Relaxed. Unguarded. No thought about being judged or found wanting. Every line on his face seemed to fall away. He looked twenty years younger. It made Jaskier’s heart feel like it would burst.

The night spirit was clearly intimate with Geralt, because it helped him disrobe.

Geralt’s cock was already half hard and it was magnificent. 

Jaskier licked his lips. “Alright, now what? What shall I do?” His voice trembled.

Trembled.

Jaskier was far younger than Geralt, but he was willing to bet that he had more sexual experience. He was a renowned lover, goddamnit.

And yet. He felt like a fucking virgin. He got to see Geralt’s cock. It was like the first time he’d seen a breast. He tried not to giggle. Despite his emotions, his body responded lustily to the buffet of witcher before him.

Looking at Geralt had already gotten him insanely erect. He’d been suppressing this attraction for ages, so it was a relief to stop hiding it. And if it offended Geralt, he could just pretend it was the night spirits.

It was entirely believable. They were rather pretty for people with no faces.

But it didn’t seem to offend Geralt. His cheeks were pink and if Jaskier didn’t know him better he would think he were stammering.

“They also like our voices. So. I make noises. Whenever I feel like it.”

“Well!” said Jaskier, clapping “I do that anyway, so this is perfect. Now what do we do. Penetrate? Be penetrated? Just rub around?”

Geralt smothered a smile. “We just. Lie back. They do everything else. They said for you to just watch, so you aren’t frightened when it is your turn.”

-----

Jaskier didn’t believe in the existence of gods, so he had never seriously asked them for anything.

And now he never would. Because really, what more could one want from life?

Nothing more than this, surely.

Geralt of Rivia was spread out in front of him. He was naked and squirming. His thick thighs were trembling.

He really was the most spectacular thing Jaskier had ever seen, stuffed with glowing tentacles, gasping for air, he was transcendent.

Jaskier stepped closer, transfixed, holding out his hand. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with it. He just knew he had to touch Geralt. He didn’t think Geralt saw him, but then Geralt’s fingers were threaded in his. Then Geralt was pressing his hand to his stomach.

Fuck. Jaskier whispered.

Suddenly the night spirit language sounded a whole lot like common speech. “Kneel, bard.”

So Jaskier knelt. It felt like the only thing to do. Jaskier knelt and took Geralt’s cock in his mouth. He gripped his ass and used it to hold himself steady. He kissed and sucked and licked and forgot what time and space was. All that existed was the hard length of parting his lips. The entire universe was the salty, warm scent and taste of Him. There were no words spoken more important than the sound of his name falling from Geralt’s lips.

As he bobbed his head, he felt something tickle his thigh. It was asking for permission. He moaned. And soon, there were tendrils made of light curling around his body, plunging into him. Geralt’s length fell from his lips as he cried out. 

Soon enough he managed to feel ecstasy and deliver his pleasure to Geralt at the same time.

They crested together, like the swell in a symphony. They spent onto the forest floor, shaking and moaning. Then, Jaskier crawled into his arms and kissed him. It was only then that he realized they were floating, resting on beams of light.

His voice was scratchy and he whispered in Geralts’ ear. “I think I love you.”

The night spirits tittered.

“What did they say?”

Geralt chuckled. He was still sweaty and breathing deep and fast. “They said, ‘it’s about time’.”

"Hey. Geralt did not mention your sarcasm."

And then.

“Wait. They know me?”

The night spirits once again spoke in common. Their voices were as one. “You’re all he ever talks about. We have asked him again and again to invite you, believing it could open communication between you.”

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes. They were pressed against each other now, enveloped in each other’s arms. “Did they now?”

“They did.”

“He loves you too.”

Jaskier smiled. “Is this true? Are you friends having me on?”

Geralt squeezed him. “It’s true.”

The night spirits spoke again, as one. Jaskier didn't ask that time what they said. It sounded more like a laughter.

The night spirits didn't have a cave or den or any place to host them, so Jaskier walked back to their camp, hand in hand. Only now they shared a bed roll.

Years later, when Geralt and Jaskier were married, and people asked them how they came to be together as a couple, Geralt would always change the topic.

But it was inevitable that Jaskier would clear his throat and hold court. He loved telling that story, even if Geralt turned so many shades of pink that he looked purple.

After all, who else can say that night spirits, and their vibrating tentacles brought you the love of your life?

Just one witcher and one bard, he’d wager.

[its-deputy-caleb]

How would the Lord’s be with a s/o who’s short like 5’0 but they’re super sweet but can be feisty

Heyy so i’ve been sick recently so this may not be as good as always and it’s a little rushed but i hope it’s not too bad! but this was still always enjoyable to write as always! enjoy

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina is lecturing one of the maidens for leaving one of the windows open when she feels something tapping on her leg.

Her eyebrow raises when she finds you tugging on the fabric of her dress, your hands covered in blood.

She picks you up by the back of your shirt as you give her the brightest but cheekiest smile.

“Now what have you been up to in these castle walls that has led you to put blood all over my dress.”

Your legs dangle in the air as you explain that you’ve spend the last four hours running around in the cellars and dungeons trying to find hidden trinkets. You didn’t anticipate to run into an array of grim reaper type creatures but you never turned down a challenge.

“My my, it seems you have been busy.”

Alcina throws you over her shoulder and carries you into her private quarters before she practically dumps you in the bath that swallows you.

“You, my dear are not coming to dinner looking like that.”

She’s seated on the edge of the tub, gloves removed as she rubs her expensive rose scented shampoo in your hair. For a moment it’s quite peaceful.

You’re ever the troublemaker and considering Alcina’s dress was already dirty you couldn’t help but splash water on her.

She grasps but plays into your cheeky ways and splashes you back just as playfully until you’re both soapy and covered in water.

You both dress for dinner with Alcina insisting you wear some of your more finer clothes but you still manage to pull some buttons loose here and there.

Although you’re a wild one, bouncing down the hallway and nearly knocking over one of Alcina’s fine porcelain vases, you still take her hand in yours and walk proudly into the dinner room with your lady.

You take your place at the dining table next to Alcina, your chair significantly higher to sit comfortably but she definitely pampered you with some of the finest cushions to boost you up.

Still you can’t help but feel happy and full of joy to see your family and that only lifts your mood further.

Donna Beneviento

Donna walks into the lounge room to find you chasing angie around, trying to get to her from behind the couch.

“You’ll never take me alive!!”

You’re just as crazy and rambunctious as Angie, the two of you instantly getting along. Donna smiles when she finds that Angie finally found a friend and she’s thrilled that Angie is taken with you.

“Will you two calm down before you break something!”

The two of you stop to stare at Donna who is holding a porcelain doll in her hands to stop it from being broken as you practically jump around the room.

But somehow through all your wildness you have a soft spot for Donna. Slowing your movements and walking up to her, you wrap your arms around her neck and hide your head under her chin.

“I’m sorry Dons, will you come exploring with Angie and I in the mountains??”

With you and Angie on either side of Donna, the three of you spend your afternoon exploring the caves near the waterfall.

Jumping over pools of rocks and mini cliffs, you always go first holding your hand out to Donna each time so she can hold onto while she jumps.

You’re always there to catch her too. It’s a little hard when you’re smaller than her but you’d never let her fall.

Eventually you come to an opening in one of the caves. The view is spectacular, with the waterfall cascading down and catching the fading light beautifully.

Your hand is in Donna’s gently rubbing your thumb on the back of her hand. However in a split second Angie comes up and surprises her with a loud BOO.

Donna’s surprised shriek rings in the cave she thinks she’s going to fall from the height of the cave, Angie’s creepy laughter eventually drowns it out.

You wrap your arms around her, keeping a calm but gentle hand on the back of her head to steady her.

“It’s alright, I gotcha now”

You hug Donna tightly, death glaring Angie behind her shoulder. When you pull away, you take Donna’s face and cradle it gently in your hands.

“Common, lets go home I could do with a nice warm cup of tea to go with a good book.”

Even though Donna was less adventurous as you were, she always enjoyed running around with you and Angie but you always spoiled her afterwards with a warm night in under blankets and warm tea while you read to her.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore was walking around the windmill trying to find you when he’s interrupted by a rather loud noise.

“HEY SAL GUESS WHO’S FINALLY TALLER THAN U??”

He audibly grasps when he sees you sitting on the wooden sail of windmill, smiling down on him.

You jump down and land in front of him, giggling at the small scream that leaves him. Stepping forward and into his space you place a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s me!!”

You take Salvatore’s hand in your own and lead him to explore all the nooks and crannies of the windmill with him.

Eventually you run off from him and hide behind one of the wooden crates stacked in the corner.

Poor Salvatore is confused by where you’ve gone trying to find you frantically as he runs around looking for you. You had the advantage however, being small had its perks sometimes.

When he’s not looking you run up and jump him from behind, your hands wrapping around his neck as you cling to him.

His laugh bounces off the valley and he spins around with you in a piggyback. One of your favourite things is making him laugh.

You spend the next few hours playing what is basically hide and seek as you run around all through the windmills, reservoir and mines doing your best to stay clear of any lycans.

You’re a wild card in Salvatore’s otherwise quiet life, but he loves you nonetheless. But you don’t miss the way his hand clings to yours in a death grip.

However, sometimes you’re a little too wild for his comfort zone and he definitely refused to do the zip line with you. But he cheered for you from his place on the ground because he never wants you to change the way you are. To him, you’re perfect.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl is always used to strange noises and loud bangs within the factory, but after living there for as long as he had; he can always tell when somethings out of place.

A rather large crash rings throughout the halls of the factory and Karl begrudgingly puts out his cigar, hoping that one of the Soldats hadn’t broken any of his equipment.

When he walks into a smelting room he finds you on the floor with metal boxes all over you and you buried under the toppled over shelf.

Karl flicks his wrist and all the metal moves to the corner of the room to reveal you huffing your hair out of your face.

You were looking for a mould to craft a new dagger with, sorting through the assortment of boxes when it all came falling down on top of you.

Karl moves his wrist once more, moving the mould you were looking for to his hand, a smug look on his face. He knew. For the last few weeks he’d seen you eyeing out that mould when you came to sit with him while he worked.

“Looking for something?”

You stand to your feet and try to snatch it out of his hand. Karl sees you coming from a mile away and holds it above your head, he doesn’t even need to use his powers for this one, his arm will do just fine.

He’s cocky and can’t help but torment the thing over your head like a child but in an instant you have him tackled to the ground. Now that one he didn’t see coming.

“Don’t think for a moment Heisenberg that just because I’m small that i couldn’t totally kick your ass if i needed to.”

Now you’re the one to be cocky as Karl stares in awe up at you, it took a lot of strength and maybe a hint of luck to bring down someone as powerful as him.

Eventually you let him up from his kindly uncomfortable position on the floor, his back strained against the metal grates. You totally don’t threaten to throw him at Alcina’s doorstep if he doesn’t make that new dagger for you.

Karl loved that about you, how feisty and wild you could be. It meant you were a great training partner and both of you either trained together often. Being small had its too. One thing Karl lacked was finesse and you were much more agile and skilled in your movements.

Other times you’d help Karl out in the factory by lifting boxes of scrap metal or even welding some of the weapons. He absolutely loved that about you, how he could easily be comfortable with you and his heart swelled when he could teach you all that he knew about metal. For the first time in a long time it felt like someone was on his side.

One day Karl saw you take a Soldat out with your new dagger and to say that it didn’t scare the shit out of him would be a fucking lie. Soldats were taller than him for christ sake.

Karl loved you though. He loved how fierce you were but you had the heart of gold and to him, you were this perfect little being that made his heart beat twice as fast when he was with you.

He loved that you could hold your own and would stand up to anyone but in the closed doors of the factory he got to see a softer more tender side of you filled with tender kisses and tight hugs.

[pedropascalito]

Homes and Gardens: DEA Edition, Part 3

Ooh boy, S1E6 is a goldmine of Javier Pena’s life outside the DEA, as illustrated by his home decor choices.

Let’s start with my favorite part: Javi has a reading nook? This comfy chair is adjacent to his bookcase and has its own coffee table. I love this detail so fucking much. I want to sit on his lap here, reading a book, and then fuck him in that chair.

My second favorite thing about his home: this old-school record player and box speakers. Oh man, please Javi, invite me over, put on some sexy music, dim those living lights, ply me with whisky, and let’s stay all night on that leather sofa together, wrapped in your afghan.

The big-ass answering machine next to the stereo. Can you imagine the messages he gets??

The bowl of glass fruit! I cannot reconcile this with Javi, so imma assume it reminds him of his abuelita’s house. I also love the container of silverware on the counter;I have the same set up. (I’m a stereotypical NYer who doesn’t cook and lives alone, with very little silverware.)

The quilted bar! I looove it. And he has a fancy decanter (Javi is not a slouchy bachelor), and a lot of those bottles look half or mostly empty. Accurate.

The ashtray on the bar, in addition to the three on his coffee table. I want to know how many total ashtrays Javier has in his apartment. I’m guessing no fewer than 15.

Two dancing sculptures on the bar, and a decorative but functional copper kettle displayed on the opposite short wall. Javier is a lot more cultured than I have given him credit for.

Do we think the plants are real or nah? If real, I’m guessing he has a housekeeper who comes once a week to dust and water the plants.

That is one ugly ass lamp.

The mural on the living room wall is amazing, and I can’t tell if that’s a working fireplace or not, but the mantle is beautiful and there are more sculptures/artwork. Javi really is an intriguing man. I would not have guessed he had all this sculpture art. I wonder how often that vase is filled? I guess when the housekeeper remembers to fill it. (That’s canon for me, I decided.)

I will never stop laughing about this Viking ship glass sculpture. Why, Javi, why?

And last but not least, a peek at Javi’s bedroom? I love the blue walls, very cozy and sexy. If those are books, I love they are bedside. I wish we saw more of this room! All we really see in another scene is the beige sheets; I would have taken Javi for white sheets; they can be bleached. You know has fluids and lube stains!

[shreddedparchment]

He Says He Loves Me Pt.06

Snow and Flowers

01/22/2022

Pairing: Loki x Reader          Word Count: 5,418

Warnings: language, implied infidelity, angst, jealousy, fluff

A/N: I’m coming out of my endo flare up and period and I am so happy I could finally finish this chapter. I literally had just the last like 1k words to go. Anywho, I hope y’all enjoy! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT repost or translate my stories onto any other blogs or sites!

NO taglist for this story.

It’s a relief to step into the relatively warmer air of the folly.

It’s a stately limestone tower with its marble floors and iron braziers on the walls giving the entirety of the building a much more ancient feel as opposed to the ornate golden sconces of the main house. The chandelier is also darkened metal.

All the candles are unlit and the only thing illuminating the three story tower is the blue winter glow coming from the open curtained windows.

Loki huffs lightly, rushing towards a small bench nestled underneath the cozy nook created by the spiraling staircase that rises up onto the floors above of which you cannot see from here but can imagine it’s just more open space decorated similar to this one.

On every wall that is not a window is a floor to ceiling bookcase.

Somehow, the Odinson estate adds even more books to it’s already massive collection, to your utter astonishment.

“Here,” Loki says, moving towards you with a pretty yellow shawl, woolen and warm as he carefully places it around your shoulders.

“Thank you, I can manage.”

He quickly takes his hands back and a step away from you too at the stern tone in your voice.

You’re so angry at yourself for having given in to him. Whose shawl is this? Nothing is lit so he had no idea he was bringing you here.

Despite his declarations that you are the first person he’s shown this place to, how is it possible there was already a woman’s shawl resting on the very hidden bench underneath the stairs?

You can’t escape your distrust of him and as he watches you for a moment take in the shelves of books, you can tell that he understands that you do not trust him.

He smiles--well, more like smirks--and then rushes to the large fireplace on the opposite wall from the entrance and rushes to light it while you browse the wares.

It takes a few minutes as he stokes the blaze for the heat to seep through the shawl Loki provided, your tippet, and finally your gown to your skin underneath making you shiver.

“I’m sorry, I should have sent a servant to light the fire before we arrived,” Loki says, poking the wood before reaching down to grab another log and throw it amongst the crackling blaze.

“Were you planning to ambush me in the garden and get me over here? Was our accidental meeting fabricated?”

You’re not expecting him to answer but his scoff and chuckle pull your gaze away from the collection of novels. You haven’t seen one single book on these shelves so far that normal society would not consider frivolous. Nothing to increase one’s mind. Only entertain.

It’s heaven.

“Do you really think me so calculating?” Loki wonders, putting the poker away before turning to look at you as he rubs his hands together to warm them.

You stare at him, waiting with an almost bored look on your face as he waits for his answer.

He realizes you’re answering without answering and smiles again, amused by you for some reason.

“Well, warm up here and I will go up and light the rest of the candles to give us some more light.”

Instead of going back to your browsing you watch him move around the first room as he lights not only the braziers on the wall but he uses a rickety ladder to light the chandelier.

Your heart hammers as you watch him balance on the meek little thing until it begins to sway too far to the left and you rush over to hold it steady with one hand.

He freezes, sensing his fall, but then turns to look at you as it stops wiggling.

“Thank you,” he gasps, relieved.

Unable to speak with kindness to him just yet, you bite your lip and kind of wish you’d let him fall.

When he’s finished and the room is brightly lit, he excuses himself and disappears up into the rest of the tower.

With him out of sight, you go back to your browsing but aren’t really reading any titles, merely scanning them as your thoughts are busy pondering Loki’s behavior both here and over the past few days.

After who knows how many minutes, you end up by the arched window that faces the estate in the distance, the garden invisible from here amongst the rest of the frozen landscape.

The snow crystals that sparkle at you from the blanketed ground dazzle you. It’s a wonderland, truly. This enormous house with its prestigious family.

While it can’t compare to Kilnaroch, it’s lovely all the same.

It also isn’t empty. Not that you don’t count Mim. But she’s often busy and you sometimes wonder if she’s your companion out of duty rather than friendship. She was your governess, afterall.

A soft clearing of his throat brings your attention back to Loki. You’re startled however, because you turn and he’s merely a foot behind you.

You try not to let him know he’s surprised you but the way his lips curl up at the corners in a satisfied grin tells you that you aren’t fooling him.

“Forgive me,” he states. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow and turn back towards the estate.

“Did you enjoy growing up here?”

“At times,” Loki admits with that smile still in place.

He turns to look at the side of your face and you can feel his stare boring into your cheek and temple. You don’t dare turn to meet his eyes.

“Oh?” you urge him, interested and also eager to distract yourself.

“Mm,” he says and you think he won’t elaborate but then he moves to the stairs and holds out his elbow for you. “There are more books upstairs.”

You turn to him, watching him for a moment before deciding it’s better to just go. You’ve already come this far.

You drop off your muff on the table as you pass it before hooking your arm through his and gently take hold of his elbow.

He’s so warm. You can feel his heat through his jacket. The curve of his arms is pleasant and surprising. He looks so lithe. Not thin, but perhaps a bit wiry. There’s more girth to his form than immediately apparent and you stare at the subtle curve through his jacket and wonder things you should not wonder about a man you hardly know.

Your cheeks burn and your ears are on fire as the shame of your imagenings gets the better of you.

“Are you hot, my lady?” Loki teases, his smile softer and his eyes more genuine.

“No,” you say too quickly.

His smile grows wider but it isn’t the irritating grin from before. What does it mean?

“My father expects a lot from me,” Loki says, taking you up the staircase carefully and waiting when you need to gather your dress a little before walking on.

“I noticed,” you agree.

“Even as a child, I was expected to rise above my peers and match my brother’s ambition. As the heir, Thor had a lot of responsibility but also a lot of privileges that came with his future inheritance. He could afford to be a little more...easy with his efforts.

“And yet, my brother went above and beyond my father and mother’s expectations and has set an example that I have been trying to catch up to since we were boys.”

Loki’s mischievous and rebellious nature makes sense if he’s had to live in his brother’s shadow all this time. Why he found it necessary to take it out on you, you still don’t understand.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about how you treated me at the ball?”

You don’t mince your words and you aren’t afraid to show him you’re still displeased.

“No.” Loki assures you. “No, and I truly am sorry for my behavior that night. Rowenna, that is, the Lady Gardner and I bring out the worst in each other. Both of us were expected to fulfill certain roles in our respective families and we were drawn into a friendship that has helped us both release some...tension.”

You frown, not liking that one bit. Did they go about making other young ladies feel terrible about themselves?

“Do you consider snubbing ladies an effective release of tension? I suppose you both ran around destroying reputation after reputation. No doubt leaving an endless trail of possible young brides sobbing behind their fans.”

Your hand is tight around his arm and he looks at your gloved fingers before he places his hand over them and stops at the top of the second floor landing.

The gesture gets your attention and you look up at him to find him watching you, concern and guilt etched on his face.

“Will I never be able to earn your forgiveness? I know that my efforts have been enthusiastic, but I only wish to show you that I know that I was wrong in treating you as I did.”

Your chest aches painfully, that inescapable bitterness rolling over you again but with it is a surprising amount of satisfaction at his sincerity. 

He must truly be sorry?

His green eyes are striking. They’re so piercing that you can only imagine he reads you like a book. 

Young and inexperienced as you are. You must be easily seen through.

Swallowing hard, you ignore the strange flutters that thrum along your heart and settle in the pit of your stomach. You look away, down at your hand around his arm to gather your wits but when you meet his eyes again you don’t attempt to disguise the hurt you feel.

He did it. He put it here. It’s only right he sees it.

“You made quite the first impression, Loki.”

The air is suddenly charged. Your skin tingles as his name leaves your lips, tongue suddenly numb against the roof of your mouth as you press your lips together nervously.

Loki blinks, his breath caught in his throat. Stunned probably by your use of his first name, but you cannot bring yourself to address him by the more formal and somehow less distinguished Mr. Odinson.

This time he looks away to gather his thoughts but when he meets your gaze again, his eyes are bright and eager, his lip curled at the right corner in a smile. Smirk? It’s somewhere in between.

“I know. I will make it up to you.” He promises.

“When?” you wonder. “And why? I thought you had decided that I was not the woman you wished to marry.”

Loki nods, “Perhaps I was a little hasty in my declarations.”

As you reach the second landing you find only one bookcase but where others had lined the walls below there are tables and chairs. A smaller tea table near the middle sits as centerpiece underneath the ornate iron chandelier overhead.

“As for when I shall make it up to you, I suppose only time will aid me in that venture. Come,” he urges you and leads you to the next flight of stairs.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve reached the top floor and here you find a small circular sitting room with layered carpets in shades of beige, green, and gray that cover the limestone floor and preserve the heat pouring out from the final fireplace.

Along with the cozy fire and the closely situated sofas, there on a narrow pale oak table is an elaborate porcelain tea set with a white and gold design and a tiered tray of various cakes both lightly iced and plain but garnished with pressed white phlox blooms.

Several of your favorite books are also placed on the smaller table at the longer sofa’s end as well as a thick fur trimmed blanket thrown casually over the back simply waiting to be draped over your chilled shoulders.

“Mr. Odinson,” you begin, pulling your arm gently from around his elbow so that you can lean back away from him to stare up into his slightly smug yet surprisingly bashful face.

He meets your eyes, his face softening just a bit as he allows himself a quiet chuckle.

"You've caught me. Would you be very angry with me if I told you that our meeting in the garden was not so wholly unplanned?" Loki confesses.

“Not angry exactly, but your skills at deceit have been exposed, sir. I’m aware now.”

Loki’s face actually pales more, if that is even possible with his already fair complexion. He looks a little guilty too but you release him and move to take a seat on the longer sofa.

As you settle, your stomach grumbles and you reach for one of the simpler cakes and devour it quickly before setting to serving your tea.

Loki also sits with you leaving enough space to keep things proper but as you finish pouring your tea Loki takes the milk and offers it to you.

You nod once and he pours a little for you.

“Sugar?” he wonders.

You watch him a little taken aback not expecting his doting and it feels a little overwhelming.

“What are you doing?”

He speaks slowly, confused and brow scrunched by your wary tone, “Offering you some sugar? Do you not like sugar in your tea?”

“No, I love some sugar in my tea, why are you trying so hard?”

Loki relaxes, suddenly grinning as he takes the small tongs from the sugar bowl and plops two small spoonfuls into your cup.

“Just as I said before, I will find a way to remedy my behavior and the impression I made upon you when we first met,” he explains.

“Yes, but this is a bit much. Would you be this way with anyone else?” You’re not looking for special treatment from him. All you’ve wanted from him is to be treated with respect and decency, nothing more. Nothing less.

“No.” Loki says with a small shrug as he sets the tongs aside and settles back into the sofa. “But you are not just anyone else, are you? My future wife deserves distinction and to be doted upon.”

Your heart nearly stops as your stomach erupts with unexpected flutters. Then your poor heart sputters back to life at double the speed, the pounding of it loud in your ears as you swallow and try not to let your hand shake your teacup.

Loki looks unaware of your flustered state as he reaches down to smooth out his jacket and waistcoat.

He really has no idea of the effect he has on the people around him and this irks you to no end.

When you say nothing, Loki finally looks at you, a small curl to his lips which you detest. Does he see your fluster?

To hide it you bring your tea to your lips and drink, the soothing heat relaxing your body.

Once you’re a little more composed, you set your cup down and reach for another small cake.

“I don’t need you to overcompensate,” you nearly plead. “In fact, if we are going to go through with this, I would prefer if we were both as genuine as possible."

Loki nods and reaches for his own small cake before taking a careful bite.

"I promise," he says after he's finished his bite. "That I will be nothing but genuine in all of my sentiments from this day forward."

"Good."

~~~~~~~~~~

Loki keeps to his word and you extend your stay, to Rowenna’s displeasure and the Duke and Duchess’s delight.

The onslaught of flowers upon your far from poor quarters does not cease. Loki sends bouquet after bouquet of the same midnight purple dahlias. You know they must be costing him a fortune but when you sit at your vanity and Anna does your hair, you can’t help but smile and admire the beauty of each bloom, your heart swayed by the gesture a little more with every petal.

You hate it.

Yet, your curiosity gets the better of you and you just can’t help but wonder, “Why Dahlias?”

“My lady?” Loki leans in closer, his proximity giving you a gentle waft of his scent and you nearly forget your train of thought before you focus again and lean towards him so that your lips are nearer his ear.

The din of the couples and crowd around you, all of it echoing off of the walls of the ballroom back to you make it nearly impossible to carry on proper and polite conversation. You’re standing awfully close to Loki and you are not unaware.

As you speak again, Loki reaches to place his hand over yours, currently gently wrapped around his elbow as he stands with you near the head of the room where his mother and father usually stand but are currently making their rounds.

The touch, though your hand is gloved with stylish short lace gloves, gives your heart a stutter. The heat of his hand you can feel seep through and the way he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze to assure you he is listening pleases you too much.

“I was only wondering, your flower of choice? Why Dahlias? Every morning I wake to find a new vase full of them beside my bed.”

Loki turns to you, concern etched across his sharp features. His green eyes shine underneath a quizzical brow as he leans back slightly to get an accurate appraisal of your own expression.

“Do you not like them?” he worries.

You read his lips more than hear him and shake your head, waving his worry away gently.

“No. No, they are lovely, I only wondered as to why you’ve chosen only that flower. That’s all,” you clarify.

Loki still looks confused and he looks over at the quartet of strings playing their music as couples dance and partiers drink and eat. A group of four, two young couples you do not recognize from the endless balls that the Duke and Duchess have thrown since you’ve decided to stay, break into loud obnoxious laughter.

Your and Loki’s attention are not the only pulled to them by their display.

“Is it just me or have they gotten louder as the night has gone on?” Loki wonders.

A rhetorical question so you don’t bother to answer but you nod anyway and he gestures to the double doors across the hall.

“Come, let us take some air,” he says but waits as you look down at your gown and gather the ruffled skirt.

It’s a beautiful gown but not made for this frigid winter. You’d worried more about being stylish tonight than practical.

The gown has vertical stripes, thick and heavy made of sturdy shiny satin in ivory. It stands in beautiful contrast against the sheer muslin that lays between each stripe, the layer beneath that the same shade as your own skin. The effect it gives had startled several gasps from those in attendance and Rowenna had been successfully outdone which had been your primary goal.

At the front, just along the sharp dip of your neckline you’d placed a pretty golden brooch with a stunning diamond at its center. An heirloom that had once belonged to your mother.

Despite convention, you’d left your hair down for the most part, only part of it gathered at the top of your head and held in place with long matching ivory ribbons and pins.

It’s no wonder that even now as you make your escape with Loki, the eyes of Loki’s guests are drawn to you.

Rowenna’s are especially narrowed to slits, her lip curled in distaste.

You don’t acknowledge her dislike of you with anything more than a cursory glance.

She can hate you all she wants. You know this is where you belong now.

Once you and Loki are clear of the ballroom, he waves Anna over who has been waiting by the back steps that lead down into the kitchens.

She approaches with a green shawl embroidered with golden leaves and vines. Loki takes it from her and wraps it around your shoulders as she hands you a white muffler.

“Thank you, Anna,” you tell her and she gives you a quick curtsy and smile before backing away as Loki offers his arm again.

You take it and he leads you out through the back doors into the frozen garden.

As opposed to most nights where the garden is swathed in darkness, tonight’s ball has warranted several different lights be placed about the carefully manicured topiary. Only two other people are about the gardens, two men chatting loudly but too into their own conversations to notice you and Loki as you pass them smoking thick cigars. The smoke drifts towards you and Loki quickly switches you to his opposite side so that you might avoid it.

He turns you to the right and leads you down along a row of large prune shrubs away from the duo.

“I’m glad you enjoy the flowers,” Loki says. “It gives me great pleasure to know you like them.”

“I do, they make my rooms smell wonderful, but why that particular flower?” you repeat for him, needing to know the answer more than it is probably important.

He smiles, only half of his lips curling up as he looks down at the snow on the ground.

The soft crunch of it beneath your feet is oddly pleasing if not freezing. You won’t be able to stay out here for long. You’ll get soaked. You can already feel the bottom of your dress growing heavier.

“Are you warm enough?” he checks.

“Loki,” you whine, hating to wait.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “You’re impatient.”

So he’s teasing you! You give him a playful glare, despite yourself. You’re intoxicated by his mood. How does he do it? How does he pull you in? You know you aren’t the first, yet here you are…unwilling to fight it.

“I chose it because it reminds me of you. Not the color. The color I personally enjoy. Pink would look wonderful and also reminds me of you but the flower in general makes me think of you. They’re elegant and graceful. So are you. There’s a purity in them as there is in you.

“The moment I saw you, if I’m honest, I pictured a pure white blossom with gold-tipped edges.”

You feel your neck burn a little, your heart flutters but you keep walking and try to pick anything off what he just said and keep the discussion going.

“Do you often compare women to flowers when you first see them?” It’s odd but do men really do it?

“Perhaps not every woman, only the ones that stand out. And you were a vision. I’m sad I ruined your dress. Truly, I’m sorry.”

You wave his apology away. He’s been apologizing since the day in the folly and you’ve already accepted.

“What is your mother? A golden rose?” It’s the first image that appears to you.

“Mother, despite her outward appearance, is much more humble than she might seem. She’s a crown of daisies.”

You watch him as he speaks and you can see the love he has for her. It touches you and you clear your throat.

“What of Rowenna? You and she are close friends, she must have been assigned a flower.” Loki huffs a laugh. “A venus fly-trap perhaps?”

Loki coughs his next laugh, clearing his throat but struggling to regain his composure.

You can’t help but smirk a bit, happy to have caught him off guard, but your dislike of Rowenna is no secret.

“How do you know of the fly-trap?” he wonders.

“I do read other books besides novels, my lord. I am aware of several carnivorous plants through my studies.”

“Ah,” Loki smiles, amused still. “As much as I’d like to make you happy by agreeing with you, no. Rowenna was a common orange daylily. As was my presumption when I first saw her and it was confirmed when we spoke.”

“What makes her so?” you ask, a little bitter as your mind is flooded with the pretty flower.

“Well, daylilies are an invasive species. They clump and cling to the spot you plant them, are hard to remove, but um…” he hesitates. “...they’re easy to cultivate.”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you wonder if he means what you think he means.

You know he can’t be pure. His experience in love must be much greater than yours. As your cheeks flood with heat, you can’t pretend not to be disappointed that finally after weeks of wondering, Loki has confirmed for you the depth of his relationship with Rowenna.

It makes sense why she refuses to let him go.

But she’s married…how can she? Has she no shame? No decency?

Your walk gets very quiet and you’re so distracted by your own thoughts and disappointment that you don’t feel how Loki has tensed beside you. 

After what must be ten minutes, Loki clears his throat.

“My lady if I have offended you in any way…”

“Hm?” you look up at him as he comes to a stop and stares at you with a surprisingly cautious look. The slant of his eyebrows, the worry, brings you back to yourself. “Oh, no! Sorry. I’m-I was lost in thought.”

“About Rowenna?” he guesses.

“No!” you deny adamantly. Perhaps too much so. “No, of course not. I was merely thinking that um…well you…you like purple?” you ask. “I would have figured you more into shades of black and green.”

Loki looks confused and stares into your carefully curious gaze as you await his answer. You know that he must be wondering if you’re genuine in your denial but he must know that you aren’t even if he wishes you to be.

For the sake of recovering the evening, you assume he accepts your refusal and relaxes a little as he pulls you back into a slower walk.

“I-er, I enjoy most dark colors. I suppose I chose the Midnights because I saw both you and myself in them. And are we not to be united? Was I wrong to picture us together?” he ponders, a touch of his fretting in his voice.

Your own gets caught in your throat as you tighten your hold on his arm. How can he say these things and not get choked up with nerves?

“Rowenna was very angry tonight,” you whisper, unable to find more air to speak louder.

You pull him to a stop, unable to ignore this worry any longer. For the past three weeks you’ve spent every moment you can with Loki. He’s kept to his word in the folly and each instance of time spent with you has been done so in earnest.

Every second, minute, and hour that he’s had to spare has been spent in your company and other than your flowers, no other gifts have been bestowed. This more than anything has given you hope that he might mean these shocking things he says.

“Loki, I-I don’t need to know the extent of your relationship with Rowenna,” you begin, but he tries to cut in and steps closer to you, saying your name so softly that the beat of your heart stutters and you nearly give in and let him speak. “Please, do not interrupt me. I must say what needs saying.”

Your heart might have confirmed his sleeping with her, but you will not bear his lips telling you so.

“Very well,” he whispers, swallowing hard the lump in his throat. He does turn however, to face you and he takes both your hands in his, holding them as his thumbs stroke the pattern of the lace on your gloves. “You have my silence.”

“Mrs. Gardner has made it perfectly clear by insinuation that what you and she have shared in the past is more than mere friendship,” Loki gives your hands a small squeeze. “I am not so naive to think that at your age you might not have made…connections. My Mim, that is to say, my governess and now lady’s maid has explained to me with great detail and without filter the ways of men.

“I do not hold that against you. But…” you wonder if maybe you’re being too hasty. Are you assuming too much after only three weeks?

“I only wish to know that what you shared with Mrs. Gardner is over. That while I must endure her glares and whispered insults, that I do not also have to bear the injury as well.

“Do I have anything to worry about with regards to Mrs. Gardner? Are-Are you in love with Rowenna, Loki? Should I-” you clear your throat, struggling to breath around the thickness in your throat. “Shall I step aside and allow the two of you to be happy? Am I the one keeping you both from happiness?”

Loki whispers your name, drawing your eyes up to his. The gentle smile on his lips, the soft set of his eyes gives you hope that you aren’t wrong to assume that his time with Rowenna is at an end.

“Is that what you’ve been worried about? Is that why you’ve been avoiding our nightly walks?” he checks, and you can’t believe he actually noticed that you’ve been staying indoors after dinner instead of going on your walks with him the past two nights.

“She’s been so overt about her dislike of me,” you pout. “And the things she says when she knows that no one else is listening but me.”

“I will talk with Rowenna,” Loki assures you, reaching up to stroke your arms. “As a matter of fact, now that the snow from the storm has finally melted, I will send her and the Viscount home. They have outstayed their welcome.”

“Really?” you check, hopeful but still a little on edge.

“Shall I kick them out now?” he asks, smiling at his joke.

“Loki…” you whine, but can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your lips.

“I would, you know,” he admits. “If you wanted them gone at this very moment, I would call for the carriage and send them off. Shall I call Jones?”

He makes to pull away, the threat of calling the horse master making you laugh as you pull him back.

“No! It would be so unkind to send them off so late. I might not feel bad about sending Rowenna away but the Viscount has been nothing but kind and attentive to me. I would not see him slighted. Rowenna is blind in the kindness of her husband and the quality of his character.”

Even though you should not think it, if one of them should die from illness or injury, you hope it is Rowenna first so then the Viscount can find himself a more suitable wife.

“I suppose you’re right. Still, should you want it, you need only say the word. Your wish, Countess, is my command.”

Through smiles you wrap your arm around his again and nudge him forward until he’s leading you around the garden once more. As you begin the second circle, snow finally begins to drift down from the sky.

It’s a light fall and will probably stop before you go to bed. While it lasts, it gives you and Loki a lovely sight for your late night walk.

You walk in silence a few minutes more, the two men from before make their way back into the smoking room and shut the doors tight.

“Now we’re alone,” Loki begins, and your heart is thundering against your ribs. “I’d like to ask you something.”

You swallow hard, turning in the slush beneath your feet to face Loki again, eyes frantically scanning his handsome face to see if you can read the question there.

“I have to see the Prince tomorrow. I’ll be leaving in the morning but I will be back in two days. When I return, will you come with me to the folly again? I have something I would really like to ask you.”

He smiles, and even though you and he both know that it’s the question, you nod frantically. “Of course. Of course, I will.”

“Wonderful,” Loki says, stroking your hand around his elbow again before looking down at your feet. “I think I’ve had you out here soaking long enough. Come, let’s go and warm ourselves by a fire.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked:  What role does humor play in your life? How do you look at comedy and its role in culture? Do you think comedy today is more or less funny as woke culture has its itchy trigger finger at the ready to cancel anyone that mocks it? Is it harder for edgy comedians like Dave Chappelle to remain relevant in today’s toxic society? 

Your questions are quite wide and so I hope I can hone in on some of the issues you raised.

I don’t think I’m different from anyone in general in not only loving comedy but also having humour in one’s life. I’ve watched my fair share of comedian stand up sets at comedy clubs and shows (Eddie Izzard, Andy Parsons, Ross Noble, Jack Dee, Stewart Lee, Frankie Boyle and so on).

I try to start my day by watching or reading something funny like an online clip or an article, essay or chapter (think Clive James or Anthony Lane or P.G. Wodehouse) - just to set the tone for the rest of the day. Because let’s face it, one look on the home page of any news media from the BBC or the Economist makes for depressing shitty reading.

Put another way, I’m like the girl who gets up one fine morning and wears a brand new white pair of shoes at school. You just know those white shoes are going to get battered around. They’ll get all kinds muddy shoe prints stomped on it and likely chewing gum and dog poo under it. But least you started the day clean. That’s how I feel about humour in my daily life.

I’m fortunate that I have a close circle of friends who make me laugh and that is precious. We text and send each other stuff throughout the working day. It’s light relief for a stressful day at work.

I try not watch comedy on a plane on my lap top. I think the air stewardess in my business class flight always think I need a sedative because I usually get a severe case of the giggles. I try so hard not to laugh out loud out of respect to the sleeping passengers near me. I just can’t help myself. I wet my knickers laughing so hard.

My perspective on and indeed my insatiable need for comedy in my life can best be summed up by that 18th Century man of letters, Horace Walpole who wrote, “The world is a tragedy to those who feel, but a comedy to those who think.”

For me the best comedy is hilarious and humane but equally brutal and true. Like many people I grew in a home where humour was the life blood of our family especially around the dinner table and just generally goofing off. The jokes to point out our foibles or pratfalls acted like glue to bind us together more strongly. As times goes on and as one matures you also learn to lean into humour as a personal coping mechanism when dark clouds gather above. But it’s also a mark of maturity that you also become self aware of humour as a commentary on things that lie just beneath the thin skin of society.

Humour has been on the minds of thinkers for centuries. My eldest sister who is a neurosurgeon and is interested in humour as a side topic of interest gave me a book on the psychology of humour as a birthday gift. As Peter McGraw and Joel Warner explain in their insightful book, The Humor Code: A global search for what makes things funny, “Plato and Aristotle contemplated the meaning of comedy while laying the foundations of Western philosophy… Charles Darwin looked for the seeds of laughter in the joyful cries of tickled chimpanzees. Sigmund Freud sought the underlying motivations behind jokes in the nooks and crannies of our unconscious.” A good read.

We tend to see comedy through the romantic lens of the one-off inspired comic whose unique view of the world is entertaining. But the focus on the individual witty voice misses the gigantic, political nature of the task of comedy. Comedy isn’t just a bit of fun. We don’t laugh at things unless they cause us very serious problems at other points in life. We can see this in the standard category of jokes: about relationships, family, sex, money, impotence, bowel movements, identity etc. We laugh most readily around things that in other ways are very distressing. A good joke invariably has a relationship with darkness, anxiety and pain.

I’ve always valued humour in people as a precious gift. I love having a laugh and even more if it’s at my expense. Perhaps that comes more readily to the British who appreciate the existential absurdity of life and don’t particularly make an effort to climb out of the hole they fell into…and if they do then we bring them down a peg or two.

But Northern Europeans have an even drier sense of humour, yes, including the Germans (it’s there…somewhere) but in the Swiss it’s totally absent. Norwegians have perhaps the driest sense of humour in Europe and that partly stems from the fact of its social code of janteloven - the idea that you mustn’t think of yourself better than anyone else. Because of this I firmly believe humour should be an equal opportunity offender. Moreover what I love about enjoying a good joke is that one the singular properties of certain comedy when done well is the freedom to explore ideas in an unconventional or counterintuitive way, to subvert society’s norms.

No one does that better than a comedian in culture in flux. As the great George Carlin put it, “I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.“

I’ve always been naturally drawn to dark humour from an early age and I suspect that had a lot to do with being packed off to boarding school at a young age (for my peers it was as young as 7) and just learning to develop coping mechanisms in the face of parental abandonment (or it seemed that way).

However I didn’t know the real importance of dark humour until I actually served in the British army and found humour as a form of therapy to deal with stress and situations of life and death with my army brothers and sisters. Our shared jokes were so off colour and un-PC that we would dare not repeat them in polite and respectable company. But that kind of shared humour served a crucial importance as any soldier will tell you. By mocking dangerous things or the situations you might find yourself with others, humour can embolden us. It helpfully paints what is potentially very frightening as deeply ridiculous. Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch-22’ captures the spirit of the absurdity of it all.

The comic perspective fills a central need of every society; it enables us to cope much better with our own follies and disappointments, our troubles around work and love and our difficulties enduring ourselves. Comedy is waiting to be reframed as a central tool behind the creation of a better world.

Comedy offers us a way of having a better time around things which, otherwise, can feel pretty disastrous. Ideally, in the utopia, comedy and its therapeutic potential wouldn’t be left to chance. Humour would be deliberately cultivated as a benign response to a range of entrenched difficulties. Previously, certain countries had an elaborate carnival season devoted to enforced comic activities. For a brief time, the weak could boss around the powerful, priests and nuns were supposed to hold obscene rituals in their churches, serious people were required to get drunk and throw bags of flour over each other’s heads. Humour wasn’t just left to those who felt so inclined: it was a kind of duty.

Black humour was a means of reducing anxiety of the awareness of death. Historians now know that one of the things that helped the persecuted Jewish community survive the demented Nazi persecution creeping into full blown genocide was humour, often of the darkest kind.

An example well-known joke went like this in Warsaw: "Moishe, why are you using soap with so much fragrance?" - "When they turn me into soap, at least I will smell good”. Jokes about soap were in response to rumours which started circulating in 1942 about soap produced from the fat of the Jews. Other jokes of this kind: "See you again on the same shelf!" or "Don't eat much: the Germans will have less soap!"

Indeed Jewish humour did not die in the Holocaust. In fact, Jews depended on humour to endure the period after liberation, both as a psychological weapon to grapple with what they had endured under Nazi persecution and as a source of coping with the displacement of the postwar period. After the war, humour was a poignant affirmation of mir zaynen do - we are (still) here - a declaration that the Jewish people had not disappeared and indeed could at times have the last laugh.

Does comedy have something to teach us or can we use comedy to teach? That is an interesting question in itself.

When I discuss this with friends across the political and non-political spectrum, some have argued comedy can’t be didactic as its the ultimate contradiction in terms. It’s why they hate woke comedy that often pervades the BBC these days and even the comedy clubs. These friends and I would sometimes go to the Edinburgh Festival to see comedians live on stage. But they say none of what passes for comedy on stage is funny because of the politics of woke.

I would disagree. Not about woke comedy - which ranges from pedestrian to just awful. But I will say that some of the best comedy is didactic. That’s because the best comedy is about revealing hilarious truths.

The ancient biblical books of Jonah and Esther, for example, have comedic elements that are clearly didactic. William Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ is didactic. The Marx Brothers’ ‘Duck Soup’ and ‘A Night at the Opera’ are didactic. Mel Brook’s ‘The Producers’ (original only) and ‘Blazing Saddles’ are didactic.

For us Brits, Monty Python is didactic, especially in its masterpiece, ‘Life of Brian.’ For Americans, ‘Seinfeld’ is didactic precisely because it’s about nothing. From ‘The Great Dictator’ to ‘Dr. Strangelove’ and ‘Blackadder series’ to ��South Park’, you will find that great comedy can be didactic.

The problem my friends identified is not that woke comedy is didactic, but rather that the woke side of the moon has no light of knowledge to impart. Woke ‘comedy’ tries to be didactic and fails because it has nothing profound or interesting to teach.

Comedy is not merely an event that produces laughter. A fart is not comedy (although it could be). The difference between comedy and tragedy is tonal. Both stem from the inflexibility of the ego.

This is why for example Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ is such a remarkable comedy. The two people who want to be viewed as most principled in their objection to romance are so easily pushed over into love, because their hearts are ultimately farcical. The hilarity stems from the disconnect between their inner and outer selves.

While the ridiculous disconnect between the ego and reality makes us laugh here, it could just as easily make us weep if the situation were changed. The fundamental difference between Shakespeare’s comedies and his tragedies is the ending. Everyone gets married at the end of his comedies and everyone dies at the end of his tragedies. Yet Hamlet and Macbeth are still felled by their own inflexible egos, just as Benedict and Beatrice are made to be wonderful, humorous fools for love by the same principle of human nature.

Comedy’s didactic nature is even clearer when we look to films like ‘Duck Soup’ or ‘Blazing Saddles.’ ‘Duck Soup’ is a scathing indictment of goose stepping fascism (of the real kind and not the lazy insults lobbed over these days) and arguably the Marx Brothers’ funniest film. ‘Blazing Saddles’ does the same for American racism. Neither is necessarily meant to be interpreted along propositional or pedagogic lines. Regardless, those films teach and they teach well. They expose the absurdities of reliance upon authoritarian government and identity politics to solve our problems.

The problem with woke comedy is that woke comics want to convince people to do the right thing, to hold the right view, in other words to moralise if we want to be considered good people - which we all do. But the politics behind woke politics is fundamentally ridiculous. That’s why it can be so easily used for comedy: their core concepts and assumptions (gender and biology in trans ideology or the darker you are on the colour spectrum, the greater your societal victimhood) are easy to mock.

In ‘Life of Brian,’ the Pythons did not mock Jesus. They mocked institutionalised religion. When Jesus appears, it’s in the background, he only speaks scripture, and his portrayal is markedly respectful. Nothing else in the film is respectful - everything else is treated like a huge hilarity. John Cleese said the reason they didn’t try to make Jesus funny is that they didn’t think he would have been funny.

According to John Cleese, Jesus didn’t have an ego to bruise or be inflexible. Yet Jesus was a complete and humble person. If he slipped on a banana peel and fell, he would have found it just as funny as anyone else. That’s because Jesus was self-forgetful. You can’t mock someone who gets the joke. So you can’t turn Jesus into a joke, because he’s not threatened by jokes.

One of the most enduring theories of humour arrived courtesy of the philosopher Thomas Hobbes. It asserts that humour is ostensibly about mocking the weak and exerting superiority. While this is clearly the function of some comedy – anyone who has flinched at a comic’s lame attempt to poke fun at, for example, disability will attest to this – it’s a relentlessly bleak and far from complete explanation of the purpose of humour. It’s better for a comedian to punch up then down.

So the real question today’s politically charged climate especially in the so-called culture wars (more visible in the Anglo-American world rather than in the rest of the world) is who is doing the punching up and who is punching down?

It depends as each side of the political divide claims the lower ground ie they are the weaker and therefore don’t deserve to be punched down upon but they can freely punch up.

Dave Chappelle’s comedy is the absurdity behind the so-called victim olympics that pervades behind woke culture. So making jokes about people of colour by white people is punching down but, as Chappelle alludes, people of colour can’t make jokes about white men in skirts ie trans because that’s now a greater sin and it would be punching down. In accepting the Mark Twain Prize for American Humour in 2019, Chappelle said a good joke is a finely crafted joke and one designed to offend regardless of one’s feelings or of one’s politics. Victimhood in terms of giving personal or political offence has no place in comedy.

I believe a joke is a joke. It doesn’t matter where it comes from so long as it’s funny. If you laugh, you own it.

I personally think much of our popular culture is overwhelmingly left - from Hollywood to the BBC - I don’t think that should be a controversial statement. It’s nearly always been that way as it attracts a certain kind of creative content maker whose values are liberal in the classical sense. There’s nothing wrong in that because this liberalism of the past didn’t necessarily inject itself into the art except in very benign ways but mainly it just told a damn good story or made us laugh because they told genuine funny jokes (from Python to Blackadder and Frasier to the Simpsons).

I think that’s changed now as woke ideology is increasingly the raison d’etat of a new generation of creative content makers. The message is more important than the craft itself.

Anyway, I digress.

Punching down is a charge of course that has been levelled at Dave Chappelle for his many jokes about different groups who have invested a great deal in their identity and also exert their own social and political power. But does he really do that? I don’t think so.

The mainstream media critics publicly hated his comedy special, but the ordinary audience overwhelmingly loved it (if rotten tomatoes metric score of 96% approval is anything to go by). It’s clear that many in the mainstream media had not really watched the show or gave an accurate account. Indeed the mainstream cultural critics in the US and in the UK prevented its readers from knowing that a debate was even happening, let alone what it is really about. If the argument about gender theory is mentioned at all, it is dismissed as a bunch of “anti-trans” bigots - aka ‘TERFs’ - hurting a beleaguered and tiny minority, for some inconceivable, but surely awful, reason.

As one of my favourite conservative writers (and gay rights advocate) and as an authority on the conservative philosopher, Michael Oakeshott, Andrew Sullivan put it really well, as he always does:

“Chappelle’s final Netflix special, ‘The Closer,‘ is a classic. Far from being outdated, it’s slightly ahead of its time, as the pushback against wokeness gains traction. It is extremely funny, a bit meta, monumentally mischievous, and I sat with another homo through the whole thing, stoned, laughing our asses off - especially when he made fun of us. The way the elite media portrays us, you’d think every member of the BLT community is so fragile we cannot laugh at ourselves. It doesn’t occur to them that, for many of us, Chappelle is a breath of honest air, doing what every comic should do: take aim at every suffocating piety of the powers that be - including the increasingly weird 2SLGBTQQIA+ mafia - and detonating them all.

‘The Closer‘ is, in fact, a humanely brilliant indictment of elite culture at this moment in time: a brutal exposure of its identitarian monomania, its denial of reality, and its ruthless tactics of personal and public destruction. It marks a real moment: a punching up against the powerful, especially those who pretend they aren’t. Bigoted? Please. Anyone who can watch this special and think Chappelle is homophobic or transphobic is either stupendously dumb or a touchy fanatic. He is no more transphobic than J.K. Rowling, i.e. not at all, and the full set masterfully proves it to anyone with eyes and ears.“

I would argue it’s hugely reassuring to see the ‘powerful’ laughing at themselves - in this case the LGBTQ+ community’s more shrill and self-righteous social justice warrior activists that brook no public criticism of their conduct against women and other critics who don’t have the power to fight back and are instead cancelled. It is a trusim to say that finding oneself comical is a token of maturity. It means being able to see one’s faults, without being too defensive about them. This, I argue, was one of the messages of Chappelle’s comedy show.

The thing that intimidates us isn’t actually power. It’s power that looks like it’s going to be inhumane: insensitive, unkind power. So we’re intently interested in things that reveal a mature, kindly sort of power.

Humour often provides a mechanism whereby the powerless (or at least the less powerful) can give constructive but pointed feedback to the powerful. Whether the powerful - in Chappelle’s view that would be the trans and social just warrior crowd - can take social commentary masked as a joke says a lot about their level of maturity.

Humour, as one neurosurgeon sister put it, is a form of psychological processing, a coping mechanism that helps people to deal with complex and contradictory messages, a response to conflict and confusion in our brain. Humour that is in bad taste or cruelly targeted at particular groups may generate conflict, but humour is also our way of working through difficult subjects or feelings. In this sense the comedian’s role is not validate our feelings but to make us think.

In olden days, the idea of the court jester - an officially licensed and salaried comic  - was built on the importance of humour to the mental health of the powerful. Even if in the council room or around the dinner high table, the leading people didn’t feel much like joking, the jester was required to make barbed, witty and perhaps mocking remarks to deflate pomposity and restore sane perspective. The high table may not be occupied by the feudal elites anymore but by a more egalitarian society now.

Who can disagree with the fact that all of us - leftist, conservative, revolutionary, traditonalist, straight, gay, lesbian, bi, trans, different colours and many creeds - are not in need of our inflexible egos and the self-important pompous bubbles we inhabit from being burst open from time to time?

If we live in a world where everyone demands equality, in other words to sit at the same high table, then we also sign up to be equally ‘offended’ by the court jester, however fair or unfair it may feel.

The shrill of cancelling a comedian is not the answer if we find a joke offensive. We have the right to protest. We can protest by...not laughing. It really is that simple.

Thanks for your question.

[xinroc]

Well, more like Jason just got a book delivered hot off the press and snuck off to his secret hideout in the library but he finds Cass hanging out alone with a bunch of books around her. He at first pays it no mind, they nod at each other before Jason curls up in the reading nook he had since he was Robin in the back corner. Other family members can be heard in other rooms or Jason gets a text on the group chat about Batcow being on the loose and to keep an eye out for her, etc. Jason senses Cass approaching so he bookmarks his page and pushes the blanket door to the side to see her holding a book very close to her looking nervous

“You good?” He signs. Cass shrugs. They sit there in silence. “Come in?” Jason signs, tilting his head and scooting over. The reading nook or better put blanket fort is small and Jason already takes up nearly all of it since he’s gotten older, but he manages to make enough room for Cass to wiggle in next to him. She has her knees up to her chin, practically shielding the book with her body. Jason can see the well loved cover and the dozens of post it notes poking out from the pages.

“What book?” He asks verbally this time but softly. He and Cass prefer talking more quietly, it helps them focus on the conversation and feels less overwhelming. Cass slowly relaxes and shows the cover to Jason. It’s a picture book with… a bat on it.

“Stellaluna.” Cassandra reads the title as she hands it to Jason. He flips through it carefully, keeping an eye on Cass as she fidgets beside him. Jason had heard of this book, seen it in passing when he wandered through the kids section at libraries or bookstores. He’d never really bothered to take interest in it, simply laughing internally because bats. But now Jason held the book before him, a copy that was so clearly loved by its reader that he feels put to shame as a bookworm. He rubs a thumb over the cover for a second, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking. Cass rocks beside him, touching her fingertips together as she waits for Jason to say something or hell, just move.

Finally Jason turns to her slowly, and asks Cass “could I read this with you?”

Jason’s dark green eyes glow slightly in the dim light of his blanket fort, a blessing and a curse from the pit he and Cass both suffered in. Cass’ eyes don’t glow and they aren’t green. Steph claims that they have specks of gold and emerald buried in them that erupt and gleam when Cass is happy or angry. Cass doesn’t think of any of that as her dark brown eyes meet Jason’s rich green ones. She senses his body is relaxed, minus tension he seemed to always have in his neck and shoulders and the left side of his jaw. She already knew him as a kind and quiet soul thrown into every one of his worst nightmares who still could laugh loudly at his own jokes, inhale books at concerning speeds, and teach her how to perfectly boil an egg when they made ramen together. Now he sat next to her, holding one of her most beloved emotional attachments to this world in the same hands he used to kill people with and his touch was as gentle as a feather.

“Aloud, I mean.” He clarified. Cass nods.

[they read the book, Cass explains the post it notes and what parts of the stories they were related to (some are little drawings, some are questions, some are opinion statements, some just have numbers and letters on them, something obly Cass knows the context of), it’s sweet, they’re besties]

Jason hands Cassandra her book back and signs to her to step out. They climb out of the fort and Jason walks over to his bookshelf of Jane Austen novels and play scripts. He opens the jaw of a skull of a victim of his that he used to reenact Shakespeare scenes and some of his own writing and presses a button. The shelf splits open and reveals a shelf of childrens books from picture books to chapter books to poetry collections to everything else

I’m getting tired so I might continue this later but Jason n Cass just spend the next seven years just reading