#Might do what I did on my other side blog and do one word theme requests as well

[forallineed]

AU where Camila goes to the BI instead of her daughter and ends up at the Emperor's palace

[00-jammy-00]

Hi! 🌙 anon here!! Don't worry it's totally okay I make mistakes like that all the time too :D

I don't remember what I said exactly but I remember I said something like a Yandere kidnaps a transmasc Y/n and teases his clit and gets him cock drunk. With like an aphrodisiac and constantly being needy for the Yandere type thing? Perhaps overstim and multiple orgasms? I'm sorry I forget (●//▽//●)

Also side note, I typed out this ask and accidentally deleted it instead of sending it too--so clearly this is an easy mistake to make!

Alrighty, love your blog and the masterpieces you write! And I know I didn't say this last time but your pfp is so cute I love it

Yan!Kidnapper [Cock-drunk Reader Scenario]

Yan!Kidnapper x GN! Reader

Content warning - Yandere themes, THIS IS SMUT, He’s your kidnapper so mentioned kidnapping, mean yan, spanking (once), slight choking (once), he loves your nipples, psycho yan, he’s just a jerk

A/N - thank you so much for resubmitting your ask 🌙 anon <3 As you said in your second ask, I don’t write for anything other than GN reader so I’ve just adjusted your ask to that xo. This Yan is actually a little sneak peak of a new oc I’ll be adding soon. This is also my first time writing full smut so sorry if it’s not the best 🙏

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“For fucks sake [Reader], you got to keep still baby.” Jasper grunted, rubbing his tip against your hole before pulling it away once more. His grin only grew when he heard a whine slip from your lips. “Such a little slut for me, yeah? Your hole is trying to suck me in.” He chuckled, leaning his head lower to tug on one of your nipples with his teeth.

Your lovely kidnapper of a few months had decided it was a good idea to buy that viral sex chocolate or whatever the fuck he had seen on TikTok. It obviously did the trick because you were currently panting and whining just from the feel of his cock near you. “Christ babe, if you keep moving I’m going to tie you up.” He hissed, bringing a hand down on your ass in hopes it’ll stop you from fucking moving.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hold himself back from just pounding you. Last time he did that, you bitched about it for so long. He blew some cold air on your nipple and laughed mockingly when you squirmed. “Do you want my cock? You want me to fuck you? Thought you said I was insane and shit?” He grinned, giving a rough tug to your already puffy nipples. “If you say please, I’ll give you what you want.”

He rubbed his cock head up and down your entrance at a teasingly slow pace. Up, down, up, down, up, down. You couldn’t take it anymore! When he finally heard that magic word tumble out of your mouth he eagerly slammed into you in one go, relishing in the sound you made. He grabbed onto your hips with a bruising grip and started to thrust, making sure to hit that special spot that made you scream.

“Fuck! You’re so tight! Such a pretty whore for me.” Jasper groaned, lifting your legs over his head. He pressed a kiss to your ankle before nipping at it with a smirk. “Might cum just from looking at your face. You’re making such cute faces at me babe.” He slid his hand up and gripped your throat, giving it a small squeeze before giving your nipple a sloppy kiss. “Keep squeezing me [Reader]. Fuck yeah, that’s it!” He grunted though his voice became slightly whiny as he picked up his pace.

“Gonna cum in your pretty hole, yeah? You like that?” He wiped some saliva from your chin before sticking two of his fingers in your mouth. He began to push them in and out at the same pace of his thrusts, eyes lighting up when your eyes rolled back into your head. “Look at you, going all dumb on my cock.” He cooed mockingly, moving his hands back down to your hips. “I’m about to cum so hold still, okay?” He murmured, pressing a loving kiss to your temple before thrusting quicker.

With a final moan, he came inside you. He was panting, eyes gone hazy before he snapped out of it and kissed your forehead. “You were so good for me, gonna clean you up now, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out and moving to the bathroom. While he ran a bath, he couldn’t stop the giddy smile from spreading across his face. Jasper finally fucking had you, you were his, fully. He wasn’t going to let you go, never, especially after you enjoyed having sex with him so much!

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, requests are open <3

please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[moonstruckme]

hello!! i hope u have a good day🤗 i wanted to know if you still accept requests? and if yes, could i please request a remus x reader (golden trip era if possible!!🩷) in which the reader hates christmas so remus tries to do everything in his power to make this christmas a special one for her? thank you in advance!💞 i love your blog so much

Hi, thanks for your request! There's nothing in here alluding to Remus' age, so you can imagine him in whatever era you want I suppose

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It feels strange being in the car in your pajamas. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, socked feet tucked underneath you and heat blasting through the vents, with the thermos of hot cocoa Remus made you cradled in your hands. His own thermos sits open in a cup coaster in the center console, steam wafting from the top as it cools and Remus turns slowly down a neighborhood street. 

“Oh, I like how they did theirs around the tree,” you say, leaning forward to see out Remus’ window. A large oak towers above the house, the trunk and larger branches covered in red and white lights striped to look like a candy cane. “Do you think they came like that, or they actually alternated colors?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus replies. His face is cast a soft pink in their glow. “It was an interesting choice, though, doing the tree like that and then blue lights on the house.” 

You tilt your head. “I think they’re supposed to look like icicles. It feels on theme.” 

Remus hums, letting the car continue at a slow idle down the street. “Do you prefer white lights or colored lights?” 

“I don’t care, I just like when they’re consistent. Don’t do your roof in one and your windows in another, you know?” 

“Mm, fair enough. But if you had to choose.” 

“I dunno, um…white, I suppose.” 

Remus sighs. “And I had so much faith in you.” 

“What?” You laugh, delighted at his little smile. You love when Remus gets into one of his teasing moods. “You feel that strongly about colored lights?” 

“Absolutely.” He nods at a house with white lights across the street. “See, you do it like that, and you’re basically just outlining your house. It’s plain.” 

“How’s that any different than outlining it in alternating colors?” 

“Alternating colors are the classic Christmas light,” Remus argues, with a resoluteness you know is exaggerated but are fascinated by nonetheless. “It’s…I don’t know, sort of kitschy. And I like that they make the roofs look like gingerbread houses.” 

“Like gumdrops?” 

He smiles at you. “Exactly.” 

You blow into your thermos, steam warming your face. “This is an odd hill to die on, Remus.” 

“Well, someone’s got to.” 

“Fine.” You heave a sigh, heavy on the dramatics. “You might be converting me.” 

He gives you a sidelong glance. “I don’t want a partner who has to change just to be with me.” You laugh, appalled, and Remus’ lips quirk mutinously. “But if you’re doing it for yourself…” 

“I am,” you assure him quickly. “I’ll be a colored light devotee for the rest of my life, I promise.” 

You go on like that through several streets, admiring some houses and condemning others with ruthless judgement. You end up halfway on Remus’ side of the car, your elbow on the console and head touching his shoulder just for the sake of contact. One of his hands rests on the inside of your knee for the same reason. As you drive, he turns up the radio a smidge, until you can recognize the instrumental music crackling through the speakers. 

“Is this the nutcracker?” 

“It is.” You don’t know Remus to get embarrassed often, but he looks almost that. 

You smile. “Do you have the nutcracker on cassette?” 

“I do.” 

You must look all too delighted, because he gives the inside of your knee a light warning squeeze. 

“Don’t make fun. My mam likes it. It was almost all the Christmas music we listened to when I was a kid.” 

“Oh.” You smile at his profile, lovesick. “That’s sweet, Rem. So now you listen to it on your own?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Because it makes you nostalgic?” 

“I suppose so.” 

Your heart grows warm and heavy in your chest. You’re less shy about wrapping a hand around his elbow, hugging it closer so you can lean your head on his bicep more fully. You can almost feel the affection in his smile as he turns to look, shining down on the top of your head like the moon’s glow. 

“Is this what Christmas is always like for you?” you ask in a soft voice. Pretty lights, the nutcracker, a thermos of hot chocolate. Slow drives down dazzling streets on a silent night.

Remus understands what you mean. “Not always,” he says, “but some of the time, yeah. I try to make time for the smaller traditions like this.” 

You look out the front windshield. All the colors of the houses ahead blur together. “Thanks for sharing this one with me.” 

“Dovey, of course,” he says. His arm moves underneath you, and you sit up as his hand finds your cheek. You bend to him willingly, letting him grace you with the softest kiss any girl has ever received. You think this about Remus often; that he’s your privilege and yours alone. It gives you tingles to dwell upon. 

“I’m glad you wanted to come with me,” he says, thumb stroking over your cheek even as he turns his attention back to the road. “I know you haven’t always liked Christmas, but…it doesn’t have to be all chaos and spending money. There’s room for things like this, too.” 

You hum, watching him while he watches the road. The slowly passing lights play prettily on his eyelashes and the tips of his overgrown hair. His hand holds the wheel near the bottom, relaxed and sure, and his window is starting to fog from the heat inside the car. It makes the outside world look blurred around the edges. Remus’ thumb strokes your cheek again, almost absently.

“I like your way of doing things,” you say near a whisper. 

It’s a pleasure to watch his lips curve in a smile. You feel lucky to see it. “I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “We’ll do more things like this, okay? Try to make it a good one this year.” 

You hum and settle back against his arm, looking past him to the lights of a house, the colors like gumdrops lining their roof. It’s already a good one. 

[kindasleepywriter]

Public Displays of Affection - Azriel x Reader

Chapter summary: This is a Christmas themed oneshot of a series I'm working on (Bird of Prey masterlist), but it can be read as a standalone! It's set a few years after the end of the series, but it doesn't spoil the main story.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of fluff

Word count: 850.

Sidenote: Accidentally posted this on my personal blog at first! this is the re-upload on the right account <3

Winter Solstice was rapidly approaching. If the bite of frost in the air didn’t remind you of the fact, the extravagant amount of decoration in the House of Wind did. They’d started appearing a few weeks ago and now covered most surfaces, admittedly bringing you more joy than you let on every time you went to the library to pick up a new book. Solstice felt bittersweet to you, but you let yourself enjoy the parts you could.

You watched Azriel as you leaned in the door frame of the sitting room as he helped Feyre and Nyx make what looked to be garlands, although the latter’s work might be considered an abstract representation of one. You smiled gently as the ease with which he laughed with the others. You were glad he’d become more confident alongside you.

He glanced up, as if reading your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat at the wide smile he gave you, still so affected at the sight of him, despite the years. He always could manage to get your heart racing from the most innocent of gestures. When you thought back, you could see it clear as day: he was always the one you were meant to be with from the first day, despite what you felt then. No one had managed to break through the walls that had numbed you to the world except for him, even if it had initially been through confrontations of anger.  

Azriel whispered a few words to Nyx, the young boy giggling at his words and rushing to his mother’s side, before walking over to your side, circling around you so he held your back against his chest. He swayed slowly with you to the soft beat of the music surrounding you both.

“Penny for your thought?” he whispered, soft breath tickling the skin behind your ear.

“I don’t think you can afford all of them right now, Az,” you chuckled, turning your face to his and raising a hand to brush a wisp of hair straying on his forehead. “But I’ll give you one for free if you want.”

He hummed, eyes fixed on yours and his hands rubbing slow circles against your hips. “I’d empty Rhys’ entire vault for you, love, don’t tempt me to do so,” he said. You laughed, turning to put your hands around his neck, his hands finding their way around you and flattening against your shirt in the sensitive spot between your wings. You sighed in contentment, a shiver running down your spine. “But I’ll happily take what you’ll give me.” he continued quietly.

“I’m thinking that I never truly thanked you for sticking by me through it all.” You kissed him softly, pulling your head back with a chuckle as he tried to follow. “I couldn’t have hoped for someone more perfect than you.”

You felt his grin against your lips, smiling back at you. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’ve been the luckiest in Prythian to see you shine, my love.”

You went to speak again, but your words were interrupted by the sound of something whizzing through the air, but no sound of impact came, only a smacking sound across the room and an undignified squeak. Azriel did not move from his position, arms tightening, but rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Cass, if you don’t put down that second wreath you’re holding, I won’t hesitate to tell Nesta what you got her for Solstice this instant.”

A feminine laugh rang across the room.

“You guys are no fun together.” Cassian muttered, more laughs ringing from the others around you. Your cheeks reddened and tension ran through you, not unnoticed by Azriel. “Want to get out of here?” he whispered.

“Please, before he decided to move on to more intimidating weapons.” you snickered.

“I’ll have you know that wreaths are perfectly acceptable projectiles when you two lovebirds are being-” You were grateful for Cassian’s indignant protest being cut off by darkness surrounding you, you and your lover disappearing to your shared bedroom.

Your wings spread on instinct when your feet caught solid ground, and you immediately caged Azriel against the wall, your hands resting on his defined pectorals. “I believe Cassian might need to learn to be grateful of our discretion in public, love.” he muttered playfully.

“We could always show him exactly how much we restrain ourselves in their presence,” you purred. You were always more playful when you two were alone. “I’m sure a little demonstration might remind him of the fact.”

You shuddered as his hands trailed down your back, over your rear and to your thighs, tapping them slightly, and you jumped with a single beat of your wings, obliging his silent demand. He caught you, spinning you around and leading you to the bed, softly laying you down.

Not a single word was uttered about your public displays of affection again.

If I'm being honest, I was planning on finishing up Bird of Prey before Christmas and was hoping to post this as a follow-up, but finals got the best of me. I should be posting more during the holidays!

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

[the-lonelybarricade]

Rain Check? - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: 5 times Rhysand didn't take his shot, and the one time Feyre took too many

@carrieeve It's me! Hi! I'm your santa, it's me!

For the @acotargiftexchange, you told me you'd like an AU oneshot that was Feysand focused with a friends to lovers plot - I deliberated a long time over how best to bring that vision to life, and then after some light blog stalking, I saw that you're a fan of Jim/Pam from the Office! I started binging the show for research purproses, and a Feysand office romance was born! 🥰

I really hope you enjoy it! It's been such a joy quietly stalking your blog for these last many months, and I look forward getting to know you even more now that our identities are revealed! 💕

Words: 12k

Read on AO3

-

The first time Rhysand saw Feyre, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Only problem—so did every other man in the office. And they didn't exactly disguise their interest in the young, cute receptionist working on the fifth floor of their London skyrise.

After being propositioned by just about every single man in the office, including the ones who fell alarmingly outside her age range—a category which Rhys wasn't confident he was excluded from—he thought the last thing she needed on her first day was another colleague making a pass at her.

He offered a polite hello and welcome, but he intentionally waited until she survived her first week to strike up any further conversation. The chance opened for him when she walked into the break room at the precise moment he was filling up the kettle.

"Hey," he said, tipping the spout to gesture his hello. "Fancy a tea?"

"Oh." She glanced at the kettle, her bow-shaped lips popping open in what he could only assume was surprise. As if she'd walked into the break room expecting anything other than an electric kettle and a pod coffee machine. "I… didn't bring a mug."

"Well, Feyre, I'm not sure how they treated you at your last place, but here, corporate spoils us rotten with communal company branded mugs." Setting the kettle down on the base, Rhys flipped the overhead cabinet open, gesturing to its contents as if he'd unveiled a trove.

The dramatic flair earned him a polite laugh. It was cute, if a little forced. And he craved the chance to learn what her laugh sounded like when it wasn't given out of pity.

He gestured to the middle shelf, which deviated from the monotony of blue logo mugs. "If you do end up bringing a mug in, this is where you can keep it. Though I'll warn you, conversation gets stale here and that almost ensures you'll be asked for its backstory. I recommend bringing in something interesting, unless you want to end up like poor old Drakon."

"What happened to Drakon?"

Rhys gave a hearty sigh as he withdrew two mugs from the cupboard, shaking his head as he said, with the utmost solemnity, "He's known as the guy with a boring mug."

Her lips twitched. He thought that was a genuine smile she might have been fighting.

"If all I'm known for is having a boring mug, I think that's fine by me."

"Oh, believe me, you are far from the danger of that fate, Feyre darling—" the endearment slipped out before he could think better of it. He winced inwardly, trying to monitor her reaction in his periphery. Her brows lifted, and he continued on, hoping he could recover through the theatrics of setting the mugs in front of her, proclaiming proudly, "Because I'm gracious enough to let you use one of mine. Go on, take your pick."

The distraction paid off. Slip-up now forgotten, or so he hoped, Feyre leaned forward to read the print.

Then snorted. "This says Office Wanker."

He grinned. "That was my secret santa gift from last year."

Feyre lifted the other mug by its rather phallic shaped handle. The ceramic was dark green, with small white spikes pinched throughout to mimic a cactus. Feyre grinned as she read the white print on its side: Don't be a Prick.

"I'm sensing a theme."

"That was another gift." Rhys pitched his voice low. "Do you think they're trying to tell me something?"

"I think…" she bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with a mischief that told him she was purposefully building anticipation. "They might be mugging you off."

"That couldn't be it," he said, knowing his deadpan delivery was ruined. He could feel the stupid grin already plastered over his face and he couldn't help it. "My mother is adamant that I'm a delight. She says everyone likes me."

"I'm sure she's right," she whispered, with just the right amounts of sympathy and derision that Rhysand might have fallen in love with her right then and there.

He nodded to the two choices on the counter. "So which mug are you going with?"

"Oh—dear. Hmm. They're both such strong contenders." Feyre lifted the mugs, tilting and examining each with exaggerated scrutiny. Then she shoved the one with the phallic cactus towards him. "I think Prick fits you better. I'll go with Wanker."

"That's quite the statement to make in your second week," he said, eyes locking with hers as he accepted the mug, their fingers brushing just briefly enough to pass as accidental.

Pride warmed his chest when he noticed her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. It was a similar shade to her lips, he thought. Which was a mistake, because he immediately needed to fight the temptation to stare at her mouth.

"Well," she said, withdrawing her hand, the movement a little stiff. A little uncertain. "At least I won't be known as a girl with a boring mug."

"That you most certainly will not," he purred.

The kettle clicked, steam billowing from its spout, and he was privately grateful for the excuse to pull his attention away lest he do—or more likely say—something stupid and inappropriate.

The entire office was flirting with her. If he escalated this beyond anything other than playful, inane small talk, she would think he was just another jerk trying his luck on the new girl. And really, isn't that exactly what he was?

Rhys lifted the kettle in offering. "So," he said. "Did you want tea?"

"Oh," she repeated. He would have teased her for it, this copy and paste exchange. Why did it keep surprising her that they were in the break room for tea? "No," she said finally, pointing toward the coffee machine. "I'm more of a coffee drinker."

"Ah," he said, pouring the water into his mug and tried to keep his cool as steam crowded his face. This whole time, he thought she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She could have been in and out of there in a minute if she just put the damn pod in.

But she lingered, watching him stir in sugar—which wasn't how he preferred his tea, but it offered an excuse for him to stay in the break room just a little longer.

"Do you—" he cleared his throat— "Do you know how to use the machine?"

"Yeah," Feyre said, waving the offer away. "I've got one like it at home."

"Ah, good."

He set his teaspoon in the sink, not in any rush to leave but faltering for a reason to stay.

If he could go back and do anything differently, Rhys would have chosen that moment to ask her out. Just for a coffee, to get to know each other. To explore what was already an obvious chemistry.

Instead he pinched the handle of his mug and nodded. "See you around then, Office Wanker."

Feyre waved. "Bye, Prick."

-

The bi-weekly sales team meeting was the bane of Rhysand's existence.

While he was being forced to sit and listen to Tamlin Spring stroke his own ego in front of the executives, Rhys knew his unattended inbox and phone line was being inundated with client inquiries that would prove a much better investment of his and the company's time.

Instead, he was trapped in an hour-long posturing session where each member of the team needed to prove to corporate that they were making enough money to justify their payslip. Something which Tamlin had been struggling with this month, though he was giving quite the performance about the value he had in the pipeline with his "nurturing prospects".

The door clicked open, and every head in the room swiveled towards the interruption.

Feyre stood there, one arm propping open the door, the other fidgeting with a sticky note. "Sorry to interrupt," she said with a wince. "I just have a note for Mr. Night. One of his clients is on line 6."

She waited until one of the executives gave her a nod of approval before scurrying to Rhys, her head ducked down. She didn't linger, pressing the sticky note into his hands, then disappearing as quickly as she'd come. He clenched his jaw when he noticed the trail of eyes that followed her.

Tamlin's gaze, in particular, dipped beneath her skirt-line, then back up. Twice. He shared a lazy grin to his left, not even trying to hide what he'd been doing. Worse, reveling in it.

"I should take this," Rhys said tightly, staring at the note in Feyre's hasty scrawl.

Office wanker,

Hope you're prepared to pay up.

"It's from my contact at Hybern," Rhys explained to the room. "I'm on the verge of closing this deal."

The executive gave Rhys a stiff nod of approval. Hybern had been a prospecting account for upwards of a year, until Rhys had taken over the lead two months ago. It was a big account, one he knew the execs were antsy to close.

Rhys had been waiting for Tamlin to finish fumbling his update to announce Hybern officially signed this morning. The choice had been purely strategic, an attempt to highlight the contrast between their performances after Tamlin tried to undermine him in the last meeting. And, admitedly, he'd been looking forward to the gratification of seeing Tamlin flounder in front of the execs he was trying so hard to brown-nose.

This was far more gratifying, though.

Rhys strolled out of the confrence room and returned to his seat, where he promptly picked up his desk phone and dialed line 6.

"Rhysand speaking."

"You thought I wouldn't do it," Feyre said in sing-song triumph. "You really thought I'd be too scared to do my job because of a bunch of serious old men in suits?"

Rhys blew out a stung breath. "Ouch, Feyre. Old?"

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you over your creaking bones."

"I didn't take you as a sore winner," he said, grinning.

"Doesn't matter what you took me as, because you know where you'll be taking me now? To lunch. And I'll be ordering something expensive."

He hoped she would. "Order whatever you want. A deal's a deal."

"Oh, I'm getting a side and a dessert."

"Better yet, why don't I take you to dinner? You can have the full course and drinks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. One that prompted him to glance towards her reception desk, where he could see her pink lips part open. Her head swiveled towards him, brows merging to assess his meaning.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"We're celebrating," he said, evading the question. "I closed the deal with Hybern, you won our wager. Let's get drinks."

"Okay," she said. Her smile was shy. "Let's go to dinner."

"Tonight?"

She hesitated. "I… have nothing to wear."

"Blimey, Feyre. I didn't realize you'd come to work nude. A bit bold, don't you think?"

"Shut up," she said, giving an exaggerated eye roll to be sure he could see it across the room.

It was, perhaps, with too much severity that he rushed to add, "You look perfect."

The admission hung a second too long. Rhys cleared his throat before she could mull over the gravity with which he said it—meant it.

"Anyway, we'll leave together after work, yeah? I know just the place."

Feyre bit her lip. It wasn't the immediate agreement he was hoping for, but the pink flush rising over her cheeks was an encouraging sign.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll wait by the lift."

"Don't want them to see us leaving together?" He teased.

"Are you kidding?" She sounded horrified. "If they see us leave together, tomorrow there will be rumors that we're shagging."

"In rumor only?"

"See how well dinner goes first, Prick."

"That's not a no," he crooned, to which Feyre slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

He couldn't keep the dumb grin off his face, even once the sales team got out of their meetings and Tamlin plunked into the seat beside Rhys.

Tamlin scowled. "What are you so happy about?"

His voice was sour, even for Tamlin. Rhys figured the meeting must have gone south after he left. Ass kissing could only go so far when there's no money to be shown for it.

"I closed the deal with Hybern," Rhys said, deciding to capitalize on what was shaping up to be a superb day by rubbing it in Tamlin's face just a little bit. "Sending it through for approval right…" Click. "Now."

"Congrats," Tamlin muttered, mustering as minimal enthusiasm into the word as possible.

Rhys would have felt bad for the guy. When Tamlin first joined, Rhys had tried to take him under his wing, taking him on sales calls and feeding him solid leads that just needed a bit of nurturing. He'd thought they were something like friends until he'd caught Tam trying to poach his clients six months ago. When Rhys asked him to back off, Tamlin had gotten upper management involved, and things had gotten messy.

Since then, their relationship had regressed into this—Tamlin slumping back in his chair, frowning at his screen as Rhysand's closed deal started making the rounds in their sales channels.

The door to the CRO's office snicked open. "Hey, Rhysand. Can we talk?"

"Of course. I'll join you in a moment."

As Rhys slid out of his chair, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance towards Feyre. He was just doing his job at the end of the day, but he was good at it, and some juvenile part of his brain wanted her to notice.

Their eyes met. It always zapped through him, the sight of those bright eyes, like dragging his feet on carpet and touching something metal.

Feyre ducked her head, smiling shyly at her computer.

When he turned back, he saw Tamlin staring at him. Hard.

"What?" Rhys asked, straightening.

"The quirky little receptionist?" He snorted. "I didn't realize that was your type."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tamlin shrugged. "I'm only trying to warn you. I hear she's fucked half this office."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, obscuring the fingers he curled into fists. He shouldn't let Tamlin rile him. He knew it was untrue, and even if it was, he wouldn't care. But Feyre would be upset if she knew that's what people were saying about her.

"Watch your mouth," Rhys said. "This is a workplace, not a locker room."

"Could've fooled me. I thought it was brothel when I first walked in."

Tamlin's head turned deliberately to Feyre, who's desk was positioned directly in front of the entrance. She was leaning over now, scribbling a note on her desk. At the angle, the cut of her top sloped low enough to show the tops of her breasts. The observation felt like stepping into Tamlin's mind, seeing Feyre the way he saw Feyre.

It was truly a shock to the system to feel repulsed by a sight of breasts—by Feyre's no less, which were magnificent in any other context. Rhys felted trapped between defending her, which would only validate Tamlin's suspicions and make her more of a target, or to let it slide and hope the bastard moved on.

"Each to their own, I suppose," Rhys said, brushing past Tamlin's desk. He slipped a hand out of his pocket to thrum his finger across the wood. "Hey—think they'll give me that promotion for the Hybern deal?"

The deflection worked. Like dangling car keys in front of a toddler, Tamlin's focus shifted back to the CRO's office.

He sneered. "Let me get back to work, Rhysand."

"Right. Right. That Adriata account, huh? Heard it's not going to well."

"Fuck off."

"So touchy," Rhys said, clicking his tongue. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe I'll give you some tips after my meeting."

Tamlin made a low grunt in the back of his throat, a sign that he was retreating into what Rhys and Feyre had dubbed 'beast mode'. Rhys actually preferred it when Tamlin was in beast mode. It meant kept his mouth shut and communicated through nods and grunts until his temper subsided—which, Rhys would argue, was much more effective communication than when his colleague attempted to use words.

It was a shame those sacred moments of Tamlin's silence would be wasted in the CRO's office. Rhys wasn't sure what to expect as he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Come in," the CRO said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "I heard you closed the deal with Hybern. Many congratulations—I know that was hard won."

"They made me work for it," Rhys acknowledged, lowering onto the alabaster seat. "But I knew we'd close them in the end."

The CRO nodded. "You did good work."

"Thank you," Rhys said, bracing himself for the pitch. He knew he wasn't called in here for a congrats.

"You're a strong salesman," the CRO continued. "You have excellent people skills, and you're good at getting clients on your side."

Rhysand's brows rose. He didn't think he'd ever heard this much praise come from upper management before. He was still waiting for the catch.

"The deal with Adriata has fallen through," the CRO went on. That was corporate speak for: Tamlin wet the bed.

"That's a shame," Rhys said mildly. It wasn't his deal, and he wasn't exactly heartbroken to hear Tamlin fumbled a big sale.

"I know you have a contact there—Tarquin. You used to work with each other at your previous role. Do you think you could leverage that to recover the sale?"

Rhys paused. Adriata was one of the leads he'd fed to Tamlin through that acquaintance. He could have taken the deal himself, but he thought the new guy could use an easy win. It shouldn't have taken this long—nearly a year—to close the deal and it certainly shouldn't have fallen through.

"Adriata is Tamlin's client," Rhys said slowly. "If I helped close the sale…"

"You'd get the commission," the CRO said, hearing the question that went unspoken. "And the account will be yours. I just want this closed before fiscal."

In other words, before Monday.

Rhys glanced at the digital clock on the CRO's desk, calculating the time difference in his head. "Tarquin's based in L.A. Latest I can get him on a call is five."

"If you stay late and get this done, you can take Monday off."

It wasn't Monday he cared about. It was the date he envisioned with the pretty blue-eyed receptionist. He thought he would finally have the chance to take her somewhere nice and give this chemistry between them a solid chance.

Rhys bit the inside of his cheek. Feyre would understand, wouldn't she? With the commission he'd get from Hybern and Adriata, he could take her somewhere even nicer. Hell, he could take her out of London. Fly to Paris for the weekend. Amsterdam. Art museums. Anywhere she wanted.

"Okay," Rhys said, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."

After that, he returned to his desk. Tamlin was still in beast mode, ignoring Rhysand's existence and probably nursing his ego about the ruined Adriata deal. It offered Rhys the privacy to slip a sticky note from his desk and pass it to reception on the way to the break room.

Have to stay late tonight. Rain check on dinner?

-

The following Monday, Rhys took the day off.

And later that morning, he was waiting to meet his family for breakfast when he received a call from the police.

His mother, father, and younger sister had all died in a car accident on their way to meet him.

Rhys took the rest of the week off.

-

It was the day of the funeral.

He was sitting on a bench, staring absently at a flock of ducks wading through The Serpentine at Hyde Park.

He'd just gotten back to London and couldn't bear the thought of going home. So he'd come here, though it was a miserable, foggy day and he could feel the cold burning his nose, cheeks, and ears.

In some ways, the cold felt grounding. This pain was real. Fixable. So much easier to process than the intangible grief he was drowning in.

"Here I thought I was the only person in London mad enough to be out on a day like this."

It was just his luck to run into Feyre on today of all days.

Rhys knew he looked a mess. He wasn't trying to hide it. And he knew it was inevitable she would see him in his grief. Their company only offered five days of bereavement, after all. He'd be back at work on Monday, and he didn't anticipate being any less of mess than he was now.

When she appeared before him, hands settled on her hips, he wondered if this was how it felt to see a mirage in the desert. To glimpse salvation and know it was impossible to reach.

In the dull grey backdrop of English winter, she was a smear of vibrant color. She was wearing a sky-blue overcoat, buttoned over a cream turtleneck and brown suede trousers. Her cheeks and nose were frostbitten, like his own, and it made him feel strangely envious of the cold.

"You look like you're freezing."

Unlike Feyre, bundled in her coat and scarf and mittens, he wasn't dressed for the weather. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and though he'd brought an overcoat with him to the funeral, he was fairly certain he'd left it at the wake.

"I'm fine," he said.

A blatant lie. Usually he was better at those.

"Here." Feyre began unwinding her red knit scarf.

"No." Rhys held up his hands to stop her. "Really, Feyre, I'm—"

Dodging his weak attempts to deter her, Feyre unraveled her scarf and wasted no time hooking it around Rhysand's neck. The scent of lilac and pear coiled around him, constricting like the vise of a serpent.

"Keep it," she said. "It didn't really match this outfit anyway."

"I'm not sure it matches mine," he said, glancing down at the shock of red against his black suit.

"I don't know." Feyre leaned back to admire his outfit with a level of interest that had Rhys reconsidering his whole wardrobe. "I think you look nice with a bit of color."

"It's warm," he granted, pressing his palm to the soft fabric. The heat of her body was still there, though leeching by the second. "Thank you for lending it to me."

"Keep it," she said, taking the seat next to him. "Like I said, it looks good on you."

He could see what she was doing. She even raised her brows, practically taunting him for a response. Something like Clothes tend to look better off me, or it looked better on you.

The mask was in reaching distance. He knew the script. He just didn't have the energy to don the part.

Feyre tried to keep the concern off her face. The only problem was, he'd spent the better part of a year trying to learn how to read her. He knew her tells, and if he didn't, he could still see the crease of concern forming between her brows.

"Where have you been?" She asked, trying to sound casual. "The rumors are crazy, you know. You close the two biggest sales of the year on the same day and then disappear for a week."

Rhys offered her his best imitation of a grin. "Is that your way of saying you were worried about me?"

"You know as a receptionist, it's part of my duty to know all the latest office gossip."

"No gossip here, Feyre." He shrugged. "Just taking some time off."

Feyre frowned. Her voice was soft and devastatingly gentle as she said, "Rhys. It looks like you just came from a funeral."

"Didn't know them that well."

It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was that Feyre was one of his last shreds of brightness and he wanted to keep her firmly compartmentalized from this grief.

If he told her, she would worry for him. Every exchange in the office would be weighted. Different. He couldn't stand the thought of her holding him like shattered glass, the way everyone else in his life was doing.

And, most of all, he couldn't stand the thought of burdening her.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric, as if trying to instill the depth of her conviction. "Even if you hardly knew them, I'm sorry if today was difficult for you."

"Difficult?" He said, the word strained. "No day where I get to see you is difficult, Feyre."

"Do you want to get a drink? You still owe me lunch, remember?"

Rhys pressed his hand over hers, squeezing tighter than he should. But in that moment, it felt like she was all he had to hold on to.

"Not today," he said. His eyes stung and he knew it wasn't from the cold. "Rain check?"

Feyre nodded. "Rain check."

-

Rhys went back to the office the following Monday.

Things returned to normal. Almost.

The equilibrium of his life had shifted, and normal looked a bit different. Less like living, and more like survival.

He didn't go up to the receptionist counter like he used to, armed with a hundred excuses just to talk to Feyre. He made his own copies. He scheduled his own appointments. He stopped playing mental games with Tamlin.

He just… stopped.

And everything else kept going.

That was the most overwhelming part. The constant, distinct sensation that he was being left behind because he didn't know how to keep up.

Feyre found new people to talk to in the office. Tamlin made different enemies. Corporate started taking an interest in other high performers. He felt like a shadow, an apparition haunting his own mundane life. And he only woke up once they were already burying him.

That was how it felt, anyway, when the news broke the office. Like handfuls of dirt tossed on top of his lifeless body.

Feyre and Tamlin are engaged.

He couldn't breathe. The weight was too much to claw through. Engaged? He didn't even know they'd been dating.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Rhys said to her in passing later that day.

"Oh." Feyre cheeks turned the same red as the scarf he kept in his bedside drawer. He supposed it was inappropriate to keep hold of it now. "Thank you."

"How long have you two been…?"

He was too much of a coward to even finish the question.

Feyre managed to fill in the rest, though. "About four months."

That was all? Christ, he could have been married to her four times over by now. If he'd been brave enough to ask her out on that first day.

But he sensed the way she braced herself for his response, and guessed people hadn't been holding back commentary about their hastiness to get down the aisle.

"Sometimes when you know, you know," Rhys said, reserving his own less-than-complimentary thoughts.

He could think of only one reason Tamlin was in such a rush, and the suspicion was too ego-centric to lend any merit to.

Feyre was a treasure. Anyone with eyes could see that. Even Tamlin.

When Feyre gave him one of her forced smiles, he felt it like another clump of dirt landing on his chest. There were many ways he'd describe his relationship with Feyre, but something it had never been was forced.

He'd hurt her, he realized. When he withdrew into his grief without explaining himself. He should have told her what was going on.

And now he'd lost her.

Rhys thrummed his fingers on the countertop. "Well, I should let you go back to work."

Feyre's solemn nod was the eulogy that finally sent him sputtering, wondering what on earth he was doing buried in this hole.

Tamlin was obnoxious, sure, but at least he was alive.

Maybe it was time to move on. Not just from his grief, but from Feyre, too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd tried going on a date.

Not since she first started here.

With a heavy sigh, Rhys pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his cousin.

Rhys: Drinks tonight? x

Mor: I already made plans with a friend. Unless you want to join us??? 👀 xxx

Rhys considered. He snuck a glance at Feyre, catching her in the act of tucking her unruly hair behind her ear.

The sight of her struck him like a punch in the gut.

Rhys: Is she single? x

Mor: I thought you'd never ask 😌 x

-

It was his first night out in… god knew how long.

He hadn't left his house much in the last few months, and truthfully it had felt good to fall back into the routine of caring about his appearance. Taking a shower, shaving, picking a nice cologne, styling his hair so it wasn't just a sad mop of curls.

He felt… good wasn't quite the right word. He wasn't there yet. But his head felt clearer, and the air felt crisp, and he didn't feel like he was on the verge of suffocating in his own dread.

It was progress.

"Rhys!"

He barely had time to turn before his cousin vaulted into his chest, knocking him back a few steps from the sheer force of her hug.

"You look good!" Mor pulled back, her eyes brighter than the last time they'd met. He could see her relief in them. "Really."

"You do, too."

"You have no idea how many times I nearly sent Az and Cass on a kidnapping mission." She slapped his shoulder lightly in admonishment. "We've been worried sick!"

"I've just been busy," he said, knowing it was a lame excuse but lacking any other armor. "I'm sorry."

Mor sniffed. "You'll only be forgiven if you buy me and my friend a drink."

Rhys scanned the crowd. "Is she here?"

"Yeah. She just went to the bathroom. Asked me to order her a G&T."

"Coming up," Rhys said. "Go find us some seats."

"I haven't told you what I want," Mor pointed out.

"House red. Biggest glass they have."

She grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I missed you—"

"No touching the hair," he said, batting her hand away. "Seats. Now."

"Okay, bossy."

Rhys rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching the corner of his lips. It was nice. The normalcy of bickering with Mor.

It was a busy night, despite being a weekday, so it took a while for the bar to make their drinks. Longer still, for Rhys to take up the precarious task of balancing all three drinks in his hands as he searched for the table.

He caught a flash blonde hair poking over the seat of a leather booth and grinned. There was another girl sitting beside Mor, a brunette, both of their backs turned as he rounded the corner.

And nearly dropped the glasses on the floor.

Bright blue eyes stared at him, wide and achingly familiar. Her mouth parted open into a gasp.

"Rhys?"

He was equally dumbfounded. "Feyre?"

Mor said her friend was single. It shouldn't have been the first thought to bubble up through his shock. But it was.

"How do you two know each other?" Mor said, the question nearly accusational.

"We work together," Rhys said, recovering enough to set the drinks on the table.

Mor's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she said, whipping her head to gape at Feyre, who was dropping her head into her hands. "Oh my god, Feyre!"

"Is something the matter?" Rhys asked, unable to pry his eyes away from the red stain burning along the dainty curve of Feyre's ears. She kept her hands over the rest of her face, but he could see peeks of blushing skin through the gaps in her fingers. How was it possible that she was the one mortified about this?

He could see the mischief spreading over Mor's face, and it made him nervous. "Oh," his cousin said, drawing out the vowel as she plucked her wine glass from the table. "It's just that Feyre darling here has told me all about the people she works with in her office. Neglected to mention names, of course, but I'm starting to put two and two together."

Feyre darling. Smug satisfactions coursed through him at the realization that Feyre had been telling Mor about him. Not Tamlin—or at least, not exclusively Tamlin.

Feyre retreated from her hands just enough to glower at Mor. She wasn't meeting Rhysand's eyes, which likely had something to do with her scarlet coloring. He'd made her blush before, but never like this—never the kind that spread over her throat and collarbones, too. For a distracted second, he let himself imagine dragging his lips across every inch of red skin, just to see how long he could make the color linger.

"Let me guess," Rhys said, knowing he should keep the purr from his voice—she was engaged, for Christ's sake—but his eyes never lifted from her face. "She told you about a devilishly handsome salesman who sits at the desk across from her?"

"Hmm." Mor feigned an expression of deep thought. "That doesn't ring any bells, no. Though I'm pretty certain she mentioned something about a giant prick?"

Feyre's lips twitched, the making's of a smile.

Until Rhys interjected, "I suppose I do wear tight pants."

"You're disgusting," Mor said, wrinkling her nose. Feyre made a sound like she was inclined to agree.

And it was starting to drive him crazy that she wasn't saying anything. Was still refusing to look at him.

He tried to tempt her gaze by dragging her gin and tonic across the table, pushing it towards her as he asked, "What else have you been telling my cousin about me, Feyre darling?"

Finally. Finally she looked at him. Those blue eyes were more wary than he was used to seeing, but still full of challenge. More so, as they narrowed.

"I didn't know you two are cousins," she said, artfully evading the subject.

"Would have kept the finer details to yourself, if you'd known?"

Feyre lifted her chin. "It's not nice to speak ill of someone's family."

"Oh, I'm sure your descriptions were scathing." He smirked. "Do you have a code name for me?"

"Yeah, Prick."

"I know you're more imaginative than that, Feyre. You probably gave her a physical description, too, hmm? Tall, dreamy eyes, dark-haired—"

"Swaggering, insufferable arrogance," Feyre filled in.

Mor shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known it was Rhys from that alone."

"You wound me," Rhys said, clutching his chest. "Both of you."

His cousin rolled her eyes. "I think you'll manage to recover." She turned to Feyre and tapped her half full glass. "Where's the bathroom? There's a cute brunette at the bar and I need to make sure my lipstick hasn't smeared."

Feyre studied Mor's makeup. "You're fine."

"Liar. You just don't want me to leave you alone with Rhys." She slid out of the booth, her white teeth on full display. "I think you two can play nice for five minutes."

"Your judgment is questionable as always, Mor," Rhys said, though it did nothing to deter his cousin from gathering her purse and striding towards the restrooms.

Leaving him alone with Feyre.

He reminded himself to take deep, steady breaths—a task which escalated in difficulty once he noticed the scent of her perfume. Lilac and pear, the same she was wearing the day of his family's funeral. The same scent which had long since faded from the scarf she'd wrapped around his neck.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for crashing your girl's night."

Feyre shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I knew you were coming. I just… didn't know you were coming."

"And that makes it worse?" He said, ignoring the pang in his chest that she would prefer a stranger's company to his own.

"It makes it… complicated."

"Complicated?" Rhys raised his brows. "Like how Mor asked me to come here to meet her single friend kind of complicated?"

Feyre sat up straighter. "Mor said what?"

Rhys winced. He hadn't meant to throw Mor under the bus. "Just for my own clarity, you are engaged to Tamlin, right?"

"That's also…. complicated."

"Complicated how, Feyre?"

She chewed on her lower lip. A habit he'd noticed at the office, and had sent him walking stiffly to the men's room more times than he'd care to admit.

"Tamlin asked me to marry him last night," Feyre said, her voice so soft that he needed to lean over the table to hear her over the loud atmosphere. "I didn't say yes. I didn't say no, either. I just… I wanted more time to think about it, I guess. But he announced it to everyone in the office today."

Rhysand's grip tightened around his whiskey glass. "That bastard."

"I don't know what to do about it," Feyre said, all in one exhale. Her shoulder slumped. "I feel trapped. If I back out now, it will be this whole big thing. We'll have to walk it back in front of the entire office and it will be so uncomfortable."

The last thing Feyre needed was a big reaction. He could see it in the way she braced herself across from him, holding her body taut as if she was a passenger in some unbridled vehicle, expecting to crash at any moment.

He managed to keep his voice calm as he said, "This isn't the kind of decision that you should feel pressured into. You should marry someone because you want to, not because you feel obligated."

Feyre shrugged. The gesture was resigned, like he wasn't saying anything she hadn't already said to herself.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

"Then I think that's your answer. If it's not a resounding, unwavering yes, then you shouldn't do it."

"Will it ever be like that, though?" Her voice was strained. "Do people ever actually fall in love and know that they want to be with that person forever? Without any question?"

Rhys needed to take a deep swallow of his whiskey before he could answer. "Yes," he said, feeling it burn down his throat—the admission and the alcohol and the words he just couldn't bring himself to say. "If it's the right person, you know. Without any question."

Her eyes bored into his, so deep he swore she could see straight to the quick of his soul, where he was still raw and healing and afraid to tell her what he should be telling her.

Don't marry him.

I love you.

Please, don't marry him.

He didn't know what he would do—he didn't know if he would survive—if he unmasked himself completely, revealing every gnarled, jagged edge of jealousy and love and fear, and she still walked away.

"You came here wanting to meet one of Mor's single friends?" Feyre's voice trembled a bit, as if she was also holding back too much, waning beneath the weight. "Like, to be set up on a date?"

"Yeah," he said, shame drying the roof of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal, though he couldn't explain why or how. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there."

Feyre looked down at her drink. "Sorry you got me instead."

If there was one thing Rhys couldn't stand, it was hearing Feyre apologize for something outside of her control. She was always doing that in the office—apologizing for delays due to broken printers and out-of-order lifts.

"I owed you a drink though, didn't I?" He forced himself to wink. To grin. To play the smug arrogance he knew she expected from him. "This is a much better twist of fate."

Feyre opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something else, when Mor saddled back into the booth, lipstick freshly re-applied. "So," she said, tossing a lock of curls over her shoulder. "What did I miss?"

-

Feyre did, eventually, call off her engagement with Tamlin.

It happened months after Mor's failed setup attempt. Months of listening to Feyre go back and forth with Tamlin in the office about wedding plans, holding his tongue while she was strong-armed through every decision. Months of watching her steadily grow thinner, quieter, duller.

Months of watching Feyre Archeron wilt before his very eyes.

He didn't know what the catalyst was, in the end. All he knew was that one day, he walked into the office armed with a stupid joke to try to make her smile, since she was doing less and less of it these days. And instead he'd met the stern face of their new receptionist, Alis.

So when Mor told him that she'd invited Feyre on their annual trip to their family cabin in the Alps, he'd had conflicting feelings.

One hand, he'd get to spend a week of uninterrupted time with Feyre, where they could deviate from their usual script of jammed printers and pleasant weather. And more importantly, he could finally, finally, enjoy her company without the threat of her impending engagement looming over their shoulders.

On the other hand, what was the appropriate buffer to give the love of your life time to grieve her relationship with the worst man you've ever met? Mor had told him, very sternly he would add, that all topic surrounding Tamlin were strictly off limits.

Did that include topics concerning the absence of Tamlin, and if or when she'd be ready for someone to fill that void?

He ached to tell her how he felt. Now that the Tamlin-shaped dam was finally removed, he was drowning from the weight of holding back years of confessions and unrequited feelings.

Their burden became impossible to carry the closer the trip became, to the point where he considered bailing simply out of fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Feyre deserved better than that. After all this time, they both did.

But his fears were unfounded when she walked through the door.

Rhys had long associated Feyre's presence with joy. Even during those agonizing months he'd loved her and believed she would be marrying another man. The sight of her walking into a room still filled him with joy.

Now, he was flooded with distress.

She was thin. He noticed she'd been losing weight in the months leading up to her resignation. But this was drastic.

Feyre looked as if her dread and grief were eating her alive.

He wanted to weep at the sight of what Tamlin had done to her. Weep, then take Cass and Az and three of their best baseball bats and—

"Feyre darling," he greeted, lifting from the sofa with a broad smile. "Look at you, out of work clothes."

"I'm surprised you recognize me in something other than a blouse."

"Well, I wasn't certain at first," he intoned, strolling closer to the doorway. Until he could see the snowflakes on her long eyelashes and every adorable freckle smattered over her nose and cheeks. "But that smear of paint always gives you away."

Feyre turned her head to Mor, her eyes widening as if to confirm, Do I really have paint on my face?

"Oh, ignore him," Mor grumbled. But she did lick her thumb and lean in to rub Feyre's cheekbone, which resulted in sputtered protest that his cousin happily ignored.

Rhys watched Feyre thrash against Mor's hold, a familiar fondness stirring in his chest. "It is nice to see you again, Feyre. I've missed you at the office."

"Why?" She snorted. "Because I was the only sane person there?"

"Precisely for that reason."

He opened his arms to her, and he was relieved that she didn't hesitate for a second to throw her arms around him. Rhys held her tight, trying and failing not to marvel at how fragile she felt. Some delicate, breakable thing.

What happened to the girl who proudly drank from an office wanker mug on her second week? Rhys knew she was still there, hidden behind layers of guilt and sorrow and what he suspected was the subconscious voice of a man who'd tried everything in his power to whittle her down.

"How is… everyone?" She asked, her diction stilted just enough that he knew who she was truly asking after.

He shot a help me glance to Mor, who immediately jumped in and admonished, "You both promised me no office talk!"

Rhys held up his hands. "Okay, okay. How about wine talk?"

"Why dear cousin of mine, how did you know that's my favorite topic?"

"Lucky guess," he said flatly.

He recognized Feyre's laugh. That hollow, polite sound that she used during her first week in the office, when she felt obligated to laugh at every bland, unfunny joke. Including his own.

It was enough that she was laughing—that she was trying to laugh again. And he resolved that if he could do one thing for her on this trip, it would be getting her to laugh. A genuine, shoulder-shaking, clutching-her-stomach-because-she-can't-breathe laugh.

Rhys turned his gaze to her, failing not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. "What about you, darling? Are you drinking wine these days?"

She grinned, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm drinking anything these days."

That seemed like too much to unpack when she was still standing in the entryway, the open door blowing a gust of cold air at her back.

It was instinct, the way he reached for her scarf to unravel her in the direction of the overstuffed armchair. If he was overstepping, Feyre didn't seem to mind. Her laughter was more breath than anything, but she indulged him by twirling on her toes, helping him to unwrap the rest of the scarf as if it were a choreographed dance. Though, with the way her balance wobbled at the end, Rhys didn't suspect they'd be competing on any dance shows in the near future.

"Careful," he said, bracing her elbow. "The nearest hospital is an hour away and in the next thirty minutes, none of us will be sober enough to drive you."

"You could always bundle me up on a sled," Feyre mused. He let go once she regained her balance and tried not to look disappointed when she retreated from his touch to curl up on the arm chair. "At least if I didn't reach the bottom, I'd be going out in style."

"Sledding!" Mor squealed, clapping her hands together. "Oh, yes, we should absolutely do that this year!"

Rhys shot his cousin an incredulous look. "If I recall correctly, our last emergency hospital visit was the result of sledding."

Mor poked her tongue at him. "Whatever. Cass probably thought it was as worth it for the photos alone."

Rhys explained to Feyre, "Last year, Cass face-planted a rock. Fucked up both his front teeth."

"He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he saw the blood," Mor added, rolling her eyes. "Az took a picture and Cassian made it his screensaver for like six months."

Feyre shuddered. "I think I'll pass on the sledding."

If he was honest, Rhys hoped she stayed exactly where she was for the rest of the trip. Safe, in that oversized chair, in front of the crackling fire, where he could already see some color returning to her expression.

His eyes swiveled to the basket of blankets tucked beneath the coffee table. He knew if he grabbed one for her, he'd be accused of coddling. And maybe he was.

Even so, he couldn't help praising, "Wise decision."

"Lame decision," said a deep voice, striding out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped far too precariously around his hips.

The cabin had four bedrooms, two on each side of the hall, with only one bathroom nestled in the center. No one was exactly thrilled to be sharing a single bathroom between five adults, though Cassian argued half the fun was trying to catch a glimpse of Azriel naked.

"Cassian I presume?" Feyre said from the armchair.

Cass grinned, striding forward on wet, slapping feet. The only thing that dissuaded him from dripping onto the carpet to go shake Feyre's hand—or offer some other, far less appropriate greeting—was Rhysand's sharp glare

"And you must be the renown Feyre Archeron." He slid Rhys a knowing grin that was begging for a punch. "I'll go get dry before the hall monitor gives me a detention for getting his precious carpet wet. But then, you and I have much to talk about."

Rhys couldn't give two shits about the carpet, though it was his parents' and it was cashmere. But he would prefer if Cassian could avoid flashing Feyre when she was only a few weeks post-break-up.

He needed things to go well so that Feyre would consider coming back next year. And the year after. And however many holidays it would take for her to consider that she might like to be part of this group.

And if that was all she ever wanted, that would be good enough. As long as she was happy again.

"Should I be scared?" Feyre asked.

"Of Cassian?" Mor laughed. "No more than you would be afraid of a big, slobbery puppy."

"It's Az people usually find scary," Rhys said, wandering in the kitchen to fetch the girls their wine. "But that's just 'cause he's quiet. Truth is, he's a big softie."

"More like he's got a big softie," Mor muttered.

Rhys straightened. "Pardon?"

"Are we talking about Az's dick?" Cassian called, scrambling back into the room. "Without me?"

The front door shut, diverting everyone's attention to where Azriel stood, a gloved hand still pressing the handle. He blinked at them, sighed, and then walked back out the front door.

"Wait, Az!" Cassian called, cackling as he vaulted over the sofa to get to the front door faster, narrowly recovering from flashing them by fisting the towel at his groin. He managed to catch the door before it closed, sprinting outside with his feet and chest still bare.

"Are they…" Feyre hesitated. "Together?"

It was a terrible time to have handed Mor her wine glass. She sputtered, choking on a mixture of wine and laughter that erupted over her clothes, the sofa, and the coffee table.

Feyre leapt to her feet to help. "Oh my god, are you okay?" She thumped a fist behind Mor's back as his cousin's laughter fizzled into a coughing fit.

Rhys, meanwhile, set Feyre's wine glass on a clean corner of the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

"I'm sorry for—all of them, really," he called to her.

Mor, still wheezing, could only lift her middle finger broadly on his direction.

"To answer your question," Rhys said, coming back to Mor's side to divide layers of paper towel among the three of them. "No, Cassian and Azriel are not dating."

His cousin shrieked at the reminder, launching into another coughing fit.

"Thanks," Feyre said, balling up her collection of towels to dab them gingerly into the carpet. Red wine. His parents were rolling in their graves. "I, uh, think I put that one together."

"Cass just likes to push buttons. And Azriel's the most private among us, which leads to a lot of speculation," he sent Mor a pointed look, "among our group."

Mor, having mostly recovered from her fit, tapped her chest and croaked, "It's the greatest tragedy of Cassian's life that he'll never know if his dick is bigger than Az's."

"We spend every year naked together in a sauna," Rhys reminded her, raising his brows as if to say, what are you up to? Mor didn't usually indulge conversations about naked men to this degree. "Believe me, he knows."

"And?"

Rhys jerked his head, just to be sure he'd heard the question right. Feyre was looking at him with a glint in her eye. She was biting her lip, restraining a laugh just like she'd done on the first day they'd spoken to each other in the break room.

A habit she'd never broken, after all these years.

His lips twitched. "And, what, Feyre darling?"

"What's the outcome of this annual dick measuring contest you three apparently have in the sauna?"

"Why don't you join us this year and find out?"

"Am I allowed to bring my strap?" Mor asked.

The front door shut, revealing cold-flushed yet grinning Cassian and a bewildered looking Azriel.

"I don't know what conversation we just walked in on," Cassian said, "but count me in."

This was a nightmare. At least, Rhys thought it was a nightmare. Feyre, strangely, seemed to be enjoying herself and he thanked the gods that she had a good sense of humor about all this chaos.

"You must be Azriel," Feyre said, beaming at the dark haired male becoming a shadow at Cassian's back. "I've heard so much about you."

Azriel glanced toward the door. Rhys knew he was debating the merits of trying to make another escape. He'd probably already started his car by the time Cassian caught up and dragged his ass back.

"All good things," Feyre assured quickly.

Rhys didn't think he'd ever seen Azriel blush before.

"What happened here?" Cassian said with a low whistle, taking in the mess of wine-soaked paper towels. "It's too early in the evening for you to have forgotten where your mouth is, Morrigan."

"Har har." Mor stood up from the sofa. "Just for that, I'm stealing one of your hoodies."

"Didn't you bring your own clothes?" He complained.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if I wore my own."

"I only brought like two hoodies!"

"You should have thought about that before you opened your big, dumb mouth."

"At least steal one of Az's. He smells better than me."

"If you think so, maybe you should wear one of his hoodies."

"Mor—" Cassian groaned as she strode off into his room. "Mor!"

"I should have warned you they were going to bicker like this," Rhys said apologetically, perching himself against the armrest of Feyre's chair to, at last, hand her a wine glass.

"Oh trust me, bickering over sharing clothes is a staple of sisterhood. I'm used to it."

"That's right, you have two sisters don't you? Nesta and Elain." She looked surprised he remembered. "How are they doing?"

"Well. Nesta is this scary, big shot lawyer who eats suited men for breakfast and Elain is living the dream cottage core life with her husband, Lucien. You remember him, right? He was Tam's—" she winced. Like that name was a bruise she didn't mean to press.

"I remember him," Rhys said, trying to help her past the slip-up. "Redhead, right? Snarky?"

She snorted. "You could say that again."

"Does he treat her right?"

"Oh, like a princess." She rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't believe the way she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"I believe it," Rhy said. He wondered if he had that stupid grin on his face again, the one that proved just how wound he was around Feyre's little finger.

Feyre didn't seem to know how to respond to that, but she shrugged and said, "They're happy."

Rhys didn't doubt for a second Feyre was happy for her sister, but he could see the discomfort on her face at that admission. It couldn't have been easy to have a brother-in-law who was close to her ex fiancé. And he knew first hand how difficult it was to see someone else happy and have that reality feel so distant it was foreign.

"I'm glad," he said. "And I'm glad you could join us this year. It will be a relief to have someone sane in our entourage."

"I don't think that's fair to Azriel," Feyre said. "So far, he's been the most well behaved."

Az smiled. "The night is still young."

Rhys chuckled at Feyre's look of betrayal. "Like I said, darling. You're the most sane person here."

"Maybe that's what I'd like you to think."

He liked seeing something other than resignation in her eyes again. So much that he couldn't resist leaning forward, his voice ripe with challenge as he purred, "Then I look forward to being proved otherwise."

-

Despite his best efforts, Rhys couldn't convince Mor that it was a bad idea to take everyone sledding the next morning.

They were all nursing hangovers from a concoction of liquors that they'd made the mistake of letting Cassian combine into what he called 'Solstice Punch'. Rhysand had a blistering headache, which wasn't helped by Cassian's noisy attempt to make breakfast. With only four rooms, Rhys had drawn the short straw for who had to sleep on the couch.

Rhys groaned, burying his head beneath a pillow. "There is no way in hell that you're getting me onto a sled today."

"Even if you get to share one with Feyre?" Cassian teased. "You'll get to wrap your arms around her and—"

"Shut up."

"I guess Az and I will just get to enjoy her company instead," Cassian said smugly.

It nearly convinced Rhys to go, until Mor strode into the living room. "Feyre isn't coming," she announced. "She's not feeling good."

Rhys sat up way too fast. "Is she okay?" He asked, blinking away the black spots that burst in his vision.

"Calm down, white knight. She's just hungover like the rest of us." Mor looked at Cassian, frowning. "Maybe we should take it easy today."

"Fuck that. Az is already loading the car. You coming?"

Mor sighed. "I can't leave Feyre."

"Sure you can," Cassian said, grinning over her shoulder at Rhys. "Lover boy will take perfect care of her."

Rhys slumped back into the sofa, ignoring the jab. "You go, Mor. We'll take it easy today."

Mor pressed her lips together, consternation pulling at her brows as she flicked her eyes between Rhys and Cassian. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll go. Someone needs to babysit the idiots. You sure you'll be okay, Rhys?"

"Peachy," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Now get the hell out of here so I can go back to sleep."

-

Rhys couldn't say how much longer he slept for. When he woke up, the cabin was silent. Someone had graciously left the curtains drawn, keeping the living room subdued in darkness and by the same virtue, making it impossible to guess how late in the day it was.

The heating had kicked on at some point, leaving him sweating beneath the pile of blankets. He kicked them off and shuffled into the hall.

"Feyre?" He called, stopping to listen outside her door. When there was no answer, he assumed she must still be asleep.

Rhys pushed into the bathroom, intent on washing off his sweat even if the bright fluroscents felt like a thousand needles shoved into his eye sockets. He groaned, fumbling half-blind as he jerked the shower curtain open and turned on the water.

It was only once he was under the water, steam billowing around him, that he felt his head begin to clear. And that was when he realized he left his clothes in the living room.

Rhys fell forward with a groan, resting his head against the damp tile as he debated the merits of retrieving his clothes now or waiting until he finished his shower. There was no telling if Feyre would still be asleep by the time he finished. At least if he left now, he could evade a potentially awkward encounter.

It took all of his willpower to step out of the warm embrace of water. More, to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist.

He opened the door gradually, peering through the crack to ensure the coast was clear before he hurried with wet, slapping footprints to where his bag rested beside the sofa.

As he crouched to unzip the top, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door handle turning. He froze.

The door pushed open. He knew he was doomed because whoever stepped through was far too silent to be a member of his family.

Rhys hovered in place, clutching his towel tight around the hips, internally debating whether it was better to let her know he was there or try to flee behind the kitchen counter before she realized.

"Rhys?" Feyre called.

Shit. It was fine, right? She'd seen Cassian in a towel yesterday and hardly reacted.

Slowly, he rose from behind the couch, prepared to play this off with a flirty comment. But as soon as he saw her, his brain deserted every word of the linguistic tongue.

"Oh!" She jumped, faltering to quickly re-secure the towel she had wrapped around her torso.

Rhys decided a Christmas deity must be trying to punish him. There was no other explanation for the ridiculous towel she was wearing, so short her breasts spilled over the top and if she bent, even the slightest, he would be able to see her entire ass.

Where on Earth had she found a towel like that?

Rhys needed to finish mentally reeling his tongue back in before he was able to shape coherent words. And once he did, they came out entirely too rough, like he was scraping them over sandpaper.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

A familiar blush was spreading over her chest, but Feyre did a good job keep in her expression composed as she quirked a brow. "I think that depends on who wore it better."

"I won't make any argument on that front," Rhys said. It was taking every ounce of restraint not to drink her in like this. "I'm just grabbing some clothes and I'll head into the shower."

"Or—"

How could such a soft, breathy word strike with enough momentum to take him off his feet? Rhys clenched his hand tighter around the handle of his bag, trying to will his blood flow back into his head.

"You could come join me?"

Fuck. Fuck. He'd never heard Feyre use the voice before—at least anywhere outside of his own fantasies. It was just rough enough to scrape him raw, wondering if he'd imagined the sultry undertone or if he was letting his own ego get to his head.

"Join you where, exactly, darling?"

"The sauna," she said. "I've just warmed it up, and seeing as you're already dressed for the occasion…"

This was how it must have felt to be ensnared by a siren. To see your every desire brought to life, just in reaching distance, and to know it would be your undoing.

There wasn't any scenario where he could go into a sauna with Feyre, alone, and keep hold of the careful distance he was putting between them. He couldn't think of a single outcome that wouldn't end with Feyre in his lap, panting beneath his touch. And he wanted it. So badly he would crash his ship to shore and gladly drown in the wreckage.

But he wanted her to be ready, too. He didn't want to be another man pressuring her into say yes, making her feel trapped. If he was going to kiss her, touch her, do anything more than flirt with her, he needed to do it in a neutral space, where she could leave if it became too much.

Rhys was careful not to let the pain show on in his face. He released his breath through his nose, quiet, measured.

"I think we should wait until we're better hydrated," he said. "I wouldn't want you passing out. Rain check?"

Feyre's smiled dropped. Rhys was starting to feel nauseous again, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Oh." Feyre said. He could hear her disappointment. "Okay. Maybe later, then."

Rhys held himself still as she hurried past, fleeing into her room. His chest pinched at the sound of the door snicking shut, as if a piece of his heart was caught in the doorjamb, begging for it to open.

With a sigh, he gathered his clothes and went back to his shower.

Feyre

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had returned at some point in the late afternoon with a few nicks and bruises, but no broken teeth. Feyre was assured that meant it was a successful sledding trip. Which was more than she could say about her lazy day at the cabin.

She'd spent most of it in her room, with the exception of her brief attempt to coax Rhys into the sauna. After his mortifyingly polite rejection, she'd spent the rest of the day in her room until Mor came knocking.

"You okay?" She asked, finding Feyre buried beneath a pile of blankets.

This was ordinarily Rhysand's room. Which meant that everything in here smelled like him. Citrus and a dark, churning sea, threatening to swallow her whole beneath warm, chunky-knit blankets.

"Doesyercznlkmm?"

"What?" Mor stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her.

Feyre pulled her head out from beneath the blankets. "Does your cousin like me?"

"Rhys?" Mor frowned. "Of course he likes you."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know how I feel about him, Mor. Sometimes I think he feels the same way, but then he just pulls away from me."

Mor glanced towards the door, her expression wary. She always grew a little evasive whenever their conversation skewed towards Rhys, and Feyre felt a little guilty for putting her in the middle.

"My cousin can be pretty guarded," Mor said. "He keeps his cards close to his chest, especially after his family died. But… Look in that box, under the bed."

Feyre's eyes followed Mor's gesture to the small gap under Rhysand's bed. Curious, Feyre extracted herself from the bed to fish out a small shoebox. She pushed the lid open, frowning when she saw a red scarf carefully folded inside.

"He took that here last year. Wore it everywhere. It was the first Christmas since his family died and I think it brought him a lot of comfort." Mor shrugged. "He wouldn't say where it was from but I have my suspicions."

Feyre ran her fingers over the soft wool, recalling the anguish on his face when she'd given it to him. She'd always half-heartedly wondered what happened to the scarf, but she'd assumed he'd thrown it out or otherwise forgotten about it.

Mor said, "If you want to know how he feels, you should just ask him. But I think you mean a lot to him, Feyre. Maybe he's just waiting for you to tell him how you feel."

Easier said than done. The last two years was a montage of chances where she could have told Rhys how she felt and didn't. It was always never the right time. He was working late or she was rushing out the door or he was grieving or she was dating Tamlin—or it was just safer to stay in this soft, liminal space between friendship and something more.

Walking away from Tamlin had been easy. Complicated, yes, but emotionally… All she'd felt was relief.

If it's the right person, you know. Without any question.

"Right," Feyre breathed, nodding to herself. "Tell him how I feel. That should be…" Nerve wracking. "I can do that."

-

Rhys

When Rhys felt something soft wrapping around his neck, his first suspicion was that Az and Cass were pulling a prank on him. It wasn't uncommon to wake up from a drunken stupor in this cabin with a marker mustache and a few drawn-on dicks.

He was convinced when he felt the weight of a body settle over him.

"C'mon Cass," he mumbled. "Not now."

The body above him giggled. Light. Feminine.

"Does that imply Cass usually climbs into bed with you?"

Rhys opened his eyes to find Feyre's face hovering inches over his, her hair cascading around his head like a canopy. Her hands were at his chest, tugging a red scarf around his neck.

"What's going on?" He asked, not convinced he was awake. He didn't even remember going to bed, but the lights were off, so it had to be late. "What time is it?"

"You never gave my scarf back," she said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer to his question. "But you kept it all this time."

She was straddling his lap, her ass settled just above his groin. If he moved even the slightest bit, he would grind against her, and he couldn't deny the temptation crossed his mind.

"Are you drunk?" He asked. Which, as he thought about it, was a stupid question. They'd all been drinking—Feyre more than anyone. He had a vague memory of half guiding, half stumbling with her into his bedroom.

Which, as he sat up, was where he realized they still were. Not on the sofa. Christ, he must have crashed trying to get her to bed.

"Not any more than you," she argued. "At least I managed to stay awake. Pussy."

He laughed. "Did you really just call me a pussy?"

"Do you prefer it to Prick?"

"Not really. Though I'll admit, I am fascinated to learn what other filthy words you'd like to call me."

Feyre tugged at the scarf, drawing his face closer to hers. He could feel her breath against his lips as she whispered, "You'll have to earn them."

He fought a shiver at the invitation in her voice. "How?"

"Kiss me," she said, eyes fixing on his mouth.

He wanted to. More than he wanted to breathe. "We're drunk, Feyre."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Pussy," she said again, before grabbing both ends of the scarf and yanking it upwards, crashing her mouth to his.

Rhys shut his eyes, a guttural sound forming in the back of his throat as he slipped his arms around her back, pulling her tighter. It wasn't the kind of first kiss he'd imagined giving her. That had always been soft and sweet, an admission in itself.

This kiss was clumsy and urgent—two people latching to each other as if terrified the other would let go. Feyre wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with a grip he likened to someone hanging from a precipice, where every digit, every ounce of surface area, could be the difference between life or death.

"Feyre," he groaned, trying to pull away. She chased him, mouth crashing back to his, swallowing his protests, and he was simulatenously in heaven and hell. "Feyre," he said again, pushing lightly at her shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled away. He could feel her body trembling.

"Don't push me away, Rhys." Her voice was so small. "Please, don't push me away. Not again."

She might as well have reached into his chest and ripped his heart straight out.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, securing an arm around her back to keep her pressed where she was, her fluttering heart beating against his. "I'll sleep here. Just—let's wait until the morning, okay? I promise to kiss you stupid once you're sober."

Feyre tugged at her scarf as she thought about it. He knew she made her decision when she sighed softly and slumped into his body, resting her head against his chest.

"Rain check?" She asked, with a small yawn.

Rhys had never been happier to say those two stupid words. "Rain check."

[the-steambird]

[ 011223 EDITION ]

GENSHINBLR — NOVEMBER, 2023 EDITORIAL

EXTRA! EXTRA! Over here, dear reader! As we enter the twelfth month of the year, read up on what’s happened this past month of November on Genshin Tumblr!

From your Editors: Crow and Ely.

COLLECTIVES — November Events !

TRENDING! || From Journalist @meidnightrain

1989 Event — 21 songs to 21 fics with the Genshin characters; A celebration to the release of Taylor Swift’s 1989 album, with fluff, angst, and hurt / comfort galore! Our journalist Meisha takes us through the re-recorded album with various Genshin characters X GN! Reader ranging from Aether, to Furina, and many more in between!

NEWS FLASH! || From Editor @yuellii

Fontaine : Dark Blood — A supernatural-themed event to continue off the spirit of Halloween in November; Dark Blood follows three separate one shots of vampire Neuvillette, werewolf Wriothesley, and puppet Lyney X GN! Reader. Our editor Ely executes horror through her writing, so readers, please heed her warnings carefully in each fic!

COLUMN — Individual Spotlight !

LET TWO EYES BE UNDECEIVED, Lyney / By Editor @rainswept

Summary from the editor: Growing up with you by his side, falsities were always something Lyney could see through. He preferred not to use them, not for a long time — but once you were gone and he and Lynette were left without someone to do the group’s dirty work, he forced himself to inherit the way of living you left behind.

“So excited for this one! Editor Crow’s been showing me their progress—honestly such a must-read for Lyney fans when it comes out, teehee.” — Editor Ely.

YOU’RE SO RED, ARE YOU OKAY?, Furina / By Journalist @definitelynotaneulasimp

A comedic review by Journalist Henry, in which the Archon of Hydro attempts at a date, but all goes wrong when she develops a terrible case of hiccups. Rumor has it: This fic is a part of Henry’s 1.5k Followers Event!

Want more Genshin women content? Definitely check out Henry’s own blog for characters like Ei, Navia, and more!

GOODNIGHT, Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @strawberrylabs

Did you know: Lyney, Freminet, Kazuha, Venti, Cyno and Childe have voice lines about you, dear reader?! If you’re having trouble falling asleep, hear what these characters have to say all about you!

A SIMPLE MISSION, Neuvillette / By Journalist @alaboadoa

Rumor has it: The Duke and the Iudex were caught whispering privately about you?! Read as Journalist Soph gossips all the juicy details about their conversation—it seems Monsieur Neuvillette might have a crush on you!

Just recently released: Journalist Soph also just recently released a new entry for Ayato, “INK TO PAPER.” Both of these works are featured in her 1k milestone event!

ONE CHANCE (PT.2), Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @ayaboba

“You give them one chance. How do they use it?” Journalist Anya returns with Kazuha, Lyney, Wanderer, and Zhongli—all who have just one last chance with you. Be sure to also check our her part one of this entry with Alhaitham, Diluc, Neuvillette, and Wriothesley, linked in her entry!

WHEN THEY LOSE YOU, Various Genshin Men / By Journalist @yrbladie

Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya, Neuvillette, Zhongli — ever in the mood for angst and no comfort? Then Journalist Naeris delivered us painful excepts on five different Genshin men and how they act after ( spoiler! ) losing you.

With Journalist Naeris also being on the rise and joining the writing train, be sure to check out all the other works she has published this month, as well!

FEATURE — The Editors’ Favorites !

YOUR SHADOW UNDER THE ILLUSORY MOON., Lyney / By Journalist @dulcesiabits

“this piece genuinely moved me. journalist liya’s writing is beautiful, and out of hundreds — maybe even thousands — of works that i have read, this has remained my favorite. it had me hanging on every word and i could genuinely feel the emotion put into it — her word choices and the way she conveys the scenes are profound in a way i cannot hope to describe. the ties and parallels part one has with PART TWO are so smart, too. hands down the most immersive and touching writing i’ve ever had the pleasure to read.” — Editor Crow.

JEALOUS-!, Ayato / By Journalist @jinxlixir

“LOVED this one! Takes place in a modern school AU with Ayato as the student council prez, and reader as his vice prez! The concept is every hopeful cliché, and Journalist Jinx did an amazing job characterizing Ayato so well—this one definitely stayed in my head for a while!”

“Not to mention: This little snippet is a continued concept of Jinx’s OTHER AYATO PIECE, one that’s much longer and written excellently!! I was practically squealing the whole time I read it… Ignore my tags if you decide to scroll through the notes.” — Editor Ely.

THE-STEAMBIRD is a Genshinblr Newspaper that posts news on the latest fanfiction and fanart! Editorials are published on the 1st day of every month, compiling your favorite works, featuring sections for journalists (writers) and photographers (artists).

Every month, from the 2nd-24th, we are in the nomination process. Writers and artists can nominate works they would like to see featured on The-Steambird for the month using our form!

[it-lives-within-the-dark]

I really do love SBCL and I really feel like when you read the manga it SO blatantly in your face…but when I read Yana’s old blog it seems like she’s so dead set against Sebastian and Ciel caring for each other at all…that it’s like does she even see what she writers or and I just delulu… or are antis just cherry picking what they translate 😭😭

Hey Nonny!

Short answer:

I'm not familiar enough with Yana's old blog to make any judgements on what her intentions/feelings are for her story and characters based on her posts (not to mention, it's old - people can change their minds).

Long answer:

I go back and forth when it comes to authorial intent and death of the author. I've literally been on both sides of the issue. As a fan, it's easy to say that what the author intended doesn't matter and that my interpretation of their work is 100% valid, even if it's the complete opposite of what the author intended. On the other hand, I've been in the author's shoes. I took a creative writing class in college where one of our assignments was to write a short story and then the class would discuss it. Simple, right? Easy. Except I wasn't allowed to speak the entire time my work was being discussed. I had to bite my tongue for forty minutes while my classmates completely butchered my story, listen to them miss the main theme completely, focus on a random detail that meant nothing, and walk away at the end of class not understanding anything I tried to convey in my work. I never got to explain what it actually meant; all the little clues and details that they missed - nothing. And it sucked. A lot. But at the end of the day there was nothing I could do about it.

All that to say, I think it's up to you to determine what holds more importance: what Yana says in her old posts (keeping in mind the context in which those remarks were made - what year did she make those comments, and where does that line up in the publishing of the manga? - are you taking into consideration that she is a public figure and that she might need to watch her words so that she doesn't jeopardize her job? etc.), or how you personally interpret the work.

I also think it's important to keep in mind that there can be (and is) a difference in what you, the fan, want to see happen, and what you want to actually happen in canon. There's a tumblr post floating around that discusses this topic but I don't have it handy.

Sorry this was all a bit rambly!

[admirationandromantics]

Who you belong to

Another request!! I love getting them, so please keep em coming!! This one is with Mike, and not necessarily safe for work 👀 Anyways, hope you like it. I have to remind people of this though, my blog is 18+ even though some of my work doesn't feature adult themes.

Word count: 1,6k (Unedited)

We both arrive back at the apartment, freezing from the cold snowy weather. The get-together was fine, mostly. Jess still tried to get all of Mike’s attention, and Hannah was giving him side glances too many times. I was on the verge of saying something, telling them both off, but Mike’s hand on mine gave me the reassurance I needed. 

“You know, he might seem all macho-man when he’s out with us, but are you really like that when you’re alone?” Josh smirks, eager to stir up something. I smile, turning my head and giving my boyfriend a small kiss on the cheek. His cheeks get redder, a slight smile in the corner of his lips as he tries hiding it. Josh laughs, glad that his hypothesis was true. The others murmur small ‘awwe’s in response to the small gesture. 

Mike leans over, capturing my lips in a possessive manner. His tongue makes a little contact with my lower lip. Everyone cheers, lifting their glasses and drinking. I move in tact with him, hand going up his chest. 

“Ew guys, get a room” Jess complains, rolling her eyes. I push him away, hoping that my foundation covers the warmth on my face. 

“Chill, it was just a little kiss” Mike coos, arm going around me. The room laughs yet again before we go back to the conversation at hand. Jess continues nitpicking, making an occasional comment about my makeup or style. When will this end?

The apartment is dark and cold, and the first thing I do is put on the heater. The appliance starts vibrating, warm air blasting out. I hold my hands forth, warming them while Mike takes off his jacket. 

“Jess was being extra nosy today” I state, looking over at him as he walks over. He sits down behind me, arms going around my upper body, hugging tight. 

“She was being a bitch” 

“Yeah, I know, but she’s never been this bad before” 

He hums, unsure about how to deal with the situation. I know why he hasn’t told her off yet. If he did, she would complain to Emily, and god knows what they’ll come up with to say to the others. The group dynamic would be completely wrong. 

“Just give her time, we’ll let her know that nothing is breaking us up” he comforts, planting small kisses on my neck. I sigh into his embrace. I'm so grateful to him, so much. If he hadn’t been there to calm me down, I would have said a lot of things I’d regret. I stand up, getting out of his warm arms. The light is still off, and we should probably warm up the rest of the apartment, opening the doors to let the air in. He follows as I switch on the light, but he turns it off again in a teasing manner. 

“Not good” I laugh at his weirdly sexual attempt to set the mood, and switch on the light again. He turns it off, smirking at my refusal. 

“We need light”

“Maybe we don’t” 

His arms go to take off my jacket, hanging it on the rack behind me. He turns around, arms going around me and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s much rougher than the one on the outing, his tongue immediately breaking through my defences and roaming through my mouth. I moan into him, and he grabs me harder, hand moving down from my back to my ass. 

I slowly move backwards, and he follows suit until my back hits the wall. His free hand moves up my chest and collar, finally stopping on my throat. Me squeezes, causing me to let out a breathy gasp. His hand on my ass pushes my lower body against his pelvis, letting him fully grind on me, while devouring my lips. 

“You liked them thinking that you had all the control huh?” 

I hum in response, unable to conjure words. 

“Trying to show Jess who I belong to?” 

He moves to my jaw, leaving a trail of kisses down to his thumb on my neck. 

“How about I just show them who you belong to, you alone?” he bites my skin, leading to a number of melodies leaving my mouth. 

“Mike, I-” 

“Shhh, I’m talking” 

I let him continue whispering sweet nothings in my ear, his hand moving up to my breasts and kneading harshly. 

“You’re gonna do exactly as I say, whenever I say it” 

“Okay” 

He moves us to the couch, leaning over me as he resumes his attack on my neck. I moan in reply, feeling him smirk against my skin from the erotic sounds he gets out of me. When did I turn to putty? When did I start feeling so vulnerable and helpless against him? 

“Yeah, you know who the only person who can make you sound like that?” 

His hands find the hem of my top, pulling it over my head. I whimper from the cold, feeling goosebumps all over. 

“Only me darling, only me” 

He moves down to my breast, easily getting the bra unhooked. No time is wasted as he takes me into his mouth, sucking and biting, leaving red and blue marks all over my upper body. He nibbles at my piercings, taking them into his mouth and dragging till I scream out in pain. 

“That’s right” 

He sits up, dragging off his shirt in a fast manner before moving on to his belt. I do the same, pulling off my leggings, leaving me only in my panties. His body moves back over me, pressing me down into the cushions. My legs automatically go around his torso, pulling him deeper. His knee finds its place between my legs, letting me grind down on him. 

He pulls down, kissing all the way from my stomach to my thighs. I whimper at the lack of attention my pussy gets, throbbing and wet with desire. 

“Mike” 

“Don’t get too eager” 

He bites down on the flesh, making me shout out in pain. His hand moves to my stomach, holding my body down as he licks the sore and painful spot. His other one goes to my folds, feeling over the thin soaked fabric. He grabs hold of them, dragging them down my legs and off my feet. The coldness hits my core, making me crave him even more. 

His head makes its way down, his tongue taking a long lick. “Fuck” I whimper, wanting him to stop teasing. He laughs in response, tracing his fingers around, messing with me. 

“Mike, please” 

“You sure you want me to?”

“YES!” 

“Okay, okay, no need to yell at me” 

His mouth goes straight to my clit, sucking and rubbing in circles. Two of his fingers carefully grace my folds before slamming into me. I moan out loudly, unable to control my sounds as he pleasures me. My core builds up as he keeps going, occasionally curling his fingers inside me to fuel the process. 

“M-Mike I’m gonna-”

“Do it” he demands, breathing hot and voice heavy, sending vibrations to my clit and a chill down my spine. I can’t hold on much longer, coming all over his fingers and mouth. I try to catch my breath, riding out the ecstasy as he slowly removes himself. 

He stands up, taking off his boxers and throwing them on the floor. He’s hard, very hard, completely ready to ravage me. I look up at him in awe, eyes going over his tensed up packed muscles. The little light from the moon shines on him, highlighting every shown curve. He smiles as he gets on top of me, capturing my lips yet again. It’s wet and passionate, like he’s starving and only I can satisfy his hunger. His tip graces over my folds, coating himself in my juices. 

“You ready?” 

“Yes” 

That’s the only approval he needs, and he shoves himself inside slowly. I give a loud moan as he fills me, him grunting at the same time. 

“You’re taking me so well” 

He leans over me, capturing my lips in a soft kiss before starting to move. We both swallow each other’s pleasurable sounds, eating each other up while he moves in and out of me. I feel my heat building up once again, his thrust becoming harder and faster. 

“Turn around” he commands. 

I do as asked, rolling around to lie on my stomach. His hands wander over my ass, gracing over the soft skin. I feel his body over mine, leaning over so we’re chest to back. His arm goes to steady himself on the couch beside my face. His other hand finds its way to my throat, putting pressure around me. I feel him against my folds once again, pushing himself inside in a quick manner. I make a loud moan, but my head gets dizzy as I struggle to breathe in. 

“What, you like being tortured like this? You like having me decide whether you breathe or not?” 

I let out a choked yes, unable to conjure any other words. He keeps up the steady pace, and I start to near my end, head in the clouds from the way he’s fucking me. I hear it in his voice as well, breathing rapidly and letting out his own moans as he keeps going. He removes the choking hand, moving it down to my clit and rubbing soft circles. 

“God, Mike!” 

I come again, all over his cock, clenching around him and making him reach his high faster. He buries himself, body falling on top of mine, barely holding himself up. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, turning around, making his head rest against my chest. He starts kissing me, each one tactical and sweet. 

“We’re not done until all that dark makeup is dripping down your cheeks”

[lean-mean-demon-genevieve]

I’m not interested in defending celebrities, to be so for real, but I am interested in a crumb of whatever drugs this blogger is on. This kind of standom delusion must feel amazing. 💊💊

It’s so funny to me when stans go after each other and fail to realize that they are all engaging in the same kind of “Nuh-uh! That other side sucks the hardest because of all this very biased data I’ve compiled” type of arguing. I’m also not interested in warring with any stan blogs, but this was just so egregious and needed to be debunked. So let’s unpack:

Right off the bat, this blog has used the word tokenize incorrectly. This means to use someone as a symbol of inclusion or compliance with regulations, or to avoid the appearance of discrimination or prejudice.

I think they are intending to refer to the kids being a commodity to exploit in the overall branding of the family; that they are being objectified. And one only has to skim the Instagram feeds of Danneel and Gen to see which family is more heavy-handed. “Danneel’s entire Instagram use to be solely about that.”Based on what, exactly? Danneel’s very first post is of Jensen and JJ, yes, and her identity as wife and mother is (gasp) very much on display ever since. But…that’s to be expected, right?! After all, sharing those parts of their family life on socials is exactly the whole point and why anyone initially followed. It is that behind the scenes peek into the family lives of J2 that drew people in. It’s not as if either of these women has much of a fan base on their own and neither of them were acting at the time their IG accounts launched.

A quick side-by-side of the 2 accounts at about the same point in time (2017/2018) shows little differences in themes of content:

This blog further claims that “Genevieve and Jared are intelligently including their children where needed” and doing so in “genuine, selfless ways.” *snorts* At the time of this writing, Danneel has 458 posts and Gen has 1,833. Now, I didn’t review each post but the few tags I saw included in family photos were Disneyland and Warner Bros when they visited in recent years. I did not see multiple paid partnership ads featuring the Ackles children. I’m open to anyone proving me wrong, because by sheer volume my argument will still stand. In a random sampling of 2021, we have a string of posts of the Pada-kids that double as ads to varying degrees. Here are just a few examples:

Now you might say, “ok but these are products for children and families…that still seems pretty thoughtful.” Except that one need only scroll a little farther to see the kids included in brand deals for adult supplements, exercise gear, cleaning products, and even shampoo.

All of these products still fit in the “items that help me be a great mom” theme of the Now & Gen era, but this is still blatantly using images of the kids for profit in ways that the Ackles just have not done. What is shown here is just the tip of the iceberg and does not include the other attempts at branding on the failed Now & Gen blog or the YouTube vlog. So I’m not sure how the Pads have only used the kids “when needed” when this family was never going to go hungry without these endorsement deals.

Comparing the volume of likes on Gen’s IG posts that contain the children vs those that do not makes it seem likely that someone has been paying attention to the trends and has concluded that utilizing the children in ads has more earning potential. This is the current climate of social media marketing. These outcomes are in fact considered.

The idea that kids should be allowed to “earn money or have a brand” if they want is actually incredibly irresponsible. Protecting the safety of children that are a part of family content creation was a popular topic over the last year. There have been several examples of families who lost the plot in their efforts to market their children in order to achieve financial gain. What an asinine claim to make for children in general when Google is right there. And I love a link, so here’s a few: X, X, and X. It’s too early to definitively summarize the harm that the Pads might be causing their kids with all the exposure. Even when parents are not intentionally exploiting, their children are too young to consent to this type of “work.” Their brains are literally not developed enough to consider the long term pros and cons. All of this sets them up for potential harm, the risk of which makes none of this a need.

“What’s wrong are self-centered, clueless parents who only show off their kids to benefit off of a certain image.” (Pretending I can’t see the self-centered bit because woooo boy…Gen…😬) But aren’t both families posting photos of their kids to “benefit” off of their image of “family?” It’s baked into the Spn and even Walker marketing. The fandoms have been referred to as a family almost since their inception, so it only makes sense that fans were interested in the leads and their own growing families. Again, both families have benefitted but the Pads have benefitted all the way to the bank. And some Padalecki stans are quick to point this out as a win. If the above blog wants to congratulate Gen on her shrewd sense of business and use of capitalism, then that is a whole other thing and they should just come out and say that without making anyone out to be a saint.

One should take note that nowhere in here have I said that Danneel or Jensen are better people than anyone. I didn’t praise them for anything or proclaim their intentions are always pure of heart. How could anyone know that, except by virtue of the faith that comes along with extreme fandom? And that faith isn’t the same as screenshots, numbers, and patterns.

As always: Pedestals aren’t for people. Hold everyone accountable, even your faves. They will survive.✌🏼

[h2llish]

Trick or treat!!

Romantic with Sam (gn!reader :3)

i was trying to think of which sam but then i was like wait i don't think they play stardew valley

anyways this one was inspired by your blog theme >_<

you've come to invent many things; some things that became popular with your customers to gain regulars, and some things that seized to work before you could get it on your shelves. but even when things tended to fall apart, or at worst, blow up, you never stopped inventing.

a regular of your shop, was a strange man you'd come to know as sam. he didn't exactly buy anything, but you often called him a regular because he would visit your shop for what seemed like every day, usually to make conversation and look at the stock lining your shelves, before leaving, with no purchase made. you didn't understand what he was doing, assuming he was looking for something that wasn't there, and yet he never asked you about what he might be searching for.

"hello, my friend!"

as you exit the back of your shop, you were greeted by sam, grinning and waving at you. you smiled in return, a newly finished clock in your hand ready to be placed on the shelf. "hello, sam." you set the clock with the others as sam approached the back of your store, where you would often sit as customers came in and out, waiting to see if anyone would buy your wares. "how can i help you today?"

"a conversation and maybe a few answers." he was perhaps a bit elusive in his words, but you expected it. he never did buy anything your store had to offer, choosing to converse with you or ask you questions that sometimes didn't make sense, or weren't at all about your store and your inventions.

"no surprise there." you chuckled, finding your way behind the counter in the back, and in front of sam as he stood on the other side of it. "it hasn't been so busy today, i believe i have time. what shall we talk about today?"

"halloween." he said, short and simple, and you blinked at him. "i have a question, of course, if you don't mind."

"of course, what is it?"

his eyes went behind you and you moved to glance over your shoulder, only he spoke again, pulling you back to what would be the conversation. (although, you almost think your mind to be playing tricks on you as you could've sworn you seen a shadow move out of the corner of your eye)

"how do you feel about haunted houses?"

you tilted your head at him, "i suppose i have nothing against them. why ask?"

he grinned at you again, holding a hand up with a bit of a dramatic wave and a bow, "would you accompany me to one come halloween?"

was he asking you out on a date? ─ if he was, it was a bit ridiculous to go to a haunted house as a first date, but you weren't all that bothered, it seemed most fitting for him.

"well, i will be rather busy, so i can't say for certain i'll be free," you glanced off to the side, thinking for a moment. if sam was disappointed at your words, he didn't seem to show it. "but i can try."

"i'll be here halloween to ask once more." sam reassured, and you smiled.

"that's fine by me."

[dumbslxtclub]

you’re on your own, kid | e.m - part eight

eddie munson x singlemom!reader

summary: set after the events of season four, Steve has disappeared and is presumed dead in the upside down. broken and now left to deal with your pregnancy alone, Eddie takes it upon himself to support you to the best of his abilities in Steve’s absence.

chapter summary: a new baby in the house, a friday night date and your best friend playing babysitter. what could go wrong?

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, unplanned pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, mentions of death, reader is 19, anxiety, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slow burn, not beta’d

word count: 9.3K+

a/n: did I get a bit too caught up in writing this chapter? absolutely. time for eddie to enter his dad era. would love to commit to a regular upload schedule but knowing me as a person that will be hard. love you all sm though xx

taglist: @lezzy-bennet @harrypotteranna23-blog  @reidstea @sashaphantomhive  @bexreadstoomuch​ @audhd-dragonaut​ @littlepotatobeansworld @ches-86​

↳  one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight  / nine / ten / eleven

Part Eight: Mother’s Daughter

The first few weeks with a new baby in the house are bliss. Crying-filled, sleep-deprived bliss, and any feelings of readiness are slowly dissipating. The routine is clear. Feeding, changing diapers, laying her to sleep for a bit, and repeat. Sounds simple, right? Wrong. Dead wrong.

Despite having read What to Expect When You’re Expecting, it seems that Audrey doesn’t particularly enjoy playing by the book. Take tonight, for example. You’ve tried everything to get her to stop crying, you can’t believe her small lungs haven’t gone hoarse from the hours she’s spent exhausting them. Wandering around the dimly-lit living room like a horse stuck on an infinite carousel loop, you’re quietly beginning to stress all the while rocking and shushing Audrey in your arms. The ringing in your ears is relentless, and you’re just doing your best not to join her crying as you mentally curse your parenting skills in frustration.  As the clock reads 9:37pm, you know your neighbors will be preparing for bed, laying out their clothes for their early morning shifts and expecting a quiet night. Something they won’t be granted if you can’t get your baby under control.

“C’mon, what do you need?” You whisper in her ear, knowing perfectly well she won’t be able to hear you over the piercing noise she’s emitting. Her diaper is freshly changed, she’s just had a feed and you’re beginning to worry something might be wrong with her. Oh god, what if something’s wrong with her? She’s like a smoke alarm, but you can’t tell if you burnt the toast or if the whole house is on fire. Lips pressed to her head, you try to decipher if she’s got a fever, bouncing her up and down as she continues wailing. “It’s okay, honey, it’s-“

A sharp knock rings out on the wooden front door, causing your heart to race. The chances of the person on the other side being a disgruntled neighbor ready to lecture your parenting skills were high, but what other choice did you have? Sighing, you bounce your way to the door, swinging it open to reveal Eddie, still in his work clothes and holding a plastic bag, steam clinging to the sides. A wash of relief crashes over you, his expression warm as he sees the two of you.

“Oh thank god, I thought someone was here to bite my head off.” Supporting Audrey on your shoulder with one arm, you use your free one to wrap around Eddie’s waist, leaving him to pull you in the rest of the way.

“Nah, I’m not here to go full-Ozzy on you.” He keeps you tucked in a cozy embrace, evidently not bothered by the screaming alarm right next to his ear. “How’s the little hellraiser?”

“Raising hell.” Closing the door behind him, you continue to pace around the room as Eddie pulls off his jacket and sets the bag down on the bench. “She’s been like this for hours, I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything.” 

Gently cupping her back, you continue patting it lightly the same way you’ve been doing all evening. What do they say about the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results…

“Well, how about-” Hands diving into the plastic bag, he pulls out two noodle boxes, the smell of teriyaki sauce filling your senses and reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve eaten something substantial. “-I take over for a bit, and you have something to eat?”

Arms outstretched and looking at you expectantly, it doesn’t take much convincing before you pass your screaming bundle of joy his way. His eyes light up as he takes her in, feet scrunched to her torso as she’s passed to him. Eddie, as it turns out, is a natural at holding babies. Once he got over his own self doubt and fear of dropping her, he’s now very comfortable with Audrey in his arms. He mirrors the position you previously had her in, tucking her head into his shoulder, facing inwards so he can keep an eye on her. Broad hands support her tiny shrieking body, gently patting her back while you busy yourself ripping into one of the boxes.

“Hey, Squid, long day, hey?” You shoot him a disapproving look, shoveling sauce-covered noodles and vegetables into your mouth at the kitchen counter. 

“She’s got a real name now.” You point your chopsticks at him like a weapon, and he grins proudly at the mere fact he’s gotten a rise out of you so early into his arrival.

“Yeah, but Squid is so original!” 

As he continues to pace, a soft stream of ‘shhh’s’ leave his lips, close to Audrey’s ear. His thumb finds the back of her head, rubbing the peach fuzz gently all the while keeping his eyes on her for any noticeable reaction. And, as luck would have it, the room becomes quieter, sporadic cries now weaning off. You feel a mixture of relief and frustration, how does he do it so easily? He looks around the room, ears perked up. 

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Silence.” He proclaims smugly, having used his magic touch to turn cries into coos, Audrey now happily squirming in Eddie’s arms.

“Show off.” Picking up the box, which you’ve half polished off already, you cross the room to plant yourself on the couch for the first time in hours. The sagging cushions embrace your tired limbs, forfeiting your weight to the support beneath you while you poke around looking for a piece of chicken amongst the sea of noodles. “You wanna know a secret?”

“What’s that?”

“I think it’s your smell.” He looks at you, utterly perplexed by your insinuation. Not wanting to offend him, you’re quick to clarify. “No, not in a bad way! It’s just- when she was in my belly she would go crazy every time you were around. It’s like she could sense you, in a weird way I think she’s always recognised you.”

“Stop, you’ll give me a big head.” He glances down at your daughter, whose eyelids are now growing heavy, clearly exhausted from all the crying, haven’t we all been there before? “And that’s your job, isn’t it Squid?”

If he wasn’t holding an infant, you’d give him a good whack right about now for yet another unwarranted comment about your daughter’s very normal head size. But he’s not above using Audrey as a human shield, the absolute savage. As you dig into your meal, you can’t help but take in the sight illuminated by your dim lighting. There must be something in our biology that causes our hearts to swell at the sight of a man holding a baby. The sheer juxtaposition of their appearances is comical, Audrey in her purple flower-covered onesie, her small feet tucked into the footie pajamas, and Eddie, all hard-exterior in his work overalls and combat boots, pacing the room holding her. They’re chalk and cheese, and somehow, the best of friends already. And it’s, dare you say, kind of attractive? A small smile creeps over your face at the thought, and Eddie is quick to notice your not so subtle gawking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really. Did she spit up on me?” He peers down at his shirt, looking for any milky traces of drool. You shake your head, looking back down at your meal, loosening some broccoli stuck to the bottom..

“No-no, it’s not that. It’s just- you look cute like this.” You feel yourself blushing at your own compliment, immediately cringing over the words that came out of your mouth. What a weird thing to say. Eddie struggles to suppress his happiness over your comment, contorting his lips into a grateful smile while carefully treading over to the bassinet to lay down a yawning Audrey.

“Well, I’ve heard cuteness is contagious. Like herpes.” He readjusts Audrey’s onesie once she’s comfortable, before turning back to you.

“Gross.” Way to kill the moment, Eddie. He grabs his own box from the bench along with his chopsticks, planting himself down on the plush couch beside you. He’s sitting about as close as he usually is, knees almost touching yours but the air between you feels thicker. He’s always throwing thoughtless compliments your way, but rarely is he on the receiving end. Did you just make things super awkward? Time to change the subject.  “Appreciate you bringing dinner over, the fridge is tragically bare at the moment and I was just going to settle for some tinned Spaghetti-O’s.”

“Very gourmet. Back to the old junk now you’re not eating for two?” He says through a mouthful of noodles. “If you want, I could take you into town tomorrow? Get you stocked up, show Squid all the exciting sights Hawkins has to offer. The post office, the big maple tree in the park, maybe even a dog or two. Y’know, the works.”

Biting down on a snow pea, you contemplate his offer, nerves brewing in your belly. You’re fully aware that the whole town knows about your pregnancy, undoubtedly sharing whispers about whose baby it is behind your back. But the thought of actually venturing out into the world with her? That scares the shit out of you. But, you know it’s only a matter of time before that Band-Aid has to be ripped off.

“Yeah, alright.” Fuck.

“Put those down.” Robin snatches the store-brand Cheerios out of your hands, placing them back on the shelf in favor of the name brand. “We’re getting you the good stuff.”

Strapped to her chest in a newborn baby carrier, Audrey sleeps blissfully tucked against Robin’s plaid shirt. The stroller seemed like too much of a hassle for a quick trip, and Robin proclaimed she needed some “skin-to-skin bonding time” with her. You trudge along behind her, pushing a shopping cart that is being stuffed with all sorts of fresh fruit, vegetables and pantry items. As she compares two bottles of long-life milk, Eddie returns around the corner with a large bundle of diapers, dumping them into the rapidly-filling cart. 

“God, how many of these things does she go through a day?” He furrows his brows together, studying the packet of soft tissue.

“Usually between 10-12.” Robin replies without missing a beat, glancing down at her shopping list made after a thorough inventory of your pantry. Eddie’s eyes widen at her response, clearly thinking he was stocking up with the bulk packet. He turns to Audrey, and places a hand gently on her back as he leans in to her.

“How does someone so small cause so much mess?” He whispers in her ear, loud enough for you to hear, Robin is quick to swat his arm and shield the infant from his words before turning his attention to the diapers.

“Eddie! These aren't newborn sizes.” She pulls the packet back out and throws it at Eddie’s chest, who looks down befuddled.

“Is there a difference?”

“Uh, yeah. Unless you were buying these for yourself?” Her remark causes you to snort, Eddie scrunching up his nose in your direction. 

“Ha ha, very funny. Show me which ones I was supposed to get, your highness.” He flourishes his hand down the aisle in an ‘after you’ motion, Robin rolling her eyes as she marches down with Eddie trailing behind. Looking back to you, he brings his pointer finger up to his temple, thumb facing skyward with his other three digits tucked to his fist. He pulls the trigger on his hand gun, and mimics brains blowing out on the other side with a dramatic stumble into the adjacent Coco-Puffs. Ever the showman.

As your friends disappear around the corner, you glance around the brightly coloured logos decorating tinned goods, perfectly stacked up on the metal shelves. Wheels clicking along the tiled floor, the tragic supermarket music playing over dying speakers throughout the store. Leaning on the cart with your forearms resting on the handle, you meander through the aisle to the freezer section at the end. As your cart passes the threshold of the shelves, a figure emerges and bumps straight into your cart. Oh good, first day out and you’re already making a scene and accidentally assaulting a stranger. 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” You apologize, looking at the person standing in front of you who just bore the brunt of your cart crashing into his thigh. Studying his face, you can’t help but think he looks familiar. A thin layer of stubble now growing across his jawline, light brown curls sitting underneath a baseball cap. He returns a similar look of recognition, uttering your name to clarify that you were, in fact, you.

“Oh hey! ‘Ts Andy? We had Chemistry together junior year?” The penny drops in your brain, your mouth contorting into a well-mannered, pleasant smile as you begin to place him. “I nearly set your hair on fire with a Bunsen burner?”

“Oh yeah, hi!” You reply, shaking your head. “Sorry, it’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, it sure has.” He readjusts the small basket in his hand, filled with some sort of jerky and a six-pack. He gives you a once-over, studying you from head to toe in your old jeans and tank top. “How’ve you been? You look well.”

You silently thank yourself for putting in a bit of effort today, patting on enough concealer to hide the fact that you were up feeding Audrey for most of the night and brushing your hair for the first time in a week.

“Yeah fine. Y’know, just busy.” Busy pushing out a human. “What about you?”

“Back in town visiting the folks, killing time before heading back to college. Got into Purdue on a basketball scholarship, actually.”

“Wow, congratulations!” You shoot him a genuine smile, it’s always nice to hear when someone gets out of Hawkins to pursue bigger and better things.

“Yeah, it’s been great. Haven’t seen the boys in a while, so we’re getting together at Benny’s tonight for a catch-up.” He holds his basket up to punctuate, the cans of Bud Light bouncing light from the flickering fluorescent above.

“Benny’s. Shit, I haven’t been there since-“ You bite your tongue at the evocation, cheeks flushing as you recall your high school antics. Too embarrassed to speak the words into existence, Andy has no problem verbalizing the memory.

“Since you got up on the bar after homecoming and did a full Flashdance number for everyone?” He says with a laugh, your eyes squeezing shut as you cringe.

“Yep, that sounds about right.” The two of you walk parallel past tubs of ice cream sitting in freezer cases, a self-deprecating laugh leaving your lips. “But, in my defense, no one told me that the jello shots were alcoholic!”

Andy shakes his head and chuckles, setting off a few paces in front of you. “You had some killer moves, though.”

“Yeah, well it’s been a while since I busted them out.”

“Haven’t had any jello shots recently, I’m guessing?”

“Exactly.”

There’s a beat as he swings open one of the freezer doors, grabbing a bag of ice out, holding it in his free hand before facing you directly.

“Well, uh- maybe if you’ve got time this weekend we could hit up The Hideout or something? Defrost those Jennifer Beal dance moves, grab a few drinks if you want?”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat, surely he’s not asking you what you think he’s asking? Averting your gaze to the tiled white flooring, you’re suddenly interested in the dirt and dried spills sitting in the ancient grout.

“You mean, like, on a date?”

“Well, yeah. Unless you-“ The sentence is only partially formed in his mouth before a deep, familiar voice calls out behind you. 

“Right, hopefully these will last her until tomorrow-“ Spinning around, you clock Eddie, who is now holding the mega-sized pack of newborn diapers under his arm. His band tee logo is now obscured by the black sling across his chest, a ringed hand cradling the back of it. As it appears, Robin has been relieved of baby duties and passed them onto Eddie, Audrey still dead asleep tucked up to his chest, rosy cheeks flushed, pressed to his torso. A small patch of drool is forming on his white shirt, and to complete the look, he’s attached a spare pacifier to his wallet chain hanging off his jeans.

Andy is quick to give him a one-over, not dissimilar to the one he gave you, but this time clearly charged with an air of disdain.

“Munson.” Words like venom leaving his lips. 

Eddie, an expert in navigating his own reputation, pokes his tongue against the sinew of his cheek expectantly. Let them get their hits in, and fuck off. Recognising he’s not about to get a rise out of the metalhead, Andy simply scoffs before turning his attention back to you, rummaging for something in his pocket. He hands you a business card of sorts, something he had made to palm off to scouts at games, complete with his contact details on it.

“See you around.” His words are hushed between the two of you, excluding the third man from the interaction. Heat rises in your cheeks as he shoots you a smirk before heading off, not returning another glance at Eddie. You discreetly pocket the card before returning to the unlikely duo back from their diaper quest.

“What was that about?” Eddie half-chuckles, gaze following the aisle in which Andy disappeared down. You shake your head.

“Nothing. Where’s Robin?” Extending a hand to the peach fuzz growing atop your daughter’s head, smoothing it down and relishing in the sensation of her soft skin against your clammy hands. 

“Oh, uh- she saw an old friend out the front.” White lies being exchanged with the clearing of his throat, each of you oblivious to one another’s predicament. “C’mon, she’s starting to stink and I don’t want people thinking it’s me.”

“A dirty diaper could only help your stench at this point, honestly.” The banter flows effortlessly from your lips.

“I hate you.”

Eddie didn’t get the memo that this Friday wouldn’t be a regularly-scheduled movie night, his arrival somewhat jarring as Robin prepped and preened you within an inch of your life. Plucking stray hairs from your brow, hot rollers stinging your scalp while she used you as her own life-sized Barbie, ready for her date with Ken. The knock at the door occurred just as you swiped on a layer of lip gloss, Robin rushing out of the bathroom to welcome your visitor. Their conversation is cut short as you exit your tiny bathroom, giving them a flourishing twirl relishing in your final form.

“How do I look?” Almost imperceptible and unnoticed by you, the tendon in Eddie’s jaw clenches under the weight of his emotions. The physical manifestation of the ugliest feeling, a jealousy he couldn’t admit to himself yet. Here you were, standing in a black Stevie Nicks-esque dress complete with platform boots, like the perfect woman in every music video flashed across the late-night MTV runs. Dark circles now perfectly concealed below your eyes, accentuated by a smokey-brown eyeshadow. Lips previously chewed raw from stress now glossy and plump. Hair in bouncy curls, Farrah-Fawcett style, a far cry from the matted bun you typically sport. You looked beautiful. But then again, you always did. Whether it was stained tracksuit pants or Robin’s curated outfit designed just for tonight, it was all you to Eddie. Not necessarily better, just different.

“You going somewhere?” He asks, taking in the image of you before him in the glow of your living room lamp. Not the glowing endorsement you were hoping for, but Robin’s elated grin gives you the confidence boost you crave.

“She’s got herself a hot date tonight.” Robin squeals in Eddie’s ear, giving his shoulders a tight squeeze as she drinks you in. The pair stand there like two parents sending their daughter off to prom, complete with a quietly disapproving father beside the front door. And you, giddy like a lovelorn teenager with a fresh corsage around your wrist, swipe up your purse and head for the crib. Audrey, who is freshly fed, bathed and changed, looks up at her mom as you give her a sticky kiss on her forehead, immediately swiping away the glossy residue left on her supple skin.

“I won’t be out long, I’m just going for one drink.” 

“Heard that one before.” Eddie mumbles under his breath, heard only by Robin who shoots him a warning glare while you find your keys.

You give your handbag a once over. Keys? Check. Lipgloss? Check. Spare diaper? Che- nope, don’t need that one tonight. Pull it out and chuck it on the crowded excuse for a dining table. Check your watch. Time to go.

“See you guys soon! Eddie, you’re welcome to stay and keep Robin company.” You give the pair of them a hug. Something firm is pressed against your torso, seemingly located in Eddie’s pocket. “Dude, do you have a horror film in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush as his lips purse together in a smile, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a VHS copy of The Fly. Flashing it between his thumb and forefinger, you can’t help but roll your eyes at how predictable he is. 

“You’re not putting that on until Audrey is asleep. I don’t want her scarred for life before she can even crawl.”

“Yeah, yeah. No flies for Squid tonight.”

Hand on the door, Eddie shoots you his most ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ smile. Son of a bitch.

“Robin, keep them out of trouble.” Door swinging closed behind you, the three musketeers bask in the glow of your freshly sprayed perfume, the kind you only put on for special occasions. Eddie dropped his facade as soon as he sees you climbing into your car, shooting daggers in Robin’s direction for whatever part she had to play in this whole situation. It was going to be a long night.

Look, Andy was fine. I mean, he opened the door for you, and he showed up. What more could a fresh young mother on her first date in nearly a year ask for? Safe to say, the bar is low. But if Andy is as good at basketball as he is at rambling on about himself, he’d give Magic Johnson a run for his money. In any other case, this would bother you, your last previous romantic experience was much more evenly distributed conversationally. Armed with only the topic of your baby daddy’s death and recently relieved case of mastitis to disclose, you allow his drabble to flow freely. The Hideout plan ended up being a bust, something about the music “not being to Andy’s taste”, resulting in plan B; the pair of you sitting on sticky laminated booth seats in a small diner just outside of town. He ordered a well-done steak with all the fixings, and, before you could decide between the double cheeseburger with bacon or the chicken burger, a salad was ordered on your behalf. Slightly soggy lettuce pieces are pushed around with your fork, digging for any croutons that have absorbed the light dressing at the bottom of the plate. He seamlessly transitions from stories about college, to his basketball team, to the parties at his frat and then, as a special treat, a story about how his buddies on the basketball team got too wasted at a frat party and ran naked through the college campus. As you wipe your mouth clean with your napkin, having polished off your salad and trying your best to avoid your hungry gaze landing on the dessert cabinet, it strikes him that he hasn’t asked you a question the whole evening. And boy, what a question he chooses to ask.

“So, ‘ve gotta ask. What were you doing with Munson at the supermarket? Never pegged you two to be the type to run in the same circle.” 

Swallowing your food like a dry pill, it claws down your throat while you feel the sudden heat of judgment. Eddie’s reputation was no secret to you, yet you were one of the few to see past the bullshit propaganda spun about him. But with not much else to talk about, you decide to engage, hoping to shut down the conversation quickly.

“Oh, Eddie? He’s a friend, he lives across from me, actually.” Your words are meek and Andy scoffs, the two brain cells floating around in his skull colliding and recognizing that, you too, must also live in the trailer park. 

“Right. So you guys hang out then?”

“Uh, yeah. Sometimes. Y’know, he helps me out…”

“... and you do the same for him, I’m guessing?” He reaches for his nearly empty beer and knocks back a mouthful. “Can imagine he needs all the help he can get now, what with an extra mouth to feed and all. Hope you’re not throwing a single dollar his way.”

Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He thinks Audrey is Eddie’s kid. Clearly, with him being out of town, gossip around your pregnancy hadn’t spread to the Purdue fraternities.

You’re suddenly incredibly interested in a sliver of cherry tomato slipping around the plate. “No, no. I mean, he's got a job and all, so-”

“Selling drugs isn’t a real job, doll.”

“No, he works-” It crosses your mind that it’s best not to reveal Eddie’s actual workplace location to this man, god knows a fair few of the townsfolk still have it out for him. “-he’s just not selling shit anymore.”

“Yeah? Well shit, ‘ve gotta say, I didn’t think he had it in him. ‘Course a guy like him, going and stupidly knocking some girl up doesn’t surprise me. But Munson? The fact he convinced someone to fuck him is unbelievable.” His words are callous and subconsciously cruel all the while uttered with a laugh, the kind of locker room talk that he’s grown so accustomed to that he doesn’t recognise how jarring it can be to hear spoken so casually.

The sheer notion incensed you, nails digging into your palm beneath the table, the only outlet for your growing rage. Baffled by how he looked down continuously on ‘The Freak’, upholding high-school preconceptions and refusing to accept the real world evolving around him. Completely delusional to the fact that people grow and change. The sneer in his voice as he simultaneously belittled and ridiculed Eddie, not knowing that he was far more of a man than he could ever hope to be, infuriated you. 

The man who, for the first week after the birth, would wait diligently through the early mornings for your bedside lamp to go on, simply so he could race over to assist you on your short trip to the bathroom as your stitches healed, waddling helplessly in your port-partum underwear. Who would volunteer to take your spit-up covered laundry to the laundromat, purely so you wouldn’t have to wake a resting Audrey and grant you another hour of peace and quiet. Who looked at your daughter with such love and softness, despite no biological obligations to her, going through the motions of learning how to change a diaper just in case he needs to. It boils your blood. How fucking dare he pass such unfair judgement on Eddie? Your rage feels primal in nature, coursing through your veins like a hit of morphine. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness takes over, and you allow the words you’d like to say tip-toe across your tongue before returning to the deepest recesses of your mind. But, as with everything in womanhood, you know not to react with anger. Oh no. You need to make this easier for him to hear than it is for you to experience. 

“It’s not his.” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper, attempting to suppress the bubble threatening to burst.

“What?” Andy obnoxiously chews his well-done steak, on full display and half-masticated in his mouth. Your eyes meet his, taking in a short breath as if the added oxygen will dissolve your nerves.

“I said it’s not his.” You celebrate your words coming out a bit clearer this time, more firm.

“Then whose is it?”

“She’s mine.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Andy quirks his brow at you, never ceasing his chomping on the char-grilled hunk of meat.

“What?”

“Her name’s Audrey, and she’s- she’s my daughter.” Any remnants of confidence you’d built up were slowly disintegrating under his judgemental watch. The tip of his tongue meets one of his canines, mouth contorting into a wicked smile. His eyes trace over you, much like in the supermarket, yet you sense that any traces of affection have all but vanished.

“Right.” He runs a hand over his jawline, the nail on his thumb digging into the crevice between two of his teeth to retrieve some steak lodges between. “And who’s the dad?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You reply plainly, very much not wanting to go into the details of Steve.

“Oh, so you don’t know?” His eyes widen slightly, tone growing increasingly more mocking.

“No! Of course I know, it’s just-”

“What? Let me guess, he did the smart thing and left? Didn’t want to be tied down pouring all his salary into child support to some trailer trash? Shit, it’s girls like you who ruin guys' lives.”

Mouth agape, you couldn’t throw an insult back if you tried. You feel yourself shutting down, growing small under his harsh gaze and demeaning words. Tiny and worthless in that moment. A rush of adrenaline hits you, fight or flight triggered. You have nothing more to say to this person from your past, feeling stupid for even bringing him into your life now. Tossing your napkin to the table, metal utensils clanging as you swing your legs out from the booth and grab your handbag. Without looking back, you make a beeline for the door, teeth grinding together as you hear his voice ring out behind you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll grab the bill! Not like you could afford it, anyway.”

The door slams so hard you swear you heard the bell fall off its hinges.

The drive home is silent. Something you would normally welcome under any other circumstances. The road is devoid of cars besides the occasional late-night commuter, the radio switched off completely with not even the static-y crackle to drown out your thoughts. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, stinging with the anger still coursing through your blood vessels. God, how could you have been so fucking stupid? 

The living room light peeks through the slit of the curtains of the trailer you call home. Insecurity lingers in the pit of your stomach, you wonder if you could fit the whole place into Andy’s pool house (you probably could, knowing the neighborhood he lives in). The keys click and jingle as you turn the rickety doorknob, crossing the threshold into your kitchen/living/dining room. A studio audience laughs through the speakers of your second-hand TV, the figure on the couch reaching for the remote to lower the volume at your arrival.

“Hey.” In the light of the sole lamp, you make out Eddie fully reclined on the couch, placing the remote beside his head as his free hand caresses the lump on his chest. Audrey, heavy-lidded and limbs sprawled out, lays atop his torso as careful fingers trace up and down her exposed back. Her chunky legs were now on display, all creases and rolls like the cutest little Michelin man. You feel a sense of relief wash over you, taking in the sight of the thing you loved most in this world while you throw your handbag somewhere to the side.

“Hi.” You reach out to relieve him of the human weight from his body, lifting her up and tucking her into the crook of your shoulder. You just need to hold her right now. Feel the weight of her tiny body in your arms. Tilting the bridge of your nose to her unkempt crown of hair, you are shameless in your deep inhale of her scent. It washes over you with the force of a tidal wave, engulfing you in the sense of security you so desperately craved right now. Her bare skin pressed to yours. This is it. This is your home.

Eddie hoists himself up, flattening out his mess of hair from laying down for who knows how long. The only indicator of time being the cut to commercial breaks on the TV in the distance as he watched Squid’s eyes grow heavy with each passing jingle. He reaches for his boots at the base of the couch, undoing the laces to slip them on.

“Sorry, she, uh- had a little accident in her onesie and so I changed her. Then she got all fussy about putting on a new one, kept trying to kick me away. No tears or tantrums though, so I just brought her in here to hang out for a bit and we lost track of time-” His rambling words trail off, taking notice of the steady stream of tears cascading silently down your cheeks leaving a black streak of eyeshadow behind. “Woah, hey…”

His mode of comforting was beyond words these days, now deciphering your body language while you tucked your head to your daughters in an attempt to conceal yourself. Wordlessly, he discarded his boots and stood up, embracing the pair of you tight to his chest. He knows that you’ll talk about it if you want to, and if not, he’s there to hold you while you let it all out. The tears continue to flow, ringed fingers running through your hair and caressing your scalp. Tucking your head into the crook of his shoulder, effectively creating an Audrey sandwich, you allow yourself to be held. You will for the tears to stop, for the lingering frustration to evaporate. But you know you need to lean into it, release it from your subconscious through the bile burning in your throat and hiccuping sobs resonating throughout your chest. You’re sick of running from the pain, it’s time to embrace it and fuck it right off. Eventually, your tears run dry. All the while Eddie continues to hold you, waiting patiently. As your breathing steadily returns to normal, he pulls away to study your face.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He takes Audrey, all squish and skin in just her fresh diaper, from your arms.

“You go take a shower, I’ll get her ready for bed. Okay?”

You simply nod, grateful for the help, before wiping your wet cheeks and turning in the direction of the bathroom.

Hours of wasted effort are washed away in a matter of minutes under the low water pressure of your shitty shower. Black mascara and eyeshadow streaks down your flushed cheeks, the stream of water from the shower head soaking your fried hair. Nothing but the sound of water splashing against the grimy tiled floor, the soft thrum of liquid streaming through the pipes in the wall. Peace and quiet. Solitude.

“So stupid.”

Wrapping yourself up in an old towel, you see a familiar reflection in the mirror. Stretch marks fading across the small swell of your stomach, purple hues in your tear troughs against your skin, complexion dull and sullen. Back to your old self. The bedside lamp is already illuminated when you enter your bedroom. Clothes scattered across the floor, some clean, but most dirty. The door has been closed for your privacy, so you pull on some sweatpants and an oversized shirt that likely belonged to Steve. It’s been so long, you can’t remember whose it was now. If it was his, any traces of his scent have long since vanished. Once a treasured possession given as an act of love, now another cotton shirt in a sea of insignificance. Droplets from your damp hair create patches on the canary yellow shirt on your shoulders. 

Swinging open the door, you see Eddie swaddling Audrey, freshly dressed in her pajamas having decided not to put up a fight while mom’s around. He’s laying her down in the crib carefully, sucking away on a pacifier. This is the longest she’s gone without fussing or crying in a week, and so you simply stand at the doorway and watch him. He takes no notice of you watching him while leaning against the frame silently. He readjusts her swaddle, making sure she’s comfortable. Smoothing down her crown of soft hair on her head, a smile grows, dimples on full display as her eyes grow heavy and she settles. And, in a quiet moment between the pair, you watch as he leans down into the crib, placing his lips to the space between her eyebrows to give her a goodnight kiss. Your heart swells at the sight, warmth radiating through your body as you bear witness to this moment of affection. You must have let out an exhaling chuckle an iota too loud, Eddie quickly glancing in your direction sheepishly.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it. She’s so cute when she’s not screaming or shitting everywhere.”

“Well, she’s only human.” You retort, earning a smile from him. He taps the side of her crib, stealing one last look at her. “Where did Robin pop off to?”

“Oh, she uh- had to head into the store. Something about Keith being locked out of the computer. She probably did it on purpose to fuck with him.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yep, sounds about right.”

There’s a slightly awkward beat as Eddie retreats from the crib, picking his keys up off the coffee table. “You need anything else before I go?”

“Maybe some ketamine?” Eddie’s eyes widen at your joke, delivered too deadpan for him to catch your sarcasm. “That helps you sleep, right?”

“Or I could just give you some acid and watch you stare at Squid for a few hours? Turning into an actual octopus and then back to a baby, I’ll even try to get her crying as a real treat for you.”

The two of you are now full-blown laughing now, the air light between you. 

“We’ll save that for another night, I reckon.”

“Good call.”

Strolling over to you, he wraps his leather-clad arms around you, tucking you tight to his chest. You’re consumed by his musky scent, familiar and warm to the two girls in the room. Extending your arms, you lock your hands around his waist, scratching your nails absent-mindedly along the cotton shirt.

“Thank you for everything.” You mumble into the thrum of his heartbeat.

“It’s nothing.” He pulls away to get a glimpse of your face, gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your gaze up to meet his. “You’re doing so well. Don’t forget that.”

Despite being all cried out, you feel the telltale prickle of tears stinging the inner corners of your eyes as you nod. And, just like he did with Audrey, he leans down to press his plump lips to your forehead, leaving a quick peck on your skin. 

“See you tomorrow.” He gives your shoulder a firm squeeze before turning on his heel towards the front door. You shiver at the loss of contact, wrapping your arms around yourself to simulate the experience of being held. Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight a mental battle with yourself in a nanosecond, glancing down at the crib where Audrey has succumbed to sleep. “Eddie?” You call out, resulting in him stopping in his tracks, hand still on the door handle.

“Mmm?”

“Um, this is a bit weird to ask. But, uh- if you, would you mind maybe staying here tonight? You don’t have to, but um- you’re good with Audrey and I might get an extra hour's sleep if you were here to check on her through the night. Like, I’ll get up to feed her, but she can just get fussy and maybe if you were here she-”

Eddie had heard enough, silencing your ramble with a nod of his head, eyes closed as he smiles humbly.

“‘Course.” Relief hits you, picking at your nails to disperse any remaining nervous energy. “I’ll just run home and grab some pillows and a blanket for the couch, alright?”

“Oh, the couch sucks. I’ve crashed on it many nights and you’ll wake up feeling like shit. If you’re okay with it-” Oh my god, are you really about to say this? “-You’re welcome to just share my bed?”

Eddie freezes, contemplating the offer. “And you’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah, I mean, I share the bed with Robin all the time. And I’m sure you snore quieter than she does.”

Gaze down at his shoes scuffing the floor, his tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth. “What about pajamas? I mean, I’ve got stuff at mine I can get…”

“Eddie, in case you forgot I was pregnant with a whole-ass human for nine months. I’m sure I’ve got clothes that will fit you.”

He simply hums in agreement, releasing the door knob from his grasp and meandering to the center of the room.

“Yeah, okay.” He shoots you a warm smile. “Mind if I grab a shower first? Someone’s in a fresh diaper and it’s not me.”

You roll your eyes while he chuckles, making his way past you with a scruff of your hair. “Dude, so gross…”

You should have washed your sheets. You should have tidied up the mountain of clothes sitting in the corner, or at the very least picked up the straggling items strewn across the stained carpet. You should have decluttered your bedside table, decorated with balms, half-empty plastic bottles and the odd candy wrapper. But then again, you weren’t expecting a guest in your bedroom tonight.

The window above your bed is cracked open, allowing a fresh breeze to enter, eliminating any potential stuffiness. The cotton sheets are soft against your skin, two pillows now absorbing the remnants of water seeping from your damp hair. The rattling of pipes above your head ceases as the water supply is cut off, the sliding door of the shower opens in the ensuite. Moments later, the door swings open, and Eddie re-enters your room. His scraggly hair now roughly towel dried, ringlets forming at the ends while a crown of frizz haloed. Towel in hand, the bats adorning his forearm take flight as he scruffs his hair once more, peeks of pale skin now coming into your view. The waistband of his borrowed sweatpants hang low on his waist, hip bones barely peeking out over the black material. From the dark fabric, lines of ink bloom and flow across the expanse of skin, an indication of tattoos you did not know about. 

“You got a shirt for me? Or is pants all I’m getting tonight?” His words snap you out of your daydream, before you can wonder where the tattoo ends below his waistband.

As you glance up, the towel is lowered to hip-height. At this moment, you realize that you forgot to give him a shirt to change into. Pale expanses of skin decorated with tattoos, scar tissue of wounds long since healed across his torso. You indicate to your oversized Bowie shirt at the base of the bed, a thrifted find you failed to try on before purchase, rendering it an awkward length dress on your frame. Taking the cover in his hand, he meanders back to the bathroom to hang up the towel. You can’t help but study the grooves across his broad back, the odd scar scattered across the smooth skin like a brushstroke of some obscure painting. 

Precise, yet unintentional. Beautiful.

He emerges moments later, fully dressed, giving you a small twirl. “How do I look?”

“Better than I ever did in those.” You reply as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Not sure about Bowie, a bit different to my usual taste but we can rectify that later.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Snuggling into the sheets, Eddie smiles as he pulls back the covers. “I’ll take the first shift, alright?”

“Sure.” And with that, you reach over and switch off the bedside lamp. “Night, Eddie.”

“Night.”

Despite the seductive call of rest, sleep does not come easily for the first hour. You’re acutely aware of the body beside you, occupying the same close space once reserved for Steve. It’s alien. Unfamiliar and yet simultaneously comforting. With the constant shuffling of bedsheets beside you, you roll the dice on the odds that Eddie is in the same situation.

Andy’s words continue to ring out through the quiet room, reverberating like an echo. Hitting you like a bullet to the chest over and over again, picking away at the scabs you’ve spent months trying to heal.

“Eddie?” You mumble, still facing away from the metalhead.

“Mmm?” A gravelly voice replies through the darkness.

“You awake?”

“No.” Letting out a huff, you can practically hear his grin as he rolls over to face you. “What’s up?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you think about your little girl in the next room. Peacefully sleeping, tucked up, unaware of the impact she’s had on the world in her short time here.

“Do you, um- do you think I would have ruined Steve’s life?” You allow the gravity of your question to hang in the air, unable to bring yourself to face him. “Like, if he was still here, do you think he would have been able to have the future he wanted even with Audrey and I in the picture?”

“Why would you-“ He shifts, figure towering over you as he cranes to glimpse your face through the light streaming in through the curtains above. “Did Andy say something to you?”

You don’t reply, the lump in your throat a threatening harbinger of tears dancing precariously on the edge of release. That familiar ache of inadequacy returns to the pit of your stomach, causing you to sink under the weight. Picking at a loose thread on the pillow case, you fail to formulate a response. But you don’t need to. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is seething beside you, heart pumping adrenaline through his veins. He’s contemplating how long it would take to find Andy’s house if he left right now, and what sound his bones would make as they crush into fragments beneath the blow of his knuckles. Your silence is a response in itself, edging his body closer to yours. 

“Hey…” Fingers delicately brush hair off your cheek, and you fight against the urge to retreat from the contact. It’s not that you don’t enjoy the sensation, you do. But in a vulnerable moment like this, your modus operandi is to shrink away and cope with it solo. Instead, you tilt your head to catch a glimpse of Eddie, faintly lit but his reassuring manner is clear as day.

“Sometimes I- I’m glad he’s gone.” Guilt burns in your chest at your admission. “I miss him a lot but fuck, what kind of a life would he have come back to? A kid tying him down, fucking up his future. It’s better this way, y’know?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I just- I wanted so much more for him. He deserved so much more than this-”

“Stop.” His command is clear, firm yet gentle. “Why do you always do that to yourself?”

“Do what?”

“Make out like you’re a burden, because you’re not. You might be the best thing that’s happened to m- all of us, in a long time.”

“‘m sorry.” Tears are now steadily cascading from the corners of your eyes, ticking the edges of your ears. Eddie shifts closer beside you, the warmth of his chest to your side immensely comforting. 

“Listen. Harrington cared about you, a lot more than he led on. And I can tell you for a fact he would have loved Squid more than anything in this world.”

Teeth grinding together, you will the heartache to vanish. It doesn’t. All the whole Eddie continues lightly stroking the loose strands of hair framing your face.

“Yeah?”

“Are you kidding me? You saw him with the kids, he was a natural at wrangling them, loved the idea of having a big brood. If he was here, he’d probably be asking you to pop out another one and the two of you would be in a motorhome heading out west somewhere.” You ache at the thought of a life that will never be. “And with you of all people? Fuck, there’s worse ways for a guy to end up in this world. Some of us would be so lucky.”

“I just- I know how this past year has been for you, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to take all of our shit on top of that. Plus, you being seen in public with me-”

“What, worried people will start making assumptions about us?”

“No! God, I just don’t want to give the people of this town another reason to talk about you behind your back. What with my reputation and all.”

“You’re worried about me?” He chuckles lightly. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard the rumors about me, but this is better than I could have ever expected after all the shit that went down last year. I mean look at me, getting to spend my night with the cutest girl in town. And you, of course.”

He grins ear to ear at the genuine smile he’s earned from you, however short-lived it may be. With his forefinger, he swipes away the recently shed tear before it can reach your hairline. 

“And Andy? Fuck, a guy like him doesn’t know the first thing about life. Having such an easy ride, he couldn’t do half the shit you have in the last year.”

Mind numb, you simply nod in response. Your tears are now running dry, finding solace in his genuine reassurance. Eyes sore, your gaze lands on the worn neckline of his shirt, shadows casted onto the skin beneath creating valleys out of his collarbones. Without thinking, you reach for the guitar-pick necklace dangling from his neck and rub your finger across the smooth ornament. Back and forth for a moment or two, sniffling as you take the first steps towards composure.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumble, peering up at the man before you. Watching the steady motion of his hand running through your hair, his eyes catch yours with pure kindness, patience you’re not accustomed to. 

“You’re the strongest person I know. Please don’t forget that.” His hand traces around the frame of your face, his palm finding solace in the crook of your jawline just below your ear. Subconsciously, you can’t help but lean into the sensation, relishing in the comfort of your face being cupped. Grounding yourself in the heat of his palm against your skin. Understanding that this is what safety feels like. 

Slowly, Eddie lowers his plump lips to your forehead, much like he did earlier. But this time, it isn’t a hasty goodbye. 

It’s measured. Calculated. And, unbeknownst to you, very brave. 

Lips meet skin, soft and supple. Hand still caressing your cheek with subconscious strokes of his thumb. You can’t resist closing your eyes to lean into the sensation. 

It’s nice. Comfortable. And something he definitely hasn’t done before. 

Almost as if you’re afraid of losing this moment too soon, your hand wraps around his wrist, keeping it in place despite Eddie having no intention of moving it. 

Eddie swears he feels his heart skip a beat as your fingers curl around his arm, mentally praying you can’t feel his heart about to pump out of his chest with your bodies pressed together. The scent of your shampoo lingers on your scalp where the bridge of his nose rests, filling his senses. He, too, closes his eyes. He wages an internal war, knowing he should pull back but can’t help but fall victim to the comfort of this moment. Grasp tightening slightly on your skin, he remains selfish for a beat longer. And you let him. 

When he does pull away, you’re placed under an intimate microscope of study. Big brown eyes inches away from your face, studying for any sign of discomfort. Nothing to be found. His hand continues to cradle, nose remaining close enough to feel the soft breath fanning your face. 

In the faint light peeking through the fluttering curtains, shadows are cast across the hollows of his face, painting an intimate portrait of the man you’d not taken the time to inspect closely. The creases scattered across his forehead, indicators of a life filled with pain and regret. Faint stubble littered across his strong jawline, further emphasizing the severity of his bone structure.

How his full bottom lip curls inward slightly, lost in thought. A perfectly shaped cupids-bow, the soft flush of pink tinging his skin, the way the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. The suggestion of minty toothpaste ghosting across your face, as if you could taste it.

Eddie’s breath hitches as he watches your gaze flicker from his lips back up to his eyes, ceasing the smoothing motion of his thumb on your cheek. He feels as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, like a young child caught red-handed reaching into the cookie jar. Yet, he doesn’t retreat. He’s done with running. His hand remains, a heavy-lidded gaze locked onto yours. And he can’t help but drink in the vision of you lying before him. Unapologetically and shamelessly. 

It’s blurry, how the inches begin to lessen between your faces, the distance edging closed as breaths intermingle. It’s entirely possible you leant forward, recalling the vague sensation of cool air hitting the back of your neck from the partially dried hair clinging to it. Equally as likely, the adrenaline coursing through Eddie’s system rendered his actions perfunctory. Nights spent thinking, wondering, pining, culminating in this moment of sheer bravery. 

Not driven by the outcome. Just the desire for closeness. For more. For you.

Your eyes flutter half-closed as you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours, the contact sending shivers down your spine. An unspoken game of chicken, waiting for the other to back down while mouths edge closer still. Your hand creeps up, laid flat across the top of his against your cheek, the inches between you charged with electricity. No one backs down. Neither of you want to. 

Anticipation crescendos as you feel his lips ghosting above, unable to distinguish if they are meeting yours or the charged tension in the air existing between you has manifested on your skin. A suggestion of skin on skin, holding back the tidal wave of desperation simmering beneath the surface. 

Close enough to taste-

The two of you jolt apart as a fierce wail echoes through the living room, finding your respective sides of the bed. Heart pounding, you steady your breath as Eddie struggles to look at you, shooting from under the covers.

“I’ll get her.” He mumbles awkwardly, staggering to his feet like he’s lost faith in his limbs to keep himself upright. “You um- try to get some sleep, okay? Night.”

And without a second glance in your direction, he swings the bedroom door closed behind him. The sudden distance between you hits you like a gut punch. Of all the stupid things you did tonight, this may have been the stupidest. You should feel glad for Audrey’s perfectly-timed interruption, grateful to know you won’t be getting up every few hours to attend to her. You can sleep freely. But fuck, with the rate your heart is pounding right now, you wonder if you’ll get any rest at all tonight. As you lay your head back on the pillow, you let out an exasperated sigh, trying to return your heart rate to a steady pace. 

The bed suddenly feels entirely too empty.

[mdhwrites]

In an answer to another question, you said that Amphibia acknowledges how change can be beneficial but also difficult and harmful, partly because the ‘quick’ and ‘forced’ change Andrias inflicts on Amphibia by trying to bend the world to his will is presented in a negative light. This is a very good point, but isn’t there a bit of a double standard when it comes to the forced change inflicted by the Guardian?

At journey’s end, the Guardian drops Anne back in Amphibia with three shards for a one-way trip home. It was nice of them to give her a ticket back to Earth…but it also forces Anne into a position where she has to leave a world she loved enough to give her life for, and potentially never see her found family again.

Now, it would be pretty hypocritical for Anne to talk a big deal about accepting that things change whether we like it or not in All In, only to turn around and pick a fight with the god of the multiverse out of a refusal to tolerate being separated from the Plantars. But the Guardian didn’t even consult Anne or ask her if she’d be okay with this before putting her in this position. They just…sent her back, left a little note saying “TTYL,” and didn’t even explain why they couldn’t give her a way back to Amphibia.

Sure, the Guardian knows how much damage was caused by creating the stones to see what mortals would do with unlimited power. Recreating the stones for Anne would have easily risked another disaster happening. But if the Guardian is truly all-powerful, surely they could have given the Calamity Trio a two-way portal that couldn’t be exploited by the wrong hands?

And in the deleted alternate ending, the Guardian does recreate the stones anyway when an old Anne forgets the deal she made and forces them to start their search for a replacement all over again. Now, this alternate ending isn’t canon, so it might not actually be what the Guardian would do, but again, the Guardian never explains why they’ve given one-time-use-only shards.

By all appearances, this is a quick and forced change to inflict on Anne, Sasha, and Marcy. You say the forced changes Andrias inflicts on Amphibia are portrayed as bad, but the narrative doesn’t even question the forced change brought about by the Guardian. Nobody raises so much as a word in condemnation of its actions. Not once does Anne even think to look up to the sky and ask ‘What gives? I sacrificed my life to save Amphibia, and you won’t even give me a two-way portal?’

I understand two-way transportation would have contradicted the message of accepting change and how love transcends distance. But throwing an entity who supposedly could, but won’t, give them a way back muddles things, in my opinion. A big part of Anne’s arc was learning to stand up for herself. Shouldn’t she have stood up to the arguably unfair hand she was dealt?

(Sorry for how long this ask was, I just have a lot of thoughts on this stuff and I get carried away rambling sometimes XD)

So for the sake of focus, I'm going to take all the stuff about the two way transportation and Anne supposedly being out of character for not arguing about the stones and put them to the side. One: because you yourself admit that approaches are flawed, Two: things get deleted for a reason. I could literally probably give you a clear, logical, narratively consistent reason why EVERY storyboard we're shown for TOH was changed or deleted, and Three: I could genuinely go into each topic on its own and so it would make this blog incredibly long.

Instead, I'm going to focus that while it wasn't my first point, I did continue for one more line about why Andrias' change upon the world was so destructive. I specifically point out that it is forcing the world to be something it is not and to bend it to his own will. It is selfish and uncaring of others and the show's themes of community always punishes selfishness.

Instead, the Guardians' final choice... Actually evokes the first sin in Amphibia's timeline, at least for the trio. The Guardian's logic is actually pretty easy to figure out after all. After what the girls did, especially Anne, they deserve a chance to go home, even if the Guardian is now done with allowing inter-dimensional travel, at least easily and by his intervention. So they're given shards to allow them to choose what form of change they want, what sacrifices they will make, but change HAS to happen either way. It is simply best for everyone, you yourself admitted this and a two way portal would not magically fix the issues with it, from the Guardian's perspective to keep the worlds separate..

It is not selfish. Instead, he is doing it for the best of the dimensional community... Just like Marcy's father was going to make them move likely for the sake of keeping his job or a promotion or any number of reasons that were likely motivated by trying to keep his family together or help them prosper. The change it would inflict on Marcy would not be of her own choosing, just as we cannot control the change those around us inflict upon us, but it wasn't done maliciously, nor was forced to be faster than the nature of the change required. There is no way to make a change like that smooth or consequence free. It was always going to hurt, much like when someone around you dies.

Instead of running though, the trio embrace it and head back home where they'll have to deal with reality the most. It's a stark contrast to, while still paralleling, the actions that began the show. A scared girl running from inevitable change and deciding a fantasy world was better than her actual home. For an ending, it's perfect.

So why not show the pain? Well... Because a story needs to end eventually. Amphibia in the end is extremely optimistic about good intentions, community and change so showing Anne or any of the trio cursing God himself for not giving them a fairytale ending makes literally no sense to include in the finale and just adds more time whining when that time could be better spent saying farewell to the characters and staying committed to the hopeful message that it has.

That's something I don't think a lot of people entirely get with stories. There are actually plenty of TOH scenes I've dug into HARD not because there isn't a logic to them or I couldn't explain to you why the characters are behaving the way they are or because it is literally written badly but because, you know... It needs to actually serve the story and the point of a scene. Even if it doesn't 100% adhere to pure logic, it needs to adhere to the thematic and emotional logics of the piece. Those are ALWAYS more important.

Otherwise, you get people bitching at SpyxFamily for the fact that trained spy Loid doesn't give a shit that his wife has literal superhuman capabilities. Logically, they're correct. But... The show IS a comedy. And 90% of the time, Yor's strength and skills are used comedically because that is the tone and purpose of whatever scene is going on. It adheres to the logic of what the show at least pretends to be. It's actually why I find myself questioning the serious portions of the show more. Not because they make less literal sense but because they make it so when the show shifts back into silly times with Anya at school, it is fucking JARRING.

And for Amphibia's ending, the point is how much good change has done these characters. Saying farewell and embracing how much both the characters and the audience have treasured the characters they've been with. There's a reason why the epilogue, and even the farewell before it, come across like a curtain call to a play as much as a natural scene. A final chance to say farewell before we probably never see them again. And, you know, because they commit to that instead of trying to prove they're so smart or address every potential thing someone might claim is illogical about the show mostly set in a frog world, it is able to genuinely say goodbye to those characters and stay emotionally and thematically consistent throughout.

Because those things, in 99% of stories, is WAY more important than being 'logically correct'. It's also why I don't really think there is a better version of Amphibia's ending. Period.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[nocturneindream]

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”

[picnokinesis]

could you tell me (without major plot spoilers -- details about characters and character dynamics are fine) what you loved most about 13's era? <3 I've started my first major who rewatch since I fell off the bandwagon (somewhere along season 11), and I'd love to know what I can look forward to!!

Oh my days hello!! Welcome to my blog! :D Be careful scrolling around because there are a LOT of spoilers (one character in particular is a walking spoiler rip) but oh man hMMM this is such a good question okay because I'll be 100% honest with you, I wasn't actually the biggest fan of s11? Like, don't get me wrong, there are certain episodes that I absolutely love (The Woman Who Fell to Earth is a prime example) and I know there are a lot of people who love it a lot, but on the whole I was pretty 'meh' about that season. It's a great set up, though, for what comes next - because you know how in s11 the Doctor is very much, on the surface, all happy go lucky and everything about the universe is wonderful? Well, that's one hell of a façade, and I really love s12 and 13 because we gradually get to see that mask start to crack under pressure, and it's SO good to see how the Doctor just...steadily losing her ability to keep it up. And she's so SO terrible with vulnerability - I said it in an ask yesterday, but I'm certain that a LOT of that comes from Grace dying so fast after she met her, newly regenerated, as well as losing Bill at the end of s10, and it means that she keeps everyone else at arm's length and won't let anyone see her vulnerable, because she has to keep everyone safe and she can't let anyone else die she can't lose anyone she can't do that again. And in s12 and 13, you get to see some of the consequences of her not actually being upfront about everything with her companions.

On a similar note, I really REALLY love the key thematic threads in the last two series! There's a lot about memory, identity, trauma and grief in s12 particularly, but also in s13 too, and I absolutely LOVE stories that delve into those. For me, it's been such a treat to have storylines that really dig into these ideas and explore them. There's also a general anti-imperialist theme, especially in s12 and 13, which I really enjoyed. There is some pretty divisive additions to Gallifreyan/Doctor Who lore in s12 and 13, but I personally really REALLY love it - I think it really adds to the story and expands the sandbox, so to speak, whilst also doing this INCREDIBLE job of 1) adding new layers of angst to old episodes of Doctor Who reaching waaaaaay back into Classic, whilst preserving the episodes as they were before so you can read them either way, as well as 2) taking odd bits of canon that didn't make sense and weaving them into a coherent storyline. It's genuinely really cool, to me at least. So I would say go into that with an open mind.

There's also some WONDERFUL characters in s12 and 13 - I won't say who or what or where, but there's a lot of fun stuff. I don't know how you found my blog, so you might not know that I write a lot of fanfic, and I've had a whale of time exploring some of the side/recurring characters in s12 and 13, and they're such a joy to write :) But of course the MAIN characters are so SO fantastic - I absolutely ADORE thirteen, she's awful and a massive hypocrite but also just doing her best and trying to keep herself together (and failing), and she's so great to write. I've written over half a million words (literally) about her now, so I think that should tell you how much inspiration Thirteen and this entire era has given me. And the companions are just fabulous. ALSO!! There's a LOT of telepathy and other tropes in this era that I've reaaaaally really loved.

Also - and this is just a little thing, but whilst I love Moffat's era, he did have a tendency to overuse the TARDIS cloister bell - which, I mean, that's fine because I love it HAHA but in Chibnall's era, I think we only hear it......once? I think? I may be wrong, but I remember the one main time we hear it is pretty far into his era and I was like YOOOOOOOOO because we hadn't heard it in so long, right? And so to suddenly hear it again.......it was like 'oh frick, this is REALLY BAD then', and it just gave me chills, yknow? So I liked that a lot!

There are probably a bunch of other things too, but I reckon that gives you a sense of it. I think one thing to really remember with Chibnall's era is that the more you dig into the stories and engage with them, the more you discover and the more it rewards you. A lot of storylines that can seem really simple or sparse on the surface can end up being SO rich once you sit with them for a few minutes. I think I've particularly discovered this as I've written fanfic, but also just thinking about stuff and how it all connects - within itself as an era, but also back into previous eras too! It's such a celebration of the entire show - especially the last episode - and it's very VERY obviously been made by a team of people who had an absolute blast making it, and were all very supportive of each other. I've also really appreciated that there's been a genuine strive towards diversity, both in front of and behind the camera, and whilst there have definitely been some pretty blatant missteps, from what I've seen and heard (for example, during Gally One panels) these efforts were done with good intentions behind them, and all the time actively striving towards something better? And I personally think that a flawed end result is much better than one that plays it safe with no diversity at all. It's a step in the right direction, at least - and, post Doctor Who, Chibnall pretty much immediately went to set up a project that trained up new producers because he said that 'too many showrunners are people like me' - so I think that suggests (to me, at least) that his money is where his mouth is.

ANYWAY that ended up being long....hope this helps, though!! And I really hope that you enjoy watching this era as much as I did!! :D I've loved Doctor Who since 2005, but s12 and s13 just catapulted me into being absolutely obsessed with it again, and it's been so wonderful to get so much joy out of something that I've loved since I was a kid

VERY QUICKLY THOUGH - list of some of my favourite Thirteen episodes, in no particular order:

War of the Sontarans

Spyfall (parts 1 and 2)

Village of the Angels

The Woman Who Fell to Earth

Survivors of the Flux

Ascension of the Cybermen

Fugitive of the Judoon

Eve of the Daleks

The Power of the Doctor

[rustedhearts]

hello rolly i hope all is going well and on the up and up. the coffee cowboy cafe sound very cool, i hope they take you!! i am sure they'll be lucky to have you :)! i'm hoping for a lucky break regarding employment as well, i've been applying to places since beginning of sept but no luck yet. i also really like the stars background you have, it reminds me of like a kid's bedroom wallpaper in a whimsical illustrated children's book.

i read keepsakes, and while i don't think i had this blog in 2022, that didn't curb my enjoyment of it (curb your enthusiasm theme plays). this was so sweet and so nice, and very comforting after a bit of a hard day. i am really craving chicken noodle soup now, as well as someone to fill the person shaped loneliness that's sitting beside me right now. but the steve being h0rny in candlelight line made me laugh a lot.

your descriptions are always so good at capturing the mood, but the lines where steve looks at reader's ring are infused with something so gooey and melty. actually, anow that i'm writing this, a lot of steve's pov in this blurb is veryyyyy heart melty and truly so much marsh and so much mellow. "You do a little squirm and smile that makes Steve chuckle. He hunches over his lap to slurp the broth and you wrinkle up your nose." like this is soooo cute!!! i want to do this with someone!! also i don't think i've told you this before but ur also so genuinely funny! the pretty woman joke after this made me laugh hard. this literally sounds like heaven right now, both the massage and the devotion of looking at someone and seeing love there "Massages your scalp until your eyes flutter. The flames of the fire rest in dancing orange shimmers on your face."

i also really loved the description of the polaroid. the description of the outdated rosebud wallpaper really did me in, and idk why exactly but idk, just the love he remembers her childhood bedroom with was very sweet and all the little things about the photo, like the memory of his bruise and how he was flexing for her, in the privacy of her bedroom and not for a crowd just had the sort of intimacy of sharing a memory that i really loved. and her caption was just the most perfect delectable cherry on top of the whole thing.

i also reallyyyyyy love how tactile boxer steve is. this part i loved too "He moves one hand from your waist to your chin and tips it away to make room for his head on the other side of your throat". i like it for a lot of reasons certainly but i just really like the feeling or passion behind it i guess, it might come from reading so much of boxer steve, but it just feels so like, what his appeal is?? like "and he follows suit only to lay you on your back with his hand supporting the back of your head" that's why i like him?? i feel bad for not being able to word this better, but i just love the feeling of being taken care of or guided when something's happening and the amount of emotion behind it. i guess it's why his anger can b frightening, since for a long time it used to be equally passionate and physical, but in the right moments it's veryyyyy special !!

apologies for the length of this one, this was just something really comforting and warm during a cold period of my life. love ur writing and love u too always <333.

ughhhhh my friend, you always know how to make me smile ⭐️⭐️

to begin, i know how difficult and disheartening job searching can be. i really hope you don’t have to search as long as i’ve been, because i truly would not wish this upon anyone lol.

the stars in my background are also my home screen on my phone rn! i loved them so much, i agree that it has this sort of childish comfort to it. and stars (especially gold stars) are sort of my thing (move over rachel berry)!

thank you for appreciating my humor, not enough people do 😔 i’m absolutely hilarious

and yes! part of boxer!steve’s appeal is his tactile love language. ever the brute, he often lets his hands do the speaking for him—but there’s a softness to that when it comes to libby. often instead of expressing how he feels verbally, he’ll let her know through his touches. it’s his way of feeling close to her, and how much closer can you get than physically feeling someone?

but the guiding touches also speak to how well they know each other!

i’m wishing you luck in your job search, as well, and know that i understand and empathize with the struggle! ⭐️ thank you for always being so kind and supportive, and reminding me why i should keep writing (in any way)!

xoxoxoxoxo

[minggukieology]

Hello hello,

I am new around here. I really enjoy Kookmin’s bond, and I am also a researcher in the narrative space. I found you on Twitter and I was so impressed with your transparent, eloquent commentary on this whole thing. Thank you for running this blog. My question might be odd, but I am really curious to see how much of this ship/fan wars translate within the Korean social media space? The last few days have been nothing less than hell on the bird app, the anon requests on some of the blogs here are just people thinking they are so slick, but are just purely undermining Kookmin’s bond. I assume Naver is like one stop destination for SNS in Korea. I also see that the members have quit Twitter officially (I have no doubt they lurk though). Are ship wars this intense in the online spaces in Korea? Is it between the same ones we see on the I-Army side? I know shipping is a common theme in the pop space there and people might have healthier approach to it? This is also me being wishful that the members don’t see the pure vitriol that’s being expressed. Thank you in advance.

Hi, there! Thanks a lot for your nice message 😊

To put it shortly: no, such shipwars don't typically happen within k-army online spaces (at least not in the same way we know them) because there is never any need for debate around any meanings of words and no wiggle room for alternative explanations and seeing hidden signs in shadows. However, that doesn't mean that I have not come across any Korean accounts on Twitter that like to twist narratives and *especially* in case when their desired narratives feed into what their non-Korean speaking followers want to hear (they do like to take advantage of that language + cultural gap). As with every assessment though, Koreans are not a monolith, the same goes for k-armys or any netizens. There are some general tendencies but there will always be exceptions. Also it is important to note, even though the fandom largely organizes on the Twitter platform, I find it it less prominent among Korean ARMYs as to the amount of time they spend on there and the conversations that are held there.

From my perspective (my subjective opinion, therefore isn't unbiased and might not be representative of the whole community) ships or to be more accurate 'duos' / 'insert name line' are first and foremost among the majority about the members' chemistry, cute moments, looks, vocals and performances together; not about any potential romantic involvement of the two (that is not to say there are absolutely no Korean shippers of course). It is important to remember that the general premise has been that the idol sells their Korean fans the idea of a boyfriend/girlfriend, therefore the whole fantasy revolves around him/her and the fans having a connection, hence why for example idol dating life is still a big no no in the public etc.

To add, sadly since Korean fans can't get away with twisting the meanings of what the boys said (unless they want to appear ridiculous and stupid) the 'wars' therefore turn more vicious than that. There are some prominent 악개 akgae groups within the BTS fandom too which use all kinds of tactics to tarnish the reputation of the other members by spreading rumors through Korean forums, discussion boards, trending tags and by even reaching out to Korean reporters to run stories based on false evidence. So I would say, these things do happen, just in a different way because Korean online space can be truly unhinged.

I don't believe the members have ever witnessed any of the craziness on the international side as it for the most part thankfully only happens on the international side (objectivelly imagine if Koreans were having real arguments over, for example, the meaning of 동생 'dongsaeng' 😂😂😂 it sounds absolutely ridiculous). And in the instances they did, when e.g. someone tried to push a 'ship' narrative on any of them directly, we got the infamous 'get out of your imagination' response.

Hope I answered your message clearly and covered all your points. Once again, thanks a lot for reaching out!