#Nothing in grandma's house was precious

[freebooter4ever]

Recognize this stepstool/chair? Lol! I scoured antique stores in orange county to find almost an exact copy for my little house in burbank. I know i joked on here about how in having my own place for the first time in my life my main priority seemed to naturally drift towards recreating my grandma callyerdogsoff's house, but i didnt think i was being quite so literal.

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was all about desecrating corpses. 

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt. 

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors. 

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs. 

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to. 

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man. 

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess. 

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig. 

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely. 

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing. 

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets. 

They understood things like appearance and public reputation. 

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that. 

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so. 

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation. 

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne. 

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too. 

Eddie would be damned without him. 

But he knows his uncle needs help. 

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way. 

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar. 

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time. 

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills. 

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’ 

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.) 

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

 Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say. 

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough. 

Sometimes it was fetching information. 

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.  

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk. 

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built? 

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months? 

Who was even paying for it? 

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up. 

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over. 

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch. 

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer. 

"A retrieval, Double D." 

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said. 

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take. 

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.) 

 “Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player. 

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. 

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked. 

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire. 

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style. 

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react. 

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest. 

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it. 

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up. 

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…” 

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front. 

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after. 

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there. 

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive. 

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station. 

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.” 

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout. 

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong. 

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.” 

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.” 

“That too.” 

[hedgehog-moss]

I decided to dedicate a post to Mama Pampy! Who rarely gets the spotlight on this blog, because well-behaved llamas seldom make history... I mentioned yesterday that she's the matriarch of her little herd (for new followers: Pampelune aka Pampy is Pampe's mother and Poldine's grandma), but I didn't really go into what that entails. It means she's a precious help to me when it comes to curbing Pampe's fight for freedom, because she has the authority to call the other llamas back when they wander too far away from her.

(Note that this didn't apply when Pampe was a teenager. Teen!Pampe obeyed her mother rarely and/or accidentally and thought nothing of wandering away all on her own. But ever since becoming an adult and having her own baby, she's slowly started paying more attention to Pampy's alarm sounds and other commands. She grudgingly accepted the bare minimum amount of responsibility required to keep her child alive.)

If the other two llamas wander off and Pampelune is able to follow, she'll follow in order to keep an eye on them; but conversely if you make sure Pampy can't follow, then the others won't stray too far. So I can let the llamas out to trim the grass around my house without haltering Pampe or Poldine; I just have to keep Pampy close to me. To no one's surprise, she keeps her eye on 1 llama in particular—

If her daughter wanders too far, Pampy will utter a firm "muh!" and Pampe will reluctantly return. (It's more of a "moo", really, but since llama and cow languages are clearly not in the same family and probably don't have mutual intelligibility, I'll use different spellings so it's not confusing.)

Pampelune knows who is and isn't part of her herd. The hens are outside of her jurisdiction but Pirlouit is not—she doesn't talk to him, because he never muhs back, but she does spit on him sometimes which means he is an honourary llama to her (a dubious honour, if you ask Pirlouit) and she also quietly checks on him, especially when she's out of the pasture while he is stuck on the other side of the fence, alone.

I hope this foray into llama herd dynamics isn't too boring; I'll add that I can't let Pirlouit free roam along with the llamas because he would follow Pampe if she starts wandering off, and Pampe loves having Followers. It immediately goes to her head and she'll often stop listening to her mum and trot away if she's managed to recruit disciples (that's also why Pandolf is not in these pictures. He's locked in the kitchen because he would not only follow Pampe but heartily encourage her to go somewhere. Pan is a rule-follower but within the realm of reason, i.e. if going for a walk is wrong then he doesn't want to be right.)

Poldine following Pampe isn't a problem though, because she is very respectful of her grandma's authority, so if anything she's a good influence on Pampe. At some point she wandered a bit too far while grazing and a stern "muh!" was heard, and she immediately came back and stood at attention behind her chief.

Her attitude with regards to her grandma / matriarch reminds me of this kid:

It's not all work for Pampy, she does get to eat too, but always with one ear angled in the general direction of Pampérigouste.

Meanwhile I read and have a glass of apéritif—llama outings usually happen in the evening as an extra precaution (you can never be too prudent when you let Pampe free roam)—the llamas don't like being out of their pasture at night, so they'll go home without a fuss when it starts to get dark.

Sorry for the poor quality, this is extra zoomed in, but I just realised I managed to capture one of our elusive cow neighbours in this one photo!

One of the few advantages of an abnormally warm autumn is that the herds are still out... You can hear the clarines (cow bells) in the distance, it's such a peaceful sound. Besides the bells, evening bird calls and Pampy's disciplinary muhs, the only other sound is the occasional heart-wrenching braying from Pirlouit. Stuck in the pasture all alone. Deprived of grass, empty of hope, unloved. (He gets to go out for frequent donkey-only outings but that doesn't make the present unfairness of his situation sting any less apparently)

Bringing everyone home when my apéritif is finished is quite easy, all I have to do is offer some muesli to Pampy. No matter where she is, Pampe's head will spring up, indignant.

Pampelune isn't even really into muesli, she prefers fresh fruit peelings, but Pampe won't take any risks.

(Pampe's nose is all scratched because she got very annoyed with flies last month and kept rubbing her face on things to remove them... Thankfully now that the nights are colder, she's finally rid of them!)

Once Pampe is back in the pasture I can let Pandolf out! He'll run a few circles around Poldine then escort her back home, not that she wouldn't follow the other llamas without any prompting, but you've got to let Pan be a sheepdog sometimes, he's so happy to contribute. Sometimes I even let Pirlouit out so that Pan can immediately bring him back in. Once all four animals are in the pasture he'll turn to me like "Everyone's home safely! Just before night! Thanks to me, Pandolf" and I'll make amazed noises at his excellent herding.

[patolemus]

Sterek fic recs: Fake Dating AU Edition

Because @oldefashioned requested a fake dating rec list, here it is. These are all very funny, as fake dating fics ought to be, so I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

1. Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Notes: Domestic pack, my beloved. Stiles and Derek are precious here, I LOVE THEM!! The visiting pack, not so much, but who cares about them?? It's all pretty lighthearted, all things considered. It's completed.

2. Electricity In the Contact by ladyblahblah

In which Derek has been invited to the Greater Pacific Northwest Alpha Symposium (that's not what it's called, Stiles, stop saying that), and showing up unattached would mean an arranged marriage. When the rest of the pack objects, he agrees to let Stiles come along to pose as his mate. Derek is reasonably sure that he's not going to make it out of this weekend alive.

Notes: Werewolf convention fics are so good! I actually haven't found all that many, considering how common a trope it is, and it's a tragedy because they're always so well done! This one is no exception, and the mini-world building is also great! It's completed.

3. can’t be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma." (Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

Notes: this one is just *cheff´s kiss* wonderful! It's all pretty domestic and the humor is on point. College student Stiles and the Sheriff are strong armed into spending Thanksgiving with Stiles' grandma, and they find nothing better than to bring Derek with them. Pining and misunderstandings ensue and thus comes the fake dating. It's completed.

4. Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says. “Still don’t want to,” Stiles says. “I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so… “How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“ “My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.” “A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Notes: this had such a chokehold on me when I first read it. Absolutely wonderful. Enemies to lovers?? Maybe. Assholes to assholes-in-love, is a better descriptor. There's werewolves, and magic, and it's awesome! It's completed.

5. He’s Not Mine by Sonnee

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

Notes: again, it's all very domestic, like most fake dating fics ought to be. It's a kid fic, Sterek are mates, we have all the love. Not much else I can think to add... it's completed.

6. Real life isn’t a movie (life doesn’t make narrative sense) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Somehow accidentally insulting a hot guy in a coffee shop leads to pretending to be his boyfriend in front of a house full of werewolves. Stiles Stilinski is living his best life and making the most of his Hallmark movie moment.

Notes: this one had me cracking up because it's so funny! Stiles is living his best life, for real. Derek... suffers. But it's okay, because he gets a boyfriend out of this whole thing! They are disgustingly sweet in that assholish way they have. It's completed.

7. You look like my next mistake by Vendelin

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes. His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to. In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Notes: this one had me HOWLING it's so good!! Frat boy Stiles, my beloved. It's technically not fake dating because it turns into an actual relationship pretty quickly, but it starts as fake dating so I'll take it. Stiles is an absolute sweetheart in this one, I love him! And Derek is shy, and insecure, but he's so great, and everyone gets a happy ending except Kate, which is always a good thing. It's completed.

8. All’s Fair In Orgasms and War by bleepobleep

AVN BREAKING NEWS-- DIAMOND VISTA RIDGE BREAKS HIS CONTRACT WITH HALE HOUSE "We haven't seen much of our favorite rock hard stud from Hale House ever since that indie twink dethroned him as champion in Orgasm Wars, but it's just been confirmed that Diamond will no longer be working for the legendary studio famous for producing some of our favorite werewolf-on-human works. Don't fret, Diamond fans, it looks like he's been spotted cozying up to True Alpha Studios! Apparently he couldn't get enough of that one human and then followed him home. Could it be true love? Keep your eye on this studio-- us at AVN think we're about to get a lot more of Diamond in a very new way!" ~ The one in which (almost) everyone is a porn star, and Derek just wants to curl up with his fluffy blanket and watch the Hallmark channel, but work and falling in love gets in the way.

Notes: okay but is this fake dating? Maaaaaybe. It's kinda complicated. Basically everyone here is a porn star and the pack has this studio where they cater to werewolves and have a whole thing about established relationships, which is where the fake dating comes up. It's surprisingly very fluffy, considering this is a porn au, and Derek is the softest goober in this one. Stiles is completely enamoured. It's completed.

9. Wanted from the You Are series by Asterekmess (Livinginfiction)

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek's mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He's doomed.

Notes: Alright so this series is wonderful. The world building done for the Alpha pack is also great, and that's the center of the second part (which has the fake dating). I do recommend reading the first part before jumping on to Wanted because it is a direct continuation. Also, it's an amazing au! It's completed.

10. For Love is Not Ours to Command by weathervaanes

Where Derek's skills at thinking on his feet mean that he and Stiles have to act. For the sake of Stiles' dad, of course, for the sake of the pack. No personal interest interference at all, whatsoever. Right. -0- “Why does my dad say that you and your boyfriend are a bad influence on me?” “What?” “Yeah, what boyfriend? Dude, you are not allowed to not tell me crap like this. You didn't think I'd like be a douchebag or something. Right?” “No, wait, what? I have no boyfriend.” “He says you were with him at the police station.” Stiles blinks. “Uhm. Oh shit.”

Notes: Stiles just wanted to find dirt on Raphael McCall to blackmail him. Somehow, he got himself a whole ass boyfriend. It's complicated. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed.

11. Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MareLoup

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.” “Oh thank god!” “Stiles?” “I, uh, I need some advice.” “Advice?” “Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?” Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.” “That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.” “Stiles...what are you doing right now?” *** Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work. Partly because their visit was a complete surprise. But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend. Or even know who Derek was. But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

Notes: this is to date one of my favorite Sterek fics. I laughed so much while reading this, I'm not even joking. The whole thing is a comedy of errors gone right. Stiles somehow finds himself pretending to be Derek's boyfriend, only he has no idea who Derek even is and why his family knows Stiles at all. His inner monologue is one of the funniest I've read, and his slow descent into (good natured) madness is wonderful. It's completed.

12. Love Like An Ache In The Jaw by Anonymous

“So let me get this straight,” The sheriff massages his temples, “You found a magic book, and performed a magic spell that has backfired and magically bound you to Derek Hale, rendering you both in agony if you’re not in the same room.” Derek and Stiles exchange a look. “Um. Yes.” Stiles says sheepishly. “Right. And just to be clear, when we’re talking agony… exactly how agonizing is the agony?” Derek clears his throat. “Sir, I’ve had a pole stabbed through my chest and held there for an hour. This was… similar.” - In which boredom, magic and dumbassery come together to produce a Christmas miracle slash disaster. Oh, and Stiles' grandmother who knows absolutely nothing about the supernatural happens to be in town. Oops.

Notes: another hilarious one. Stiles does Stiles things and ends up magically bound to Derek. No one is amused except Stiles' grandmother, who's having the time of her life, here. It's completed!

[ahomeformyself]

When i was a teen at the late 90s, I met a friend group of my same town for the first time. We all were kind of freaks. They invited me to take a snack at Carla`s home. I always wanted to se the interioris of her house. Was a large building of two floors that crossed the block, with two facades, one on each parallel street, one of them with a little front garden. The outside wall was maroon, and full of plants and flowers, with strange stone decorations. The other acces, was one of the older libraries of my homwtown. The type of store where you buy books, school and craft supplies, plushies.... Everytime I walk into the store, I imagine how it woul be that home. And when my new frind group invited me, wasn't dissapointing at all.

The floors had colorfull hydraulic tile mosaics, different in every room. The distribution was strange, seems like the people who lived there were more concerned about being happy than being normal. They had a precious kitchen, with pure wood cabinets, and a giant table in the middle. All the windows had color glass and curved wood frames. My country is famous for being full of modernist arquitecture from the beggining of the 19th century, and that home was an example of that influence. in ffront of the kitchen, there was a large hall that ended in a conservatory, with the garden in the background. That room was full of rugs and instruments. Any kind of instruments. Carla's dad was a musician, like herself and her brother, and their grandma was a piano player. Next to the conservatory, it was a little room, with two puffs, a tv, and the walls were fully covered with videotapes, almost all of them were 80's scifi films. Next to that room, were the stairs for to second floor. I don't remember how the bedrooms looked like, because I only entered into the bathroom. A giant bathroom. The floor, the walls, and the roof was covered in craked color tiles, making filigrees and figures. The sink and the bathub were cosntructed. and covered with the same motifs with craked tiles. The craked tile style is typical from here, and every town has a home like that, normally made by the same owners of the house. The bathroom also had big plants. It was like a movie set.

Visiting that home, made me decide I was going to live like them. At my own, with my own rules, with my own desires, with my own ideas. I was 14yo, and before walking into that house, my thughts about adulthood never suggered any type of love for nothing. I saw ''the growing thing'' as a dead of the soul and a productivity obsession. That home teached me I was worng. That home teached me you need to surround yourself with the correct souls.

That day I learned a little bit of how real magic works.

[periludic]

Hello! can you write a sick mc in step 1 of Ol2 and tamarack and qiu just stay by them to keep them company and treat them with treats while their sick I'd like for them to be crushes

" SICK "

📌 Pairing: Step 1 Qiu/Tamarack x GN!MC (Separate)

Qiu "Autumn" Lin

Knew you were sick before you yourself knew

Definitely not because he stares at you for long periods of time. haha.

Checks up on you the day after to see if you really are sick

And surprise surprise! You were!

He kindly asks your Mom if he can check up on you in your room, and of course, asked you if he was welcomed inside your personal space as well

Qiu sits down on the floor next to your bed and stays there for a while, asking about how you're feeling and if he could get you anything at all

After a while though, he stands up with the promise of coming back, before dashing out of the door, leaving you confused

But really, he just went back home to ask his parents if he can stay at your place for the afternoon and got a few snacks to share!!

And if you wanted anything you couldn't get in your house, he made a quick trip to town to get whatever it is you wanted

Watches over you like a hawk

If you dare make one teeny tiny pained noise this stinker goes into full panic mode

"Are you okay? You're not dying are you? I am sorry!"

Meanwhile you stare at him in confusion because why is he apologizing over you being sick as if it was his fault??

Speaks in a softer voice just in case your head hurts, and because he's really worried about you

Would not let you lift a finger, he's spoiling you today and there's nothing you can do about it

Well that's not entirely true, if you get sad or angry about him doting on you too much he would let you do whatever you please

But he's staying by your side no matter what

If you're upset over the fact that you're sick, he spends hours sitting below you on the floor next to your bed trying to stay as close as he could without making you feel uncomfortable telling you funny adventures he, Baxter and Darren had

"Qiu. Get away from me you'll get sick" "But :("

He definitely gets sick a day or so after, but does he regret it? No.

He'll go through anything for you <3

Tamarack Baumann

This girl is prepared

Came over to your house ready with medicine, soup her grandma made, a wet cloth, etc. etc.

Your Mom lets her come inside your room (with your permission of course) because for one, she's a busy woman. And two, Tamarack seems to know what she's doing

Frowns so hard when she sees you sick and uncomfortable

She cares about you so much it actually hurts her whenever you're in any kind of pain

Tamarack was in a state of panic when she first saw you miserable in your bed

"(Name)!! How are you feeling? You're not hurting anywhere are you?" "I feel like I am dying" "Nooooooo!!!!"

Will not leave your side unless you beg her to. What if you fall and explode while she's gone? What if you start hurting and cry?? WHAT IF YOU DIE AND SHE'S NOT THERE???

Yeah. It gets intense with her.

Compared to Qiu's soft doting she's in full on in doctor mode

Whenever you cough or sneeze a lil she's on her feet ready to get you anything

"What? What is it? Medicine? Water??"

You'll have to periodically remind her that you're not in that much pain and that getting sick is normal

Is ready to fan you herself if it starts getting really uncomfortable and hot because lets face it you probably don't have a working AC in step 1 yet

Will sing praises and reassurances if you get scared

The only time she leaves you is when you ask her to get something from downstairs or another room

Other than that she'd glue herself onto you if she could

You actually recover quickly after her visit, its honestly a miracle

Her Omi and Opa wouldn't mind if she stays over at your house until late into the evening

Even when you're feeling better, she'll still stay close to you

Would be offended if anyone tries to separate the both of you

You can't take her away from her precious neighbor!!!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for sort of lying to my parents about why my pillow smells like cigarettes?

🚬🍝 so i can recognize

To start things off: No, i'm not the one smoking.

About less than two weeks ago, my parents went to this fancy Salsa concert in another city, it was an event that had alcohol, parties, a lot of that adult things that made it impossible for them to bring me. I (16, trans male) wasn't interested in going either, so they decided to let my (28-30, i don't remember, F) sister take care off me just for the week. Now, mom is already distrusting of my sister mainly because they had many fights before and she didn't want to leave her precious daughter in the care of someone like Kate (fake name). She only agreed because there was no other option.

Kate dropped college twice, lives alone in a small apartment she doesn't pay for (mom does), and smokes cigarettes, barely has any money on her own and stole money from Grandma's wallet to buy more cigarettes. She has had like 2 part time jobs before, one was working as a cashier at a market and the other one was working in one of her friend's restaurant selling Mexican food (we're not Mexican, but still Latinos, just not from there). But she left them shortly after. These aren't ALL the reasons mom dislikes Kate.

I didn't mind having Kate take care of me, but mom made it clear that i MUST come over to Kate's apartment to sleep every night, because she didn't want me to sleep alone at our own apartment.

For the first night it was okay, we left pretty late so by the time we arrived to Kate's apartment all i wanted to do was sleep. Kate told me to do that and meanwhile she'll be outside the bedroom having a cigarette, I didn't care.

Now to cut some things, Kate and I decided to let me sleep at my own apartment and instead she'd just come to my house to cook Lunch and Dinner, and then at night she'd go back. So for a week straight we'd be having lunch at like 4pm and dinner at 9pm or something.

We lied to our parents about it because in Kate's words if mom ever found out she'd just straight up become Kate's enemy. But honestly mom already got problems with my sister anyway.

My whole life she'd be going around, mad and disappointed at how Kate's life is just going nowhere, in her own words, she just lost faith. Instead that faith got placed on me, but that's something for my therapist to hear about (I don't have one).

Anyway, I left my pillow and some small inflatable bed at my sister's house. Days after my parents arrived Kate gave me my pillow, and that shit smelled like cigarettes. So i assume Kate just went crazy near my pillows because i wasn't staying with her anyway. Same thing for the inflatable bed, the whole thing just smelled like cigarettes, it was unbearable.

Mom started questioning me about it because she feared my sister would've start smoking right besides me and therefore second hand smoking.

I remember the lie we promised, so i just nodded.

So now mom believes Kate just doesn't care and smokes right besides her little sister. Their relationship is already bad but i think i just added a new layer.

I feel like i'm TA because the second hand smoking thing didn't happen, the only time Kate smoked near me she left the room and smoke in the kitchen instead (i know it cause the next morning i wanted to check if there was something in the fridge. There was nothing, just rotten fruit). But i also just didn't want Kate to be in a much worse problem by telling mom about our little plan, but this outcome wasn't good either, it was like she was doomed from the start.

AITA for keeping the lie? Should I just be honest about it now? The bed and pillow still smell like cigarettes and it's been days.

What are these acronyms?

[whimsimille]

PSHYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 1: Hues of grief

"Motherhood is owning a second heart that beats outside your own body. It's joy, yet sorrow," mused Grandma Anastasia Song, a poetess with a first name as American as the apple pie from the small bakery down the lane and a surname as Korean as the homemade kimchi fermenting in the earthenware pots in her backyard.

She held Ae-ra close to her flaccid chest, completely absorbed in the pixelated murmurings of an old video from three weeks ago—a precious moment captured right inside the delivery room named "Ae-Ra's Grand Entrance!"

Though the image was shaky and Min Ju had, thankfully, skillfully avoided anything too anatomical, Anastasia saw your sweat-slick hair sticking to your forehead, heard your desperate cry, "I am doing it!" when one of the nurses urged you to push, and noticed a few droplets of blood on the surgical cloth—not many, but enough to create what her mother would have described as a "beautiful spectacle." Naturally, in English.

“A second heart, huh?” Sneering, you felt the spring in the tattered velvet armchair dig into your thighs while you watched as she moved in her rocker to become more at ease. With the hand she wasn't using to hold your daughter, she took another bite out of the freshly baked cookies that were cooling on the side table.

Gooey filling seeped down her chin and the delicate crust crumbled under her teeth and spattered in Ae-ra’s blanket as she rocked both of them—it tasted exactly how Mrs. Johnson's made them back home. Some tastes never really left her mouth or heart, even if she has been absent from America for decades.

“Yes, it is. A child means another heart. It expands to make room for all that love. And when they leave, well, it shatters a little too." She mused between bites. In the already hardened fabric of her sweater, there were small crusts of biscuit glued by saliva.

Once the recorder hummed to a stop and the grainy footage ended for the fifth time, you crouched in front of the vintage TV, fingers trembling slightly as you took out the video tape, taking care not to disturb the old thing.

“So, yes, you must be ready, dear. Your second heart is bound to stop beating very soon.”

Your breath stopped.

What?

Suddenly, the quaint house, with its worn-out red bricks and peeling white paint, felt too quiet, too still. The cheerful chirping of the sparrows nesting in the ancient birch tree outside, the rustling of the leaves in the wind that carried with it the scent of blooming azaleas, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the cobblestone path—everything was drowned out by the deafening silence in the room.

Swiveling around, you observed Anastasia cradling Ae-ra, running her thumb, sticky with the remnants of the chocolate-covered cookie, over the tiny lines of your daughter's palm as if she were a cartographer mapping territories on a yellowing parchment. It was unsettling how calm she remained while predicting such a dreadful fate for her great-granddaughter.

"What happened, Halmoney? Is something wrong with Ae-ra?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Grandma reassured you. "It's just... time. Life is fleeting, my dear. It's like the wind blowing through a field of wheat: constant movement but soon gone before we know it."

Ae-ra cooed softly in her great grandmother's arms, blissfully unaware of the weight pressing down on your heart. She kicked her little legs playfully and batted at the lacy edge of her baby blanket, giggling when it swirled around her face like a cloud.

You watched as Anastasia smiled tenderly at her, wrinkles crinkling softly around her eyes, before they focused on the bright autumn leaves rustling outside. "Your grandpa is waiting for her in the afterlife now," she said quietly, "and soon she must join him."

Dumbstruck, you stood there, words failing you. Your mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt to voice your disbelief, much like a fish gasping for air on dry land. Your stupor was broken only when you felt the front of your blouse getting damp. Excess milk seeped through the fabric, making you look like a dairy cow in the middle of milking.

It was past time to feed your baby.

"For heaven's sake, don't say such things, Halmoney!” You exclaimed, clenching your chest in an attempt to stem the flow. Jesus, that was fucking painful.

Anastasia simply chuckled at your reaction, her wrinkled face crinkling even more at the corners.  "You're as stubborn as your father, my dear. Always quick to deny what you don't want to hear. Just like that time when he refused to believe his favorite tree in the backyard had to be cut down. But truth, my dear, is like an ocean. It's vast, endless, and you cannot simply fence it off."

Then she turned her attention back to Ae-ra, her expression softening. "Now, come on, take Ae-ra and feed her. Unless you want your breasts to swell up like balloons. Believe me, you won't get to do this for longer.”

Inspired by the Sisters of the Harvest Moon, a group of women who, like the ancient Druids, found divinity in the waning of the moon and natural cycles, Anastasia's eccentric beliefs had their origins. They believed that mirrors were doorsway to fucking entire dimensions and that a child who looked too long into an old Venetian mirror would be blessed—or ill-starred, depending—with dreams of the future. The Sisters left an imprint on your grandmother 's life, seeping into her from 10 and extending well into her Doc Martens-clad teenage years until 18. They wore ropes on their belts—to beat, not to measure—and they never saw a child's ear in their way that they didn't want to twist.

Perhaps that’s why you didn't let out the primal scream building in your chest at that moment, your almond-shaped eyes wide as saucers. Because, in the end, her childhood was made out of convoluted beliefs and harsh discipline, and she wasn't predicting the death of your Ae-ra out of some perverse pleasure. In the end, she wasn’t trying to make you lose your grip on sanity; leap across the room and yank out the collection of vintage hair pins—an assortment of pieces from the 1950s, studded with tiny pearls—that were failing to control the silver curls haloing around her head in a style that would've made Einstein proud.

In the end, the old woman was fucking right.

It was June, the third year without your baby, and you were throwing up in a bed of hyacinths as if trying to expel the grief lodged deep within you.

You only knew they were hyacinths because Mom had some planted in your garden back in Jeju, and for days she talked about how the landscapers from the local 'Kim's Gardening Services' put them in lopsided. You didn't know flowers could be lopsided. That's what you thought about as you sat there in the dirt, staring dizzy at the flowers, wet and blue and bright.

Outside Westlake Psychiatric Ward, an iron and gray monolith with no dreams or aspirations, the hyacinths had been planted.

It was located in the oldest part of Gonjiam Hospital. The original Victorian-style brick building had long been surrounded and swallowed by larger and generally uglier extensions and annexes. "The Caged Mind Asylum" was at the heart of this complex. The only indication of the dangerous nature of the occupants was the row of security cameras perched on the fences like vigilant birds of prey.

At the reception, every effort was made to make everything seem quite friendly: ample blue sofas, rustic and childlike paintings and drawings of the patients hung on the walls. It looked more like a garden to you than a forensic psychiatric hospital for jailed people whose families had abandoned them because they could not afford the hefty cost of adult diaper changes and the fact that, besides being criminals, they were out of their minds.

It's strange how quickly we adapt to the frightening world of a psychiatric hospital. We become increasingly comfortable with madness—not just the madness of others, but our own. You believe that we are all mad, just in different ways.

And that's why—and how—this place was more than just a place—it was a job. You, Song Y/N, with your PhD from Seoul National University and your internship at Massachusetts General Hospital, were supposed to be inside. You were meant to be standing tall and confident in front of the imposing white doors on your well-tailored scrubs. Instead, you were outside, staring at a puddle of puke and trying to catch your breath. And the sky was falling—wet, wet and blue and bright.

Soon enough, your husband, or what was left of him, would come looking for you to ask how your day has been with his usual pathetic monotone, and you'd have to summon a convincing smile. You'd avoid telling him that your day has been merely a puddle of clear water mixed with remnants of your breakfast—crunchy slices of apples from Mrs. Lee's fruit stall and homemade kimchi. Then, you'd steer his attention to something mundane, something safe—like the weather or the incessantly leaky faucet in the kitchen that the local plumber promised to fix since last Tuesday.

There are many reasons why you ran out of that place for crazy people like you, but here's the overarching one. The only one that really matters.

Ae-ra.

How can a tiny four-year-old, with a presence so radiant and a laugh that echoed like a cathedral bell, be gone so soon and be silenced so abruptly?

It's been three years. Three years of questioning, of doubting.

There is no reply from Him. Never. Not even a whisper in the wind nor a hint in the rustling leaves. The Almighty remains silent, devoid of answers. Every time you have screamed, raged at the sky, your voice echoing against the hard concrete of the city buildings, there is only silence returned. You call out names like "God," "Jehovah," and "Yahweh," clutching your rosary beads bought from the small gift shop adjoining St. Peter's Basilica during your honeymoon in Rome.

Every night, under the vast expanse of the inky sky, you wrestle with the notion of divinity. Your fists clenched, your knuckles white, the metal of your wedding ring biting into your skin.

What you remember most about those early years was the sheer physicality of it all. Small fingers on the cheek. A belly on a hip. Legs climbing onto the lap. A hand slipping silently into your own. And all this amid the haze of sleeplessness. It was Min Ju who slept badly, but Ae-ra had her moments. And for what seemed like months, mornings would shock you awake, finding the three of you sprawled across the sheets like battered objects washed up on the shore. Yet there was such joy in that physicality. Bodies entwined. Pressed up against each other. Safe.

No amount of medication or counseling at the esteemed Johns Hopkins can satisfy the void that exists right now.

Shit, you’re not even a romantic; you never have been. Poetry and grand gestures are not things you believe in. But this... this is a different kind of story. A story of love that no heart can forget. Not when it loves somebody that way, and not when it still beats for them even when they are no longer around.

And so, you live quietly, one day at a time, with a scar that no amount of time can heal—a wound that is always fresh. But that's fine because you've lived through entire disasters in silence, you know how to create silence. It's like this: turn on the radio very loudly, then suddenly turn it off. And so it captures the silence. Starry silence. The silence of the moon changes. For everything, you created silence. It is in silence that the noise is heard more. Between the hammerings, you heard the silence of your grief and your blood pumping through your arteries.

Because, in the end, isn't that what survival is all about?

“Doctor?”

Since your childhood, Mom has often told you about your peculiar habit of associating colors with feelings, people and events—a trait that you had passed onto your daughter. Both of you stood out like sore thumbs in the conventional world.

Ae-ra had been the subject of many parent-teacher meetings and counseling sessions. However, you never felt the need to consult a doctor, as you knew it was an inherent trait, not a disease that could be cured with pills. Maybe the influence of Anastasia and The Sisters had seeped into both of your lives more than you realized.

For both of you, everything had a distinct color. It wasn't simply about the physical appearance, like a tree being brown and green. No, it was more profound than that. If a flower was dying, then its color would be a sickly gray. If a bird was bound to die, its red feathers would be spotted with black. If a person was brimming with happiness, the fingertips they used to cover their mouths would radiate a bright, sunny yellow.

At the moment, as strange as it might sound to others, the voice that called out to you reminded you of the creaky floorboards that groaned under your father's weight as he entered the house after a hard day. Blue on the porch, but within the brick walls: red, the same shade as the dinner table cloth that often became more interesting than meeting your family's gaze.

It was a voice that jolted you back to reality and made you turn your head with a sense of urgency, away from the flowers and the vomit. It was a voice that belonged to Nurse Jungwoo.

Blue was stitched to the courteous tilt of his head when he greeted the other nurses and staff, the soft-spoken words he used to comfort manic patients, and the gentle touch of his hands while administering medication. But you had observed a shift in him sometimes, particularly when he'd watch people engage in heated squabbles over dumplings left on the lunch tray or when he had to bathe former soldiers haunted by the ghosts of their pasts—his normally calm demeanor would turn a burning red, his eyes narrowing and lips pressing into a tight line as he fought against the men’s screams and pushes.

The transformation led you to ponder if one day you might see these white labyrinthine corridors stained with the purple hue of his frustration, or if you might stand at the end of a confessional room and see his purple fingers wrapped around a gun, pulling the trigger without hesitation. Just like your father had done.

"Are you okay, Dr. Song?" Yoon's voice held an awkward concern. His usual shy smile, the one that reminded you of a child peeking out from behind their mother's skirt, was replaced by a worried frown. "You've been sitting there for a while now. Can I get you some water? Or maybe a cup of chamomile tea from the cafeteria? It's surprisingly good, you know. They just got a new brand— Twinings, I think it's called. Very soothing."

After glancing at his outstretched hand, its end slightly stained with the pale blue ink from the Bic Cristal ballpoint pen he preferred for taking notes, you looked at his face and then at your heels, partly covered in grass and dirt.

Politely rejecting his offer of assistance as well as his worried smile, you got up, dusting the dirt off your coat. His concern was touching, but unnecessary. You gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder to let him know that you were grateful, though.

Fishing a battered packet of Marlboro cigarettes from your pocket, you realized you'd been more than a week without smoking—you had sworn to yourself that this time you were quitting for good. But, hey, here you were, faltering already.

You lit one, irritated with yourself. Any therapist worth their salt would see smoking as an unresolved dependency—something that should've been dealt with and overcome long ago.

"You sure I don't have another patient to attend to now?"

Grass crunched beneath your heels as you shifted your weight, the vomit now concealed beneath a layer of disturbed soil.

With an arched brow, you watched as Jungwoo curled into himself, his hands disappearing into the pocket of his pale green scrubs. You knew why. Your gaze was a soft, heavy paw on him. But if the paw was soft, it took it all away, like that of a cat that hurriedly grabbed a mouse's tail. The drop of sweat went down through his nose and beautiful mouth, dividing his smile in half. Just that: without an expression, under your mascara coated eyelashes, you were looking at him.

"So…" You leaned against the wall, the cold bricks biting into your back. Your lab coat rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin above your waistband. You noticed Jungwoo's eyes flick down, then quickly back up, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh… Yes, yes!" Jungwoo responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, one hand still tucked behind his back. His other hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic you'd observed before. "I apologize, Dr. Song. You do indeed have a new patient, though I don't believe it's one you will be particularly eager to attend to."

Your lips curled up in a humorless smile as you took another puff of your cigarette. "I'm never eager to attend to criminals, Jong. So, who's the unlucky soul that has the pleasure of my company next?"

“Officer Hwa brought this one from the maximum-security jail downtown. The one in barbed wire and manned by guards that look like they eat nails for breakfast?" Yoon attempted humor, but it fell flat, and his eyes flickered with regret.

“And?”

“Well... It's… Seo Moonjo.”

Psychopathy, in bygone times, was synonymous with the concept of "evil." Individuals who reveled in inflicting harm or death on others have been chronicled since the time Medea took up an axe against her own offspring, and likely even prior to that. In 1888, the same year Jack the Ripper held London in the grip of terror, a German psychiatrist coined the term "psychopath" from the German word psychopatische, literally translating to "suffering soul."

This clue—the idea of suffering—was your gateway into understanding that these monsters were also in anguish. Viewing them as victims rather than perpetrators enabled a more rational, compassionate approach in your dealings. Psychopathy or sadism didn't just spring into existence from nothingness. They were not viruses, randomly infecting someone out of the blue. They bore a history, a prelude rooted in childhood.

Your belief was that experiences such as bruising knees from running in the backyard or losing a tooth soon to be claimed by the Tooth Fairy, were reactive. This means that to truly empathize with another human being, we ourselves must first be shown empathy—most importantly, by our parents or caregivers.

And Moonjo? Seo Moonjo seemed the type of man that naive young girls would send love letters to, sealed with their cheapest lipstick or a pair of lace panties. Because, despite his monstrous deeds, his square jawline, sharp features, and the way his tailored suits highlighted his lean physique rendered him attractive in the eyes of many.

Just yesterday, after returning home exhausted, brain pounding on your skull because Min Ju couldn't bring himself to sign the divorce papers, feet bloated, you watched in the news as women who had once trusted him with their children's dental care were now protesting in front of the prison. They claimed he was an angel, a helper sent by God.

But, hell no. Moonjo was no angel. He was a beast, a wolf in sheep's clothing, concealing his true nature behind the pristine white of his doctor's coat. His dental procedures were carried out with a precision that was unnerving. Seo Moonjo was a cannibal, a murderer, and a pyromaniac who eradicated his adoptive family in a spectacle of blood and fire.

Of course, you had dug deep into his case, folded the paper news, and pushed it in between the convenience store bench's slats. It was what your mother called a scandal sheet, full of the local murders he had committed and fake suicides and beatings and robbings, and just about every page about the deceased twins and that weird porn addicted man that lived with Moonjo in the Eden Studio had a half-naked lady on it with her breasts surging over the edge of her dress and her legs arranged so you could see to her stocking top or cats with their small, shiny guts exposed in trash bags.

From this extensive research, you suspected that there had been no one in his life—a caring grandmother, a favorite uncle, a benevolent neighbor, or a mindful teacher—to see his pain, to acknowledge it, and to help him process it. Anger, fear, and shame were too dangerous for the small child to deal with on his own. He didn't know how to deal with such emotions, so he didn't. Instead, he disowned these feelings; he didn't allow himself to experience them. He sacrificed his true self, along with all that unfelt pain and anger, to the Underworld, to the murky world of the unconscious.

This resulted in him losing touch with who he really was. The man, who was impeccably polite, genial, and charming, was provoked somehow. And the terrified child inside him lashed out in response, reaching for a knife and a lighter.

Moonjo could be a suffering soul.

Right?

Damn it. Just stop. You're already pushed to your limits, and you can't afford to shoulder his case either.

“Look, honey. I'm already swamped with other patients. It's just not feasible to add Seo Moonjo to my already overflowing plate. Can you imagine the added stress?" You mutter, eyes squinted shut, as you picture the growing pile of patient files on your desk. "Remember that Kwon guy? The one who had a schizophrenic episode and killed someone? Or that Kyung girl who defended herself against her rapist? Those were hard, sure. But Moonjo—he's on another level. He's someone who has committed a series of heinous acts and revels in them. This isn't like juggling a couple of extra appointments or adding a few more hours to my workday. This is like... like... stepping into a goddamn war zone without any armor!"

Suddenly, as you started to pace around the garden, an idea struck you. Your eyes snapped open, the cigarette almost fell from your lips and you swiftly turned to Jungwoo, who was watching you with wide eyes. "You remember that doctor, don't you? That one with the crooked nose?"

“Dr. Jung Hyun-Jae?”

“Yes, yes… Dr. Jung would be a more suitable choice for this case. He's been needing more challenging assignments, hasn’t he? It would be a perfect opportunity for him to sink his teeth into a complex case. Plus, it might distract him from his recent fixation with Nurse Ioona. She's been complaining about his constant attention. Where's Officer Hwa? I need to explain the situation to her and suggest Dr. Jung as an alternative.

Jungwoo’s eyes darted around nervously before he settled them on a pretty lavender (how ironic it was, right?) from the garden. He reached out for it and gently twirled the stem between his fingers.  “Well… Officer Hwa left. She did want to speak with you and rambled about how you were the only one capable of handling Seo Moonjo, but… I noticed you sneaking out through the fire emergency door and figured you were trying to avoid any additional work or confrontations. So I went ahead and filled out Moonjo’s report. Your first meeting with him is scheduled for today. It's on your wall calendar, right under the post-it note about picking up milk and eggs.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the news catching you off guard.

This son of a bitch. Motherfucker. Idiot.

You clenched your fists to stop the urge to transform him into a purple puddle of limbs for real now. He was still new, still learning the ropes. And there was a good intention behind his actions. So, instead of lashing out at him, you sighed heavily and crushed your cigarette beneath your heels. You were in for a long day.

"Alright. Just...alright. But I'll need to juggle my schedule around, shuffle some patients here and there. This is going to be like solving a Rubik's cube blindfolded.” You muttered, rubbing your temples with the base of your palms, the onset of a stress-induced headache making itself known.

“He's out on the patio. Chained to four officers and three nurses because he asserted his right to a smoke break. Should I fetch him while you change your coat and prepare yourself for the consultation?" Jungwoo asked, his gaze shifting from the crushed purple petals in his hand to your clothes.

Change?

Looking down, you noticed the stain of vomit on the fabric of your lab coat, a gift from your husband on your first day at work. It had your name, Dr. Song Y/N, stitched in an elegant script on the left pocket. Fuck. Fucking great!

“Please, honey. And bring me some black coffee if you can; make it extra strong. I hate tea, it reminds me of the cough syrup my mother used to force down my throat as a child," you replied to Nurse Yoon without even looking at him again. Blood had risen to your face, now so hot that you thought you were with your eyes injected, while he, probably in new deception, should think that you were colored because of the cold wind.

What type of image were you inside his bambi eyes? A grieving mother or an insolent doctor?

Let's spin the Lucky Wheel, shall we, Mrs. Song?

Jungwoo, ever the diligent worker and one not to mingle in your business, had the courtesy to look sheepish as he handed over a thick manila folder (one that you weren't sure you had seen him bringing with him) stamped with the words "CONFIDENTIAL: SEO MOONJO.".

"I will, of course. But, first, here's the case file, Dr. Song. I've highlighted the most important parts," he said, extending the massive file towards you as if it were a bomb about to explode. The folder was thicker than the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a psychiatric bible that you often referenced. Its contents, as you anticipated, were likely far more disturbing.

"Thank you, Yoon. I appreciate it," you sighed, taking the heavy folder from him. You opened it, your eyes scanning over the pages filled with police reports, psychiatric evaluations, and a collection of distressing photographs that made your stomach churn. All evidence of Moonjo's crimes.

"Also," Yoon continued, biting his lower lip in a nervous habit you were becoming all too familiar with, "I've arranged for some extra security during your consultation with him. Officer Hwa insisted, said it was non-negotiable. I hope that's alright."

You nodded, appreciating the concern, although you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. The last thing you needed was more people watching and more eyes to witness your struggle to maintain control. But you understood—the higher-ups wanted to ensure no harm would come to their staff at the hands of a dangerous psychopath.

Or maybe they just didn't want another bloody body in this institution and lawsuits on their hands.

After a significant period spent working within the asylum, it became evident to you that even in a place of death, there existed a social hierarchy. In comparison to the general hospital wings, the accommodations located in the main building were significantly larger and more expensive. Suites were rooms named after well-known Seoulites that had once been in the psychiatric unit, home to one of Korea's most notorious sociopaths. The Bah Suah suite was where Seo Moonjo was staying. To get there, one had to navigate past the under-stair canteen, home to vending machines offering various food and drink options and hard plastic chairs.

What was most crucial, however, was shedding this ugly uniform.

Your office was located in the oldest, most decrepit part of the hospital. Spiderwebs clung to the corners, and several corridor light bulbs were burned out.

As soon as you turned the doorknob, the door creaked open. The first thing that prompted a slight smile was the smell inside. It was distinct from the rest of the hospital. It didn't reek of antiseptic or bleach; instead, it oddly reminded me of an art gallery. A blend of canvas, paints and brushes, varnish, and wax. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimness, revealing an unfinished artwork leaning against the wall—an unexpected object within a hospital. About twenty metal art shelves stood out in the shadows, and on a table, a pile of both your sketches and those of patients towered upwards—an unstable tower of paper reaching for the sky.

It had been a considerable amount of time since you had leaned over a canvas, staining your fingertips and the tip of your nose with hues of color. The inspiration simply wasn't there anymore. The paintings gradually lost their meaning. Even when Min Ju would sit in a chair and watch you work after a shift at the firm, nothing changed.

For years, even before your marriage, you enjoyed painting his face. Strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, elegant nose—sitting under the spotlight—he resembled a statue. A hero. However, something was off nowadays, and you couldn't tell what. Perhaps you were forcing the issue. You couldn't capture the shape of his eyes or their color accurately. The first thing you noticed about your husband when you met was the sparkle in his eyes—like a tiny diamond embedded in each iris. But now, you couldn't capture it.  Without corresponding to his entire face, the brown eyes were intraducible. As independent as if they were planted in the flesh of an arm, and from there they looked at you: open, wet.

It might be a lack of talent, or maybe Min possesses something more that doesn't translate into a painting anymore. It all came out lifeless every single time.

Well, maybe because that was what he had become for you: a dead entity, lifeless, a walking shadow that prefers clandestine meetings with the girl next door—Kim Ji-ah, the one who sold Dabang coffee from her little shop—rather than signing the divorce papers and emptying your house of his remnants. You yearned for him to take his collection of smelly socks, stained shirts—and god, those lipstick marks that were an egregious shade of red—and just leave. Useless.

Dropping the huge file somewhere in the mess and slipping into a fresh coat, you caught a glimpse of the note left by Jungwoo. Precisely where he promised it would be. Pinned to the wall calendar, right beneath the post-it note about the local grocery store—a place you could never bring yourself to enter, not without your gaze drifting towards the adjacent drug store, contemplating the prospect of acquiring an unhealthy amount of Paracetamol.

"Consultation 1. Seo Moonjo at 3 p.m." accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a devil's face and a pitchfork in red marker—the kind of doodle one would expect from a schoolboy, not a professional nurse. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it.

Stepping out of your office, you felt the familiar cold air of the hospital corridors creep into your bones. The aged linoleum floor creaked under your weight as you made your way towards the Bah Suah suite. It was a walk you had done countless times, but with the impending consultation with Seo Moonjo, it felt different, heavier.

Navigating through the maze-like corridors, you passed by the under-stair canteen, which was buzzing with the sound of vending machines dispensing Lotte Choco Pies and cans of Chilsung Cider. Nurses and staff were huddled in corners, whispering about the latest hospital gossip over cups of instant coffee. Their eyes flickered towards you, hushed whispers growing quieter as you walked past them. You paid them no mind.

Just as you rounded the corner of the last hallway, you almost collided with Nurse Park Ji-Yeon, a recent graduate of Yonsei University's Nursing Program. Her arms were filled with a stainless steel tray laden with countless medication cups and water glasses and you noticed how her hands were stained lime green. Youthfulness, naivety and playfulness.

“Dr. Song, I didn't... I didn't expect to see you here," she stammered, her cheeks flushing a red that was reminiscent of the cherry blossoms that adorned the hospital grounds in the spring. You admired Ji-Yeon's work ethic and dedication; her timidity was often eclipsed by her eagerness to learn and assist patients. She was like a mirror image of your younger self, fresh-faced and pretty much graced with green.

"You need to watch where you're going, Ji-Yeon. Those are important medications you're holding," you advised her, bending down to pick up a bottle of pills that had rolled under a rusted hospital bed. Sertraline, prescribed to Mr. Kim in Song Joong Ki. You placed it back on her tray, ensuring it was secure.

"I will, Dr. Song. I apologize," she replied, bowing as charmingly as she could muster while equilibrating glasses of water. "I was just heading to administer afternoon medications to the patients in Ward C when… I heard about your consultation with Seo Moonjo," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the mere mention of Moonjo's name would summon him. Her eyes flickered at the closed door where the meeting would happen. “Is it true that he...that he indulges in...cannibalism?"

Your fingers massage your temples, a dull ache throbbing behind your eyes. Great. The rumors about Moonjo were spreading rapidly in the hospital's atmosphere like a malignant tumor . "We shouldn't speculate about patients, Ji-Yeon. It's unprofessional and contrary to the Hippocratic Oath we took."

"But he's a monster, isn't he?"

"Every patient, regardless of their actions, is a human being first and foremost, Ji-Yeon. The term 'monster' has no place in the lexicon of a healthcare provider. It's our duty to provide care and treatment without judgment or prejudice."

You’re so hypocritical, Y/N.

"But what about the things he's done? The people he's hurt?"

"Even so," you retorted, "our job is to heal, not to pass judgment. Justice is the court's responsibility, not ours. We are here to ensure that he is physically healthy and to provide the medical aid he requires."

Before she could respond, you waved her off dismissively, effectively ending the conversation. "Now, get going. Those medications won't be administered themselves. And who knows, Seo Moonjo might be coming to look for his pills," you admonished, leaving the young woman standing alone in the corridor, her mouth agape in stunned silence.

Two minutes later, you arrived at the Bah Suah suite, the heavy metal door cold under your touch, signaling that the old AC was already running. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the consultation and pushed open the door, stepping into the room that soon would hold the man known as the 'Cannibal Dentist' of Seoul.

The therapy room was a small and narrow rectangle, as empty as a prison cell, or maybe even more so. The window, barred, remained closed. On the little table, a shocking pink box of Kleenex tissues stood in stark contrast with its cheerful color—it must have been left there by Mrs. Chen; you couldn't imagine Jungwoo offering tissues to the patients.

You sat in one of the two faded and battered Eames lounge chairs. Minutes passed. No sign of Moonjo. What if he didn't show up? Maybe he hadn't agreed to meet you yet; maybe he hadn't finished his pack of Marlboro. And he'd be totally within his rights.

Impatient, anxious, nervous, you gave up sitting and suddenly stood up and went to the window. You looked out through the bars of the grid. The yard was three floors below. The size of a tennis court, it was bounded by large exposed brick walls, too high to be climbed, although undoubtedly someone had already tried. Every afternoon, the patients were led there to get fresh air for half an hour, whether they wanted to or not, and in this cold weather, it would be understandable if they resisted. Some isolated themselves, talking to themselves, or walked back and forth like restless zombies, going nowhere. Others formed groups, chatting, smoking, arguing. Voices, shouts, strange excited laughter reached you.

At first, your eyes failed to pick him out. It was only after scanning over the throng of people that you spotted him - a tall figure, as pale as the moonlight, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall of the patio. A predator perfectly at ease in the midst of his prey.

Jungwoo navigated his way through the crowd, making a beeline for him. He exchanged a few words with the nurse stationed closest to the infamous serial killer - a petite woman named Eun-ji with a heart-shaped face and a sharp bob cut that framed her face. She nodded, her eyes wide behind her rectangular glasses.

Yoon approached Moonjo with extreme caution much like a wary zookeeper approaching a particularly unpredictable animal. You knew exactly what he would say, you had rehearsed it with him other times. He would inform the towering man that you, the in-house therapist, had requested a meeting with him. He would emphasize that it was a request, not an order. 

Moonjo remained as still as a statue as Jungwoo spoke, offering no indication of agreement or refusal. That was a good sign, you thought.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Yoon Jungwoo turned on his heel and retreated, his hands buried in the pockets of his scrubs. A sinking feeling of defeat washed over you - he wasn't coming. You berated yourself internally for being so naive. This had been a colossal waste of time and energy, and you had missed your precious 30-minute power nap for this fiasco.

But just as you were on the brink of surrendering to your disappointment, to your utter surprise, Moonjo stirred. He took a step forward, following the retreating figures of the policemen and nurses across the courtyard until they were swallowed up by the hospital’s imposing structure.

So, he was coming after all. You cleaned your hands in your jeans and put your hands on your knees to stop your legs from bouncing. You tried to quieten the nagging voice in your head, the voice that sounded uncannily like your father, chastising you for not being good enough, calling you a fraud, asserting that a woman's place was in bed, awaiting her husband's return from work, naked and submissive.

Shut up, you thought, repeating it over and over: Shut up, shut up…

Two or three minutes later, there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in," you called out.

As the door creaked open, the personification of the monstrous deeds you had meticulously studied in countless newspaper clippings and confidential case files stepped into the room. His imposing figure, garbed in the standard-issue uniform of the Westlake Psychiatric Ward—a drab ensemble of worn-out hues that could only aspire to be called beige—filled the doorway. His eyes, the first thing you notice, were a striking shade of obsidian and held an unsettling gleam as they flickered over the confines of the consultation room before settling on you.

Words precede and overtake you; they tempt you and change you, and if you're not careful, it will be too late. Things will be said without you having said them. Or, at least, it wasn't just that. Your entanglement comes from the fact that a carpet is made up of so many threads that it can't resign itself to following just one thread. Your entanglement comes from the fact that this story is made up of many stories. And not all of them can be told—a truer word could, from echo to echo, bring your high glaciers crashing down the gorge. So you will no longer speak of the drain that was in you while he was staring at your face. Otherwise, you will think about how headlines or news articles could never do justice to the presence he commanded. His skin was luminous, almost translucent—a canvas of alabaster with the occasional vein peeking through the surface, like coloured threads embedded in white marble. He was a statue that came to life.

Moonjo’s raven hair, unconventional in its length for a man, covered his nape and framed his forehead in an innocent way. His smile, filled with teeth, was clear of any obstructions, allowing you to glimpse the unique shape of his insanity—water and desert, populace and wilderness, abundance and need, fear and challenge. Moonjo has in himself the eloquence and the absurd mudness, the surprise and the antiquity, the refinement and the roughness. Moonjo is baroque.

Still, right now, he is the first thing in your whole life that you look at and see no ounce or mention of color.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Song.” 

"Good."

You locked eyes with him, noting the spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze, before shifting your attention to the small assembly of officers and medical staff flanking him. Jungwoo is curling into himself while holding a paper bag from the cafeteria in his hand. This wouldn't do. Screw Officer Hwa and her requests; you wouldn't attend to someone while being vigilated like this.

Officer Park Seo-Jin, a woman as stern as the harshest Spartan matron, with her sharp, hawk-like features and a redish hair and attitude that brooked no nonsense, met your gaze. Adjacent to her stood Nurse Lee Min-Ho, a fresh addition to the hospital staff, nervously clutching a clipboard. He was a blue one.

Maintaining your gaze on Officer Park, you said in a firm voice, "Officer Park, I would like to conduct this consultation with Mr. Seo in privacy. You and your team may wait outside, perhaps in the waiting area. There's a coffee machine that makes a decent brew."

The officers exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by your request. Officer Park's frown deepened, her lips forming a thin line as she locked eyes with you. "Dr. Song, with all due respect, I don't think that's a good idea. Given his history and Officer Hwa’s requests, it's better if we—"

"I understand your concerns, Officer Park, but I assure you, I can handle myself. I've been trained to do so. I believe Mr. Seo here can attest to that."

Moonjo tilted his head and smiled like the Cheshire cat as he noticed the thick file on the table behind you, eyes traveling over it greedily, like a grade-schooler staring at a chocolate fountain. He knows what lies inside. And he was fucking entertained. "She's right. I don't bite...unless provoked."

Officer Park looked like she was about to argue further as she shot a glare at Moonjo—a glare so icy it could rival the sub-zero temperatures of the Arctic tundra—but you held up a hand, stopping her. 

"I appreciate your vigilance, but I've dealt with patients similar to Mr. Seo before. My training is extensive and comprehensive. I know what I'm doing. Please wait outside."

After a moment of silence, Officer Park reluctantly agreed, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of concern and admiration. "Let’s go then, boys. Out we go, or Miss Cold here will chop our heads off," she grumbled, shuffling towards the door. She paused at the threshold, her hand on the knob, before turning back to look at you. "You call us the second he steps out of line, you hear?"

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, the officers and nurses filed out of the room and as the door closed behind them, Jungwoo handed you a cup of black coffee, brewed with beans from a local roaster. The mug was warm in your hands, the black liquid inside steaming and swirling. It was just as you liked it—strong and bitter.

"Thank you, Jungwoo," you said, accepting the coffee. "And...thank you for understanding."

With a nod and a faint, yellow smile, Jungwoo retreated. He cast a last glance at you and Moonjo, his brows furrowed in worry, before finally disappearing behind the door.

As the door closed behind Seo Moonjo with a dull thud for the second time, echoing through the empty therapy room, the canvases on the wall seemed to lean in curiously, like ghosts that had seen better days. He walked with a hunched gait, shoulders slightly rounded, hands clasped together behind his back—an unsettling calmness about him that chilled you to your very core. Now, just the two of you, the air felt colder than before he entered, like he brought along a personal blizzard that set your nerves on edge. 

 Slowly, he takes a seat across from you, his legs crossed at the knee elegantly, like an art model posing for a painting session. His hands were large, rugged and bruised with what looked like fresh scratches from tools or rope. It took all of your self-control not to recoil at the sight of them. He leaned forward slightly, folding those monstrous hands on the table between you, atop a worn-out copy of Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams', and locked eyes with yours - unblinking, unwavering.

A moment passed where neither of you moved or spoke. You could feel his eyes raking over your face, examining every line and shadow on your own. It was disconcerting how easily he made eye contact. You forced yourself to return it, resisting the urge to shield yourself with your pencil and notepad. You wished you could paint over this unnerving moment, transform it into a stunning piece of art, and hang it in the vibrant hallways of the Louvre rather than being trapped in this dreary room.

Therapy is not your forte; art is your passion. But here you are, trying to understand this man who's been called a monster by everyone outside these walls. Inside them too? Who knows? Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye... or maybe they're all just stories that should never be told in this place that reeks of silence and stares back at you like a judgmental wallflower no matter what you do or say next to Seo Moonjo right now.

"Well then, Mr. Seo. Shall we begin?"

“Of course, jagiya.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Fire & Ice (a RoAR drabble)

Flufftober Day 12, Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series)

I blame @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory and @brandycranby for encouraging HughSaison. This is fairly loosely related to the prompt but there are a bunch of temperature references/illusions. 🤷🏻‍♀️Hey, I did my best. -> While I'm at it, does anyone want to own up (privately) to being the person who first asked about rich!Reader over a year ago??? I always wonder if that anon is still reading 🥹

Uhhh, angst with a fluffy ending... yeah, yeah, Ro loves writing arguments, we get it.

Warnings: If you've never read my Ransom before, beware. He curses like an angry sailor, inside and outside of his brain. Plus super suggestive language/mentions of sex. LOTS of dialogue. Zero editing. MINORS DNI. WC 1.8k

He cannot fucking believe it's come to this.

"Don't you fucking dare," he snips. “You cannot use a veto. You put me in charge.”

He watches you walk calmly, put away a dish calmly, sit at his couch calmly.

"I've made my decision, and that's final."

"Fuck you." Ran means it, but in his own way. "You said I could choose--"

"Not that," you say, so calmly, too fucking calmly for someone who managed to turn Ransom Drysdale into this, this thing that cares about something so petty for all the wrong--or just different--reasons.

He stretches to his full height and sucks on his tongue for a moment.

You continue to scroll through your phone.

He never thought he’d get married but he’s always loved a good party. Since the ring's not flashy, he wants you in the tiara. He hasn’t given you the ring yet either because…well, because it’s been less than a year and you practically live on the other side of the planet. Call him old-fashioned, but Ransom wants to be home for all the big things. He can plan a damn party though—and the look to match— whenever the hell he wants and for however long he wants.

At length in the quiet, he asks, "why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous, and I'm saying 'no.' Veto."

"You don't get vetoes for--" Ran smothers his frustration, but barely. "Does this have to do with...money? Because you know I’m not talking millions of dollars in real diamonds or something.” But, ya know, he’s expecting a couple hundred thou between colored and semi-precious stones, plus the setting in—would gold or platinum work best for your skin? Grandma Thrombey’s ring is made of yellow gold. Ran guesses he should match that.

The false calm never lifts from you.

Eyes icy and blank, you look at him while his plans keep running amuck. "No."

Two letters. One word. He fucking hates it.

"You'll look beautiful," he yells in annoyance.

The phone drops on the leather couch. "I'm not wearing a crown to be married in. It'll look pretentious, ostentatious. I won't do it and that's that."

"It's a tiara," Ran corrects, "and with a veil, it's near invisible. It’ll include the wedding colors with the stones."

"No."

His blood starts to boil. Don't say it, don't say it, he thinks fleetingly but fails.

"Says the woman with shit taste."

Slowly, calmly, coldly, you walk over to him, stretching to your full height, holding his gaze. You’re wearing one of his sweaters again and nothing else. That’s his favorite look, but only for him.

It’s winter outside, the heater turned up so that your naked skin stays comfortable. You stay comfortably exposed all the time, when he has his way. Comfort is king in Ran’s house. 

Despite being exposed though, he can see how you've made it so far in business—in life—even with shitty taste. Your poker face rivals champions, and you are stalwart in your dedication. There's a hard (and hardening) edge to your simple, sly grin.

You take a deep breath in,  a whiff of him, a sample for assessment.

"Poor--" you sigh "--boy."

His teeth grind together, jaw tight as a vice. How dare you.

Ran's petty, spiteful even when he tries so damn hard to keep it together, and the wound of disinheritance is still fresh enough he cannot abide that sting.

"Burn in hell."

You don’t take the bait and simply cock your head, waiting for his guilty meltdown. So far, he does this at least once a week, sometimes multiple times a day. It bothers you, you’ve told him, that he questions everything instantly, that he can’t trust you or your feelings or his surroundings, that he panics over the idea of ever having to get a job, but it’s also great ammunition against a man-child.

The grin never leaves your lips. You're in fine fighting form tonight. Ran shouldn't have tangoed.

"Go fuck some bimbo's ass."

Oh.

Oh, you bitch.

That's low.

Ransom's face contorts. "It was one time," he gripes, "and we weren't even dating."

Your palm lies flat against his chest. "We'd slept together several times, and you even volunteered for me by then so..."

Ran grabs your hips and brings you close, avoiding your gaze while hoping you keep looking at him, cooling him down, evening his hot temper.

"Of course," you add casually, "that wasn't the first time you did that, was it?"

This is where it gets tricky for him. Ran never had a real relationship before you--not even his 'bond' with his parents compares--but old habits die hard.

He shoves at your hips, spinning you two until your back hits the glass block window between the house and the bare woods outside.

His head ducks to mirror the angle of yours. "Doesn't have to be the last either."

"Hugh," you warn, as threatening as wind across his cheek.

He's gonna regret this. He knows he will, but curiosity gets the better of him.

"Tell me. Tell me why you don't want to wear something gorgeous and fancy for an occasion where you are meant to be gorgeous and fancy."

The turn in your expression is pronounced. He didn't expect you to be more alarmed by his caring than his come-ons.

"Bad form," you finally admit. "Some rich bitch thinks she's a princess. Looks really bad."

"You are rich. You are a--"

"Careful..."

"--I'm saying 'princess.' Calm down," he says to the perfectly, eerily calm woman in his arms. "Would you just fucking let me compliment you?"

Ran fiddles with some hair around your ear, noting proudly how your eyes droop shut slightly at the smallest touch from him. He likes that you respond to him, his distance, his fury, his doubt, and his passion. You make feeling okay. You are his safe space since you've seen him at his lowest.

You see him.

There's very few things in life that make more sense to Ransom than his wife will be the one who sees him and he lets see him. Everyone else and everything else can piss off.

God, he fucking hates that he loves you so much. Why won’t you just wear the fucking crown? You’ve earned it; you’re the one who conquered his demons, not Ran.

He could buy it anyway, have your veil sown straight on it, not give you the chance to argue, or he could take you out to shop, put one in your hands, knock it onto the floor, and claim ‘you break it, you bought it.’ Problem solved, but he’s a petty bitch.

He tucks the edge of his lip into his cheek.

He should be less of a petty bitch.

“What do you want?” Ran asks. “What’s it gonna take?”

He keeps his sharp eyes locked to yours, watching understanding shrink your once-dilating pupils

Change in demeanor. “Oh my god.”

Aaaand there’s the regret. “Don’t make a big deal—“

“HOLY SHIT.”

“It’s not—I’m just—“

“Hugh Fucking Drysdale?! Trying to compromise??? I’ve see it all now.”

“Stop,” he whines, dropping his head to your squirming chest.

“Wait—” you whip out of his arms and hustle back to the couch, retrieving your phone “—do it again.”

He’s too lost in staring up the sweater as you bend over to notice right away.

“Are you filming me?” Disgusting. Childish. Petty, just like him. Maybe he’s had more influence on you than he realized.

“Your face is priceless.”

“Give me that.” Ran doesn’t put much effort into reaching the phone. He would rather win for his cause. “Seriously, what do you want?”

The arm held up falls lax. He has a clear view of your home screen, so you weren’t taking a video. You just wanted to tease him. Fuck, you love to tease him.

Dramatically, your hand frames your chin in thought. “Well, I don’t want something that extravagant to go to waste, but it won’t go with every outfit…”

“No, not with colored stones,” Ran says absently. He guesses you want to get more use out of it. Gross.

“Okay, my compromise is whenever I wear it, you treat me like a princess, or perhaps, your queen.”

“Uh, sure,” he snorts. You already get treated better than any woman he’s ever known…by him, of course. He’s vaguely aware that some people do even more than the bare minimum, but those are other people. Baby steps.

“If that tiara is on my head, Hugh, you become a perfect and adoring gentleman.”

Ran wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“You heard me. That’s my compromise. Dress me that way and you have to treat me like royalty.”

“Like…” He rushes forward to sweep you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and thrusting his hips. “Princess Pussy?”

“Ran. Ew, no.”

“Queen Cunt?” Heh, he chuckles, King Comfort and Queen Cunt. No, don’t say that out loud.

You gag slightly. “Super not what I meant.”

“You’re already going to marry me, but you want me to worship you? No fucking way.” Ransom flat-out laughs.

“How did you get worship out of ‘treat me nicely?’” Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling your faces closer.

He exaggerates a groan. “I don’t know. That’s asking a lot.”

“Oh, right,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep on being shitty…even to your future wife. What could possibly go wrong?”

He huffs.

Ran is passionate about making you look good, not just because you are on his arm. Sure, he probably focuses on all the wrong things—all the selfish things,—but you easily think of the big picture and completely forget about yourself.

That’s already a balance. That’s already a big compromise.

And yet…

Ran’s looking at your face and admiring your playfulness when he could be ordering you to unzip his pants. He’s more excited to see you decked out pretty things than he is to say he dressed you. He’s concerned with how you refuse to spend money for you even though you’ve put no restrictions on him. That’s…that’s just a different Ransom Drysdale. That’s a man he wouldn’t recognize if he weren’t watching his reflection in your eyes.

Ran pecks a gentle kiss to your waiting lips.

“Okay, princess,” he coos, his arms snaking tighter over your back and his fingers plunging into your hair. He keeps you close, noses touching, hot breath mingling. “Shh, shhh.”

He hears the faintest whine escape you, and he just can’t help himself. He’s a petty bitch.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll fuck your ass.”

🙈🙇🏻‍♀️😝

sorry not sorry.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @starkleila

[Main Masterlist; The Root of All Ransom Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[rea-grimm]

My dragon warrior 1

There are two worlds. Ours, and then a world where everyone has the name of their soul mate on their wrist. Under special circumstances, you find yourself in the other world. You don't know where you are or how to get home. On your journey, you meet a blue dragon who will guide you and protect you from danger.

Hanzo x Reader

It was finally vacation time, and you had plans to go to the country to see your grandmother. You were quite looking forward to escaping the hustle and bustle of the big city and all those toxic friends and acquaintances. You packed up the new books you'd been planning to finally read.

You've always loved this place. When you were younger, your grandmother told you about the supernatural and dragons, and that passion has stayed with you ever since. When you were younger, it all seemed real, but now that you were older, you knew it was just fairy tales. But that didn't stop you from dreaming about it.

After a week or so, you got bored with Grandma's. It was nice that it was quiet, but this was too much. Besides, Grandma lived almost a mile from town, and it wasn't much better there. So out of boredom, you thought you'd search your grandmother's house. Maybe you'll find something interesting, like old photos.

You'd gone through almost the whole house by the time you got to the last door. This door was completely different from the rest of the house. It was made of wood and covered with all sorts of symbols. You took the handle and tried to open it, but nothing. The door was locked. 

But that didn't deter you, and besides, living in the city had prepared you for a lot of things. For example, how to get through locked locks. You dove for the tools you needed, and the lock didn't stand a chance. When you got into the room, it was like a whole other world. 

Wooden walls and stone floors dominated by bookcases and a giant wooden desk in the middle of the room. All sorts of crystals and precious stones were strewn among the books. On the table was an open box that resembled a jewel box, glass containers of coloured liquids, and a very small skeleton. 

At first, you thought it was a snake or a lizard, but it could be neither. It had a long body like a snake, but it also had legs and a mouth full of teeth. Some kind of extremely long lizard? You had absolutely no idea what it could be.

You flipped through a few more books whose writing made no sense before you focused on the jewellery box. Carefully, you picked up the small box and opened it. Inside was a silver chain with a sapphire in the very centre, surrounded by multiple smaller gems. It was pretty, delicate and elegant. Something you'd wear to the prom. 

You carefully took the necklace out and tried it around your neck, how would it look on you? You just pinned it around your neck when you noticed a new detail on it. It looked like light was coming out of the sapphire. Faint at first, but gradually growing stronger. At first, you thought you were dreaming, but in a flash the light became so intense you had to cover your eyes in fear of going blind.

When the light finally faded, you felt dizzy and light-headed. You fell to the ground and had a mini-shock as your hands sank into the dew-adorned grass. You sat up better and rubbed your eyes with wet hands. Had you hit your head and dreamt all this? You dismissed that thought immediately, as the dew was real and made your ass cold. 

You were immediately on your feet and looking around. You were standing in the middle of a meadow or a huge garden, where a stone fence ran the length of which rose pink flowering cherry trees and various smaller shrubs. When you got a better look, you noticed that there was a narrow path of stones just a few yards away.

You didn't want to stand in the open, so you walked closer to the fence instead. You were looking at the cherry blossoms when an arrow landed at your foot. You froze when you realised how close it was, and it's a wonder it didn't hit you. 

You didn't have to think twice and ran away as fast as you could. You ran as fast as your legs would carry you in a completely random direction. As far away from the danger as possible. But you'd barely run a hundred yards when you saw a dark shadow out of the corner of your eye before you were knocked face-first to the ground. 

Before you could recover, someone turned you around and put an arrow between your eyes. The someone was a young man, about your age if not a few years older, but not much older with long black hair. Definitely Asian in appearance. That's all you could say for sure.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?!" He asked you in Japanese, looking you over with stern eyes. Truth be told, you were at a loss for words. How could you have gotten anywhere in Japan from your grandmother? 

It didn't make sense. Before you could answer, another young man appeared. He was younger than the one pointing the arrow at you and had green hair, but there was definitely a resemblance between them. Brothers, maybe?

"Who do you have here? She's quite pretty, isn't she?" the green-haired youth began. The other looked at him sternly before turning his attention back to you.

"I asked you a question. Who are you and what are you doing here?" He repeated sternly.

"I-I-I'm Y/N. I w-want to go home, and I-don't-know-where-I-am-or-how-I-got-here ," you replied in broken Japanese. Now you were grateful you had chosen that language at school, but you had your doubts that it would help you get out of here.

"Come on, Hanzo, put the bow down. You're making the poor guy stutter in fear," the green haired boy said before turning to his brother, who finally lowered the bow and put the arrow away before leaning down to help you to your feet.

"I'm Hanzo and this is my younger brother, Genji," the one who almost shot you down introduced himself, bowing slightly.

"I'm Y/N," you replied, mimicking his bow. "Can I ask a question?" You asked. Hanzo looked up and nodded his head to indicate that he was listening. "Where am I, anyway?" You asked, and Hanzo assumed from your expression that you were serious and launched into a description. He spoke quickly and fluently, but you only picked up a few words like castle, garden, and Japan from his narration.

"Where are you from?" he asked, since you'd been saying you didn't know where you were all along, and judging by your terrible Japanese. You didn't see anything wrong with the truth, so you told him. You saw him measure you with his eyes before he just nodded his head. He must have known you were telling the truth by the way you were dressed and the way you were acting.

After that little introduction, Hanzo took you inside the giant mansion. There he told you about his family, which had a long and complicated history, and the dragons they had in their signs. His story almost made you feel like the dragons were real here. 

You stopped in front of a giant tapestry that covered an entire wall and had two dragons on it. One was blue and the other was green. They were in the air and it looked like they were chasing or fighting. It was so beautifully depicted that you got the impression that they were going to fly out of the painting and fly around at any moment.

"The legend of the two great dragon brothers. The dragon of the north wind and the dragon of the south wind. Together they maintained balance and harmony in the heavens.

But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage, and their violent fight darkened the sky until the South Wind Dragon struck down his brother, who fell to the ground and shattered the earth. The Dragon of the South Wind was victorious, but as time passed and he realized his loneliness, the sweetness of victory turned to ashes.

For years the grief of the forsaken dragon had cast the world into discord, and he knew only bitterness and sorrow. One day a stranger called to the dragon and asked, "O Dragon Lord, why are you so upset?" The dragon said to him: "Seeking power, I killed my brother, but without him I am lost." The stranger replied, "You have dealt yourself wounds... but now you must heal. Walk the earth on two feet like me; find value in humility. Then you will find peace."

The dragon knelt on the ground. For the first time, he was able to see the world around him clearly and became human. The stranger proved to be his fallen brother; they reunited and set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed... " Hanzo retold the legend of this tapestry. 

You devoured his every word and felt as if the dragons on the tapestry were moving to present the story to you themselves. Then you went on your way and Hanzo showed you other tapestries with dragons and when he saw your interest, he started to tell you interesting things about them as well. For example, how to treat them when you encounter one.

"If you ever come across a dragon, it's important to show it respect. The best way to do that is to bow to it. The dragon has to bow afterwards." That was one of the few things you remembered about dragons.

"Wow, so dragons are actually real here?" you marvelled as you partially processed his words.

"They're few, but they're here," Hanzo nodded to you. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you felt like you had discovered the eighth wonder of the world, and you came away feeling part Alice when she went down the rabbit hole into Wonderland. You didn't even notice the smile your guide was looking at you with.

After a basic tour of the house and information about dragons, you headed out into the garden again. Hanzo was supposed to be having archery practice now, and you felt like you were keeping him from it. Besides, you always admired those who could shoot a bow. And so it was that you sat on a small bench and watched him shoot perfectly into the centre of the target. You noticed that his brother was practising with a sword at a wooden dummy a little further away. 

Moments later, the wind began to blow and Hanzo's long hair blew in his eyes. Shimada lowered his bow, planning to take a little break. If he couldn't see, he couldn't shoot. Something came to mind. You had your hair tied up with a scarf

But it was more for beauty than to hold your hair. You untied it and handed it to Hanzo. He was hesitant to take it at first, but when he saw that you insisted, he took it. With his help, he tied his hair up in a ponytail so it wasn't in the way.

You had to admit that you were comfortable with Hanzo, and with him by your side you almost forgot the fact that you were in another unknown world and had no idea how to get back home. He even surprised you with an offer where you could stay at their house until you could figure out how to get back home. You were so touched that you had to hug him. Shimada stiffened under your hug before he smiled and patted your back.

That evening, Hanzo showed you to your room, which was much bigger than what you had at home. It was neatly cleaned and decorated in the local style. It even had a balcony. That's where you both headed. You leaned against the railing and watched the stars rise. Your hand drifted down to the pendant around your neck. You looked at the stone, which was no longer white and was almost completely stained in its original colour.

"Do they look the same as in your world?" Hanzo broke the silence.

"I think so," you replied, looking at him. Only now did you realize how close he was standing next to you. His fingers lightly touched yours before he took your hand and pulled it to his mouth and kissed you gently on the knuckles. 

You had no idea how to react. No one in your world had ever tried that on you before. That's why you did the first thing you could think of. You leaned in and kissed him on the lips. You thought you'd just kiss him and pull away, but he obviously had other plans. He let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you close and extend the kiss even further. You felt like his lips fit perfectly on yours.

You didn't want the moment to end, but nothing lasted forever. When you pulled away, Shimada stroked your cheek as his eyes focused on your necklace, questions in his eyes. 

You were about to ask what was wrong when you noticed it too. The light that the stone in the necklace was giving off. The same light that brought you here. As the light began to envelop you, you instinctively pulled away from Hanzo. You took a few steps backwards until your legs became tangled and you began to fall. 

The last thing you saw before the light completely enveloped you was the face of a shocked Hanzo reaching for you. You didn't feel any impact, though. You felt like you were frozen in space or falling through the void, you had no idea which it was.

After a few long seconds, you felt something solid beneath you. At that moment, the light around you began to fade, and you had a view of the room in which you had first found the crystal necklace. Even now you felt dizzy and had to wait a few minutes before you could trust your legs to carry you safely. 

You then put the necklace back in the box, left the room with the intention of never returning there again, and headed straight to your room. There, you flopped down on your bed and noticed that you had a dinner tray on your nightstand. 

You had no idea how long you'd been gone, but you were more surprised that your grandmother wasn't otherwise concerned. You were tired at the thought of the hard day, and you fell asleep within moments. You dreamt you met a blue Chinese dragon in your dream.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[whumpshaped]

yess!! talk about the new blorbo!!

okay. so.

tw minor character death

her name is mézi cooper (pronounced like daisy with an m, maisy) and she's 28 years old and she lives in a cottage out in the woods.

she grew up in that cottage with her parents, but then her parents decided they really wanted to sell the property and move to the city somehow, in whatever way they could, because they just didn't want to be living near the vampire territory border. (i made her for an rp with @whumpsday hence vamp territory.) mézi was devastated because what about the crops? the livestock? what about her precious chickens? mom you cant sell the chickens! she is Staying.

her parents said okay well you'll have to come with us when we sell the house to be able to buy a flat. mézi said well good luck no one's buying property near the border. there was a big argument and eventually it got solved when mézi's grandma died and her mother inherited the apartment. a bit small even for two people, so mézi was like yea u guys go ahead i am Staying. bye.

and well, what were her parents supposed to do? she was already 20 years old, she wasn't a kid, she had her own money by selling stuff from the little farm and taking odd jobs. they left her there. mézi visits them often enough, and nothing bad has ever happened to her before, so... (lies lies lies they're worried sick mézi can't be living out there ALONE in a SECLUDED FORESTY AREA this is SO BAD)

anyway mézi has been living in her little cottage all alone for like 8 years now :D she has Cool Hobbies (/j) like hunting and shooting guns. idk she's just a capable young woman. she's good with a knife ok. i'm sure that will save her from any mean person. or creature.

she's kinda happy go lucky. doesn't believe any misfortune can befall her. she believes many vampires have already ran past her little property and saw her tending to the plants and animals and thought "wow that's a lone woman taking care of all those things and creatures... we cant kidnap her :/ who would take care of the chickens :/" she really does believe even vampires have morals and a conscience :)

some more random facts about her

she's left-handed

she's pretty strong from working on the farm

she always has a knife with her

she names all her animals

she likes to help people and she believes it's good karma

she's very polite and good-mannered but boy does she get mad when other people are rude

she still believes her parents were overly paranoid for leaving the cottage like this

link

[ae-cow]

Recommendation: Love

#2 of The University Series, Yang Jungwon

Warning: Swearing, possible spelling errors and I think that’s all, do tell me. NOT AN ACTUAL STORY THIS IS JUST AN IDEA OF MINE. This is a work of fiction with nothing to do with the idol's actual life. I do like some feedback. If you ever feel like "Hey this is very offensive." do tell me.

Pairing: Jungwon x fem! Oc

Summary: Jungwon a future valedictorian, has gotten a slot at many Ivy League universities. He wants to go to HYBE University and might get in, but it will be harder considering that he's competing with students from Korea and internationally.

He tries his hardest to get the attention of as many HYBE professors to make them notice that he is the one. He unknowingly befriends the Director of HYBE’s daughter. With this new information, he befriends her to get a recommendation letter for his dream major.

Word Count: 1,846 Words

A/N: This is just an idea but why am I making so much effort into this 😭 cuz it's Jungwon duh

Written: 3 August 2023

University Series Masterlist Here

Masterlist © ae-cow. Do not claim, steal or repost. All rights reserved

“So how much do I owe you?” Jungwon asked

“Nothing,” Genevieve said

“Oh come on, you're a scholarship student, I can't take that precious money away from you.”

“You think I'm Poor?” She asked

“Aren't you? You're on a scholarship,” Jungwon asked

“You do know that me being in a scholarship means I'm smart right? Not poor?”

“Oh, I just assumed.”

“Well you assumed wrong, both my parents are well off,” She said

“What do they work as?” Jungwon asked

“They both work in the educational field,” not wrong

“Ohh teachers,” He said “What do they teach?”

“My dad is a principal while my mom is a math teacher.” again not wrong, Her father is the director of HYBE University but no one has to know that while her mom IS a math teacher teaching high school students.

“Did you go to the school with your parents?”

“Yes,” Not wrong again, she’s schooling at her mom’s school

“Lol, you're a nepo baby,” Jungwon chuckled

“Okay? And? No one uses L O L in their vocabulary.”

-

“I've been trying to get the attention of the professors in HYBE, hoping they'll like me, I'm kind of desperate at this point,” Jungwon said

“HYBE? They're overhyped in my opinion, but I do know someone…” Genevieve said

“Who?”

-

Jungwon steps into Genevive’s House which is a mansion might I mention lol that rhymed.

He was in awe, “There was no way her parents were what she said they were,” He thought to himself

He notices a bunch of maids and butlers lined up in front of them and right in the middle there 2 stairways leading upstairs which is a gigantic picture of Geneive and her parents.

He recognises that man but he can't put his finger in it.

“Genevieve, your father has requested you to give him a list of the universities you'd like to go to,” one of the maids said and that's where it clicked

“Woah no way, you're the Director’s daughter, that- that is believable,” Jungwon said as she revealed her secret

“What do you mean?” She asked, puzzled

“Your house! and well a principal and math teacher can't afford to live at Apgujeong and a mansion at that,” He states the obvious

“Don't you have projects here? Has anyone other than me been here? Because if they have there is no way they wouldn't know you're a bigtime daughter.”

“Well… I usually bring them to my other smaller house,” Genevieve said

“You have a smaller house?!” Jungwon’s eyes widen

“Yeah… uh it's at a condo… that my grandma own.”

She continues “She only owns that condo, she's a real estate agent and sometimes I go there for group projects because I know this could be overwhelming and they'll have a lot of questions.”

“Then why me?” Jungwon questioned

“I talked to my dad about you,” She starts

Jungwon looks with eyes of anticipation “And he wants to meet you and well I'm sure you know but he is a director at HYBE and maybe just maybe he'll write that recommendation letter and get you into HYBE Law!!!” Genevieve excitedly cheered

If only she knew that this was his intent

“Oh my god Gen Thank you.” his plan was working, on the right track in fact but why, why does it feel so wrong?

“Another thing,” She said “You have to sign this.”

A butler came in with a gold tray, covering something, is it food? “What’s this?” Jungwon asked

She uncovers the tray and passes him a piece of paper “If you so much as to mention my grandmother owns a condo and about my father being a Director in a University I will sue and win that lawsuit,” She said in a serious tone

She then suddenly switches up to a cheery voice “Sign it, Got it?”

He shivers “Rich people are scary,” He looks at the butler who so agreed

-

At HYBE Uni

Jungwon finds himself in the same elevator as Director Liang.

“Ah Mr Yang, it's nice to see you here, here to get a tour of your future school?” He asked, Mr Liang had recog

Jungwon’s eyes widen “Future?”

“Come to my office son.”

“My daughter talks bout you a lot, and well due to my job, she doesn't really reveal since it might cause some controversial topics if she does enter HYBE but she told you the truth and I understand why, you're a good boy Jungwon and you'll be a better man especially when you're studying law here at HYBE.”

-

“Mr Liang,” Jungwon steps into his officer “I have to tell you something.”

“Hold that thought I getting a call.”

“Oh Genevieve is calling, I'll put her on speaker,” Her father said

“Dad!” She cries

As soon as he hears her cries he quickly turns off speaker mode and puts it on his ear

“Jing Yi, why are you crying?” Mr Liang says in worry

Jungwon could only understand that he called her by her Chinese name, Jing Yi.

“Oh,” He looks at Jungwon “Jungwon, please leave,” Mr Liang said

“But-”

“Leave.”

It worries Jungwon, why was she crying? Did she find out? Was that the reason why Mr Liang asked him to leave?

-

"So it was all just a game to you? You used me to get that recommendation letter?" Genevieve said as tears well up her eyes

"Gen, I... I know what I did was wrong. I should have been honest with you from the start. I didn’t just want a letter; I wanted to be closer to you."

She scoffs "Closer? You mean you manipulated me to get what you wanted. How can I trust anything you say now?"

-

At a coffee place

Jungwon decides to open his letter in a peaceful place. His friend Jay Park works there.

“Please I hope I got in,” Jungwon said as he continues to refresh is email, hoping to get that email right on the dot of 10 AM

“I’m sure you will,” Jay says as he wipes the mugs

“But without a recommendation? Might be harder…” Jungwon shook off all his anxiety

“ITS HERE, ITS HERE,” He opens the tab

He slowly reads his email

“Congratulations?! We are thrilled to inform you, OH MY GOD I GOT IN, I GOT IN HYBE LAW!”

Suddenly, the bell chimes rang, indicating that someone had entered. Both Jay and Jungwon turn to see that it is Genevieve. Before Jungwon could process her entrance, she quickly sprints.

“I'll be back!” Jungwon quickly before running off as well

“Gen,” She doesn't turn

“Genevieve, Thank you!” He shouts

She mumbles to herself “Why of all places you have to be here! Urgh glad he got in though.”

“Genevive Liang,” She stops and hails for a taxi

She gets in “That man over there, I don't know him please drive quickly.”

-

“Jungwon, son, what you did was horrible, very horrible, not just because she's my daughter but because she was your friend, she told you the truth, she trusted you enough for her to tell you a secret she took years to tell her best friend,” Mr Liang said

“I did not want someone like that in my university but Jing Yi convinced me that you are capable of being in HYBE.”

“You got yourself a really powerful person to write a recommendation letter.”

“You sir?” Jungwon questions

He shook his head “No, my daughter.”

-

“Genevieve, when you first revealed that you were related to the biggest man in HYBE, I- I had to take up that chance, I felt a sense of hope when you told me you talked to your dad about me.”

“I was desperate, and now I’m- I’m desperate for you, HYBE law oh how much I wished to get in and now that I have, I still feel an empty void in my heart,”

“And I know you'll feel that void in for me, Genevieve, I really really wholeheartedly with the earnest truth can say that I love you and I regret ever breaking that trust.”

“It is hard to believe you,” Genevieve said

"I know I’ve damaged your trust, and I’m so sorry for that. If there’s any chance you could see past my mistakes, I promise to make it up to you. Not just with words, but with actions. I want to show you that my feelings are real, and that I can be someone you can trust."

Her eyes widen “Feelings?”

Jungwon realizes what he said “I-”

She puts her hand up “I need time to think about everything that had just happened because, no just no.”

[casuallivi]

The Midnight Kiss

I live bitches! barely lol. Slow and steady wins the race, they say. Hope that shit is true. 🤷

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 7: Here comes Jhonny

Morrigan Moretti never cared much for her catholic background.

For a spoiled little girl approaching the age of twelve, being catholic only meant Sunday mornings were reserved for church or else her nonna would have a fit. But going to church didn’t mean Morrigan attended the mass, no. The girl was well accustomed to finding her way to the backdoor, killing time behind the opulent white building till her grandma had enough of singing hymns.

In a boring Sunday mid spring, Morrigan snuck out of to find a boy sitting by the shade of a tree, their faithful meeting changing the curse of her life forever.

“What is this?” Morrigan scrunched her nose, looking over the little boy’s shoulder.

“A magazine.”

Mor squinted at the black woman in a yellow two piece sprawled on a beach towel, before her lips quirked in a sneer. Did this boy bring porn to church?

“A dirty magazine?”

She had seen naked women in her father’s hidden magazines before. And she was not impressed.

“A fashion magazine.” The boy corrected impatiently.

Oh, he did not have porn then. But his answer somehow made it all worse. What was a boy doing with a fashion magazine?

“That’s for girls,” she snickered under her breath.

The girly boy did not seem to like her words, because next thing she knew vexed hazel eyes cut to her so harshly, Mor flinched. Over his left brow, a pink cartoon band-aid creased.

“Fashion is for everybody."

With sharp page flip, he dismissed her completely, grabbing the pencil behind his ear to make annotations alongside the margin. In her short twelve years of life, few were the times Morrigan was ignored.

Okay, who was this boy?

She sat beside him on the steps, attempting to lure the boy back in conversation.

“I never saw a boy with a magazine like that,” then, when she had no answer, “have a dress that color…”

“Is it fun?” She tried again.

“…”

“Can I see it with you?”

No matter how hard she tried, the boy continued to ignored her, going as far as turning his back to her, making little Morrigan baffled. Huffing, she got up, cleaning her behind, eyeing the handkerchief under his butt, stopping his grey suit from getting dirty.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” She exploded, getting angrier by the minute.

Now she was really annoyed with him. He must not have recognized her, or know about her, because everyone in this town knew Morrigan Moretti was to be treated as nothing short of a princess.

Being the only child in a family were couples had a hard time conceiving lead Mor to grow used to being doted and catered for. House in the suburbs, private school, tutoring sessions, ballet lessons, and her long-life membership to the bay area Young Promising Ladies Club –which was passed down from mother to daughter– made sure she was well-educated and fine breeding lady who charmed everyone in the vicinity. Being a beautiful blonde, taller than most girls her age, with alabaster skin – which strayed from the general olive-ish tone of the Morettis – and the owner of a peculiar pair of brown eyes didn’t hurt either.

Everyone loved cute little girls, and Morrigan Moretti was cute as they come, never struggling for attention a day of her life.

Crossing her arms, Mor glared at the boy.

Despite his suit being perfectly pressed, and his black hair being meticulously combed to the side, she could see pink cuts coming out of the collar of his shirt, scratch marks on his wrists, and another colorful band-aid across his knuckles. All those cuts and bruises screamed trouble-maker to her.

How dare this shorty, trouble-maker, ignore her? Weirdo.

Feeling extremely irritated that he paid her no attention, her eyes set on the oh-so-precious object in his hands.

“You are very rude!” Morrigan said, kicking the magazine out of his hands. The boy gasped as the copy landed in a mud puddle, finally giving her what she wanted, and would want from him from that day onward: attention. “Oops. Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry one bit.

Serves him right for ignoring her.

The boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out, instead, the loud bells signaling the end of the mass caught her attention. At that moment, the big oak double-doors opened, a flock of elderly, couples and dutiful children spilling outside.

“Morrigan!” The happy voice of her noona reached her. “There you are, sweety. Come here child, I want to introduce you to my friend. Sofia, here she is. This is my granddaughter, Morrigan.”

Sofia turned out to be her noona’s best friend, who gave Mor a big huge and stained her cheeks red with lipstick. Discreetly, the blond girl cleaned her cheeks, feigning the polite expression she had long mastered. While cleaning herself, Mor payed little attention to the elderly women, eyes set on the boy swaggering towards them till he was standing behind Sofia. This boy looked nothing like the presentable boys she usually saw at church.

This one looked a foot taller than her, older too, with pants that barely reached his sockless ankles, sporting a loose faded-red tie which hanging from under the collar of his wrinkled shirt, a loud Gameboy firm in hand. He eyed him from head to toe, brow rising at the pink scratch marks on his cheek. The worst part was his hair: long enough to be tied at his nape with an ugly leather band. Ugh, she hated boys with girls’ hair. Morrigan made a face while he wasn’t looking.

When she was done analyzing the boy, Mor payed attention to her grandmother’s conversation, soon discovering the little hobo cosplay, and the boy who annoyed her earlier, were Sofia’s grandsons, who were moving in with her and would now be “a part of their community”.Her nonna was over the moon with the news, Mor not so much.

The weirdo’s name was Azriel. His older brother, Cassian.

When Sofia ordered the boys to greet her, Azriel merely nodded. She glared at the shorty, now hiding behind his noona.

“He’s a shy kid.” She smiled, patting his shoulder.

Mor couldn’t tell if he was really shy or resentful at her, but the one called Cassian seemed to be his opposite.

Cassian introduced himself without waiting for his grandma’s command, beaming as he kissed her hand, going on and on about how it was a pleasure to meet the pretty little girl he had heard so much about. Despite the gesture not being uncommon to Mor, who was used to people of all ages fussing over her, calling her pretty, granting all of her wishes, she liked him instantly.

Her noona, on the other hand, had no interest in Sofia’s older grandson, eyes shining only to Azriel, rushing him from behind Sofia, holding him and Mor close together.

“He’s your age, bambina. You are going to be best friends just like Sofia and I. I can tell.”

The two old ladies laughed.

Mor didn’t.

At the time, Morrigan had no idea how close she and Azriel would grow to be. Close enough to spend a decade in a relationship, flirting their way into it long before that.

Now they were no more.

Azriel had cut ties with her.

Their break up was no news to Morrigan. Azriel had done it a couple times before, set on separating his life from hers.

“I’m unhappy. I can’t do this anymore, Mor. I can’t.” He said the last time, breaking up with her again. “I’m done. I’m sorry, but I’m done.” “I won’t take your calls, I won’t answer the door, I won’t see you. We’ve been through so much, I don’t know – I don’t know how to stay friends with you. I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry it has to be like this, but this is the only way for us.”

Mor let him go that night, as she constantly did when she felt too tired to deal with his bullshit. Always something with that one.

Azriel had been hers for decades. She knew it was better to let him cool down, give him a few days and he’d be back to her again. Deep down Morrigan liked Azriel. The problem was Azriel was as emotional guy who like a boring monogamous relationship, and sometimes a girl needed a little break from routine. Not that she would not return to him afterwards. Mor always returned to Azriel’s side. There was nothing on this earth capable of separating them. Morrigan was a model because of him, Azriel worked for a fashion magazine because of her, their lives were way too intertwined to go on without the other.

So they lived like that. Morrigan gave him enough to keep him satisfy, hoping he could keep her satisfy, but he could. She would get bored, and he would want more, because Azriel always wanted more. He wanted full commitment, marriage, a house with dogs and kids. Morrigan wanted freedom, to enjoy life. So they’d start fighting, and she’d would get sick of him, letting him go for a while to cool down while she enjoyed the perks of the single life. Then, when things got boring again, she’d return to his side. Return to the man who loved her more than life itself.

Morrigan Moretti knew she’d marry Azriel Marino.

Eventually.

For as long as Mor could remember, Azriel had been irrevocably and undeniably in love with her. And for as long as she could remember, Mor had been irrevocably and undeniably in love with being loved by him.

In all honesty, Mor did not make it easy for him when they were kids, but to his credit, Azriel was not dissuaded by her hard personality. No one, in the whole world, loved her like Azriel did. In their twenties, Azriel dropped out of his dream college in Milan to move to Atlanta, because Mor was casted by a model agency in the city, and was “scared to be alone” there. One call. All it took for him to give up his dream and support hers was one phone call and a couple of fake tears while she painted her toenails.

Azriel went back to finish college later, but not before she turned into a runway model and moved to Milan herself, signing with a new, bigger agency. The little boy whose magazine she kicked grow into a man who had no difficulty in molding his life around hers, dedicating all of his free time to take care of her schedule, take care of her, so of course, Mor would reward him by settling down at his side.

Could you blame her for wanting to life her life before settling down? It was only fair to have some fun before being someone’s wife. Afterall, no matter how many times they broke up, they always got back together. Always.

Lately, one thing had been keeping her on edge, though.

Their break was too long.

This time Azriel had been taking his sweet time to crawl back to her side, longer than he ever did before. So long that Morrigan ended up hooking up with his brother.

Again.

Azriel didn’t know, would never know, but Morrigan had lost her virginity to Cassian. Had have a couple of one-nights with him along the years as well. She would never assume him, of course. If Mor wasn’t willing to lost her freedom in prol of Az, who never touched another woman in his life, imagine losing it to his man-whore of a brother, who loved no one but himself. Morrigan refused to be owned, she didn’t want a man to have that kind of power over her. And being owned by Cassian was beyond absurd.

“You’re coming with me to the office Christmas party.” Cassian announced one night, stripping his shorts. Morrigan hated how he wore short everywhere, like a young boy refusing to grow up. Would it kill him to put on some pants? Wear suits more than once a year? “What for?” Mor asked, unzipping her dress. “I need a girlfriend. The new shareholders will be there. They’ll feel more confident in the investment once they see me as a family-oriented kind of guy.” She waited for him to laugh, to tell her it was a joke. When he didn’t, Morrigan laughed and laughed, turning red in the face. “What’s so funny?” “You.” “Me?’ “You.” She repeated, “thinking I’m your girlfriend.” Cassian placed his hands on his hips, not amused. “You are my girlfriend.” “I’m no one’s girlfriend.” She was no one’s. Feeling the mood turn sour, Morrigan got of the bed. Cassian grabbed her arm before she took another step. “Let go, Cass.” “I’m not done talking to you.” “Well, I am. Let go.” “Still scared of relationships, blondie?” “I’m not scared, let me go.” “Get over yourself, Mor. You are not a fucking child anymore. You’ll fuck me every other night but won’t date me? Cut the horseshit. We are going, playing the happy lovable couple, then we’ll come back here and I’ll give a reward.” He moved her hand to his groin, show her exactly what she was getting. “I don’t want your shabby reward!” she spat at him. “You sure? Let me chance your mind, then.” Under heavy protest, Cassian threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom, showing Morrigan the kind of rewards he had in mind.

True to her word, Mor didn’t go to Cassian’s stupid Christmas party… but she couldn’t escape his stupid New Year’s Eve party.

Cassian had nothing to do with that, of course. Going to that party was the only way she had of seeing Azriel, who was also being true to his word, cutting all contact since their latest break up. Her calls weren’t answered, his doorman wouldn’t let her up anymore, her threatening texts were ignored, and the one time she managed to see him, Mor had to beguile Cassian into convincing his brother she was the perfect model to appear in Marino’s cover. To the increase of her stress, Azriel had remained strictly professional during the shooting, ignoring her efforts to meet afterhours. And then, at that awful karaoke party, he had the audacity of kissing someone else.

Dressed in an elegant black cocktail gown, Mor sipped her wine, eyes trained at the table on the far end of the restaurant; a table Azriel shared with no other than her.

Her.

The poorly dressed child-like woman she saw him kissing that night.

The same woman Cassian, for some reason, judge worthy of receiving a separate introduction during New Year’s Eve. Oh, Mor noticed their matching shirts instantly. She also noticed the dumb stunned look in her face when Cassian called Mor his girlfriend. That woman wanted to fuck Cass. Badly. Which let Mor utterly confused when she spied her all over Az. Her Az.

Despite being emotional one in their relationship, there was one thing Azriel and Mor had in common: Az did not like public displays of affection. Never had. Yet, he let himself be kissed just to spite her. Now here he was, going as far as taking that woman out, pretending to be on a date, doing everything in his power to make her jealous.

Mor blinked at the sight of the lousy girl.

What was her name again? Elide? Elisa? Elena? Well, who cares!

In the back of her mind, Morrigan had a faint memory of that woman being on set the day she posed for Marinos. She also remembered not liking her one bit. Too bubbly for her taste, too excited, too… happy. No one was that happy. Besides, A woman like Elisa would never attract Azriel in a million years. His taste ran on the refined side of things, not on women who dressed in shirts with comics printed on it. He should have chosen a better partner to pretend to be with.

That day Mor left the studio with a searing headache after spending half the day listening to distasteful jokes being traded left and right between Elena and Cassian –who was also present the shooting, despite her explicitly asking him not to– acting as if they were two pre-teens in a locker room. The other half consisted in her and Azriel going back and forth in a thousand of small irrelevant discussions that no one else seemed to follow.

Mor pushed her sunglasses up, stunned by the way the woman pointed her finger in Az' face. Their yelling getting louder. “Ignore them. We all do.” Cassian advised her. “You should call security.” “Nah, Ellie is not violent.” He slid his arm across her shoulders. “This is nothing, you should have seen the May shooting. She threw a binder at him.” “She did what?” “Don’t worry. They’ll reach an agreement in a sec.” “This is absurd.” “Nope, just another day with Az and Ellie. Believe me, I get tired of it too.” “Why don’t you fire her?” “Can’t.” “Why?” “Azzy won’t let me.” At that, Mor frowned. Why wouldn’t Az fire someone he couldn’t work with?” “Why?” Cassian shrugged. “Beats me. Az turns me down every time I found a replacement. Said is a hassle to train someone else when Elain gets him.”

The whole conversation made no sense to Morrigan. The more she watched them, the more out of character Az acted. Contrary to what she had seen him do countless times in the past, Azriel did not order the photographer around. He did threaten to fire her countless times, but everyone could see he didn’t mean it. The worst part was watching him discussing ideas with her, listening to hers as well, going as far as incorporating her inputs in the itinerary.

That day Morrigan caught Azriel doing a measly a staff’s job because she asked him to.

Mor returned from reapplying make up, to catch Azriel and the photographer mid conversation, the couple conversing quietly in the corner of the set. “Marino,” “No.” “Marino, please!” “I said no.” “I keep getting shadows in her face.” “Have her under another light stand.” “I can’t! This is her best angle so far, I don’t want to lose it.” Azriel rubbed his temple. “Just photoshop the shadows away.” “You’re the one spanking my ass the other day for using too much photoshop!” Azriel’s ears turned pink. “I spanked no one’s ass!” he hushed stressed. “Figure of speech. Help me out, will ya?” “What do you want me to do, Archeron? There’s no electrician here.” “Hold it for me, please?” Elain held his hand in hers, bouncing up and down while blinking repeatedly. “Twenty minutes tops. Promise.” Struggling, Azriel pulled his hand from her grip, cleaning them with his pocket square. “Don’t be stupid, I won’t hold a light for twenty minutes ‘cause you want me to.”

As if the dialogue itself wasn’t bizarre, to see Azriel taking off his shoes to step in the sterile zone to hold a light stand had Morrigan shocked.

And as she sat here, in this restaurant, watching him hold the photographer’s hands, kissing her palms without a care in the world, Mor’s hatred for the yapping-girl ten folded.

Mor snickered into her glass, finding it funny how Azriel was doing everything in his power to get her attention. She didn’t know why he bother parading that one around. Soon she’d be nothing but a smudge in his latest attempt to break up with her. All those who came before her didn’t get a second date, this one would not either. Azriel Marino was obsessed with Morrigan Moretti, there was no space for anyone else in his heart, nor his mind.

In the distance, Azriel fixed the girl’s frizzy hair behind her ear, pinching the tacky earring daggling in her lobe. Mor's intention to sip her wine was replaced by her downing the entire goblet.

“How’s your lobster?” Her boring, bald, partner’s question caught her by surprise, bringing Mor’s attention back to her own table.

She sliced a piece of meat, curling her lips around her fork with an exaggerated moan.

“Delicious.”

Her companion’s eyes gleamed with malice.

She gave him a sultry smile, but in her mind, Mor was already back to ignoring him.

Azriel having a “date” in the same restaurant she was meeting with her newest spoon was no coincidence. The man new everything about her, there was no way he came here not knowing she had this dinner schedule for tonight. Stalker much? The boring man served her more wine, which Morrigan gladly accepted.

Well, since Azriel was trying his best to get her attention, Mor would be generous and grant his wish. After she was done with this sponsor, she’d visit Azriel to do what she did best: speed the inevitable end of his doomed relationship. And Azriel would go back to doing what he did best: pine for her.

~~~~~~~~~~

[tigirl-and-co]

nectarine: do you and your F/O live together? If so, what does your living space look like?

key lime: how would you describe your self-ship’s aesthetic?

YOUR shortfic inspired me to turn MY prompts into a shortfic! Thank you so much for the ask <333333

For this one, I'm gonna do Sable! I've been thinking about her a lot recently...

~~~

Their house was most definitely a home.

By anyone's metrics, it was a place of love and joy. There were bookshelves full of books, trinkets, and knicknacks in every room. The furniture was mostly hand-built and well-used. Photos of family, precious memories, and fun posters littered the walls. It was a little cluttered, but not overwhelmingly so.

But most notable were the quilts. Every blanket in the house was made with love.

From the tattered remains of a well-loved quilt sown by Great Grandma Howley to the quilts exchanged on their wedding day, nobody who came to their house would ever go cold.

~

When Dragon told Sable that its family had a tradition of welcoming new members into the family with a handmade quilt, she was ecstatic. She had been planning to propose for a while, but could never find just the right way, or the right moment.

She knew Dragon was tough to tie down, it was always hunting for something new, but as it put down its childhood quilt she knew what she had to do.

Sable gathered her boldness and pushed aside her pride for just one moment.

"So if we joined families, would you sew a quilt for me?"

But one moment was enough.

Dragon took Sable's dainty, calloused paws in its own large shaggy ones and looked down at her, eyes full of hope.

"I would sew you enough quilt so that your paws would never touch bare ground again."

Sable smiled. Always with the dramatics... but she loved it. For once she got to be at the center of attention, to be the protected, the beloved.

"That would take an awfully long time, do you really think you could finish it by our wedding?"

It leaned in and touched noses with its beloved. In their world there was nothing but time, but the wolf knew that it was ready to make that time theirs, well and truly.

"I could certainly get it started..."

~

And on that day, they exchanged fabric and rings through tears of joy.

Sable handed her one and only a variation on a log cabin quilt, sown up in the muted shades of the genderqueer flag and a border of brown, to remind Dragon that she'd always be there for it. The needlework had been done in pawprints of two sizes, always touching.

And in turn, Dragon shakily gave its darling dear a simple rail fence quilt, done in the pink hues of Sable's apron. The 'floor' of each row was done in alternating bold black and soft, sweet brown, a statement that they'd always look for each other. The needlework wasn't as quality as Sable's, but the hearts at the end of each row were enough to prove the contents of Dragon's own heart.

They both spoke the language of labors of love, and looking at each others handiwork, they heard one thing loud and clear:

"This is built to last."

[cryssyd]

A Love Beyond Hell

Previous: Chapter 11

It is an adaption to "Always and Forever" by ChaoticDoll (MadamMimic505) at Quotev.com.

Pairings: Alastor x Reader (Julia) Female

Summary: After the birth of their child, Alastor and Julia settle into domestic life. But what is normal when the father of your child is the Radio Demon.

Warnings: 18+ Content, Established Relationship, Violence, Death, Graphic Details, Pregnancy and Birth, Smut, Minors DNI

Chapter 12

After welcoming little Josephine into the world, Alastor recommended that Julia take some time to rest. The natural birth had been exhausting, and there was no need for surgery. Julia couldn't bear the thought of being cut open just to speed up the process. Josie was truly a little angel, only crying when she needed her mother's touch or when she was hungry. Julia couldn't help but notice the changes in Josie's appearance after the birth. Her ears had vanished, and her eyes had turned amber, giving her a more human-like look. It seemed like Julia wouldn't have to worry about certain things in the future. While Josie resembled Alastor in his human form, Julia could also see herself in their precious child.

Since the birth, Julia had been confined to bed with Alastor by her side, and the sight of him with their little one never failed to bring a warm smile to her face. It was a scene filled with domestic bliss and sweetness. Julia's eyes may have welled up with happy tears a few times, as she was still hormonal, but Alastor was always there to pull her into a comforting embrace, even if he didn't know the reason behind her tears. There were moments when both Alastor and Julia needed a breather, especially with a lively baby who had found her voice. Thankfully, Grandma Josephine was just a phone call away, ready to speed over to their house like a maniac at a moment's notice.

Josie, just a newborn, was undeniably spoiled rotten. Josephine gently took the baby from Alastor's arms, showering her with sweet words. "Watch out for her delicate head! You might accidentally bump it into the doorway!" Alastor stubbornly crossed his arms. "Mother, I'm well aware of how to handle her."

Julia couldn't help but grin as she reminisced about the moment. It seemed like ages had passed before she could stretch her legs and explore the house. Alastor's concern was endearing, as he would swoop in to lift her, always surprising her. "Alastor, my love, I'm perfectly fine!"

Alastor reassured Julia, "Rubbish my dear, I cannot risk you stumbling!" as he extended his arm for her to lean on. "I'm fine!" Julia insisted. "Oh no, I noticed your wobbly legs darling! And this time, I'm not the reason for it!" he chuckled. Alastor's protectiveness over Julia had intensified since the arrival of their baby. Julia attributed it to instinct, as she was just as anxious about their little one. She would check on Josie every hour, ensuring she was breathing. When Josie became fussy, Julia would try feeding and changing her, but if nothing worked, she would cry alongside her. Alastor would swiftly switch on Julia's favourite jazz music, which never failed to calm Josie down. The sight of her parents would then make Josie light up with a big smile.

Alastor and Julia couldn't have been happier with Josie, puzzled by the complaints they had heard from other parents. Despite the occasional challenges like Josie sneezing flames or causing the TV to malfunction, she was mostly a delightful and cheerful little one.

Josie adored her father, but being in Julia's arms brought her a different kind of comfort. Julia always had her hands full, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Husker surprised Julia with his attachment to Josie. Alastor raised an eyebrow, impressed. Nifty offered to babysit happily, claiming she had everything under control. However, Josie ended up biting her finger, causing a brief moment of chaos. Julia apologized profusely, while Nifty simply brushed it off and fetched a band-aid. From that moment on, it was clear that Josie had inherited her father's mischievous streak. Julia remained oblivious, but the Radio Demon recognized the familiar glint in Josie's eyes. Her crimson gaze hinted at her demonic heritage, a fact that set her apart from ordinary human infants.

As Alastor wandered through the fiery streets of Hell, his thoughts were consumed by Josie and Julia. He found solace in knowing that Julia was under his mother's protection, a woman who could be merciless when necessary. Surprisingly, there were no children in Hell, despite what he had heard. Alastor was aware that even the innocence of children could be corrupted to the level of the devil himself.

With a heart full of joy for his small, precious family alongside Julia, he had to ensure that no other Overlords caught wind of Julia or their precious Josie. The mere thought of any harm befalling them sent shivers down his spine, for it would set the world ablaze. Striding with confidence, he maintained his constant grin as he gracefully slipped through the entrance of Rosie's Emporium. Tapping the bell on the counter, he took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back. "Greetings, Rosie. I've come to collect my package."

The slim lady emerged from her storage room, flashing a grin at her longtime pal. "You're in a good mood, and up early too. What's with the flowers?" Alastor hummed as he placed a small bunch of pink roses on the counter. "I wanted to express my gratitude for all the lovely gifts. Julia told me pink roses symbolize appreciation! She's quite the clever one." Rosie shot him a sly smile, watching as he got all flustered over Julia, which was quite amusing. She chuckled and presented a box wrapped in violet paper with a pink bow on top. "Alright, Romeo, here's your delivery. How's the little miss doing?"

Alastor carefully cradled the box in his arm, propping it against his hip. "She's an absolute gem! I've always known she had a nurturing side, and you should witness how beautifully Julia cares for Josie. My little angel has grown so much since the last picture! I suppose Mother was right, time flies and before we know it, she'll be heading off to college!" He chuckled.

Alastor dug into his vest with his spare hand and presented his friend with a bundle of Polaroid snapshots of Josie. "Here are the photos I promised you!" Alastor grinned. "Oh, she's just so precious!" Rosie exclaimed. "Josie is starting to look more and more like you. Has she revealed her mischievous side yet?" Alastor nodded. "Oh! Josie almost set the curtains ablaze with a sneeze, and once spun her head around a full one-eighty! Quite unsettling at three in the morning." Alastor chuckled. "But isn't she just adorable, despite it all?"

Rosie arched an eyebrow at the second part of that statement but chose not to inquire further. It was just another day in this place, and she had witnessed worse. "I am eagerly anticipating Josie reaching her full potential! Imagine all the pitiful souls she will claim! The sinners begging for mercy beneath her heel! Oh, what a glorious day that will be! I'm practically buzzing with excitement just picturing it!" Alastor's grin stretched from ear to ear. Rosie grinned. "I can't wait for it, just make sure she doesn't bring any blood into my shop." Alastor nodded confidently. "Don't worry! I'll make sure of it! Until next time, my dear friend! Farewell!" With a bow of his head, Alastor spun on his heel and exited the shop.

Julia sat on the sofa with little Josie on her lap, Nifty in front of them as the little one played a clumsy version of patty-cake. Absentmindedly twirling her finger in her daughter's red hair, Julia adored the little spots that had appeared on Josie over time, poking them to make her laugh endlessly. There were moments when Josie's appearance would change, revealing her more unholy side if she was angry or upset, almost as if she belonged in Hell.

Husker peered down at Josie, noting the uncanny resemblance to Alastor. "I hope she doesn't inherit his uptight attitude," he muttered. Julia reassured him with a smile, "Don't worry, Uncle Husk. She'll be her own person." She then playfully scratched Josie behind her ears, eliciting joyful squeals and flailing hands.

Julia beamed and planted a gentle kiss on Josie's chubby cheeks, causing the little one to giggle and raise her hands in delight. Nifty grinned. "You're such a wonderful mother, Miss Julia." Julia blushed. "Aw, thank you Nifty, that means a lot." The sound of the front door opening and the familiar click of hard shoes made her smile down at Josie. "Daddy's back!"

Josie's eyes widened in excitement as she reached out her hands towards Julia. With a smile, Julia lifted Josie off the sofa, letting out a small grunt as she felt the weight of her growing child. "Darling! I have returned from the depths of Hell! Where is my little ankle biter?" Alastor announced his presence, placing a box on the floor before opening his arms to Julia. Eagerly, she walked towards him, leaning into his embrace, her hands occupied with Josie who happily cooed and reached up to her father. Alastor effortlessly wrapped his long arms around both of them, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads, but saving a special one for Julia.

"Gross," Husker grumbled. "Looks like that annoying troublemaker is back. I'm off to the casino, catch you later." The Cat Demon transformed into his human self and exited through the main entrance. Nifty grinned. "I'll make sure he doesn't cause any trouble! If you need anything, just give me a shout." She hurriedly chased after the irritable Cat Demon. Alastor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Pay no mind to them, my dear. Rosie has bestowed upon us a gift!"

Alastor, the Radio Demon, wrapped his arm around Julia's waist, effortlessly carrying the package once more as he guided her into the cozy living room. The trio settled on the sofa, where Alastor carefully placed the box on the coffee table. With a gentle smile, he took Josie from her mother's embrace, allowing her to use her tiny hands to unwrap the gift. Josie playfully tugged at her father's hair before snuggling into his shoulder. Removing the shiny bow, she eagerly tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a delightful assortment of onesies and tiny clothes in different sizes.

“Rosie could have strategized. She mentioned Josie possibly being tall like me!" Alastor chuckled. "Optimistic thoughts, my dear." Josie appeared more focused on the wrapping paper. "Did she appreciate the roses?" Julia asked, gazing down at the tiny clothes with a grin, pouring love and attention into the stitching. "Absolutely! And I handed her the pictures! She has a bulletin board covered in them, darling." He bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "How was your day, my love? I hope everything went well?"

Julia gave a small nod. "Josie is doing great, just as always!" She grinned. "It's nice to have some company while you're away, even if she can't talk back." Alastor chuckled. "Don't worry, she'll be chatting away before you know it!" Josie always brightened up when she heard her father's voice, and she seemed more at ease with both of them around. Little red eyes gazed up at them with innocent curiosity and affection. "It's a shame she can't stay this small forever." Julia sighed, tousling Josie's hair. Alastor let out a playful hum, his eyes glancing down at Julia with a mischievous grin. "You know, I could always offer you another one," he teased. Julia's cheeks turned crimson as her face grew warm. "Alastor!" she exclaimed, blushing even deeper. "It's just a joke, my dear!" The Radio Demon burst into laughter, causing Josie to frown and playfully hit her father's chest with her tiny hands. Though embarrassed, the thought of having another child who resembled Alastor lingered in Julia's mind.

Next: Chapter 13 Final Chapter

[brandwhorestarscream]

Despite lacking any autonomy, is it possible for Thundercracker to be spoiled? Like, he's highly treasured and could get anything he wants except freedom. So if Megatron starts a book/poetry club with him, only joking a little bit, maybe he could calm his house? Again, this all depends on how he's treated inside the aerie. Please let me know how he's actually treated!

And yessss Skywarp just going 🤩 upon realising it's actually the Megatron. I'm just getting this mental image of him nudging Starscream and going, "If I bond with you, does he become my concubine too?"

Ok ok hear me out 👀 the grand matriarchal trine of Thundercracker's family are his grandparents, and the trine leader is his grandmother. Let's just call her Permafrost (name not final), with her two mates Whiteout and Cirrus. Permafrost is typically an ice cold, incredibly shrewd, and strategic woman, but when it comes to her favorite grandsparks she's very protective. She loves Thundercracker very, very much, and only wants what's best for him: she won't have her favorite grandson being trined to someone who won't treat him with the love and respect he deserves, title as the crown prince be damned. And if the little upstart that's to be future Winglord can't be trusted not to stick it in a ground pounder, like hell does she want his tainted hands on her precious grandspark.

So yes! I like the idea of Thundercracker being very spoiled and doted on, but being unable to be free or truly control his life has him suffocating. The only way to salvage the engagement at this point would be to have him tell grandma Permafrost that he wants to trine to the prince. If he really, truly wanted it, she would concede, but as it stands now she's planning to call the whole thing off. If Megatron started a book club with Thundercracker 🥺 I think he'd be really happy. All high caste seekers are well read, naturally, but none really share TC's passion for it. He's an S-class bookworm and devours anything he can get his servos on, from adventure novels to sci-fi to horror to romance. A lot of it is considered improper or low-brow reading, so there's hardly anyone he can talk to about it.

Then Megatron comes along and recognizes one of the titles he's engrossed in--probably slipped away from the ball to get a break and finish the most recent chapter he was in--and they immediately hit it off. Thundercracker has stars in his optics pretty much the entire time, and when the two of them are found hours later, he's practically glowing. He's never had anyone to talk about his interests with, and certainly not someone who matches his enthusiasm. They lose track of time getting lost in their conversations, and when they're found, Thundercracker is practically walking on air. He's elated, the conversation was so invigorating and he leaves with a radiant smile on his face.

Permafrost has never seen him like this, no one has, not since he was very young. Thundercracker asks her to hold off on canceling the engagement, leaving them in a state of limbo. They're not out of the woods yet, he's not sure what he wants, but agrees to let Megatron (and Starscream) continue trying to win him over. It's a really weird reversal, of the royal line having to court and petition someone of lower status for their hand, but their relationship so far is anything but the norm 🤭 it's shaping up to be a proper courtship, and Thundercracker let's them set a date to meet with him again (for a coutship date, totally, definitely not the beginnings of a book club with Megatron, oh no, never 👀)

...

Now, for Skywarp. Starscream firmly tells him that no, Megatron wouldn't be their shared concubine. He's not some piece of shareware for them to pass around! That's the carrier of his children, thank you very much, and he won't have him disrespected and pawed at! Skywarp pouts about it, but takes it in stride. Says he'll continue the engagement if he gets access to Megatron too, as company if nothing else. They’re both aliens in the world of high society, so he feels smthn of an understanding kinship between them. He wants to hang out with his favorite gladiator, and even offers to keep him entertained while Starscream is schmoozing with Thundercracker. Little does he know TC wants to see the new concubine too 🤭