#Or you're welcome if it's time for you to sleep

[littl3-b1ngo]

Here i go! My fictional caregivers are Howdy Pillar from Welcome home and Sun and Moon from fnafsb!!

First i'll start talking about Howdy Pillar

When i started with age regression and saw him, i inmediately thought he would be a great caregiver. He's busy cause of his work but he would have coloring books/books for kids to entertain you! Also grocery store/food toys for you to pretend that you're also working on the store!

And he haves four arms, so he could carry you when you're sleepy while he works.

And i like to think that his store haves a second floor where is his house, and he keeps a box with stuff like pacifiers, bottles, etc... Just in case you suddenly regress.

Now is time for sun and Moon!

I dont think i need to explain to much, they work on a daycare!! I dont think they would ask you for any explanations if you tell them you're an age regressor, they would be like "you're my new friend now, we're going to play :3"

Sundrop would love playing around with you and do arts n crafts, drawing, or even a bubble party when you guys blow bubbles or use those bubble machines and try to poke all of them

With moondrop is more calm and cozy, he would give you neon stick bracelets and probably prepare you some hot milk, very yummy :3 and he will tell you bedtime stories and probably use shadow puppets to tell you the stories. Oh, and also use those nightlights with little stars and play music for you to go to sleep

Thats all!! Thank you for listening!!🐾🍼

If you don't have a fictional caregiver, just share wif me your fav plushie 💖

[beargirlstink]

"WHAT?!" "...Sorry, yeah. You're not welcome yet. You -" "This is bullshit! Check with St. Peter! Are you telling me I wore this cheap cross and spent my sundays at the church and on my knees for NOTHING?!" "I'm not going to get into that debate, it's somewhat contested, but it's not the important part. The important part is -" "What? What is so important to deny me entrance into the kingdom of the Lord? How can you deny me entrance from the pearly gates?" "...I was getting to that. The important part was that thee early 21st century was a time of hate and judgement, especially focused around things like race, ethnicity, and a whole lot around sexuality. To be clear, "love thy neighbor" means "don't peek through your neighbor's blinds to see what they're doing in their bedroom."" "What, so just because I had opinions on culture and society and - and media and health and CHILDREN means I'm a sinner?" "...Yeah, that's the gist of it. You've kinda got this knot in your head that it's okay to hate people if they deserve it, but that's mostly not the case. The point, like, ideally, is to hate nobody ever, with only a few exceptions." "...Well, then, billions of people are going to Hell. Every single person involved in the culture war... At least those wokists are getting what they belong. Maybe I'll -" "I don't know how to tell you this but... they aren't. A lot of people from there acted on behalf of love and acceptance, and that's a pretty easy in." "Really? Are you telling me every feminist I met online was a kind-hearted angel?" "...Well, not all of them, but... let's get one out for comparison." [Poof!] "This is tigergirl-stretchmarks." "Oh! Hey Zuri!" "Hiiiii! Anyway, you might remember it from-" "Wh- Tiger Girl Stretch Marks is an angel? I refuse to believe that! The Lord didn't send down one of his perfect messengers to post that kind of degeneracy!" "Oh! Oh, this part. So, angels aren't exactly a separate species, it's more of a state of being - you can consider it a job, or maybe a social caste. If you had looked up the original hebrew -" "NO! No, I refuse to believe this! This... FREAK spent every second of their life masturbating, sleeping, eating, ignoring their parents, staying inside, and posting pornographic obsenity! THAT makes them an angel?" "...Yeah. Yeah, actually." "I can back that up. I get to see auras now, and artists who -" "HOW?! How is drawing fat women's engorged stomachs a work of God?" "Well, again, the love-and-equality thing, but, um... I'm not supposed to mention this, but fat fetish pornography boosts your divinity by a LOT. It's considered some kind of saintly material. Jesus personally -" "You're joking me. You're joking me!" "No! No, really. If you'd visit some of our monasteries of -" "Ha. Haha. Hahahahaha! This is a joke. This is an elaborate joke. You almost had me for a second, but did you really expect me to fall for the idea that Heaven is full of stained-glass windows depicting naked obese women holding their stomachs?" "...Hang on, what did YOU think Mary Magdalene looked like?"

[overadores]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁hello, you

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

pairing .ᐟ ghostface!daniela x reader

about .ᐟ you're a new student in dream academy

genre.ᐟ thriller?, angst, little fluff

cw.ᐟ stalking, obsession, violence, injuries

wc.ᐟ 1268

“You ARE the message.”

Daniela first saw you that afternoon on the academy field.

Her cheer practice had ended, and as she wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes caught the sight of someone unfamiliar. You, a new transfer, dragging a heavy suitcase across the campus grounds toward the dorms, your expression unreadable. Something about you held her attention—maybe it was the way you moved or maybe it was the quiet loneliness she saw in you, but she decided then: she wanted to be close to you.

At first, it was innocent. She wanted to know you, to be close to you and when she entered her dorm after practice, saw you already decorating your side of the room, her heart quickened. You turned, offering a soft smile. “Hi, I’m Y/n L/n, the new transfer.”

Daniela had smiled back, warmth radiating in her expression. “Welcome to Dream Academy,” she said, embracing you in a hug that lingered just a little too long.

Days passed, and the two of you grew closer—inseparable even. Daniela adored you. Every laugh, every absent-minded touch, every glance in her direction. She wasn’t sure when admiration turned into something else, something possessive. At first, it was jealousy—the way people laughed too easily around you, touched your shoulder like they had any right, but then it escalated.

She followed you.

Not in a way that screamed obsession at least, not at first. She told herself it was for your protection, like that night at the club when your friends dragged you along, and Daniela sat in the shadows, watching you dance, watching as you flirted with another girl, and her nails dug into her palms then the guy appeared, too touchy, too persistent and before you could react, Daniela was there, shoving him away.

“Dani?” You blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Daniela didn’t answer. She only glared at the man, her chest heaving. When he reached for you again, she didn’t hesitate—her fist connected with his jaw. The next thing you knew, she was dragging you out of the club and into her car.

“Thank God you were there,” you murmured, still shaken. Daniela only smiled, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

Then came Halloween.

You were drunk, too trusting, too unaware of the jock leading you upstairs. Daniela's blood boiled as she followed. When she saw his hand on your waist, something inside her snapped. She found him pressing you against the wall, and before he could react, she lunged. For someone so small, she was deadly.  You pulled her back, drunk and confused, your words slurred. “Dani, stop. You’re overreacting.”

Reluctantly, she listened, but not before sending a final glare at the jock.

But she wasn’t overreacting. Not in her mind. That night, she waited. Waited until the party ended, until he was alone. She slipped into his bathroom, donned the mask, and let her knife do the talking, painting the walls red. That was her first kill.

By the time she slipped back into your shared dorm, mask hidden away, she was clean. She slid into bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing her forehead against your shoulder. You sighed in your sleep, nuzzling closer. 

It was perfect.

Then came winter break. You were leaving for a few days, and the thought made Daniela’s stomach twist. She stalked your Instagram, tracking your location, watching you from a distance. You were oblivious, laughing with old friends, reconnecting with your past and you never noticed her in the distance, never questioned the blonde curls in the crowd.

And then your ex came crawling back, begging for another chance, she was there, listening from the shadows, fingers curling into fists as he begged for forgiveness. She was willing to let it slide—until he hit you. That night, she followed him home, watched him park his car, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just bruised you.

And when the blade met his throat, she whispered, “You don’t deserve to look at her.”

The garage was quiet, save for the wet sound of her blade sinking into flesh.

He didn’t even get to scream.

When you spotted her in your hometown, she had smiled, coffee in hand. “Visiting a friend,” she lied, watching as you nodded, oblivious.

When you returned,  she clung to you more than before and you let her, enjoying her warmth, her presence.

Then Valentine’s Day arrived.

Flowers, chocolates, love letters—you accepted them all with a polite smile, completely unaware of the way Daniela seethed beside you, but then there’s the persistent one that sealed his fate. She tripped him in the hallway, voice dangerously low. “Leave Y/N alone.”

He just laughed at her face.

That night, she slipped out, mask in place and knife hidden beneath her jacket, but this time, you followed.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe she had a secret lover, sneaking off to some late-night rendezvous, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore, but whatever it was, it led you to a dormitory, where you watched her enter a room. You turned to leave, but then—

A scream.

Your blood ran cold.

Your heart pounded as you rushed into the room.

And without thinking, you pushed the door open, eyes widening at the sight before you. Blood. So much blood. A body lay on the floor, twitching. And there, standing over him, knife in hand, mask tossed to the side, crouched over a bleeding body. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

“Dani?”

She turned, her lips curling into a slow, satisfied smile. The girl you adored, the girl who had become your closest friend, stood before you, eyes alight with something…terrifying.

You screamed. You turned to run, but she was faster. Arms wrapped around you, dragging you inside. The door slammed shut, and before you could fight, she had you bound—zip ties cutting into your wrists, a handkerchief silenced your sobs.

“Y/N, my love,” she whispered, kneeling before you, knife brushing against your cheek. “It was all perfect.”

You sobbed harder.

Tears blurred your vision as you thrashed. “Oh, don’t cry, darling” she soothed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I did this for you. To protect you.”

Your muffled screams only made her sigh. “If you’d just stayed put, you wouldn’t have seen this.”

she offered to remove the gag which you nodded frantically and the second it was off, you screamed, “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?! YOU’RE A PSYCHOPATH!”

Daniela only smiled. “Don’t scream, or I won’t hesitate to cut you.” The blade pressed against your cheek, sharp enough to sting.

You trembled. “You’re crazy.”

“I love you.”

You sobbed “Do you think I’ll ever feel safe knowing my roommate is killing people?!”

A sharp sting, warmth trickled down your cheek. “I told you to be quiet,” she murmured, eyes darkening. Daniela clicked her tongue, disappointed. “You’re not being a good girl, Y/N.”

Your breathing hitched. “You’re a monster.”

Daniela’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. “You still don’t get it, do you? There’s not a line in the world I wouldn’t cross for you.”

And the last thing you saw was the glint of her knife before everything went dark.

When you woke, you were in your bed. The room was spotless. No blood, no evidence. Just Daniela, curled beside you, her arms wrapped around you protectively, as if she hadn’t just shattered your entire world.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to run.

But as her grip tightened in her sleep, you realized something chilling.

You were trapped.

And she wasn’t letting you go.

a/n: im enjoying this ghostface!dani, storm!manon for the next headcanon.

[capesch-arts]

Death

(In which Arthur Lester writes his final letter. Scroll until below).

"I am going to die. That is for certain.

As I write this I can feel my mind stretched thin and my consciousness fading as fatigue takes me over. I know that when I sleep this night, I may never wake up.

Before my mind is taken and broken apart to dust, I wanted to leave this behind. For anyone that follows me, whether it be friend or foe. I know why you all pursue me, and you will receive what you wish to seek. But, allow me to share my thoughts.

I've been running for nearly 10 years, killing cultists and evading creatures that would drive men mad. It's been a long time since I've slept with peace in mind. So much blood has washed upon my hands that I still feel it under my nails.

Am I the same person anymore? I wonder.

'Was it all worth it?' I often ask myself.

I'm not a good man. Especially before my encounter with The King. An unfit husband. A coward. An alcoholic. A poor father. I am all these things. And perhaps, whatever is waiting for me when I shut my eyes will be deserved. At least I'll find peace in that.

My only regret is leaving you. Alone. I wish I hadn't found that book. I wish I wouldn't have done all this to keep you away from its curse. I wish- I wish. I wish we had more time together. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

This path I've taken is dark and dreary, and it will only end in tragedy. So if you still wish to walk it, so be it.

That damned book has not been in my possession for years. A new friend has helped me hide it somewhere I don't know. I thought that after all this game of cat and mouse, HIS eyes would not stop following me. Those damned golden eyes would be so fixated to me that none of his followers noticed when it slipped from my hands and a decoy was in its stead.

If you are one who walked this path to protect humanity from darkness, then I'm sorry. It was too much of a risk for it to fall unto another person. But, if you're HIS, well... Fuck you. Good luck. I'm sure your King would be satisfied knowing how well you've accomplished your mission.

I can feel it. Pulling. Music, unfamiliar, filling my head. A vision of a city, unnatural, with impossible angles, whenever I close my eyes. The twin suns above Lake Hali and the tattered cloak of The King in Yellow...

Death is at my doorstep, and I fucking welcome it. I will not squirm. I will not beg. You want me to drown in despair as you come and harvest me. I'm not giving you the satisfaction.

I am the master of my own fate,

I am the captain of my soul

- Arthur Lester"

[traineecryptid]

okay so, i hope this isnt a bother but i wanted to get to the root of this so: I contacted Haihe's customer support.

first image: the wechat contacts of said customer support which i got by scanning the company's website so it's not like i got some third hand information off a shady website.

second image: my chat with the customer support, which might i note is so patient with such a non-purchase, non-product issue question?

customer support: hi, how can i help you?

me: im looking for the packaging designs that Haihe had used from past till present. specifically ones used in the 90s and shaped like a pyramid.

customer support: im sorry. i don't have [the information.] we're unable to provide it to you.

me: alright, thank you. sorry for the trouble.

customer support: you're welcome.

me (couldn't bear just giving up and going home): then, may i know when your company had changed their packaging?

customer support: I'm not sure about that.

me: can i at least confirm that there was a past design shaped like a triangle? like the photos attached below?

customer support: [i] have never seen triangle [packaging].

customer support: it's bull horn packaging.

me: could you show me a picture of that so i can be sure how it looks like?

customer support: you can look it up online

me (ive lost braincells and wasnt thinking at the time just googled it and...): the search results are all croissants...

customer support: the official website.

(it took me Too Many minutes to figure out that they meant their company's official website and not like Baidu or sth and lo and behold theres image 3 right on their front page... half blocked by the fact that im on my phone and it loaded weird. so i used a picture i downloaded earlier)

me: is this the bull horn packaging?

customer support: mhm mhm

me: alright, thank you so so much! else i wouldn't be able to sleep with this on my mind.

THUS, here this sidequest ends for me. Of course, there's still the possibility that the customer support has no idea what they're talking about or that the pyramid packaging was a limited run in a specific area and that specific timeframe is niche lore even for employees etc etc. So... perhaps unless someone from Tianjin had childhood photoes of them drinking from a pyramid Haihe milk packet, the case shall remain... unsolved?

(also, i just wanted to say that when i first saw the taobao listing, i immediately thought "oh yeah, thats a triangle for sure, it's wide on the bottom and narrow on top." despite having already seen the korean milk photo, which in hindsight, what *was* my brain on...)

but anyways, thank you for the fun sidequest! now i know what ill be doing if i ever hang by Tianjin: try all 9 flavours of those milk + whatever other crazy new flavours they came up with.

okay google images is giving me nothing but cartons and novelty products,

chinese tumblr

pls tell me i haven't made up this memory

do you remember getting milk in like, these triangular bags? they were shaped kinda like pyramids, you could put straws in em?????

[decadentpaperduck]

Long Been Buried - Astarion x Fem!Reader - Baldurs Gate

Summary: As the unofficially appointed leader of your team, the pressure builds one night in camp. Set around about Act 1/2 ish, Astarion supports Tav through a tough night. Words: 1.2k Warnings: Fluff, sad/angst ish, comfort

I have not published something I have written in a hot minute - debated putting that as a warning, but just wanted to offer some comfort in case anyone felt as overwhelmed as I tend to.

I decided just to pull off the plaster (band aid) on this one so forgive if not too polished, but after not posting my writing for years, I had to get it over with!

Thanks for reading!

_____________________

You let the flap of the tent fall shut behind you as you crawl into your bedroll and fall onto your back. The chill of the night air is apparent, even within the confines of your canvas cocoon. Your arms wrap around yourself in an attempt to warm your body and soothe your soul; palms brushing frayed cotton in a back and forth motion.

The fate of the world, the fate of your friends seems to be your hands. You aren’t quite sure how and when they put you in charge, but it was right about now that you wish they hadn’t.

Gale’s Deity ex-girlfriend demands the ultimate sacrifice in exchange for meaningless forgiveness, Karlach will meet a face worse than death if she doesn’t return to Avernus and Shadowheart seeks the acceptance of a soulless Goddess of pain and suffering.

But worse than all that you could allow to happen, remains that which you couldn’t prevent. That cannot be undone.

Astarion is a master of Stoicism, but you can see the way Cazador has dug his claws into him. The fear of enclosed spaces. The dislike for rats. The way he believes no one could ever want him around for anything more than his body.

You think about the first time you let him feed on you and how it took him several days after that to stop asking you if there was anything he could do for you in return, including sleeping with you.

You had politely declined his advances with shame that shone through your skin. In truth, he had become someone you cared about all too quickly, but you would never allow him to believe he owed you for something you did out of love, or something very close to it. 

You don’t seem to register when the tears first tumble from your eyes until they roll down the sides of your face, brushing the tips of your ears before hitting the pillow. Closing your eyes releases another round, descending downward, skimming your temples.

“Darling?” The familiar voice, smaller than you have ever heard it, whispers through the gap in the tent door. “May I come in?” You surmise it's likely he already knows you're upset but you attempt to lessen the impact of coming face to face with that reality by brushing away the evidence. “If you don’t answer me I am afraid I may have to commit an act of breaking and entering to ensure your safety.” Your laugh is a reflex you have grown used to in his company. A welcome one.

“Yes, you may.” One last drag of your hands across your face and Astarion appears at the entryway to your tent. You lean up onto your elbows and push yourself up into a seated position.

“Thank you.” Ever the gentleman, he replaces the fabric covering the doorway before making himself comfortable, mirroring your position, legs straight in front, leaning backwards on arms outstretched. “Is everything alright?” 

The simple answer is no, and perhaps that is written on your face. Astarion looks concerned, an expression he rarely wore. Something about his approach made you answer in truth. No quips. No forced positivity. Just your reality. But not before taking a deep breath.

“No.” You watch his face as carefully as he watches yours. You notice how his brow dips in the middle, as though the worries in his mind have settled neatly upon his forehead. “And I’m tired of pretending they are,” You swallow as teardrops gather along your bottom lash line. “Not that I think anyone is fooled.” You laugh, shaking your head as you avert your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. "I feel like a fraud, who am I to be standing here before you all like I have a clue?!"

“Darling, it’s not about anyone being fooled.” You can hear the restraint in his voice. “For better or worse, you  take it upon yourself to absorb everyone’s problems with the aim of finding an answer for them. That makes you a better person than most of us. But it doesn’t mean that every answer is good or will have a happy ending. It’s the hope that makes it worthwhile.” Rain begins to fall on the tent roof, the patter punctuating the peaceful pause.

“Take it from a man who traditionally does as much good as you do evil.” He leans forward and lowers his head in an attempt to catch your eye and when he has no luck, resituates himself beside you and plants his hand atop yours. You look back at your hands with a fondness. The softness of Astarion’s actions counter everything he ever wanted you to believe. “You inspire a hope in me that has long been buried in an empty casket in Baldur’s Gate.” 

You screw your eyes shut as you try to contain the tears, swallowing hard as your breathing threatens to release a body wracking sob. “Oh Darling.” He breathes, before leaping to action and wrapping his arms around you, pressing you close to his chest. The sob escapes into his cotton shirt with the criss cross front. “It will be okay.” He says into your hair. “It will be o-kay.” He rocks you slightly. He hushes you as you cry, a soothing symphony with the accompanying rain. Your body moulds into his or perhaps his moulds into yours.

“Will you stay with me?” You ask quietly. “You don't have to. I just-” You choke on your words, but before you can try to continue, his hand cradles the back of your neck.

“You don't have to explain yourself.” He turns his head and presses his lips against the top of your head.  “You don't have to go through this alone. You do so much for everyone else,” He leans back, peeling you from him, and holds your head perfectly between his two palms, your eyes interlocking. “Let me do this for you.” 

“This is nothing, I’ll be-” His lips press to your forehead and your eyes flutter shut on impact. The silence in the tenderness of the moment wraps around your heart and squeezes. How can you argue?

Before you think you might cry again, he sits back and looks at you. 

“How about we get some rest?” His hands squeeze your shoulders gently. You nod, exhausted from another day of walking, thinking and acting on behalf of others. Your body is limp and easily persuaded back into a reclined position. “Theeere we go.” Astarion’s words are softer and warmer than toasted marshmallows, and make you feel lighter and sleepier as he nestles down next to you. “It’s okay.” He says as you stare into one another’s eyes. “You rest.” He sweeps his fingers in a gentle caress across your forehead and behind your ear. “I won’t be far behind you.”

You resist slumber at the expense of a few more moments lost in his eyes, but soon sleep captures you. It’s gentle and forgiving, like the arms of the pale elf. 

He stays with you all night, and it doesn’t take him long to trance himself into a restful stasis, safe in the knowledge that here, in this moment, you have him and he has you.

[himefemme]

cracked cans [ I ]

butch! cowboy/farmhand abby ★

clients daughter femme!r

the dewy morning sun was a gentle reminder of abby's schedule for the day, go to her client's house, muck the paddocks, herd in the sheep that were always running away and most importantly avoid his daughter. clad in white, frilled dresses with fraying edges and saddle shoes caked in mud and little strings of grass that had clung onto them, a little demon she was- best avoided. her bare back was kissed by the soft sunlight seeping through her lace curtain- golden locks of hair splayed down the freckled skin, lashes fluttering against her strong cheeks as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. 'a beer would be nice on a day like this' was really the only motto keeping her going, cheap jobs like this kept her living paycheck to paycheck and struggling to stay secure during the week, thank goodness for smokes and alcohol. the coal-like taste of cigarettes lingered on her pale chapped lips- she hated the smell of it all but the relief it brought could be considered bittersweet.. even if only lasting for a second. with a splash of cold water to the face, rough denim chafing her inner thighs and the hard of her belt buckle secured in place, abby left her shack, her button shirt barely hiding her tanned chest.

herding the sheep was not a problem, nor was mucking the paddock- it was damn easy money and she knew that better than anyone. the sound of shoes squelching in the mud made the butch whip her head around- spotting you. you wore red gingham shorts and a white shirt, trainers much too big for you, which she assumed had belonged to your father. abby sighed and pulled her hat over her eyes to block out the blistering heat, sweat dancing down the muscular grooves of her back and chest. you held out a beer to the woman, who snatched it up and cracked the can open- drinking as if famished. once abby had finished drinking she heaved, clutching her stomach which burned with the lingering presence of the beverage. loose hair coils around her braid and hugs the neighbouring strands of hair. "you shouldn't be out here." abby says, pinching your cheek with a fond smile. here she was, with the client's daughter, who she was strictly told to stay away from. beer was constantly getting her into trouble goddamnit but how could she stay away when a woman with curious eyes and a welcoming smile comes sauntering her way? it was simply in her nature. "you were the one who said to keep it quiet, yet here you are, showing up on my father's farm like y'own it. people talk, abby, you're bold showing up like that." you say, gesturing to her debauched state, the apple of her cheeks flushed red from booze and beer beneath her tan tone, her button shirt draped lazily over her shoulder- exposing her binded chest to soak in the rays of the sun, the soft hair trail beneath her belly button tiptoeing down beneath her belt buckle and the moles that blessed her skin. "well, how's a person supposed to stay all handsome-lookin' whilst working in this heat, huh? I don't see you liftin' a single finger over there." abby quips, laughing as she wipes sweat from her forehead, knocking her hat out of place slightly. "but i think it's better that way." she adds before fixing her hat, the leather is bumpy against her calloused hands- she wonders how it'd feel against yours. the sun sets over the farm and your mother thanks abby with dinner, chicken pot pie, steaming hot in the ceramic bowl and cling film she was sending it off with. lingering glances were exchanged between you as the cowboy is showered in praise by your parents- unlike earlier, she looked neat, as if she had everything together. dress shirt buttoned to the top and her hat held to her stomach like a polite young man would, which caused your father to quirk a judgemental brow- it dropped within seconds, he had no time to be questioning the fashion choices of the woman who'd just done his monthly farm work within a few hours. once abby is waved goodbye, you trot after her, she stops. you leave a kiss on her cheek, the feeling lingers and she'd have to savour this one, she'd done such a good job she was sure that she wouldn't need to come back for a good few weeks. she would stay determined to keep that soft, sweet tenderness glued to her skin. a smile later, you run back into your house before anyone noticed your absence. abby continues walking- with a fat stack of money, which she flicks between her fingers proudly, it was clear someone had slipped in a few extra bills and it sure as hell wasn't your mother or father.

[mintfullyyours]

HI! IVE READ YOUR AMNESIA trop about Simon and I AM LOVIN IT! gurl welcome to the community!! people here are very nicee, come on in HHAHA please write more! And the argument one with Price, UGH it got me in a roller coaster! you're writing is amazing, looking forward to more of your work!!! Muah muah

HII! AHHH thank you so so much for reading and sending this message. I always read the comments or tags people leave behind and this community has truly been so welcoming!!!

I'm always torn between the angst or the fluff, always torn between which of the 141 I want to write. Each of them with such unique personalities that cater to a specific set of desire (I think)

Thank you so much for reading and please drop by any time to chat or talk about amnesiac!simon and how he'll twist and turn in an empty bed you once shared.

Because of course you give him the bed on his first night home from the hospital. You take the sofa, deciding it's best to give him space. It's dark when you peek an eye open and hear the slight hum of breath fall.

Simon had moved from the bed to sleep on the carpet beside the sofa. You decide to join him, stepping over his form -- a hand reaches for your ankle. You yelp and squint down at him.

"Stay." He mumbles. Your heart lurches forward.

"Always, Simon..." You whisper back, as he releases your ankle. It was instinctive right? He hadn't moved or gave any meaning that he was awake.

You crouch and place the pillow under your head, staring at the ghost of a man you once knew.

"I'll always stay."

Part 1 here if curious

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Thirty Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Thirty Two: Cillian is keen to ensure Y/N takes it easy, wanting her to be as calm as possible. They agree that his sons need to hear the news from them - and soon. But Y/Ns suggestion for doing that surprises Cillian a little when both of them find it difficult to sleep. Y/N tries to ease the tension, but she voices a feeling Cillian had always known she feels. [Angst/Anxiety & Fluff/Sexually suggestive]

@cherry-cilly @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @lavender-haze-01

----------

“You need to relax. I'm annoyed about it, and we need to talk to Mal and Aran sooner than later, but what's more important to me right now is that you calm yourself down.” Cillian says, his hands on your biceps in the middle of the kitchen. He's been home an hour. Cuddles and welcomes have long since passed, and the obligatory cup of tea has been drained. It took you twenty minutes before you raised the article, and a further five minutes before you cried. “We've time enough to talk to them, and sure now I'm at home there'll be no more, but I think we should talk to them before the scan. I know you're iffy on that, but I think they're going to need the time to process it too. And Yvonne. I mean we're only after telling them we're not having a baby, and we've to go back on that now.” He moves his hands and wraps them around you, pulling you in against his chest. “I know it's scary. But we've got to do it.” 

“It isn't just that.” You sigh, sniffling your sobs down. “They printed things about us, Cillian.” 

“Yeah,” he inhales as he mutters the word. “And didn't I tell you they would?” You can hear in his tone he's not fishing for points to score, but you feel it anyway. “It's a shitty article, by a shitty group of so-called journalists. And there'll be more, about whatever the fuck they want to write. But we're having a fucking baby!” You can hear his small laugh through his ribcage. “And they're scumbags, and it'll be fucking shit, and it's exactly what I didn't fucking want - but we're having a fucking baby, Y/N. I'm happy. I'm shit scared to tell me own kids, but I'm happy.” 

“I don't want to hurt your boys, Cill. They're going to be…,” you sigh and push up against his chest. “They're going to be so mad, hurt, they're going to think we lied to them.” 

Cillian takes a deep breath, “Maybe they'll be all of those things.” He nods, “But they're going to have a brother or sister in a while, and that's not going to change because they feel whatever they do. I don't want to hurt them either, ever. But this is my family too. You and that baby.” You're aware it might sound cold to others, but to you it's what you need to hear. This is his home, his life, his family. It's not erasing his sons at all, but this is the immediate life he lives now. 

“And telling Yvonne?” You raise your eyebrows, and your heart flutters as you say her name. 

“Yeah,” he drags his mouth to the side and frowns, “That's going to be a fucking mission too.” he sighs and shakes his head. “But it's nothing to do with her. It's the boys that matter. She deserves to know, of course, and hear it from me, but that's as far as that loyalty goes.” It's an amazing string of words to hear him say, soothing so many of your anxieties if just for a while. “What she thinks doesn't matter. Like I said, it's the lads I'm worried about. But this is happening regardless. There'll be a cot, and a pram, and fucking…pumps and nappies and dodies.” He smirks. 

“Dodies?” You repeat. 

“Yeah, the wee dummies.” He grins. 

“We called them dadoos when we were small.” You chuckle. 

“Dadoo?” He laughs, “Where the fuck did youse pull that name outta?” 

“Same place you got dodie, you big freak.” you swat your hand against his chest, and sigh to try and feel calmer. “Fuck, Cill, why can't this just be simple, like every other couple, having babies? Why did I find you when I did?” 

He smiles softly, but he looks sad. “Cause that's when I needed ya.” 

You feel an emotional swell at his words, and your chin quivers, “Oh, love.” You bring your hand up to his cheek. “When do you want to do it? Tell them?” You bring your hand down again and rest it back on his chest. 

“After Christmas?” He says, brows raised. “Or do you want to do it before? I only say after so it's peaceful fucking Christmas.” He scoffs. 

“They're your boys, it's your decision when.” You tell him. “I'll support whatever you decide.” 

Pursing his lips, he nods slowly, then sighs heavily. “I'll think about it.” He whispers, and pulls you in closer again. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and holds you tightly. “Will we get dinner?” He asks, swaying you slightly from side to side. 

You wrinkle your nose, though he can't see it, “Like what?” 

“Spin down to the chipper?” He suggests. 

“You go,” you shake your head and slowly pull yourself from his arms. You would stay there - it's comfortable, and intimate, and you're so glad he's here - but the mere suggestion of food is turning your stomach. “I don't want anything.” 

“I won't get a feed without you,” he raises his eyebrows. “Will you not have anything? Will I cook?” 

“No, love, you're just in the bloody door.” You shake your head. “Go and get your chips, don't eat them near me,” you laugh, “Then we've the whole night.” 

“To sleep, I hope?” He grins. 

“God, yes,” you sigh with a laugh.

You wake up with a sudden jump, and you're not sure why. You can't recall a dream, but suddenly you're awake and you're cold. You turn onto your back and instantly realise that Cillian isn't there. Shifting to retrieve your phone, you check the time - just gone three am. You throw your legs from the bed and sit up, shivering in the chilly room. Cillian's hoodie from the day is thrown over the chair in the corner, and you grab it and instantly snuggle yourself into it. You push your feet into your Ugg slippers and slip from the room, not being too quiet. As you step down the stairs you can hear the TV, and there is the glow of a light from down there, too. You brace your hands as you walk down, and land at the bottom feeling even more cold than upstairs. “Hey, what're you doing?” You ask, catching sight of Cillian on the sofa. He's laid out across it on his front, head against a cushion in the corner and legs stretched down, arms tucked up beneath the small cushion. He's wide awake, glasses on, and watching the TV. He shifts his head slightly and looks at you, pushing his lips into a pout. He looks tired and you're not sure if it's because he hasn't slept and is flagging, or because he hasn't been up long and is still exhausted. 

“Watching Interstellar.” He says and sniffs. He draws his hand from under the cushion, clutching the controls, and pauses the film. “What are you doing?” he asks, and yawns tightly. He doesn't sit up, but he snuggles his head against the cushion a little. His cheek is pushed up and it makes his lips look fuller. 

“Standing here, looking at the teenager laid out on the couch.” You say and smile when he scoffs a small laugh. “You couldn't sleep?” 

“Ah,” he tuts. He shifts around and finally pushes himself up. He sits into the corner of the sofa and bends his left knee up, foot planted into the seat. “Just a bit wired I think, thinking about how to talk to the lads.*

“We just have to tell them, love. Like you said, and you were right, we're going to have a baby regardless.” You reassure him, though you're still so nervous about all of it. “We can't control how they'll think or feel, but at least it'll come from us and not some wank-page report they get sent or find themselves.” 

“Wank-page,” he mutters, smiling a little. He removes his glasses and folds the arms in, then tosses them down onto the sofa beside the TV controls. You watch as he fidgets, filled with an anxious energy. His tongue swipes around his mouth and his fingers flick and tap against his raised leg. 

“Go,” you say, wondering if you'll regret it. 

He frowns at you and his tongue stills. “Where?” 

“In the garden - I admire that you're trying to do what I wanted, but I can see you're struggling. Go and have a bloody cigarette.” You push your hands into the pocket of his hoodie you're wrapped in. 

“I'd the last one at the airport, waiting on the taxi.” He says, then purses his lips. You're almost happy to hear that, but you also know that after weeks back on high doses of nicotine, he's going to be a little grumpy. “C'mere,” he says. He pushes his legs down and holds his arm out to welcome you in for a hug. You smile as you walk over and curl in against his side. His arm immediately wraps around you. “I was thinking,” he says and you want to make a joke about smelling smoke, but you hold off. “Will we give the baby an Irish name?” 

“We don't even know what it is yet,” you smile, but it occurs to you that you've been so wrapped in your anxiety that the thoughts of cute things like that had been pushed far away. 

“I know but, like, I'd want an Irish name.” He says quietly. “A wee Oisín or Ciarán, or a Caoimhe or Róisín.” 

“We could have twins, Róisín and Oisín.” You laugh a little. 

He tuts, but he's smiling. “When I read the article I wanted to ring the boys there and then and just tell them. Say, look lads we're having a baby and that's what's happening. You know? And then I didn't want to hurt them, and I still don't. Like, I know what they're going to think. They're going to think we lied about it. And that's what's fucking eating me, you know? I love ‘em, they're my best friends, and-and I don't want to hurt them or push them away further. Malachy's in such a good place with us now, and after talking with Aran I know he feels better. I don't want to fuck that. But Y/N, having this baby with you feels good. I know what I said before and I know we went through the shit over, but I'm happy it's happening. I am. I promise you. But all the shit - the kids, the press, Yvonne, the reactions from every fucker around us… I'm scared of all that.” 

It scares you a little that he's echoing your fears, but it's good to know you're not alone in them. But you know you're on your own in the fear that somewhere in the midst of this pregnancy, he's going to flip his ideas again. “We should tell the boys before Christmas.” You say. “Let's have a couple of days, you and me here at home, and then we can have them over - the boys and Yvonne. Tell them all together.” 

Cillian turns his head a little and you look up. “You want to do that?” He sounds surprised, happy maybe, and you nod your head. 

“We have to.” You say quietly. “Sooner rather than later, it has to be said and it has to be before any more shit like that article is produced.” You sigh heavily, “And then after the scan, after we know everything is okay… then we tell everyone else that needs to know. Your family first.” 

You can feel the vibrations as he laughs, “Ah, fuck, Páidi's going to have an opinion or two.” 

“He's your little brother, he's supposed to!” You smile. You wrap your arm around his slight waist and snuggle closer. “I am so fucking glad you're home.” 

“Me too,” he hums, pulling you closer. 

“It's been no fun fucking myself.” You laugh, breaking the heaviness in the air. 

“Ah stop,” he throws his head back against the sofa, chuckling lightly. Then he laughs a little more, “I'd the earphones in on the plane, and that song came on, you know the one Afternoon Delight?” He pauses as he giggles again. “Just made me think of you recently.” 

“I googled it,” you say, “Pregnancy and wanting to fuck all the time. Apparently it only happens when your partner is Cillian Murphy.” You tease, and he laughs again. “It's just a good job I'm already pregnant because it's that fucking feeling I like… feeling you just spilling inside me.” You shake your head and know you need to stop, you're only egging yourself on here. “We'd be in serious trouble otherwise.” 

“Stop talking,” he sighs and shifts. “... Jesus.” 

“You're alright,” you laugh, “I'm too tired to ride you like I want to. But I swear, Cill, we're destroying the sofa in the next two days. I need that out of my system before I stand in front of the family I destroyed and tell them we are having a baby.” 

He laughs awkwardly, his whole body shaking as he does, and he tightens his arm around you more. “Y/N, you didn't destroy anything. I've told you this so many times, I know you know. I wanted that marriage over.” 

“Would you have left if we hadn't spent that year sneaking around?” you ask. You've asked before and you know what he'll say, but it never clears your fears for long enough. 

“Yes. We were falling apart, Y/N. The only thing you did was show me it would be okay to do it. You didn't ruin anything.” He reassures you, but you know that he knows that will always be how you feel. “And I'll tell you once more, but I won't remind you again - whatever happens, I love you.” 

[pleniluneloves]

𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 !𝙬𝙡𝙬! (𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵)

TW: sexually explicit writing, MDNI!

-- hange hasn't changed one bit from when the two of you just started dating. where significant others would usually slowly drop the generous amount of compliments and showers of kisses out of nowhere, she makes sure her partner feels loved every minute of every day. sometimes it's a press of her lips against your cheek as she rushes past you with numerous documents, and sometimes it's a firm hand around your waist that pulls you flush to her side when the two of you are out in public together. she wants you, and she makes sure you're aware of it.

-- hange knows you get insecure sometimes. to be honest, she doesn't really understand why. but she does understand it's her task to rid you of those negative thoughts. she does so in multiple ways, depending on how you reveal your troubles to her. if you outwardly tell her you're not satisfied with the shape of your nose or the way your hips curve she'll walk straight to you and sit you down on the nearest surface, hands coming to lean next to your thighs as she looms over you. she'll face you with a bit of a glare at first, but then she starts talking. and talking. and talking. seriously, she won't shut up once she's started listing all the things she loves about you, and how she can't stop staring at every feature you have on display. and if the rambling isn't enough for you, you better believe she makes you believe through actions.

-- hange isn't too big on selfcare. she finds her research and studies far more important, so much she abandons tasks such as brushing her hair, or cleaning her glasses, or even taking a bath. this is where you come in. as her loving and caring girlfriend, you'll often walk into her study with a brush in one hand, and a warm bowl of water with a towel slung over the edge in the other. she'll grumble in protest as you sit her down and start running the brush through her knotted locks, but those grumbles soon turn into hums of satisfaction as you run a warm cloth along the sides of her face, her eyes fluttering shut and lips slightly parting at the welcome sensation. it's happened once or twice that she's fallen asleep while you take care of her. and when it does, you laugh softly at the sight, pecking her forehead before waking her up and escorting a very whiney hange to bed.

-- getting her to take a bath is a whole lot more challenging. you can't exactly carry the tub into her study after all, so dragging her to the tub will have to do instead. a difficult task, but with enough kisses to her jaw and neck you manage to convince her everytime.

-- hange insists on being the big spoon when the two of you sleep together. you've tried to reverse the roles every now and then, but each time you put up a fight it ends up with her arms wrapped firmly around your torso, pulling you back against her own firmly, along with teasing whispers in your ear. "you really thought i was gonna let you win this time, huh?" - "feisty tonight? i've dealt with worse."

-- there's not much that can distract hange from her work, everyone knows what she gets like when the slightest bit of titan news is revealed to her. but there's one thing that does catch her attention at any given time. you. whether she's rambling to herself about heaven knows what in pure excitement, or if she has that one serious look painted upon her features while writing down results. when you walk into the room and ask her what she's up to, your body leaning against the doorframe and shirt draped past your shoulder to reveal a generous amount of skin, best believe her eyes, and right after her attention, are immediately on you. it's gotten to a point where she straight up titled you as 'a distraction', and now you're not allowed to walk in on her working from six to eleven pm anymore.

-- but you, stubborn as you are, break that rule from time to time. not to genuinely upset her, but because you know there's a certain punishment waiting for you when you disobey her. you remember the first time you've found out about this. how were you supposed to know that when you walked in you would end up pressed against the wall, one leg hooked over her shoulder with hange absolutely devouring your pussy, groaning words of disapproval between fervish licks and nips?

-- as much as hange loves eating you out, she has absolutely nothing against laying back on the bed with your face buried between her thighs, as she eagerly keeps you there with one hand on the back of your head. she'll tell you exactly what she likes, tell you exactly when something feels especially good. in your opinion, she even talks too much sometimes. you make it a challenge to try and shut her up by increasing the pace in which your mouth and fingers work on her, but it rarely works. save for when she cums all over your face. nothing but incoherent blabbers and sounds of complete and utter desperation fall from her lips when she bucks her hips against your face in order to ride out those waves of pleasure.

-- sometimes hange gets very frustrated with her research. when something doesn't work out the way she predicted, or when someone is far too late with delivering her the supplies she ordered. after the two of you have been together for a while you know what time it is when she bursts into your bedroom without a word, more or less throwing herself onto you and shoving her hand into your panties. she's not one for foreplay, far too impatient. she'll let out all of her frustrations by telling you them between hot open-mouthed kisses against your lips, jaw and neck, along with her fingers pumping in and out of you at a rapid pace. you know better than to touch her as well- when she's like this, all she wants is for you to be begging and crying for her touch.

-- despite not being the cleanest herself, she always makes sure you're taken care of. especially after sex. once the both of you have caught your breath she'll roll from the bed (or any other place the two of you decided to go at it), urge you to climb onto her back and take you to the nearest source of clean water. she'll mutter how well you did while cleaning you, how good you looked and still do throughout the small kisses she showers your face with. one thing is clear, hange is completely and hopelessly in love with you.

[lazysoulwriter]

is it casual now? - paul mescal.

You know it's stupid, the way you keep letting this happen. But it's Paul. And when it comes to Paul, you never think straight.

It's not just that he's devastatingly handsome, with his boyish smile and that ridiculous gold chain he never takes off. It's the way he looks at you sometimes, like he's not supposed to. The way he holds your wrist when he's making a point, thumb brushing against your skin absentmindedly. The way he always asks if you're warm enough before handing you his jacket, even though you insist you're fine.

The way he fucks you like he's in love with you.

Except, he's not. And you're not together. At least, that's what he says.

"You know what people are saying?" your friend, Lily, asks one night, sipping a gin and tonic at the bar. She raises a knowing brow. "That you’re just some girl he bangs on his couch."

You laugh, but it’s forced. "People say a lot of things."

And yet, it stings. Because it's not true. Not really. Right?

You're not just a late-night call. He takes you out, sometimes. He texts you good morning and sends you stupid memes throughout the day. He invites you over, and not just when he's drunk or lonely. He takes his time with you, always. And his touch—it lingers.

But then, there are the other times. The ones where he keeps his distance in public, introducing you as just a friend. The ones where he doesn’t reach for your hand. The ones where he shrugs off the question of what you are with an easy, "We’re just having fun."

Maybe you could handle it better if it was purely physical, if there wasn't that underlying sweetness to the way he treats you. If he didn't make you coffee in the morning, shirtless in his kitchen, humming some song under his breath. If he didn't pull you closer in his sleep, murmuring your name like it meant something more.

And now, this.

Knee-deep in the passenger seat of his car, his head between your thighs, your fingers threading through his curls as he looks up at you with that devastatingly soft expression.

He hums against your skin, and you shudder. "Okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe, though your mind is spinning, your chest tightening. "Paul—"

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh before sitting back up, running a hand through his hair. You watch as he exhales, his gaze flicking to you before he smiles, easy and content. As if this is normal. As if it doesn’t mess with your head every single time.

"Come here," he murmurs, tugging you onto his lap, pressing his lips to yours, lazy and unhurried.

If it’s just casual, why does he kiss you like that?

Two weeks later, his mom invites you to her house in Long Beach.

You almost don't go. But then Paul sends you a text the morning of, a simple, "Hope you’re still coming," and you fold. Because you always do.

His mom is lovely, warm and welcoming, and you help her prepare dinner while Paul watches with that quiet admiration that makes you feel unsteady. And when he reaches for your waist absentmindedly, pressing a hand to your back as he passes by, it feels real. It feels like something.

Later, when you're washing dishes together, she glances at you with a soft smile. "You make him happy, you know."

Your hands still in the sink. "I—"

She chuckles. "I can see it. The way he looks at you."

Your chest tightens, but you don't say anything. You don’t want to get your hopes up.

But later that night, when Paul pulls you onto his couch, tucking you under his arm, you decide to ask.

"Is it casual now?" you murmur against his chest.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing absent circles against your hip. Then, softly, "Does it feel casual to you?"

You hesitate, then shake your head. "No."

"Me neither."

Your breath catches. "Then what are we doing, Paul?"

He exhales, pressing his lips to your hair. "Falling, I think."

[magneticallyyours]

Hi there, currently simping for our mans, Magneto. So what I've been thinking, I know magnetic therapy is pseudoscience but I would really love it if you wrote a fic where the reader comes back home from work and she gets body pain from the stress (totally not self projecting with psychosomatic pain lol) and Erik overall comforts her and uses his mutation to make the pain subside. Thanks in advance btw.

After dying for months, you're my first ask that I finished! Sorry for the delay, I just got out of writer's block 😭

Erik Lehnsherr/Max Eisenhardt x Reader || Fade Into You

SUMMARY You've been overworking yourself again, coming home to a worried Erik and welcoming bed. But he isn't willing to watch you suffer like this, and so takes matters into his own hands. For a night, his magnetic fields are used for something other than justice.

TAGS: Fluff, Comfort, Reader's gender left ambiguous, Caring Erik, Magnetic therapy, Cuddles.

CW: None. Just that magnetic therapy is pseudoscience but this is fucking X-Men lmao

WORDCOUNT: 1.2k

A/N: This is left ambiguous (intentionally) so you can headcanon Fassbender, 97, Krakoa, or any version of Magneto that wouldn't butcher you. Enjoy?

★★★★★★★★★

Man, today was a stressful work day. You just barely managed to get through it, owing to the fact that you'd come home to Erik at the end of it all. The moment you stepped in through the front door, Erik was already there, seemingly waiting for you. The moment you plopped down on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. 

“Welcome home, my dear. You look– exhausted.” 

Well, there's that. He always picked up on the littlest of things, both out of care and because of how meticulous he always was. He kind of had to be, in a way. You groaned, gently massaging your shoulder. “It's just.. Everything hurts, Erik. I feel exhausted.” He listened to you speak attentively, shifting closer to let you rest your head on him.

“I've told you so many times to–” Oh, not this again. He turned into somewhat of a doting mother at times. You cut him off, huffing. 

“Not to exert myself, I know. But I have to work, Erik.” 

He tsks at that, choosing not to press further. It's clear that you weren't going to listen to his words, and frankly he wouldn't blame you for it. 

“May I at least prepare some dinner for you?” 

He hoped you wouldn't deny him this simple request, because he hated seeing you tired like this. Whenever you'd come home late and tired, or when you fell ill, he wouldn't take any of your ifs or buts. He would push you back into bed and force you to let him take care of you until you recovered. Ah, he was a character. But he was cute.

“..Sure thing, I'd love that.” You agreed, making him nod. He gave you a blanket before he pressed a kiss to your forehead, swiftly making it to the kitchen. It felt like no time at all when your eyes began to droop, all the sleep deprivation and pain catching up to you at last. Your muscles and bones were aching, prompting you to lay down against the inviting surface of the couch. It was so warm and cozy. Kind of like him. That little nap, if you could call it that, was a temporary reprieve, for your body was still aching all over. When your eyes opened, you could see a very upside down Erik Lehnsherr looming over you. He was more funny than intimidating like this. He frowned when you laughed. 

“Well, miss, don't just laugh. Sit up. I'm finished with dinner.” 

After a minute of rolling around, unwilling to get up (much to Erik's chagrin), you finally complied. He was sitting beside you, bowl of stew in hand. A spoonful floated to your lips, waiting for you to eat. You opened your mouth to protest, but he used the opportunity to slip some stew into your mouth.

“There. Good, isn't it?” 

It really was. He'd used only the vegetables you'd like, cooked soft yet not mushy. For a night like this, it was perfect.

“It's.. edible.”

He smirked. He knew you liked it. 

“Good enough for me.” 

He didn't move an inch until you were full and satisfied, but he didn't grab a bowl for himself. That made you press, “Aren't you eating?”

“Don't you worry about me. We're getting you to bed first.” 

“But–” “No arguing, słoneczko. Up.” 

He waited a beat, but upon noticing that you weren't making any effort to move, he tsked. Time to take matters into his own hands, then. He stood up, scooping you into his arms.

“Hey! Put me down-”

“You don't mean that, I'm sure. You're going to bed.” 

You tried to protest, but he was right. The bed seemed more inviting than ever, especially considering you didn't have to walk there. But you also wanted to spend some time with Erik, so you didn't know which to choose. While you were mulling the pros and cons over in your head, he gently set you down on the bed.

“Wait here.”

He left your bedroom, returning with a bowl of stew for himself before sitting down at your bedside.

“Are you going to just.. eat beside me, Erik?” 

He clicked his tongue. “Just wait, liebchen. I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're wondering.” 

He held the spoon in his hands this time, eating nonchalantly. Slowly, you feel a faint hum fill the air, as Erik lifts his hand, fingers curling slightly as if cradling something. You feel it immediately—an almost imperceptible shift, like the space around you has become weightless. The tension locked in your muscles loosens as a gentle force spreads through your limbs, coaxing the pain away.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice steady, reassuring. Another spoonful of stew. “I've got you. You just have to lay back and let me help.” 

Like, damn. Who could refuse something like that? Especially with that look in his eyes. He wasn't even exerting himself, something like this second nature to him. That's what made it even better. He was so talented at this. 

The magnetic field he manipulates isn't harsh or violent. It's gentle, like a warm pair of hands on your body. They work their way over every muscle, gently prodding at your back. You couldn't help but let out a relaxed sigh as he took his time with you, eating wordlessly as the sleepiness took over. His eyes stayed fixed on you. 

It felt like forever as the process continued, but you weren't complaining. You didn't want this to end. You wanted this fucking– magnetic spa, almost, to continue till the end of time. But then the ache subsided, leaving a warmth in its place. Not from heat, but from peace. He shook his head with a smile.

“See? Sometimes listening to me isn't so bad.” 

He spoke, matter-of-factly, but teasing regardless. Then he got up to go put the bowl and spoon away, but you caught his hand. He looked down, confused. 

“Don't tell me it didn't work–”

“Stay. I want you.”

He chuckled, wagging his finger.

“Oh my. You have to be patient, Schatzi. I'm going to join you in bed after I put these away. So stay there.”

You groaned, shoving him weakly. He left regardless after pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, returning too late, in your eyes. He didn't let you protest for another moment, getting under the covers beside you. It was his turn to comply. A strong arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. So protective and warm. It made you feel fuzzy. 

“Sleep, dearest. You need it.” 

His thumb rubbed comforting circles into your hips, lulling you into sleep. You could tell he was using his magnetic fields again to ease you. You hummed lowly, nuzzling into him. 

While you thought you were going to stay awake longer, perhaps talk to him, you'd fallen asleep in minutes. He relaxed, relieved that you were finally asleep. As promised, though, he didn't move a muscle. He laid there, tenderly looking at you until he felt tired enough to sleep. 

Oh, and: Tomorrow was a weekend, but you still had the alarm set earlier to spend time with Erik. Tch, you needed your beauty sleep. He turned it off. Such a villain… 

★★★★★★★★★

[crispywriter]

Gale Dekarios is a quiet kind of beautiful.

When you'd first met—pulled him headfirst into you from within the depths of that unstable portal—you truly hadn't thought all that much of him. Not to say that you weren't immediately aware of the man's handsomeness, but the tadpole squirming within your brain, threatening to change you into an unfeeling monster was top priority in that particular moment.

As the weeks had passed and you'd gotten to know him, opened your heart toward him, deepened your trust and eventually fell madly, completely, utterly in love with him—every little detail about the wonderful wizard was revealed to you and to your surprise, you fall impossibly deeper for him with every passing day.

Now, as you sit lounging across the worn old bench on the balcony outside your shared home in Waterdeep, legs sprawled over his knees, you've completely forgotten whatever ancient tome it is Professor Dekarios has asked you to look over in favour of admiring the way the late afternoon sun falls upon his face.

He's gotten softer now—the months of sleeping in comfortable beds and eating balanced meals treating him much kinder than the roughness of the time spent travelling to Baldur's Gate, and he's told you he wasn't much better before, when he'd spent so long worried over his potential to bring an end to an entire city. Your eyes linger on the shapely curve of his neck, the strength of his jaw, the wisdom of the creases and lines on his face—his eyebrows are furrowed as he reads, his growing hair half swept back into a knot behind his head, warm sunlight catching in his eyelashes and making him appear almost ethereal.

"I know you're staring." Gale breaks the comfortable silence, turning his head just slightly toward you and tapping his glasses up his nose. The spectacles are a welcome addition, you think, adding to both your devilish fantasies and the overwhelming love toward him. "You're supposed to be helping me decipher that. I've got exams to prepare."

"How am I to focus on translating Infernal when you're sitting here looking the way you do?" You bite back, nothing but adoration in your tone.

"Looking like what?" He turns his head to you fully now, strands of hair falling about his lovely tanned skin, the deep chocolatey brown catching the sun just as his lashes had, lighting it golden.

"Gods, I don't know if there's a word that would suffice—an angel, perhaps?" You hum and close the book you were supposed to be reading.

He'd told you once that with you he forgets his goddess. With him you forget every other divine being in all of the realm's histories.

Gale flushes a delightful shade of red, tutting his tongue to his teeth and shaking his head slightly. "You and your ridiculous..." He trails off, "you haven't happened upon another mindflayer tadpole by chance?"

"Disgusting, and no, I assure you these thoughts are entirely my own." You grin, shuddering at the phantom feeling of something wriggling about inside your head. "What? I can't compliment you now without you doubting me?"

"Your compliments I can handle." Gale chuckles as he turns his attention back to his book, his eyelashes lighting up gold once more. "Your flattery—though once I thoroughly enjoyed—I now find myself unable to accept."

You almost pout at that, but knowing where the professor's proud nature had come from and all the years of trying to live up to—what were by all intents and purposes—unreasonable expectations, you swallow it down and instead swing your legs around and scoot closer to your beloved's warm body, the navy silk shirt he wears loose on his body, the buttons popped open lower than he'd allow under any other circumstances, and you take the opportunity to slip your hand inside and rest your palm over the steady beat of his heart. It stutters when your proximity increases and Gale releases a sigh that begins confident but loses strength somewhere in the middle.

"Darling, I'm busy." His voice wavers. You smile and nudge your nose against the softness of his hair, right by his ear.

"Ignore me." You whisper, delighted at the way the wizard shivers in response, your thumb rubbing lazy half-moons on his chest, your other arm going around his neck until your hand finds purchase on his shoulder, squeezing at the tension in his muscles. "Relax. Pretend I'm not even here."

"By the Weave—"

You smile and begin to kiss across his temple, stretching your neck up as your nose presses into his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and worn book pages, plain soap and the underlying crisp smell of magic that tickles your nose as you press your lips to his skin. Both your arms go around his neck and you cup the opposite side of his face in your hand, trying not to disturb his spectacles too much as you adorn his soft cheeks with sweet smooches, humming happily as he tries his very best to continue to focus but still leans into your touch.

"My love..." Gale gives another sigh, this one sounding almost defeated as he turns his head and allows you to trail your pathway of kisses toward his lips. "You're being rather unfair."

"Unfair?" Your smile only grows as you tangle your fingers into your lover's hair and tease his mouth with your own, your lips barely brushing his. "It's not my fault you're unable to resist me."

He keens into your feather-light kisses, his mouth parting as he breathes you in, eyelids fluttering closed and his book almost forgotten—his determination so quickly abandoned now you've got him twisted around your fingertips. You hum softly and gently comb your fingers through Gale's hair, dodging his neediness to nuzzle your way back up the side of his face, your nose skimming his glasses as you press a kiss between his creased brows.

"My sweet girl..." You shuffle closer, expertly maneuvering into a kneeling position, vaguely aware of the professor finally placing his book down on the small table beside the bench before his curious hands come over to slide up your thighs and hips. "Love of my life—closer please, please—"

You smile wide at the endearment, carefully slipping your leg over the wizard's and sitting down, comfortably straddling his thighs. "I thought I was a distraction?" You gently untie the knot in his hair and let the soft strands fall free about your beloved's face before you comb your fingers through it slowly, stretching forward to press gentle kisses in his hairline every time you see a grey hair—so you end up kissing him a lot.

"Oh, you most certainly are." Gale closes his eyes as you shower him with affection, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp, his arms looping around your waist as you lean your weight into his solid body. "But a welcome one nonetheless."

💫

just thinking about how much i love this man

[kkoga]

3. Explain ┈─★ WC : 499

Masterlist ! next !

Daniela groans. Good god, her head was killing her. The Latina slowly opens her eyes, and notices the ceiling looks unfamiliar. Maybe her headache was just getting to her. The Latina closes her eyes and tries to head back to sleep.

Her position was killing her back, so the girl rolled over to her right. She ''hugs'' a pillow. ''God damn this pillow is warm... wait...'' After realizing what she was hugging was in fact probably not a pillow, Daniela's eyes widen, and she sits straight almost immediately.

She looks to her right, and recognizes the person next to her. Y/n fucking L/n??

''Someone wake me up right now. There is no fucking way I just woke up next to Y/n. And am I... naked???'' Daniela was appalled. How the hell did she even end up in this situation?

Thanks to all the movement Daniela had been doing, Y/n slowly shifts from her position, and rubs her eyes.

''Daniela? You awake?'' The girl groggily said, sitting up. Daniela quickly covered her chest with the blanket.

''What happened, and why the hell am I basically naked and next to you? Explain.'' Daniela put her guard up, and Y/n tries to grab her glasses from the bedside table.

''You don't remember?'' Y/n, half awake, not aware that answering right away might have been more beneficial, is met with a rude stare.

''Oh... okay. You uhm, were getting harassed by some guy, and I helped you, and you told me to take you home. I told you I was going to get your members, but you begged me to take you to my home. You told me you didn't want any more people to see you vulnerable.'' Y/n says as she slicks her hair back, still somewhat sleepy.

''That does sound like me....'' The Latina thought to herself.

''Serious?''

''Serious.''

Daniela's cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. She barely even lets her members see her vulnerable, much more someone she's only met a handful of times.

''Uhm... did we do anything last night?'' Daniela bites her lip. She prays her drunk self didn't dare to.

''What? Of course not. You're only half naked because you insisted it's how you prefer sleeping. I would never take advantage of anyone like that.'' Daniela could tell Y/n felt offended that the Latina had thought of her that way.

''Okay.. where are my clothes then? I would like to leave now.'' Y/n points to a small couch in the corner of her bedroom. Daniela shyly takes Y/n's blanket and takes her clothes off of Y/n's couch.

''I'll leave so you can get changed.'' Y/n says as she stands up, and swiftly leaves the room.

After a few minutes, Daniela exits Y/n's bedroom, looking nice and ready.

''I uhm, booked a cab. I'll go now. Thank you for uh, taking care of me.'' Daniela leaves before Y/n could ever mutter the words ''You're welcome.''

Taglist 13/30 : @itzkatflixs @yjiminswallet @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @yeetaberry127 @gtfoiydlyj @kristalag @haerinkisser @sunshinez4 @xochitlisbest @sirenontheloose @arihiu @harajuku @fruityg0rl

[my85volvo]

Part 3! I'm still working out how Tumblr works so I'm not sure if I have to tag @renmackree again? Or will you just see my update? God, I'm old.

The priest banged his head against the bed frame behind him in his scramble to move away. Simultaneously, the new follower sleeping in the bed jolted up and whipped his head around to stare directly at Derek before recoiling against the wall.

Derek was taken aback by the boy's hostility. Even the new follower seemed upset. Did he not do exactly as was asked? He left at the boy's command. He wore clothes befitting of his status--he had been more than accommodating. If this were 3,000 years ago, he would have easily found another to fill his role. But, as it stands, the old god needed him. And judging by the state of the accommodations in front of him, the boy needed him, too.

“Dude, do NOT wake me up like that anymore,” said the priest.

“Why are you so upset?” Asked Derek. “I did as you requested.”

The new follower was the next to respond.

“Um, what?”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes, annoyed that these humans were so vexing.

“It's him, Scott. My hallucination,” the priest explained.

“He's wearing clothes.”

“That's all you have to say about this? He teleported into your room!” The priest flailed his arms for emphasis.

“He probably walked through the door!”

“How did he even know where I was?”

“Dude, you only go to, like, 3 places. You're not hard to find.”

“Eh-hem.” Derek cleared his throat to get their attention.

They looked like grown men, but apparently, it was acceptable for men of this era to bicker like children in front of a deity.

They both looked up at him expectantly.

“Now, today you are to receive my blessing as high priest. And you--"Derek looked at the new follower on the bed. “You may receive a boon as well since I am feeling generous. Though you will not delegate my priest to the floor again, as his station is far above yours. Understood?”

The new follower looked at him as if he had brown two heads.

“Amazon slipper orchid,” the priest declared, still seated at his feet.

“Pardon?”

“Prove to me that you're a god. Find me a living Amazon slipper orchid from the Rainforest.”

Derek crossed his arms and scowled.

“I am not an errand boy.”

“You asked what it would take to build my faith. This is it. no more tests.” The priest seemed honest, so Derek acquiesced.

“Fine. And then you will receive my blessing?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Very well.”

Derek closed his eyes and concentrated on the beauty and lifesource of the flower. The last time he walked the earth, the people called it Lady's Moon, but its loveliness had not dwindled at all since then. When he willed himself to appear before one, the crisp forest welcomed him under a canopy of verdant leaves. Gingerly, he uprooted the flower from the remnants of a decaying tree, imbuing strength into the roots and protection through the stem.

When he stepped through the veil to return to his meager flock, he found the two men bickering. Again.

“I'm just saying, you can't trust him, Stiles! You don't know anything about him!” Cried the new follower.

“Dude, he's magic. Real, bona fide, hogwarts-level magic. How is your mind not exploding right now?”

“What if he wants to sacrifice you to his dark master or something? What if–”

“Eh-hem.”

They were both seated on the bed now, and at Derek's interruption, they both whipped their heads toward him. Their expressions were wide-eyed and weary, as if they were children caught stealing sweets before supper.

His priest was the first to speak.

“...you found it. You really found it,” he said with a chuckle.

“Did you doubt me, priest?”

“Yeah, actually. I kinda did.” The priest reached out to touch one of the delicate petals, but he thought better of it at the last moment and withdrew his hand. “And it's Stiles. My name, that is. Not priest.”

“Stiles,” Derek repeated with a smile.

“Um, excuse me, but we don't want anything to do with gods or magic, okay?” The new follower glared at him in defiance. “So you can go find some other priest and leave my friend alone.”

“That's Scott, just ignore him,” said Stiles with a wave of his hand.

“Stiles!” Scott threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Hey, could you conjure up a pot or something?”

“You said no more tests,” Derek said, eyeing him with suspicion.

“It’s not a test. I just don't want the flower to die while we wait.”

“Please, Stiles, can we just–” Scott interrupted.

“The flower is strong. It will be fine for many days,” Derek spoke over him. “You can place it upright in one of those empty tins if you like.”

Derek nodded towards the beautifully painted, deep red canisters stacked on the ground near the window.

“Alright, Dr. Pepper house it is.”

Stiles grabbed a can and shook out a few drops of liquid into his mouth, then motioned Derek to help him transfer the flower into its new home. Scott continued voicing his grievances while Derek ignored him.

“Dude, come on, you can't seriously be listening to this guy! He's dangerous!” Scott whined.

“He's hot, and he brought me flowers. Best first date I've had in a while, honestly.”

Stiles was still carefully stuffing the long roots into the can while he spoke.

“What if he hurts you?”

“I would never,” Derek growled. “He is my anchor to this world. To hurt him would be akin to cutting off my own arm.”

“Really? That's so sweet,” Stiles smiled.

Derek felt a grin come unbidden at the priest's words. Finally, Stiles was beginning to trust him.

“STILES!” Scott yelled, frustrated at his lack of influence.

“ENOUGH,” Derek boomed.

He spoke from deep within his body, letting his power bleed into the command. The window rattled, and the stack of painted cans toppled over at his voice.

“You may not command my high priest, boy. You are but a follower, not a ruler. Know your place.” Derek wouldn't tolerate the mistreatment of his own, no matter how ignorant they may be.

“I'm not your follower,” Scott said with a quiver in his voice.

He was clearly afraid to stand his ground, but he was still fiercely loyal to his friend. Derek admired his loyalty, though this misplaced tenacity was frustrating.

“Okay, let's all just take a breather here,” said Stiles. He had finished placing the orchid and was now holding his hands up as if to separate him from Scott. “Wolf of the Wool, please don't be mean to Scott. He's my best friend, and he's just looking out for me.”

Derek glared in response but said nothing.

“And Scott, I will literally explode from curiosity if I don't hang out with this guy and get some answers. Magic is real. This is my life now.”

Scott cast his head down, defeated. The three of them sat in uneasy quiet for a brief moment before Derek broke the silence.

“It's Wolf of the Wood,” Derek said.

“What?” Asked Stiles.

“You called me Wolf of the Wool. I am the Wolf of the Wood. You should know the name of the god you summoned.”

“Oh yeah, that makes more sense. But I definitely didn't summon you, dude.”

“Don't call me dude. And you swore an oath to me, then left an offering at my altar. What was your purpose if not to revive me from my slumber?”

“Did you…summon me by accident?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Derek cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Stiles was silent for a moment, staring at the ground and appearing to be in deep concentration. He finally looked up with a sheepish grin on his face.

“Whoops?”

Derek felt his face fall. All his excitement over coming back to earth and...he wasn't even wanted? Did Stiles believe in him at all?

"Did you ever want my blessing?" Derek said, his voice despondent.

"Um, not particularly?" Stiles must have felt pity for him, because he quickly amended his statement. "But I'm sure it's a great blessing! The best blessing! You can totally bless me, if you want. I'd be honored."

Stiles looked up at him, hopefully.

"You probably don't have anything prepared."

"Okay, what do I need to do?"

"This is stupid," Scott interjected.

"Different ages had different ceremonies, usually involving the whole tribe," Derek started, ignoring Scott's comment. "At the very least, there would be some sort of goblet or bowl of special significance that you would use to drink my blood--"

"Hard pass," Stiles said quickly.

Derek frowned.

"I mean, um, is there like another way to get the blessing? One that doesn't involve me swallowing your bodily fluids?"

"Of course. We can copulate."

"No way," Scott said.

Stiles was silent, but his face was turning a furious shade of red.

"That's, um, well...it might be worth a try," said Stiles, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Stiles, you can't be serious."

"Scott, did I get in your way when you were adamant about taking home Allison Argent even though she's definitely in a crazy murder cult? No. So don't cock block me."

"That was different, and you know it. She wasn't going to hurt me."

"She had a crossbow and handcuffs in her car. At school. At least this guy doesn't have any weapons. You don't have any weapons, do you, Mr. Wolf God?"

"I have no need of weapons."

"See Scott? It's fine. But...I'm not really, um, experienced with that stuff, so can we get to know each other first?"

Derek scoffed, as if the idea was beneath him. Honestly, this entire situation was beneath him. Since when did he have to beg to bestow a piece of his power to a lowly human? Would it be better if he just left, waited for the human to die, then went back to sleep? A part of him hated that idea. He yearned to experience this world with his new priest.

While he should be furious that humans were treating him with such insolence, he found that he couldn't fault Stiles for long. The boy was honest and pure, and Derek could tell that he had no selfish motives for power whatsoever. It was refreshing to have a high priest that didn't lust after position or status. It was...entirely new, actually. As frustrating as the boy was, Derek couldn't deny that he wanted to keep him close.

"Listen. If you won't take my blessing, at least take this."

Derek withdrew a small vial from his jacket pocket, plucked a hair from his head, and carefully closed it into the small tube.

"Having a piece of me close will connect us. You can call me, and I will come. If you are injured, swallow it to heal yourself."

"Um, thanks?" Stiles took the offered gift with some confusion.

"I was serious when I said I would not harm you. As my high priest, my blessing would protect you from aggression or disease. Without it...then it falls to me to protect you."

Stiles gave him a look that was somewhere between longing and sadness. Perhaps he was finally understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Yes. Until you choose to receive the blessing...if you choose to at all."

"So, now what? You just hang out in the woods until I call you?"

"Sounds boring."

"Yes, a bit."

Derek waited patiently while Stiles chewed his lower lip in thought, and Scott continued to scowl at them both. After a moment, Stiles seemed to muster up the courage to speak again.

"So, ummm...wanna go out for breakfast?"

That's it for now, I think! I really liked this prompt, and now I want to go back and rework a few things from the earlier parts. I’ll be adding this to my Ao3 WIP list, because I am physically incapable of writing something under 10k words, and it's getting a bit long for Tumblr. I was really happy to get some encouraging words in the tags, so thanks!

Derek is the old god of the forest, forgotten and unworshiped for centuries. Towns were built around his forests and the alter where once offerings were laid has been overgrown. Derek believes himself to be lost and resigns to an endless slumber.

That is until a college kid stumbles on his alter and offers the large stone wolf a piece of his sandwich.

Now, awake and once more worshiped, the god must protect his new high priest Stiles at all cost. Which means blending into a world he knows nothing about. And going to college.

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Rapunzel AU!

Cale has been inside of the tower for his entire life. His hair is long, much longer than his brother's. His brother doesn't have a name. Cale knows they're brothers though- because they both have red hair, even if Brother has short hair and Cale does not.

Ever since Cale was 12, he'd been dreaming of a different world. He went to sleep and woke up as someone named Kim Roksu. This Kim Roksu was not in a similar situation as he was- Kim Roksu wandered the streets and ate food from the floor and hid in the small cabinet in his uncle's house. Kim Roksu was weak and strong.

Kim Roksu is a friend to Cale. When Cale wants to see the outside, he sleeps, and he dreams.

Kim Roksu figured out how to communicate with Cale after several years of simple body swapping.

Somehow, they are similar! They both agree that being trash is the best. Kim Roksu because it's easier being a bad person than a good person, and Cale because Brother won't let him be trashy and he wishes he could throw a fit without Brother punishing him.

"Your brother keeps you in a tower?" Roksu asks when he learns.

"Yeah. Is that weird?"

"Well, I don't know anyone who stays in a tower." Cale kicks a rock on the sidewalk with his barefoot, sending it skidding across the dirt road. "Ow, my toe." Roksu complains blandly.

Sharing a body, they also share the same sensations.

"You barely felt that and you know it."

"Shut up."

"You shut up." Cale retorts. He wants to say more, but he swallows those words and tucks them into his chest.

'The bruise over your eye hurts more but you don't complain about that.'

He bites his lip and looks down.

"Do you think," he asks quietly, "if I asked Brother to let me out, he would?"

Roksu, disembodied and floating over his body, frowns. "You haven't asked before?"

Cale smiles bitterly in Roksu's body. "... I did, once." After, Brother said he was going to be leaving for two weeks, and told Cale to ration his food well. Cale knew better than to think it was a coincidence. He didn't have Roksu yet. It was very lonely for a long time.

Roksu doesn't say anything.

"If," his voice trembles, "If I got out. If I left..."

"Cale." Roksu stops him. Cale winces, expecting to be reprimanded.

"You are trash. Trash does whatever they want, no matter what anyone says. If you want to leave, then leave." Roksu's translucent body floats over to stand in front of Cale. Sternly, he says, "Don't worry about useless things. Worry about making a plan and executing it."

Then, abruptly, Roksu turns and ignores him. Cale laughs and folds in half, a childish grin splitting his malnourished cheeks. How can someone be so blunt but so shy? Kim Roksu frowns, but it looks like a pout. Cale rubs away a tear and looks up at the back of his friend. No, the person who sometimes feels more like a brother to him than his real brother.

"And will you help me?"

Roksu rolls his eyes. "Don't ask something so obvious."

Cale smiles and looks down. "Right. Obvious, isn't it?"

Something like receiving help wasn't obvious to either of them. Yet, when it came to the two of them together, it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't obvious with Brother, who he shared blood with. But Kim Roksu, who was abused and beaten down at every turn, chose to welcome a wandering soul into his body and share everything with him.

'You're the one who shouldn't want to be here,' Kim Roksu said when they first started talking and Cale asked why he didn't try to force Cale out. 'When you're in control, I can relax. Why would I want you to leave? That's so difficult.'

They learned that Kim Roksu really could force Cale out when his uncle kicked Cale, sending Kim Roksu's body sprawling onto the floor, then stomped on his arm so hard they heard a clear snap. For Cale it only hurt for a short moment. Roksu threw him out so fast you could imagine that he had practiced beforehand.

Every day and night, Cale slept to try and enter Roksu's body, check on him, share the pain, but Roksu kicked him out every time. It wasn't until four weeks later that Roksu let Cale back in.

Even that much pain was a lot for being four weeks after the incident, but while Cale was struggling to keep his cool, Roksu floated around him and spoke as if nothing was wrong. When Cale started sweating a few hours later Roksu kicked him out again.

'Don't be stubborn,' he said when Cale returned the next night. 'Just say that it hurts. If you still want to stay after you admit that it hurts then I won't kick you out.'

It was a very Kim Roksu thing to do.

"Brother," Cale asks one day at 15, impatiently brushing his hair. He gets scolded lightly, and Brother takes the brush from him. "I read in a book about something called a phone. Do you have one?"

Brother gives him a blank look. Then, as if it had been a lie, his expression changes into something kind and gentle. "Fone? Can you show me the book?"

Cale and Brother roughly root around in every book for anything like the so-called 'Fone,' coming up short.

"Maybe it was a dream," Cale excuses it like that, rubbing his neck. Brother looks at him, worried.

"It must have been. Get some rest, Cale." A kiss to the top of Cale's head, Brother hugs him and promises to bring him more paint. "I'll be gone for a few days this time. Do you want something?"

"Ah," Cale smiles, pressing his face into his Brothers neck to hide his face. "Could you bring me -------?" Brother freezes.

"... you-"

"I learned it from the books! This time I really did, Brother. Please?"

Slowly, Brother releases the tension in his body. "... If that's what you want. But you have to close the window if you're going to mess around with alcohol."

"Yes!" Cale jumps with joy. Then he suddenly runs to a bookshelf, changing the topic by talking about a book Brother brought to him last time. "-and I'd like to know if the sequel is out yet."

"I'll do that." Brother smiles. "You've been asking for more things recently, Cale." Brother settles a hand on his head, stroking his hair.

"It's because of my reliable older brother!" He grabs onto that hand, keeping it there, resembling a naive little brother who only has his role model in his eyes.

He sends his brother down the tower using his hair, and watches that spot of red disappear in the distance.

His face drops.

"... Bastard."

Cale turns on his foot. It's time to see Roksu.