#Should I still tag Greece?

[roran01]

Spending time with your roommate's cat

As if you've never told him he can't keep it, a few days ago

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 4: Meet Me In the Library✨

Club owner! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @joelmillerisapunk and @mountainsandmayhem for being my betas 🩷 I hope you guys enjoy this part!

Chapter Summary: Joel shows up at your job unexpectedly and asks you to help him find a book.

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.3k

Chapter Tags: Allusions to smut, flirting, pining, Joel asks you to help him find a book, sexual tension

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  It’s Tuesday, and you still can’t stop thinking about the aftermath of Saturday night. The way Joel took you on the pool table, the way his filthy words rushed through your body and pulled heat to your core, the way he fucked you relentlessly until you were liquid beneath him. But what you really can’t stop thinking about is how soft he was with you after. The way he held you against his chest while his calloused fingers ran softly through your locks, the way he made you feel so… safe.

   He’s… incredible.

   You don’t really pay attention with the stack of books you’re carrying to the back until you run straight into Jane, your coworker who skates circles around you day after day.

   She huffs as you collide into her, and she grabs them out of your hands and gives you a displeased snarl. “Will you just watch where you’re going for once? Honestly, it’s like you’re in a fog lately,” she mutters as she rolls her eyes.

   “Sorry, Jane. Really, I didn’t see you there,” you apologize.

   “You don’t see a lot of things lately,” she mumbles out while holding the books close to her chest. “Just go help some customers, you’re getting on my last nerves.” 

   She whispers curses under her breath as she disappears through the double doors, and you can’t help but giggle as her glasses fall from her head. 

   You guess you should make some use of the rest of your shift. Not like you can pay attention. The only thing you want to think about right now is being underneath Joel again.

   You pick up a copy of an old history book about Greece that was left on the front counter and decide to take it back to where it belongs. As you start to walk past the first wooden bookshelf, you turn the corner and run straight into a broad chest that feels like a thick brick wall. When you look up and see who it is, you freeze. 

   Joel.

   “Joel! What are you doing here?” you gasp as the library book goes tumbling from your shaky hands. Joel quickly catches it with ease before it lands flat on the marble floor.

   “Thought I’d drop by. Was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs. He quickly flips through the white pages of the large book with interest, and you stand and gawk as his calloused thumb glides with ease over the worn pages. 

    “A book about Greece, huh?” he asks as if it’s got your name written all over it.

   “Was just taking it back to the section it belongs in.” You reach out and grab it nicely out of his large hands, but before you can slide your hand away, his calloused skin connects with yours and heat burns automatically through your body like he just set your skin on complete fire.

   You clear your throat and smooth a lock of hair nervously back in place before you give away how ecstatic and nervous you are to see him. 

   “You ever been?” he asks as he nods to the book that’s now in your clutch.

   “What?”

   “To Greece,” he chuckles.

   “Oh, right.” You shake your head out of a trance and pull yourself together. “No, it’s on my bucket list,” you sigh.

   “My, uhhh… my daughter’s actually over there right now studying abroad,” he smiles with pride shining in his chocolate eyes.

   Your eyes go wide as you take in the new information. “You have a daughter?” you ask slowly.

   “Mhm. Her name’s Sarah.”

   “Is she your only one?” you ask curiously, shifting your weight onto your left hip as you hug the history book closer to your chest.

   “Yeah, she’s my only one.” He smiles, and suddenly you’re smiling right back at him with warmth in your cheeks.

   He’s a dad? He’s probably such a good dad, too. How could he not be? Just look at him. He’s soft, sweet, and just so very perfect.

   “What is she studying?” you ask as you let some customers slip past you and Joel by the lit entryway.

   “Architecture,” he states with a small smile edging his beautiful eyes.

   “Architecture?” you ask with a raised brow. “Well then, that’s the perfect place to study,” you smile.

   “Figured the same.”

   “Do you have any pictures?” you ask as you take a step closer to him, letting the book drop in your grasp as you slide next to him.

   He nods as he traces thick fingers through his tousled curls, his eyes sparkling almost onyx as he pulls the iPhone out of the pocket of his dark jeans. His thumb flips through his pictures carefully, and you tense as you see his biceps flex as his fingers work the phone, practically shredding the green flannel that threads around his broad shoulders. You can barely breathe standing this close to him, and he hasn’t even done anything to you today.

   Fuck. You’ve got it so bad.

   He decides on one, stopping his thumb from flipping any further in the photo album, and then he holds it out to show you. You walk straight up to his side, just like a magnet being pulled by gravity, and when you brush against his green flannel you shake inside.

   You smile as you take in the picturesque image on the glow of the screen. Soft ocean waves lap in the back as the sun sets high on the coast. In the middle of the picture stands a young girl that definitely resembles Joel. Long, winding strands of hair fall over her shoulders, a grin as wide as a mile long, and bright eyes flash up to the camera. 

   Joel has a daughter.

   “Wow. It’s so beautiful there. And Sarah? She’s so pretty,” you beam as your eyes lift up to his crinkled, mesmerizing hazel flecks.

   “Yeah, she’s a beauty. And smart as hell. Don’t know where she gets it,” he chuckles as he flips through more photos.

   “I’m sure she gets it from you,” you giggle.

   “Nah. Don’t think so, darlin’,” he laughs.

   He flicks through a few more pictures, showing you the scenery of the glorious country, the architecture, the absolute beauty of it all. And you stand there and hold your breath, clinging to every picture, every word that rolls off his tongue, every flit of his caramel eyes. He’s got your full attention. 

   When he finishes and shoves the phone deep in the pocket of his jeans, he stands back and looks at you. Really takes a good look at you and smiles as he turns his body and brushes his calloused fingertips across your skin. The room is suddenly ten degrees hotter.

   “So, you gonna help me find a good book to read or what?” he smiles, brushing a strand of grey off his tanned forehead.

   You gulp as you watch him, nearly drooling at the sight of his tousled curls and crooked smile. Something about this man just makes you want to follow him anywhere he goes. “You want me to help you find a book?” you laugh as you cling the book about Greece to your chest.

   “Ain’t that what I said?” he asks with a raised brow.

   You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Okay then. Follow me,” you smile, feeling his large presence burn behind your back.

   You slip the book about Greece back into its proper spot in the history section and let your hand slide against the dark wood of the shelf, the sunshine flooding in through the large, cascading windows that surround the back wall.

   You turn around and place your fingers close to your smooth lips, arching an eyebrow as you look him up and down slowly, trying to conjure up the perfect book for him to read. 

   You take in his dark denim jeans, the leather boots that are always laced up perfectly, the soft flannel that hugs his large biceps, his messy grey curls that sometimes fall over his tanned skin, mindlessly gawking at the perfect man that he is. Tall, dark, handsome, just like you always read about in your favorite romance books.

   He smirks your way, catching you staring as he clears his throat. “You jus’ gonna stare or are you gonna give me some recommendations?” he asks playfully with the tick of his jaw.

   You shake your head out of the cloudy fog and nod your head. “Just trying to get a feel for you,” you mumble.

   “Think you’ve already got a pretty good feel of me, wouldn’t you say, angel?” He smirks your way, eyes darkening as you imagine yourself back under his strong body, taking him hard and fast against the pool table, ragged breaths uncontrolled as he takes you over the edge time and time again.

   Fuck. Now is not the time to get all flustered and heated. You’re working.

   “Stop teasing me,” you blush.

   “Didn’t know I was,” he winks. He fucking knew what he was doing.

   “Well, we’re never going to get a book picked out for you at this rate,” you laugh. 

   He shifts his weight and leans on one of the shelves that’s stacked high with literature and history books, looking over you slowly as he says, “Let’s change it up a bit. What’s your favorite book besides Pride and Prejudice?”

   “Mine? I thought we were trying to find something for you,” you say dismantled.

   He shrugs. “Asked you a question,” he states bluntly.

   “This isn’t about me,” you say as you shake your head.

   “No? I’m askin’ because I want to know what you would read. Give me a recommendation off that list, any book you’d read regularly, and I’ll pick that one.”

   “You want to read one of my books?” you ask with wide eyes.

   “Yeah,” he chuckles. “If it’s important to you then I’ll give it a shot. Even if it’s somethin’ I’d never even think to pick up. This’ll jus’… let me inside your mind a bit more.”

   You gawk at him, staring as you curl your fingers around the fabric of your dress, trying to piece together exactly what you just heard. He wants to see inside your mind, wants to read what you would? God, this man will be the death of you.

   “What’s the last book you read?” he asks casually as he follows you through the large library, the bookshelves turning into mazes as you take him further into the back. The area where fantasy and romance are. Your favorite.

   “Oh, you wouldn’t like…”

   “Try me,” he challenges, eyes darkening and narrowing with the hint of a playful smirk on his lips. 

   Oh. He really is serious.

   “Okay then, Miller. Follow me,” you grin as you lead him straight to the fantasy section where the books are spread wide and far, encapsulated by an arch that blocks out half the sunlight, where nobody else is currently standing.

   “Fantasy section, huh? I knew it,” he chuckles under his breath as he leans back against one of the sky high shelves stacked with some of your favorite fantasy books.

   “Yeah, what gave me away?” you ask, fluttering your long eyelashes as your fingertip skates across the various colored hardback covers.

   “Ain’t that what all the pretty girls are readin’ these days?” he smirks, his brown eyes glinting almost gold as he smiles at you from just a few feet away. 

   You shake your head as you search for the book you’re looking for. “Think charm is going to get you far, Joel?”

   “I’d like to think so, angel,” he mutters huskily. Your cheeks burn hot at the way he says that, like he wants to keep going with whatever this is. The thought makes you a bit dizzy, if you’re being honest with yourself.

   You thumb through the section, searching through stacks of colorful books, looking and looking until you find exactly what you want. You pull out the hardcover book and tap the cover, nodding your head as you hand it over to Joel. “Here it is. The last book I read.”

   He takes it from you slowly, opening the cover of the book to read the summary while he hums under his breath, like he’s assessing your choice very carefully. He closes it shortly after and flips it over. “Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros?” he asks with one eyebrow raised in question.

   “Mhm,” you hum. “That’s the one.”

   He presses his tongue into the middle of his cheek, flicking his brown doe eyes up to yours as he taps the edge of the book to his side. “Dragons, romance, war?” he asks as he takes a step closer, making you almost drop a book from the shelf as you study his expressive features.

   “Yeah, it’s amazing. In case you haven’t heard, you’re really missing out,” you giggle, twirling the end of a lock of hair around your index finger as nerves pull down your spine.

   “Guess I’ll jus’ have to read it and tell you what I think then,” he smiles as he tucks the book close to his side.

   “Really?” you ask with wide eyes. “You’re not going to say no?”

   “Like I said, let me inside that pretty mind of yours. I wanna read what you’ve read,” he murmurs as he takes another step forward, making your back go flush against the heavy bookshelf as a book slips from your hand and falls to the floor.

   Your breathing goes ragged as he takes two more steps, each one making your heartbeat frantic as he cages you in. He places the book down and then his strong arms brush against your shoulders as his hands land on each side of the bookshelf, his hot breath blowing down your neck as the room suddenly turns scorching hot.

   He leans his head down low and breathes warm air against the shell of your ear as he pushes back a lock of your hair, lingering his calloused fingers on your skin. “You know, I’ve never met a librarian quite as easy on the eyes before,” he whispers. “Especially one that’s so… adventurous as yourself.”

   You suck in a breath, and your cheeks burn crimson red at the compliment. You shake your head and laugh. “Think you might have something to do with that.”

   He chuckles and runs the tip of his thumb against your jawline, making you incredibly frazzled as his chest leans into yours. “Maybe so, little daredevil,” he smirks.

   Your mouth parts open as he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, making tingles run through your bloodstream as your chest tightens. His deep brown eyes pierce into yours, and they’re so magnetic you feel like you could collide with him at any second. 

   His eyes gaze down to your glossy lips and that stare, that achingly painful, yearning stare shoots absolute want into your body. His plush lips look so soft, soft enough to caress and brush over your own lips.

   The room feels like a sauna now as his body meets yours, hands buzzing on your skin, your mind reeling at the thought of kissing him. Kissing is intimate, kissing leads to more, kissing is dangerous. But yet for the moment you don’t care. The only thing you want, need right now is his lips on yours. 

   Your fingers clutch around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush to your chest as your breathing rapidly spirals into a full on panic attack. You’re at work, you should be helping customers, should be anywhere but in the back fantasy section with Joel where the lighting is dim and where practically no one can see you. 

   He leans further into you, taking his hand through your hair, curling his thick fingers under your chin so you’re staring straight into those honey glazed eyes that make you want to melt. And he’s telling you with his body language, with his starry eyes, with that longing stare that he wants to kiss. And you want to. God, you want to.

   He leans in further, tipping your head back till all you see is him, that flash of grey in his curls, his honey eyes searing into you, that longing ache that pulls deep in your gut. You want him, you want him so fucking bad, so why can’t you get up the nerve to kiss him? Why does that stop you when all you can even think about is him?

   “Joel,” you whisper, locking your fingers around his flannel as he pushes you further into the bookshelf, nearly toppling books over as one hand presses hard into your hip.

   “Hm?” he hums as he leans his forehead down against yours, curling his fingers tighter into the cotton material of your dress, pressing his weight into you as you feel every brush of his sculpted body. 

   This is too much, you’re a fucking panting mess. God, you want him to touch you, to take you back to one of the large tables, lay you down and spread your legs wide so he can indulge you in all your wants and desires.

   You need his touch, need his lips like you need air to breathe, but then it’d get complicated. Hell, it’s already complicated. You’re treading into dark water, but you don’t mind the darkness. Not really. Not with him where you think it’s safe.

   He dips down lower, his lips barely an inch from yours as you groan with desire. He’s going to fucking kiss you, and you want him to. You really do, but something snaps hard in your throat, and suddenly you can’t even breathe normally. 

   You turn your head before he can connect with his lips, and you swear you hear a disappointed sign come from his mouth. Goddamn it. He moves a step back and runs his hand through his tousled curls, looking up at you with hopeful brown eyes. 

   “I ummm… I should get back to work. You’ll have to tell me how you like that book,” you reply, pinning one hand behind your back as you dig your long nails into your flesh to keep you from cursing yourself. 

   He chuckles and nods, tapping his finger on the hardback cover. “I’ll be sure to update you every few chapters.”

   “Looking forward to it,” you smile.

   There’s a long pause between the two of you as you sway your hips nervously and bite your bottom lip out of habit. Joel looks back up at you with a spark in his onyx eyes like he has something to ask you. “Hey, are you doin’ anything Thursday night?” he asks with longing eyes.

   Your eyes meet his with a surprising stare. “Thursday? I thought you played pool with the boys on Thursdays?”

   He shrugs his broad shoulders and smiles. “They won’t miss me for one night. Besides, thought I might take a pretty girl out to dinner instead.”

   Your eyes gloss over at the statement. Dinner. He wants to take you to dinner. Was this a… date?

   “Oh, you mean you want to take me out to eat?” you ask as you gulp nerves down.

   He chuckles. “Yeah, that I do. I know this really great diner called Sal’s. Ain’t ever too busy. Really great burgers. Old fashioned. It’s uhh one of my favorites,” he smiles.

   Your gaze softens, and you feel as if your legs are weak like jello. “Okay,” you smile, feeling your cheeks burn crimson.

   He smiles back, a dizzying crooked smile that makes you just want to sing. “Okay then. Around 7:00 okay? I can pick you up.”

   You nod your head and smile. “Sounds perfect.”

   “Great. Guess I’ll see you Thursday, pretty girl,” he smiles, brushing his knuckles over your cheek ever so softly. 

   “Guess you will,” you smile.

   You don’t know what it is, but something shifts inside your body. A longing, yearning feeling that feels a lot like need and infatuation. You’re falling for him and fast, and you don’t know if you want anyone to catch you but him.

[myoddessy]

out with the old, in with the new | w2s/harry lewis

summary —new accounts, new lifestyle, new clubs every night. an insight into just what—and who—youtube's non-youtuber it girl got up to during her split from harry

*once again following the lead of @whoetoshaw and her bog universe's iconic breakup era ALSO, one of the twitter threads is rlly grainy and I'm sorry abt that, i couldn't properly fix it so you have to just zoom in on it 😭

2023, January

2018, July.

liked by zoeleonards, taliamar, masonmount, and 11, 824 others

yourusername lay all your love on me 🌻🍹☀️

tagged: zoeleonards, chloemitchells

zoeleonards london reality, greece fantasy 💔😞

yourusername ibiza couldn't come sooner!

wroetominter OMGOMG IVE DREAMED ABOUT YOU RETURNING TO SOCIAL MEDIA

ynfan omg shes glowing 🤩🤩

chloemitchells mykonos has never looked better 🤤😍😘

yourusername love u, lover girl 😘😘 ❤️❤️

2018, August.

liked by chloemitchells, tobjizzle, leahwilliamson, and 20,349 others

yourusername snuck behind a dj booth and had a blast, had a few more shots than I should've, fell more in love with my girls. ibiza, you will forever be famous 🍾✨️

zoeleonards it was nice having the hotel room to just myself and Chloe for a bit x 🤣🤭

ynfangirl DOES THIS MEAN THE MASON MOUNT RUMOURS ARE TRUE??

chloemitchells @ynfangirl who's that? never heard of him 🤷‍♀️

ynloverrrr it HAS to be true

freyanightingale beautiful girl ❤️

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

sidemenfav the way that her, freya, and talia still like each others posts and support each other 💔

liked by yourusername, taliamar, and freyanightingale

ynandharry tobi likes every one of her posts, too. they really are family no matter what 😭

2019, January

liked by pierregasly, zerkaa, mabel, and 30,568 others

yourusername we're able to have semi-classy girls trips, who knew?

tagged: zoeleonards

chloemitchells gutted I couldn't make it, I miss u two beautiful girls 😭❤️

yourusername CHLO!!! it wasn't the same without you, babe xx

zoeleonards I missed placing bets on who y/n was gonna make a move on 💔

yourusername IM NOT THAT BAD ZOË JESUS

chloemitchells yeah, give her some slack... it's usually placing bets on who's gonna make a move on her 😉

ynfanpage queen we need tips on how to live our best lives because you are teaching us all rn

yourusername 1) the only long term relationship you need to focus on is the one with yourself. 2) surround yourself with people you love and support & who will love and support you. 3) learn to not give a fuck what anyone else things because everyone's too busy in their own heads to care ❤️❤️

taliaminterr how is your life so aesthetic?? irl gossip girl vibes!!

yourusername babe trust my life doesn't look like this day to day, I only show the fun bits. rn it's 4am and I've got four day old greasy hair, dried mascara under my eyes (I watched UP without taking off my makeup first), and I'm eating cereal and drinking flat coke zero. I am not the standard you should aim for 😭😭

ynslover I love how open and honest she is about her content. she's actually such a good role model

liked by taliamar, freyanightingale, chloemitchells, and 19,519 others

yourusername apparently people think the party life in my photo dumps is my day-to-day? babes, if I can teach any of you one thing in life, it's that half the shit you see online is fake. half the 'candid' moments are staged, same goes for almost every picture you see. so here's a little dump of my actual reality

zoeleonards yeah guys she's actually so messy it's insane. it makes me want to move out

yourusername SHUT IT. zoë has about three different vases of dead flowers in her room because she forgets to take them out.

zoeleonards that's nothing on the old cups in your room

yourusername BLOCKING U

ynslover how does it feel to be the most relatable influencer ever even though you're not an influencer?

taliamar omg you've still got the vinyls!!

yourusername ofc, babe! I needed something to remember our days of charity shop hopping

2023, January

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

rydal keener x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: slow and soft

warnings: angst, piv sex

word count: 0.4k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

“Why do you have to leave” he complains in what could almost resemble a whine as his hips push languidly into you, as he holds tighter onto your intertwined fingers besides your head. Your free hand grabs the back of his head, burying into his soft, straight hair, pushing him down onto your face so your lips could meet.

You sigh into his mouth as his tongue slips into yours, that sweet feeling you know you will miss and long for the moment you will realize you’re apart for good.

You should have known it was a bad idea, falling in love with a man you knew you would have to leave eventually. 

“I don’t want to, believe me” you breathe out against his mouth once you pull away, brushing along his cheekbone with your thumb. “I’d stay by your side if I could” you nod, staring deep into his eyes as the inner corner of his eyebrows angled up in a weakened expression. "But Greece isn’t where I should be" you muttered under your breath, your own words making your heart break.

He grunts as he angles his thrusts deeper inside you, making you grab onto his bicep as your mouth falls open.

"You should– you should be by my side, it doesn't have to be about Greece" he declares before he lets out a strangled moan, squeezing your hand as his forehead presses against yours.

"And– give up the life you built here?" you ask, your hand traveling back up his arm, your thumb caressing the hollow of his neck.

"Yes." his answer is rushed, the idea of a second thought completely scratched. 

You chuckle, stunned by the absurdity of the possibility. Your heart still aches at the fact that he was ready to leave everything behind for you.

"I can't." you weakly admit as his head buries into your neck. “You’ll be okay without me. Find someone else, love her as much as you loved me, even more. I won’t be mad at you”

You feel his tears dampening your skin, his breath faltering in quiet sobs as he still continues to press light, gentle kisses to your skin as he thrusts slowly and deep into you. You bite down onto your lip as you feel your own tears starting to threaten your eyes and a knot forming at your throat.

The worst part of this is holding you tight knowing it's the last time he ever will, knowing you will be gone tomorrow.

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

tagging some mutuals because I don't have a rydal taglist, feel free to ignore <3: @my-secret-shame @campingwiththecharmings @spacecowboyhotch @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @melodygatesauthor @midgardian-witch @foxilayde

+ @flightlessangelwings

[ramblingoak]

Grading Papers

Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 3 - Massage

Copia x Aether

This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!

~ In Lucifer's Hollow Copia teaches history at the high school and Aether is a firefighter. ~

Warnings: fluff and stuff, sfw, 500 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers and @foxybouquet for the Italian help!)

“Sono tutti imbecilli!”

Aether sighed at Copia’s outburst, adding a few more cookies to the plate before heading towards his husband’s office.  He had been in there all afternoon grading essays and from the increasingly alarming sounding Italian it didn’t seem like things were going well.  Most of the time Copia was extremely patient with his students, sometimes overly so.  But with the end of the school year getting closer and closer Copia was clearly low on patience.

Luckily Aether knew exactly what to do.

He knocked gently at the door a few times before going inside, immediately having to clamp down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the sight before him.  Copia was turned towards the elaborate cage that took up one side of his office, a somewhat crumpled paper held aloft and a look of disbelief on his face.

“Are they much help?”  Copia flinched, slapping the paper down on his desk and giving Aether a sheepish look.  The ghoul just smirked and strolled over to his husband’s side.  He set the plate of snacks down and leaned down to plant a kiss onto the silver hair at Copia’s temple.  “I didn’t realize Brizio knew so much about the politics of Ancient Greece.”

Copia mumbled something under his breath but Aether could see the pink on his cheeks so he knew the man didn’t mind being teased.  The rats had been part of the deal since the beginning, not that Aether ever had minded them.  They played a big part in the start of their relationship.  Aether smiled fondly as he remembered practically tackling Copia in his front yard to keep the man from running back into his smoke filled house.  Thankfully he had finally listened and Aether had been the one to save the day (and the rats).

“He knows more than some of these kids.”  Aether chuckled at Copia’s remark, taking a moment to card his fingers through Copia’s hair and lightly scratching his scalp with his claws.  “Ah, sì.  That’s very nice.”

Aether smiled while he continued, eventually moving to stand behind his chair.  Copia leaned back with a groan when he moved both of his hands to his shoulders, digging his fingers into the tight muscles there.

“You should take a break for the night, they’ll still be there in the morning.”

“Not if I burn the house down.  Hey!”  Copia looked up at Aether with a pout when the ghoul flicked his ear.  “Ugh, fine.  Just let me finish these tonight, per favore?  I only have a few left and then I don’t have to think about them the rest of the weekend.”

“Deal.  But you have to go with me to the farmer’s market tomorrow.”  Copia hummed in agreement, wiggling his shoulders when Aether stopped rubbing them.  “Need something?”

“Don’t stop, this makes reading this nonsense somewhat bearable.”

The ghoul grinned, pressing his fingers into Copia’s muscles once more as his husband got back to work.

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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More fics in the Tales From Lucifer's Hollow masterpost

[gemsofgreece]

A little more on Hellenism

The discussion has been going around quite a bit in the Greek tumblr community, so I am making a decision to be adding the tag #hellenism to relevant posts from now on, as a person who is in fact aware of what constitutes Hellenism and what not. I typically use a very specific tagging system however I am going to be adding this tag now too in an effort to purge the problematic appropriative usage of the word.

I am doing this because I realised the problem is bigger than I thought. I thought the term was misused by a tiny niche community, it turns out the misuse has been initiated and largely encouraged by - what else - western classicist academia. Therefore, many young foreign people may be feeling justified in the use of the term since foreign pages are often misleading and appropriative about it as well.

For example, one might feel relieved in using the term Hellenism due to Wikipedia featuring a page with the term as used by non-Greek speaking people. However, it is essential that in this case your research goes a little deeper. In the very same page, Wikipedia acknowledges the concerns for cultural appropriation the use of this term has raised.

Here are some crucial parts you should not skip in your rush to use the term:

First of all, take care how in fact Wikipedia makes (correctly) a distinction between the Modern religion """"Hellenism""""" versus the Ancient Greek religion.

We have to remember that this is technically a new entity in the context of structured orginized religions, largely innovating its practices now or trying to reconstruct older ones. This of course makes the use of the term "Hellenism" (= Greekness, Greek nationhood, the essence of being Greek) even more problematic, since we are talking about a new entity. A reinstatement of an ancient system of beliefs in an organised, structured way. Even if there have been historically individuals who subscribed to this belief system after studying ancient classics, the current religion which tries to structure itself, find its footing and sustain its spiritual community is very much a contemporary process.

Here are examples of how the word Hellenism was used in antiquity:

In short, Anglophone translators applying in non-English words whatever meaning they fancy with little evidence. True enough:

It is truly an English devisement through and through, the prototype word neither has a strict religious meaning nor - most significantly - an exclusively ancient one.

Moving on to the crucial part:

By the way, in case you think there is still not much uproar to justify giving up the term, that's only because I can guarantee you 98% of Greeks have no idea Hellenic Polytheism is practiced outside Greece, let alone by non-Greek people calling themselves Hellenes and calling the religion Hellenism. At the possibility that the religion expands and more Greeks get exposed to the news, rest assured they are REALLY not going to be supportive of the name choices.

We Greeks however are better aware of name issues occuring within the nation. It should be noted that just like it happens with every religion, especially at the time the religion is in the process of establishing and institutionalizing itself, independent groups of believers with questionable practices or beliefs may form. The Ethnic Hellenes are a big example, since many Greek devotees of the Hellenic Polytheism identify as such. Due to an unpleasant incident I was a witness to recently (I made a vague rant), I visited the main page of the YSEE (Supreme Council of the Ethnic Hellenes) and I was dumbfounded by the cascade of red flags I encountered. Ethnic Hellenes is also a problematic term, because it suggests non-believing Hellenes are not ethnic Hellenes. True enough, the very questionable nature is proven when they more or less admit in the main page that even though they "acknowledge" other Hellenes (AKA Greeks) as Hellenes, they consider themselves as "better" or "truer" at being Hellenes. Do I need to insinuate here towards what sort of political ideologies this is dangerously leaning to? They also openly admit that the primary goal of their religious community is to spread the religion to other Greeks. In short, prosyletism, a controversial phenomenon which was happily missed in Greece until now, save for the occasional Jehovah Witness here and there. The informational page has also historical inaccuracies and a very embellished opinion on Christian Orthodoxy.

The reality is that there are two options for us: either we entirely reject the concept of Ethnoreligion or we accept that Greece has TWO (2) ethnoreligions, Hellenic (Greek / Eastern) Orthodoxy and Hellenic Polytheism, although of course the latter so far has had the historicity but not the numbers. A reality where only one of the two can be the ethnoreligion simply does not exist and it is time both Orthodoxy and Greek Polytheism accepted this. (Of course they don't, each considers the other the root of all evil but anyway.) Furthermore, I noticed very recently that """Ethnic""" Hellenes are trying to attract other Hellenes with the notion that THEY care about the country and its environment and its culture, as if whatever befalls the Greek environment and culture happens with the blessing of the Greek Orthodox doctrine. But that is the policy in general, showing a community of Greeks loving Greece and Greek nature and Greek culture (mostly ancient but not only, but definitely with revisionism if not exclusion of the Orthodox contribution to it), as if other Greeks don't love these things as much, which attracts unsuspecting Greeks that are disappointed by the current sociopolitical mess. Like I said, there are things concerning me about how this is going to unfold politically in the future because it plays with the extremely dangerous and propagandist notion of "truer Hellene and less true Hellene".

My rant a few days ago was because I realised this due to said incident and I decided to write this to help you understand that you should take care who you take advice from, even if they have similar beliefs to you, but also to invite you to reconsider using such a pivotal term to Greeks such as "Hellenism". And because I am not willing to randomly give up this quintessential term for our identity to revisionists, Greek or foreign, which is why I explained I am going to be using the term in its intended way.

I am tagging @wordsmithic and @alatismeni-theitsa if they want to reblog this and help it go a little further, but I know they already use the terms hellas and hellenism more often than me in the tags.

*Having said all that, "Ethnic" Hellenes - who refer to their religion with the not-at-all problematic "genuine Hellenism" also disapprove of foreigners calling themselves Hellenes or practicing Hellenism, so it's extremely unlikely you will find a Greek being okay with it, regardless of said Greek's beliefs.

** We should also acknowledge that there are some significant linguistic barriers between Greek and English that are inescapable and may blur your understanding of some concepts. For example, Wikipedia in this very page says at some point "re-Hellenize Greek identity"

This is a factually wrong statement that can lead to all sorts of misconceptions abroad, such that might even cause issues to Greeks and their identity. What Wikipedia should say is "re-hellenize Romaic identity" and it would still be questionable. Not to be confused or conflated with Ancient Romans btw. But that's a whole another story that you don't need to concern yourself with. My point is that there are serious limitations in the way Greek culture and linguistics are perceived in Anglophone or other western academic research.

Let's end this with some pictures of Hellenism!

I tried to also get pictures from an english hellenism query on google but I was jumpscared so much by the politicisation, the one-sidedness and the western self-insertion out of nowhere that I decided against it :)

[whoiwanttoday]

Hey guys, it is @wildflagsure birthday today and last night she demanded I make a "really good" post for her for her birthday. She can't help it, she's from Greece but lives in the UK and what I have heard is immigrants there are always coming in and demanding things, it's why as a country they decided to set their economy on fire, because if you make your little island completely unlivable then no one will want to move there. Not that tactic I would have taken but then I try not be a hateful bigot, so who am I to talk? Anyway, besides blaming @wildflagsure for all of England's problems (and like… where was she when they lost the Empire? She can't account for her whereabouts) I do want to celebrate her birthday. By talking about myself. I mean, it is my blog, I tagged her twice, I am not sure how much more giving a person can be. I'll drive literally tens of people to her dead blog. Anyway, my favorite thought about Andi, which I will call her from here out because first I am tired of tagging and second I think it looks cooler with the E not on it but also it's short for Antigone and I can change a T to a D for a friend but I'll be dead and buried before I leave off the apostrophe if you insist on shortening Antigone to Anti'e. Anyway, my favorite thought is when she was doing a small radio show live (and doing it wrong, rather than use the service that paid for the songs rights they just played shit off of spotify because literally no one cared) I used to listen every week cause it was fun to support her but also she likes good music. There was a listener request form and I used to submit requests. I did this for a few reasons. One, I learned on tumblr every single person in the world wants more asks. It is exciting and makes them feel special. Also, by sending multiple requests or messages a show it meant they would seem very popular to other listeners and you know, fake it till you make it, that way everyone else would go, "Wow, these guys must be more famous than I realized. I should tell my friends to listen and also send in requests". And then, obviously, I like to control women and tell them what to do, so it was a real rush to send in a song title and then make her do it. Anyway, there was a time when the person she did it with referred to me as, "Our fan". And that got a snap back of, "Actually, is MY friend". It was very defensive and I appreciated that in part it came from the fact that her cohost was trying to diminish me in a way that person liked to do and Andi was willing to stand up and protect me even though honestly, I didn't care. She did, that mattered. I mean, there was a lot going on there because her cohost was one of those lowkey monsters you meet in your late teens and early 20's who you find compelling because you are too young to know better but also because you are insecure and the fact that they have absolutely no moral center is appealing because it sure must be nice to not be insecure and upset and worried about things all the time. Andi eventually moved on, don't worry. Actually, it's really cool to see that she has matured into just a totally cool as fuck lesbian bad ass. I mean, she was always those things but now she has the confidence and a really cool life that she always was going to have but I bet she was unaware of. Like, she has her own place, she has a hot girlfriend, she eats cool meals, and she can get you any drugs you want. It's pretty cool.

Anyway, today I am posting Georgia Ellenwood because in my experience Andi loves Olympic Athletes. She always goes on that she's glad someone is honoring Zeus properly. Now, sadly, Georgia Ellenwood is not going to the Olympics this year because she is still recovering from an injury. That kind of thing is always sad, athletes only have so many chances but I think she has a good future ahead of her even outside of sports because she is charming and friendly and well… looks like she does. It's not hard to imagine her being successful doing other things. And even if she felt like a good pick today because even if she isn't going to the Olympics I am willing to bet @wildflagsure would be willing to burn down a second island nation to sleep with her. Today I want to fuck Georgia Ellenwood.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Thank you for the tags @ace-turned-confused, @burntheedges, @justagalwhowrites, @punkassfrance, @sawymredfox

@almostfoxglove! I have a couple pieces I'm working on, relishing my brain actually working during my busy work season, but I'm warning y'all I could hit a wall at ANY time.

First Golden Girl chapter 3. They haven't left my mind. I have so many ideas for them. Down bad Dieter FOREVER.

You’re still asleep. Splayed out across the bed, mouth slightly agape. Two days now he’s woken up next to you, feeling like he’s been in a dream. But, everyone eventually wakes up... reality always returns.  He gently lays back down. His jeans annoy him, but he didn’t trust himself to sleep in anything besides them. Like a self-imposed denim chastity belt.  He replays last night, the secret moments, half-spoken confessions, feelings and declarations swallowed down before they could escape. One day you’ll know. One day he won’t feel like he’s crossing a line. He just wants to do good by you.  Today’s the day you open the proverbial door to hell, letting everyone know. But today, he has something to tell you: tomorrow, he leaves for Greece.

OOF.

I have about five different prompt ideas for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's Coffee House and I have zero clue what to do. So, I'm doing a poll with my ideas. Please vote. 👉🏻����🏻

I know I'm late to this but I'm still tagging. If you've already done it, please tag me so I can see.

@schnarfer, @beefrobeefcal, @bitchesuntitled, @luxurychristmaspudding, @jennaispunk

@mothandpidgeon, @yxtkiwiyxt, @penvisions, @yopossum, @guiltyasdave ✌🏻

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

(cw in tags if you wish)

Five: Sirius

Athens, Greece

Sirius wasn’t reckless. He thought before he did—probably too much sometimes. He kept himself in line. Maybe it was a product of a strict upbringing. A smack on the cheek or hand at one wrong move. He used to think it was what made him so good for the agency. Salazar liked strict. They liked obedient. James, therefore, hadn’t quite made sense to Sirius as a candidate, at least not in the beginning. Not until he showed Sirius that it wasn’t just about following orders. It was about heart, too. Camaraderie. Remus had shown him that, too. Still, Sirius couldn’t always shake that rule-following kid.

But if Remus was on the rooftops getting shot at by Jack Archer, who had just been holding a gun to Logan and Finn’s heads, all bets were off.

Jack was smart though. He took Sirius right through the now bustling Christmas market. Small children strapped the the chests of fathers. Women in groups laughing and catching up over coffee. Carolers by a central fountain. Sirius caught glimpses of alarmed eyes as he ran, always keeping the back of Jack’s head just in sight. He tried not to add to the mess on the street, narrowly avoiding the cart Jack had carelessly rolled into his path. He sprinted past the pissed vendor. He knew he should hide his gun. Lights blurred beside him and the sun came out from behind a cloud, then went again. His feet pounded the pavement. The streets narrowed. Jack stumbled on the stones in front of a cafe, sending cups shattering to the cobblestones and making a shop owner run out and shout at him. For a second, Sirius thought he was going to catch up. He swiped forward at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but Jack rolled and then was up on his feet again. Sirius lunged. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care if they saw his gun. His arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and they both hit the cobblestones hard, rolling into another table. Sirius felt something hot splash against his neck, something sharp dig into the skin of his wrist.

Jack was up again in a moment, using a hard kick to Sirius’ ribs to knock the wind out of him. Sirius gasped, coughing as he scrambled up from the ground and away from the alarmed onlookers. He yanked the shard of ceramic out of his arm. Jack slipped around a bend in the street—but this was one Sirius recognized. He’d chased Remus—or the ghost of Remus—right into this corner.

When he held his gun up on Jack, Jack’s hands were around the bars of the very gate Sirius had run into their first day here.

“Dead end, Archer,” Sirius said. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Jack at least knew when he’d been caught. His shoulders moved quickly, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against the gate.

“Did you know?” Sirius could hardly say the words. “Did you know they were alive?”

“Sirius—”

“Get the fuck down,” Sirius said, striding closer until they were both hidden in the alleyway. He risked a glance behind him. “On your knees.”

Jack went, knocking the damp hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. Sirius could see both of their breath fogging between them. “We didn’t know. Not until Leo found Remus.”

“And you want them dead.”

Jack’s mouth formed a thin line.

Sirius didn’t have time for this. His mind kept skipping back, trying to figure out who had been shooting from the roof. RemusRemusRemus.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Why do you want them dead? They’re our own, what changed? And I swear to God, answer me, or I’ll bring you to James.”

James was sweet. James was funny. James was relaxed and kind and easy-going.

James could also get information out of anyone. He was their top interrogator, had been since the academy. How do you do it? Sirius had once asked. Sirius had never liked seeing terrified faces up close. James had gotten a sad, faraway look on his face. I pretend they have Lily. And Harry. And then I don’t feel so guilty. I just want them to talk. I make them talk.

Jack seemed to have heard the rumors because he paled. “Listen. This is Salazar. You’re here to find them and bring them in. That’s all I’m here for, too.”

Sirius thought briefly of telling Jack about Logan’s memory, but Remus’ careful hazel eyes filled his mind. Unsure. Untrusting.

“Why pull the gun?”

Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Tremblay was holding a gun on his own husband. Who, by the way…” Jack made a scornful sound. “Should not be here.”

It was Sirius’ turn to stay silent. It was a sensible response, but that didn’t mean Sirius believed him.

“What,” Jack laughed a little. “You think we wouldn’t know?”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“Liar.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Sirius said. “Why are you here?”

“Is he turned?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, eyes dark. “Is Lupin?”

“Turned where? By who?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Liar.”

“I’m not.” Sirius swallowed over a dry throat. At least, not entirely. Pascal. Pascal, whoever he was.

“You don’t want to get on our bad side, Black,” Jack said. His hand twitched, maybe towards a knife, and Sirius stretched his gun forward. Jack’s smile was tight. “I think Tremblay’s enough proof of that.”

Sirius stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as though his words had frozen in his mouth. He snapped his lips shut, then a strained cough escaped. A twitch went through his body, almost like a pulse of electricity, and he sat back against his heels. Sirius hesitated, watching Jack blink fast at the cobblestones before raising his eyes to Sirius.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked, eyes darting between the two guns. He scrambled backwards, the gate rattling when it hit his back. “What the hell?”

Sirius froze. He clicked the safety off on his own gun. “Don’t bullshit me, Archer.”

Jack blinked at him, eyes unfocused. “I…”

Another twitch, a strange pulse through his body. Jack gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He swayed where he was, and his hands went to his head. “Ah—” Sirius watched his face screw up in pain. Jack stared up at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Jack—” Sirius began to say, but then Jack fell against the pavement, as suddenly as if someone had pushed him, with a harsh thud.

Sirius felt something cold squeeze around his throat. Dread, maybe. Adrenaline. Slowly, he lowered the guns, tucking one into his belt and swinging the other behind him, doing a quick scan of what little of the street he could see. He raised it up towards the roofs, then crouched in front of Jack.

His eyes were open, lips parted, blood quickly drying on his skin. He was dead.

“Jesus,” Sirius whispered. “Jesus, fuck—” His hand went for his radio, and then he paused. It was Salazar’s radio.

If anyone had told Sirius just a week ago that that would make him pause, he would have laughed.

Sirius checked Jack’s pulse—nothing—and then cursed as he heaved his body up against the wall as best he could. There was no point in trying to move him, not with the city waking up. Someone would have to find him like this. Sirius turned Jack’s collar up, closed his eyes, and took the wires off of him. He took his knives—all the ones he could feel anyway—and the second, small gun he found tucked into his boot.

He walked in the opposite direction of the cafes, towards the still mostly sleeping residential streets. There had been no blood, not that much anyway, but Sirius checked his hands and front before calling out to a man sweeping the steps in front of his house with a cigarette between his teeth.

The man didn’t put up much of a fight, just handed Sirius his cellphone before waving him off and going back to the chore.

The line picked up immediately.

“Lion den,” Sirius said into the tone. It was their secure line. If Salazar knew about it, they’d be dead, but Finn’s tracker wasn’t the first illegal backup Leo had set up. James hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t seen what they’d ever have to hide any comms, but Leo had insisted. Now, Sirius was glad. After Archer and Remus and Logan, he didn’t know who to trust. A headache was building at the back of his skull.

“We’re not at the house,” Leo said instead of hello. “After Archer, I didn’t think we should go back there.”

“He’s dead,” Sirius said.

He heard Leo’s sharp inhale. “Sirius—”

“It wasn’t me,” Sirius said. “We were running, I got him. And then he didn’t recognize me all of a sudden. A minute later, he was dead.”

Sirius’ heart was going so hard he had to press a hand there. The sweeping man didn’t even look up. The gray light hurt his eyes.

“Where are you?” Sirius asked. “Leo. Are you all together?”

“He’s dead?” Leo asked. “But—how? And what do you mean he didn’t recognize you?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was fucking with me, because maybe he knew Logan—but how would he know Logan couldn’t remember? I…” Sirius pressed at his eyes. It was as though someone was shining a spotlight right in his eyes. It ached. “I don’t know, Le. Where are you? Where are you?”

“Sirius,” Leo said. “I can’t find—I can’t find you.”

“What?”

“I can’t find you—Jesus, here, I’m dropping this number our coordinates—but Sirius, your tracker’s offline.”

Sirius felt the phone vibrate with the incoming text. He looked, memorizing quickly. It would disappear entirely in a minute, erasing itself.

“He didn’t recognize you?” Leo asked. “He didn’t…”

“Leo,” Sirius said, and then dropped to a knee. God, his very bones ached. His skull.

“Oh God,” Leo said faintly, and then, a little farther away from the phone, he shouted. “James!”

Sirius ducked away from the gray light. The cold wind. His head was killing him. “Fuck.”

“Eh!” The man stopped sweeping, looking at him. He said something fast in Greek, but Sirius was hopeless to translate just then.

“Sirius,” Leo said, voice closer now. “You’re tracker. Cut it out right now.”

“What?” Sirius asked.

“Cut out your tracker right now,” Leo shouted. “You said Jack forgot and then he was dead, there’s nothing that would cause that except—” Leo cut off with a short cry.

“Leo?” Sirius said.

He heard Finn’s voice in the background. Leo! Oh my God—

Then Leo’s. Cut it out, Finn. Right there, remember, feel it? Finn, stop fucking staring, do it, do it, it’s going to kill me and James—

“Finish?” the man asked him, alarmed. He was holding out his hand for his phone, but didn’t look like he wanted to get much closer to Sirius. “Hey, finish? Finish?”

“Help,” Sirius said. “Please—” He pulled the Greek out but he didn’t know how. Autopilot, maybe. “Sir, please may I use your bathroom? It’s life or death.”

The man began to shake his head, but Sirius didn’t have time—he shouldn’t have even asked. The man shouted as Sirius hauled himself up and stumbled past him. He shouldered through the small, wooden door and found himself in a living room—tidy and smelling of cinnamon and coffee. It connected right with the kitchen, not unlike their safe house. The dim lamp by the sofa stung his eyes, glaring as if it were a sun. Sirius blinked hard, looking for something sharp, anything.

“Hey!” The man tried to grab his shoulder, but Sirius shook him off easily. There was a knife, small, laying beside a sliced lemon. Sirius grabbed it and all but fell against the sink. A small vase on the window sill above slipped and shattered into the basin.

The man’s protests was no more than a ringing in Sirius’ ear as he groped at the back of his own neck. What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Are you sick? Hey, my wife and children will be back soon, come on, brother, don’t scare them. Put the knife down, put the knife down—

There. Sirius felt the bump. Was he imagining that it was hot to the touch? It didn’t matter.

He didn’t even feel the pain of the blade. His adrenaline was so high that it felt like nothing at all. Butter. A slip. Only the red on his hands let him know that he had succeeded. That, and the small, pill-like chip clutched between his fingers.

The pain evaporated and Sirius drew in a ragged breath.

No sooner had he dropped the tracker into the sink than did it let out a high-pitched sound and crack itself in half.

His hearing returned. He blinked his vision back to normal. He worked the pressure out of his jaw. The tracker released a thin trail of smoke.

Sirius, he tested. Sirius Black. He knew himself. He knew the coordinates.

When he turned, breathing hard and sweating, he grabbed an old, dirty looking cloth and pressed it to his neck. It didn’t look like anyone would miss it. The man was simply staring at him, eyes darting between his face and the device in the sink.

“Thank you.” Sirius breathed the words out. Greek, or at least half way there. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

Without another word, Sirius raced out the door.

+++

The coordinates were an abandoned building right on the coast. Sirius could smell the salt. The cold air was made colder by damp. He had stopped the bleeding of his neck and turned up his collar to keep the rag in place. Everything felt wet and slippery now. Recent rain on the rocks beneath his feet as he walked up an old pathway.

There was nothing inside, it was merely a somewhat reasonable roof of their heads. Shelter, nothing more. Just broken down boards and stone walls now.

To anyone else, it looked empty.

Sirius whistled two notes.

Two notes returned from his left where the sea and horizon bled into each other, framed by a still standing window. It could have been a painting. A TV.

James appeared in front of it, wild hair haloed by the light.

“Fuck,” James said, and then they were hugging. Sirius face ended up near a slightly pink bandage on James’ neck, and he sighed his relief all over again.

“Fuck me, we had a bomb in our head the whole time, Si.” James reached up and brushed the bandage with light fingers. “Just an average day on the job.” His eyes went to Sirius’ neck. “What did you do it with?”

“Fucking kitchen knife, man. You?”

James’ laugh was shaky. “One of my daggers on Leo and I. Finn did it. Think he’s a little freaked, but he did it.”

“Oh Jesus, I should have…” Sirius shook his head. He had his own and he had Jack’s. “Didn’t have to traumatize this…God, never mind. I fucking broke into someone’s house.”

James laughed again, but he looked pale. “It’ll be fine. I was so scared I didn’t even feel it.”

“Same.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Jack?”

“I left him,” Sirius said. “Took everything off him. People will think…I don’t know. But there’s nothing to lead back to Salazar or us.”

James nodded, taking that in. “Salazar’ll be looking for us now that they can’t find us.”

Sirius nodded. “I know… I know they will. We have to move.” They began walking towards the sea window. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”

“Finn and Leo are with Logan.”

Logan. God, Sirius hadn’t forgotten, of course he hadn’t forgotten, but what a strange thing to hear. After all these months, just a simple Finn and Leo are with Logan.

No sooner had James said it than did the Leo appear. He had an identical bandage to James and held one out to Sirius, along with an alcohol packet.

“Clean that,” Leo said.

Sirius tossed the bloody rag away. “Did yours smoke, too?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “The second I started to get a headache—Finn said that’s what happened to Logan, too. Said he fell down in pain. But…” Leo frowned in the way he did when he was thinking something over, when something was so entirely perplexing to him that he was sure to pull an all nighter. Sirius had seen him many times after those. Blond hair a mess, coffee mugs lined up besides the water and the electrolyte packets.

“Where…” Sirius began to say. He’d only gotten a glimpse of Logan and it was beginning to feel more like a dream. His slack face. There had been blood? Hadn’t there?

Leo moved aside, revealing a half-collapsed hallway. No, it was more like an nave. Sirius looked up and realized that the remnant of a vaulted ceiling remained, stone and precarious. This had been a church.

Wind whistled through, a high note off the sea, when Sirius saw them. Finn and Logan were at the other end, a corner mostly intact and protected from the cold. Finn was awake, staring down at Logan’s face like he couldn’t stand to look away, not even for a moment. Logan was—asleep?

“Knocked out.” Leo filled in his thoughts. “Finn said he remembered him in the alley, but he’s been out ever since.”

“And his tracker?”

“It’s gone,” Leo said. “I checked.”

“But if Salazar wanted him dead…”

Leo nodded, already there. “Then whoever took it out probably saved his life."

“But he can’t remember us,” Sirius said.

Leo rubbed a hand through his hair, then pressed his fingers to his mouth, thinking. There was blood beneath his nails still, a crust of red even smeared along his jaw. Sirius had the sudden urge to wipe it away for him.

“You said Jack forgot who you were a second before he was killed,” Leo said. “I’m guessing—and this is only a guess—that this is some sort of…kill code put into place in Salazar’s tracker hardware. A memory wipe in case we get captured, and then a kill switch if there’s no hope or if we might crack and tell all.”

“Jesus,” James whispered.

“I’m guessing whoever took out Logan’s didn’t do it in time to prevent the memory wipe. And that’s calling it real close, I don’t know…”

Remus. Sirius could hardly breathe. If he hadn’t seen that footage for himself, he’d be on his knees all over again, desperate and afraid.

“Can you reverse it?” James asked. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking down the hall. “God, please say you can Leo.”

Leo let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” He looked down the stone archways towards Finn. As the three of them watched, Finn reached out a hand and brushed Logan’s hair back from his eyes gently. “I don’t know.”

[oflights]

wip snip 4.2

thank you for the tag, @elskanellis! your snip is so intriguing 👀

in return, have some more of time travel fic: extremely gooey and tender and basically what the next 10k or so words are going to be (the fic is currently 20k lmao) before things get Bad again. still heartbreaking in its tenderness, though, because baby harry is heartbreaking (a contextual reminder that he is 7 in this snip!!! adult harry is henceforth "potter" from draco's pov).

“This is for me?” Harry asks, doing another turn, clutching at the still unnamed dragon in his hands. “All of this, the bed and—I can—”

“Harry,” Draco says softly, coming closer and dropping to crouch again, ignoring his protesting thighs starting to truly feel all the activity of the day. “Yes, all of this. You can sleep in the bed, you can name your toy—it’s all yours. This is what looking after you means; everything that I can offer is yours now. I promise.”

“Do I have to—” Harry starts, and Draco simply doesn’t want to hear where that’s going.

“No. You don’t have to do a single thing. It’s just yours. Because—because you’re a guest, and a kid, and kids deserve these sorts of things no matter what.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding genuinely startled in a way that makes Draco want to punch—someone. Perhaps Vernon or Petunia Dursley, or perhaps Albus Dumbledore. He did not ever imagine he would one day find new and more infuriating reasons to resent Dumbledore this long after his death, but he supposes life is surprising that way.

Harry breaks up his surprised, revelatory stance with another yawn, and this time Draco makes sure his tone brooks no argument when he directs him to the bathroom with the pajamas. To keep busy and shove down the punching urge, he resizes another set of clothes from the wardrobe for the morning, startling himself when he leans too far in and his hand disappears through the back wall.

“Oh, right, I should warn you,” Draco says when Harry returns, changed and padding gingerly towards the bed. “The wardrobe is a portal to the treehouse, so be careful if you go too far into it.”

“You have a treehouse?” Harry asks with a gasp, and Draco smiles at him, striding over and pulling the quilt back for Harry to settle in.

“You have a treehouse. I’ll show you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

He waits as Harry clambers onto the bed and settles against the mound of pillows, smoothing the quilt over him and then making sure the dragon is tucked in, too. “Any ideas on a name?” Draco asks softly, tweaking the dragon’s snout. “Do you want to sleep on it?”

“Can I name him after a—a con—a constellation? Like you?” Harry asks, frowning in concentration.

“Yes, of course you can. Which do you fancy?” Draco sits on the bed near Harry’s feet and leans back on his hands, gazing up at the ceiling as it cycles over them. “There’s Cygnus, the swan I was telling you about—he was my grandfather, you know, and right by Draco, so that’s convenient. There’s Pegasus, too, a type of flying horse, and Cepheus, he was a king in Ancient Greece—well, he chained his daughter up to a rock, so maybe not the best role model, but a cool name nonetheless. Just stop me if anything grabs you, really.”

“What’s that one?” Harry asks, squinting up and pointing; Draco makes a mental note to solve the glasses issue as soon as possible. He looks where Harry’s pointing, southwest of the quadrant he’d been explaining, and spots the most recognizable constellation there is.

“Ah, that’s Orion. The hunter. He was a Giant, you know, and he got pretty boastful, so Gaia—super powerful Earth mum, you did not want to get on her bad side—sent a great big scorpion after him. They fought, so you’ll never see Orion and Scorpius—that constellation all the way over there—in the sky at the same time. But Ophiuchus—he was a Healer, that one over there, see how he’s sort of between Orion and Scorpius? He gave Orion some medicine and saved him from Scorpius.”

Harry’s eyes are drooping closed, but he still murmurs, “Really? Is that all true?”

“Well, sort of. They’re stories, myths; all the stars have stories. There are different versions and they change depending on who you talk to, but I have my favorite versions because they’re the ones my mum told me.”

Draco checks in to see that Harry’s eyes are almost completely closed, and keeps talking hoping they’ll close further; how many times had his mother talked him to sleep?

“If you’re in the sky, it means you’re pretty important, right? So that means lots of stories. I’ll tell you all of them, if you’d like. I think you’ll enjoy this room, and you’ll be happy here. I hope so.”

That’s all verging on a ramble, but he thinks it doesn’t matter because Harry is asleep. So Draco gets up gently, patting Harry’s foot over the quilt, shoots the still unnamed dragon a grin, and starts to leave the room.

He stops only when he hears Harry mumble, “Orion. That’s his name,” and curl around the dragon, breathing going smooth and even, arms clutching it tight against his small frame.

Draco smiles at them both. “Goodnight, Harry and Orion.”

tagging @teledild0nix @phoebe-delia and @thehoneybeet, fully randomly chosen so absolutely no pressure!!

[jungle-angel]

The Piano Man (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett discover that Royal has a serious hidden talent when your little boy asks him to teach him something one day

Tagging: @floydsmuse

"Alright son, that's enough of that," Royal said, dusting the wood shavings off the piece he and Rhett had been working on.

Rhett blew away some of the wood shavings and agreed. Any more work and the piece just wouldn't look right. "Feels like this is taking forever," he yawned.

"I know, I know," Royal told him. "But whatever can help bring in some extra cash we'll take it. You teaching next week?"

"Three days a week at the Amelia County Steiner school that the kids go to," Rhett answered. "Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

Royal was relieved. Ever since the woodworking teacher had retired, he had wondered if he should take the job, but the ranch desperately needed running and with the new hands having been hired, it had doubled the work. Brian O'Dowd had proven himself to be an excellent worker, but having done a stint in jail had Royal and Russ Redwood keeping a close eye on him just in case he had gotten in trouble again.

The two of them worked away at the wood, the radio playing on the shelf above Royal's tool bench and the smell of freshly carved woods filling the entire room. The door to the woodshop creaked open and in came Tanner in his little boots, black cowboy hat and his denim jacket that Rhett had gotten him and his twin brother at a ride two weeks before.

"Papa?" he chirped, tugging at Royal's jacket sleeve. "You come play with me?"

"We'll come play in a minute bud," Royal told him. "Daddy and I have to finish something up, but we'll come once we're done."

"Ok," Tanner chirped.

Royal lifted his grandson up off the ground and seated himself on the tool-bench, letting him play with a few of the little wood blocks that he and Rhett had made for him and Tatum to play with.

"Where's Nana bud?" Royal asked him, marking the corner of the wood with a pencil.

"Nana went to Miss Sawah's," Tanner chirped.

Rhett tried to fight back the grin that was beginning to form on his face. Both Tatum and Tanner still had trouble pronouncing their Rs an Ls which their teachers thought was the cutest thing in the world.

As soon as they were both done, Rhett and Royal led him out of the woodshop and closed it up for the day, eager to get back into the warm house. February was always a tough month for Wabang's residents, with spring being around the bend but with winter still clinging on with its death throes.

"Still lesson planning sweetheart?" Rhett asked, sticking his boots on the hard plastic mat near the door.

"Yep and I'm gonna take a break in two minutes," you chuckled. "Block rotations suck no matter how you look at it."

"What is it this time?" he asked.

"Ancient Persia," you yawned. "We start Ancient Greece in two weeks. Greek Games are in May."

Rhett made a face. He loved hearing about your students and the lessons you got to do in school but he had also remembered how exhausted you felt when lesson planning. Thank God you had a mentor like Betsy Livingston, otherwise you would be lost.

"Alright bud, whatcha wanna do?" Royal asked him.

"Can you teach me to pay piano?" Tanner asked him.

"Sure, c'mere," Royal answered.

You and Rhett were a little surprised as the two of them sat on the little bench in front of the piano. "I wan' you to pay a song fist," Tanner told him.

"I want you to play a song first......?" Royal reminded him.

"Peas?"

"Ya'll got it bud," Royal said as Tanner hi-fived his grandfather. "Rhett, can ya'll hand me the book on the coffee table?"

You and Rhett dug through the notebooks, papers and pencils you needed for your main lesson plans when he found the old, dusty book that looked like it hadn't been touched in a while. "The complete book of movie soundtracks for piano players," Rhett read aloud. "Didn't even realize we had this."

Royal didn't say much as he opened it up and cracked his knuckles. Tanner watched his grandfather as his rough, calloused hands began playing away at the keys, hitting almost every note perfectly. It wasn't long before you and Rhett recognized right away what the piece was.

"Is that.......?" you asked.

"I think so," Rhett answered. "Dad is that the theme to Forest Gump?"

"None other," Royal chuckled.

Tanner kicked his little legs and giggled when Royal had finished. "Can you do anuver?" Tanner asked. "Peas?"

Royal gladly obliged, switching the page. As he began playing, you and Rhett once again, recognized what it was, the piece having played every year in the general store around Halloween.

"Das Hawwy Potter!!!" Tanner chirped excitedly.

Royal laughed as he finished off the last note. You and Rhett were hardly able to control the grins on your faces.

You both listened with awe as Tanner kept asking Royal to play more and each time, you and Rhett were surprised by how well Royal could play. He played "Red Warrior" from The Last Samurai, "May It Be" from Lord Of The Rings, "Now We Are Free" from Gladiator and "Tennessee" from Pearl Harbor. Yet you and Rhett were not prepared in the least when he played "Oogway Ascends". It was even more beautiful that you had remembered the first time you had heard it, watching it with the kids one night, the memories of the absent minded master from Kung Fu Panda, still fresh.

"One more Papa, one more," Tanner begged.

"Tanner c'mon, we've gotta take a break," Rhett chuckled.

"Nah Rhett, don't worry about it, he's havin fun," Royal said with a wave of his hand. "Your Ma's gonna be home with Tatum any minute so we might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

You and Rhett couldn't help but smile. If Royal didn't mind, then so be it.

When Royal began to play the next song, you didn't recognize it at first until he really began to get into it, your jaws nearly dropping. It wasn't in the book as far as you knew, but then again, Royal hadn't ever been known for doing anything by the book.

"Rhett is that......?"

Rhett laughed and pulled you close, kissing your forehead. "Fireflies" by Owl City had been a song that had played on your first date and one that you and Rhett enjoyed immensely. You and Rhett sang along to the words as Royal played and when he was done, the look on your faces had been enough.

And every day since then, when he had the time, Royal would sit with Tanner at the piano bench, teaching him little by little how to play.

[whumpninja]

I’m having so much fun using these as an excuse to fill in backstory for some of my existing OCs. It just works so well. This piece uses OCs from my story The Coven- it’s set about a century before the main story, in 1600s Ottoman-era Greece.

Whumptober taglist: @whumperofworlds (let me know if I should keep tagging you in these or not, I wasn’t sure!)

The Coven taglist: @fabled-whump @scatteriskity @ba-bhump

Prompt used: Whumptober, “It’s us or them.”

Featuring: betrayal, human sacrifice (but it ends well!), vampires before vampires exist also you can fight me on this but vrykolakas do NOT count as proper vampires, humans viewed as prey and discussions about that

Whumptober Day Seven: moonflower

"Are you going to kill me?" the girl asked. She said it bluntly, and try as she might Iolanthe could not detect a trace of fear in her voice.

Iolanthe tested the sharpness of the girl's own dagger against her thumb. It slit the skin with a mere touch, and a bead of thick, tarry blood welled up to drip onto the sand. Hmm. Good weapon.

"I haven't decided yet," she answered. "I could."

"I know," the girl replied.

Iolanthe took the dagger and cut the ropes binding her. "Aren't you afraid I'll run?" she asked.

"If you do, I can stop you." Iolanthe let a few flickers of her magic weave between her fingers before she clenched her fist to snuff it out. "I want to talk to you before I decide what to do with you."

The girl eyed her strangely, then sat down crosslegged right there on the beach. "All right. Talk."

A half-smile lifted one side of Iolanthe's face. She sat down next to the girl, leaning back against a stone. "Do you know what I am?" she asked.

"A demon."

Iolanthe laughed aloud at that. "I suppose in some respects, I am. But no, child, I am not a demoness. I am vampiros."

"What is that?" The girl stared into her face, and now Iolanthe could see the fear hidden deep within her. She was impressed that the girl hid it so well. Usually she could taste it on her tributes before they were even given to her.

"It means that once I was very much like you," she answers. "And then I was not."

"You are still a monster, though. Aren't you?"

"Did Kostas tell you that?"

The girl scowled at the mention of the village elder who had offered her to Iolanthe in exchange for protection for the rest of his people. "He didn't have to. I know you eat humans. Of course you are a monster."

"I drink them, actually. Their blood. I have no use for the rest of them." Iolanthe waved a dismissive hand. "Have you ever been hunting before, child?"

"I am not a child. And yes, I have."

"Are you a monster for killing rabbits and such for food?" Iolanthe searched the girl's face and saw the questions there. "There is no difference. You need meat, and so you take it from creatures that are meant to be your food. I need blood, and so I take it from the same." She took the girl's chin in her hand, turning it towards her. "Do you see now?"

The girl jerked her chin away. "So I am the rabbit."

"No, I think I would like you to be the hunter." Iolanthe did not know exactly when she had decided it, but she had. "You saw for yourself how easily humans will betray their own kind. Kostas gave you up without a thought- I think you have caused some trouble for him, have you not?"

"I can fight," the girl replies, and then, with a slight smirk, "Better than he can."

"So he got rid of you. Humans are like that. They decide they do not want you, and so they throw you out. Give you to monsters like me." Iolanthe moved to the girl's side, whispering in her ear. "Sometimes that's only how more monsters are made."

"What are you saying?" the girl asked in an equally low voice.

"I do not always kill the people Kostas and others like him try to feed to me," Iolanthe answered. "Sometimes, if there is one that catches my attention, I change them. Into something like me."

"Vampiros."

"Yes."

"Why?" the girl asked bluntly. She was a blunt sort of person. Iolanthe liked those kind.

"Because I believe you can understand." Iolanthe reached out to cup the girl's cheek. "You saw for yourself what your kind is like. Selfish. Greedy. Willing to betray their own if it saves themselves. Willing to kill to save their own lives. The only reason they haven't killed me is because they don't know how. But when they learn, I will no longer have tribute and fear. I will have hunters and chases and death, eventually. Again." She smiled. "It is us or them. I would like to make you one of us, because you are too strong to be one of them."

The girl was silent for a long moment. "All right," she said quietly.

"It is not an easy existence," Iolanthe warned. "I will teach you what I can, but it will not be enough. You will be hunted. And you will have to kill."

"I've killed before."

"This will be different. You will have to kill simply to stay alive. You must turn your back on everyone you know. Can you do that?"

The girl nodded, her eyes alight with a new spark.

"You will have to change." Iolanthe reached for her hand. "Becoming a vampiros is all change. Your identity, your body...your name. What is yours?"

"Tasoula," the girl told her.

"No longer. I will give you a new name, just as I received when I was changed." Iolanthe gazed up at the full moon. "I will call you after the moon goddess. You will no longer be Tasoula of the mortals. You will be Selene of the vampiros." She leaned close to whisper in her ear again. "Always remember that it was humans who tried to sacrifice you. They wanted you to die. You will die. And you will keep coming back." Iolanthe looked deep into Selene's dark eyes. "Remember what they are to you. You are not part of them. They are rabbits. You are a hunter." She smiled. "You will have to kill before the next sunrise. I think Kostas has been allowed to live long enough, don't you, Selene?"

In answer, Selene reached out and took the dagger from Iolanthe's hand. "Yes," she snarled, and Iolanthe knew that this girl would embrace the change, embrace the hunt. "I do."

[transbutchblues]

tagged by @cattus-catos :) thanks

last book i read : The Communist Manifesto by Engels and Marx. it was over a month ago but i’ve been feeling weird so i haven’t been able to actually finish a book since then.

a book i recommend : Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, my favorite book. it’s so beautiful. everyone should read it.

a book i couldn’t put down : so many! i’d say Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott, an absolutely amazing book exploring collective and generational trauma through the presence of ghosts while also being sometimes funny and lesbian. it’s so good i read it aloud to my mother then offered it to my grandparents. as well as Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, which opened entire new paths for me.

a book i’ve read twice : so many books but let’s say Anne Carson’s Antigonick. one of my favourite ancient greek play translations/retellings.

a book on my tbr : Aristophanes’ plays. i don’t like comedies so i keep procrastinating, but i really need to read them at some point.

a book i’ve put down : The Hera of Zeus : Intimate Enemy, Ultimate Spouse even though i absolutely loved it, because i borrowed it at the uni library and then had to give it back before finishing it. and now said library is closed for the summer. but also some other academic books that are interesting but too tiring to read right now.

a book on my wishlist : @nicosraf’s Angels and Man - i absolutely loved the first book, it’s incredible, it’s one of my favorite queer books, but i still haven’t found the time and money to buy the second one.

a favourite book from childhood : a french book collection on ancient greek myths called Saga of [Hero’s name] : greek mythology in 100 episodes. The ones on Odysseus and Theseus are the very first books on greek myths that i remember reading, when i was about 5 or 6.

a book you would give to a friend : Gideon the Ninth from The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir. this is so good. lesbian necromantic science fiction, absolutely hilarious but also tragic. i should probably have put it as the book i reread because i read it exactly 4 times in 6 months (and did the same with the two following books. before writing a analysis document on it.)

a book of poetry/lyrics you own : Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s poetry, If not, Winter. and Ocean Vuong’s two poetry books, Time is a Mother and Night Sky With Exit Wounds. as well as Richard Siken’s Crush. or Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal, the first poetry book that i enjoyed. all amazing works!

a non-fiction book you own : Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson (lots of Anne Carson here. maybe i have an obsession), an exploration of love in ancient greece. i read mostly pdfs of non fiction books or i borrow them from the library.

currently reading : too many books…. Lucan’s Pharsalia, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi, a french translation and commentary of Catullus’ poems, multiple retellings of ancient plays,…

planning on reading next : the Iliad! i really want to reread it, i keep thinking about it. the first time i read it it only took me 3 days but this time i want to annotate it. also, Female Masculinity by J. Jack Halberstam. and multiple academic books about Antigone.

tagging : @hiemihymni @olympianbutch @khaire-traveler but no pressure!

[gaygirldoodles]

i just made a form where you can vote what godly parent my next pjo oc should have

idk when im gonna make a new oc i just wanted to have some fun

you can vote on it whenever you would like im not gonna close the form or anything

ill probably just check once a week or so

if you choose the option 'other' and you want to know if i add that deity to the form so you can vote again, i have a section where you can add your tumblr or email address if you would like

just dont spam vote and if you come back a second time to vote for an option i recently added dont vote for who you voted for last time pretty please

not like i would know if you did but still

here the link since tumblr wouldn't let me add enough options

Im gonna tag the ppl from my rp blogs + some honorable mentions

@the-gods-abandoned-us

@arisdaughter

@mache-of-greece

@demigod-jack-hearth

@kaiaalwayswins

@unhinged-waterlilly

@daredevil-shit

@yourlocalfallenstar

@son-of-the-moonlight

@luci-likes-dinoss

@elixs-bernhxrt-schxfer

@bast-the-best26

@nyankootaku

@nicoswill2live

@sweetnnaivete

@if-chaos-was-a-boy

[caterpillarinacave]

Riordan's work is only an "inaccurate portrayal" of the Greek gods in the sense they never raped anyone over the course of the books.

Oh dear. You see, this is the type of thing I’m talking about. 

Anon, I’m sure you’re a fan of Rick Riordan’s, which prompted you to respond to a zero note post, tagged with critical tags, with the vigor of a wronged man. 

@heliomanteia has several good posts explaining this. I highly recommend you go and read some of those.

To quote this post by them, which used words much better than I could, (and I recommend you read in full):

Riordan’s portrayal of gods is incredibly one dimensional, and is far from respectful.

Roman life was based around community, strengths, and security among other values. But RR, however brief he refers to it, portrays Rome as a militaristic, war obsessed land. 

He moves the Greek god to America, and portrays the actual land of Greece with very little respect. It’s more of a “dead fantasy land”

Even RR admits his books aren’t accurate, as he bases them off different myths from different places (For example, he takes his Gorgone from Ovid’s (a LATIN man) version of the myth, despite Ovid not being greek and not worshipping Greek gods. (Interesting, but a little  off topic fact, the Roman emperor Augustus, who ruled in Ovid’s time, introduces the Imperial Cult, which worshipped Roman emperors as gods.) 

Before I go, however, I think we should talk about your comment. “ Riordan's work is only an "inaccurate portrayal" of the Greek gods in the sense they never raped anyone over the course of the books.”

Anon, you’ve proved my point here. Rick Riordan has boiled gods down to one dimensional characters who don’t care about their followers. 

Anon, people worship these gods to this day. You’re viewpoint, which I would guess comes from knowledge you obtained through RR’s writing, continues the idea that the gods in these myths are cruel, uncaring, unkind, one dimensional beings, with no care for humanity. 

Here’s a fun fact for the way: Ares, the god of war, doesn’t rape anyone in Greek mythology. Period. Despite RR’ portrayal of a thick headed, bros-bro, jock bully asshole who takes advantage of the world around him and has his head so far up his own ass he can see last nights dinner; Ares never rapes anyone. 

I hope this inspires you to look more critically into RR’s writing, and come to enjoy it whilst still acknowledging the culture it’s built from, and the inaccuracy within in it. 

[dino-cattivo]

Pray for me, cos I won't pray for you

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang!

The amazing art for this fic was done by @jeniidrawsshit and oh my god I love it so so much. It is just so amazing.

LINK TO THE ART!!! GO CHECK IT OUT!!

Pairing: Hob/Dream

Rating: mature

Word Count: 40,657

Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, gore like the dinner episode, The Corinthian is His Own Warning (The Sandman), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Alternate Universe - Mob, Organized Crime, Hob joins the mafia, Self Confidence Issues, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Needs A Hug, Misunderstandings

Summery: After their fight in 1889 Hob falls in with a bad crowd thanks to a boy that reminds him of Robyn. He tries to stop his descent into crime not wanting to be reduced to being nothing more than a murderer again. But eh fails. Compared to all the live he ends helping to guard a basement is tame. If only Corinthian, the right hand man of his employer, would stop flirting with him despite being turned down multiple times already.

Chapter 1 under the cut. Will repost the next chapters as reblog because of word limit.

~1889~

“You knew Lady Johanna. You know, Lushing Lou. You know everyone, don't you?” Hob asked in wonder. He may not know who or rather what his stranger was, but he could never help but be amazed by everything he could do. Sometimes when he laid awake, unable to catch sleep, he came up with the wildest theories about the man. He imagines him being a vampire, a fae, and even considered an old god from Greece. But he would never know, as his stranger never revealed anything about himself, not even his name. 

It felt unfair in a way. Him knowing everything about Hob, while Hob got nothing. It had crossed his mind to be petty, to keep things to himself, go against their deal in a way. But Hob couldn’t stop himself from telling the man whatever he could when they saw each other, eager to be able to share.  

“I saw her again, you know.”

“Who? Lady Johanna?” Worry flared up. He knew his stranger was fine, sitting across the table from him. He also knew the man was strong enough to protect himself. But he couldn’t help wanting to be there, to protect, to keep his stranger safe, even at the cost of his own freedom.

“She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add.”

Jealousy, burning hot, filling his veins. He tried to tamper it down, to net let it get to him, but he couldn’t help himself. All the time he had wanted nothing more than to get close to his stranger, to prove his worth, and now he had offered that chance to someone else. He had chosen someone who had hunted them down and tried to do harm instead of someone he shared centuries of friendship with.

It hurt. 

Although, could he hold it against his stranger? The man knew Hob for so long, knew what he has done, knew all his failures during his long life. So it was no wonder he didn’t trust Hob enough to ask him for a favor. His voice was filled with self-loathing as he spoke. “That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years. People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Still the same as ever.”

“I think perhaps you've changed.” Hob’s heart started beating faster at the other’s words. Did he really think so? Hob wished it was true. He wants to change, to be good, worthy of his stranger.

“Well, I may have learned a bit from my mistakes. But, uh… doesn't seem to stop me from making them. I think it's you that's changed.”

“How so?”

Hob should shut up now and be content with what he had, seeing the man he had fallen for every hundred years. He should not press the issue, no matter how desperate he was to be acknowledged by the other. But Hob had never been smart when it came to things he desired.

“I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else.”

“And what might that be?” His stranger looked curious at that. Hob liked the look as it meant he had done something to surprise the man.

“Friendship. I think you're lonely.” And in true Hob fashion, he managed to put his foot in his mouth. He knew the moment he had spoken, he had made a mistake. It was the truth, but the wording was just unfortunate and way too blunt. And not at all how he had planned to breach the topic.

“You dare…”

“No, look, I'm not saying–,” Hob tried to backpedal, but it was too late. “You… dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Maybe despite Hob’s foolish approach, there was a chance all of this still had a good outcome, and they would get closer. “Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong.” Or maybe not. Hob sprang up from his chair and chased after his stranger as the man strode out of the tavern. The man couldn’t do this. If he wanted or not, they were friends. You didn’t just storm off and leave your friends behind.

“I'll tell you what, I'll be here in 100 years' time. If you're here then, too, it'll be because we're friends. No other reason, right?” He was met by silence as his stranger didn’t seem fit to answer and just disappeared. 

“Fսck.” 

~1897~

He was pissed, absolutely livid. Who did he think he was? He had no right to speak to Hob like this, no matter how powerful he was. That was not how things worked. You couldn’t be an asshole like that and expect people to stick around. Hob didn’t need him. They saw each other only every hundredth years, and even then the stranger often didn’t have time for Hob and fucked off with someone else. So what if Shakespeare was famous now? Hob would still have been better company back then. No, he didn’t need the man. He would make new friends. Better ones.

~1936~

Okay, so maybe mistakes had been made and Hob should have chosen his words more carefully. That was on him. His stranger still shouldn’t have exploded like this and should rather have tried to talk things out like a grown up, but still – Hob hadn’t been entirely blameless in the situation.

When they saw each other the next time he would have to apologize and maybe then they could laugh together about the stupid fight. Or well, Hob had never seen his stranger laugh, couldn’t even imagine it. He would settle for a smirk then.

~1983~

Anxiety was settled deep in his chest. What if his stranger proved him wrong. What if he didn’t show, determined to not give in. Hob had no way of finding him. He didn’t even know who he was looking for. What would Hob even do? Nothing besides showing up in the White Horse every hundred years and praying at some point his stranger would forgive him and come for him. 

Once more, he felt powerless in their relationship. It was the whole reason why he had even started the fight, wanting to know more, anything about his stranger. He didn’t want to be on equal footing, knowing it would never be, but he wanted something that was his. He didn’t want to be just another amusement the man had, but to mean at least something to the other. 

Tears sprung to his eyes as he hit his desk in frustration. It was unfair. The stranger meant too much to him, was such a big part of his life, and Hob didn’t even know if he was the only immortal he kept. Maybe Shakespeare was out there under a new name, living his best life and meeting his stranger more often than every hundredth years. And there was nothing Hob could do about it, no way for him to even find out.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any more work, he gathered his documents and put them in a briefcase before leaving the empty office and making his way through the dark street. They were in the progress of having the gas street-lamps replaced by electrical once, but it was slow progress. And during it many streets stayed dark, since repairing gaslights when they were about to be replaced was a waste of resources according to the major. Hob didn’t care too much, he didn’t fear the dark.

He should have.

A dark figure stepped in front of him, barely noticeable in the moonlight. Turning around to run, he saw another figure blocking the other exit of the street and walking towards Hob. A flash of metal in the dark, a weapon. Hob swallowed, not because he was scared, he had survived much worse, but because it spelled trouble, and he couldn’t risk anyone finding out he was immortal. Not with times changing and hiding who he was becoming more and more difficult.

“Your money or your life,” Hob had to suppress a snort at the nasal voice. Ah, criminals, always the same no matter how many centuries passed. He remembered the time well, when he was in the other's position, stopping the carriages of rich folks and demanding the valuables. He had used the exact same words. Although, he guessed there was no much need for flair when it came to such simple matters.

“Alright, I will give you what I have. Please don’t hurt me,” Hob held up his hands, talking calm and trying not to provoke them. He couldn’t die, sure, but being stabbed hurt like a freaking bitch. Hob would rather part with some cash he had on hand and his watch. Nothing holding real value to him, and easy enough to replace. 

So very slowly and telegraphing his movement clearly, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his wallet, holding it out until it was snatched from his fingers. Next was his watch that got the same treatment. And still Hob was well-behaved, not struggling, calm and cooperating. He gave no reason for the situation to escalate, giving his robbers all chances to just leave now with their loot.

Which was why Hob was so surprised when pain exploded at the side of his head. He stumbled, his knee hitting the pavement, his palm getting scratched as he caught himself. Blinking, he tried to lift the haze from his thoughts as he looked up at the two shapes hovering above him. 

It was only instincts, honed through centuries with conflicts, that saved him, his head ducking automatically as he heard the swish of metal through the air. But just because the knife didn't slash his face didn't mean he was safe, as he was not as fortunate in avoiding the kick to his side. He cried out as pain exploded in his ribs. Every fiber of his being wanted him to curl up and protect his soft belly, but he forced down this instinct with gritted teeth. 

No, if you wanted to survive, you had to fight with everything you got. Using the momentum of the kick, he stumbled back to his feet, and got some distance between himself and the attackers. Despite the throbbing in his head, he now could see them more clearly, that was not the face of someone just messing around. No, they wore big smiles, and were enjoying his pain. They wouldn't stop. At least not on their own. 

One of them, heavy dark coat, spindly frame, soon ran towards Hob, knife in hand. Amateur movements. Hob stepped forward, getting close, deflected the blade by smacking the other's arm. His knee meets the other's stomach, sending him down. Before he could make sure he stayed down the other man, this one smaller but wider, jumped on him, and they tumbled to the ground.

That was fine. Hob knew how to wrestle and had the other in a chokehold in seconds. Still two against one, but he kicked out the legs of the man running towards him to tear him off his friend.

The body was suddenly in free-fall, arms whirling trying to get back balance. 

Then a sickening crunch and Hob froze.  

He had heard it often during his lifetime. He had sworn he would no longer be the cause of it. 

Looking over, he didn't need to see the neck bend in an awkward position to know the man was gone. 

Hob had killed him. He hadn't meant to, it had been an accident. But he had killed someone. 

After all the lifetime he had lead and all the killing and dying he had done, he had wanted to be done with it. He just wanted to live in peace and do let others do the same. But now he had ripped someone else out of their life. How could he live with himself knowing what he had just done. 

“Chris,” the man, Hob was still entangled on the ground with, cried out and struggled to free himself. Hob helped him as best as he could now that he was no longer in danger of being attacked. 

Getting up himself, he saw the man kneeling next to the body crying, shaking it and begging for Chris to open his eyes. The man didn’t. They never did. Once someone was gone, there was nothing you can do, no matter how you cried out to your stranger to spare them. 

Suddenly the man got up, swinging at Hob, but in his grief it had become uncoordinated and Hob easily stopped the punch. 

“You murderer! You killed him!”

He hadn’t meant to. And it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t attacked him. But pointing that out wouldn’t help, as the man would not listen to reason. He wanted someone to be angry at, to blame, to lessen his own guilt. And Hob was the perfect target. Hob stopped the other punch and just held on as the man cried. It was the least Hob could do.

There was the sound of footsteps in the distance, spooking the man, and he ripped himself free and started stumbling away. Hob didn’t stop him, just sitting down on the ground next to the cooling body and waited. He should probably call the police, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, so he just waited. How long he didn’t know, but at some point steps came closer and when he looked up Hob could see men in uniform entering the alley. The police has arrived. 

Hob didn’t resist when he was dragged up and cold iron snapped around his wrist. Neither when he was pulled away. Everything was a blur. He didn’t remember how they made it to the station, just that he found himself in a chair, an officer sitting on the other side of the desk staring him down.

He was asked questions he can’t answer, the full name of the victim, their relationship and most of all why he did it. All Hob can say is, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, they attacked me first, I just tried to defend myself, then he fell. Over and over, he repeats it like a mantra. Something to hang on when everyone wants to make him believe he did it on purpose. When their words make him question himself. 

I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was just defending myself.

He didn’t know how much time has passed, there was no clock in the room nor window. His voice was rough and black spots dance on the edge of his vision, they hadn’t bothered giving him a glass of water. The blood in his hair from the first swing he took was dry and flaking off every time he shakes his head in denial. His ribs throb with every breath.

He was about to just nod, accept whatever they said if it meant he will be thrown into a cell where he could lay down and close his eyes. It would ruin his life, but wouldn’t that be right after what he had done? A few years of suffering was the least he deserved. Especially since he unlike others had the option to start anew after faking his death.

His downward spiral was stopped by a man bargain in, under loud protests of some officers. The man’s briefcase hit the desk hard, and Hob flinched back at the loud noise.

“Don’t say anything,” sharp blue eyes drilled into Hob’s making him cower at the imposing figure in front of him. The man commanded respect, not because of the nice suit he was wearing or the expensive jewelry or because he was even taller than Hob, but in the way he held himself, his presence filling the whole room. 

So Hob shut his mouth. It was not like anyone was really listening to what he had to say anyway. And not speaking would be good for the scratching in his throat. His fate now would be decided if the new person was a friend or someone wanting to drag him down. Hob didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“You,” the man whirled on the officer, making him duck on instinct, only to puff up and try to make himself more imposing when he noticed. “Tell me how it comes that you had him in here for 8 hours and couldn’t even be bothered to give him a glass of water nor give him medical attention? Where are we? At the witch trials,” Hob flinched hard at the words, remembering the trials only too well. Back then he had broken as well, admitting to anything as long as it meant the pain would end. 

To his surprise, the stranger pushed his briefcase further on the desk, blocking Hob’s slumped form from view and gave him at least a bit of privacy as he fought with his demons.

“He killed a man! What do you expect? A fluffed up pillow and a three-course meal?”

“Human decency!” The officer was now absolutely cowering under the pressure, despite his best efforts. “Or are you that desperate you couldn’t take the 10 minutes to have him checked over? Maybe because you know you don’t have a case?”

“Bullshit! I know you love to put your nose where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Henderson. He killed the guy. We found him next to the corpse, and he admitted it was him who made the deceased fall.”

“And wasn’t he also quite persistence that the deceased and another man were the once attacking him, and he was just defending himself? Or are you just going to ignore that? So I suggest instead of harassing the victim, you should rather be out there looking for the second attacker.”

And the officer, despite his complaints and grumbling, got up and left the room. There was no way to know if he was really searching for the other attacker, and if there was even a chance to find the man with how little information Hob had been able to give, but getting a breather was enough for Hob.

His head laid on the desk, the cold helping against his headache, and he just rested his eyes for a moment. He heard movement but ignored Mr. Henderson for now. Or at least he tried to, but the man kneeled down next to Hob’s chair and his hand laid on Hob’s knee. 

Blinking his eyes back open was an effort, but Hob managed and looked down at the concerned eyes looking up at him.

“Mr. Gadling, I wish could say it will be alright, but your situation doesn’t look good. But rest assured, I will do anything in my power to get you out of this.”

“I don’t think I have the money to pay your commission,” Hob was not poor. But the last years after he had fought with his friend, he had let himself go. Gambling, and throwing money at unnecessary luxuries just because he could. When he had pulled his head out of his ass, he had already spent most of his fortune and was now living like the middle class. Not bad, but not enough to pay a man wearing jewelry that could feed a family for at least a year.

“Don’t worry about money. Just focus on getting through this.”

Hob snorted, so either once he was out the man would make demands to be paid back another way, forcing Hob into his servitude, or he was just plain stupid. Saying that straight to the man’s face was not the best idea, but the man just laughed.

“Personally, I see myself as someone just trying to do the right thing, reforming the misdeeds in the justice system.”

So, delusional. But Hob could work with that. And having a delusional lawyer was better than not having one at all, so accepting the help would be best.

“The biggest problem is all we have to confirm your story is your word. Even if the police showed an ounce of competence and finds the other robber, he will tell his own story.” Hob knew all that. He didn’t know why the other even bothered, since there was no way he would get out of here. Not with everyone in the station being hellbent on making sure he went to prison. But at least he got to go to a holding cell for now and take a nap until Mr. Henderson would return the next day. 

And return he did with a big smile on his face. The police had not found the other robber, but they had found a woman hanging around the alleyway, and with a bit of pressure she had admitted to seeing the whole thing backing up Hob’s story. The officers complained and tried to poke holes in his defense, but in the end they had no other option but to accept that his actions had been to defend his own life. 

Things dragged on, Hob being pushed from one cell to the other as people discussed his fate. Mr. Henderson, please call me Edward, was there every step of the way and the only reason why Hob didn’t fell apart. 

Still, Hob couldn’t believe it when the judge finally spoke the words not guilty, and he was stepping into the sun. Till the last moment he had waited for the second shoe to drop, for someone to jump out and present new evidence sending him to jail.

Turning to Edward standing beside him, smiling brightly, he couldn’t help himself, but pulling the man into his arms and thanking him under tears. The man had been there for him, like a true friend, and if he ever needed it, Hob would be there for him in return.

He had lost his stranger, but he was not alone. There were good people out there, just waiting for him. All Hobs had to do was open his heart and accept them. 

With this being over, Hob could move on with his life. Things finally looked up. Or they did until he found out he had no longer a job because of his long absence and his old boss was unwilling to hire a killer despite Hob being proclaimed not guilty. Hob didn’t understand it, but he was unwilling to start a fight. He could find someplace else. Only words of his case had spread through the whole city, and no one was willing to hire him. And without a job there was no money which meant he would be unable to pay his upcoming rent.

But nothing he tried worked. The only positions willing to hire him wouldn’t even make a dent in his rent, even if he had three jobs. And with the housing shortage, there was no place else he could live that would be cheaper. He could move, somewhere no one knew him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave London. This was his home, where his only friend lived. And he had to be here in a few years to be at the White Horse in case his stranger returned. 

He could ask Edward for help, but he didn’t want it to seem he was just after the other's money. Especially with Edwards business taking a major hit after a person he was defending was proven guilty. Hob tried to help as best as he could behind closed doors but knew he couldn’t do more since it wouldn’t look good on Edward if he was seen with Hob. 

It was a major point of friction. Edward didn’t care about his reputation and had no trouble inviting Hob out for dinner or even hiring him. But Hob refusing frustrated him, especially when Hob even declined his money, despite Edward knowing how much Hob was struggling. He just wanted to support his best friend and being unable to do so and just having to watch how he made himself smaller and smaller, shrinking under all negative attention focused on him angered him.

Their love for each other made them want the best for each other. And it tore their friendship apart. They were unable to spend time together without a disagreement, and then their friendship ended in a big fight. 

And it was Hob fault. He always said the wrong thing, turning away the people he cared about. First his stranger now Edward. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

But the world didn’t stop for his emotional turmoil. The rent needed to be paid, now especially since there was no longer a friend who would have a place on their sofa for Hob to sleep on. And Hob really needed to keep a roof over his head. 

He was terrified of ending back on the street. He did it once, and it was the worst time of his life. Just a nightmare of pain, suffering, anger, blood, and a desperate fight for survival. He knew getting back up once you were so far down was almost impossible. He couldn’t let it get this far. Not if there was something he could do. Even if it means he had to let go of his pride.

The first time wasn’t planed. Was just walking, trying to clear his head and finding a way out. The window was open, everything else dark, and no car in the driveway. He knew it was wrong, he should be better than this. 

He climbed the fence and slipped through the window, heart beating fast as he listened for any sign of life inside the house. Nothing. Sneaking around, he grabbed anything of value. 

Ten minutes later he was out, pockets heavy, and on his way to the pawnshop. It was not enough to pay the rent but enough to satisfy his landlord getting another week before he would be kicked out. 

It made him think about how easy it had been. And how little effort had taken to get the money. And it was not as if he hadn’t tried other options. It was them, society, not giving him a choice. If they had just given him a job, he wouldn’t be in this position. It was their fault, not his. 

And it was not as if he had hurt anyone. A few valuables were gone. And? They could replace it, their house had been nice enough they could afford a small loss like that.

Yes. It was the least all of them deserved for letting him down like this. He would just take what he needed to survive. And it was only temporary until he was back on his feet. They all thought he was a murderer, a bit of stealing was nothing in comparison.

It became a routine, going on nightly strolls and returning with his pocket full. He was good at it. Always knew when someone was home or not, avoided being seen when he made his way inside, and didn’t spend a second longer inside than he had to.

No one had to know what Hob did. Well except, the pawnshop owner, but he didn’t say anything and just gave Hob a price much under the actual value of the items. Hob was fine with that. Paying hush money was better than being ratted out to the police. Especially since the police so far had no idea he even existed. There was always breaking and entering, and he chose his targets so far apart there was no connection. The cops had better things to do than chasing a criminal that didn’t cause real harm. And Hob liked things that way. He had managed to avoid prison once, he didn’t want to risk it, especially since this time there would be no Edward bailing him out.

His rent was paid, he had food in his belly and a new coat. Life was good. Or it should be. There was still the guilt nagging at him that all of this wasn’t his. That he had stolen it and it was wrong. But with every failed attempt to find another source of income, he fell deeper into his ways. It was just too easy. Until weeks passed by without him searching for a legitimate job. 

~1989~

He started hating the man he was becoming. Or rather, he was returning to. He had thought he had become better, had changed. But now he was back at square one. Just a lowlife surviving by harming others. He didn’t want to be like this.

But there was still hope. One last chance to turn things around. Hob may not have the best moral compass – if he had any at all- but his stranger always knew right from wrong. Even before society or law. It had taken him to tell Hob for Hob to realize slavery was wrong. Today it was unthinkable, but back then it has just been how things were. And even then his stranger had known it was wrong. Hob just had to tell him, and his stranger would set him right and correct Hob’s course for the next 100 years.

Yes, all Hob had to do was meet his friend and things would be okay. So he drove to the White Horse in a car he had stolen, full of excitement in the prospect of the weight leaving his chest. He would do better, become good. To get his stranger approval.

But the longer he sat there, alone, the worse he felt. It looked like this was his stranger's answer. They were never and never would be friends. Hob was alone, on his own. There was no one who cared. No one who had any expectations, everyone had given up on him. Why should he even try? If there was no one to judge him, why not make things easy for himself?

Things escalate from there, as there is nothing holding Hob back. So what if the houses he breaks into now are not from some rich fucks but middle class as well? They had shunned him just as well. And their security was a lot laxer. Also, less to steal, but it was enough. And then there was someone home, but the house was way too good to pass up on. But it was okay, he would just be quiet. 

A good plan if not for the man of the house stepping out of his bed to get a glass of water just as Hob was clearing out their silver drawer. They looked at each other frozen, and Hob was glad for the hat and the scarf hiding most of his face. 

Before the other could too much than let out a shocked shout, Hob had jumped over the counter and tackled him to the ground, choking him until he lost conscious. When the wife appeared in the doorway, he was prepared, knocking her unconscious.

He used things found around the house to bind them to two chairs and gag them, before taking his time emptying their whole house. They would call the police anyway, Hob could at least make it worth it. And worth it, it was. He left the pawnshop with a big bundle of cash.

And if he spotted some rich folks taking a shortcut through a dark allay, well then it was their own fault, since they had begged for it. You couldn’t blame Hob for standing there with a knife demanding their valuables in a sick play on the situation that had started this whole thing. But other than his attackers back then, he was just after the money. Once he had what he wanted, he let his victims go unharmed. 

He didn’t kill. That was a line he would never cross again. And if he had to attack someone or render them unconscious, he did it with causing as little harm as possible. It was something which baffled the police and press alike, as they couldn’t decide if he was a monster or a gentleman thief. It was kinda amusing reading about people losing their mind trying to figure him out. Especially since it was that easy. He was just someone no longer following societies rules and just living by his own codex, doing whatever he pleased.

Even if this codex was completely screwed. Like right now, still blood on his knuckles from having to knock someone out who resisted, but being offended by a bunch of teens ganging up on a gangly little thing. It just strokes him wrong, seeing something like this. 

But it is not his problem. There is no need to get involved.

Or at least it wasn’t until the boy rose his head and looked straight at Hob. Dark brown eyes, with hair of the same color. But that was not what stopped Hob in his tracks. He looked just like Robyn. Well, not exactly, it was more the vibes he was giving up. But Hob couldn’t stop seeing his son laying there on the ground beaten and bloody, his tormentors surrounding him.

He moved before he really thought about it. 

His fist connected with the nose of the guy to the left. The bone crunched under the impact and the guy stumbled back, shouting in pain. That got the attention of the rest of his group, who instantly stepped in to avenge their friend. With no option to back out of this anymore, Hob just went with the flow and beat everyone getting into punching distance. They had the numbers, but they were untrained and rather stood in each other's way than taken advantage and overpowering Hob. Which leads to Hob standing between fallen bodies, breathing heavy and blood on his shirt but mostly unharmed beside a few bruises. 

Walking over to the fallen boy, he saw him flinch. Hob hadn’t meant to scare him, although the display of violence must have been frightening. But he didn’t feel comfortable leaving him sitting on the ground with unknown injuries, especially since his attackers would get up soon. 

He wanted to gain the boy's trust, but Hob had forgotten how to be comforting and soft. Hadn’t had need for it in years. Even for Edward, he had not managed to bring back that part of himself. Which was just as well because Edward liked his brash and direct way.

But now he tried, crouching down, holding out his hands and speaking softly. “It's okay. I took care of them,” well, he tried. He failed miserably, sounding more threatening than reassuring, but he had tried. How had he managed to deal with Robyn without frightening the child? He couldn’t remember. And wasn’t that sad? Not remembering this everyday life with his son, only holding some special memories close to his heart while the rest faded?

Knowing that his presence would only distress the boy more, he got up and turned to leave. He would just call the police to check things out, once he was far enough away. Only there was a tug on his pant leg and turning he saw the boy grasping the fabric with shaking fingers. The big teary eyes looking up at Hob broke his heart, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down again and pulling the boy into his arms. Crying and wailing filled the alley, but the boy clung to Hob desperately. 

Carrying him into his arm and towards Hob’s apartment, reminded Hob of the times Robyn had been unable to sleep and Hob had walked through the whole house with the child in his arm to keep him calm, while Elenore watched them with a smile. He had forgotten it until his actions pulled the memory back up.

Entering his building, he sat the boy on his sofa and retrieved his extensive med-kit. Being unable to die meant treating injuries yourself that would bring up questions, going to the hospital. He didn’t need much of it to treat the boy. The injuries had looked worse than they actually were. A bloody nose, bruising, scratched hands and knees, a gash close to his hairline that luckily didn’t need stitches, and a cracked wrist. 

Once the task was done, Hob looked at the boy awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“You want tea?” You could never go wrong with tea. The boy nodded and Hob set to work, returning with two mugs of tea.

“Thank you,” the voice was shy and soft. But at least the shaking had stopped as the kid started to relax.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hob meant it. Neither the tea nor stepping in had been much trouble, and Hob had done it for his own piece of mind. There was no need t thank him.

Hob swirled the tea in his mug, not knowing what to say. Should he give the kid money for a taxi? Take him home? Offer him the sofa for tonight? Hob didn’t know. 

Luckily for him, the boy was not as incapable of social interaction as he was.

“My name is Georgie Baldwin. What about you.”

“Hob,” he didn’t give a last name. The less the boy knew, the better it was for him with the life Hob lived.

“Thank you for saving me, Hob,” the boy put down his empty mug, hugged Hob and then left the apartment before Hob could compose himself. He looked at the closed door not understanding what exactly had happened, but then he just shrugged. Another weird day in his weird life. No need to think deeper about it. It was not as if hew would see the boy ever again.

After cleaning up the medical equipment, he laid in bed, unable to sleep. 

The encounter had brought up memories of a happier time. It made him realize just how lonely he felt. There was a gnawing emptiness in his chest, where his heart once was. He wanted someone to be there for him, to greet him when he got home, to care if he made it home. He didn’t want t be alone anymore. But every time he tried he messed up and ended up back alone. It was better to not try, and be disappointed rather than to suffer.

But knowing that didn’t fill the emptiness in his chest and no matter how much he tried he didn’t find any rest. Which left him cranky and short temperate when he stomped to the door, mug with extra strong coffee in hand, to tell whoever was on the other side to fuck off. Throwing the door open, he came face to face with the kid from yesterday.

The door banged close, as Hob didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever bullshit this was. Instead, he took a big swing of his coffee, cursed as it burned his tongue, and debated if a nice fluffy omelet was worth the effort of actually making it. 

His doorbell chimed again.

Hadn’t he been clear enough in his dismissal? But no, when he opened the door, the boy was still standing there smiling at him. What a prick. But not stupid, as he held out a bag that smelled heavenly of backed goods as bribery. 

With his stomach grumbling, Hob admitted defeat and took the bag, leaving the door open as he stepped inside. The boy had already been here, it wouldn’t do any harm to let him in. But Hob was not in the mood to play good host right now and didn’t offer any tea or coffee. Ripping open the bag, he found muffins and chocolate croissants. All things considered, it was a good bribe.

Humming happily, he dug in as the boy sat down watching him carefully. 

“So what so you want kid?” 

“It’s Georgie,” the way the kid pouted was kinda cute. He must have old ladies want to feed him all over town. “I want you to teach me how to fight.” Hob choked on the bit of croissant. He couldn’t say if it was his immortality or Georgie slapping his back that prevented him from entering the sunless lands. Whipping tears out of his eyes, he looked at the kid as if he had lost his mind.

“Are you completely crazy? Why would you ask me?”

 “The way you fought was amazing. Please, I want to be able to do it too.”

“Hard pass. Why the heck should I teach a brat?”

“I can pay you,” the kid dove for his pocket and placed a stack of bills on the table. It was no small amount. So, a rich brat. Well, it was not as Hob really needed money with how well his business was going. And he would rather not involve the kid by accident. If he went down for his actions it was one thing but dragging a kid down with him was completely different. And if he gave in now, he just knew the kid would one day rob houses side by side with him.

“Pass. Go home kid. You are young and have a bright life ahead of you. There is no need to get involved with the likes of me.”

“But what if they come back?! I need to be able to defend myself,” Hob just groaned as this was just playing unfair. Especially since it was a fair point. The bullies had found him once, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do worse when Hob was not close by to step in. It was just unfair. Hob was not responsible for the kid, could barely remember his name. But he had made it his responsibility when he stepped in. The least he could do was see things through now.

“Okay fine. I will teach you self-defense. Nothing more. And you will stay out of my business.”

“Deal,” the kid smiled brightly as he held out his hand for Hob to shake. Knowing that one day he would regret this Hob took the offered hand.