#They have hired him to be a piece of furniture once again

[kennethbrangh]

Ciarán Hinds as The Dark Wizard in The Rings of Power

[roostersbby69]

0.2 Fresh Starts

Bradley Bradshaw x reader

Summary: After leaving your abusive ex husband with your two kids. Tackling motherhood by yourself is a challenge. Getting to know a certain neighbor might lift some of the weight off of your shoulders.

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, little bit of smut

Masterlist |

The next day, Bradley was taking his morning jog like he did every morning. The Navy kept him in shape and that led to making him a morning person. Which is probably how he got his call sign ‘Rooster’. He glanced at your house to see you in a robe checking the mail. He smirked and decided to bug you a little bit with his bright morning smile. That’s what neighbors are for, right?

“Morning, neighbor!” He waved as he slowed his pace at your driveway.

You eyed him carefully as you flipped through the mail, “How can you be running at 7 in the morning after you drank and partied all night long?” He noticed you never looked up at him while you said this, which was amusing as it seemed you were asking yourself.

“My job keeps me in shape.” He shrugged. “What have you got going on today?” He tried to start a conversation as he took in your tired state. He seemed like a morning person. As a mom, you were never a morning person.

“The usual, trying to find a handyman to fix my shower head and someone to build some furniture.” He watched as you turned to travel down your driveway back to your house.

“Hey, I'm off work today if you want me to help out.” He shrugged and wiped the sweat from his forehead. You now looked up at him and noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His rock hard abs glistened with sweat as he took deep breaths. You looked up to his face and shook your head, “No thanks, I'll find someone.”

“Come on, I feel bad for last night. And it’ll be free other than hiring a handyman. I’m good with my hands.” He winked.

You scoffed and bit back a laugh as he stared you down waiting for an answer. “Fine, but only once.”

“Great, I'll go get changed and be over to start the job.” He nodded and jogged in place to get ready to return back to his own home.

“I have to get my kids to school, be here around 9.” You yawned and turned to go inside.

He nodded and threw a thumbs up at you before making his way home.

This was probably a bad idea.

-

You watched his biceps strain against his white t-shirt that he showed up in. His tan skin looked great against it you have to admit. Standing in the bathroom doorway, you watched as he grunted against the stubborn shower head.

“Tough one.” He grunted again and stepped back to shake his head.

“Yeah, I couldn’t get it myself.” You nodded and mocked his stance with crossed arms.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He said, determined to get it done for you. After all, he did offer to help. And what kind of neighbor would he be if he couldn’t help out?

You bit back a smile and watched as he placed his hands on the shower head once more and twisted hard. A loud cracking noise was heard and it finally popped off sending Bradley flying backwards into you. He twisted around and caught your head before it hit the tile floor. You gasped as his face was inches away from yours and he smirked slowly. “Got it.” He held the rusted up piece of metal in front of your face.

You rolled your eyes and pushed on his broad shoulders to get him off of you. “Thanks.”

When you finally stood up he threw the metal in the trash can and turned to you. “What’s next, boss?” He smiled like a school boy.

You shook your head with crossed arms and was almost in awe of his helpfulness. You were kind of rude to him the other night and here he was, helping you.

“You want a beer or something?” You asked as you turned out of the bathroom and headed to the kitchen.

“Beer would be great.” He smiled as he watched you bend into the fridge. His eyes scouted over your ass that strained against your jean shorts.

He stood straight as you turned to him with a brown bottle. “Thanks.” He searched around for a bottle opener, “You got something to open this with?” He chuckled.

“Oh, yeah.” You took it from him and placed it in between your teeth and cracked it open with ease.

He stood, amazed at what you had done before him. No girl had ever done that, not even a party trick could come close to how turned on that made him. He took the bottle in his hands and watched as you poured yourself a glass of wine.

You leaned against the counter and brought the glass to your lips. Taking a long sip, he watched you relax.

He also took a swig of his bottle before taking a look around the empty room. His head popped up when he heard you speak.

“This house is a wreck.” You never looked towards him as you stared at the boxes filled with items that were supposed to be put up by now.

He shrugged, “When did you move in?”

“Just a week ago. After I left my ex husband I took the kids and brought them here. We didn’t live too far away, just a couple of minutes. But away was enough.” You explained before taking another sip of the wine.

He nodded as he let you talk, “Nice place. It was owned by an older couple. They moved upstate for retirement.”

You smiled and nodded. The place really was lovely. A master bedroom with one smaller room and two bathrooms. One bathroom across the boys room and a bigger one connected to yours. A back patio and a small car shed with a yard for the boys to enjoy. You probably wouldn’t stay here long, just for a little bit to get started. It was the fastest and cheapest place to find since you were so eager to move out.

“I need to unpack.” You muttered as you closed your eyes in exhaustion.

Bradley watched as you straightened up from the counter and walked over towards the boxes.

“Is this all of your things?” He asked as he noticed the lack of furniture and the amount of boxes that stacked against walls.

“Not all of it, half of the things are in a moving truck. The others I'll have to go get from my old place.” You really didn’t want to go alone. But, you didn’t have any other option.

He nodded and walked towards the back of the house past the boys’ room. He saw a mattress on the floor and two l bed frame boxes leaned against the wall. A basket of toys was in the middle of the floor and a couple of books were stacked in the corner.

You hummed as you put away cutlery and plates. Completely forgetting Bradley was still in your house, you remembered after an hour or so and walked back towards the bedrooms. You passed by the bathroom and saw the new shower head was attached and the towel hangers were screwed on correctly. Walking further back, you stood in awe as each of the boys’ bed frames were completed and made with stuffed toys on them. Charlie’s was a little bigger and Westons was a toddler bed. The dresser was made and the box of clothes on top of them.

Bradley walked out of their closet and smiled when he saw you, “Hey, I was just fixing this shelf in here.” He nodded back to the closet. You nodded with an open jaw and admired his work.

“You didn’t have to do all of this.” You waved your hands around.

“Oh please, I’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, I like doing this kind of stuff.”

“What? Seducing girls with your muscle shirt and being the knight in shining armor?” You amused yourself and crossed your arms.

“No, I'm serious. I like building things and fixing problems.” He nodded and put the screwdriver on the desk by the wall. He smirked by raising a brow and turning to you, “But are you seduced?”

Your cheeks tinted as you rolled your eyes, “No.” Walking off to get away from his gaze, you went back to unpacking boxes.

He smiled as you walked away and followed you into the kitchen once again. You crouched down and opened the box. His gaze was fixed on you as you dug through the tea towels and glass cups.

You slowly stood up and walked to the cabinet to put away a couple of cups. Once finished, you turned around and saw him leaning against the fridge with a sweaty bottle of beer in his hand. His muscles in his biceps contracted as he brought the bottle up to his lips and took a long swig. His mustache hugged the top of the bottle and once he was done he licked his lips clean of the alcohol.

This was such a bad idea. You were supposed to be focusing on yourself and your kids' well being. But then again, your hormones are a part of yourself. He smirked as he caught you watching his every move. Bradley set his bottle down on the top of the fridge, which wasn’t a struggle at all for him to reach, and slowly walked over towards you.

You never moved from your spot as he stood not even an inch from your body. Feeling his breath fan your cheek, he took his finger and swiped a piece of hair behind your ear. His lips grazed your cheek and you tried to focus on anything else than the hot man that practically pushed you into the counter.

“What’s on your mind?” He teased as his lips moved to your ear.

You didn’t even know this man’s name. “What’s your name?” You blurted out pushing your head back to look into his eyes.

He smiled and chuckled, “Bradley.”

“Bradley.” You repeated under your breath to test it out on your tongue.

He nodded once you repeated it and smirked to himself, “Sounds good when you say it.”

Deciding to stir the pot, he brought his lips down to your jaw and barely grazed it just to tease you. He wanted to build the fire inside of you and figure out what pleased you.

“I can’t do this.” You shook your head, but your neck tilted to the side to give him better access and more space to litter his kisses on.

“Why’s that?” His movements never stopped as he traveled up your jaw and close to your ear lobe.

“Because, I’ve got kids and I just got a divorce.” You explained, but you couldn’t seem to hear yourself. You were so fixated on his hands and how they gripped your hips tightly and his lips how they ghosted your jaw slightly.

You had to fight back with every fiber of your being to not make a single noise. Not a whimper or moan. Trying your very hardest but the sexy man in front of you was making it literally impossible.

“I can’t be seen having sex with another man.” You pushed on his hard chest to make him back away from you.

“Then let’s go to the back.” He suggested and shrugged his shoulders.

“Bradley,” You started to say, but were lifted in his arms and were toted away from the kitchen. You were surprised at this. Never have you been carried away like this. It was every girl’s dream to be carried to bed by a muscled up man with a pornstar mustache. And you were living it right now.

“Bradley, we shouldn’t do this.” You gasped as his teeth nipped at your neck then kissed the spot soothingly.

“Come on, baby, let me make it up to you from last night.” He set you down gently on the carpeted floor, “I feel so bad.” He pouted and rubbed your hips. You knew what he was doing. He was trying to convince you and seduce you to let him ‘make it up to you’.

He pushed you back onto the bed and ground his pelvis into your heat once he spread your legs far apart.

It has been almost two years since you’ve had proper sex. After having your youngest, you and your ex husband stopped doing anything physical after he started drinking. You missed this exhilarating feeling between a man. What’s the harm?

You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into your lips. The plush of his lips hit yours and immediately started to devour you. Your jaws opened further apart so you could fight against each other’s tongues. He was a good kisser. A great kaiser even. His kisses made you excited and hungry for more. His hands roamed up to your boobs through your tank top and kneaded at the flesh. He could feel your bra constricting him from getting to where he really wanted to be.

After your encounter last night, he thought about you until he ran into you in your driveway. Those arms and sweaty abs that were glistening in the sun were enough to make you almost drop to your knees and lick up every drop off of him.

He pushed you further into the mattress and shoved his lips further into yours. Your teeth clashed together and you didn’t mind one bit if he chipped it.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You could feel his erection through the jeans he was wearing. Which means he must be big. Your breath shuddered as he moved his kisses down the front of your neck and to your collarbone.

You grabbed his face and brought it to your lips to kiss him with need. Your hands pushed at his shirt and rested your hands on his large pecs. He caught onto your little hint and tore his shirt off swiftly. He came back down and kissed you again with slick lips and wrapped his tongue around yours. His mouth tasted of beer and mixed with something else that made it much more delicious.

You spread your legs further and brought your hands down to press onto the tint in his pants. He groaned into your lips sending vibrations straight down to your clit. You moaned for the first time in front of him and felt him move to smirk against your neck.

“Jesus, Bradley.” You whined as he ground his hard dick into your clothed pussy. He pressed so hard into you it made you cry out. He dipped his fingers under your shorts and panties. Slowly dragging them down your smooth legs he felt the fat of your ass and laid you back onto the soft mattress. It was a little hard to get on your level since the mattress was laid on the floor. Bradley didn’t mind.

He spread your legs further and slipped the clothes off of your ankles and threw them across the room. One good look at your dripping heat was able to make a grown man cum in his pants. He dove into your pussy immediately and licked a thick stripe up your slit. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you cried out his name. He groaned against your clit and sent vibrations up your stomach. “Fuck, Bradley.” You gasped as the tip of his tongue prodded at your dripping hole.

He plunged one finger into you until he was knuckle deep and brought his thumb up to rub your clit fast.

“Shit!” You moaned and squeezed your eyes closed tightly. He held your legs far apart, making the feeling more extreme. “Say my name again.” He demanded as he stared up at you while fingering your pussy.

“Bradley.” You moaned and opened your jaw in pleasure. He smirked against your clit and curled his finger up into you. Over and over and over again he assaulted your g spot making your wetness spill out of you and into his fingers.

He moaned and kept drilling his finger into you trying to get every ounce of orgasm out of you.

“Fuck!” You moaned as he took his fingers out of you and took his tongue to lick your entire pussy in one stripe.

“Jesus, honey. Your’e soaked.” He laughed and saw your face heat up as you sat up and pulled your blanket over the middle of your legs from him. “I’m just teasing.”

“You really should go.” You scrambled for your shorts and underwear and pulled them onto your legs. He stood up and pouted, “What’s the rush?”

“My kids are probably on the way home and they can’t see you here.” You spoke as you hurried into the kitchen and saw the time. He followed you and nodded his head.

“Okay, same time tomorrow?” He teased as he slipped his shoes and shirt on beside the door.

You gave him a warning look as he smirked and winked at you.

“Thank you for the help.” You were very grateful for his help and it would've taken you much longer to finish without him.

“It was my pleasure. Call me when you need me.” He stuck a piece of paper on a cardboard box and walked out of the front door.

You walked over to glance at the paper and saw his number written down neatly.

Watching him walk back to his house you shook your head.

That was a bad idea.

—————————————————————

[gyllenhaalstories]

FOOL — RUSTY SABICH 🍷

summary: rusty has a very normal and appropriate reaction to your selfie.

warnings: food & alcohol, reader is drunk, cheating, fade to black/brief smut (masturbation). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2100

gif credit: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

notes: (not so) quick little quickie that was inspired by @sizzlingcloudmentality's comment on this post. this is a continuation of FETISH, i suggest reading it first to understand the dynamic of this fic. i really wanted to write 15 fics this year, so you guys can have whatever this is happy new year <3 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

Rusty ate out at the bar, that night. He was not in any state to go home.

He made up some excuse about needing documents from the office to finalize a case. Half a truth, he had work that needed to be done. Half a lie, he needed to get things off his mind.

The holiday schedule kept Rusty booked and busy. One second he drove the kids to visit relatives, on the next he was cooking up a storm in the kitchen and, in between all of that, Barbara reminded him of the countless things he pushed off his to-do list during the whole year. He needed to change a light bulb or two, he needed to move a piece of furniture, he needed to fix the chain of his son's bike before springtime. There was also a long list of conversation topics Barbara pressed him to address without walking out of the bathroom and shutting her out.

It felt as though he laid to bed with more worries now than during the rest of the year. Rusty was desperate for a break. So, he went to the bar.

He ordered a drink and some food that he barely touched. He preferred to toy with his glass and to watch the ice cubes follow the ripples of the amber liquid.

The phone vibrated in a frenzy, he received a series of messages.

The messages came from you. You were texting him.

Since you had started working at a different firm, all thanks to Raymond Horgan's impressive network of connections, you kept in touch with your former colleague. Upon your departure, Rusty had insisted time and time again that you could reach out to him whenever you needed help. You exchanged emails every now and then in the search of advice about your job. You shared text messages about the length of the queue at the coffee shop Rusty and you frequented. Friendly, helpful, appropriate.

Rusty was proud of himself. He thought about you a lot less, since you quit to work somewhere else. The quick and easy interactions with you kept him going, they fed him enough crumbs to avoid going hungry for more. He managed his impatience fairly well while waiting for the next time you would reach out. You did not have the habit of making him wait too long. That was before the holiday break, anyway. He understood you were busy on most days, on most nights too.

It was a different kind of busy, that night. You attended a work party with your colleagues. The second to last day of the year turned out to be the only moment everyone had available in their schedules. So, you found yourself at a bar you never frequented, with people you did not hang out much outside of work.

Rusty unlocked his phone and checked the first photo you sent him: an array of fancy liquors and spirits. He recognized a brand or two.

"Can you believe Raymond sent all that? It came in a giant box. I'm sure that all these bottles are worth more than a month of salary." You sent the explanation after the pictures.

No wonder why Rusty recognized the labels, it made sense now. He quickly replied that good old Raymond definitely felt generous when he ordered the assortment to, once again, thank your superiors for hiring you.

A few minutes later, he received another message. You told him you tried one of the bourbons, it did not taste worth the elegant gold foil of the label. After that, you sent a photo of the glass of wine you held up along with a handful of your colleagues who did the same. You commented that only the people from your work occupied the bar, that a couple walked in and left when they realized that a party was happening.

Rusty did not know why you felt compelled to share all of the little details of your evening. You granted him with a chance to witness a side of you he had never seen. He would be a fool to tell you to stop.

You were too tipsy to think of your behaviour as annoying. You enjoyed having an excuse to be on your phone for a little while and listen to the office gossip rather than participate in it. You learned a whole lot about the guy a worked in HR, not that you would remember much about this story tomorrow morning.

You stayed silent for a moment, twelve minutes to be exact. Not that Rusty was counting... He was. He had typed several messages that he erased before sending. He had a tendency to be insisting, he wanted to avoid scaring you off. He did not want this moment to end.

You took a few more photos: of the menu and the funky cocktail names, of the tacky paper umbrella that hung off your friend's drink, of the neon blue liquid you received after you ordered something else. You had accidentally flipped the camera and, low and behold, you liked the lighting. You suggested to take photos of the people around you. Everyone squeezed close and showed you funny faces and pretty grins. Then, you took a selfie. You dragged your fingertip on the screen, attempting to send the photograph of the blue cocktail you had been sipping.

Rusty's entire body buzzed when he felt his phone vibrate again. Finally, you replied. He opened the picture you sent him. Your eyes sparkled, your smile beamed. Maybe it was the brightness of his phone that adjusted itself, or it was your beauty that shined through. He could not tell, he wanted to believe it was the latter.

You realized, too late, that you had sent the wrong picture. You tried to justify yourself, but instead you watched the text bubbles dance.

Rusty felt his cock twitch at the sight of your face. He shifted on the bar stool to spread his legs a bit more. He looked at the photo again, with a sigh and furrowed brows. It seemed as though the vein on his temple pulsated. His restraint melted away like the ice cubes in his glass. "You're amazing."

You read the message. Confusion painted the features of your face. You did not dislike the unexpected compliment, but it remained exactly that: unexpected. Perhaps he had too much to drink too, just like you. You did not ponder any longer about it.

"You look like you're having fun." Rusty sent another message after you left him on read.

You responded that you had a good time so far. "Are you having fun too?"

It was Rusty's turn to leave you without an answer. He chugged the last sip from his glass, then he paid for the steak and roasted vegetables that he picked at all evening long. He gave the bartender no time for Happy New Year wishes, Rusty jumped off the stool and grabbed his coat.

You had put your phone back in your purse, thinking it was the end of your conversation with Rusty.

Little did you know he basically ran to his car, unbothered by the cold and humid air of the night. He slammed the door shut, adjusting the car seat to give himself more space. Rusty pulled out his phone that he held in one hand, while the other expertly unbuckled his belt. The noise of the zipper going down blended with the swoop of the notification from his next message. "I'm having fun too." He opened your selfie, groaning with relief when he palmed at his bulge. It gave him a sense of déjà vu, to touch himself because of you. Except that, this time, he would not only think of you — he would admire the beautiful features of your face that had showed up one too many times in his fantasies.

*~*~*

Rusty got startled with the loud sound of his phone ringing. He furrowed his brows when he read the name of the caller, instinctively answering and putting his phone on speaker. He noticed something on the screen. "Fuck." He cursed at himself.

"Well, hello to you too." You answered before he could say anything else, grimacing at his attitude. You did not understand why he threw such bitterness at you, Rusty had been nothing but pleasant all evening. You squeezed your phone between your cheek and your shoulder while you tried to fix your scarf and jacket. "Am I calling at a bad time?"

Rusty's heart started to race. "No, no, you're good." He answered, his voice sounded strained for a moment when he reached for the glove compartment and pulled out the package of cleaning wipes. "It's all good."

You shrugged. You did not care much anyway. "Do you remember when you said you could help me with whatever I need?"

Rusty's ears perked up at the way you slurred your words, clearly you had more to drink than just the one glass of wine you showed in your photo. "Uh huh." He cleared his throat, pulling out a wipe. He started vigorously cleaning the steering wheel.

"Sooooo..." You dragged out the word, taking a look around. The street felt eerie and empty, it was so unusual for the city. "Wanna give me a ride?"

The bluntness of your question took him by surprise. He folded the wipe neatly, then he used it to scrub the screen of his phone. The frenetic motions managed to switch the screen to what it previously displayed. Now, Rusty stared at the zoomed-in selfie you sent earlier. Drops of his cum covered your cheeks and your chin. You looked so perfect like that...

You filled the silence with unnecessary explanations. "You're cheaper than a taxi and you're much better company than Uber drivers." You hoped the flattery would work.

And it did, you stroked his ego just the way he liked it. He let out a shaky breath, soaking in what you said. You really did like him.

"I'm not bothering you, right?" You asked. Both Rusty and you were unsure if you played it coy intentionally or not. "I assumed you had time to spare tonight to hold on to your promise since, well, you know..." Surely, if he had been at home with his wife and kids he would not have texted you back so quickly every time.

Rusty wanted to blame your bold assumption on the alcohol, but he had a shadow of doubt that there was more to it. You guessed correctly, even worse, you did not seem to mind it too much. Perhaps the blame rested, again, on the intoxication. Still, something stirred inside of him. Desire renewed easily at the sound of your voice, at the implication that you needed him — that you chose him.

Your words hung in the air, the silence spoke for itself. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you began to feel cold. Your movements did not distract you from the noise you heard on the line. Rusty received a notification.

He pushed the notification away when he saw that the message came from his wife. "You're not bothering me at all, I'll pick you up. It's no problem." He blabbered. He pulled his shirt out of the pants, hoping to cover most of the reaction you gave him just by talking. Just by being so sweet to him. Just by showing him that he's on your mind too, albeit in different ways. "Where are you?"

You gave him the address while failing to hide the smile in your voice. Rusty commented that he was just a few blocks away, he would be there in five or ten minutes. "Great! That gives me plenty of time to order one more drink." You giggled, making your way back to the bar. You remembered that most of your friends and colleagues had already left, but that did not stop you from getting your favourite cocktail.

He reminded you to be careful, you blissfully ignored him so you could recite your order to the bartender.

"Oh, Rusty?" You realized you had not hung up the call yet. The music resonated loudly, but he could still hear your voice, as sweet as ever. "Thank you. I knew I wasn't a fool for believing that you would hold up to your offer." A little bit more ego stroking never hurt anybody.

And just like that, he made a sharp turn and sped up as the light turned red before his eyes. Rusty was off to the races.

[thesillymask]

D-Do I see Abel?

....

Can I request an Abel x Female Reader where the reader comforts Ab after a stressful day at work?

Yes! You see our beloved boy Abel! By the way, sorry for the delay! The last few months have been a bit busy for me.

Soft as wool, sweet as honey

Abel x Fem!Winner!Reader (Relationship established)

Genre: fluffy

⚠️warnings:Psychological pressure, possible triggers

Abel never wanted this to be honest, he never wanted to be the new leader of the exorcists. he just agreed to it to continue his father's legacy, even though his father doesn't give a damn about him.

To say he was nervous was an understatement, he was very anxious about the whole thing. Being the leader of the exorcists is a very high position and he was not at all prepared for it. He had to have an extremely long conversation with Sera about the rules and his duties as the new leader, in addition to having to train for hours to have some combat skills. And let's not even mention the paperwork, dammit! What's the need for so many documents!? Couldn't he just write down his name and make it official?

And if that wasn't enough the next day he had more work, and very early! He spent almost the entire day hiring new exorcists and running after new angelic weapons. That job really wasn't for him... But he couldn't give up now! Not when all the seraphim were counting on him and the exorcists needed new members and a new leader after the disaster of the last extermination. He had to do it, it was his duty... He needed to...

Once his work was finally done, he stretched and gave an exhausted sigh. He then gets up from the chair he was in and leaves his office. He locks his door, a tired look on his face as he takes off the mask, fixing his hair.

— "god... What a tiring day..."

He mutters to himself and then spreads his wings, flapping them lightly and then starting to fly. He must have to fly a lot until he finally gets to his house, after all his father's office (which was now his) was very far from where he lived. He gently opens the door, closing it behind him as he lets out a soft groan of frustration. he is then greeted by (name), his girlfriend, his gaze softening as he saw her

— "Honeybun... Hi..."

He gives a slight smile when he sees her, placing his mask on a nearby piece of furniture and hugs her, wrapping her in his arms while muttering softly. (name) notices his tired behavior and gently strokes his back.

— "hey Abel... How was work today?"

She asks, a hint of concern in her voice. She barely saw him all day and was thinking about him all day. Abel just nods and lets out a sigh, before breaking the hug.

— "It was... It was good... I think..."

He said softly, his shoulders slumping as he looked away. It was clear he didn't want to worry her, but it was obvious how stressed he was at that moment. (name)'s gaze softens and she puts her hands on his shoulders Abel, making him look at her

— "You don't look well... Do you want to sit down and talk a little?"

She says with a warm expression, wanting Abel to know that she was there for him. Abel looks at him for a few seconds before nodding slowly. She takes Abel into the living room, sitting next to him on the sofa. Abel was looking down, avoiding looking at her. She notices his tension and reaches out to touch his arm.

— "hey... Look at me..."

(name) says in a soft, sweet tone. Abel hesitates for a moment before looking at her, his eyes looking at her, you could see he looked agitated.

— "Tell me... Was work very stressful for you?"

(name) asks, her eyes never leaving his face. Abel lets out a sigh and nods, looking down at the ground again.

— "yeah... I had to endure over and over job interviews with so many candidates... There were so many and I was so agitated... They looked so serious and had a blank look in their eyes... Also I had to look for new angelic weapons for the new exorcists... I had to order several of them..."

He says in a frustrated tone, his hands clasped together as his fingers press together a little tighter, a sign of how nervous and overwhelmed he is. (name) looks at him with a soft and understanding look, I understand how stressful the day must have been. her hand moves down his arm to his hand, holding it

— "It must have been too much for you..."

(name) stops talking for a moment, before speaking again.

— "You know you don't have to do this, right?..."

— "Of course I do... Everyone is counting on me... I can't let them down now... I can't give up now..."

Abel says, turning to look at her, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked away. (name) reaches her other hand to Abel's face, cupping his cheek and turning his head to look at her.

— "I understand that you don't want to disappoint others... But if you don't want that... You can't force yourself to do it..."

Abel just lets out another sigh, burying his face in his hands.

— "I know I know... I just... I'm just tired... I'll be fine, I promise..."

He then takes his hands off his face and looks at her

— "I just need to recover..."

He says, trying to reassure her and convince her that everything was okay. (name) looks at him, seeing that Abel needed comfort more than anything. she suddenly pulls him into a hug, holding him close and stroking his back

— "ok... If that's what it takes..."

She says in a low, soft tone, making Abel feel a warmth in his chest. He hugs her back and buries his face in her shoulder, closing his eyes as he enjoys the feeling.

— "thank you... thank you very much... I needed this..."

he says, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck as he holds her close. They stay hugging like that until (name) has an idea and lies down on the couch, pulling him along. Abel lets out a soft cry of surprise, before relaxing and burying his face in her chest, letting out a soft sigh of relief. (name) begins to gently stroke his hair, humming sweetly.

— "Comfortable?"

she asked, earning a nod and a soft, muffled 'mhm' from Abel. an affectionate smile and continues to caress his hair, her fingers snaking through the strands, feeling the softness and smoothness. they sit in peaceful silence until Abel suddenly speaks

— "hey cinnamonpie"

he says quietly, earning a curious look from (name)

— "yeah?"

— "I love you..."

— "I love You too..."

Here it is! I'm sorry if it wasn't what you wanted. I really tried my best

I'm so happy to be the first to do an Abel x reader, I love him so much! I want to hug him and never let him go 💖

[onceinawhilemoon]

The Tale of The Empty House Quest and The Power of Imagination

There's something that I haven't noticed before in the ending credits of SHCO.

The credits show Stonewood Manor in a “past vs. present” sequence. We see the rooms as they were in the past: vibrant, warm, and beautiful, before they transform into the present: dark, cold, and ramshackled.

But the present here isn't just the present; it's Sherlock’s present while he was staying in the manor, and we can see ALL THE AUCTIONED PIECES THAT WE'VE BEEN BUYING THROUGHOUT THE GAME and even that sketch of Ms. Nini's fugly thief in Sherlock's room.

Like, I did wonder how Sherlock managed to refurbish and repaint every room and make them look as good as new all by himself with just a scant few items of furniture, but I never really gave it much thought, simply attributed it to game logic and rolled with it.

BUT THAT'S THE THING. He never really did.

I did wonder how Sherlock put his hand through the lit fireplace to retrieve Mycroft's key, and didn't give it much thought either because again, game logic, but that fireplace was never lit to begin with.

To Sherlock, when he set to “refurbish” the manor–which entailed him buying whatever auctioned items he could find still being sold around Cordona because like a decade had passed–and to us playing as him as we progressed in the Tale of the Empty House quest, the house started to look warm and colorful and beautiful:

In reality, though, they were just those items that he restored here and there and everything else HE WAS SEEING IN HIS OWN MIND and the ending credits show us what the manor actually looked like while we were in it:

Which means that the entire time that we were running around the house with Jon and that beautiful soundtrack as we reminisced and lovingly renovated and decorated it with trophies and case memorabilia, we were running around that same dark, cold, decaying building from the start of the game, except for those little additions here and there...

And if you look at the restored items, you’ll notice how the family portrait is still unveiled, the carpet isn't fully rolled out, Jon’s bed isn't positioned against the wall like it should have been, and there's a covered painting atop the closet in Sherlock's room that didn't originally belong there.

Everything that we reclaimed from the shops looks messily and hurriedly put together–Sherlock is a one man after all and a very busy one–and yet, his creativity and imagination were powerful enough to fill in the rest.

All this time we spent in the “refurbished” Stonewood Manor, we were simply living inside a memory. We were in Sherlock's mind seeing a product of his imagination so vivid that it created a real sense of presence in the revived manor–as real as Jon was to him–despite the actual state of disrepair.

I don't know why it never occurred to me before. It's pretty obvious now, and it makes so much sense; there was no way Sherlock was going to find everything that was auctioned still being sold and intact (and he didn't, the items he found were like 10 or 13 tops) and make the house look like that all by himself. He could have hired people to repaint and clean and bought similar furniture, I guess, but that's just far-fetched to me. He barely even spent time in the manor to put all of this extra effort on renovations.

I sobbed uncontrollably when I realized this sgsjiwise (the ending credits already make me so weak, especially with that damned music UGH).

I don't know. There's something so bittersweetly pure about him trying to reclaim the space that was once his own with whatever minimal resources he had available. Whatever he couldn't find, he simply substituted with creativity and imagination, and that was enough to imbue the space with warmth and a real sense of home sweet home. It's almost reminiscent of the way a child plays make-belief. I think it's a beautiful testament to the power of imagination, how it has the ability to transform environments and create a sense of belonging.

And then, just like 10 years ago as if he still lived there, he went around and put up posters and trophies and memorabilia, despite knowing that he wasn't staying there for long, and that once he left, it was forever. It's like he wanted to experience what it was like living in the manor one last time, leaving one last imprint saying, “I was here.”

I wonder what Mycroft thought of it all when he came back later to check on Sherlock. He must have at least gone through the entire ground floor in order to get to the back garden, so he must have seen all the restored items and the very personal traces of his brother's short-lived presence scattered among the junk and clutter of their dilapidated old home. I imagine they starkly stood out not just because they were not supposed to be there, but because of how they were like little touches of life in an otherwise dead and quiet space that'd been dead and quiet for a long time..

I really admire how FW managed to set up the sense of nostalgia in this game. Not just nostalgia, but “vicarious nostalgia”. I kept having that wistful longing for places I haven't personally been and experiences I haven't personally lived but felt very connected to through Sherry's (and Jon's) memories and stories (there's like a German word for this phenomenon I'm pretty sure but I forgor) but I guess SHCO does tab into something for all of us, right? Childhood innocence and memories, imaginary friends, leaving your childhood home and coming back years later... There's a little something there for everyone to relate to, I think.

[sprnklersplashes]

thought long and hard but i think jd and ronnies first xmas together after getting married would be cute as hell

your wish was my command! hope I did it justice!

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When they first moved into this apartment, Christmas seemed like years from then. They were still on their honeymoon when their offer was accepted, and it was celebrated with champagne in their hotel room. Between painting and finding cheap furniture and the fact that it was still summer, Christmas had been the last thing on their minds.

Which means that now it’s December, and they’re in the store loading their trolley up with decorations and Veronica is laughing so hard her face is redder than the Santa hat JD insisted on wearing.

(Sweet Lord, she married a complete dork)

“How many of these guys should we get for the apartment?” she asks, gesturing to a row of jolly-looking, rosy-cheekced elves on a shelf. She can get why JD grimaces, their massive, unblinking eyes are pretty unsettling, but it gives them charm. 

“We can put them in the windows to freak people out.”

“How very festive of you,” she says dryly, and then she puts two in their cart. On the way here, they again had the debate over whether models of Tolkein elves would count as Christmas decor (her response was “absolutely not”, JD remainced convcined his copy of Lord of the Rings was holiday-appropciate), and whether they needed another roll of tinsel alongside the ones Veronica “borrowed” from her parents’ house. The answer to that question sits in the babyseat of their cart, one green, one yellow and one silver. They’re not sure where they’ll put them just yet but screw it. They’ll find space. Also in the cart are various baubles and packs of fairylights, a garland that apparently goes on the stairs, some festive-patterned tablecloths, a little DIY model of a gingerbread house, and that’s still not all of it. Veronica had cursed herself when she realised they had next to nothing in the house, and spent more time than she should have wondering how the hell she didn’t plan further ahead.

As she watches JD play with a toy reindeer and he makes it bite her nose, she thinks maybe it was for the best. 

Getting everything home is a task in itself. Veronica hoists her bulging back on her shoulder, meanwhile JD carries a backpack and two carrier bags by his side. She offers to carry another, despite the growing pain in her shoulder, but JD insists through gritted teeth that he’s got it. Even when she spends the entire bus ride home trying to grab one off of him, he keeps it out of reach. She lets it go when they get off the bus, focussing more on the trek up the hill to their building.

By the time they get back to the apartment, Veronica dumps the bag on the floor and all but collapses onto the couch. She hears, rather than sees, JD push the bag out of the way, and then he’s patting her shoulder. She groans quietly and sinks further into the cushions.

“Can we hire someone to decorate?” she mumbles. “My body isn’t working.”

“Darling, we can’t afford a person,” he reminds her gently. Veronica lifts her head just enough to pout at him, and he runs his hand through her hair. “We do have coffee and cookies though.”

“Gingerbread cookies?”

“I am almost certain we do.” He taps his fingers up and down her spine, so delicate and so playful that she just about hides her face in the cushion before she smiles. 

Seconds later, he grabs her shoulders and drags her to her feet, and her smile doesn’t waver once.

Like they said in the store, they put the elves in the window, their plastic smiles shining down on the streets below. Inside, JD balances on a side table to position some holly on the top of the windowframe, pushing his luck as far as he can despite Veronica telling him to be careful. The damn Santa hat is still on his head, now with an added piece of tinsel behind his ear. He drops on the floor next to Veronica after he’s finished, one leg pressed against her back. He presses his nose against her temple and nuzzles against her. His hand wraps around her waist, his chin rests on her shoulder, and Veronica’s toes curl against the carpet.

“You’re distracting me,” she murmurs. He smiles into her shoulder, and his arm slowly lifts to circle her shoulders.

“I am?”

“Yes.” She bites her lip as he kisses her cheek. “Very much so.”

“Can’t believe I’m losing my wife to a gingerbread man.” She clicks her tongue.

“Sorry, he keeps me warm.”

“And I don’t?” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

She bites back a laugh as he feigns offence. In response, he pulls himself closer, until her side is pressed into his chest. His free arm reaches up and links with his other, so she sits safely in his arms. His thumb strokes her cheek, his leg stays solid against her spine. Her head falls to his shoulder, so she breathes in his cologne and the coffee on his breath.

“How about now?” A smile flickers across her face .

“Now you’re getting it,” she whispers, and she blushes as he kisses the top of her head.

It doesn’t take long for them to open the Bailey’s. While JD tinkers around in the kitchen, Veronica starts tackling the tree. It’s smaller than the one she used to have in her parents’ house, but at least it’s real this time. Last year, when they were two college students, they’d had to make do with fake ones that looked as similar as possible in their dorms. This year, finally, they’ve just got one, real and right beside them. Most importantly, it’s theirs. Chosen by them, bought by them, decorated with all their little keepsakes.

“You’re looking very thoughtful,” JD murmurs. He presses the mug into her hands. Veronica hums as she sips it.

“Guess so,” she says. She doesn’t need to say anything else. He gets it.

His free hand brushes hers and he gives her fingers a squeeze. Their fingers slide together the way their keys slide into their lock. Perfectly. Made for each other.  

“Tree looks good.”

“Yeah.” 

A small lump forms in her throat and she doesn’t even know why. Probably some ridiculously sappy crap about how this is their apartment and their tree and they have matching rings on their fingers. This is her life now. 

She sips her coffee just as the tears prick at her eyes. So stupid, she think, blinking them away. She’s crying over a Christmas tree.

Before she has time to think, she places her coffee down then walks up to JD and wraps her arms around his waist. He gives a small, surprised squeak as she presses her face into the crook of his neck, then almost instinctively leans into her. She his chest expand as he breathes, feels his spine relax as he leans into her. His hand comes over hers and holds tight.

“Oh hello,” he laughs. “Any particular reason for this?”

“Nah.” She rests her chin on his shoulder. “I just love you.” He laughs again, more soft this time. Like the snow falling against their windowsill. 

“I love you too, Sawyer,” he tells her. He lifts one of her hands to his lips and kisses it. “Now come on. We didn’t spend all that time at Costco to let the tree just sit here.”

Just a few seconds later, she isn’t crying any more. She’s laughing, because JD picked her up the put the star on top and she’s pretending to be mad about it and then they’re drinking Bailey’s coffees on their couch and this is her life now. She fucking loves it. 

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Interwoven, but Tangled [2]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: mild/brief angst, fluff, pining, cursing

Word Count: 3,461

Summary: The red string of fate connects the pinky of one soulmate to the pinky of the other. Not everyone can see them, but since you had this rare gift you figured it was your duty to make sure as many soulmates found each other. At the very least, you could make sure your friends found their special person. What happens when your best friend’s soulmate isn’t her soulmate though?

The A/C in your apartment wasn’t working, but this was hardly a new occurrence. The problem was with your thermostat, but that was the extent of your knowledge. A handful of times the landlord had come out to fix it, mostly because he was too cheap to hire someone with actual knowledge, and it’d work for a little while before dying on your again. Like always you had called him to come fix it again, and like always he told you that he’d be there when he got there.

So, you settled on your own little version of being an A/C repairman. Texting all your friends, complaining to them, and hitting the thermostat with the heel of your hand over and over and over again.

“Fuck. This. Stupid. Thing.” You mumbled with each slam of your hand. Sweat beaded on the back of your neck and nearly every other crevice. The windows were open, but without a decent breeze it didn’t do much. You were sticky and gross and hot and angry.

The sound of knocking at the door interrupted the sound of you punching a thermostat. You breathed a breath of relief, never so happy to hear from your mildly sexist landlord, and rushed over to swing the door open. Instead of seeing Joe, you came face to face with Sam Wilson. Your jaw fell loose in surprise as your eyes darted to the string between the two of you.

“Hey there.” Sam greeted and held a bag of tools up, “I hear you’re having a rough go of it.” You just stared at him dumbly. He nodded once, “Sharon told me you could use a little help. Can I come in?”

You blinked in surprise and stepped back so he could step in. He let out a low whistle as the wall of heat him. Apparently, Sharon had taken your complaining and done something about it. This was not the solution you wanted though.

Your best friend and Sam had been dating for three months so far. Their relationship was a lot like a metronome. It’d jump from yelling and fighting each other outside of the bar your group wanted to visit then jump to them making out in the corner of the said bar at a booth. It was the happiest Sharon had been with a guy though.

“How are you?” Sam asked cordially. “Other than hot.” You stared at him again, and he awkwardly gave you a small smile and motioned to you with his screwdriver. “You’re sweating.”

“Yeah, I am.” You mumbled, then crossed your arms with furrowed eyebrows, “Why are you here??”

Sam pointed to your thermostat, “To fix this.”

You nodded once and forced your gaze to the floor. This was all Sharon’s doing. She knew you were distant from Sam, that you actively avoided him, but the poor idiot didn’t know the whole reason you were doing that was for her sake. The less you knew about the man in front of you the better.

“It’s a nice place you got here.” Sam commented, making you look up at him, “Good location. Pretty view. Nice furniture.” It was so awkward as he continued to list things he liked that you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Sam grinned, “Hey, I knew I could get you to laugh. I’m a funny guy.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s what everyone tells me.” Sam shrugged with a casual smile, “Except one buddy of mine, but he’s a piece of shit and doesn’t know nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Your buddy is a piece of shit?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam took the plastic cover off the thermostat. “Absolute worst. Can’t live without him though.” He glanced over his shoulder at you, “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

You smirked, “Don’t tell your piece of shit buddy that you actually love him? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” The back and forth had snuck up on you so easily. You stiffened and shook your head, “Seriously though, you don’t need to do this. My landlord is on his way.”

“Come on, girl.” Sam continued to work, “I’m already here.”

“Sam, I don’t need you here. Just—”

Sam turned and set his screwdriver down with a slight frown, “Did I do something wrong? Insult you in some way?” You glanced away, but he continued. “If I did then I’m sorry. I mean that. I just…wanna be your friend.”

“Because Sharon wants you to?”

“Because I want to.” Sam replied without missing a beat. “You seem like a really cool person and I know I’m a really cool person—” Despite your best efforts, you cracked a smile. “I just think we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other and I wanna get to know you. Maybe you wanna know a little bit more about me?”

No. Yes.

Knowing more about him was a very, very, bad, terrible, no good idea. That was literally common sense. At the same time though… God, you wanted to know. You had lived your entire life watching the red strings tangle through this world, and you always wondered what it felt like personally. Well, it was agonizing. With Sam in the same space as you, it was like the string was constantly tugging on your pinky, trying to pull you closer to the person it was connected with. The urge to put your hand in his and make the length of the string turn to nothing was a physically tangible feeling in your chest.

“So,” Sam drew the word out. He picked up the tool again and pointed it toward you, “I fix your A/C and we agree to call a truce?”

“Only if you can actually get that damn thing fixed.” You replied.

“Oh, I can get this thing fixed.” Sam smirked.

This wouldn’t end well.

3 MONTHS LATER

The room was filled with a general buzz of excitement and laughter. The way a bar should feel at this time of evening. Although, this was a much nicer bar than your usual watering hole. If Valkyrie knew you were here drinking a $20 cocktail, she’d beat you to death with her bare hands. Your eyes lifted from the oddly colored drink to land on Sharon who was leaning into Sam as he whispered something to her. Your red string stretched across the room and other bar goers walked through the metaphorical line over and over.

“So, is that a yes?”

Your eyes snapped back to the man standing at the bar beside you. It was Sam’s friend. The piece of shit buddy that he loved. A guy named Bucky which definitely wasn’t a real name, but he had explained it was a nickname from his middle name that you couldn’t remember. He was a good-looking guy, no doubt. His dark hair cut short, stormy eyes that could hypnotize literally anyone, and damn if he didn’t make a black leather jacket look good. He was the kind of guy that 7 months ago you would’ve been all over.

Now though? It was like you only had eyes for one thing.

One person.

“Yes.” You answered quickly. Mildly embarrassed that you had no idea what he had asked. “Uh huh, definitely.”

Bucky chuckled, then leaned forward, “I asked if you wanna get outta here and have sex with me.”

You had been drinking when he spoke and immediately sucked the ridiculously, expensive liquid right into your lungs. The back of your neck felt warm in embarrassment as you tried to hack all the alcohol out of your system so you could breathe again. Bucky just stared in amusement.

When you finally cleared your throat you spoke, “No, you didn’t.”

“I actually did.” Bucky replied. “I knew you weren’t paying any attention to me so I figured the easiest way to get a pretty girl like you to go home with me was to catch you off guard.” You grimaced and prayed that a meteor would fall out of the sky and strike you down. Bucky added, “That part was a joke. I’m not trying to get you to come home with me. I feel like I should clarify that since you haven’t heard a single thing out of my mouth and because of that you might think I’m serious…”

You groaned, “Can you just kill me? Put me out of my misery?”

“Nah.” Bucky replied. He leaned forward so he was closer and didn’t have to talk so loudly for me to hear him, “How long have you been in love with my friend?”

Your eyes widened, “Your—what? You mean your friend that is currently dating my best friend??” Bucky nodded once. You forced yourself to scoff. “You’re…dumb.”

Bucky laughed, “Yeah, okay. You’ve only been staring at him the entire night. Pining over him.”

“I am not pining.” You argued, but Bucky shot you another look. This was obviously not a fight you were going to win. You took a large sip of your drink, “Do you believe in soulmates?”

His eyebrows raised curiously. Instead of questioning your own question though, he paused in thought then tilted his head, “Maybe. I kind of hope they don’t… otherwise I might’ve really fucked up, but…”

“Lost love?” You asked.

Bucky smirked and held his glass up, “Why do you think I was able to see it on you so easy??” The two of you clinked your glasses together, took a sip, then he cleared his throat. “Plus, you’re super obvious about it.”

“Thank you.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for that.”

“No problem.” Bucky said. “You’re in a better position than I am.” You gave him a questioning look and he continued. “I had my chance, fucked it up, and now I’m hopping from bed to bed looking for a new soulmate. You on the other hand, haven’t even tried. You have a world of possibilities.”

You held a finger up, “First off, maybe you should stop drinking because I think you’re starting to overshare.” Bucky chuckled and took a sip of his whiskey. “Second, I have no possibilities. Sharon and Sam are dating. I’m not gonna be that bitch.”

“First off,” Bucky copied your format, “I’m trying to be a warning tale. Appreciate it a little more. Secondly, maybe there’s a reason why that bitch gets shit done and the rest of those not bitches just sit there sad and alone.”

You blinked at him once, “How many whiskeys have you had?”

“This is number 6.” He replied while bringing the glass to his lips again. Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the couple, but you kept your gaze on the bartender. When she finally noticed you, you held your hand up and ordered Sharon and Sam’s drinks. The whole reason the two of you were up here in the first place. Dinner had been a drag, but the good thing about an after-dinner drink was the drink part. “Let’s go home.”

You gave him a skeptical look, “We’re on a date.”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of a shitty date. You know it.” Bucky replied. He glanced over his shoulder then caught you off guard by leaned into your space again. He set his mouth by your ear before speaking, “Do you trust me?”

You trusted him enough to know you weren’t in any kind of danger, even with him drunk, but you chose the funnier reply, “No. Not at all.”

“Perfect.” Bucky replied just as the drinks arrived. He pointed to yours, “Finish that. Now. I can’t be your friend if you waste alcohol.”

Bucky downed the rest of his whiskey, made a quick grimace, then grabbed your friends’ drinks and turned to walk away. You shrugged and threw back the rest of your cocktail. It really hadn’t been worth the money. When you turned around to look over at them you spotted Bucky giving the two of them a charming smile. Sharon laughed, but Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in his signature concerned look. Your soulmate asked something, but Bucky just waved it off and gave them a quick goodbye.

He readjusted his jacket then walked back over to you. Without hesitation, he threw his arm over your shoulders and you involuntarily wrapped your arm around his torso in response. He was stumbling just a bit and you had a feeling he’d careen to the floor if you didn’t keep a hand on him. Bucky grinned, “Let’s go, doll.”

Despite the weird turn this had taken, you were thankful for it. Watching Sam and Sharon flirt for another second would make you wanna drown yourself in your next drink. You used your free hand to tap his chest, “You know I’m not going back to your place, right?”

“What kind of man do you take me for?” Bucky scoffed.

You laughed and the two of you stumbled out of the bar. It took you only forty five minutes to get an uber, get it to take Bucky home, make sure he got to bed and didn’t pass out in his kitchen or something, then get back in the uber and make it back to your place. It took you even less time to strip out of the date clothes you had on and replace it with the most comfortable pajamas you had.

The rest of the night was going to be a face mask, bottles of wine, and Netflix kind of night. Talk about a successful date. Your phone buzzed. It was a text from Bucky asking if you made it home okay, and you were surprised he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. You texted him a quick affirmative and seconds later there was a knock on your door. Your eyes darted from your front door to your phone.

“I swear to God…” You mumbled and stood up. There was no way Bucky had been functional enough to get an uber himself and come here, right? It would be a waste of the money you spent to take him to his place to begin with and you would be getting that $10 back. You pulled the door open and gasped in surprise as Sam stormed into your apartment still wearing the gray blazer over the dark shirt he had worn on his date. “Sam…?”

Sam looked down your hallway, “Bucky?! Get your dumb ass out here or I swear—”

“Sam?”

“Bucky!”

“Sam!” You grabbed his arm and made him look at you. You shook your head, “Bucky is not here. I helped him get home and then I came home. Very much alone. Please stop yelling down my empty hallway to my empty bedroom.”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. He stiffened and pointed down the still empty hallway, “Listen, Bucky is a fantastic guy but he’s in a weird place right now and I don’t want him to use you. I know he wouldn’t mean to be using you, but like I said he’s in a weird place—”

“Sam.” You cut him off. “What the hell are you talking about? You set up the double date in the first place.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Sharon set that date up, okay? She asked me to bring a friend and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna bring Steve ‘prince charming’ Rogers.”

“That… I am not following this at all.” You rubbed your forehead in confusion, “Also, I—I am not sleeping with Bucky, let me put that out there, but why would you care? Why are you here?” It suddenly dawned on you that it was early, and the date shouldn’t be over for him like it was you. “Where is Sharon??”

Sam crossed his arms, eyes darting to his feet briefly before looking back up to meet yours, “I left her at the bar. We had a fight. She wasn’t happy, but… she hasn’t been happy in a while.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The past month and a half we’ve been trying to fix us. Fix what we had, but maybe…maybe we can’t fix it because there’s nothing left there to fix.” Sam said.

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat, “Sam…”

“And maybe there’s nothing to fix because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.” Sam blurted and the air between you seem suffocating. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head, “I know that’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t be having those kind of thoughts about my girlfriend’s best friend but… I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

God, how many times had you dreamed about hearing those words? A part of you wondered is this was a dream. Had you gone home from the bar, chugged an excess of wine, and then passed out? That was the only explanation, but Sam took a step toward you. His hands reached out to take yours and you were convinced that this was real.

“Sharon…” You said softly. A reminder to yourself.

Sam nodded once, “Yeah, she didn’t like any of the things I just said to you.”

You let go of his hands and stumbled back in shock, “You told her!?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Sam replied. “I had been thinking of telling her for a while, but I kept putting it off, and then watching you go home with Bucky?” He let out a quiet scoff. “I know this could be ruining everything, but I can’t sit back anymore. I need to know…”

You wrapped your arms around yourself. He didn’t say it out loud, but you knew what the question was. Unable to lie, you nodded and quietly answered, “Yeah, Sam. Yeah. I—I’m crazy about you.” Sam’s lips curled up into a bright smile that made your heart flutter in your chest. You took a hesitant step back, “But, Sam… Sharon is…”

“She gets it.” He replied. You raised an eyebrow and he chuckled, “I mean, obviously you need to talk with her on your own, she wasn’t happy, but she…she understood.”

“Seriously??”

“I swear it.” Sam held his hands up. “Like I said, we’ve been just… going through the motions the last month and a half.” He moved to hold one of his hands out to you. You hesitantly set your hand in his, lacing the fingers together, and loving how right it felt. “So…yeah?”

You laughed, “Yeah.”

“ Yeah, ‘I can take you out on a date sometime’ or yeah ‘get the hell out of my apartment, Wilson’?” He asked.

You beamed at him with a nod, “Yeah, you can take me out on a date sometime, Wilson.”

Sam grinned and that was the only convincing you needed anymore. You trusted him when he said Sharon had been okay with this. You planned on calling her first thing in the morning and taking her out to brunch to talk, but Sam knew her well enough to be able to say if she was truly good or not. Just like you didn’t want to hurt her, you knew he didn’t want to either. Sam closed the space, keeping one hand in yours and using the other to trace your other arm, “I know you probably wanna take this slow and I just want you to know that I’m okay with whatever—”

“I am actually completely okay with jumping your bones right now.” You smirked.

“You—You—” Sam cleared his throat with wide eyes, “What?”

You let go of his hand and wrapped your arms around his neck. Sam immediately put his hands on your waist and lower his face to yours. You never let yourself dream about what it would feel like to kiss your soulmate, it would be too painful to even think about, but even if you had daydream about this? It would’ve paled in comparison. Sam nipped at your lower lip. You opened your mouth further, deepening the kiss, and the two of you stumbled back until Sam fell onto the couch with you straddling his lap.

You pulled away for a second, breathless, and grinned, “Oh, I am so finding Bucky’s soulmate for him.”

Sam smirked, “Girl, are you thinking about Bucky damn Barnes during our first kiss?? Because I swear to God—”

“Well, let’s go for our second kiss.” You replied, leaning into him again, “I’ll try to think of Bucky a little less.”

Sam let out a bark of laughter then shifted so you were pressed into the couch cushions with his weight holding you down. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and you suddenly understood why all those perfect, fated couples were so intertwined. Nothing felt better than being tangled in the arms of the person sharing the same red string of fate with you.

[previous chapter]

[bwobgames]

Previous First

Beebo's memories of his last case forcefully enter his mind

"I would never judge a person for hiring a detective for a cat, and I would never judge a colleague for accepting such a case, but somehow, someway, I am very much judging myself.

Are my prices too low? Or is it better that is this low? I mean, work is work, but also, what would the academy think ...?"

"Oh Sir Williamson the fifth, it's you and me against the world"

"... There's no way they call him by his full name"

"Alright, professional Beebo time! Let's review"

"People around the area said that this is an area with a lot of cats, so if Sir Williamson ran away following some friends, he's probably here"

"And what better place to hide in the meantime than a big abandoned building?"

"Yeah, no, this place has seen better days"

"It's close enough to civilization that stray cats could get in, and far away for people to not care"

"This was some sort of half house half art display if I'm not wrong, perfect for a silly kitty to play in"

"It looks a bit dangerous, but I really want to see what's inside"

"I'm curious, I'm so curious. I need to get in already"

He enters the building

Something feels

Wrong

"Yeah, no, this place is a dump"

"Uhh, any kitties here?"

"... no response. Well, it was expected"

"Seems like there's still a few art pieces hanging around. They are not in the best shape, though, or are they? This might just be how it was made"

Looking at the wall ahead, he sees a framed picture

"Oh, that's useful, let's see...

I'll just go straight ahead and turn to reach the stairs.

I should be able to see something that indicates the presence of a cat"

He goes through the door

"I dont really mind graffiti, but why break the art?

Unless this was meant to be broken to send a message about what we consider art and not??

Maybe I should've investigated more, but all I got is that this place is supposedly haunted"

"If there's any ghosts in this building, have any of you seen a little grey cat?"

...

"Once again, no response. Rude!"

"All right, straight up ahead"

A tiny corridor with ruined paintings on the wall

"For being an abandoned place, it sure doesn't have any bugs

I dont think I've seen a single spider or fly. Maybe the faint smell of painting chemicals keep them away?"

"I don't even hear rats scurrying around"

"Hello? Any rats around here?"

"... Nothing. Not a squeak or little feet running around.

Maybe they are just hiding very well"

He goes through the first door

And finds another corridor

"Artists and their corridors"

The two doors lead to bathrooms

He goes through the third one

He finds a room that resembles a kitchen. There's only small and broken furniture.

The next room resembles a living room. This must be the House part of the art installation

He goes through another door and finds some stairs. He doubts the strength of the stairs, but after a few little jumps in the wood, he finds it sturdy and goes up

"Ah, so this is the studio, very nice, I would love an office this size

Although most things are broken, i can kind of see how a bedroom could be situated in the far corner"

"Here kitty, kitty! Are you here, kitty?"

"Uh, Sir Williamson the third? Come here baby!!"

He makes kissy noises, but nothing, no cat

The whole way here, he hasn't even seen a single cat hair.

Or rat, or spider, or fly

Just some moss sometimes

"Ah, I guess my theory has been debunked. There's no kitty here. It doesn't even even smell like cat pee!"

"There's a bit more rooms left, but I'm pretty sure there is no cat"

"I'll just keep asking the houses around here"

"Man, I didn't even see a ghost. This sucks"

He traces back his steps to the room he came in

"Welp, I guess I admired some art today. That counts as doing something productive!"

He calls for the cat one last time

But there's only silence

He opens the door to go back outside

There's a corridor

[saturnsorbits]

A/N: A little Angel Dust piece I started before I ran out of steam with Hazbin... It's unfinished and not much happens, but here.

Angel's staccato moans echo around the studio. They drift into the air and lace together, tangling themselves gently like lovers. Each gasp is more delicately crafted than the last, mounting, competing with it's brethren until, at last...

His breath leaves him in a rush, timed perfectly as the camera pans up from where the demon rocks into him to Angel's face. His eyes are scrunched in pleasure, jaw lain open, loosing more symphonic noises from his throat. In the basin of his mouth, he gurgles, forcing a hiccup up from his lungs as his eyes snap wide, only to roll back moments later.

He waits.

Counts the beats.

Then, he moans again.

The noise is softer this time, a gentle sound that is more purr than whine as he curls himself around the demon still nestled inside of him. The demon slows, chest heaving, sweat slicking his shoulders. His eyes are almost entirely black – pupils vanquishing what little of his iris' he had to offer as he untangles their limbs enough to look Angel in the face. He smiles, but it's shaky and too sincere, lighting up those blackened eyes in a way Angel is all too used to.

They're all the same.

He wriggles, attempting to unsheathe the demon from inside of him. The demon's cock twitches. He's almost resigned himself to another round when a clap of Valentino's hands has the demon scrambling off of him and clambering from the bed.

'Cut!'

Angel sits up, elbows perched on the mattress. Swinging his legs from the bed, he ignores the ache in his thighs as he takes his robe from an aide with a smile and slips into it. He's already thinking of the warm shower that awaits him in his dressing room, the fresh towels and plush slippers, but before his thoughts can stray too far, a familiar voice is calling him back.

Val's arms are folded, his glasses sat crooked on his face as he taps the toe of his boot against the hardwood. 'Clean up, but don't get too comfortable. I want you back out here in twenty. There's a new hire I want you to meet.'

Angel cringes, but hides it easily with a blasé grin. 'Meet...' He drawls, the lower set of his hands digging into his hips. 'Or fuck?'

A laugh trickles over Val's lips. It's a loud, but broken sound. Boisterous in all the same ways he is. He snaps shut his jaw, tipping his head until he can glare at Angel over the rim of his glasses. 'What do you think?'

Snorting, Angel uses his upper arms to salute while his lower continue to clutch at his waist. He twists with a well-honed grace and makes for his dressing room.

His dressing room is far from the worst of rooms in V Towers. It's decorated, pink, to his tastes. A long couch occupies one wall, his vanity the other; while the wall not hosting the door is blocked, hidden by a rack of increasingly scandalous clothing. Hearts litter the furniture: an upholstered pillow, a carved shape in the vanity, the links of a chain used as wallpaper. It was amusing once. Having the depiction of love so abundantly used in a place that was void of it, but now, it was little more than mocking.

His conquests seldom made him cum... Never mind love them.

A sharp knock at the door shakes him from his thoughts before they can begin to cloud, the small round face of an aide – the sound woman, he thinks – pokes around the door frame.

'Ten minutes, Angel.' She tries to smile through her cringing. 'But Val wants you clean...'

'I'll be ready.'

Angel sighs. His shoulders slump, body folding in on itself as he lets himself hit the comfort of the couch. It would take him barely five minutes to clean himself up properly, ridding himself of any evidence of the last. He'd be fresh as a daisy for whatever newbie Val had lined up. Until then, he glances at the mirror laying flat on the vanity, he'd make use of the other five in the best way he knew how.

000

Angel reappears cleaner, and considerably more excitable, with almost three minutes to spare. He strides through the studio like he owns it, the heeled black boots he'd slipped into clicking across the floor as he twirls, throws up his arms and neatly tosses himself to the plush comfort of the bed.

'So...' He folds his upper set of arms behind his head, letting the others rest along the mattress. Folding his legs atop one another, he grins. 'Who's the lucky man who gets to fuck me next, huh?'

'About that...' Val twists, cigarette holder pursed between his lips. He blows out a plume of smoke. Wrapping his knuckles on the head of a small, bony intern, he absently gestures the door to another of the studio's dressing rooms. 'If you'd like to receive our guest.'

The intern scrambles to obey. Skittering across the floor, he knocks politely on the dressing room door before pressing his ear to it and gingerly turning the handle.

Val sits back in his chair, blowing more smoke from his cigarette as he crosses folds his knees. 'There's one aspect of the market we're failing to appeal too and I thought it was about time we fixed that.'

The door opens and Angel sits up.

Craning his neck to see, he feels the bones in his spine crack as he almost tips forward in his eagerness. His eyes widen, head tilting as he watches his new co-star stride into the room.

There's a music to your body. One that has him mesmerized from moment he watches you take that first step towards him. Your hips sway, your body twisting as each step causes the soft bend of your curves to flick – caressing the very air through which you walk. The slope of your shoulders pulls your body tight, although you make the posture look effortless as you glide towards the set.

Angel stammers. 'A woman?'

From his chair Val grins, sharp teeth digging into his lower lip as he taunts. 'You've never been fussy before Angie... Don't start now.'

'I...' Angel swallows his words. He has to. They turn to liquid on his tongue, mixing with saliva and searing the back of his tongue. Taking a second to slip his composure back into place, he flicks back on his signature, mega-watt smile. 'Hey-ya, Gorgeous – what's -.'

You blink, eyelashes fluttering as you readjust to the harsh burn of the studio lights, but when you spot him, there's no denying that he's stunning. Licking your lips, you beat him to the punch, enjoying the pinking of his cheeks as his confidence liquefies and turns to blush and anticipation. 'Hey, yourself, pretty boy...' You cock your head. 'Oh, I'm going to eat you alive.'

Angel gulps.

He has a feeling this is a shoot he might actually enjoy.

[thestraggletag]

The Caretaker, Chapter Two

AKA: A Rumbelle Sugar Daddy AU… kinda.

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Belle French had never thought helping came with strings attached, confident that in a community people naturally tended to help each other, until the day she needed help to keep the library open and no one seemed to care. No one but Mr Gold, whose penchant for dealing could always be counted on, even if the price for his generosity was known to be steep.

At first Belle thought it was a power move, to have her about. The first time he called she was very apprehensive, but nowhere near regretting her deal with Mr Gold. Marco and his crew had been to the library just the day before, taking measurements and making a more thorough assessment of the work needed, going as far as to check the work done on the roof, determined not only to fix the damage the water had made on the building but to also ensure it would not happen again. He seemed to hold little esteem for the people the town had hired to do the original patching on the roof, but was too polite to say something about it. He had even gone above and beyond and done a general assessment of the building itself, commenting on the poor-quality glass installed on the windows of her apartment, letting her know it would be wise to replace them as soon as possible, as he doubted they would resist many more Maine storms in the state they were. 

Mr Gold had delivered on his promise almost at once, so Belle felt a bit glad to finally be able to start paying him back. The first time he called her it was to his shop after hours. She clocked out promptly at six PM, which she usually did not do, preferring to organise some section or do some minor cleaning until right before dinner time, and went across the street towards the pawnshop. The inside was dimly lit, contrasting with the well-lit street outside and to Belle it felt a bit like stepping into a cave of wonders. She hadn’t been flattering Mr Gold when she complimented him on his shop. The place was fascinating, full of character and hidden gems, secrets to be discovered. The way the curios created a labyrinth, the clutter accentuated by the busy yet elegant pattern wallpaper, the myriad of old pieces of furniture that overflowed with items at the top, it all had its charm. Then there was the fact that no item that she could see was ordinary. Everything was antique or unusual, belonging to some sort of bygone era that made them foreign yet recognisable.

She told herself not to look, but it was so difficult. Everything seemed to catch her eye, from the dusty books on the shelves to the sparkles of the pieces of jewellery strewn about. But the most intriguing thing was the man standing beside the cash register. Mr Gold looked composed, almost indifferent to her presence yet acutely aware of it at the same time. He was dressed sharply, as always, but once more without his suit jacket, his shirt cuffs pulled back from his wrist by the golden sleeve garters he wore. He was very much like his shop, familiar and yet someone out of time, beyond the normalcy she knew.

After exchanging basic pleasantries he instructed her to take a seat on a nearby desk. It contained the only 21st century piece of technology: a sleek, shiny laptop.

“I need to do some work to get a couple of candelabras I’ve sold up to snuff before they’re delivered, and I don’t have the time to catch up on some basic paperwork. I wish for you to update the inventory. But please make a pot of tea first, you’ll find everything you need in the back room.”

His tone was not unkind, but it did not invite chatter and there was an air of authority in it that Belle noticed right away. She made her way to the back room of the shop, noticing that it was too littered with stuff, noticeably either broken pieces or things that had not been polished or cleaned yet. There was a small kitchenette in a corner, where she found small boxes of loose-leaf tea, meticulously labelled, a complete tea set and an electric kettle, along with sugar, honey and a small carton of milk in the nearby mini-fridge. 

Determined to give him his money’s worth and prove her usefulness Belle set out to prepare the tea, finding a darjeeling that smelled ripe and fruity that she liked, taking care to warm the pot before putting the tea in and pouring the water. She found a lovely wooden tray big enough and piled on the honey, sugar, the milk in its little pitcher, a saucer, cup and silver spoon, along with the full pot, mindful Mr Gold would likely want more than one cup. When she brought it over, rather proud of how good it all looked- the tea set was rather lovely, bone china with a delicate blue and gold pattern- he barely glanced at it.

“Pour me a cup, please.”

The please seemed rather perfunctory, perhaps, but the librarian didn’t mind. She prepared the cup carefully, put a spoonful of sugar when he asked for it and held it out to him. Belatedly she remembered that she hadn’t offered him milk, and hurriedly did so.

“I prefer the blood of newborns, but milk is fine.”

The comment startled her into dropping the cup, her nerves finally getting the best of her. He frowned, for the first time showing an emotion that wasn’t mild interest, and clarified:

“It was a quip. Not serious.”

She knew that. Even if she thought the worst of Mr Gold, which she didn’t, she would not have assumed anything that shocking or garish to be true. It had simply caught her by surprise. Her grip on the cup loosened, sending it crashing to the floor. Panic immediately flooded her. The cup was clearly expensive and, as far as she had been able to tell, the tea set had been complete and intact a second ago. She picked it up, happy to see that it hadn’t shattered to pieces, but anxious about the sizable chip it had on a side. This would certainly draw Mr Gold’s anger. The man clearly had a passion for antiques, and even if half of the town rumours about his temper turned out to be false, it still didn’t look good for her.

“It’s-it’s chipped.” She paused, licking her lips and looking at it. “I mean… You can hardly see it.”

She didn’t know why she said that, given the size of the missing chip, but Mr Gold merely shrugged, unperturbed. 

“It’s just a cup.” He went back to his work, instructing her to simply get another cup.

“Two, if you please. I do not like to drink tea alone if I have company. And bring some biscuits. They’re in the red tin next to the stove.”

Belle was too relieved to question his insistence on her taking tea. Besides the tea did smell rather lovely, and it had been ages since she had allowed herself the luxury of good honey. She brought back the two cups requested, along with the shortbread cookies she had found and served them both, trying to commit Mr Gold’s preferences when it came to tea to memory. Then she settled down to do the data entry he requested, enjoying the couple of cookies she had taken for herself, the salty-buttery taste of the shortbread complimenting the fruity flavour of the tea. 

It was, she had to admit, less eventful than what she thought it would be. A bit awkward, with all the silence, but otherwise rather enjoyable. Data entry was something Belle could do with barely any need to concentrate, so she had been able to focus on the tea and the biscuits, on enjoying the warmth inside the shop and the cosiness of it.

The next few times were spent much in the same way, and Belle soon grew less anxious about the encounters and more bored with the stifling silence. Besides that she would actually say she enjoyed her time at the shop. Mr Gold would always have her prepare tea or heat up whatever lunch he had for the day, and there was always plenty to go around and an offhand comment for her to eat too, which more than suited Belle. Between tasks she’d be able to roam around the shop and explore and whenever she did have to do something, it was never too tasking, or unseemly. File some papers, do some data entry, ready an antique that was about to be shipped the way Mr Gold had shown her. She didn’t think any of it was worth the favour Mr Gold had done her in return, but she theorised it was perhaps a power thing, to have her about and give orders to. 

Once she moved past her initial apprehension Belle felt determined to make conversation with the pawnbroker, which she knew from their previous encounters at the library was possible. Mr Gold, either on purpose or being true to his nature, responded first with monosyllables, but she would not give up, recalling the books he had taken out previously and enquiring about them, cajoling longer and longer responses from the pawnbroker till he felt compelled to ask her things in return, even if it was only to give himself a break from talking.

Once the conversation started flowing it was pleasant. More than. Mr Gold was witty, with a biting sense of humour that sometimes ran towards the macabre, but that was something they both had in common. He was also well-read, beyond just the books he had favoured in visits to the library, and rather well-travelled. They found they had a lot in common as expats adapting to American culture, and shared a love for history, theatre and period dramas. The more she talked with Mr Gold the more layers of him she uncovered, bits and pieces of the man behind the mask. None of it was personal at all, mostly superficial stuff, but still, Belle began to feel like she was the person in Storybrooke that knew Mr Gold best.

The first weekend he summoned her to his home the nervousness returned tenfold. It wasn’t just the change of venue but also the intimacy of it. What would he have her do in his home? She knew what Ruby would say and it was almost absurd, but the anxiety still lingered. The icy walk towards the edge of town, where Mr Gold lived seemed daunting, and even the eccentric colour scheme of the pawnbroker’s house could not shift her mood. Inside the house was warm, though, and beautiful to behold, a truly well-preserved Queen Anne with gorgeous ceilings, expensive Persian rugs and all sorts of interesting antiques that made it a natural extension of Mr Gold’s shop.

Once Mr Gold had helped her take off her coat, scarf and gloves- the later were dreadfully threadbare, but she did not have the money for a good quality replacement and she didn’t want to spend money on cheap gloves that would barely last her the winter- he directed her to the kitchen, which was a lovely combination of old and new, with ultra-modern appliances designed to fit into the decor instead of standing out like metallic eyesores. She saw that, on the counter, there were a myriad of supplies, including flour, fresh blueberries and sugar.

“What you do you want me to do, Mr Gold?”

He looked at her, a bit puzzled.

“I thought it rather obvious. I want you to bake. I greatly enjoyed the bakesale you organised, though in retrospect, knowing where the money ended up in, I regret purchasing so much. As I have understood you did all the baking.” 

Belle did recall Mr Gold purchasing a lot of stuff, including several of her blueberry muffins, a special family recipe. Given what she now knew about his eating habits and what she had known for a while about his extreme dislike for the nuns- she sort of understood that one, after Mother Superior’s manipulative appropriation of the funds she had raised for the library- none of what he said surprised her and she gladly set out to bake. It was a vastly different experience from the rushed, anxious baking she had to do for the doomed sale. Mr Gold’s kitchen was bright and airy, with a lovely view of the backyard from the many windows that let sunlight in. She was also not pressed for time and did not have to make dozens of treats, so she could take her time with the muffins, making sure they came out perfect. Baking was something that reminded her of her mother, who had taught her when Belle was younger and Colette had yet to get sick. 

At some point the faint sound of music- something by Clara Schumann, one of her piano concertos- reached her ears, adding to the pleasant feeling and also to her growing knowledge of Mr Gold. Soon enough the kitchen was full of the pleasant aroma of freshly-baked and cooling muffins, and she set out to make tea unprompted, knowing by then Mr Gold’s afternoon-time habits, deciding to serve it in the kitchen. The dining-room felt too cavernous.

When she called the man for tea, knocking on his study before entering, she was a bit happy to see she had surprised him, but he followed her easily enough, not even protesting at being made to take tea on the kitchen island, though he did inquire about the location.

“The dining-room looks fit for a state dinner. This is cosier.”

She enjoyed one of her muffins, but did not expect the rest to appear on their shop tea rotation the next week, thinking Mr Gold might want to keep them all to himself. It soon became a routine for her to go to his house on weekends, sometimes one day and sometimes both, to bake or simply hang around waiting for deliveries that he ‘could not be bothered with’. To Belle it meant lounging around gorgeous rooms full of amazing antiques and perusing Mr Gold’s collection of not-quite-collectible-but-still–very-old books, finding a treasure trove of interesting books about botany, a subject she had previously not known Mr Gold to favour. He also seemed to collect old cookbooks, some which looked rather well-worn, ranging from delicate French cuisine to more peasant fare dishes and Victorian cooking staples. There was always something in the fridge to warm up for lunch, and something yummy for tea, which meant Belle ate better those days than during the rest of the week.

It was a bit of a holiday, it felt like. When she stayed home invariably someone always seemed to come knocking in need of her time, either David with some emergency at the animal shelter or Leroy needing someone to help him with some convent initiative he- for some reason he refused to tell her- signed up for even though he lacked the skills or time for it.

But no one was looking for her at Mr Gold’s. She could relax knowing the sound of the doorbell did not bring with it some desperate friend in need of her time and attention. It did not mean people did not pester her for her time during weekdays, which left her having to improvise excuse after excuse, but though she didn’t like lying, what she had always found difficult about saying no to people was the feeling of guilt afterwards. She did not feel that now, with her time conveniently taken up by her deal with Mr Gold.

She began to be happy about the arrangement for something other than the visible improvements being done to the library, even though friends and acquaintances were growing a bit frosty with her, recriminating her for her lack of help, acting a like they were entitled to her time and leaving her wondering whether she had ever said no to people before.

She must have, surely, though she could not recall a specific example.

“What’s your first name?”

The question came out of nowhere, but once she said it she could not take it back. She was in Mr Gold’s shop, taking a pause from the task he had given her to drink her tea. It was ghastly outside, rainy and windy, and even the short walk between the library and the pawnshop had ruined her pristine appearance. Her hair, frizzy from the humidity, did not seem to want to cooperate with her and settled tucked behind her ears, which was irking her.

“My own business.”

The Scotsman’s response was caustic, but Belle had grown used to his dry tone. He was all bark and no bite when he was like that.

“I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not knowing it will help you keep that promise.”

She could not help the unbecoming snort of laughter at that, but she had grown comfortable enough around the pawnbroker not to care about it. Instead she attempted to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear yet again, frustrated by how it refused to stay out of her face.

“What harm could there possibly be? This is not some folk tale where giving your name to the fairies has consequences or something.”

“You do look a bit fae-like. Bright eyes, delicate features.”

The unexpected compliment, in the midst of their banter, made her blush and look down, her hands grabbing the inkpot he had left for her, along with the pen he had instructed her to refill with ink. She delicately unscrewed the Montblanc, making sure the cartridge was empty and the spring lowered down before she dipped it into the pot, rotating the tip of the cartridge to fill it up. Her unruly lock of hair chose that moment to leave its perch behind her ear, flopping almost straight into the ink. 

“Careful there.”

She hadn’t heard Mr Gold get closer, but suddenly he was right next to her, carefully lifting up the unruly lock of hair and fixing it in place with something he placed on her hair. Belle touched the thing carefully, feeling something that felt like small stones or maybe pearls. It was a beret. She removed it, noticing it was a beautiful piece, with small stones that seemed like diamonds and perfect little pearls, making up flowers and leaves. The style was very Art Nouveau, soft and romantic. Which meant it was likely very expensive, and her first instinct was to give it back. Or try to.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you shouldn’t bother. I can’t accept it, what if I break it or something? Like your cup?”

“It’s a trivial little trinket I’ve had lying around for ages. And it keeps me from fearing that lock might find its way into my tea later.”

“Nothing in this shop is a trinket. Take it back.”

She held out the beret again, frustrated when her hair decided to do her dirty and obscure her face again. Mr Gold rolled his eyes, studying her to gauge how determined she was about the topic before his gaze turned predatory and a dealer’s smile began to inch its way across his face.

“I’ll make you a deal, Miss French.” He paused, perhaps for effect, and Belle had to tell herself not to focus on the way his voice turned into a soft, beguiling purr when he was proposing a deal. Something to unsettle his potential victim, she supposed, and it did unsettle her, but not in the way she thought he intended. “I’ll give you my name if you accept the hair clip.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to think about the catch. This deal did not seem to benefit Mr Gold at all, except the pawnbroker never made a deal he did not stand to gain from, so there had to be something there that she wasn’t seeing. Nothing materialised, but she did not spot a hidden trap either. She may not know why Mr Gold wanted her to have both the beret and his name, but she would benefit anyway.

“Deal.”

Carefully, trying to make her frizzy hair look artfully teased instead, she combed through it before placing the beret to both secure the hair and the style she had put it into.

“There, done. Now you.”

“My name’s Alexander Uilleam. A constant reminder of my dead father.”

“That was also his name?”

“No. He hated me.”

Belle did not have to ask what he meant by that. After all, she had always half-jokingly thought so. And it did not necessarily come as a shock that a man as abrasive and prickly as Mr Gold had not had a happy or easy childhood. She could tell that the reveal had left him a bit discomfited, vulnerable, so she thought to put him at ease.

“Alexander is a lovely name. Elegant. It suits you.” She paused, glad when she caught a hint of a pleased smile on the edge of his lips. “May I use it, when it’s just us?”

“If you must.”

It didn’t take long for Belle to realise her deal with Mr Gold-Alexander- was not about power. If anything, he strived to be discreet when it came to their arrangement, never requiring anything of her that would expose their interactions to the judgemental people of Storybrooke. So she began to theorise that Mr Gold was lonely, which is why he kept her around. He tried to pretend otherwise, sometimes ignoring her and other times acting like her attempts at conversing with him or her mere presence was an annoyance he bravely chose to bear, but it was a poor act, at least now that she could read him better.

Her theory seemed to confirm itself when he began to take her to auctions and estate sales. She had known before that Mr Gold sometimes made those trips- people tended to make a big deal out of him being out of Storybrooke and, therefore, not able to pop out of nowhere to ask for people’s rents or whatever else they thought he did- but she had never given it much thought until he had told her she would accompany him to an event in Lewiston, some sort of estate sale. He would take her of the clothing, since this was a business event and so it was his responsibility to provide her with appropriate attire, and gave her the details for a Bergdorf account, telling her to order whatever she pleased. Her polite but immediate refusal was met with an offhand comment about how their deal was for her time, and he could not take her to the auction unless she purchased suitable clothing. Therefore, her refusal to buy clothes would be a breach of contract.

Belle’s sense of wounded pride at the notion that she was lacking quality clothes to wear to a special occasion was somehow lessened by the fact that she had lost a good part of her wardrobe to the damp and rot inside her closet, and the fact that she had sold some of her best shoes and dresses just a few weeks before she had made her deal with Mr Gold, needing that extra bit of cash to push her over what she thought at the time was the finishing line of her funds for the library, before they had mostly gone to her father. She had been able to afford some of her more expensive pieces by restoring antique books in her spare time, but she didn’t have any at the moment, hadn’t had for a while. Her wardrobe was severely limited at the moment, and Mr Gold was so blindingly rich he probably wouldn’t notice the change in his bank account even if she bought half the clothing her size on the website.

“Just the one outfit.”

“And a coat, don’t forget.”

She ended up buying a Givenchy powder-blue knit mini-dress, which she could pair with a plum-coloured cardigan and black booties she already had, and after much fighting she added a Burbery cashmere trench coat, something that she could get a lot of use out of without ever looking out of place. A few days later he had called her over to his shop to hand her the packages, without a hint of reproach in his face at the expense of it all.

“I forgot to ask you to add gloves, so I took the liberty to order a pair for you. I apologise for the presumption.”

The dress fit like a dream, and the coat was incredibly warm. But the gloves were her favourite part: exactly to her taste, a pair of woven leather and cashmere gloves that fit her hands perfectly and were soft like butter. But above all, they let her know that Mr Gold had cared about her comfort and took the time to ensure she would be warm while on their outing.

The outing itself was more fun than she had expected. The ride was amenable enough, with Belle in charge of the thermos of tea and the conversation and Mr Gold in the mood to be conversational. He clearly had a passion for antiques and did not mind indulging her curiosity on the subject, coming across both as knowledgeable and engaging. As for the event itself, Belle never quite understood what the point was of her being there. Her only expertise were books, and she did feel rather proud when she could point out a few neglected but salvageable first and second editions amongst the things sold from the library of the estate. He didn’t seem to mind, though, seeming to need her only for chatter while he perused everything with a calculated eye, sometimes pausing over a particular lamp or a certain piece of furniture.

Once they had made two full tours of the place- with Mr Gold perhaps leaning a bit on her, to hide his more pronounced limp, given the amount of walking they had done-he seemed to have made up his mind, quickly arranging the purchase of two lamps, a clock and three Bohemian crystal pieces, a decanter, a jar and a vase. It was a thing of beauty to watch him haggle, inscrutable as he pointed out a flaw or minor cosmetic detail and argued about the sellability of some of the pieces in the market. In the end he got exactly what he wanted at a good price, judging from the satisfied turn of his lips, and he was even kind enough to invite her to a late tea in a charming little cottage-style inn on the road back to Storybrooke.

There was no mistaking her enthusiasm when he brought up another trip, this time to an auction, and she did not even put up much of a fuss when he insisted she get herself a new outfit. She would find a way to return the clothes to Mr Gold once their deal was done and he could not stop her, and in the meantime she had come to have a better grasp of his fortune, which was bigger than what she had previously imagined. He truly did mean it when he said her purchases were of little consequence to him. Soon she had amassed a modest array of dresses, blouses, skirts and a few accessories, which she tried to expand with a few tasteful pieces from her own wardrobe. It was the sort of clothing she has always dreamed of wearing every day but had never had the funds for. And her guilt at spending Alexander’s money lessened by the obvious pleasure in his face every time he saw her in a new outfit, especially when she made subtle efforts to match him. A few times he would present her with a scarf or a similar accessory, saying something about the weather or some other excuse in an offhand manner, knowing she did not believe him but would not comment on it. It was sweet, and his taste was impeccable.

And though dressing up was fun, and the antiques were fascinating, it was Alexander that made each trip worthwhile. He was a great companion, more than eager to share his knowledge and explain his decisions as they both studied each item on display. He would defer to her when it came to books, and she was happy when he made a few purchases explicitly because she had recommended them.

Once or twice he took her to gallery openings in Portland or formal dinner events, where obviously the underlying purpose was to network and socialise. She had been hesitant at first about looking for dresses, till she finally managed to snag a fourth thousand dollar Marchesa crepe gown in deep red at under half the price. She had told him so the next day, over the moon about the steal.

“But was that the dress you liked best?”

“It was for that price.”

The night in question, when she had shown up to the pawnshop with her hair artfully teased and swept up and her make-up impeccable, he had a box from Louboutin in his hands.

“What is this?”

“Well, you did save all that money with the dress, so I needed something to do with the leftovers.”

The shoes inside were stupidly gorgeous, shimmery strass fabric pumps with a 4-inch heel, more than easy for her to manage. 

“This is not what I was hoping for when I bought the dress, you know.”

“No, you were hoping to get one over me. I hope you realise there is no doing that, Miss French.”

“Belle, please. I can’t have you buying me shoes and not using my given name, at least.”

Had she known Alexander less she would’ve thought this was a way to flex his power over her once more, but now she saw it as a kindness from a person unused to expressing positive feelings to other people. That night had been particularly pleasant. He required her to only look good and contribute to the conversation when appropriate, and they both delighted in people-watching whenever he did not need to socialise. Belle even got him to dance, just a little, even if he had to lean rather heavily on her. When he had driven her back to her home, the Cadillac barely gaining on the dawning morning sun, she had felt almost unwilling to leave.

“You know, you don’t have to get me things for me to enjoy spending time with you.”

“I don’t? That’s not usually my experience.”

In an act of what she would later categorise as temporary madness she reached over to kiss his cheek. He was warm, and smelt still of his sandalwood cologne.

“I mean it. I rather like spending time with you. More than with anyone else, really.”

Something, she wasn’t sure what, had changed between them after that innocent little kiss. On the one hand Alexander himself seemed… softer, more at ease, less likely to dodge personal questions using quips or non-answers. She found herself opening up to him about her mother, who had died when she was very young, and how that had conditioned her, she supposed, to hide her troubles.

“She was sick for so long that I didn’t want her or dad to worry about me. It was easy to push things aside and try to find ways to help. Mom would always know, though, when something was wrong with me. She wasn’t fooled, and wasn’t deterred. She would often tell me she was my mom and it was her job to worry over me and not mine to worry over her.”

“A rather exemplary mother, then. I’m glad.”

They were having tea, both deciding at the same time to abandon their respective tasks, given the late hour. They were sharing the last scone between them, huddled together near the radiator in the back of the shop. The weather had turned frightful, and it was forecasted to continue so.

“But when she died… dad was left alone. And he didn’t have mom’s sixth sense for these sorts of things, he was rather helpless. I enjoyed being useful, finding ways to contribute. I didn’t expect that to create a- a rift of sorts. I love him and I know he loves me but… I don’t think he knows me very much, or how to interact with me. And I don’t know how to interact with him on a more real basis. Tell him when something is bothering me or I have a problem.”

Alexander, Belle had quickly surmised, had an abysmal opinion of her father. She had also assumed correctly that his own had not been great either.

“It’s a father’s responsibility to care for their child. There’s no excuse for shirking parental responsibilities.”

“Is this about your own father?”

He had talked briefly about his childhood, mostly about the two old women who had brought him up till they had died when he had been around fourteen, and had only mentioned his mother had died in childbirth.

“No, but he certainly wasn’t father of the year. Would make your own look downright decent.” He paused, pouring himself another cup of tea slowly, as if trying to make time. “I had a son. He was the world to me. I cannot imagine a parent, any parent, not being willing to do whatever it took to ensure their child’s happiness.”

In spite of the myriad of rumours going around Storybrooke about Mr Gold, many centred around his past before he came to town, Belle had never heard any about a child.

“You have a son?”

“Had. Balfour. A lovely boy, bright and full of life. His mother left us soon after he was born, but I made sure he never once felt her absence.” Alexander’s voice sounded soft and affectionate, his accent more pronounced as he told the story. “He was full of plans. Wanted to be an architect, a lawyer, and a doctor. Like kids often do. I worked hard so he would have the choice to be whoever he wanted, to be the supportive father I had always wanted my own da to be.” He paused, hands tightening around the repaired cup he favoured- why he insisted on using the one she chipped she had no idea- to the point she feared he might shatter the delicate china and hurt himself. “But it didn’t matter in the end. There was a car accident- a driver fell asleep at the wheel, I was told. He didn’t make it, and neither did Bae. I got out of it intact. Well, mostly.”

She didn’t have to ask him to clarify with the way he glanced at his ever-present cane, propped up right next to his chair.

“Did it happen here, in Storybrooke?”

Surely not. Belle could not imagine people would hate the pawnbroker so unabashedly if they knew what had happened to him.

“Yes. Less than a year after we moved in. Bae is buried on the edge of the local cemetery. He wasn’t baptised and Mother Superior pitched a fit at the notion that he would be buried on consecrated ground. So I bought the land right next to the cemetery, and made it look like it was part of it. Commissioned a bench so I could sit with him from time to time, but it got harder and harder to do so over time.”

It was no wonder there was an all-out war between the convent and the pawnbroker. Belle was rather amazed the Scotsman hadn’t evicted them ages ago.

“Would you like to go there sometime?”

Alexander looked up at her, surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he did not need to visit the grave alone.

“I couldn’t possibly use our arrangement in that way. It would be too much of an imposition.”

“It would be outside the boundaries of our arrangement. Of my own free will.”

“Why?”

Had Belle now known Alexander better she would’ve been tempted to find the question insulting. But to the pawnbroker the idea that someone would do anything for him without getting something in return seemed an impossibility.

“Because I want to.”

He did not press her, but smiled sadly into his cup, determined to avoid eye contact, likely feeling rather vulnerable and raw.

“You’re too good a person. I’ve always thought so.”

He let the subject drop after, pointedly beginning to muse out loud about the upcoming weather, a clear message for her to move along.

She didn’t bring it up afterwards, and neither did he, but something seemed to loosen up about him, some invincible barrier he had struggled hard to maintain between them dissolving into nothing. He no longer felt the need to pretend he didn’t like it when she interrupted his work with a cup of tea, chiding him about his long hours, or pretend he did not buy strawberry jam for their scones because she preferred it to the blackberry one he usually kept.

Other things changed. She no longer waited for a summons, sometimes stopping by his shop simply to avoid having lunch alone or to share something she had recently baked- she seemed to have a lot of spare time now that people seemed to have stopped asking her to do things for them, and she felt a bit bad that she was rather enjoying it. He never turned her away or commented on her unexpected presence, and Belle theorised he was scared she would stop doing it. Alexander was a man used to loneliness, but he clearly craved social contact. And physical touch, which had rather surprised her. She was a very tactile person herself, but she had tried to refrain herself from touching the pawnbroker too much at first, convinced she was imposing herself on him, only for it soon to become clear to her that he welcomed the touch. It was easy to see in the way he seemed to subconsciously lean on it, sometimes chasing her hand as it retreated. 

When she realised he was not adverse to her touch but rather the opposite she increased it, determined to bring some much-needed human contact back into Alexander’s life. She grew used to walking but his side leaning slightly against him, arms linked together, noticing he leaned right back, or to linger when she touched him to get his attention. With time she even grew comfortable straightening his tie and setting his hair to rights when the wind made a mess of his veritable mane. She enjoyed it too, the growing bits of intimacy that made her feel nervous in a way she hadn’t in years. 

She didn’t allow herself to delve too deep into what it all meant.

“Hey, long time no see stranger.”

Belle looked up from her half-finished piece of French toast, smiling up at Ruby in what she hoped was a placating way. She had been too busy with Alexander and the crew at the library putting the finishing touches on their work, which sometimes meant letting them into her apartment, to visit the diner, which meant she had not seen Ruby in a while. She was hoping her friend wouldn’t read too much into it.

“Hey, Ruby, sorry about that. It’s been a bit crazy at the library with all the work going on.”

It was more than a passable excuse and she thought it would be more than enough to dispel the shadow of suspicion in Ruby’s eyes. But it seemed to merely give her an opening to plop down on the seat in front of hers and lean on the table, her hair perilously close to her food.

“Speaking of that I’ve been meaning to ask you… How on Earth did you get the money for the fix? I mean, you were really worried about it a while ago.”

It would’ve been easy to hide, to say that she had managed to squirrel the money together over time. She hadn’t told Ruby about her dad’s financial woes, after all, so it would be believable. But all Belle could think about was that she could not believe Ruby was interested about that now, after months of very obviously trying to avoid the subject and redirecting the conversation when it did come up. Belle had told herself that her friend wasn’t being insensitive, she just didn’t understand how much she was worrying over the matter. It seemed she had been wrong.

“Now you want to talk about that? Because I thought you didn’t care. You certainly acted like you didn’t all those times I tried to talk to you about it before.”

“Hey, hey, let’s not get defensive! I was just asking, trying to be a good friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to know how things were going. Granny and I miss you.”

“I didn’t move to another town, Ruby. The library is right across the street, you could come in at any point to visit.”

“Well, I-I don’t get many breaks. You know how much of a hardass Granny is.”

“Have you seen the library’s working hours? I’m the only librarian, Ruby, if the library is open then I’m working. Yet I’ve always made the effort to come in here, to spend money I do not have on tea and a scone so we could chat a bit and you could complain about your grandmother, your job or your love-life, and conveniently avoid asking me about my own. So why the sudden interest?”

There was something in there, something in Ruby’s eyes. Something that wasn’t the genuine concern of a friend, and she hated that she was pretending to care about things Belle had wanted her to care for a long time to get it out of her.

“Because I think I know! I know you did something, something bad! You made a deal with Gold, didn’t you?”

The waitress hissed those last words quietly, and the diner was almost deserted, but Belle still found herself looking around, making sure that no one had heard. She was not embarrassed or ashamed about her deal with Alexander, didn’t mind that people would judge her if they knew. But whatever that deal had created, whatever the relationship between them was now, she knew she wanted to keep it private, like something precious that wasn’t meant for other people to see.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

It felt wrong to lie to Ruby more than to anyone else, but the surprising anger she felt towards her helped with that feeling. Belle had not known she had been accumulating so much resentment, small things piling on top of each other, anecdotes and slights weaving together, things she hadn’t thought about much at the time but that had clearly stayed with her, adding to the rift that she now saw growing between her and the person she thought of as her best friend. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t had the time to visit Ruby recently, it was that she hadn’t felt the urge to. Even before she had made the deal with Alexander, coming into Granny’s had felt more like a chore. Ruby would preemptively beg her not to talk about the library, remarking she was tired of hearing about it and dismissively assuring her it was a non-issue and the council would come around and pay for the repairs in time.

“Meanwhile you’re scaring the customers away every time they come. They’re tired of hearing about it Belle, and Granny cannot afford to lose her regulars.”

Belle had accepted it at the time as Ruby looking out for her Gran and trying to boost her confidence about the council funds reaching her in time. But it had meant she could not talk about anything going on in her life, all of it consumed with the situation. So she had kept quiet, and tried to ignore the sting when Ruby didn’t seem to notice or mind that Belle was not telling her anything about her life, or that she was growing thin and pale and seemed vaguely anxious all the time. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, but, suddenly, it did.

“I saw you! The other night, all dolled up and getting out of his monster of a car in front of the library, at almost five in the morning. I couldn't believe it, so I was trying to give you the opportunity to explain yourself!”

She knew exactly what Ruby had seen. There had been a party a few nights ago that Alexander had wanted to use as an excuse to show around a newly-restored a blue-glass scarab necklace by Lalique, hoping it would catch the interest of someone and he would be able to sell it directly instead of having to negotiate it being put up for auction in an upcoming catalogue of Christie’s. She had purchased a lovely De la Renta made out of gold lame for the occasion, strapless with a sweetheart neckline to let the necklace shine and had put up her hair in a rather fetching imitation of a Gibson Girl bouffant. It had been a lovely night, draped over Alexander’s arm, both of them people-watching to pass the time whenever it was not mandatory for them to mingle. By the end of the night she had been pleasantly tipsy and he had confided in her that he had an informal offer for the necklace. ‘A little south of six figures’ he had told her, smiling that predatory smile at her, a little bit softened by the obvious admiration in his eyes at what he saw as her accomplishment. It was the first time Belle had consciously thought she wanted to kiss him, wanted him to lean close enough that she could reach his hair to pull him close and press her lips against his. 

And now Ruby was making it all sound something that wasn’t. Something unseemly.

“Whatever you think you saw it wasn’t what you’re trying to imply.”

She fished out her wallet from her purse, glad she did not have to scrounge up enough for the food and the tip amongst the loose change in her purse.

“And I don’t have to stay here and hear you imply I’m selling myself for the library or something. You know where to find me if you want to see me, but don’t feel rushed to do so.”

She waved at Granny on her way out, head held high and a weight off her chest.

[phantomfairs]

Well, I wasn’t expecting to post this short.

This is a short I made featuring a young Tombstone and I guess it’s a self-insert. No romantic paring at all it’s just them meeting. I’d love criticism on it.

“Whoever’s there better come out before I drag you by your feet.” Panicked breathing was all that answered Tombstone. Good, whoever was there should be scared. He was relatively new to the muscle-for-hire scene but he would make sure his name was cemented into every thug's mind. The breathing was quickly silenced and Tombstone was finished waiting. “I haven’t done anything to you.” Tombstone paused briefly at the voice, it was soft, someone around his age he guessed. He stalked around the warehouse he was taking refuge in, the unforgiving rain swamping down through any opening it could find. As he pushed around wrecked furniture and avoided stray trash, Tombstone could hear faint curses and the occasional thump of something heavy against the cement. “Come out already, I will find you.” He could tell he was closing into the muttered panic. “That doesn’t seem like the best idea- Ow! Shit, you stupid-.” They stopped themself before they could finish their sentence and went back to silence. “Calling me stupid has got to be the dumbest thing you could have just done.” He growled. A gasp sounded before a quick reply sputtered out of them. “I wasn’t calling you stupid! My, uh…my leg got hit by something. It hurt.” Tombstone rolled his eyes at the obvious lie, continuing his search and now knew for sure it was a girl, using her voice to get closer. “What’s your name?” That brought a sharp smile to his face. “My name is Tombstone. And you won’t soon forget it once I get my hands on you.” “That’s not a name. That's something a kid calls themself to scare people.” “What?” “But you don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to. I’ll ask something else.” Her casual tone stopped him in his tracks. Anyone he’d threatened typically tried to threaten him back or ran but this sounded like trying to get to know a stranger. “How old are you?” After a few seconds of silence, she spoke again. “I’ll go first, I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty in September, it's not September right?” She paused. “I don’t know the month.” Tombstone shook his head to stop himself from asking something in return. “I’m nineteen, I’ll be twenty in a week.” Ok, not the response he wanted but something about her casual question had pulled an honest answer out of him. “Oh wow! Happy early birthday then.” He could hear her trip over something which resulted in a couple of thuds and a few muttered curses. “Sorry, I tripped over a pole, I wasn’t cursing at you.” “That was a pretty big fall.” Gone back to searching, he could tell he was growing closer, as her volume steadily increased. “Yeah, I’m really clumsy right now.” “Right now?” A sudden scream made the teenager jump, his short silver hair moved with his head as it snapped toward the sound. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Finally able to pinpoint who he had been stalking, Tombstone jumped over a small hill of broken cement. He stilled. In front of him was not what he was expecting. It was a girl, around nineteen, just like she said. But trapped under a large piece of fallen roof, leaving her to get covered in the torrential rain, was a thick green tail. It looked like some sort of a reptile and his mind was running laps trying to understand what he was seeing. Mutant was all it said. He could see her eyes shimmering with tears as she lay horribly still, whining at the slightest movement of the tail and shivering under the pouring rain. When her eyes finally opened, grey-blue eyes locked onto his brown ones. She didn’t bother speaking, just curled her head to be under her arms and waited. “What are you?” Not the most eloquent thing he said but he’s staring at a girl with a lizard tail stuck under some rubble. Eloquent didn’t fit the situation. “I don’t know.” “Speak up.” “I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m doing here I was trying to get out of the rain!” he could tell she was keeping the tears from falling and was barely succeeding. Tombstone was hoping she didn’t cry, he was used to panic and breakdowns but only because he wanted to cause them. And he was causing another one, but he didn’t mean to for once. Yes, he’d been chasing her but she wasn’t much of a threat under the rubble. Begin walking towards her, she curled back up, whimpering loudly as she accidentally pulled on her tail. Tombstone kept silent as he moved to the debris keeping her trapped. Tombstone entered the rainy area and as carefully as he could he grabbed onto the rubble. He tugged with all his strength, the cement was heavy but nothing he couldn’t lift. The tail was soon moving slowly from under the rubble, tucking around the little ball of a person. She let her head raise just enough for their eyes to meet again as Tombstone dropped the cement. He could see her desire to run, but to her credit, she stayed still. Only curling back up when Tombstone took a step towards her. Unsure of what to do but tired of being wet, he moved out of the rain, sitting heavily a few feet away from her. “What’s your name.” He really wanted her to talk again. He’d never seen anyone like her. Yes, he’d heard of other mutants but had never met another in person and he found himself way too curious. “...” She’d clearly thought about answering, but if she had spoken the rain had covered her answer and she pulled tighter into her little ball. “Why don’t you get out of the rain? I doubt it feels good.” “I like it.” She mumbled. Progress! “It feels nice on… on my tail.” The word seemed strange on her lips as if the thick lump was a recent addition. “Where it was squished? Does water heal you or something?” He couldn’t keep the fascination out of his voice and it seemed she’d heard it. She giggles at his question. “No, water doesn’t heal me, well I don’t think it does.” She finally pulled her head from her arms, sitting up in a hunched position to check over bits of her tail that were in pain. A small wince when she prodded her tail gave her the answer. “No it doesn’t feel any better, it’ll just have to heal normally I guess.” She was talking, he had to keep this going. He studied her for a moment, trying to come up with a question as he finally had time to look her over. Her dark brown hair was thoroughly drenched, looking black thanks to the rain. Her skin was fairly pale, it was strange to see in contrast to the dark green tail and feet. Speaking of, her legs weren’t normal, they looked more like an animal’s, bent in two places instead of a human’s one. Toenails were replaced with pale claws jutting out in contrast to the dark skin. It seemed like her upper body was completely normal aside from the slightly sharper fingernails, it was her lower body that wasn’t human. The dark skin was shown thanks to shorts that paired with her t-shirt awkwardly against the cold. “Do you live close?”

[rielzero]

[Part 1] writing exercise. It's been six months since the elder brain was destroyed, Baldur's gate upper city district remained mostly damaged, and so efforts were focused on repairing essential structures. Walls, bridges, the removal of rubble, recovery of property and the continuous recording of newly discovered victims who had perished during the mind flayer invasion.

Not even the freshly obtained estate and manor had stayed spotless, a tower sliced in two, and bits and pieces from a nautiloid ship had crashed in the area. Removing the alien materials should be considered priority, if it wasn't for other pressing problems. Acquiring a title of lordship and changing the wallpaper was the first two tasks Astarion had focused on. Gathering information, lists, contacts, making plans wasn't easy even with the resources left behind by his former master. At the very least Ravengard's support proved useful in this time, so Astarion could reinstate documents for himself as a living citizen. Given he decided to go straight back into politics once everything was properly established.

Even after tearing off the old, filthy wallpaper from the walls which his very own blood had stained for many years, the stench and echo of Cazador Szarr ringed through his head. Whatever room he had for stress management, he put fully into destroying the marks Cazador left on this little plot of land. From using old family portraits for games of darts with daggers, burning old diaries as fireplace fuel, to demolishing old rooms and spaces and completely refurbishing them. Godey's room no longer existed, the dormitories were turned into a storage space while other rooms were combined and reshaped for different functions. Even the ball room had changed, now almost every room he used to be familiar with contained a window with sunray blocking mosaic glass. The project of changing the manor was definitely his favorite. And helped distract him... Even with all the room for ambition, he needed to make space for 200 years of suffering he had yet to process. Distractions were great, but things needed to be done too.

He had learned of the long ago untimely passing of his parents through Loki's teacher, ''The Undertaker'' Jerma, which allowed him to remember more things from his upbringing. The best places to buy furniture, for example. Which noble houses he had to watch out for.. And the typical word plays and word games he used to participate in. There were little things, little fragments, making their way back into his head after years of not being able to think of them. Yet again, sometimes, that only would make him remember the horrors more.

Astarion wasn't alone in this, he had his consort, Loki- Looking out for him. The once so rugged-looking half elf had a soft face nowadays. His features looked more lively after becoming a vampire. A picture he'd like to have painted himself, if only he recalled how to. The arts, the debauchery- The taverns.. Luxury, hearty meals, the echoes of parties and long halls. The joy. It was all waiting out there, no matter how much Astarion wished to rush back into the normalcy for it- He wasn't ready. That much he had accepted for the time being. 6 months is nothing to a vampire, let alone an elf. But it was a still a lot to Loki.

When Loki was turned, it was out of self-preservation, the reveal of his terminal state was a shock to everyone during the adventure. He sacrificed so much of his health to get everyone were they needed to be, caring little for the outcome of his own fate. Then, the ascension- The rush of power. Overwhelming, distracting. Had Astarion noticed too late, Loki would've died not soon after vanquishing the Gur. Not even withers could've brought him back if it were so. The memory had a lot of guilt attached to it, to the point the underground prison was left entirely untouched. Astarion had yet to return to the sights of gore, fallen foes and sacrifices alike. With the freshly hired servants, and additional spawn, this place was slowly becoming filled with life. He had no need for torture devices stored in the attic. Not yet. Everyone in his inner circle was loyal, and had their reasons to stay loyal. There was Vara, A tall, large dhamphir barbarian- Very lively and very loud. Her half brother Tamir- An half elf vampire spawn rogue who was turned by her father. Tamir was older than her, but turned when he was 19 against his will. Because of their differently sized silhouettes and height, Vara calls him little brother out of habit. The duo served as bodyguards mostly. While Tamir specialized in gathering information quietly, Vara was really good at beating things out of people. And of course- at obliterating threats effortlessly. Neither of these two were connected to the Szarr family, but visited on their own accord in search for permanent employment of sorts. Vara disliked being amongst mortals, mostly because of her background. But she also disliked most other vampires, which was easy to understand. A large majority of the vampire aristocracy was filled with self-indulgent and self-absorbed vampire lords who threw hissy fits at each other. ''It's like standing in a room with a bunch of angry cats.'' Is how she worded it. Other new notable servants included a tailor, head maid, book keeper, and cook. All of which were turned by Astarion. Loki had suggested to turn people similar in his position; People who wanted a second chance at life and weren't remotely interested in betrayal. People who preferred the comforts of a castle over the buzzling streets of Baldur's gate. Or people who had no chance of surviving their mortal lifespans. The tailor was a tiefling with a debilitating disease, slowly eating at his finer motor skills. He was dropped from his position as an apprentice when he stopped being able to hold a needle. One bite and two nights later, he was sewing together new garments with the energy and passion radiating off his hands. The head maid used to work in a tavern, a previous human who was very private of her old life. She used to be an alcoholic, but turned her live around up until her liver started giving up. Without easy access to a transplant and funds for surgery, she did not take long to accept Astarion's offer. The book keeper was a simple man, a dwarf who enjoyed archiving things, obsessed with reading and keeping track of numbers. He did his job well, very introverted, and took little effort to convince the offer of eternity. The cook was a half wood elf, a young man who'd come to baldur's gate to pursue a career. He lost all his money trying to invest in his start up business, with no luck and was scammed out of his belongings. He contemplated ending it all there, until Astarion turned him around. Now he happily invests all his time in what he loves most, the funds have only opened up more possibilities for the cook. Not formally employed, was an elven woman with long red hair who visited Astarion a month after he claimed his position. Her name was Mera, she was a vampire spawn created by Cazador unwittingly. The night of her death, Cazador apparently drunkingly drained her days after becoming lord. (to be continued)

[mrshigurumasshop]

IKEA Furniture Vs. Bakugo | K. Bakugo

feat. ~ time skip bakugo x reader

about ~ literally bakugo fighting for his life trying to put together IKEA furniture because most of us understand how painful it can be

content warning ~ pure fluff with swearing, any comments regarding IKEA furniture are what I've heard from my boyfriend LMFAO (he hates their furniture)

note ~ not completely proof read

There are so many reasons why you love Bakugo Katsuki...

His strong-willed personality, his ability to act on things without a second thought to save the people of Japan, his rather strong bonded love with spicy food that he's been making you build a tolerance for, and even the fact that he activates his Quirk to show off how frustrated he is.

And that last reason is nearing very quickly...

Because he feels like he's facing his biggest battle yet - him versus IKEA fucking furniture. By all the living and dead Gods, he doesn't understand how a simple drawer, desk, and bedframe could quite literally test his patience. He's never heard of IKEA till he met you because your previous apartment was invested with their furniture. But what he did understand is how cheap it is compared to other stores/brands.

So, when you guys bought your first apartment together, he didn't care about where the furniture came from because it's just fucking furniture. That's all you hear from him for the past two hours is him muttering "it's just fucking furniture. why is it so hard??"

He genuinely could not put together a simple bedframe. Earlier he barely put the drawer and desk together but god fucking forbid this bed frame just had to be the one you picked to be his villain for the day.

You try to hold in your giggles as you watch him get pushed to the end of the rather annoying cliff of white wood that wouldn't screw together. "Babe," you smile as you bite your bottom lip to stop your laughs, "Let me-"

"Like hell, I'd let you help me, woman," he grumbled with both of his eyes twitching in growing anger. "How in the living hell did you put this together??"

"I had help from my dad and I hired the IKEA delivers guys to put together the bigger furniture," you smile as you sit next to him on the floor. You kissed his shoulder as you hear him grumble incoherent words that made your sweet laugh slip from your lips. "Suki, just take a break," you cooed to him.

"Fuck no,' he said straight out, "I'm getting this stupid shit done. Like I'd ever let some pieces of wood stop me from doing shit!"

You sighed with a smile hearing his excessive curse words - which is another reason why you love him.

Then another two hours have gone by and he has yet to come out of your shared bedroom with a finished bed frame. More than every-so-often, you'd hear an aggressive toss of the wood pieces being thrown god knows where or him cussing out the screw locks not fitting in the hole.

"Stupid piece of fake metal!"

"Stupid fucking fake wood!"

"Damn instructions not makin' any sense!"

"Fuckin' screw! Where the fuck did you go this time?!"

"Damn Swedes makin' shit harder than it needs to be"

You were in the kitchen putting a snack together for him to see if it'll calm him down but lo-and-behold you hear his iconic loud and ruling voice from down the hall.

"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF USELESS SCREW!! WHY WON'T YOU JUST GO IN??" he yells, threatening to shake off the pictures from the walls. "THIS STUPID ASS SWEDISH FURNITURE!!" he yells out again.

Then you hear it. His frustration explosion goes off in the house. You sigh with a smile because you genuinely think it's funny to get a reaction out of him from pieces of wood. You slowly walk over to the bedroom and see him laying on the floor like a starfish with the once less than half-done bed frame in smithereens.

Upon hearing your footsteps Bakugo beats you from saying anything, "Those Swedes were askin' for trouble," he mumbles.

You laugh and plop yourself on his stomach which he is quick to hold onto your thigh with his calloused and warm hands. "You're being dramatic," you giggle making him scowl at you, "Now we have to get-"

"Fuck no," he interrupts, "No, we are not getting another Swedish fucking furniture ever again. We'll just have to sleep only on the mattress for the rest of our lives."

"Noooo," you complain playfully, "Just hire the delivery guys to put it together."

"I'd rather do that shit all over again than let some random extras do it for me," he says back before letting out an overdramatic sigh, "Fucking fine. Let's go back for another one."

"Yay!" you cheer as he wraps his arms around you and effortlessly gets up from the ground with you tangled in his body.

"But that's it. We're not gonna get anythin' else," he says as he walks towards to front door, "And no fake plants either!"

You pout as you pull away slightly to look at his face. "Why," you drag out.

Bakugo steals a kiss from you and smiles softly as he looks at you. "Because they're not fucking real," he mumbles against your lips.

"Whatever," you pout, "But if I find another piece of furniture we're getting it."

"Over my dead body that I'd let fucking IKEA get the best of me again!"

I'm thinking of making this a series with other anime characters or just MHA men

[bodyhopper-files]

How I transformed my dad's life.

My dad swapped bodies with me like it was punishment or something. He said he wanted to be young again and free from all the burdens of being an adult. Burdens? Are you freaking kidding me? This is awesome!

My dad went off to school in my body the next day like he'd won the freaking lottery. As soon as he was out the door, I called out sick from his job, took out his credit card, got online, and started buying everything I imagined I'd need for this new life I'd been supposedly burdened with. 

My dad’s life was pathetic. He had a crappy job at an accounting firm, and he spent his life doing the bare minimum. He didn’t care about how he dressed or how he took care of himself. He had never done anything exciting in his life. Now, it was time for all of that to change.

I bought myself a whole new wardrobe, which required me to measure every inch of my new body so that I could finally order things in the proper size. There would be no more saggy "dad" clothes for this dad. I ordered a shit-ton of premium workout supplements and protein powder. I joined the best gym in our neighborhood and hired their top personal trainer to help me get this body in shape. I also ordered better skin products, better hair products, better everything. It was time for this dad to upgrade his life! OK, the truth is, I also ordered a few extra things I'd always wanted, and I'm not just talking video games. I'd always wanted to see what it felt like to wear a jock strap and a leather harness like I'd seen guys wearing online. This was my chance to play dress-up and find out exactly how it felt. It was like a mini vacation that nobody knew I was on.

And let me tell you, I was in heaven.

Two years after the swap, I've completely transformed my dad's life. I left his lame job the second I could, and instead spent every hour I could at the gym. My dad had enough money in his savings account that he could have always done this for himself, he just never saw it.

I took care of the house the way he never did. I made it my own, steadily discarding the things that had once been his. I replaced the basic furniture he'd bought with pieces that better suited my new tastes. I swept out all the beer and junk food from the fridge and cabinets and swapped in fruits, veggies, and protein shakes.

Eventually, I got rid of everything in his old life that had been holding him down. Actually, it's my life now. And this is my body. 

I've started a new job as a personal trainer at the very gym I started training at the day after the swap. I'm bigger, stronger, and better than I ever could have been before. I'm healthier and happier, too. 

And whatever happened to my dad? He dropped out of school and vanished that day, and no one ever saw him again.

[the-sugar-crash]

Redacted Moving Head Canons

Ugh I haven't written in forever, and I really want to start getting back in the habit. Some hc inspired by the fact that I just finished helping my parents move into their new house, and I'm wishing I had someone like Damien to help me out right about now.

Shifters:

David is in charge

If he’s the one moving, he doesn’t want to ask for help, but if any of the members of his pack are the ones moving, he just shows up at their house and picks stuff up, asking where he should put it

Asher will clear out his schedule and is excited to help, but he will pop the bubble wrap, so don’t leave him in charge of packing anything that needs wrapped up. 

Milo is the man with the truck. Well, technically it's his dad's truck, but he sucked it up long enough to talk to his dad to borrow it just for you, so be grateful

And despite his short size, Milo has a very impressive deadlift, so he can help move any of the bigger pieces of furniture. 

He’s usually got a pretty good attitude about moving, at least until Asher asks him to grab one of the boxes on the top shelf where he can’t reach. 

Asher on the other hand, while happy to help where he can, will be slightly whiny about it. He switches between whining that he’s tired, and trying to lift as many boxes as he can to show off how strong he is

At least until David yells at him to be careful so he doesn’t pull a muscle. 

I feel like David will also throw in a couple lines here and there about, ‘what’s in here, rocks?’ but otherwise be pretty quiet until it’s time for him to leave. Then he’ll give you a one liner about how important family is right as he walks out the door, and then you think about that line all night. Because it’s David and of course he would. 

Vamps: 

This doesn’t even seem fair

They both pick up 15 boxes at a time and then leave

Kidding. Kinda

William would hire a moving company as a gift, and they would have everything packed and moved within two days, and he would pay to have you and your partner stay at a nice hotel while you wait for your stuff to be moved. 

Sam would grumble about it for a bit, insisting he doesn’t mind doing it himself, but would eventually give in and send ‘the old man’ a thank you card

Vincent on the other hand would take full advantage of it, pampering you with all the amenities the hotel offered while things are being finalized at the house. 

Damn Boys:

Moving is stressful, but when you have so many people you can divide the tasks among, it becomes a little bit easier. 

Huxley of course is the first to come to mind for actually moving the boxes. He has a giant truck with more than enough bed space to carry what you need, not to mention he can probably pick up a refrigerator single handedly. 

But when you also have a demon at your disposal whose body doesn’t have any physical limitations and can open portals… 

Damien has taken the lead on organizing all of the boxes, numbering each box and listing the contents of each on a spreadsheet. 

He has also numbered each of the rooms in the new house, and labeled each box and piece of furniture with its corresponding destination so there wouldn’t be any confusion when it comes time to move everything 

Lasko takes charge with packing. One night after everyone else goes to bed, Lasko pops in his headphones and listens to a D&D podcast while he zones out and packs half of the apartment in one night.

They rest of course aren’t happy once they realize Lasko has destroyed his sleeping schedule. Again. But he’s perfectly tetris-ed all of their belongings into boxes, so they aren’t too mad. 

Moving day itself is hectic. 

Despite all the planning, things of course get moved around in the confusion, or accidentally placed in the wrong room. 

But there’s a moment at the end of the day, as they’re all sitting on the floor of an empty dining room, eating pizza off of napkins because they forgot to leave out paper plates, when they take it all in and enjoy their first meal as a family in their new home, excited to make more memories and make the place their own.