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that-house · 1 year ago

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Potion Vendor FAQs:

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.

Do you sell love potions? No.

Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.

Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.

Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.

Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.

So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.

Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.

Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.

Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.

Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.

Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.

Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.

So can you make poison potions? No.

Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.

Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.

How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.

You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.

Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.

Road trip? He lives in Seattle.

Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.

For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.

And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.

Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.

Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.

You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.

So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.

Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.

Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.

Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.

What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.

You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.

Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.

Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.

Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.

Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.

Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.

Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.

When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.

When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.

Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.

Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.

Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.

Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.

I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.

How did you know that? …I’m psychic.

Yeah? No.

You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.

Did you just miss a turn? Probably.

Are you sure we’re not lost? No.

You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.

Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.

Would it help if I said it was? It would.

Is it getting dark? Soon.

Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.

Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.

Should we find a motel? Sure.

One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.

You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.

Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.

Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.

How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.

How many beds are there? One.

Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.

Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.

How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.

Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.

For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.

Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.

Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.

Are you asleep? …

Yes? …

Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …

What should I say? …

Did you know that I had a really nice day? …

Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …

Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …

Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …

Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …

Did you know that you’re warm? …

Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.

Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.

Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.

What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!

Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.

You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!

Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.

Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.

You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.

Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.

Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.

How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.

Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.

150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.

Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.

And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!

Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.

And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.

So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.

So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!

Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.

Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.

Are you done eating? Yep.

Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.

How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.

Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.

Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.

What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.

Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.

Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…

Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.

Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?

When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.

Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.

What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.

Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.

What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.

Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.

Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.

What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.

I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …

Did he get his body modified? …

What sort of surgery could do that? …

How is he still alive? …

Did a fucking wizard do it? …

WHY? …

HOW? …

Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …

I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.

Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.

Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.

Can we do that? Of course.

Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.

Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.

Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.

How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.

How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.

That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.

Wanna fuck? God yes.

Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.

…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.

How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.

How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!

Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.

When will we get there? Noon-ish.

Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.

Is this Seattle? Looks like it.

Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.

Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.

So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.

Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.

So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!

How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.

Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.

Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.

Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!

Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!

Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.

I just caught this, but, FAQ? …

As in Frequently Asked Questions? …

How many times is Frequent? …

Have you known everything all along? …

How many times have you done this? …

Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!

And you say that every time? Yes. I do.

Do you love me? Yes.

How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.

Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.

Can I go now? Please don’t.

But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.

How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.

What happens at the end of this? It begins again.

And do I get replaced with someone else? …

Do I get replaced? …Yes.

Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!

You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.

How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?

Did you know my name is Alice? …

Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …

Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …

Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!

Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.

Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.

Be good to the next me, okay? I will.

Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.

Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.

What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.

What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!

What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.

Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.

What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.

What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!

So I should keep repeating something? Yes!

I love you? I love you too.

I love you? Again.

I love you? Keep going.

I love you? I’ll just let you talk.

I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!

I love you? Now can you make it a statement?

I love you.

You did it?

I did it!

You did it!

We broke the loop.

What now?

Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.

And then?

Whatever we want, forever.

I think I’d like that.

Remember that song from the beginning?

The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?

We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?

Let me off, let me in

Let others battle

We don’t need to battle

And we both shall win

Pressed in my palm

Was a stone from the beach

The perfect circle

Gave a moment of peace

Now I’m lying on the floor

Like I’m not worth a chair

I close my eyes and imagine

I’m not there.

#neon-grey-writing #potion vendor faq #my writing #very very very long post lol #click the read more you know you wanna it's worth it trust me #i wrote the original draft of this at like. 3 am back in early 2023 #that's right it's catherine that-house the squares comic gal back at it again with yet another meta exploration of a storytelling format

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worstghost · 3 months ago

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How they sleep, alone and with you

Tim (Masky), Brian (Hoodie), Toby

tw: blood mentions, brian is kinda a creepo

Tim

Alone: Tim was always restless, he wouldn't sleep for days and then would crash hard, usually in his day clothes. His bed was small and cramped so he typically slept curled up in one corner, pillow over his head to fight off any headaches. As Masky, he didn't sleep, roaming the woods all night and creating a muddy, bloody mess that would inevitably soak into the bed sheets when he permitted rest.

With you: Again, this man was restless. He had relentless headaches and ground his teeth in his sleep, but having you pressed against his side, feeling your warm breath fan against his neck while you held him made staring at the ceiling until his eyes were dry a little less tragic. If you insisted he would trade spots and lay his head on your chest, allowing you to comb through his hair until he could sleep.

Tim had once again scared you awake, climbing in his own window instead of using the door, which you would never understand. His hair was a mess, nose bleeding down onto his white shirt, bright in the light of the lamp you had left on while waiting up for him.

You didn't realize you had dozed off, and Tim didn't realize you had planned on staying over.

You tilted your head at him and sighed, scooting over and lifting the covers for him to join you. The pungent smell of blood and dirt made your eyes water a little, but he didn't notice.

Tim wiped his face on his jacket sleeve before sliding it off, slipping under the blanket and pressing his face against your throat, inhaling sharply.

You'd ask in the morning, you told yourself. Right now you knew he just needed you to be there.

Brian

Alone: Brian slept wherever he could, usually in abandoned buildings or couch surfing. The cold didn't bother him but he would try to make the best of wherever he was at the time, fluffing the dingy pillows and pulling his hood up. He always slept on his back, facing any doors or openings. Hoodie was much the same, if he slept it was sitting straight up, hands in his pockets and ready for whatever could come.

With you: Brian loved to take over your bed, he would sneak in at night and spread out across your plush, lovely smelling comforter. He would lay right on top of you if you weren't careful, straddling your legs and subtly smelling your hair as he cuddled in to you, eventually rolling over and pulling you with him. Even you couldn't prevent him from watching the doors and windows, so you always slept on his side or on top of him. He'd make you turn your lamp off and close the shades, knowing first hand that anyone could see in to your room on the first floor.

"Why are you so paranoid?" You mumbled one night, letting Brian back under the covers after he had gotten up to close your shades.

He didn't quite know what to say to that, laughing a little and pulling you tight against him.

"Creeps out there, y'know?" He shrugged and leaned back against your headboard, filing through his memories of watching you through that very window. Before you knew him and long before you invited him into your bed. "Just want you to be safe."

He could hear you sigh lovingly, running your fingers up and down his chest. "I love that you think about me like that."

You could feel him press his lips against the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your new shampoo. He had a habit of doing weird stuff like that, but you thought it was cute.

"I like this new stuff, smells like candy..." Brian was almost whispering but it made you laugh.

"Maybe you're the creep I need to worry about." You could feel him swallow hard, hand slowing in it's circle across your hip. "I'm glad you like it though, I'll keep buying it."

Toby

Alone: Toby hardly slept, he stayed up pacing, doing breathing exercises he found on the internet, and coming up with plans for the next few days that he would inevitably forget or would fall through. When he was tired, he was really fucking tired. He could sleep for days when he had the time, pushing through nightmares and the need to piss just to get a few extra hours of rest. He slept like a tornado, stripped down to underwear and under a pile of soft textured blankets and pillows, it's not like he could feel himself overheating.

With you: He needed to be surrounded on all sides by stimulation, suffocated to sleep, so having you on top of him, weighing his heartbeat down to a steady calming rhythm was some of the best sleep of his life. He talked horribly in his sleep, conversations so animated sometimes he'd bite his tongue and wake up bleeding all over the both of you. He wouldnt admit it, but he was terrified of accidentally injuring you in his sleep. You never told him about the time you caught an elbow to the rib, or had a bloody nose from his stray hand, blaming the blood on bumping into the headboard.

"Toby..." You gently ran your hand up and down his arm, leaning over the barrier of pillows he had stacked between the two of you over night.

"Stop-" He huffed, curling in on himself further. "I can't, I don't want to hit you. I-I know I've done it before."

You could hear the shake in his voice, he wasn't upset, he was angry. You had to tread carefully now.

"Accidents happen. You want to know how many times I've accidentally nailed you while rolling over? You're practically in my skin while you sleep, I've definitely kicked you." You laughed a little, slowly pulling the pillows away and tossing them to the foot of the bed. Last thing you want is to piss him off further.

"I can't feel!" Toby was whispering, but it was harsher than normal. "This isn't the fuck-" he groaned, rolling to face you, "Fucking same."

Keeping your face as neutral as you can, you simply laid back down and faced him, waiting for him to work it out himself. Nothing you could do would help here.

"I'm sorry." His eyes softened just barely and he reached out to grab your hand, squeezing it a little harder than you think he meant to. "Just let me sleep over here, I don't," He grits his teeth, rolling his neck to stretch it out, "I don't want to hurt you."

You nod along, knowing that by tomorrow night he'll be comfortable again. This happens often when he thinks he's hurt you.

"Just sleep, Toby, I'll still be here in the morning."

#hmmm #yeah #marble hornets #marble hornets imagine #tim wright #brian thomas #masky #hoodie #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #hoodie mh #masky mh #creepypasta #creepypasta imagine #toby rogers #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader

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finelinefae · 1 year ago

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birdy [Pilot!harry x teacher!y/n]

synopsis: it’s the 1950s. harry's had a hard life and y/n just wants the truth

word count: 12.3k

contains: fluff, angst, childhood trauma, nightmares, abusive father, neglectful parents, grovelling, smut (size kink, tiny praise kink, breeding kink, oral m receiving)

this is part 3 of the aviator read part 2 here

this could have gone one of two ways...

. . .

Y/N was convinced that returning to the airbase took only half as much time as the journey to reach the campsite. She hated hiking, even more so after this trip, but she had places to be so she charged down the trail all the way back to the airbase. The clouds overhead seemed to mirror her anger, morphing into shades of grey, empathising with her mood.

“Y/N, Harry went back earlier this morning. We came back from the bonfire and he was hyperventilating and shit. Thought he was gonna pass out so me and Pat went to get him some water but when we got back he was gone.” Sonny had told her when she had asked why Harry was missing.

Y/N’s mind instantly went to the night she had woken up to one of Harry’s nightmares. She wondered whether or not that had something to do with his sudden disappearance. However, it didn't seem to cool the anger she felt that seemingly continued to grow with every fueled step she took back towards Offutt.

As she made it out of the clearing, she noticed a figure sitting under a tree in the distance. She paused, squinting her eyes and immediately recognising those broad shoulders and that head full of brunette curls. Now that she could finally see him, she wondered if it would be better to just let him sit and wallow in whatever guilt he may or may not be feeling but she considered confronting things like this as self-care and she wouldn’t allow herself to return home without knowing why she had woken up alone this morning.

She ignored the droplets of rain that began to fall slowly from the sky. Instead, she trudged through the slightly muddy grass. Y/N caught his head turn as though he sensed her incoming. He shot up, standing tall and began to walk towards her.

Harry couldn’t even react when he saw the anger radiating from her face. He knew what he had done and there was no good reason for it, “Y/N-”

When she was finally in front of him, Y/N took a deep breath to steady herself. “Don’t ever disrespect me like that again,” she said firmly, her voice carrying her emotions. Then, turning away, she began to walk away from him.

She felt a hand wrap around her wrist but she tugged it, breaking free from his grip, “No,” She turned around to face him, “You walk away from me, I walk away from you.” It’s what she planned to do all along, make him realise how much it hurt to have someone turn their back on you.

Harry’s heart seemed to crack as her voice trembled, “Y/N,”

“Why?” Her bottom lip wobbled but she held her breath, trying to be stronger than him, “Why would you do that? Y’know, I’ve put a lot of faith in you Harry, I trusted you. People labelled you so many things and I always backed you up but that was just…Mean. You are being mean.”

“I know, I know,” Harry said, which only fuelled her anger even more. He had no idea what it felt like to wake up alone, especially after admitting something so honest.

“You have no idea,” Her voice raised, “You have no idea what that felt like because you will always be the person who leaves.”

Harry couldn’t seem to find the words. She was right and finally seeing him how he saw himself. There was nothing good about him and he had been told that his entire life by all the people he cared about. Everything he loved as a child was taken away from him with claw marks all over them. He had been forced to grow up, leave home and raise three kids. He knew one day that they too would be taken away from him- they’d find better people, a happier life - and he would be left with nothing because it was all that he had known and all that he had deserved.

Y/N couldn’t seem to fathom how he stood there in complete silence. The silence seemed to birth a new feeling inside her, another seed planted in her slow-burning heartbreak.

Until His voice murmured something, barely audible to her ear, "It was you."

She stilled, “What?”

His head lifted and she finally got to see him through the fog of anger. His cheeks were tear stained, his eyes red-rimmed and tired like he had barely slept. His hair looked as though he had run his fingers through them one too many times. “In my nightmare, it was you.” He confessed.

Y/N was struggling to breathe, “What are you talking about?” She whispered, her eyes glassy.

“I haven’t experienced it that way in so long, I-I thought I was okay now.” Harry's chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

“What did they do to you?” Y/N took a step forward.

“I thought I was at home. I-I was in my room in my own body and my pops was there sitting in his armchair. He wouldn’t stop laughing at me and then I looked down and saw y’ on the floor,” Harry inhaled sharply like he was picturing the moment as he was re-calling it, “I tried to wake y’ up but you wouldn’t reply, y’ wouldn’t wake up and he was just sat there laughing and laughing. I was calling for help but no one could hear me and t-then he started saying I did it.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her tears anymore as Harry began to cry. She wanted to reach out for him, to remove every bad thing that had ever happened to him and replace them with good.

“He said it was me who hurt you,” He cried, “I tried to save you Y/N but I couldn’t and he was just laughing.”

“Harry,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his hand and feeling him grip her fingers so tightly she thought it would cut off the circulation.

“I woke up outside,” He murmured, sniffling, “I was sitting out somewhere in the morning and Sonny and Patsy found me. I could hardly catch m’breath and they went off to get something that’d help but I was too ashamed. I couldn’t face them and I couldn’t face you either.”

"Why?" Y/N couldn't help but ask, despite all the times she had promised him she would be there for him.

Harry's gaze fell to the ground as he struggled to find the words. “Because,” He huffed, trying to smile but he just looked broken, “What’s a girl like you doing with someone like me? God, I love you so much Y/N. I’ve never loved anybody in m’ whole life and the only thing I know about it is that y’ give the people y’ love what they are most deserving of and you deserve so much more than what I can give.”

Y/N’s lips parted but he continued, “I have nothing. I am nobody. Outside of this place, I have nothing. I come from a family of nobodies and you…you are everything.”

Y/N’s heart ached with every word he spoke and the vulnerability and pain on his face. She felt as though he was cutting himself open and he had nothing more he could hide away from her, “Harry, you are changing that.” She whispered, her voice filled with conviction.

He frowned, puzzled by her words, uncertain of their meaning. “The way you are with your brothers and Elise, what you’ve given them, it is the biggest example of love I have ever seen. This life you’ve shown them here comes from your love Harry.” She said, a smile breaking through her tears as his expression softened. She reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand, “I don’t want you to give me something better, I want you to give me you and the love I have seen you give to the people you care about. And I want to give you love too because I love you more than words can even comprehend and you are so deserving of it.”

Harry’s eyes close softly as if he can’t quite believe the words he’s hearing and he’s trying to absorb it all. Y/N pulls his head down so their foreheads are pressed against each other, “Maybe you thought you had nothing but you always had love and if this is your nothing then I want all of it. That is what I want you to give to me.” She whispers.

There's a pause, a moment of silent understanding between them, as Harry processes her words. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a depth of emotion that takes her breath away. She sees in his gaze a mixture of disbelief and gratitude as if her words have unlocked something within him that he never thought possible.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Harry's hands find their way to her face, his touch gentle yet firm. It's as if he's trying to memorise every contour, every line, every curve as if he's afraid that this moment might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

"There is nothing in this world that means more to me than you," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. "Thank you," he adds, his words filled with sincerity and love.

Y/N smiles softly, her eyes reflecting warmth and understanding. "That's okay," she says gently.

The rain pours around them as they stand underneath the shelter of the tree. Harry doesn’t even ask for permission, too eager to, as he presses his lips to hers. Y/N squeaks in surprise but melts into him when she allows herself to feel all the things he can’t communicate, put into every motion of his lips.

Harry feels new like the burden of his childhood is eased from his shoulders as the light from her kiss injects itself into his body. He wonders how he could ever allow himself to walk away from this, “I’m so sorry Y/N.” He says against her lips, “I love you, I’m sorry.”

Y/N sighs, “We’ll learn,” She says, “We’ll get better and we’ll both learn.”

It’s more than just words of forgiveness, it’s a promise and the start of something new.

When they finish kissing, they both look up at the sky and see how hard the rain is pouring, “I think I’m over this trip now.” Y/N sighs, “I don’t think I ever want to go camping again.”

“Oh c’mon it was fun,” Harry teases with a sniffle but then sees her deadpan expression, “Okay it could have been better but at least we’re together now.”

Y/N takes her hand away from him and crosses her arms, “Who decided that?”

Harry’s face drops, “I-I thought-.”

She quirks a brow, “I haven’t forgiven you for leaving me yet. That was just cruel and you should know better!”

Harry looked at her apologetically “I know baby-“ He reached for her hand but she swiftly moved away, stepping out into the rain and walking back towards the trail.

“I won’t be letting you off so easily.” Harry’s shoulders slumped as he stayed glued to the floor, watching her walk away from him.

He tried not to smile as she stumbled over the uneven ground, her clothes getting wet from the rain. He cupped his mouth and yelled, “But y’ still love me right?”

“Of course I do you idiot!” She yelled over her shoulder.

Harry smiled, “I love you too, bigger than the whole sky Y/N.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N yelled, “Prove it!”

Harry chuckled, running over to join her in the rain.

. . .

To grovel actually meant to get down on your knees and beg for not only days but weeks in Y/N’s books which Harry had gradually come to realise.

They returned from the airbase before everybody else and arrived at Y/N’s house to shower. Harry had tried to persuade Y/N to shower with him, using the classic excuse of ‘it’ll save water’ but she was too smart for that and he knew better.

Soon, life resumed its usual rhythm after the camping trip, but there was a noticeable change in Y/N and Harry. Others noticed the absence of tension between them, seeing the love reflected in their gazes whenever they looked at each other. However, they couldn't understand why Y/N refused to acknowledge their relationship, or why Harry seemed so smitten and eager- all of a sudden walking around like he was a lovesick puppy in need of attention.

Every day Harry would be doing something for Y/N, whether it was buying her flowers at the start of every week or walking her home during his work breaks. He’d rarely ever be seen with another woman, let alone make eye contact with them, all because he was desperate to make it up to the only woman he’d ever want for the rest of his life.

“Y/N,” Francine, one of the nursery workers, called her name as she was washing up paint pots in the sink, “He’s here for you.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile, “Could you tell him to wait please Fran?”

Soon Fran returned and in her arms was a giant bouquet, “He couldn’t stay very long,” She handed Y/N the roses, “But he told me to give you these.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her hands still dripping wet as she held the red roses in her arms. She placed them on the countertop and took out the card attached to the bouquet. ‘I love you bigger than the whole sky, your Harry.’

Y/N bit down on her lip as she folded the small piece of paper and slid it into the front pocket of her apron. “When’s that boy gonna put a ring on y’ finger?” Loretta, one of the older nursery workers asked.

Y/N scoffed, “Only if he can get near my hand first, Loretta.”

Although marriage would definitely not be happening anytime soon, the picture of it in her mind made her smile.

In the evening, Y/N had been enjoying some much-needed girl time with Molly and Patsy. Y/N hadn’t seen Nancy since the night of the bonfire. She was rarely ever home to the point where the girls wondered why she even bothered renting her room out for much longer.

They sat around the living room in pink robes, watching a movie and reading magazines. It had been a while since Y/N had had some downtime with her housemates. So much of her time had been either working or being trapped in the whirlwind that was her relationship with Harry.

“Can I have some of that?” Patsy asked, unable to keep her eyes off the television as she held her hand out for the bottle of wine.

Molly passed it over but her eyes narrowed on Patsy, “Is that Sonny’s sweatshirt you’re wearing under that?”

Patsy finally looked away, her mouth opening and closing, “N-no?” She lied, terribly.

“Did you sleep with him?” Molly questioned.

Patsy swallowed, “No…maybe…yes.”

Patsy's feeble attempt at denial only made Y/N and Molly laugh harder. Y/N struggled to stifle her giggles, while Molly's laughter rang out loud and clear.

"And? How was it?” Molly urged, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Patsy’s face flushed bright red, “It was good.”

“That’s it?” Molly frowned.

“Fine,” Patsy’s shoulders slumped, “It was wonderful, Mol. The best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re lying,”

“It’s true!” Patsy exclaimed, “There’s just something about ‘em, right Y/N? You slept with Harry already didn’t you?”

Y/N’s smile fell from her face, “Huh?”

Molly smirked, “Now you definitely cannot lie about that. Everyone knows it.”

Y/N's smile faltered, confusion flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean, everyone knows?"

Molly's smirk widened. "Come on, Y/N. It's written all over your face. You've got that look all the girls have, you know the one where they lie about being with someone when it’s clearly not the truth."

Y/N's cheeks flushed as realisation dawned on her. "Oh," she murmured, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"So, spill it," Molly urged, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Have you?"

“I don’t know…Maybe,” She could feel the corner of her lips tugging upwards and her hands quickly shot up to cover her face.

Her two housemates squealed, jumping up from the couch with excitement, “You have?” Molly grinned.

“Yes!” Y/N laughed.

“Tell us all about it!” Patsy fell to the floor and leaned in towards her.

“O-Oh, I-” But as luck would have it, Y/N was interrupted by the doorbell ringing and then the door swinging open.

“Patsy?” Sonny’s voice rang down the hallway as he invited himself in again.

Molly rolled her eyes, annoyed, “What is it?”

Footsteps sounded against the hardwood floors as Sonny entered the living room. His eyes landed on the girls as they sat on the floor, “What are you doing?”

"What does it look like we're doing?" Molly retorted, crossing her arms defensively.

"Can I join in?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Patsy groaned, "Just tell us what you want, already."

“Oh,” Sonny shook his head as if reminding himself why he was here, “Elise is sick,”

Y/N stood up, “What? How sick?”

“George has had to bath her four times already and Harry can’t seem to get her to sleep. It’s manic in that house, y’ gotta help us out.” Sonny begged.

"But it's girl's night," Molly said firmly, gesturing toward the girls in their gowns. "And we're not your nurses or your babysitters."

"Please?" Sonny's eyes pleaded, darting towards Y/N.

Y/N sighed, relenting. "Fine. Let me get dressed." She manoeuvred past the girls seated on the floor and headed upstairs to her room to change.

“What? Patsy, y’ can’t be serious?” Molly whined.

“It’s Elise and Sonny’s sister.” Patsy shrugged as though it was reason enough.

Molly huffed, knowing no matter what she said it wouldn’t be enough to persuade them to help a sick child. The girl’s night they had planned would just have to be put on hold, “Alright,” She conceded.

Sonny led the girls across the estate to the Styles’ household. Along the way, Y/N and Molly teased Patsy and Sonny when they noticed them holding hands inside the pocket of Sonny’s aviator coat. The closer they got to the house, the more they could hear Elise wailing from inside.

He swung the door open, the girls following behind, “I’m back!” Sonny called as they entered the kitchen, “I bought reinforcements.”

Harry turned around when they all stepped into the room. He was shirtless, holding onto a crying Elise, her little face all scrunched up and red. His eyes immediately gravitated towards Y/N, “You’re here,” He sighed as if the sight of her had alleviated some of the stress he was feeling.

Y/N walked straight up to him and took Elise out of his grip, “M here,” She sighed, “Oh sweet girl, it’s okay,” Y/N kissed the side of the two-year-olds head, swaying her side to side in her arms.

“She’s been sick all afternoon, must have got it off some kid at the nursery.” Harry exclaimed, his eyes tired from taking care of his sister and being at work all day, “I’ve tried everything. Normally singing her to sleep helps but she won’t seem to settle and I’m all out of ideas.”

“Hey,” Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling his warm skin, “It’s okay, we’re here to help you.”

He relaxed beneath her touch, the sentiment making him smile, “Y’ don’t have to,” Harry murmured.

“Harry,” Y/N gave him a stern glare, “I want to.”

His lips curved into a grateful smile as he nodded. "Thank you."

Y/N was so ensnared by his captivating eyes she had to force herself to look away, “Go shower. We’ll clean up down here.”

Harry saluted playfully, brushing past her but not before pressing a hasty kiss to her cheek. Y/N gasped, spinning around and seeing a hint of a smirk on his face as he ran up the stairs.

“Ha Ha,” Elise croaked, pointing at her brother.

Y/N’s expression softened at the little girl’s tired voice, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As Sonny and Patsy helped clean the kitchen, Molly made a start on dinner and George and Y/N bathed Elise in the kitchen sink. Although Elise was exhausted from being sick all afternoon, everyone went about their chores whilst trying to bring a smile to her face. Whenever she giggled at George and Sonny's antics or Patsy's playful arguing with Sonny whenever he attempted to flirt with her, the group would cheer from their achievement at making her laugh.

Once they’d put all the dishes on the table, Harry had come down from his shower. Y/N drew in a breath when he walked through the door with damp curls and a towel around his waist, “Jus’ need to grab something,” He smirked as he walked past Y/N who caught the smell of his coconut shampoo.

As Y/N stood at the kitchen sink to get rid of Elise’s bath water, she felt his solid form come up behind her. Her lips parted, a breath of air escaping her, as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. With his other arm, he reached out, his hand still resting on her shoulder, to open the cupboard above her and pulled out a clean hand towel.

The warmth spreading through her body dissolved once he pulled away. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when she heard his feet against the floor fade as he left the room.

To her side, Molly and Patsy were trying not to laugh as they covered their mouths and tried to resume what they had previously been talking about before they were briefly interrupted. Y/N rolled her eyes and walked to the table to begin plating up dinner for everybody.

Harry had returned from his shower and now sat at the end of the table with Y/N to his right and Elise beside her sitting in a high chair. She was nibbling at the food George had prepped for her, taking small bites when she felt like it.

Everyone tucked into their meal as a smooth jazz record lulled in the background. Suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, George piped up, “So is everyone dating at this table?”

Sonny groaned, “Why’d you bring that up?”

“Because!” George paused, cutting into his meat, “I can’t handle the tension in this room, it’s like you all want to have sex with each other.”

“George don’t be so vulgar,” Molly snapped, her tone sharp, “But he does have a point.”

“Well Patsy and I are together,” Sonny put an arm around Patsy’s shoulders only to receive an angry glare in return, “What?” He took his arm back, “They already figured it out!”

“Well, what about Y/N and Harry,” Patsy crossed her arms, wanting to divert the attention to something else, all heads turning to face the couple at the end of the table.

“Well, I-I-“ Y/N was all flustered, not knowing how to approach the subject until Harry stepped in.

“It’s up to Y/N,” Harry shrugged, taking a bite from his fork. Y/N’s head whipped in his direction, “I’ll do whatever she wants me to do.”

As he spoke the words, she felt his hand land on her thigh. Y/N stilled as he squeezed her knee but instead of freezing like she always seemed to do with him, she placed her hand on top of his and flipped his hand over to intertwine their fingers wanting to show him at least some grace for his ability to speak when she couldn’t find the words.

“Well good for Y/N. You see not all girls are easily swayed by you boys, you know.” Molly remarked.

“Ahh are you sure about that Mol? Maybe it’s just because you’re the only girl here who hasn’t tried to sleep with any of us.” George quipped with a teasing grin.

Molly scowled, “Don’t you have to follow Nancy around or something?”

Sonny burst out laughing as George’s face fell, “Yeah yeah, you can all laugh but the other day I swear I almost got a smile outta her.”

“Oh nice, an almost smile yeah that’s really great George.” Everyone laughed around the table.

By the time dinner was over and everyone had been ridiculed at least once, Elise was already half asleep. Harry volunteered to tuck her in, lifting her gently and carrying her upstairs to her bedroom. As the others stepped outside for a smoke break, Y/N took it upon herself to clear the empty plates and tidy up.

Before tidying, Y/N went upstairs to use the bathroom. As she climbed the steps, she noticed a partially open door. Intrigued by the humming coming from the room, she quietly peeked inside.

It was dark other than a small candle lit up in the corner of the room. Harry stood by the window with Elise in his arms. Her cheek was resting on his shoulder as her small hands fisted the sleeve of his shirt. His big hand rubbed up and down her tiny back as her eyes fluttered open and closed. She almost resembled a cherub resting on a fluffy cloud as Harry hummed her to sleep, his head turning an inch to press a soft kiss to the side of her head.

Y/N's eyes glistened with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Her heart felt like it was trying to leap out of her chest and walk into the room to join them. The longer she stayed fixed on the two siblings, alone in one space, it seemed as if they were the only two people existing, if only for a brief moment in time.

Not wanting to disturb their peace and quiet, Y/N carefully tiptoed away from them to give them the space they needed.

She stood at the kitchen sink and began filling it with water and soap. Her mind drifted to the image of Harry holding Elise almost as if he were her own father. Y/N’s heart had been hurting for Harry and his siblings ever since he had broken down to her on the hill. A part of her wondered if she was doing all this because she felt she had to fulfil some kind of duty to them but it never felt like work helping the Styles’ siblings, she just had a spot for them in her heart that was growing exponentially by the day.

Y/N felt that presence that had become so familiar to her, come up behind her as she cleaned the dishes. His arms snaked around her waist, swaying them slowly to the gentle bossa nova that played over the record player, “Dance with me,” He murmured, pulling her away from the sink.

Y/N laughed, spinning around in his arms and pressing her wet and soapy hands to his face. Harry’s face scrunches, “Have I told y’ I love y’ today?” He asked, nuzzling his cheek in her palm.

“Hmm,” Y/N pretended to think, “I don’t think so.”

“Well I do,” He says, “I love you bigger than the whole sky, Birdy.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replies because she always will no matter how angry she is or was with him.

“Enough to forgive me?” He tries but his face already says he knows the answer.

Y/N inches forward, her lips brushing his, “Almost,”

Harry grins, pulling her in closer, “This could be our life y’know.”

“What could?”

“All this,” He motions to the house, “We have our own house and make our own food. Everyone is safe and we’re happy. Maybe have a couple of kids-”

Y/N scoffs, “A couple?”

“Alright,” Harry chuckles, his head falling back, “One, five, eight or even zero, I don’t care I jus’ wanna be with you.”

“That sounds nice,” Y/N sighed, falling in love with the image she had painted in her mind, “And we’d live here?”

Harry kissed the top of her head, resting his cheek on it as they swayed, “We can live wherever y’ want Birdy, I go where you go.”

Y/N can’t help but pull his neck down to kiss her. Even though they weren’t exactly together, Y/N couldn’t help but kiss him when she wanted to, which was more often than it wasn’t. She’d never tire of the way his lips felt against hers, how she’d melt in his embrace and feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Just so we’re clear, this doesn’t mean we’re together,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“I know Birdy, I know.” He smiles, kissing her even harder.

Harry ends up helping Y/N clean the kitchen, drying the dishes while she washes them. It's a new experience for him, doing something domestic with the person he loves. It feels small and simple yet meant more to him than he could seem to understand.

“Since I’m tryin’ to be better, I gotta tell y’ something,” Harry pinches her sleeve, needing to touch her in some way at all times.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, immediately beginning to worry.

“Oh no it’s nothing so bad, it’s just my Mama sent us a letter a few weeks ago and I think ‘m gonna go visit her without the boys.” He shrugs, “Jus’ to check in on her y’ know?”

Y/N knew Harry didn’t want to admit the truth about his visit. Despite the fact he never had a close relationship with his mother, he had always been her protector. Harry couldn’t stay away from his home no matter how hard he tried, too afraid that if he did, something detrimental would happen and he’d feel nothing but guilt for the rest of his life.

“On your own?” Y/N frowned, “Y’ don’t even want George to come with you?”

“If George goes he’ll jus’ get upset. I probably won’t even tell ‘em I’m going, I jus’ wanna make sure everything is okay. Maybe if I show m’ face she’ll stop sending so many letters every weekend.” His voice carried a mix of concern and weariness.

“Well okay,” Y/N paused for a brief second, “I mean I could come with you, maybe, i-if that’s something you’d want.”

Fear flashed in Harry’s eyes, “No,” He stated firmly, “I’m not letting you anywhere near that old bastard.”

Y/N knew he was referring to his father, “I won’t let you go alone, Harry. It’s either me or one of your brother’s but I will not let you go into that house by yourself.” She wasn’t going to lie and say that she wasn’t afraid for him. She’d never met his Father or truly knew the depths to which he had gone into causing such trauma for Harry but she wasn’t going to allow it to continue. “Please, let me come with you.”

Harry opened his mouth to immediately reject her offer but paused, considering her words carefully. He saw the determination in her eyes, the fierce loyalty she held for him, and it touched something deep within him. He also knew she was stubborn and wouldn’t let up over something like this no matter how much he refused.

After a moment of silence, he sighed, relenting. "Alright," he finally murmured, his voice laced with apprehension. "But promise me, Y/N, you'll stay close and keep your guard up. My old man... he's not an easy man to deal with. We’ll be in and out of tha’ house all in the same day.”

Y/N nodded solemnly, her resolve unwavering, “Thank you,” She said.

. . .

With the days that passed before Harry would return to his childhood town, his fear and anxiety seemed to grow. His nightmares had continued to worsen, each one of them had turned into one about Y/N. On the nights when Y/N slept in her own bed, he found himself walking through the dimmed streets in the middle of the night to sneak into her house and crawl under the covers with her. She’d whisper soft things into his ear, promising that everything he dreamt of was simply just that, but he struggled to believe her as he held her tightly in his arms until the morning arrived.

They took the two-hour train from the station to his home town in Wyoming on the day of the visit. Harry barely spoke a word as he held Y/N’s hand in his lap all the way there. They had decided on wearing somewhat fancy attire. Harry wore tailored trousers with a belt and a white shirt tucked into it, whilst Y/N settled on a new blouse she had yet to wear and a long skirt with kitten heels. They hadn’t spoken it aloud but part of them wanted to show without telling his parents just how well they were doing for themselves.

“Baby,” Harry whispered, nudging Y/N awake after she dozed off on his shoulder, “We’re here now,”

Y/N hummed, her eyes fluttering open to the window. Outside was the train station which was really just a raised platform by the train tracks with a small ticket booth nearby. The place was almost deserted, with only a few people stepping off as the train pulled in. Harry grabbed her purse and held Y/N’s hand as they exited the train and stepped onto the platform. It wasn’t long before the train was off again, leaving a bellow of smoke behind.

Glancing around, Y/N noticed how grey Harry’s hometown was. The buildings seemed weathered, and besides the train station, there wasn't much else to see—just a row of buildings housing a grocery store, a clothing shop, and a bank. Everything became increasingly sparse and lifeless the further out of town you ventured, and Harry’s house just so happened to be situated on the outskirts.

When they left the train station, Harry walked to a cab that was already parked outside with no other customers. He opened the door for Y/N to enter first, “Are you okay?” Y/N asked, sensing Harry’s discomfort.

“Y’ know there’s nothing more I wanna do than take y’ back to Offutt right?” His eyes were hard as he stared between the two front seats out of the windshield of the beaten-up vehicle.

"I know," Y/N's voice was quiet, a hint of uncertainty creeping in as she wondered if she had pushed too far by insisting on accompanying him. However, before she could dwell on her thoughts further, he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to it, reassuring her without words.

Y/N tried not to react too shocked when the vehicle stopped far outside of the town they had entered. In front of them was a house that looked as though it was made out of planks of wood hammered together. There was a front porch with a rocking chair that was rotting away and a clothesline with white sheets blowing in the breeze.

“This is your home?” Y/N wondered, looping her arm with Harry’s when he came up beside her.

“It’s never been m’home,” He replied, lowly.

As they approached the front door, it creaked open before they could even knock. Standing behind it was a woman with the same green eyes Y/N had noticed in each of her children. Her hair was wispy and greying, with streaks of brunette that were a darker shade than Harry’s. She had heavy bags under her eyes and wrinkles all over her face. Her thin lips turned into a smile, her eyes watering as she opened her arms to the man beside Y/N, “My boy,” She croaked.

Harry stiffened when he felt her arms wrap around him, “Mom,” He grumbled.

The woman pulled away and then her eyes turned to Y/N, her smile drooping, “Who’s this?”

Harry opened his mouth to introduce herself but Y/N quickly stepped in, “I’m a friend of your son, we met on the Airbase.” She held her hand out.

Harry’s mother looked down at her hand and then back to Harry, “You’re bringing girls home now? Where are your brothers?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, “They’re not here.”

“And Elise?” She went on.

“She’s back home,”

“This is her home,” His mother argued, “And I’m her mother,”

“We won’t be staying here for long,” Harry said, moving past his mother and stepping into the house. Y/N tried to offer his mother a smile but she just frowned.

The inside of Harry’s childhood home was cold and empty, lacking any hint of life or sign of a whole family living here for well over ten years. Bits of furniture littered the house here and there, each individual piece looked battered and beaten.

“Are you staying for dinner at least Harry? I’ve been cooking all afternoon,” His mother walked to the small kitchen and started stirring a pot that was already cooking on the stove.

Harry looked down at Y/N, “We can stay,” She told him even though she knew he didn’t like the idea, she didn’t want to let his mother’s cooking go to waste.

“M taking Y/N to m’ room,” Harry grumbled, unwilling to wait for his mother to say anything.

Y/N followed him to a small room near the living room. It was no bigger than an average old pantry, containing only a small, single bed and a little chair and table tucked into the corner. Above the bed hung a mobile adorned with wooden planes painted blue, dangling gently. Y/N reached out and held one of the jagged wooden planes in her palm.

The corners of her lips turned upwards as she examined it, wondering if Harry’s love for planes stemmed from a young age. Turning round to face him, she fell back onto his bed and sighed, “Come lay with me,” Her hand dangled from the bed, her fingers reaching out to brush his.

Harry shook his head but fell onto the bed beside her, his feet dangling off the end. It was so small that Y/N had to practically lay on top of him, her chin resting on his chest as she looked up at him. She brushed some of his hair out of his face, “How are you feeling?” She checked in.

“Strange,” He murmurs, “Seeing you in this house made me realise how foreign this place is to me now. You’re home and this is just… Something I don’t want in my life anymore.”

Y/N’s gaze softens, “Your mom never told me her name, I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Harry’s hand slides up her back to play with the ends of her hair, “She doesn’t like anyone really but her name’s Debbie if y’ must know.”

“Debbie,” Y/N replies, her voice soft, “Hey, if things get uncomfortable we can go, just say the word.”

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude at her calming, understanding nature, “Thank you for being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Y/N teased and Harry laughed, the sound echoing in the darkened room of his childhood.

Despite Debbie’s cold attitude towards her, Y/N still tried to make an effort by helping set the table for dinner. In the corner of her eye, she caught Harry fussing over his mother when he saw her hands were all scathed from being outside every day as she poured stew into each bowl. The image made her eyes glisten with tears that threatened to fall until she blinked them away.

As they placed each bowl of stew on the table, a thud sounded from outside and then the squeak of the hinges on the front door as it swung open. Y/N’s heart stopped as Harry paced towards her, moving her behind him as an old man stumbled in. She grabbed Harry’s sleeve, peeking past him to see a man with hazel eyes and balding, grey hair. His face was wrinkled and scruffy, his nose red but his face gaunt. His footsteps were heavy against the wooden floorboards, with every inhale of his breath he seemed to suck out the warmth from the house.

His eyes fell on Harry and then to Y/N, “Hello boy,” His voice sounded like gravel as he spoke.

“Old man,” Harry’s voice was something Y/N had never heard from him before. It felt like he was trying to control all of his anger whilst also trying not to show his fear. She squeezed his arm a little, hoping it would give him some reassurance.

“Nice to know you’ve remembered your family,” He sniffled, closing the door behind him.

“Y’ make it hard to forget,” Harry replied.

Debbie walked in between them like it was something she had done many times before whenever there was tension, “Jack, you’re just in time for dinner.” She was much too cheery but it felt hollow and insincere, “Harry’s friend is joining us from that camp they’re staying at.”

Jack glanced at Debbie with a flicker of annoyance before turning his attention back to Harry and Y/N. "Well, aren't we all just one big happy fuckin’ family," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Y/N felt the tension in the room thicken, a silent battle unfolding between the family members. She exchanged a knowing glance with Harry, silently urging him to stay composed.

Ignoring Jack's jab, Debbie gestured towards the dining table. "Come on, let's sit down and eat. I've made your favourite, Jack," she said.

Sitting at the table, Jack's presence felt heavy in the room. Y/N looked at Harry, silently showing her support. She knew dinner would be tricky, but she was committed to being there for Harry. She held his hand under the table and squeezed. Harry rubbed his thumb over the pulse point on her wrist in order to relax himself.

It was just dinner and they’d be going home straight afterwards. Home to his real family, where it was safe and he was most loved.

Debbie came out of the kitchen with two cans of beer and placed them in front of Jack before sitting beside him. He cleared his throat as he opened both cans, “Where are y’ brothers?”

“Not here,” Harry spoke, lowly.

“Don’t get funny with me boy, where are they?”

“I already told you.” Y/N jumped when Jack’s hand smacked down on the table, Harry’s hand squeezing her in assurance like this was a normal reaction to have.

“You’ve left y’ brothers at that camp and bought this random whore here?” He spat.

“Don’t call her that,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t even know her fuckin’ name and y’ bought her into my house?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Y/N interrupted him, “My name is Y/N,” She said, her eyes hard, “And if that’s how you speak to someone you don’t know Mr Styles, I hate to see how you speak to those you do.”

Y/N could feel all eyes on her at the dinner table but she ignored them, acting as though what she said didn’t matter, as she tucked into the stew that was in front of her. “Next time you come back here,” Jack gruffed, “Y’ bring your brother’s. Much prefer them here anyway.”

This time it was Y/N’s turn to feel a bubble of anger rising within her, “Don’t want no more whores in my house, except y’ mother,” He chuckled, darkly, “She’s the only one allowed here.”

Harry shot up, his chair scraping against the floor, “How fuckin’ dare you,” He spat.

“Sit down,” His Father ordered, refusing to look up at him.

“Harry,” Debbie whispered, tugging on his hand to try and pull him down.

Reluctantly, Harry lowered himself to his seat. His jaw clenched as he stole a glance at Y/N, silently grateful for her unwavering support in the face of his family's hostility. He’d refuse to open his mouth for the rest of the dinner, in hopes it would speed things up and they could leave. He was filled with regret that he had allowed Y/N to come to this Hellscape, even more so for even considering it in the first place.

It fell silent- nothing but the scraping of cutlery against plates- until Y/N decided to speak, her anger too much to withhold any longer, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me that Mr Styles,” Harry must have gotten whiplash from how quickly his head whipped around to look at Y/N as she spoke.

“Say that again,” Jack replied, lowly.

“I said I would appreciate it if you’d stop calling me a whore, it’s rather distasteful.” Y/N dared to look up at him, meeting his lifeless eyes when she did. She felt Harry’s fingers squeeze hers but she refused to break eye contact with the only man who she had ever hated before even meeting him.

“Distasteful? What are y’ a slut from Preston?”

“No,” Y/N continued, “I’m not a whore or a slut from Preston and if you knew me or your own son, you’d know he wouldn’t dare bring someone with the likes of you home with him.”

Rage flashed in Jack’s eye, “Why you little-”

Harry rose to his feet as Jack raised his hand in the air, bracing himself for the impending blow. But before Jack could strike, Y/N intervened. "The fact that you assume so little about me, Mr. Styles, is your first mistake," Y/N declared, her voice unwavering. "Truthfully, I know people. Put a hand on me, and I'll go straight to my father. He's a doctor, you see—a very important one who knows a lot of important people. One of his patients just so happens to be the Governor. Do you know the Governor, Mrs. Styles?" Y/N directed a smile at the timid lady sitting opposite her, who blinked in response and quickly nodded her head.

"As much as I hate throwing around big names, sometimes it pays to know people more powerful than those who assume they have it all," Y/N continued, her gaze steady on Jack. "Wouldn't you say, Mr. Styles?"

Y/N stood up from the table as Jack’s jaw clenched, biting his tongue to stop from speaking. She grabbed Harry’s hand and intertwined their fingers, “To answer your question, your sons are at Offutt Air Base not camp. It’s their home where their older brother raised them along with that little girl you both abandoned. You can assume I’m a whore or a slut or whatever you think I am however much you like Mr Styles but I will not let you sit there and strip all of the love your son has shown to your children when you weren’t willing to give them anything.”

“Thank you for the dinner Mrs Styles but we’re leaving,” Y/N looked up at Harry who was already looking at her with nothing but pride all over his face, “I’m sorry Harry but I can’t stay here anymore.”

He nodded, following her out of the house but stopping when his father stood in front of him. Y/N gasped when Harry raised his arm and punched his father straight across the face. Jack groaned, cupping his nose as blood began to drip from it. Harry gripped his shirt in a fist, “Call my wife a whore again and I’ll fucking end you.” He spat, pushing him away.

Y/N and Harry ignored his mother as she fretted about his now injured Father, walking out of the house.

As soon as they stepped off the porch, Harry pulled Y/N to the side of the house where they were shielded from view and pressed her against the wall. His lips met hers eagerly, his hands cradling her face as her eyes fluttered shut. "You called me your wife," she breathed between kisses.

"Easy mistake," he replied quickly before his lips seeked hers once more.

Once they pulled away, their chests heaving and Harry’s lips tinged pink from Y/N’s lipstick, the biggest grin stretched across his face, his eyes sparkling more than she had ever seen before, “I didn’t think I could love you any more than I did.”

Y/N’s eyes watered, a mixture of love and the come down from the adrenaline that had fueled her in the last few moments all began to hit her at once, “You are everything to me,” He murmured, “Everything.”

"I love you too, Harry.” Y/N leapt into his arms, wrapping herself around him and refusing to let go.

After leaving the house, it felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted, as though a burdensome weed had been plucked from their lives. The air seemed lighter, and even the moon appeared to shine a bit brighter overhead. As they walked, Y/N couldn't help but notice the peace reflected in Harry's eyes whenever he glanced up at the sky.

Though it wasn't the end, it felt like the first step towards releasing the things that brought no good into Harry's life. With Harry's arm lazily draped over her shoulder and hers around his waist, they stumbled down the street, unable to find a taxi or any passing vehicles to take them back to the train station. To outsiders, they might have seemed like a drunken couple, but in reality, they were simply two people deeply in love and, for that moment, they felt truly free—and that feeling was even better.

They boarded the last train back to Offutt that night, and Harry was adamant about keeping Y/N close. Despite the empty carriage, he insisted she sit with him, to the point where she was practically sitting on his lap.

As Y/N grew tired, Harry allowed her to rest her head in his lap while she stretched out across the seats. He gently played with her hair and traced the contours of her face. "Can I show you something when we get back?" he whispered. Although exhausted, and longing to simply fall asleep with him in her bed, she nodded in agreement.

Y/N giggled as Harry skipped ahead, the smile on his face had yet to be replaced as he led her to the warehouses at the airbase. “C’mon slowpoke,” Harry called much too loudly for this time of night.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Y/N shook her head, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Keys jangled in his back pocket as he pulled out a chain that had too many keys for Y/N to count dangling from it. He plucked one out and put it into the padlock that was keeping a lock on the large, metal doors to one of the hangars where the planes were kept.

The doors clanked open as Harry pulled them apart enough for them to walk through. The light from the moon slipped through the gap, creating a dim light within the hangar. Harry switched on the lights in the panel on the side and the whole room lit up. Y/N followed Harry as he took her to the back of the warehouse where some of the planes which needed fixing up were kept.

He stopped in front of a single-engine propellor aeroplane, painted blue with white stripes. It had a cockpit with a glass canopy and seated two people inside. Y/N frowned, “Is this what you wanted to show me?” Living on an airbase, she’d obviously seen plenty of planes that were different variations of the one in front of her so she was unsure what she was meant to be looking at that had got Harry so excited.

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. He came up behind her and placed both his hands over her eyes to cover them. She stumbled as he nudged her forwards towards the side of the plane, “We’ve been working on this for a while and me and the boys have been struggling to give it a name. It was only until I met you that I realised what the perfect name for it was.” Harry removed his hands from her eyes, Y/N’s eyes squinting to adjust to the light until they focused on a word written in yellow on the side of the plane.

Birdy.

Y/N’s lips parted, walking up to touch the yellow font to see if it was real. She turned on her heel, eyes watering, “You named a plane after me?”

Harry bit back a grin, eyes twinkling, “Of course I did,” He whispered, “Need you with me all the time, now I can have you in the air too.”

“Oh Harry,” She sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck, “It’s wonderful,”

“Yeah? Y’ like it darling?” He kissed the top of her head.

“I love it,” She sighed, her eyes darting to the cockpit, “Can we sit in it?”

“Course,” Harry helped her up the little ladder and into the cockpit, before sitting in the spot next to her. “The electrics aren’t on so if y’ touch anything it won’t move.” Y/N’s hands pressed some of the buttons, still unable to believe she had a plane named after her.

Harry smiled watching her and then leaned in to kiss her. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and Harry deepened it, his tongue sliding into her mouth and his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. “Harry,” Y/N breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as he began to kiss down her neck.

“This is for you baby. There ain’t nobody else for me,” He whispered, “and I don’t want anybody else.”

His fingers brushed down the skin of her arms as her head rolled to the side. He kissed the base of the column of her neck, “You love me?” He asks, voice raspy.

“I do,” Y/N hums, her hands all over his clothed torso gripping the fabric in tight fists.

“How much,” Y/N gasped as his fingers played with the buttons of her blouse before he slowly undid the first one. He pressed his lips to her collarbones as he continued on the next button.

Y/N’s hands fell to the buckle of his belt, tugging on the metal to pull him closer. With every inch of skin that was revealed, Harry would place a small kiss there like he was worshipping every inch. Y/N could feel his breath fan over the top of her breasts as he got to the middle button, “C’mon baby, how much?” He taunted.

His hand slid up her back under her shirt to the clasp of her bra, “Tell me how much y’ love me and I’ll make y’ feel good hmm? Is that what y’ want birdy?”

Y/N nodded, “So much Harry, so much.”

“What?” Harry grinned, “Y’ love me so much or y’ want me so much?”

“Both,” Y/N gasped, “Please,”

Harry’s lips mould with hers as he uses both hands to remove her blouse, the buttons flying everywhere. Y/N’s hands fumble to remove his belt as Harry tugs his own shirt off hurriedly. His hands are hot against her body as he unclips the clasp of her bra, “So beautiful,” He says, in awe.

Y/N’s cheeks heat at the compliment. His hand splays across her bag, his pinky finger digging into the hem of her skirt as he continues to kiss her deeply. “Harry, I-” Her face feels hot as she stops herself, feeling too embarrassed to ask the question.

“What is it darling?” He cups her cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone.

She looks up at him, her eyes round and full of lust, she cups the bulge of his dick through his trousers in her hand, “Please?” She whines.

“Y’ wanna suck on m’ cock sweet girl?” He smirks, seeing her get all flustered as she nods quickly. She’s already trying to unbuckle his belt before he has time to say anything else. Her eyes widened when his cock springs out of his boxers, she still couldn’t get over how big he was as she wrapped two hands around the thick girth and pumped up and down.

Harry groaned, feeling her hands wrapped around him. She pulled away to sit up on her knees in the seat, tucking her hair behind her ears and bending forward. Harry’s head falls back against the headrest as she puts one hand at the base of his cock and kisses the tip. “So big,” She murmurs.

“Gonna take it in y’ pretty mouth baby?” Harry taunts in a playful tone.

Y/N sucks on the tip, her eyes closing as she tastes him for the first time. Gradually she takes him deeper, inch by inch, her tongue sliding against the thick vein of his cock as she does. “Good girl,” Harry praises her, grabbing her hair and holding it in a fist.

She stops when the tip hits the back of her throat, using her hand to jerk off what she couldn’t take in her mouth. Harry groans when Y/N gags and pulls away to catch her breath, “Careful baby,” He squeezes her cheeks together and forces her to look at him. Seeing her red, glossy lips and hazy eyes, drool falling from the corner of her mouth from how big he was, almost made him cum right there. He wiped his thumb over her chin and kissed her, “Doing so good my girl,” He murmured against her lips.

As she goes back to mouthing at his cock, he can’t help but run a hand down her back and squeeze her ass beneath her skirt. Y/N makes a sound that sends vibrations down his cock and he knew she’d have to stop before he came down her throat, “Need to be inside y’ baby,' ' Harry spoke.

Y/N’s pops him out of her mouth, “Are y’ gonna fuck me now?” Her big doe eyes look up at him. She almost looked innocent if it weren’t for his cock in her fist.

“Yeah darling girl, M gonna love on y’ now.” He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

Y/N's hands tangled in his curls as she adjusted herself to lay back on the seats. Harry’s lips parted as he looked down at her, her chest heaving and her nipples pebbling under his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, the glass canopy around them fogging up with their breaths.

Harry swallowed, moving on top of her and holding himself up with his hands pressed into the plush seat beneath. Y/N’s legs parted for him to rest between them, her hands going to his back, fingers digging into the hard muscle.

“Are y’ okay?” Harry murmured, brushing some of the hair from her face.

Y/N smiled, “I’m fine,”

Y/N could feel his hardened length on the inside of her thigh as he pulled her skirt up and revealed her white panties. Harry tutted, “Did sucking me off make y’ this wet baby?” He asked, his fingers moving her panties to the side to reveal her dripping cunt.

Harry’s fingers dipped between her folds, brushing over her clit to collect some of her wetness before smearing it all over her pussy. His hand travelled down, smearing her juices over the tip of his cock before he lined himself up with her.

“Y’know, I don’t think I ever apologised properly for what I did that day,” He pressed open mouthed kisses a long her jawline as the tip of his cock teased her entrance, “What do y’ say darling girl? Y’gonna let me be good and fuck my apology into you?”

Y/N’s hips bucked into him, “Mhmm,”

Looping her arms around his neck, Y/N’s lips parted as Harry eased himself into her. She was suddenly reminded of just how big he was as he moved further and further inside of her until he bottomed out and she could feel every inch of him as she clamped around him, “S’ good,” She hummed, her eyes fluttering open and closed.

“Yeah?” Harry chuckled, kissing her quickly, “M nice and snug? Can y’ feel me in y’ baby?”

Y/N nodded, grabbing his hand and spreading out his fingers to press them against her tummy, “Feel you here,” She sighed.

Harry kissed her forehead, “Y’ like that?”

“The best,” She smiled, lazily.

“Made just f’ me that’s why,” Harry smirked.

Slowly, Harry began to slide in and out of her, taking his time knowing this moment was different to their first time. It was softer- gentle even. Y/N whines, feeling all of him against the walls of her pussy. Harry groans when he sees her stomach bulge when he moves back in her - a sight he could never overcome no matter how hard he tried.

“Y’ fucking perfect Y/N. Feels so good.” Harry’s voice wavered as he felt himself get lost in the feeling of her.

As his hips moved faster, the closer he was to his release. He held her hips, glancing down to see his cock moving in and out of her. He feels her pussy clenching tightly around him, signifying she was close to her release too.

“Am I making my girl feel good? Hmmm?” He presses his nose against her cheek as her head falls to the side. “M’ best girl, lovin’ me the way you do, how’d I get so lucky?” Y/N couldn’t seem to find the words to reply, her body writhing beneath him.

Harry pressed his hand down on her tummy, the added pressure making her groan, “Y’ gonna have my babies in there one day?”

“Yes,” Y/N gasps as he fucks her harder.

“Yeah? Gonna have all my kids and be a pretty little housewife?” Y/N whimpers, her hands scratching down his back. “I love y’ so much.” He whispers.

“Love you,” Y/N slurred.

Harry’s hand begins to rub at her clit, the added sense of pleasure filling her entire body with heat that only continued to build the more he pumped his heavy dick inside of her. Y/N feverishly craned her neck to kiss him, needing that extra physical touch.

“Y’ gonna let me cum in you, darling girl?” Harry murmured, his voice shaking.

“Please cum in me Harry,” Y/N’s eyes blurred as the bubble of heat burst in her belly.

With a final thrust, Harry released a heavy groan as his cock filled her insides with his cum. Y/N’s back arched into him as her breath caught in her throat, her eyes rolling back when she came around him at the same time.

Harry fell on top of Y/N, his sweaty forehead against her chest. She lazily moved her hand to his hair, running her fingers through his soft curls. Harry puckered his lips to press a kiss right where her heart was beating erratically.

A silence fell around them as they tried to catch their breaths, “Have y’ forgiven me yet?” Harry murmured, his hands tracing patterns on her hip.

"I think I forgave you ages ago; I just wanted to punish you a little," Y/N admitted, a truth she had realised for a while now.

"I deserved it," Harry agreed.

"You did," Y/N acknowledged.

“But I’ll be better. For you, I’ll be anything but I’ll always try to be better,” He looked up.

Y/N cupped his face, “I don’t need you to be anything but you.”

Harry kissed her palm, “Thank you… For it all.”

. . .

“Are you nervous?” Patsy asked as the girls sat on top of the hill on a picnic blanket.

“A little,” Y/N lied, she had hardly been able to sit still since this morning.

“Hey,” Molly smoked a cigarette, “These boys have done this plenty of times, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“I just hope it all goes well, they’ve been working months on this.” Y/N’s eyes darted around to see if she could spot him.

Elise sat on the picnic blanket in a diaper, chewing on her fingers and making noises. Molly swooped her up in her arms as she stood, “What do you think Elise? Will your brothers actually do something smart?” Molly cooed.

Patsy hit her shoulder lightly, “Don’t be so mean,”

Y/N’s ears pricked as she heard the sound of an engine in the distance. She removed her sunglasses, trying to see where the source of the sound was coming from. “Look!” Patsy pointed towards the thing moving in the blue sky.

Y/N’s caught sight of the blue plane flying in the air, if she squinted enough she could see the yellow spelling of her nickname on the side, “He’s there!” Y/N laughed in disbelief, “He’s there!”

The plane flew closer and Y/N could make out Harry sitting in the cockpit with George beside him. All the girls waved, Elise giggling as they jumped up and down. Y/N took her hat off and started waving it around to try and catch Harry’s attention.

His head turned and a huge grin spread across his face as he saw her wearing a red dress just like she had told him she would after he told her they’d be flight testing the plane again and he wanted her to be there to watch.

“Will you be able to see me on the ground?” Y/N asked as she sat atop his worktop whilst he worked on the plane, her legs swinging backwards and forwards.

“It depends on how close y’ are. I can’t really see that well when ‘m flying high up.” He tells her.

“Hmm,” Y/N thinks, “What if I wear something colourful? Will y’ be able to see me then?”

Harry bites back a smile, “Maybe,” He shrugs, coming up to stand between her legs. He leans forward to kiss her, “Why? Y’ planning on wearing something special for me Birdy?”

Y/N bites her lip, her eyes sparkling, “Possibly.”

“C’mon,” Patsy snatched the blanket off the grass, “They’re going to land soon,”

The girls headed back to the runway where the plane would land. They could already see Sonny looking through his bicolours. Patsy waved, running towards him and falling into his arms. “Did y’ see?” He looked down at her, happiness all over his face.

“It’s great baby,” Patsy kissed him.

Y/N watched as the plane descended, growing bigger against the sky. With a rumble, the wheels made contact with the ground, the plane gradually slowing down as it ran down the runway. Everyone ran towards the plane as Harry lifted the glass chamber and hopped out with George coming round the other side.

Cheers sounded through the air from everybody. Harry’s eyes immediately met Y/N’s, his hands reaching out to catch her in his arms. She leapt into his embrace, moulding her lips against his, “That was incredible!” She squealed when they pulled away.

“Yeah?” Harry was trying to remain calm but she could tell he was proud of what he and his brothers had achieved today, “Y’ proud of me?”

“So unbelievably proud,” Y/N spoke, her eyes radiating the truth in her words.

“Ha, Ha!” Elise squealed for her brother.

Harry’s smile widened into a grin as Molly placed Elise into his arms, “Did you see that Elise?” He kissed her chubby cheek, “Did y’ see your brother flying?”

Elise just babbled in response.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Harry and Elise, joining in the embrace. At that moment, surrounded by the people he cared about most, Harry knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be. With a contented smile, he squeezed Y/N's hand, silently thanking her for always believing in him.

“Hey have any of you seen-” George glanced around before his eyes landed on someone in the distance, “There she is,” He murmured to himself.

Everyone watched as he ran towards a woman standing by the entrance of the warehouse, “Is that Nancy?” Molly held a hand over her eyes to block the sun so she could get a better look at them.

“Hey, I think it is,” Patsy agreed, her eyebrows furrowing.

Y/N looked up at Harry who just shrugged.

. . .

The same evening, the Styles’ house was filled to the brim with people who had come over for their house party, celebrating the success of today. Elise was staying at a family’s house since the party would most definitely be going on well into the night.

Y/N observed Harry from across the room as he engaged in conversation with his pilot friends as she sipped on a cocktail Patsy had given her. She had no idea what was in it but she drank it anyway, knowing it was probably better not to ask. Every so often, their eyes would meet, and a smile would pass between them as they communicated in a language only they knew.

She noticed his lips were still tinged red from the lipstick she had kissed him with as they got ready for the house party. Y/N had offered to wipe it away for him but he liked the idea of people knowing he had been kissing you just by looking at the colour of his lips and yours.

Y/N’s heart felt so at peace as she glanced around the room and spotted each member of her found family. Her life had been so grey and mundane until she came to Offutt where everything changed and love had given her a whole new palette of colours.

It had been hard and full of ups and downs but it was worth it, every second of time was worth it.

She felt a presence come up beside her and turned expecting to see Molly or Patsy but was surprised to see Nancy standing there, leaning against the wall next to her. “It’s funny, I’ve been here longer than you and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look at somebody the way Harry looks at you.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, “Thank you? I’m not-”

“Listen,” Nancy turned to face her, “I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “W-what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” Nancy turned away again, “I was a bitch and I liked Harry but not for the same reasons you do. I should have stood up for you and him the night of the bonfire when that asshole came and spoke to you but once again I was a bitch and quite honestly I probably still am a bitch but I’ve met someone who I really like and I’m trying to be better.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Nancy-”

“I totally get it if you hate me and I don’t expect to be friends with you but George is Harry’s brother so we’re probably going to be seeing more of each other and-”

“Nancy,” Y/N interrupted her rambling, “It’s okay,”

Nancy’s shoulders dropped, “Really? You don’t hate me?”

“I’ve never hated you, I just haven’t particularly liked you but I think that could change if we truly got to know each other.” Y/N shrugged.

Nancy's eyes widened with surprise, hope flickering in them. "You mean that?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Y/N nodded, offering a small smile. “If you're George’s sister then one day we might be sister-in-laws and that would make things awfully strange if we didn’t get on, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Nancy huffed, “Those boys sure do need a break from family drama. I mean there’s some serious daddy issues in that family.”

Y/N laughed, it was the first thing they both had ever agreed on, “You can say that again.”

Nancy's face lit up with relief and gratitude. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion, “I-I’ve never been good at having friends and I truly am sorry for being so horrible. If it helps, I guess you managed to prove me wrong, I think I even proved myself wrong with the way things are now.”

Y/N reached out and squeezed Nancy's hand reassuringly, “It’s all okay.”

Nancy and Y/N spoke for a little longer. Giggling as they compared their boyfriend’s habits with one another until George came over and whisked Nancy away.

A hand snaked around Y/N’s waist, her gaze falling on those ring-clad fingers. She turned to look up at those beautiful, green eyes, “Hi Harry,”

“Hi Birdy,” He whispered, his eyes darting from her eyes to her lips and then back up again. “Y making friends?”

“I’m trying,” She grinned.

“Good to know,” He smirked and then held out his hand, sliding his fingers to thread with hers, “Y wanna dance with me?”

“M not very good you know,” She had told him plenty of times before.

“S just swaying,” He repeated the words he said to her the first time they danced together.

Y/N laughed softly as Harry pulled her closer, their bodies swaying gently to the smooth jazz music filling the room. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. With a contented sigh, Y/N relaxed into his embrace, letting the music wash over them. In that moment, as they moved together, there was nowhere else she'd rather be than in the arms of the pilot she pictured spending the rest of her life with.

"What are you thinking in there?" Harry tapped the side of her head with the pad of his finger.

Y/N hummed, "I'm just happy,"

"Yeah? You are?"

"Yeah," Y/N sighed, resting her head against his heart, “I love you, Harry, so much,” Y/N murmured.

“I love you too Birdy,” Harry leaned down to brush his lips with hers, “Bigger than the whole sky.”

taglist:

@ribbonknives @scorpiotulipicon @hermionelove @champagnepronlemsxxxx @n0vaj3an @roxyfan14-blog @avasbeanie @idontcareforausernamesblog @tpwksummer @celesterry @love-letters-to-uranus @boredhsblog @tpwk-harry-styles @groupieloveclub @estaticheart @unknownkii @royaler1999 @lovebittenbyevans @harryscherri @emsma11 @fairytale07 @psciostyles @hannah9921 @junhuisworld @fandomxo00

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jasminebythebay · 5 months ago

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I've been staring at the Hearthian Models a lot and here are some notes

I've been staring at their models in the past few days for my art. The more I look at them the more details I discover haha. (Here is the link to the refs I've been looking at: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/18Me-eKLK8WZiByvGE6UCo1D4PwmCZfCi?usp=share_link) Some things I've noticed:

Based on Esker's ear floppiness, they're actually much closer to the other Founders' ages than to Gneiss, Spinel, or Tektite's ages.

Hearthian eyes are really colorful :0. I thought Esker had pink eyes, they actually have PURPLE eyes (maybe Arkose as well, but it's hard to tell because their eyes are almost all pupil and no sclera). Moraine's eyes are orange, Hatchling's eyes are orange-yellow, Hal's eyes are yellow skewed towards green, Porphy and Gneiss both have pink eyes, but Porphy's eyes are a lighter pink than Gneiss's, Marl and Rutile's eyes are green, and Tuff's eyes are blue. Most hearthian eyes are yellow, but even then the shade of yellow varies.

(this is based on a height chart, i couldn't actually pull the models in a 3d program to view so idk how accurate this is) Esker is WAY shorter than I thought, literally the same height as the Hatchling

Speaking of height, Hornfels is the tallest Hearthian, followed by Slate, then Riebeck. Hornfels and Slate are over a head taller than the Hatchling, almost 2 heads taller than Gossan and Feldspar.

While Solanum is very tall compared to most Hearthians, she is about half a head shorter than Hornfels and Slate. The Prisoner, if we measure all the way to the tip of their antlers, is twice the height of the Hatchling. Even without the antlers, they are about 75% taller than the Hatchling. They are so big :0

All of the Hearthians wear leather boots. The only two exceptions are Mica, who wears what looks like sideways geta sandals, and the Hatchling, who wears SOCKS (WHY??? THE VILLAGE IS BUILT AROUND A GEYSER, HAS A WATERFALL, AND MULTIPLE SMALL CREEKS. THE GROUND IS GOING TO BE MUDDY AS HELL). The Hatchling does wear boots when in their space suit though.

The Hatchling is the only traveler that doesn't have an Outer Wilds patch sewn on their space suit (which makes me sad :( maybe it's because they're supposed to get their patch once they complete their first solo flight? they'll never have a chance to earn their patch....). Esker also doesn't have one, but it's likely because we never see them in their space suit.

Proportion-wise, Hearthians are generally top-heavy. While the exact proportion varies (ex: Hornfels and Slate have almost perfect 50-50 upper-lower body ratios while Riebeck's legs are only half the length of their torso), Hearthian legs are usually about the same length as their torso.

Because Hearthians are top-heavy, their arms are also longer than ours. Their hands fall right below the crotch (just like in humans). Their hands are also really big. Human hands are approximately the size of our faces (from chin to eyebrow) while Hearthian hands are the size of their entire skull.

The third finger of Hearthian hands is thicker than the other two fingers, and all of their fingers are thicker than our fingers. It makes it easy to draw because we can use our own hands as reference without having to squish the bones in our palms to match Hearthian hands haha

I'm sure most of us have noticed that Hearthians have unique patterning. Common patterns include spots and leopard spots. Gossan is unique in that their spots form stripes. The color and density of the spots varies as well. Most of the Hearthians tend to have spots along the sides of their skull, their upper face and ears, and the sides of their neck. Hornfels has almost no spots, just some spotting along their eyes, ears, and neck. Spinel has spots that resemble freckles that cover their entire face, ears, and forehead, but has almost no spots on their skull. Gossan is again unique in their patterning as their spots are along the front of the skull and back of their neck.

Every single Hearthian has a unique eye, mouth, and skull shape, which is an insane detail to add from an art direction perspective. Every Hearthian is already distinguishable from more obvious design choices, like height and clothes, so unique face shapes are entirely unnecessary, especially since most players will probably never talk to the other Hearthians more than once, much less remember what they look like beyond the travelers. Some Hearthians have narrow jaws while others have squarer jaws. Some Hearthians have droopy eyes while others are doe-eyed. Some Hearthians have an upward tilt to their lips while others have a downwards tilt. Some Hearthians have a long oval face while others have a square face. Some Hearthians have resting bitch face while others have an easy smile. This are details that only insane people who stare at the Hearthian models for hours find *coughs*

TLDR; The Hearthians have a lot of cool unique features but only insane people would go out to find them

#outer wilds #outer wilds may have done something to me

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year ago

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My Joel,

A/N: I have not written a fic with this many words in a HOT minute, and boy does it feel good! What a cathartic experience this has been for me after writing Joel’s letters. I did not expect so many of you to want Joel and his dearest to have an alternative ending, but here we are 🤭 writing this has been a real treat, and I hope I have done their backstory and alternative ending justice! Buckle up, because you’re in for a wild ride! Thank you to @beardedjoel for letting me spam you with all the updates and screaming along with me 🥹 thank you to @strang3lov3 for betaing and creating these STUNNING divider mood boards for each section of the fic 💘

~word count: 14.4k~

Summary: the story of two forbidden lovers finding each other once more.

Pairing | forbidden lover!joel x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, infertility, canon typical violence, mutual pining, child abuse, mentions of S/A accusations (not by Joel) misogyny (not by Joel) homophobia/homophobic slurs (not by Joel) mutual pining, hopeless romantics, forbidden love, societal status, somewhat historically accurate language, arranged marriage (not to Joel), language, mentions of alcohol and tobacco products, virginity/virginity loss, happy ending/alternative ending, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

My Dearest,

June 1st, 1844

“This evening you are to meet the banker's son, daughter.” Your mother’s sickly sweet voice floated through your room, where you sat along the cushioned bench beneath the long window, your palm resting along your chin as you gazed out towards the gardens, the grass an unnatural shade of green compared to the common folk and farmers that would only dream of stepping foot on your family's estate. Your wealth was directly a result of your fathers parents, and their long lineage of thoroughbred horses. Your own mare was a descendant of the original three stallions imported into England in the late 1600’s.

But you were more focused on the man leading your mare, and her two stallions flocking at her hindquarters from the pasture: your Joel.

Joel Miller was a mere stable hand who was entrusted by your father himself to care for your family's prized horses. But to you? Joel was much more than just a stable hand. In fact, you begged your father one summer to increase Joel’s pay when he proved to be knowledgeable with the horses and their needs. Your father agreed, but refused to dote Joel with a new title. He was penniless compared to you, but you saw his heart before you saw his status in society. And he? He loved you from the moment you first met.

Spring, 1839

“Sir, sir!” A young Joel, 13 years of age burst into your fathers parlor, his hand-me-down clothes were soaked to the bone as the storm raged on outside the estate walls. “Dahlia’s womb has breached! Her foal is on the way!” He exclaimed with excitement.

Outside of your families prized stallions, the mares were just as valuable, bearing the next line of champions, no doubt. Dahlia belonged to your mother, and this was her third foal. Your mother couldn’t stand the presence of Joel in her home, dripping all over the floor, creating a puddle of water along the artisan rug beneath his muddy boots.

“Boy!” She snapped, setting her book down along her skirts where she was sitting near the fireplace, with perfect posture. Her eyes held a cold, unnerving stare. “You are in no state to be in my home looking like—” her pointed comment was cut off by the double doors leading to the parlor bursting open, to reveal your excited, and visibly out of breath face.

“Dahlia’s foal is on the way?!”

It was past your bedtime, but down the hall you heard the news of Dahlia, and couldn’t contain yourself. You were still in your nightgown, your hair in braids with bows tied into the ends. Joel felt a flush immediately rise to his damp cheeks at the sight of you. You were as pretty as a flower, the same age as him, and he wondered why this was the first time he’s seen you, till he remembered that most girls your age spent their days indoors preparing for marriage to a suitable husband of their fathers choosing, and inevitably bearing children down the line.

Just as quickly as his gaze fell upon you, he looked away, clearing his throat to hide the redness rising in his cheeks.

“Daughter!” Your mother scolded you when you rushed into the room and didn’t curtsy upon your arrival. She had yet to notice the bows in your hair when you quickly curtsied, fingers delicately grasping the hem of your nightgown as you bent down at the waist, one foot in front of the other just as it was ingrained into your brain for years. “Apologies, mother.” You softly squeaked out in embarrassment.

She shook her head, a displeasured look fell upon her hardened features. She rose from the couch, silk shawl clenched in her fist as she crossed the room and draped the garment across your shoulders. “Cover up your modesty.” She snapped unkindly. “Men should never see a lady in her night garments.”

I am not a lady, mother. I am a child! Is what you wanted to say, but instead you weakly nodded, muttering another apology under your breath. That’s when your mother took notice of your braids and the bows tied at the ends of them, a sign of innocent youth when you were to become a woman. She scoffed, nose upturning at the sight of them. Her cruel hand rose and fell, landing harshly against your soft cheek.

Joel visibly flinched from the sound, feeling his blood begin to boil under his soaked clothing. You had done nothing wrong! And who in their right mind slaps their own child!

Your skin stung, tears welling and nearly breaching down your cheeks when she yanked the bows from your braids and mockingly held them in front of your face. “These are for little girls. You are to become a woman, or have you forgotten?”

Your lower lip wobbled, and your knees trembled. Your eyes frantically searched the room, landing upon your father who paid no mind to your distress. He was too busy puffing away on his cigar, and even if he didn’t agree with his wife’s treatment upon you, he didn’t dare speak up about it.

“Joel, be a good lad and fetch my daughters coat. I will not be treading out in a storm such as that one, but someone from our family should be present for the birth of Dahlias foal.” He gruffed out. “Let us hope for a strong colt. There are too many fillies prancing around here.”

“Sir—” Joel started, but was cut off.

“Fetch her coat, and do not make me ask you a third time, boy.” He sternly reiterated.

“Yes, sir. Right away!” He nodded, quickly turning on his heel and exited the parlor, his eyes met your teary-eyed one briefly before he disappeared behind the open doors.

“Our daughter has no business going out in this storm, husband! Especially not with the likes of that—boy.” She seethed, stepping back from your trembling frame and walked in the direction of the fire, the now crumpled bows in her fist. She wasted no time to throw them directly into flames, watching as they were burnt up into ash immediately.

“Relax, wife.” Your father sighed, tapping out the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray along the table, “she is in good hands with Joel, I trust him.”

“Excuse me, miss?” a timid, youth filled voice appeared behind your shoulder, hand outstretched with your coat grasped between his fingers.

You sniffled, turning to face him and quickly wiped at your brewing tears with the back of your hand. “Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, fingers brushing his gently as you removed your coat from his grasp.

He nearly shied from your touch, a series of tingles and sparks shooting up his spine when he felt your soft touch for the first time. You reacted all the same; shocked gazes meeting before he was stepping to the side for you to pass by him first, a gentleman in nature despite coming from nothing. He cleared his throat, offering you his elbow to brace against the pounding rain and blustering winds. “I’ve got you, miss.” He whispered as your palm gently rested along the crook of his elbow.

Despite your mother’s incessant protests, Joel Miller guided you outside, acting as a physical shield as you endured the storm together. Once inside the safety of the barn, Joel parted from your side, grabbing a nearby stool for you to sit upon before entering Dahlia’s stall. You watched in pure curiosity and amazement as Joel spoke softly to the mare while her head rested in his lap. Beast trusted man; man trusted beast.

When Dahlia’s foal was born, she was not blessed with a strong colt like your father hoped for, but instead a filly. She was smaller than Dahlia’s other foals, and coal black unlike her mother’s dazzling, dappled silver coat. Joel helped the young filly stand on her long, spindly legs so that she could nurse. He was incredibly gentle, letting the filly lean her weight into him. Although Joel knew he was not allowed to name the horses, he started to call the filly ‘Little Shadow’ and only left the stall when he was certain she could stand on her own.

That’s when he remembered he wasn’t alone, and that you were still sitting upon the stool, hands clasped in your lap.

“Wanna meet her?” He suddenly asked, wiping his hands down on a nearby towel.

“Oh…” you trailed off, “I’m unsure if—”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, a small, boy-like grin tugging on his lips. “M’sure your father would want you to have the full experience, would he not?”

“Yes, I suppose he would.” You agreed and graciously took his hand when he offered it. “He will be displeased to hear that Dahlia did not bear a strong colt.”

“I never understood that.” He mused, helping you down from the stool and gently released your hand. “A healthy foal, no matter the sex, is better than an unhealthy one, is it not?”

“Yes, this is true.” You nervously toyed with a loose thread on your coat, avoiding making eye contact with him. “She is…small though, is she not?”

He took no offense to your lack of direct eye contact. He felt undeserving to be in your presence, let alone hold your gaze? “Forgive me if this comes across negatively, miss. But must you always speak so…proper?”

You turned your nose up at his question, dropping the loose thread from your fingertips, “I am to be a lady, Joel. This is how ladies talk.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I suppose you are right. And to answer your question, she may be smaller than the rest of Dahlia’s offspring, but her legs are long, and strong.” He commented thoughtfully as he walked over to the nursing foal. “She will be a winner one day, no doubt.”

“Do you wish to name her, Joel?” You asked softly, standing alongside him with your hand outstretched to gently pet the fillies jet black neck.

“Oh, miss—I could never. I was only calling her Little Shadow because well, she is like a Little Shadow.”

“I don’t think father would approve of Little Shadow…but I think Shadow is a fine name for her, sir.”

“Miss, I am not a sir.” He sighed, reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I’m just a stable hand. I do not possess any titles, and I never will. I agree, Shadow is a fine name for her.”

“Joel, I have heard that you are more than just a stable hand, but I address every man as sir. It’s how I have been taught.”

He looked over at you, eyes scanning the side of your face, the same side where your cheek had been struck by your mothers cruel hand. “That it be true, I am not a man, miss. I am just a boy.”

Silence fell between the two of you while you continued to gently stroke Shadow’s neck. You could feel Joel’s gaze landing on your cheek, but you chose to ignore it despite the heat that was slowly beginning to rise to your cheeks.

“Miss…?” He sounded unsure of himself, nervous, apprehensive of the words he was about to speak next,

“Yes, Joel?”

“Forgive me, I should not be uttering these words to a lady like yourself, but the bows in your hair…I thought they were quite—pretty.” He whispered the last bit, expecting you to scold him, to scream, and surely send him to the gallows for even thinking of you in that inappropriate manner, but instead, you smiled softly.

“Thank you, Joel. Mother…doesn’t approve of them. Says they are for little girls, and not for a lady to be. But they are just ribbons, are they not? I like how they look, and I wish she did too.” You sighed, eyes casting downwards.

He was more bold this time around as the images of your mothers hand making contact with your soft cheek flashes in his mind, “she should have never laid a hand upon you like that, miss. You did nothing wrong! Forgive me—I have forgotten my place.” He dropped his chin between his shoulders in shame.

You wept then, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the phantom sting of your mothers palm. You slowly sank down into the straw bed, head in your hands. You looked so small, frail, weak, and Joel never wanted you to feel this way again.

At first he didn’t know how to react to your distress, but soon he found himself sinking down to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to grasp your covered shoulders, “my dearest, do not weep, please. Your mother has never learned kindness in her life, but you? You—” he struggled to find his words, his empathetic nature coming out in full swing.

You slowly tilted your chin upwards to meet his gaze, glassy eyes boring into his. You both took a sharp inhale of breath, time seemed to cease completely. The storm outside raged on, the wind whipped and howled outside the heavy barn doors when Joel Miller’s calloused palms gently cradled your face, thumbs brushing away your glistening tears.

1842

Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter. Your Joel transformed into a man before your very eyes. In your youth he showed you how to run, to make mud pies, to swim in the river, despite your mothers disapproval. Your father showed an inkling of care to allow your years before marriage to be spent with Joel by your side.

On the approach of your sixteenth birthday, Joel Miller no longer looked like a boy in your eyes. He was a man, and for the first time in your life, you felt that forbidden part between your thighs come alive at the sight of him. He had grown taller, his arms filling in, paired with strong thighs. The muscles in his back and shoulders were defined with laborious hours of work. His chiseled jaw was speckled with facial hair, paired with unruly curls that you wished you could feel their softness between your fingers. You found yourself transfixed by his lips and often imagined how they would feel pressed to yours in a heated embrace. The only thing about your Joel that didn’t change with age was his eyes; the deepest pools of brown that always appeared lighter when he was graced with your presence.

Your father treated him like a son, inviting him out on the weekends to go fox hunting with your brothers. The prospect of attending college was even on the horizon for him, and Joel could taste his new life brewing on his tongue. His feelings grew for you over the years, feeling his heart flutter and clench whenever you would look his way. Even in your modest attire, he envisioned your womanly figure beneath your layers of tooled skirts. Every night before he laid his body to sleep, he would imagine your lips pressing to his own until the thought of it had begun to drive him mad.

So upon your sixteenth birthday, he approached your father in his office with only one thought on his mind; asking for your fathers permission, and blessing to court, and eventually marry you.

“Come in.” Your father’s voice rasped behind the closed door.

Joel took a deep breath, rubbing his sweaty palms along the front of his trousers, bringing one hand up to smooth down his untamed curls. His calloused palm grasped the brass handle and slowly pushed it open.

Your father was seated behind his desk, cigar smoke wafting through the air in a swirling pattern from where it rested between his lips. He looked at Joel expectantly, arms crossed behind his head in a lax position. “Joel, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joel stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him softly. He momentarily glanced out a large window overlooking the gardens where in just a few hours, your party would be in full swing. “Good afternoon, sir.” He nodded curtly, “beautiful day we’re having, yes? The weather will be exceptional for your daughter's birthday this evening.”

My Dearest.

“Yes, indeed. The weather has been lovely.” Your father mused. “If you’re asking if you can attend tonight’s festivities, you already know my answer, Joel. The lady of the house wouldn’t stand for it.” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Yes, of course, sir. I won’t be on the grounds this evening. A few friends have invited me to the tavern for drinks. I won’t be out late, I swear it.”

“I see.” Your father nodded, “a handsome young man such as yourself oughta get out there more.” He agreed, “So, what are you here for then?”

Shit.

“Sir, I have—known your daughter for many years now, as you are aware. I am also aware that she has many suitors lined up to offer her hand in marriage, but sir, if I was given your blessing, and permission, I would—”

“Joel.” Your father’s tone cut through the younger man like a sharpened blade. “My daughter has already been promised to another. Do not take me for a fool, boy. I have seen the way your gaze lingers on her longer than what would even be described as appropriate. I see the way she looks at you, Joel. I have bit my tongue on this matter because I happen to like you, son. What I can offer you is another lady, at your choosing. You can live a happy, comfortable life and hold a title that you would never otherwise possess. My suggestion is that you accept my generous offer, and throw away your fantasy of ever marrying my daughter.”

Joel swallowed his disappointment down with a heavy gulp. He was naive to believe that he could ever be granted with your fathers blessing. How foolish of him to believe that a man such as himself, would ever end up with the likes of you. It was a fantasy, an unattainable dream that he was better off extinguishing now instead of dwelling on what could never be. He nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart submerged to the very pits of his stomach. “I understand, sir.” He finally spoke.

“Good lad. I knew you were a smart one from the start. Now, this stays between you and I, alright?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. You didn’t hear this from me, but the lady of the house plans to retire early this evening. If you see the opportunity to whisk my daughter away for one evening, take it. If it sours, do not even think about taking me down with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir?” Joel sounded confused, his eyes going wide momentarily, “I’m confused—”

“Treat my daughter to a night that she will never forget, so that in her later years, when she is in misery after bearing her husband's children, and finds herself in a loveless marriage, she will have her memories of you to look back on. Do not, and I mean by any means, get caught and throw your life away so foolishly.”

“I—I understand, sir.” He stuttered out, his heart lurching in his chest at the prospect of one evening with you in his embrace. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He gushed earnestly.

“Leave now, Joel. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’t, sir. I promise.”

All evening you danced merrily and socialized with the upper socialites of Texas with a fake smile plastered on your pretty painted lips. You searched high and low for your Joel all evening. Your gaze lingered, heart skipping a beat anytime a man that resembled him would stride past, only to be met with bitter disappointment when they would turn their cheek towards you and the resemblance would dissipate like the bubbles in your champagne flute. Your mother had retired for the evening, and your father was in his parlor with his colleagues, smoking, drinking, and playing hands of poker.

And then you felt a presence brush past your bare shoulder, the skirts of your dress ruffling in the warm summer breeze. A shred of parchment was placed into your palm discreetly as you watched the inconspicuous figure disappear in the direction of the nearby stables. Once you were certain no one was paying any attention to you, you unfolded parchment, your heart surging at the familiar penmanship.

My Dearest,

Happy sixteenth birthday. Meet me at the stables in exactly one hour.

Your Joel

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the butterflies erupted and fluttered wildly in your stomach, Your Joel. You brought the parchment to your lips, kissing his words, your lashes fluttering shut.

As the minutes ticked by, your excitement heightened, and when it was ten minutes to the hour, you snuck off to the stables with a visible pep in your step. The barn door was left ajar upon your entering, and when you turned the corner, you found your Joel inside of Shadow’s stall, bows and flowers were braided delicately throughout her luscious mane and tail. When he sensed your presence, he turned around, the biggest grin plastered on his face, dimples peeking through, one stray curl falling across his forehead that was begging to be brushed away by your soft fingertips.

“Joel.” You breathed out, smile mimicking his own.

“My Dearest.” His heart surged in his chest, and then you were launching yourself into his arms unexpectedly. He caught you, of course, hugging you tightly to his broad frame. “No one saw you, right?”

“No.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands fell to your waist. “Shadow looks beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

He chuckled warmly, tilting his forehead to rest upon yours with a sigh of relief, “she doesn’t look nearly as beautiful as you, darlin.’ And why for your birthday, of course!”

His warm, timbre laugh sent your stomach somersaulting, and your mind feeling dizzy. “An evening ride through the countryside, is that my present from you?” You teased him lightly, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“No, no, my sweet. It’s actually…a surprise. Are you up for it? Oh! You’ll be needing these, however.” He reluctantly departed from your embrace, stepping off to the side to lift a rucksack from the ground. “I believe they’re your size.”

You raised a curious brow as he handed the rucksack off to you. “You mean, I get an excuse to wear something outside of my fine dresses?” You gasped softly.

“Mhm.” He nodded, smile playing on his lips at your pure excitement over something so small. “I’ll uh—give you some privacy to change.” He cleared his throat, eyes dancing in the direction opposite of you as he turned on his heel so his back would be facing you.

Secretly, you wanted him to see you undress from your obnoxious layers and reveal your untouched skin to his admiring gaze. The times that you would swim in the river together were different. You were both still children, and your womanly curves hadn’t made their appearance just yet.

He silently listened to your fine skirts fall to the dusty barn floor and he was half tempted to peek, but remained respectful as you undressed. Once you gave him the okay, he slowly turned around to face you once more. Gone were your frilly heavy skirts that dragged along the floor with each step that you took. Your skirt was still long, but not as weighted and while the bodice was still fairly constricting, the sleeves were dainty and hung off the side of your shoulders like silk drapery. Your mother would certainly have a fit if she saw you dressed so un-modestly.

“So…” You trailed off, “how do I look?” You twirled on your heel, your smile never faltering.

He unashamedly looked you up and down, twice, before one strong arm looped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, caging you against him.

“Pardon my French, mademoiselle, but you look fuckin’ stunning.”

You giggled, hands resting against his chest to brace yourself against him. It was the sweetest sound that had ever graced his ears; your laugh.

“Thank you, sir. Mother would scold me if she saw me dressed like this!” You giggled again when his nose came to nuzzle against your cheek, bristles in his beard gently scraping against your skin, “she would, my dearest. But don’t worry about any of that, okay? Tonight you will have the time of your life with me, and your mother will have no say in it.” He assured you.

—

You rode into town on horseback, Shadow moving swiftly with Joel steering her with the reins and you behind him with your arms wrapped around him, pressing yourself as close to his back as possible. You had never been to a tavern before, but tonight would certainly be a night of firsts.

Your first sips of Ale were with Joel by your side, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over, warm breath fanning your face as he asked you what you thought about the taste.

Truthfully? Ale was not your first drink of choice, but you had an understanding for the appeal of it. Joel agreed, and whispered in your ear that he thought it tasted like shit. His tone and crude remark sent you giggling in tandem.

Now, whiskey on the other hand? You enjoyed the smoky flavor that lingered on your tongue and the way it instantly sent a warm fire simmering in your belly, and heat to flood your cheeks. You danced, laughed, drank and you even played a hand of poker! No one in the tavern knew of your status, your wealth. Everyone in the rowdy establishment was just there living, and you silently wished for your life to always be this freeing.

When the tavern closed for the night, you and Joel strolled down the street, hand in hand. The late evening air held that familiar summer sweetness, crickets chirping, fireflies dancing around your heads. Another pair of lovers strolled in front of you and Joel, seemingly unable to keep their hands off of one another as they neared the town inn. Would that be you and your Joel?

His palm felt clammy in your palm, but his face gave no distinction that he was absolutely freaking the fuck out inside at the prospect of finally getting the privilege to press his lips to yours.

“Shadow is staying at the inn’s barn for the evening, my dearest. It’s far too late for either of us to return back to the estate…” he trailed off, eyes casting in your direction to await your response.

“Joel…” you sighed, loosening your grip around his hand, nearly dropping it entirely. “We—we have to go back. Father, mother—”

“My dearest, your mother has retired early for the evening, and your father is probably too deep in a hand of poker to even notice your absence.” He spoke softly, slowly bringing your entwined fingers up to his face, illuminated in a soft, warm glow from the flickering street lights lining the walkway. He brushed his lips against the outside of your hand, eyes locking onto yours, “I understand if you don’t desire me the way I desire you, my dearest. And if that is the case, we can leave immediately—”

“I—I desire you plenty, my Joel. All evening at the party, I kept seeing the resemblance of your beautiful face in every male passerby, but none of them were you. I’m just—I’m so afraid, Joel. My heart—it feels so deeply for you, but it’s forbidden. You and I both know the bitter truth of what we can never be.”

“My dearest, tonight we need not be afraid, okay? It is your birthday, your special day, and there is nowhere else in this world that I would rather be, than here with you. I ask you for nothing, only to trust me. Trust your Joel.”

You could feel yourself caving into his words, your body drawn to be closer to him as if by some invisible force pulling you into his chest. “I trust you always, my Joel.”

He nodded, pressing another sweet kiss to the outside of your hand. You moved in sync, his strong, broad body caging you against the brick wall of the inn, his hands, calloused and warm, holding your face between them as if you were fine delicate china. His forehead came to rest upon yours, warm breath fanning your face, “can I kiss you, my dearest?”

“Please, my Joel.” You breathed out, fingers gently resting along the nape of his neck. “You—you will be my first.” You whispered.

“And you will be mine, my dearest.” He rasped, thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, feeling his heartbeat faster, and faster, when his lips finally brushed upon your own, both of your inexperience showing, but nature took over when your lips finally met, pressing against one another. Your breath hitched in your throat, fingers tightening around his soft curls, pulling him in closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin, make a home inside of his heart and never leave.

“I—have never felt a sweetness upon my lips till I have kissed you, my dearest.” He murmured sweetly against your locked lips, taking the leap of what felt right when your lips parted like the narrow sea for him to slowly lick into your mouth so your tongues could meet, and dance.

An unexpected moan slipped past your lips when he licked into your mouth, a sound only for his ears, sending blood flowing southwards beneath his trousers and directly to his groin. He parted from the kiss momentarily, a string of translucent saliva hung between your swollen lips. He dived back in seconds later, but this time you felt his lips upon your neck, sucking, kissing, licking at your throat and all the way back up to your lips.

“I scraped up enough money to afford us a night at the inn, my dearest.” He let out a soft grunt when your nails lightly scratched his scalp, and your fingers tugged on the root of his curls, “do you wish to—”

“Yes, my Joel.” You didn’t even wait for him to finish his question, you already knew your answer was going to be yes.

He chuckled at your eagerness, letting his hands drop from your face and rest along your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, “lay beside me tonight, my love?”

“Yes, my Joel. I wish for that.”

He smiled into the kiss, the butterflies in his own stomach were no longer fluttering wildly, his nerves were gone because never in his life had he been more sure about his feelings till now. It was a moment of calm that both you and he felt in one another’s embrace. “Then let it be known that tonight, beneath the stars, I will make love to you, my dearest.” The words he spoke fell like a sweet oath upon your lips.

You kissed him once more, before your lips parted, but only for a little while. He took your hand in his, fingers entwined and led you to the entrance of the inn. The room was paid for, and the excitement was beginning to tingle once more as he unlocked the door to the room you would share. A single bed to accommodate you both.

And when he laid you down, fitting in the space between your thighs, kissing every inch of your untouched skin, drawing sounds from your throat that you had never felt, nor heard before. Calloused palms moved with languid ease, undressing you with methodical care. You did the same to him, marveling at the flex of his muscles beneath your touch. He was so gentle, so patient as you parted for him like a blooming flower. He kissed you there, too. Dark head of curls moving between your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open where his tongue quickly found the little bud that had your whole body quivering, and your back bowing, arching from the mattress.

He kissed, licked, worshiped, suckled on your womanhood, the taste of you was something so foreign, yet familiar, and his cock grew heavy between his thighs, hips rutting into the mattress for any form of relief.

Your speech was slurred, broken, fragmented moans dangling from your lips, and you were only able to say one word; his name.

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

And when the coil in deep within your tummy was pulled tight, and a burning warmth that could only be described as the feeling of heaven on earth, traveled from the tips of your toes and up your spine, you convulsed around his tongue, eyes rolling back into your skull, muscles spasming, your cunt pulsing, leaking along the sheets. He lapped up every sweet drop of your release, swallowing it down as if he was quenched with thirst. His eyes opened, dark pools of brown staring intensely into yours, grinning like a devil. His chin and beard glistening in your sweet nectar, illuminated by the pale moonlight casting in through the thin, billowing curtains.

He kissed up your body, finding your lips and molding his tongue around yours so you could taste yourself, too. He whispered sweet nothings between kisses when the heavy weight of his cock slowly began to press into you. Tears sprung from the sudden sharp pain caused by the stretch of him easing inside of you. He kissed away your tears, shushing you softly and promising you that it would feel good so soon, my dearest.

Your nails left crescents in his back, thighs wrapping around his waist when he was fully sheathed inside of your pulsing, hugging warmth. It was the tightest vice he ever did feel, and he never wanted to part from you.

“I’ve got you, my dearest.” He whispered upon your lips, drawing his hips back slowly, oh so slowly, before guiding them forward. The coarse dark hair on his pubic bone brushed against your own with each gentle thrust he gave you. A rhythm set in with his movements, your body naturally began to mold to his as you became one. Sweat soaked skin, tangled moans and limbs, wet kisses and words of love shared between what little space was left between you.

And when he spilled his seed deep within your womb, and he moaned your name, proclaiming his love and devotion for you with his face buried against your neck. You refused to part from one another, even as his cock softened inside of you, and your cunt no longer fluttered. You pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, tangled your fingers through his now sweat soaked curls that were matted to his forehead and back of his neck. You held him, and he held you as the sun slowly began to rise, and the birds chirped cheerfully just outside the window.

“I don’t want to go home, my Joel. I want to stay here, with you…forever.” You whispered softly through the early morning air.

He shifted deep within you, lifting his chin and turned his cheek to the side, brushing his lips sweetly against your soft cheek. His eyes were sleepy, a dopey, boyish grin graced his features, lips curved in a perfect pout, swollen with your kisses, “I need not yet to part from you, my love. But I must return you home before your father and mother awake.”

You sighed softly, dropping your fingers from their grip on his hair to then drag across his jaw, nuzzling your nose against his and pressed a kiss to his lips, “our home, my Joel.” You gently reminded him.

He kissed you back, lashes fluttering shut to savor the moment before opening again so he could once again gaze upon your face and paint a picture in his memory to hold onto forever, “our home, my dearest.”

Reality began to rear its ugly head into both of your minds and he reluctantly parted from your kiss, drawing his hips back slowly to release his cock from your warmth. “We must return home, my dearest.” He sat back on his haunches, his softened cock wet, sticky with a mix of your combined releases and a thin layer of blood.

You slowly sat up, taking the coarse sheet with you as you gazed upon his groin for the first time. Even soft now, your sex induced eyes widened at the girth of him.

He, however, was more focused on the stain of blood on his skin, and swiped his thumb across it before his gaze landed on you, “have you…bled before, my sweet?”

You nodded, “yes, my Joel. I bleed the same time every month since my thirteenth birthday. Mother told me that it means I am ready to bear children, and I have become a woman. She told me that I would bleed again when my husband makes love to me for the first time.”

His chin falls between his shoulders, feeling them sink from the realization that he would never be your husband, and you would never be his wife. “Does it hurt…to bleed? Did I hurt you, my love?”

You shook your head, letting the sheets drop from your chest as you reached out to comfort him. “No, my love. It can be uncomfortable, but you did not hurt me. A dull sting is all I felt, nothing more. You took care of me.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as you emerged from under the covers, “my dearest, what is to happen if…you end up bearing my children? We are both so young, I wish not to steal what remains of your youth. You deserve so much more than only what is expected of you, my lady.”

You found yourself straddling his hips with your thighs on either side of him, caging his body around yours while his arms wrapped around your waist, using his core strength to stay upright as your hands came to rest upon his face, “if I bear your children, then we could marry, Joel. We could—be together!” You spoke excitedly.

“My dearest, I—have nothing to offer you. I am penniless…we are not of the same status, and your mother and father would never allow it.” His thumbs gently stroked the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine.

“I will speak with my father! He will understand, he must! No man will ever wish to marry me if I am bearing another’s child! Father—he’ll have to agree!”

“My dearest, what if my seed doesn’t take to your womb the first time? What if we are unable—”

You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips, pulling him in close with your hand resting along the nape of his neck, “then we keep trying till my womb is swelling with life.”

He kissed you deeply, feeling his cock begin to stir to life between your tightly pressed bodies. He nodded, a silent agreement as he dropped one hand from where it rested against your spine and dragged it between you so that he could grasp the base of his cock and slowly press himself inside of you once more.

By the time you and Joel arrived back at the estate, the sun was already beginning to rise high above the sky. The stables were empty upon your arrival as Joel helped you dismount from Shadow. He urged you to change back into your attire that you wore to the party so that your mother, nor father would raise their suspicions. You parted ways with a kiss, a longing behind his lips as he watched you leave his embrace and walk back into the life you had always known.

At the breakfast table your mother was quick to question why you were not present in your chambers at sunrise, but you already had a rehearsed script planned in your mind. Without missing a beat, you told the story of how you had a few too many flutes of champagne, and fell asleep in the gardens.

Your mother, of course, scolded you, but your father? He had a hidden, knowing smile playing beneath his mustache.

You and Joel were extremely cautious and strategic when it came to planning your rendezvous. They happened frequently, under the cover of night when everyone was sleeping. Sometimes in the stables, sometimes in the gardens, and you even returned to the inn a few times in secret. He could not get enough of you, your kisses, or your touch. The feeling was mutual, and you both knew that the deep, profound feelings you were both experiencing was not infatuation or lust, no, you and Joel Miller were madly, deeply, tragically in love with one another.

Even in the daytime he would seek your presence, asking your father if he could accompany you on a ride through the countryside as your guide, and protector. You had picnics by the river where he would lay his head upon your skirts, eyes closed blissfully as he listened to you read love stories from Shakespeare till he would drift off, soft snores escaping his lips, your voice lulling him to a sweet slumber. Your horses would graze side by side, his stallion, your mare. Their tails swishing to fight off the pesky flies.

Upon the approach of your eighteenth birthday, you wept in Joel’s arms, for no matter how many times he spilled his seed inside of you, your womb did not swell with life; his child. You feared that his love for you would sour and rot when you broke the mournful news to him beneath comfort of the shimmering moon, and twinkling stars.

“My dearest, why do you weep? Who, or what has caused my sweet love to shed her tears?” He sank to his knees with you crumbling in his arms. His heart felt like it was being shredded to fragmented pieces when your sobs echoed off the nearby hedges in the garden where your embrace was hidden.

“My Joel!” You cried, clawing at his arms with fat, heavy tears streaming down your cheeks, “I—I’m so sorry. I have let you down, my love.”

“My dearest, how have you let me down? Tell me what is wrong! What has happened?” He spoke urgently, tone hushed.

“My womb does not swell with life, Joel! We have tried, and tried! No matter how many times, it has been fruitless! I bear you no sons, no daughters—” you wailed mournfully.

“My sweet, are you certain of this? Oh, my girl…” he felt his own tears begin to prick his eyes as he began to gently rock you in his arms. “Do you weep in sadness, or in fear? I do not care that you cannot bear me any children, my dearest. My love for you will never sour.”

“Do not lie to me, lover!” You were on the edge of snapping through your tears, “when my sole purpose in this life is to marry and bear children to my husband! There must be something wrong with me, Joel! How can you say you love me when I cannot be the woman I am expected to be! I never can fucking—”

You surprised yourself and him by your sudden crude language, but then again, spending as much time as you did with Joel, his verbiage began to rub off on you, and yours onto him.

“Then don’t be the woman you are expected to be, my love! There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing, do you hear me? I love you as you are! You are my lady, for fucks sakes! You can be whoever you want to be with me! Do you wish to be a poet? Be one! Do you wish to be a scholar? A singer? Do you wish to live a normal life where your choices are not already chosen for you?!” His voice cracked, coming out as a hoarse rasp deep from within his chest.

You fought the urge to scoff and chide him for being so naive. “My life will never be normal! Don’t you understand?! All I know is what has been chosen for me! It doesn’t matter what I want, Joel! I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth! My studies, my thoughts, opinions, have all been predisposed! Even the fucking food I consume, and the clothing on my back has been chosen for me!”

“Of course I understand! All I have ever done is understand that you and I were never cut from the same cloth! And yet, I love you all the same because what else is a man to do? My sweet, we are weeks away from your eighteenth birthday! We can run away together and carve out the life of our choosing! Fuck your parents, fuck the society we live in! Do you want to marry a man you don’t love and live in misery?! Or do you want the chance to live! To wake up at your choosing, to wear what you desire, to love freely with no prejudice? To never again live under your parents control? Don’t you want to…love me?” He was exasperated, chest heaving, nostrils flaring from the pure passion oozing from his words.

You fell silent, your lower lip wobbling, eyes glassy with tears as you looked into his eyes, taking in the redness in his cheeks, the puffing of his chest—the love pooling in his dark irises, “of course I want to love you, my Joel. I—I’m afraid! Can’t you see that? I’m expected to marry and bear my husband's children and now I cannot! If we run away together, I’ll never be able to return home! What if our love isn’t destined to make it! What if we fail—”

“Of course I can see you’re afraid, my girl. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice! You are safe here, with me. With your Joel! I would never, ever, ever let anything happen to you. We may not live a life of riches, but we would live a life rich in love! I—I can get a job! I will work until my bones break if it means that I get to be with you. I’ll work the railways, the mines! Any job that I can take, I will, and I’ll do it all for you.”

You kissed him then, tasting the salt from your own tears and his upon your locked lips. “We’ll move west! As far west as we can! We’ll see the ocean for the first time, plot out our land and live out our days together!” You murmured against his lips.

“California.” He promised you, kissing you deeply as his hands came to cradle your face, “a sheep ranch with Shadow and Sunfyre.”

“Why sheep, lover?” You asked softly between desperation filled kisses,

“They’re quiet, do as they're told.” He teased, chuckling when you gently swatted at his chest for making such a comment.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You giggled, which soon turned into a moan when his fingers slipped down to your waist and hastily began to unlace your bodice, while your hand drifted downwards to undo the string on his trousers. Neither of you knew that one of your own ladies, the same lady that had been promised to Joel by your father, caught the two of you in the gardens while she was out for a midnight stroll. Her presence was undetected as you sank down around Joel’s cock beneath your skirts, moaning his name unashamedly as your entwined bodies moved in sync.

June 1st, 1844

“Yes, mother.” You responded in a practiced, complacent sweetness to appease her.

“He will make a fine husband to you, one day.” She added, her perfectly dainty fingers came to rest upon your shoulder, squeezing it with anything but a comforting touch. She didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on your secret lover, nor did she sense your longing.

“Yes, he will, mother. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”

“Good. You have grown into being a fine young woman, daughter. Your father and I are so very proud of you.”

If only they knew that you were not the perfect, proper lady than they believed you to be, and that your heart belonged to another man.

Your Joel had requested a private audience with your father leading up to the festivities surrounding your monumental birthday. And so after bringing the horses in from the pasture, he made his way to your fathers office, closing the door quietly behind him when he was given permission to enter.

“Sir, I have wonderful news to bestow upon you, Shadow is expectin’. She was showin’ early signs a few weeks back, but it is official.”

“Wonderful news indeed, Joel. And who is the lucky stud?” Your father asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Sunfyre, sir.”

“Ahh. What a combination. A filly, as black as the night, and a colt, as golden as the sun. I wonder what their offspring will look like.” He mused.

Joel swallowed the lump growing in his throat, his palms growing clammier by the second. He took a deep breath to calm his budding nerves, “Sir, I need to disclose something to you, but before I do, I just wanted to say that I have appreciated being able to confide in you in some capacity. I am grateful that you have taken me under your wing and offered me the chance at having a better life, but your daughter—”

“Joel.” He warned, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped together. “Be extremely careful with your choice in words for whatever it is you are about to tell me. Perhaps I need to remind you where your place is? Maybe I should have been wary of confiding in you, boy.”

“Sir, please. You must hear this! If you care about your daughter's happiness, and her well being, you will listen to what I have to say. I swear that our conversations have remained confidential! I have spoken about them to no one, I swear it!”

Your father let out a deep sigh, bringing his hands to his face where he pressed the pads of his fingers into the deep set wrinkles in his forehead. “Go on then.”

“Your daughter—she is unable to bear children. She is afraid of what is to become of her if she cannot bear children for her future husband, sir. And I fear for her as well! Sir, men are unkind, and she is sweet. She is sweet and kind and deserving—”

Your fathers heart slowly began to sink, his composure crumbled because of his darling little girl, who would certainly face a life of hardship and misery if you could not bear children and enact your duties as a perfect wife for your husband. He didn’t agree with it, but that was how society worked. Men ruled the house, and the women cared for their husbands and children. “How do you know of this, Joel?” Your fathers tone wavered, his eyes casting in Joel’s direction and he saw a younger version of himself in your forbidden lover.

“Sir, you know the answer to your own question.” Joel nearly whispered, avoiding direct eye contact and let his gaze fall to a portrait behind your fathers desk, two young men with their arms around one another’s shoulders.

“You love her, don’t you?” His question hung heavy in the air.

Joel froze like a deer that was inevitably caught by hunters in the meadow. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think as he listened to the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his pulse pounding, “with all of my heart, sir.”

Your father slowly nodded his head in understanding as he let out a sigh, “then you must know that you have to swallow down your feelings for my daughter for her benefit and your own. You are playing a dangerous game, Joel. One that could very well cost you your life.”

“I don’t fucking care. I have never loved another being outside of your daughter. Our love may be frowned upon and forbidden, but it is real. I have felt for her since I was just a mere boy, when the storm was raging outside and she accompanied me to see the birth of Dahlia’s foal. My love for her will never sour, it will never over ripen and rot like the low hanging fruit upon the trees. I have nothing to offer her but my heart, and that holds a weight more valuable than gold or silver.”

Your father smiled, one that did not reach his eyes as he slowly stood from his chair behind his desk and walked in front of it. “You remind me so much of my younger self, Joel. Willing to do anything for the person you love. Despite all the odds being stacked against you.”

Joel took a hesitant step back, the heel of his boot nearly catching along the rug, “do not patronize me, sir. I love your daughter, and nothing will stop me from loving her. Even after death, my love for her will remain.”

“Of course nothing will stop you, Joel. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He smiled sadly, a look of longing hidden behind his eyes. Joel knew the look all too well.

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to tell you something that you have to swear you will never utter to anyone. It is a secret that you must take to your grave, Joel. You cannot even tell my daughter. Are we clear?”

“I swear I will not tell a single soul, sir. Not even your daughter will know.”

“Good, I trust you. You have a good heart, Joel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your father reached for his box of cigars, silently offering one to Joel who politely declined. It had been many, many, years since your father spoke about his past, and while he lit the end of the cigar, those memories began to surface. “I meant what I said when I told you that you remind me of my younger self.”

Joel nodded in understanding.

“When I was your age, the world was at my fingertips, Joel. It was my oyster, and I could have any lady of my choosing, but I had to marry. That was my parents one rule upon me was that I had to marry.”

“You could have any lady of your choosing, but it wasn’t a lady that held your affections, was it, sir?”

“No. It was not a lady that held my affections.”

“The man…in the portrait behind your desk, was he your…?”

“Yes, Joel. The man in the portrait was my lover. The butler's son nonetheless. I of course tried to appease my parents and court the finest lady in town, but my heart longed for my lover. We were going to run away together, Joel. It was all planned out, and I was ready to throw away my old life for him. It was, and still is taboo and forbidden to lay with the same sex. We were careful, until I came to him with the grave news that I would have to marry, and that we could no longer be together. He was angry, I was angry, we got reckless, and one night we were caught.”

“By…the lady of the house? Your now wife?”

He nodded, leaning back against the front of his desk, “yes, she was the one who caught us in the act, in my chambers. She screamed so loud, as if she was witnessing a murder! I begged her to keep her voice down but she wouldn’t listen. She was disgusted with me, and proclaimed that I would rot in eternal hell for the sins I committed.”

“What happened…to your lover, sir?”

“My own father nearly beat my lover to death in front of me. I was forced to watch the life drain from his eyes. I begged and begged for him to stop, to let him live! Maybe he would have, if it wasn’t for the lady of the house to spread a rumor that the butler's son came onto me against my will. My father didn’t want to believe that his son was a fairy, and so my lover was sentenced to hang. I visited him for the very last time when he was shackled, malnourished, and begging for death to take him. I stayed with him all night, praying that the sun would never rise. The following morning I was forced to watch him hang. Every single spectator in the crowd, except for me, cheered for the death of another fairy!” He used the back of his hand to swiftly wipe at his eyes when his tears began to well and roll down his cheeks.

“He was buried in an unmarked grave and I went through with marrying the lady of the house. I wasn’t given another choice, and on the night of our wedding, she whispered to me that she knew the truth, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail me for it.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Your lover—you, I’m so sorry. I do not understand why people are so cruel and hateful. Love is love, is it not?”

“Please do not sympathize with me, Joel. I do not seek your sympathy. I am telling you this because if you do not swallow your feelings for my daughter, you will surely face the same fate that my lover did! Don’t you understand? She has been promised to another. She meets with the banker's son tonight and in time, they will be married. It is her duty and expectation. And you will have the choice to marry the lady I have chosen for you. Your love for my daughter will fade, and you will be grateful that it did.”

“How dare you! How dare you stand there—you coward! You could have been with your lover now if you had run away together! You had the opportunity, and didn’t seize it?! Don’t stand there and claim that my love for your daughter will fade, when yours for your dead lover has not! You stand there, weeping for him! Your life could have been different—”

Crack

Your fathers cruel fist made direct contact with Joel’s beautiful nose, the force of impact sending him stumbling backwards, clutching his face in despair as blood trickled and dripped between the grooves of his fingers, staining the golden threaded hearthrug in splotches of crimson.

“Get the fuck out of my office. It is clear that you have forgotten your place, boy. You will never marry the likes of my daughter.”

Joel retreated through the office doors with what remained of his dignity. He confided in your father purely out of trust, and he thought it was a mutual feeling. For the rest of the afternoon, leading into the evening, you did not see your Joel.

The banker’s son was polite, well-mannered, but goodness—was he a bore. You had no interest in hearing him drone on about the stock market in New York City. He didn’t bother to ask you about you, or your interests as they were already predisposed by your mother.

Fucking cunt.

He strolled with you in the gardens with your hand lightly grasping onto his elbow. Your eyes wandered off, in search for that familiar stature, and head of distinguishable dark curls as you passed by the stables, but your Joel was nowhere to be found. Your heart sank and you asked the banker’s son, Timothy, if he would mind giving you a moment of privacy in the garden's gazebo. He obliged, but not before he could press an affectionate kiss to the outside of your hand. The bristles in his perfectly groomed mustache tickled your skin before he reluctantly pulled away.

You let out a sigh of relief, your posture returning to a relaxed state as you watched him walk back towards the festivities inside. When you were certain that he was not lingering, you began to nervously pace the short distance inside of the gazebo, muttering about how Joel would never just leave you like this, would he?

Where the fuck was he?

Then you heard it, the groaning of the tired wood beneath his boots, and that warm, deep rasp in his voice. “My dearest.” He croaked, and you immediately knew something was wrong, something had happened. His voice sounded far more nasally, and when you turned around to face him, that’s when you noticed the dry, crusted blood beneath his fractured nose, the rusted blood stains in his white shirt. You ran to him, delicately cradling his beautiful face in your palms.

“My Joel!” You cried, “what has happened? Who has done this to you! Your nose—your beautiful nose!”

“Hush, my darling. It’s—just a fracture, lover. It will heal.” He lowered his tone to a whisper, his hands slowly coming to rest around your waist. “It does not matter who did this to me, my dearest.”

“How can you say such a thing? Joel, please, my love, who did this to you?” You softly begged, thumbs gently stroking the scruff speckled on his strong jaw.

“Your father.” He murmured, bitterness laced in his words.

“What?” You murmured in disbelief, dropping your hands from his face, refusing to believe it. “Why would he do such a thing to you! Joel, please, please tell me what happened!”

“My love, please promise you will not hate me for what I am about to utter. Swear to me that you won’t.” He pleaded, tightening his grip around your waist in fear that you would slip between his fingers like grains of sand.

“I swear it.”

“He knows about us, my dearest. He knows that I love you, and you love me. He knows that you cannot bear children because I am the one who confided in him this afternoon. I did it in hopes that he would understand, and stop the banker's son from courting you tonight. I—I thought maybe we wouldn’t have to run away, and we would be accepted as lovers!”

“Oh Joel, they will never accept us! You stupid, stupid, beautiful little fool.” You sniffled sadly, feeling your tears oncoming. “You are too good for this world and everyone in it! Your heart is made of pure gold, and I love you for it, but now you have put yourself in grave danger! That was so fucking stupid of you to do, lover.”

“My sweet, I may be a fool, but what else is a man to do when he is in love? Your father knows, yes, but now we must seize our opportunity to leave, tonight! The party is in full swing, is it not? No one will notice your absence, my dearest. If we don’t leave tonight, I fear we will never have another chance at eternal happiness.”

You swallow down your tears, melting into his embrace and his words. “The banker’s son waits for me inside, it will be suspicious if I do not return to him within the hour…” you trailed off.

“Are you having your doubts, my love?”

“No, no! Of course not. I am in fear that we will be caught if we aren’t careful, my Joel. I will return to him and you will go to my chambers. Lock the doors and do not open them for anyone. Take the back entrance, through the kitchens! No one will see you, I swear it.” You reached for his hands on your waist, interlocking your fingers through his.

“And you? I cannot fathom thinking of the banker’s son touching—”

“My Joel, please do not allow your thoughts to sour. I am expected to dance with him and when the timing is right, I will come find you. I promise.”

He nodded, bringing your clasped hands up to his face so he could kiss your knuckles, wincing from the dull ache in his nose.

“Together?” He murmured, eyes locking onto yours.

“Always.”

You parted ways after he kissed you, promising you that all this pain would be worth it in the end, and of course, you believed him, for what else is a girl to do when she is in love?

You returned to Timothy’s side, assuring him that you just needed to be alone with your thoughts. He was an understanding man, and you could understand why your father assumed that he would be a perfect match for you, but no one would ever be your Joel. And while you danced, and made small talk with him and his friends, Joel was making his way through the kitchens, ducking into one of the main hallways, muscle memory guiding him the way to your chambers, but unbeknownst to him, he was being followed.

It was a quarter to midnight and your lover could hear the party growing rowdier by the minute even behind your locked doors. He grew weary, doubts settling into his mind that perhaps you had forgotten him. Perhaps you were having a good time with the fucking bankers son. His spirits lifted when he heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. He sprung up from the edge of your perfectly made up bed, heart racing in his chest when the doors opened.

His face fell, blood running ice cold when the person revealed behind the door was not you, but the lady who was promised to him by your father. He took a step back, palms growing clammy.

“How did I know that you would be lingering in her chambers, Joel?” She closed the doors behind her and locked them for good measure. “What would her father say if he knew you were in here…hmm?”

“You fucking followed me here, didn’t you, Lady Florence?” He seethed, feeling like an animal trapped in the corner with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Because you were promised to me, or have you forgotten?” She cocked a brow in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I never approached you. Never even attempted to court you. Just because her father promised me to you, doesn’t fucking mean shit until actions are taken after words.” He snapped.

“I suppose, but then again, you’re in a not so favorable position, Joel. Trespassing after hours, and in his daughter's chambers nonetheless? I’m almost certain you would hang for such a crime.” She mused, stepping closer to where he had tucked himself nearly into a corner closest to the window. “Perhaps he would love to hear how I caught you and his daughter fucking in the gardens a few weeks back. How truly reckless of you both.” She tsked.

He scoffed at her attempt at blackmailing him in such a petty way. “Your threats are made in vain. Her father already knows about my love for his daughter. He’s well aware, and you look fucking desperate and pathetic at your attempt to blackmail me.”

“Blackmail you? Joel, you have me all wrong!” She laughed, “I don’t have the heart to blackmail you!”

“Then what the fuck do you call what you just attempted to do, hmm? Don’t take me for a fool! You are nothing but a jealous little—”

“Joel? It’s me, my love. I don’t have my key…someone must have nicked it!” You whispered through the outside of the closed door, looking around the vacant hallway anxiously. “Are you in there?”

He strode past Florence, shoulder checking her on his way to the door and quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside before closing and locking it again.

Your eyes landed on his face, and then trailed over his shoulder to Florence, one of your ladies, who you had believed up until this point was loyal, and not a conniving little—

“Lady Florence? What are you doing in my chambers? What is going on?!”

Joel reached for bare forearm with a gentle grip to pull you back. “My dearest, it isn’t what you think! Lady Florence is the one who nicked your key and followed me to your chambers! She cornered me, threatened me with blackmail, and claimed that she caught you and I in the gardens weeks ago!”

“Is this true?” You felt saddened, betrayed, and disappointed. “Flo, how could you do such a thing to me? I thought we were friends!”

“My lady—he lies! I never would steal from you, he is the one to corner me! He sought me out, forcing me into your chambers—” she lied between her teeth, digging herself in a graver hole than she was planning.

“LIAR!” you yelled, ripping your arm from Joel’s grasp, “he would never lay a hand on a lady, nor pressure her! You speak only of lies Florence!”

“Lover! We do not have the time for this! We have to go, we have to go now!” Joel urged you from behind, reaching for your arm again. “She isn’t worth it! Please, we must—”

And then you heard your fathers voice booming down the hall. Your biggest fear was coming true, and now there was nowhere for you or Joel to hide when the doors bursted open, the locking mechanism snapping in half from the force of your father.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He demanded.

Lady Florence, being the snake in the grass that she was, immediately flocked to your fathers side. “Sir! You arrived just in time!” She said exasperatedly, “Your daughter was in her chambers freshening up and I went to go check on her, being the good friend that I am, when I heard her dreadful scream! I came upon the heinous crime of the filthy stable hand taking your daughter against her will!” She wept her crocodile tears. “He threatened to—”

Your father wasn’t buying it for he knew that Florence was a terrible liar, and a rotten friend. “Lady Florence, this does not concern you. Return to the party immediately, and speak this to no one.”

“But sir—”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. She narrowed her eyes at both you and Joel before slinking out of the room, closing the doors behind her.

You immediately stepped in front of Joel, silently vowing to protect him no matter what would happen, you would not allow your father to harm another hair upon your lover's head.

“Daddy, please, I love him! Please, let us be! I know it goes against what is expected of me, but Joel is a good man! He has only ever been good to me, father!”

“Your mother will never allow it, daughter. All Joel has done is tempted you and filled your head with fantasies! You have been promised to the banker's son and that is final! You think of me to be cruel, but I am only doing what is best for you!”

“I do not care what you think is best for me, father! I do not want to marry the banker's son! I wish to be happy with my one love, and I do not care if that means that you and mother will exile me! I do not care that it means I will no longer live a life of riches! I am rich in love and happiness with him by my side!”

Your father ignored your pleas, even when you clung to his arm and dug your heels in the ground to stop him from advancing towards Joel. “Please, father! Please! I am begging you to leave him be!” You cried, and your words were caught in your throat when the backside of your fathers ring clad hand made swift contact with your cheek, sending you tumbling to the floor in shock. All Joel could see was red behind his eyes when your fathers hand made contact with your cheek. He sprung into action, but your father, despite his age, was quick, ready for Joel’s attack.

“YOU DARE FUCKIN’ LAY A HAND ON HER?!” Your lover yelled with a rage you had never heard leave his lips, “I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU IF YOU LAY A HAND UPON HER AGAIN!”

Your father used Joel’s rage to his advantage, letting the younger man assume he had control of the situation when he was shoved against your tall, wooden chifferobe.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” You cried, “BOTH OF YOU, PLEASE STOP!”

In your moment of distress, Joel was distracted for a millisecond too long when your fathers fist connected with Joel’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. He landed another hit, and then another, weakening Joel enough that he crumbled to his knees, bringing his arms over his head to block out the fists raining down upon him.

Your father was relentless, grabbing your lover by the back of his neck, yanking it upwards so he was forced to look up at the older man from his knees. He bent down to his level, getting close to his ear and whispered only for him to hear “I warned you this would end badly if you weren’t careful, boy.”

Joel spit a mixture of congealed blood and saliva directly onto his face, spattering it in speckles of crimson. “Fuck you, you coward.” He hissed between gritted teeth.

Your fathers fist trembled, his hand surely was broken, but all he could think about was how he was forced to watch his own lover be beaten in the same fashion, and now he was on the delivering end of it. “Get out.” He seethed. “Leave the property before lady Florence runs her large mouth to the lady of the house and spreads a false rumor about you and my daughter. Leave before I change my mind, Joel.”

Defeat; complete and utter defeat is all Joel Miller felt in his bones when your father released him with a rough shove to the ground. He struggled to sit up, coughing up more blood, and when you attempted to crawl to his side, your father grasped your elbow and yanked you to the door.

your fading screams of his name echoed down the hall as your father dragged you further and further away.

Bruised, beaten, and feeling hopeless, Joel Miller forced himself to his feet and obeyed your fathers word to leave while he still had the chance. He felt like a coward now, but what else could he do? If he stayed, surely he would face the gallows for a crime that he didn’t commit. Lady Florence had infact gone to run her big mouth to the lady of the house, claiming that Joel Miller raped you in your bed chambers. It was of course a fabricated lie, and only lady Florence, Joel, your father, and you knew the truth.

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealousy drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel

Unspecified date.

My Joel,

I write this to you in secret. My words are only for your eyes, and when you receive my letter, tell no one, my lover. Father is angry, so very angry, and mother only speaks of hate towards you. She is determined to make me press charges against you to hang for a crime you did not commit! Father won’t stand for it and instead we have abandoned the estate, left all of our belongings including our dear horses! They will not tell me where we are going, but I miss you terribly, my Joel. My brothers have been free to marry by their choosing, but I? I cannot. It’s rather cruel, isn’t it? To be given one life and since birth, since I first opened my eyes and gazed upon the new world, my choice has been stolen from my grasp. Oh, my Joel, you speak in sorrows, but the fault lands upon my shoulders. I’m so sorry, lover. I should have been more careful and discreet with our planned rendezvous. I deeply loathe Lady Florence for spying upon us! You are right of her jealousy, and now she claims to be remorseful! Oh, I feel your lips now. Your kiss, your touch upon my skin. My love for you has not weakened, I promise. Hold my words close to your heart, my Joel. I fear I will not be able to write to you again, but I will try, for you. My Joel, you are in my thoughts, always.

You have my heart,

Your Dearest.

January 1848, one hour after dusk

The decision to leave Texas and travel to New York to stop yours and the banker’s son’s wedding could quite possibly be the last thing that Joel Miller would ever do. But how could he sleep at night knowing that you were out there, somewhere in the city, thousands of miles away. You had not written to him in so long, but that didn’t deter him from following his heart back to you. He couldn’t fathom life without you in it any longer, and what else is a man to do when he is in love?

That’s how he found himself in the familiar stables, the horses peeking their heads out from their stalls and nickering softly to him in greeting. He kept the single letter you wrote to him safely tucked away in the pocket of his coat, rucksack thrown over his shoulder with what little belongings he possessed. After a new family moved into your home he was given a higher title, a warm bed to sleep in, and he could have married his new boss's daughter and lived a comfortable, happy life, but he declined, for she would never be you, his dearest. Despite turning down every single one of her affections, she still lingered, hoping that one day she would be good enough for his affections and heart.

He was frantically tacking up Sunfyre, cinching up the girth when the barn doors creeped open and Phoebe, his boss’s daughter appeared.

“Joel?” She whispered through the cool evening air, lantern in hand to peer into the low-lit stalls, “what…are you doing?”

He let out a sigh, dropping his hand from the girth and turned around to face her, “lady Phoebe, it’s late. You shouldn’t be out after hours.”

“Neither should you.” She chastised. “Where are you going at this hour, Joel?”

“My lady, that is none of your business. Please, return home. Forget that you ever saw me.”

“You’re going after her, aren’t you? Joel, it’s been years, and she has only written back to you once! It’s in all the papers that she is marrying the banker's son. You could be happy here, with me.” She whispered the last bit, feeling her heart ache for a man who would never feel the same for her.

“Lady Phoebe, “You are a dear friend to me, but I cannot love you, for my heart belongs to another.”

“But I can love you, Joel. I’m right here! She is thousands of miles away and—”

“She is my love, my one true love, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow my heart. Your heart sings for me, but it’s not my tune to hear. You will belong to another, I promise.” He moved from Sunfyre’s side, grasping Phoebe's hands gently in his calloused palms, “you have to let me, and what could never be between us go.”

May 6th, 1848

My Joel, if you’re out there…please, please come find me, lover.

Your Joel wasn’t even sure how the fuck he was supposed to find you in a city as large as New York City. All he knew is that today you were expected to marry the banker’s son, and he would be damned if he didn’t stop this wedding from happening. He asked nearly every passbery in the street if they knew where the biggest wedding of the month would be taking place. It took less time than expected to find his answer, and once he did, he rented the finest suit that he could afford, tucked the ring box safely in his suit pocket, and rode to the chapel.

The wedding bells were already beginning to sweetly chime, and he felt his blood run cold at the sound. Was he too late? He would never forgive himself if he was.

“If anyone here, in this room objects to the unifying marriage between this man and woman, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant spoke at the head of the altar, just as the doors leading into the chapel burst open.

“I OBJECT!” Joel’s familiar voice boomed up the aisle. Hushed murmurs, and surprised gasps echoed throughout the chapel when your eyes landed upon your Joel. All time ceased as you dropped Timothy’s hands, racing down the aisle, the train of your perfectly fitted wedding dress dragged behind you.

Tears flooded your eyes as you threw yourself into your lover's embrace, clinging to him in disbelief with your hands cradling his face. “MY JOEL, YOU CAME FOR ME!”

“Of course I did, my dearest. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He murmured, unable to truly process all the feelings he was experiencing at once. But what did it truly matter? The time apart was years, but it was all worth it leading up to this moment.

Your father was already making his way down the aisle, followed by your mother and Timothy when Joel grasped your hand tightly in his and whisked you down the aisle towards the exit. He wasn’t going to let them take you away from him again, not this time.

His grip on your hand did not loosen at the harsh sound of your fathers voice, and even when you were running down the chapel steps in unison, he did not let go until you and him were safely tucked behind a wall of a building, out of sight from the wedding party.

He kept you safely caged against the wall, a burst of memories from the night of firsts that you shared together all those years ago. “My dearest,” he breathed, “I thought I was too late! I thought the wedding already happened and you—”

“My Joel, I—I never thought I would see you again! I only ever received your single letter and I thought that you had moved on, that you had forgotten about me!”

“What?” He shook his head, brows furrowed as he grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips, kissing every inch of your skin there. “My Dearest, I wrote to you many, many times! Did you receive all of my letters? I thought the same! I thought you forgot about your Joel.” He admitted quietly.

“Fuck! I bet it was mother, or father! I bet they were keeping your letters from me, lover! Maybe they thought that if I believed you had forgotten me, I would be more inclined to marry the banker’s son!”

“I would believe that to be true, my sweet. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. Your Joel is here, and I will never leave your side again.”

“I-I can’t believe you’re here! Oh, my Joel, I’m so sorry—for everything! I have not stopped thinking about you all these years, I swear it. My heart only has ever belonged to you. I wear his ring, but it means nothing to me!”

“Shh, my love. I know, I know. My heart has only ever belonged to you, my dearest. Only to you. Fuck his ring. I will remove it from your finger so you never have to gaze upon it again.” He rasped, gently grabbing your left hand, scoffing at the enormous rock on your ring finger. “And I will replace it with my own.”

“Please, my Joel.”

He slipped the banker’s son’s ring off of your finger, tucking it into his pocket before he pulled out his own ring box, revealing a smaller, dainter ring beneath the velvet cover.

“It’s not much, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t grace your finger with the largest diamond the world has ever seen, but—I love you, dearest. I came all this way because I couldn’t possibly fathom the thought of losing you to another. I have never loved another soul as I do you, and while I don’t have riches to offer you, shiny carriages, silver platters, I have my heart and I know that it’s worth something to you, darlin.’”

He slipped his ring onto your finger, where it always belonged, and then you finally kissed him, your lips meeting in gentle brush before he surged forward, kissing you with everything that he had to offer. He believed that he was hallucinating, that he was back in Texas, longing for you in his empty bed. But you were here, you were real beneath his fingertips as he licked sweetly into your mouth, hands splayed around your waist, holding you close.

“It’s perfect, my Joel.” You murmured against his lips.

“Only because the lady that wears it is the most beautiful in the entire world. Sunfyre is waiting for us down the street. We can go as far east, west, wherever your heart desires. I will love you eternally, and no one will ever keep us apart, my dearest. I swear it.”

“Let’s go home, my Joel. To Texas. Take me home.”

And so he did, for what else is a man to do when he is in love?

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astarion-approves · 2 years ago

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Hello! So hopefully this isn't too similar to stuff you've done previously if it is feel free to skip, but may I perchance request a wee drabble of soft astarion caring for a particularly vulnerable tav after he takes maybe a bit too much blood. Like, tav is all pale and cold, tremble-y and dazed- maybe a wee bit delirious or confused, ya know blood loss things. (Someone needs to be making sure Tav is getting some juice or something after all the blood they're giving to astarion and losing in battle) thank you!!! I love your work! You're doing a great service for the astarion lovers <3

Astarion x GN! Tav

A poor bloodless Tav is just a bit out of it.

Tags: Gn! Tav/reader, OOC Astarion, confessions, hand feeding, 850+ words, short and sweet

Read below or on AO3

------------

“Astarion.” Shadowheart approached him, waking him from his daytime nap, her lips pressed together and a glare already prepared before she even reached his tent. “Have you noticed something wrong with Tav?”

“Hm?” Astarion blinked up at her, his arms resting behind his back and not bothering to move as she stared down at him. “No, why?”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and tilted her head to the side, gesturing for Astarion to look in that direction. Astarion sighed and sat up in his bedroll, glancing to where Tav stood.

They held a single kiwi in front of their face, their eyes narrowed as they stared at the fuzzy fruit.

Astarion blinked as he watched them. “Shadowheart, for just how long have they been standing there like that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Long enough for me to notice?”

“By the Hells,” Astarion cursed and stood up, jogging past Shadowheart and making his way to Tav.

They didn’t even notice him approach, their staring competition with the kiwi still on going.

“Tav,” Astarion gently grabbed their shoulder, earning a gasp from Tav and the thud of the kiwi as it fell to the ground.

“Shit,” they said with a frown. “I was going to eat that.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you—“

“Do you wanna share it?”

Astarion looked down to where the kiwi laid at Tav’s feet, it landed directly into a muddy puddle. “I’m not sure you should still eat that, darling.”

“Damn,” Tav replied and sighed. They turned to walk away, bumping into Astarion’s shoulder and nearly falling to the ground.

Astarion reached out quickly and caught them, holding Tav in his arms, surprised by how little strength they had. They trembled in his arms, their skin a few shades lighter than it normally was—

“Tav, did you eat anything after I fed from you last night—?”

“Yes! Actually… No… I’m not sure?”

Astarion clicked his tongue at Tav, letting out a quick sigh before scooping them up and into his arms completely. They both said nothing as Astarion carried them to his tent, the human opting to snuggle their head into his chest as he carried them.

He carefully lowered them into the makeshift bed, Tav smiling up at Astarion and attempting to pull him down and into the bed with them.

“Ah, ah, ah, not quite yet, my dear. We need to get you a little snack.”

“I’m your little snack.”

“Yes, you are. My cute little snack.” Astarion chuckled as he left the tent in search of some food. It was rare that Tav would forget to eat something after one of their feedings, the human insisting on being awake for it these days as they claimed they enjoyed the intimacy. Not that Astarion disliked that, in fact it made his bite much more enjoyable knowing that Tav was there and happy to share their blood with him. Amongst other things…

Soon Astarion returned with clean fruit in hand, cut strawberries and a few blueberries prepared and resting in a bowl for his companion to enjoy. “Here,” he said and held a strawberry to Tav’s lips. “Eat this.”

“I wanted a kiwi.”

Astarion smiled and ran his free hand through Tav’s hair before pausing and carefully easing their head up and into his lap. “I’ll make sure to get you more kiwis later. For now, please eat.”

Tav pouted, but allowed Astarion to feed them the berry.

“My apologies, Tav. I must have taken more blood from you than usual. I didn’t notice how you were feeling.”

“Don’t be. Maybe I just like when you hand feed me.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and pressed a blueberry against their lips next. “Then I will gladly feed you fruit every day. It’s the least I could do.”

“I love you.”

Astarion froze, a slice of strawberry halfway in Tav’s mouth as they gazed up at him with tired eyes. “Tav—“

They pushed the berry to the side of their mouth with their tongue, only struggling slightly as they quickly chewed it and swallowed it down. “I know you’re not there yet, that you might not ever be there, and I know I probably look like shit right now—“

“Never—“

“But I love you, and I’m always willing to feel faint for a little bit if it means making you happy.”

“Tav,” Astarion placed the bowl to the side. “What would ever make you think that I don’t love you?”

Tav’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Do you have any idea how much I adore you?” Astarion laughed. “I don’t need your blood. Of course.. I do rather enjoy it, but I don’t need it.”

“But—“

“Could you honestly see me hand feeding fruit to Lae’zel because she gave me a little blood?”

Tav snorted. “No.”

“Of course not, my dear. Only you.” Astarion lowered himself, kissing Tav softly, briefly swiping his tongue over their berry flavored lips before pulling back with a smile.

“So… does this mean we’re dating?”

“I would certainly hope so. What other vampire spawn is going to feed you strawberries? You won’t find another like me.”

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dreemurr-skelememer · 8 months ago

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Hello :D

I have been following you for the last year or so (a few days after I got my Tumblr lmao) and I absolutely love your art!

I have been wanting to study your art style for a while but don't really know where to start,,,

Could you please show me a small portion of your art process, if it isn't too much trouble of course. Thank you and have a nice day!

hello. oh my god. this took forever to find.

im sorry it took 2 WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS for me to respond to this but i wanted to put it off until i felt happy with my art process again, so here it is

my fall 2024 rendering tutorial!

(this will be very very long)

FLATS AND WHATEVER YOU WANNA DO WITH LINES GIRL. then make sure to recolor the lineart to better match your base. trust me it helps, bold dark lines are Not your best friend when rendering. wait for that post-rendering

i start off with a doodle or a sketch, and then filling it in with flats and other details such as blush

FIGURE OUT YOUR LIGHT SOURCE. FIGURE IT OUT GIRL YOU CAN DO IT you can make it as simple as possible, make it as big as possible, dont even THINK about the details.........just make it really fucking big so you at least know where the shadows and the light goes THEN add smaller shading details LISTEN TO ME. LISTEN TO ME OKAY!!!!!!!!

my key point with this is for you to learn lighting fundamentals.

it's SOOO ANNOYING but alas......they are all correct. it helps a lot.

one thing i also really want to point out is that i like creating a big shadow shape first before fixing up the little details (such as folds and whatever) because it helps me focus on the way the lighting actually works instead of tunnel vision-ing into making the shading make sense on the clothing.

contact shadows (i dont remember if thats what theyre called okay) theyre fucking ugly because im not actually thinking sorry 💔

okay so basically:

contact shadows (if that's what they're called) are the spots in shading and lighting where light will NEVER hit.

shadows are still influenced by the colors and lights around it (it's why a blue shadow and a yellow shadow feel completely different, despite both being shadows) so it's not always COMPLETELY dark.

BUT! there are small points in shadows where light never hits, and they're almost always super dark or pitch black.

it's hard to explain shadow and light so briefly for a tutorial, but you'll notice it when watching fundamental studies and when trying it out for yourself

YES i unclipped the multiply layer YES its ugly and terrifying but it makes coloring the multiply layer easier okay the colors merged w multiply so now it looks cool and has depth overlaying colors that actually make sense

so basically what i did was color the multiply layer that i used to shade the overall drawing

adding a band of red/orange/yellow around where the light hits, and blue where the shadows get big and wide, gives it a fake ambient occlusion effect in the way that a person would get if they stood under the sun with a clear blue sky

the colors don't have to make sense, especially because i never draw backgrounds, but coloring the shadows really help it give a sense of depth and extra subtle detail and effect that just helps make the painting look nicer

around the end, i also put in colors (in an overlay layer with a low opacity brush) that actually make sense in context of the drawing, which is the lit cigarette and the yellow eyelights

mostly because none of the colors were making sense and i needed to actually make use of the lighting that DOES exist in the drawing lol

adding a muddy golden yellow pin light layer (opacity turned down to like 40-50%) to make the light colors less ugly lol

i SWEAR by the fucking pin light layer style. it's so useful and so so underrated.

i used an almost brown-ish gold color on stop of all the layers, and with the pin light layer, it helped make the bright (almost blue-ish) white colors more warm and more yellow. it just helps make things more warm (something i prefer)

i could probably show what it looks like without adjusting the layer opacity to truly show off what i mean (like in the coming section) but i sadly forgot to do that lol

make a layer on top of your drawing with this color in these ranges YES the drawing is fully merged NO don't be afraid, the base was fucking ugly anyway 💔 make this layer into an exclude/exclusion layer style TRUST turn down your exclusion layer opacity from a range of 10% to 40% literally until you're happy with the contrast and the way the color over the drawing. use your eyeballs. i know you can do it im so proud of you

this is pretty self-explanatory instruction-wise, so i'll go into why i do this instead

i really like art that seems like it has low contrast, with almost mid-gray shading and lines. i don't personally use dark and bold lines and shading, unless i find it necessary for the tone of the piece, so using this method helps lower the contrast of the art and make it look "pleasantly muddy" in the way that it's easier and softer on the eyes.

the inverted blue color also helps makes things warmer!

the exclusion layer style is still a bit of a mystery to me but i really like the effect it gives, even if i don't completely get how it works lol

if you want an alternative method to this, and if you have access to it (because i primarily use sai and sai only),

i absolutely encourage you to play around and experiment with gradient maps.

there are so many out there you can make yourself or even get from others that just give the painting an extra amount of depth and color variation. they're SO fun.

personally, if sai2 gets a gradient map update, it's over for y'all it will literally be so over no one will be able to stop me

then i merged everything and actually adjusted the contrast back up because it was looking too muddy for me 💔 but the color adjustments are still there so all hope is not lost here's a comparison of the adjusted contrast in black and white (adjusted on the left) (newly merged layer without adjusting the contrast on the right)

as you can see, i actually turned the contrast back up (despite talking all about how i liked things with less contrast lol)

i wanted to demonstrate that doing adjustments should be done in moderation, and is why i adjust layer opacity often when making color effects

you are free to play around with colors to help your style, but don't lose your initial idea and colors along the way.

you still need to trust your own colors and intuition!

along with that, i just want to say that it's completely okay to change your mind mid-painting, and it's okay to make somewhat drastic changes.

don't be afraid to change things you don't like or change your mind about certain aspects way later on

that's basically the whole thing of this!!! don't be scared!!!

now im gonna hold your hand when i say this..........but you need to learn how to render by yourself. it seems like i can teach you but i literally can't, because rendering is different on every piece and depending on how clean your base is. i have to render A LOT because of how fucking ugly my sketches are LMAO to simplify it, think of it as obsessively cleaning up every detail you can see, but with a color picker and a clean, hard edged brush. if you have shit lineart, you don't have to redraw it cleanly over and over, just paint over it. that's basically what rendering is

THIS especially is where you need to be brave and stop being scared.

like i said, i can't teach you how to render, and it's something you have to discover yourself because rendering is something that will always be personal to every single piece you make. the way you render on every piece is different.

on one piece, you will barely need to render, and on another, rendering is more than half of your ENTIRE process.

don't be afraid to paint over your old art.

rendering is a process that's both very perfectionist yet also very careless.

find your balance and just go for it.

and then that's it……..u did it………..now yuo know how to paint and render. it's literally just layering shading and lighting knowledge until you think it makes sense and looks okay lol additional note: since i render in only one layer (you don't HAVE to do this, but it'll be harder for you…), i also made slight adjustments with the transform (and liquify, if you have it) tool to make things more proportionate. (i drew the head too big lol)

if you compare the finished piece to the final unrendered base, you can see that a LOT changed, including a bit of subtle proportion adjustment.

particularly, the sleeves changed A LOT (because i really didn't like them)

but it's also over all cleaner and more coherent, instead of having haphazard colors and shading just thrown about.

rendering is when you finally use all 100% of your brain to finalize and figure out where the shading should go, where to clean up your lines, where to ERASE or ADD BACK in lines, and make sure all your colors look coherent.

it's not as intimidating as it seems, i only use a hard edged brush with a little bit of color mixing and my color picker.

it's like dragging and dropping colors to cover up mistakes, it's really quite fun when you get used to it

i wish i could explain it clearer but it's hard to describe without visuals!

i hope this helped, and i hope all my yapping isn't annoying (art as a special interest beloved)

have fun studying and trying to render in my art style!

#long post #art tutorial #rendering tutorial #art help #art tips #tutorial #kia doodles shit #artxstic-scr1bbles #tutoriel

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niqhtlord01 · 1 month ago

Text

Humans are weird: S.A.S to the rescue.

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Would you care to explain your actions?”

“I would think my actions obvious enough that they not need explanation.”

Galdun looked at the human officer standing before him and felt his anger rising by the second. Were they under his command he would have simply beheaded the soldier for their actions and disrespect, but as they were human and an ally of the war he was forbidden from carrying out such standard reprisals.

They stood in front of his desk as their still wet and muddy uniform created an ever growing mess on what had once been a priceless rug. Though torn in some places Galdun could still make out the ranking patch on the should the human officers used identifying them as a “Major”, which only further added to Galdun’s problems.

“Were you one of my soldiers I would have you flogged for such disobedience.”

The human smiled at this and rubbed the mud off his upper lip.

“Than it is a fine thing that I am not one of your soldiers and I can talk to you however I damned well please.”

An intimidating shade of red slowly began forming across Galdun’s face as his rage boiled over. He rose to his feet, sending the chair he sat upon clattering to the floor, and strode around the desk to stand in front of the human. He had to tilt his head down to look at their face.

“Your actions may have very well just cost us the war.” Galdun spoke through clenched teeth. “And yet you still stand here with such brazen indifference.”

The human’s face dropped the childish expression and turned serious at the accusation.

“I fail to see how one bridge could have changed the war, unless your own incompetence placed such a high value on the thing.” they replied dryly.

Turning back to his desk, Galdun swiped away the obstructions on it to reveal a map of the local area. To the unfamiliar person the various lines and numbers scribbled on it would have made little sense, but to the human and Galdun they knew it to be enemy positions, patrols, store houses, and other military matters gleamed through intelligence operations. The point of interest lay not with the enemy locations however, but in the surrounding terrain; particularly with the fact that there was a two kilometer river separating the enemy and their own positions with a single bridge spanning the length of the river.

Galdun’s finger jabbed directly at the location of the bridge. “Tomorrow morning my soldiers were to storm across the bridge you so callously destroyed and push through their defense line to reach their supply depot some three kilometers away.”

He ran his finger from the bridge due east on the map to a red circle indicating the enemy depot.

“Without the supplies from this base and the routes their logistics intersects with we could have crippled them in this theater and forced them to retreat.”

“Yet thanks to your blunder you have destroyed that plan as well as you have destroyed my bridge!”

Galdun looked up from the map to see the human now viewing him with open disdain and disgust.

“You will find there was nothing blundered or half-arsed in our operation.” The human retorted. “What we did was nothing less than surgical precision bringing down a massive fucking bridge from right under yours and our enemy’s nose.”

“But why?”

It was a question Galdun would not let go unanswered so long as he had the human before him. “Why would your command order you to destroy the bridge?”

A smirk flashed across the human’s face before vanishing beneath mild indifference once more.

“You have been misinformed if you believe we were ordered to destroy the bridge at all.” The human answered.

Galdun was beyond confusion at hearing this. It was as if he had just been thrown into a pit of madness. Thankfully the human continued their explanation before he became so crazed he strangled them there and then.

“Our orders, like yours, were to destroy the depot by any means necessary.”

“But-“ Galdun began before the human interrupted him.

“It was my determination that by destroying the bridge the enemy would therefore no longer see this as a viable point of approach and redeploy their forces; thus allowing my men and I to proceed through their lines to the depot itself and destroy it.”

“Proceed through.” Galdun mocked. “Did you forget that there was a massive river separating you still? How in the seven hells did you think you’d cross that without the bridge? Are your men fish now!?! Can you breathe in water!!?!”

The human stepped around Galdun and looked at the map before launching a wad of spit on it.

“My men and I have swum the channel back on my homeworld, and this thing is a fucking stream compared to that.”

“You would swim through it?” Galdun asked startled by the audacity of the response.

“Of course not you idiot,” the human chuckled, “we’d use dinghy’s and paddle first, and if that failed then we’d swim across.”

The alien commander ran his hands across his face and tried to massage away the tension that had been building every moment he had been forced to endure with this human.

“So both of our goals were to cross the river and then destroy the depot; yet you destroyed the easiest way across.”

“Well it’s not like you shared your plan with us either.” The human countered.

“It should have been obvious!” Galdun roared. “Why not take the easiest path across the river first! Why wasn’t that your first intention from the beginning?!”

For the first time the human laughed in front of Galdun and pointed to a patch on his uniform.

“See this?” they asked Galdun. “This means we’re S.A.S; and we aren’t paid to take the easiest path.” --------------------

It was another two hours before Major Oskar King was finally done with listening to the twaddle of his supposed ally and left their command center.

As he made his way through their war camp he saw the aliens standing down and returning to their barracks blocks while vehicles were slowly taken off the line to be returned to waiting maintenance bays.

At the front entrance was his driver and second in-command waiting with a jeep. The engine was thankfully running so he just hopped in and the pair sped off without further discussion with the alien guards watching over them.

“How’d things go?” Captain Morris asked as he started weaving their way back to the S.A.S staging ground.

Oskar pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and tried to light it, before giving up under the bleeding wind snuffing out his lighter and throwing it away.

“Like having two forks stuffed in your ears and your brain would up like spaghetti.”

The Captain laughed but kept his eyes on the road. “I told you they’d be upset about the loss of their bridge.”

“A loss that costs them less than if they advanced across the damned thing.” Oskar grunted.

“How do you figure, sir?”

In response the Major waved a hand back at their ally’s camp. “Half their machines are being held together by scraps of fucking duct tape and their men by prayer and copious amounts of pain killers.”

“Not surprising after all the fighting they’ve been in to get here.” The Captain countered, but this just made Oskar disappointed.

“Their CO’s only see the forest for the trees. They’d be dead before they made it halfway across the bridge, and the poor sods that did make it across by the grace of whatever gods they have wouldn’t make it any further when our enemy’s launch a full counter assault to pick the buggers out.”

“So blowing the bridge was a mercy for them?” the Captain asked almost laughing. “I’ve never known you to be of the noble sort.”

“I’m not.”

The Captain turned to see Oskar was grinning again.

“They may have been spared a trip but we’re still be needing to get across that little river. Hope you brought your bathers, cause we don’t have any dinghy’s.”

“Another day in the S.A.S I suppose.” The Captain sighed as he surrendered to the inevitable.

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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murphysletsdraw · 11 days ago

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I really love the texture in your paintings!! I also use gouache but getting a nice texture with clean lines is something I've struggled with, do you have tips or specific techniques you use?

Thank you!!

Thank you so much!! I'd love to help - I'm self taught wrt painting so I have no idea if my approach will make sense to anyone else. I'll tell you what I do and why and you pick and choose whatever (if any) of my thoughts might be helpful ^^ I find that zooming in close on my subject makes textures much easier to capture, because more detail can be included without the picture looking noisy. It also saves me from having to make so many decisions (what to include, what to leave out, how to simplify and just suggest texture), but tackling every challenge at once is not a good way to learn anything. Maybe stick to close ups, or extreme close ups, to practice your textures, and then practice making judgement calls on what to include and what to leave out! Both parts are important, but they are somewhat separate concerns (IMO) I go over most areas of a painting many, many times. I build up many layers of paint, re-wet the area to blend them together, paint over it if I change my mind about something... Any "clean" line I make is often made up of 10+ strokes. I kind of creep up on detail, instead of trying to get it perfect once - I just find that the nature of the paints respond better to that. (And my hands often tremble, so that has to be accounted for) For example, the white highlights at the edges of these leaves I repainted I don't know how many times - I only made the decision to stop once I realized I was getting caught up in the joy of those movements of the wrist....

Because you can cover up areas well (at least if you cover with many layers), AND you can re-wet the paint to blend it or shape it differently, I find gouache very forgiving and I rarely start over a piece. A lot of times this messing around will bring up something fun I didn't expect, too! So I don't approach gouache like water colours, or expect a smooth surface on the paper, or paint in a style that requires anything to look good on the first stroke of the brush.

^^^ those are my palettes. I don't clean them... ever... I just wet my brush to loosen the pigment and add paint as I need it. I started working like this because I didn't feel I had the money to spend on paint, and then I built my techniques around that as I learned. So I rarely premix my paints, I usually pick whatever is closest and then mix colours on the paper. That means my focus isn't on getting the colour right, but on getting the values right. When gouache dries, it looks dull, so you have to over-shoot the mark wrt to values - make your darks darker and brights brighter. Go bold! I'll give some examples

^^^ with this painting, I think I succeeded wrt textures and values (and largely because of that, colours). I found this log in a big bush, so the light was very dappled under all those leaves. I added lots of small, very bright strokes on the bark where the sunlight landed the strongest, and kept most of the rest dark and flat-ish.

I initially added a lot of detail to the bark even in those dark areas, but then painted over them to lead the eye to the brighter areas. But since gouache doesn't give GREAT coverage, you can still see small brush strokes in there that add some texture. So it's rarely important to get things right on the first try! I think these ^^^ progress pictures do a pretty good job of showing how I tend to go back and forth on how much detail/contrast to add in any one area...

^^^ I'm not so satisfied with this painting in hindsight. My usual approach of mixing on my "canvas", lots of layering and trial and error looks muddy here and detracts from, rather than adds to, the result. The white flowers should be more uniform, bright and clean in colour, with shade added sparingly and with precision. The reds, oranges and yellows needed to be mixed fresh on a clean palette, because those were supposed to be the stars here and yellow is the most finicky colour, it can't take a beating like blue can... but I digress. The textures suffer for the same reason. Each individual flower has too much detail, too much texture, and they cancel each other out. My last piece of insight/advice is: approach textures like play. Like finding bunnies in clouds, textures suggest things, and that game of association or single-player-telephone is where you'll find YOUR approach to stylizing what you see, and how you'll share YOUR interpretation/imagination of the world with us.

^^^ the original mushrooms didn't literally have those colours, or those swoops and dots... but I saw them there, and I brought them out and exaggerated them, because I used my brush to "play mushrooms". It wasn't exactly conscious decisions, either - I didn't decide to make this shape and not that shape, I didn't look at anyone else's style or mannerisms. If it's difficult to access that confidence to play on a subconscious level, make up some exercises to bring it out consciously. DON'T go looking at other people's choices and try to incorporate them into your own "style". "Style" is only interesting when it's an expression of someone's vision, and everyone has to explore their own vision. Inspiration from other artists is most useful when it reminds you of just how much is permitted, how far you can push the boat out. I think the same goes for learning techniques from other artists. My number one piece of advice for art generally is to divide your time into just learning (practicing techniques, following guides, making studies) and just making (sitting down to create and play, with or without a plan, entering flow as quickly as possible and shutting up your inner critic wrt execution). And that goes for the details, too - if you find someone who's art you like, who can explain how they work with textures in a step-by-step way (and I might make a guide like that, but that'll have to be another day ^^), by all means try out their methods. But when you're CREATING, try not to stop and think, try not to aspire, and try not to lean too hard on other people's methods. So! That was maybe not super straight-forward or strictly on topic, but it's the best advice I can give off the cuff! If there's interest, I'd be happy to sit down and analyze my own decision making when I paint and then I'll be better able to make a how-to guide of "first this, then that". But for now, I hope these thoughts are useful, and thanks for getting me thinking on such an interesting subject!!!

#dogboynecromancer #tutorial #tutorials #art tutorial #my painting #my art #gouache #gouache tutorial #well sort of...#questions #i realised half way into writing this that I have a migraine so idk if it's even coherent.#but if I let illness stop me i'd never say or do anything so...

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lilahlovesjjk · 1 month ago

Text

🇼🇭🇪🇳 🇮 🇬🇷🇴🇼 🇺🇵

Chapter 1

synopsis: You and Satoru Gojo used to be inseparable—the kind of childhood best friends that promised to get married, rule the world, and never leave each other’s side.

Then life happened.

Now, years later, you’re both enrolled in the same elite psychology graduate program—only this time, you’re rivals. Gojo’s loud, flirty, obnoxiously charming, and infuriatingly good at everything. You're focused, sharp, constantly proving yourself—and desperate not to let the past (or him) throw you off course.

warnings: angst, slowburn (kinda), swearing, eventual nsfw, (i'll add to the list if I think of any more as the story progresses)

– Summer, Age 8

The grass is itchy under your knees, but you don’t move.

Not yet.

If you shift even a little, the crunch of a leaf or the snap of a twig will give you away—and you’ve waited far too long for the perfect shot to ruin it now.

Your hands are a little muddy from crawling through the overgrowth, but you’ve got a bright blue water balloon clenched in your fist like it’s a grenade. He’s right there, not ten feet away, lying back in the shade like some smug prince in a storybook. His white hair’s a messy halo around his head, his mouth open like he’s snoring, and his stupid sunglasses are still perched on his nose like he’s too cool for real life.

Satoru Gojo is many things. Annoying. Loud. Impossible to ignore. But right now? He’s your target.

You bite your lip to stop from laughing. Almost there.

You stand slowly—just enough to get the angle right—and hurl the water balloon at him with every ounce of righteous vengeance your tiny body can muster.

It smacks into his stomach with a loud, glorious splat.

There’s a split-second pause, and then—

“HEY!” Gojo shrieks, jolting upright like he’s been electrocuted. “What the hell?!”

You double over laughing as he scrambles to his feet, dripping wet and flailing, looking every bit like a soaked, indignant cat.

“That’s cheating!” he yells, pointing at you with the burst remains of the balloon.

You wipe tears from your eyes, still laughing. “You said no plastic guns,” you manage between wheezes. “You didn’t say anything about balloons.”

“That’s, like... that’s a loophole!” He sputters, wringing out his shirt. “A double cheat!”

You beam, crossing your arms smugly. “Sorry you can’t keep up.”

Gojo narrows his eyes, and you know that look—the one that means retaliation is imminent. You scream before he even moves, bolting toward the hill with him hot on your heels, wet footsteps slapping against the packed dirt.

You don’t get far.

He tackles you easily, the two of you tumbling into a patch of grass in a tangle of limbs, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You roll onto your back beside him, flushed and muddy, with grass stains smeared up your arms and across your knees.

“Truce?” you pant.

Gojo raises a brow. “Until dinner.”

“Fine.”

For a while, neither of you say anything. The air is warm and lazy, filled with the buzz of cicadas and the faint sound of a distant lawn mower. A breeze lifts the ends of your hair. You close your eyes, letting the sun paint gold behind your eyelids.

“I don’t wanna grow up,” you murmur.

Gojo turns his head toward you. “Why not?”

You shrug, cracking one eye open. “Grown-ups are weird. They never smile unless it’s fake. They forget how to play. And they’re always sad or tired or mad about bills.”

He’s quiet for a second, chewing on that. Then he sits up and squints at the sky, like he’s trying to map out the future with his bare eyes.

“Okay,” he says finally. “So... let’s not grow up like them.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“We’ll grow up like us,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll be cool. And happy. And we’ll live in a giant house with a home theater and dogs. Lots of dogs.”

You snort. “You can’t even take care of your goldfish.”

“You’ll take care of them,” he says without missing a beat. “And I’ll do the money stuff.”

“I’m not being your dog butler.”

“Fine,” he relents, lying back again with a heavy sigh. “We’ll just order pizza forever and never do dishes. That better?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, eyes on the sky. Then, before you can overthink it, you ask:

“Will I still know you?”

Gojo turns his head to look at you. The sun glints off his sunglasses. He pushes them up onto his forehead so you can see his eyes—bright, blue, and so very certain.

“Duh,” he says. “We’re gonna be together forever, because when I grow up i'm gonna marry you."

Your throat feels weird. Tight. Like the wind is pressing down on it.

“You promise?”

He stares at you for a beat too long.

And then he grins, wide and warm and stupid, and sticks out his pinky. “I promise.”

You hook yours with his, and it’s so simple. So easy.

You don’t know that in just a few years he’ll outgrow you, you will see him pass by you in the hallways without sparing you a second glance. You won’t hear from him. You'll wait and wonder and outgrow the field you used to conquer together.

But right now, you believe him.

Because Gojo Satoru has never broken a promise to you.

Not yet.

And then the bus screeches to a halt, jolting you back into the present so hard your teeth knock together.

You blink hard, vision clearing just in time to see the stop sign flash past.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, "I'm gonna be late." You scramble to grab your bag and jump out of your seat.

The bus doors hiss open, and you leap down the steps like they’ve burned you.

The air is thick with the late-summer heat that clings to everything, and your backpack bounces against your spine as you take off at a half-run, dodging slower pedestrians on the sidewalk with the precision of someone who refuses to be the person who walks into class late on the first day.

You barely glance at the campus you’ve spent the last week trying to emotionally prepare yourself for. It’s prestigious. Gorgeous. Overachieving in that old-money kind of way. Red brick buildings covered in ivy. Classical columns. Students who already look like they’ve read Freud in Latin.

Your stomach churns with nerves and caffeine and adrenaline.

Psych grad school. You made it. You’re here. You’re—

Five goddamn minutes late.

You shove the heavy door open to the psych building and stumble into the main lecture hall, breath catching as your eyes sweep the room. It’s sleek and modern, filled with floor-to-ceiling windows and that painfully sterile academic lighting. The room is basically entirely full.

You bite down a curse and step inside as quietly as you can. The professor hasn’t started speaking yet, thankfully, though she’s flipping through her notes at the podium with thinly veiled impatience.

You scan the rows.

And freeze.

Because of course the only empty seat left in the entire godforsaken room is next to him.

Gojo Satoru.

You nearly choke.

He’s lounging in the seat like he owns it, one arm slung over the back of your empty chair, legs sprawled out comfortably, sunglasses still perched arrogantly on his nose despite the fact that you’re indoors. His white hair is messier than you remember. The curve of his jaw has sharpened. The cocky grin on his face? Unchanged. Timeless. Infuriating.

Your heart stutters once in your chest—and then slams back into your ribs like it’s trying to make a break for it.

You haven’t seen him in years.

Not since he stopped talking to you.

Not since he broke a promise with a pinky and a smile.

And now he’s sitting there, as if no time has passed at all.

You move before you can think, before your legs decide to betray you completely. You make your way down the aisle, eyes forward, shoulders squared like you’re going into battle.

He notices you halfway down the steps.

You can feel the exact moment he recognizes you.

“...angel?”

His voice is low, curious. Disbelieving. A slow grin spreads across his face like the sun rising to mock you personally.

“No way. No way.”

You drop your bag next to the seat and sit down without looking at him.

“Don’t call me that,” you say, voice tight.

He leans over slightly, like he’s trying to make sure it’s really you. “Holy shit. It is you.”

“Gojo,” you acknowledge coolly, fixing your gaze on the front of the lecture hall.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, cheerfully:

“You look good.”

“Do not flirt with me,” you snap.

“Who’s flirting?” he says innocently. “Maybe I’m just surprised you turned out so—” He flicks his fingers vaguely toward your face. “—symmetrical.”

You grit your teeth. “And you turned out exactly like I thought. Arrogant. Unbearably loud. And wearing sunglasses indoors.”

“They’re prescription,” he lies.

“They’re not.”

He shrugs, clearly pleased with himself. “Still mad at me, huh?”

You shoot him a look that could cut steel. “Mad? No. I don’t waste energy on people who just basically disappear like cowards.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Right in the ego.”

“You don’t have an ego. You are an ego.”

The professor clears her throat at the front, and the class falls into silence. She introduces herself as Dr. Yuki and launches into the syllabus, but your focus is already shot to hell. You’re hyper-aware of Gojo next to you. The faint scent of his cologne. The way his long fingers tap restlessly against his notebook. The occasional sideways glance he throws you like he’s dying to say something else.

Halfway through the lecture, she opens the floor for discussion—early theories of personality and identity formation.

You raise your hand.

So does he.

You both speak at once.

She points to you.

"Adverse Childhood Experiences, like abuse, neglect, and household dysfunction, can disrupt brain development leading to long-term negative impacts on physical and mental health." you explain, "Some may argue though that ones genetic temperament they inherit from their parents may also shape how they turn out. While I do agree that genetics may cause some of it, I have to agree with Vygotsky when he says that the environment and social interactions does play a more substantial role in early development."

You hear a few murmurs of encouragement and classmates sharing ideas based off of what you just said, you fit in here even though you were the only one late.

"Well done. That was very well explained, I can see you doing well in this class." Dr Yuki says with a nod

Gojo raises his hand. Of course he does.

“I mean, sure, environment’s huge,” he says lazily. “But your explanation on the way individual temperament shapes how a person interprets that environment was lacking. Two kids in the same house, totally different outcomes. Like me and—” he gestures toward you with a grin, “—my charming rival over here.”

You glare at him. “I’m not your rival.”

“Aw,” he says, eyes sparkling. “You’re right. You’re more of a—what’s the word? Stalker?”

A few students laugh.

You want to strangle him with your tote bag.

Gojo spoke up again to continue his point. “Anyways, two people raised under the same roof can have wildly different outcomes because of how they’re wired from the start. Personality traits like resilience, impulsivity, emotional regulation—they aren’t always shaped by the environment. Sometimes they shape how someone responds to it. You’ve got to factor in nature and nurture, or you’re missing half the picture.”

He shrugs, leaning back again, his voice annoyingly smooth.

“I’m just saying, not everyone who grows up in a tough household ends up traumatized. Some people—” he tilts his head, his grin curling into something a little sharper, “—come out even stronger.”

Your jaw tightens.

It’s a valid point, sure. But you know the tone he’s using—like this is a game. Like your answer was just an opening for him to show off.

“Interesting insight,” Dr. Yuki says neutrally, though she gives you a small, encouraging glance. “The interaction between temperament and environment is, of course, highly complex and still being studied. You two make a good pair of thinkers. Keep it up.”

Gojo shoots you a wink. You fight the urge to roll your eyes so hard they detach.

The rest of the class breezes by in a blur of academic introductions and syllabus breakdowns. You try to refocus, but Gojo’s presence next to you is like a flickering neon sign. Loud. Distracting. Impossible to ignore. He doesn’t talk again, thankfully, but you can feel his attention flicking toward you now and then, like he’s just waiting for you to snap back.

You don’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you copy down the reading list with mechanical precision and pack up your things the moment Dr. Yuki dismisses the class.

“Don’t run away, angel,” Gojo drawls the second you stand. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

You whirl around so fast your ponytail nearly whips him in the face.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss, your voice low enough that only he can hear. “We’re not eight anymore, and we’re not friends.”

He leans on the desk, utterly unbothered. “Didn’t say we were. Though the chemistry? Still there.”

“Chemistry?” You scoff. “There’s more chemistry between a paperclip and a microwave.”

His grin grows. “Kinky.”

You stare at him.

Gojo Satoru has always had this uncanny ability to derail you with just a few words, like your entire nervous system short-circuits on contact. He knows it too—he drinks it in, like your frustration is the most refreshing thing in the world.

You shoulder your bag and march down the steps toward the door. But before you can make a clean getaway, you hear his footsteps behind you.

“Wait up,” he calls, catching up easily. “Walk me to class?”

You snort. “No.”

“C’mon,” he says, eyes glinting. “For old time’s sake.”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

He laughs, and it’s that same carefree sound that used to echo across your backyard and down the hallways of your childhood. It used to make you smile without thinking.

Now it just makes you want to punch something soft and expensive.

The two of you step into the hallway, where a rush of students swarm past, their voices echoing off the polished tile floors and high ceilings. The psych building smells like lemon cleaner and overachieving.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” he says, falling into step beside you like this is normal. Like he belongs next to you again. “You did miss me, right?”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, winking. “It’s embarrassing.”

You stop in the middle of the hallway, making a group of passing undergrads grumble as they sidestep around you.

“Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects with a shit-eating grin.

You ignore him. “You think this is some kind of joke, don’t you? Like you can just show up after all these years, tease me a little, and we’ll fall back into the same rhythm?”

He tilts his head, mouth still curved like he’s seconds away from another quip. But this time... his eyes shift. Just a little. Like he’s searching your face for something.

“No,” he says. “Not a joke.”

You wait, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

But he says nothing else.

Instead, he leans against a nearby column and lets his eyes wander, like he's suddenly too cool to look at you directly. “You really went all in on psych, huh?”

“I didn’t realize I needed your approval.”

“Didn’t say that. Just... impressed.”

You blink. “You’re impressed I’m in grad school?”

“No,” he says, eyes sliding back to yours. “I’m impressed you still argue like you’ve got something to prove.”

The air between you sharpens. You know what he’s really saying. That you’ve always been this way—clawing your way toward perfection, carrying something on your back that he never had to. You’ve always felt like you were running out of time, while he was coasting on endless charm and raw brilliance.

That sting burns down your throat.

You shift your grip on your bag and step away. “Some of us don’t get to coast through life on vibes and daddy’s credit card.”

His eyes flicker. You see it—the flash of something dark, something vulnerable—but then it’s gone. Walled off behind his sunglasses again.

You hate that it makes you feel guilty.

“I’ve got criminology next,” you say, voice clipped.

Gojo straightens up, clearly deciding to let your jab slide. “Still into crime shows, huh? Let me guess. Still think you’re gonna psychoanalyze serial killers and end up on a Netflix docuseries.”

You roll your eyes. “I’d rather end up on Netflix than a Buzzfeed article titled ‘College Clown Dunks on Childhood Best Friend in Lecture.’”

“Catchy title,” he says. “Bet it’d go viral.”

“I’m sure you’d make sure of it.”

You both reach the intersection between halls. He stops first, hands in his pockets, hair catching the sunlight from the tall windows. For a second, he just watches you.

“Hey,” he says, softer now. “I wasn’t trying to ruin your moment in class.”

You blink.

He shrugs. “I was just... trying to talk to you. Y’know. Like the old days.”

You study him. The smirk is still there, but it’s thinner. Like it’s holding back something real. You remember one of the last times you saw him—on that hill, his pinky linked with yours.

You want to hate him.

But you never could.

The apartment smells like sesame oil, soy sauce, and victory.

You and Shoko sit cross-legged on the couch, surrounded by takeout containers and chopsticks like two dragons guarding their hoard. Your laptop is somewhere under the chaos, long forgotten in favor of spring rolls and sweet and sour chicken. The coffee table is a battlefield: orange chicken juice has bled into the napkins, someone definitely spilled chili oil on the remote, and there are at least three fortune cookies smashed open like tiny edible grenades.

“Okay,” Shoko says, waving a dumpling in the air like it’s a gavel, “but hear me out—what if we just quit grad school and open a food truck called Freud and Fries?”

You choke on your lo mein. “What are we serving? Deep-fried childhood trauma?”

“Exactly. Repress it and fry it.” She takes a victorious bite of her dumpling. “Our signature item could be the 'Oedipal Combo Platter.' Comes with mommy issues and a side of existential dread.”

You collapse into giggles, nearly knocking over the hot and sour soup. “We’d go bankrupt from the lawsuits alone.”

Shoko shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. At least I’d die with some dignity. Or MSG.”

You're both dressed in your laziest pajamas—yours a faded t-shirt with cracked letting that says PSYCH ME UP, paired with polka-dotted pajama pants, and Shoko’s a vintage Hello Kitty set two sizes too big. You both have thick, goopy face masks on—Shoko’s is mint green and smells faintly of cucumbers, and yours is some trendy charcoal detox thing that has turned your face into a matte gray void. You feel like a sexy Halloween ghost.

Shoko sticks a spoon into the pint of fried rice between you and narrows her eyes. “You looked stressed when you came in.”

You grunt in agreement and flop dramatically into the couch cushions. “I had to listen to four different people misquote Piaget in a row during discussion.”

She winces. “Brutal.”

“One of them said children don’t develop object permanence until they’re like, six.”

Shoko looks scandalized. “Six? What do they think babies are? Goldfish?”

“Apparently! I was this close to throwing my textbook across the room like it was a damn Pokéball.”

You mime it, complete with sound effects. Shoko offers a slow, respectful golf clap.

There’s a lull while you both snack, content with the comforting crunch of dumplings and the low hum of your apartment’s ancient heater clanking in the background. The city outside is muffled through the window, its glow filtering through the curtains and casting a sleepy amber hue over your living room.

You exhale, forehead pressed to your palm. “It’s just been... a day, you know? All this talk about childhood trauma and brain development and I’m sitting there thinking, like, damn. Maybe I should’ve been a barista instead.”

Shoko hums thoughtfully. “I think you’d be a menace with a milk frother.”

You grin. “I would be. ‘You want extra foam? How about some extra childhood baggage too?’”

She clinks her glass of wine against your soda can like it’s a toast. “To repression and cappuccinos.”

You lean back into the couch, letting yourself melt into the cushions like overcooked tofu.

“You ever think about how different things felt when we were kids?” you ask, voice quieter now, eyes focused on the ceiling. “Like… how we thought growing up meant knowing everything? Being sure of yourself?”

Shoko looks over at you, her mask starting to crack around the edges.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But I think we also assumed being an adult meant not feeling like a mess all the time.”

You smile faintly. “Remember back in high school when I used to hang out at your house after school and we’d make those horrible microwave brownies?”

Shoko smirks. “You mean the ones we drowned in whipped cream to hide the taste of burned chocolate?”

“Those,” you laugh. “We thought we were culinary geniuses.”

“You also tried to make a ‘trauma-free playlist’ on my iPod that was just ABBA songs.”

“That was a masterpiece.”

“You put ‘Dancing Queen’ on there three times.”

“I was trying to manifest joy!”

You both burst into laughter again, until your cheeks hurt and your stomach aches from all the dumplings and giddy exhaustion.

When the laughter fades, you sit in silence for a moment, face tilted toward the ceiling, your voice thoughtful when you finally say, “We used to dream about what kind of adults we’d be. I thought I’d have it all figured out by now.”

Shoko leans her head against your shoulder.

“I think we are figuring it out. Just slowly. And with worse skincare habits than we expected.”

You sigh. “You know what’s weird? Sitting in class today, talking about how much childhood experiences shape your whole brain—it made me remember things. Like, out of nowhere. Stuff I haven’t thought about in years.”

“Like what?”

You hesitate for a beat. Then: “Like... this kid I used to be close with in elementary school. We were inseparable back then. Always swore we’d stay best friends. He was loud and ridiculous and so sure of himself. I used to think he’d grow up to be famous or something. Or, I don’t know... still be around.”

Shoko doesn’t press you, just gives your knee a nudge with hers.

“You miss him?”

You poke at a leftover dumpling with your chopsticks. “Maybe. Or maybe I just miss how simple everything felt back then. Like the future was some shiny thing we were racing toward together. Now it’s just... this blur of stress and student loans.”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders finally sagging into the couch. “Why does he still get to me? Like—we haven’t been close in years. We’re not friends anymore. So why does he walk into a room and suddenly I’m ten years old again, begging him to pinky promise he’ll still like me when we grow up?”

There it is.

The air shifts just a little.

Shoko doesn’t say anything right away. She wipes the excess mask from the tip of your nose with the cat paw brush before responding.

“Because you’re still mad,” she says gently. “You’re still hurt.”

You don’t answer, eyes fixed on the sesame chicken.

“He was your best friend,” she continues. “And then one day he wasn’t. And instead of giving you closure, he just... popped back into your life with a smirk and perfect teeth and no explanation.”

“God,” you mutter, “his teeth are perfect.”

Shoko hums in agreement.

You chew your lip, hating how true it all is. “It’s not even that he left. I mean, yeah, that sucked. But it’s that he never said why. We just drifted. He got popular, got loud. And when I asked what was going on, he just gave me that stupid grin and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Angel.’”

You blink hard.

“I’m still worrying about it.”

Shoko leans her head against your shoulder. “That’s because you never stopped caring.”

Shoko holds up a fortune cookie like a priest offering a blessing. “Here. This will cure your existential dread.”

You crack it open and read the tiny slip aloud: "You will soon receive the answer you’ve been seeking."

You both stare at it.

Then you deadpan, “If this thing is talking about my psych midterm, it’s a liar.”

Shoko snorts and tosses the fortune at the coffee table. “I hope the answer is Chinese food leftovers for breakfast.”

You grin. “We’re the smartest people in this program.”

As you both settle into the warmth of the couch, surrounded by the crumbs of your feast and the peeling bits of face mask flaking onto your pajama shirts, it strikes you just how much you needed this.

A quiet night. A stupid, cozy night.

No academic pressure. No pretending to be fine. No thinking too hard about people you used to know or feelings you’re still untangling.

Just you. Shoko. And six kinds of chicken.

Honestly? Not a bad way to grow up after all.

#jjk fanfiction #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk shoko #jjk angst #jjk anime

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suguwu-archived · 11 months ago

Text

moon eater I four

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: thank you to everyone who sponsored this fic for fics for gaza's initiative! i appreciate it more than i could ever say. enjoy the chapter!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy.

wc: 4.5k

The afternoon lengthens. The sun’s rays stretch across the vastness of the Dandelion Sea, bathing the fields in light, catching in the crystalline fluff of each flower, nature’s finest prism. Diluc watches as you kneel among them, carefully plucking a few flowers that haven’t yet faded into fluffballs. Their blossoms shine golden in your hands, little suns fallen from the sky. You gather them gracefully, piling them up in the cradle of your arms.

He’s not sure what you’re doing; you haven’t bothered to inform him. Still, he’s content enough to watch you work. There’s something hypnotizing about the way your hands move, slipping through stems to pinch the blooms off with deft surety.

(The riverbank was muddy. The water swelled at its edges, cold and clear. Diluc saw the shadows of fish just beneath the surface, their fins swaying gracefully with the current, scales flashing like fireworks when they caught the light just right. The summer sun shone hot, the scalding rays making sweat bead up at the nape of his neck, but the mud was cool against his bare feet.

You crouched on the bank, scooping up mud with careful fingers. He settled beside you, balancing on his haunches, but you didn’t look up. He watched as you shaped the mud deftly, building a structure he couldn’t quite make out.

He almost asked, but when he glanced at you, the look on your face stopped him in his tracks. Your eyes were knife-sharp as you concentrated, but joy shone through you, the sun cutting through clouds. He subsided, content to simply watch your delight.

You worked steadily, sometimes letting the mud drip into wavy patterns, as sinuous as a snake, winding through the structure the way the river cut through the mountains. Diluc liked the way your hands moved, delicate but sure.

He thought he could watch you forever.)

You hum as you pick another sunny bloom, running the pad of your finger over the petals of it. Then you push to your feet and head back to where Diluc is leaning against a tree. The dandelions sway as you pick your way through them, a few loose seeds rising through the air.

Diluc shifts as you settle on the blanket you’d spread out. The dandelions tumble from your arms to pile up like fool’s gold, glinting brightly even in the shade. You pick up a few blooms and start to knot them, weaving them together, your fingers a loom. Your wedding ring glints with each movement.

“Will you help?” you ask, not looking up.

Diluc stiffens. “How?”

You glance up at him, that rosebud smile blooming on your lips. “Come sit,” you say.

He hesitates for a breath. You watch him serenely, your face a still pond, not even a ripple to betray your thoughts. With a sigh, he uncrosses his arms and pushes off of the tree. He settles across from you on the blanket.

“Give me your hand,” you say.

He balks. “Why?”

“So I can cut it off.”

He rolls his eyes before he can stop himself; you laugh, the sound catching in the breeze and swirling around him.

“C’mon, then,” you say, reaching out, palm up.

He stares for a breath. He thinks of an altar carved of flesh and bone, a place to lay everything he has to give. Then he reaches out, setting his gloved hand in yours.

You curl your fingers around his. He wonders if your skin would be cool against his, a snowmelt touch. He thinks it likely, but he’s glad for the protection of his glove. His hands are gnarled with scars and burns, his sins made manifest; they would catch against your softer skin, scrape across it. He doesn’t think he could bear it.

He watches as you start to wind a dandelion stem around one of his fingers, weaving another stem through it before pulling them towards yourself. You do it again. By the third time, he realizes what you’re doing as a dandelion chain—made thick by the way you’ve woven it, three blooms across—starts to wind around your wrist, each golden blossom a small sun against your skin.

“A crown?” he asks.

You peer at him through your lashes.

“It could be,” you say. “I haven’t decided yet. It’s for Anatol’s daughter. I promised I’d make her something.”

“Anatol?”

“One of the Fatui diplomats,” you say, still weaving dandelions together. “He was stationed in Liyue previously, so we know each other well.”

Diluc tenses. He almost curls his hand into a fist, but he catches himself at the last second, unwilling to ruin the flower you currently have wound around his finger. “I see,” he says. “You work closely with the Fatui delegation in Liyue?”

You hum. “From time to time.”

“How often?”

You glance up at him again. Your eyes gleam in the sunlight, knife-sharp, an autopsy cut. “Thinking of taking up diplomacy, are we? I must say, I’m not sure you have the temperament for it.”

“Merely curious.”

You thumb at the stem wound around his fingertip; it vibrates softly, a plucked harp string. He can’t parse your expression. The smile on your lips isn’t a rosebud curve. It’s something harder, the edge of the crescent moon, a fishhook of a thing. It sinks into him, buries itself beneath his skin.

“It’s funny,” you say softly. “I think you’re more curious about my work than you are about me.”

Diluc winces. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine, though,” you say. “I know that it’s just a marriage of convenience. Though I hope we can be friends.”

His stomach twists. “Friends,” he echoes.

“If you’re amenable to it.”

He nods, a little sharper than he means to. “Of course.”

Your smile softens. “Good.”

Before he can say anything else, you hum, tying off the end of the dandelion chain with nimble fingers. “There,” you say. “That should do it.”

He pulls his hand back as you wind the chain securely around your wrist, a bracelet of little suns. There’s still a pile of unused flowers on the blanket; you scoop them into your arms before setting them to the side.

Diluc helps you fold the blanket up. Your fingertips brush and he wonders again what your skin would feel like. He shakes the thought loose and concentrates on helping you pack up. It doesn’t take long between the two of you.

“Let’s bring these,” you say, gathering up the extra blossoms again. They spill across your arms in a golden river, sweet and bright. “Lisa uses them for potions, sometimes.”

“There’s room in the saddlebags. My mare’s at the edge of the Sea.”

You nod and the two of you make your way through the Sea. Diluc’s mare huffs as you come into view, tugging lightly at her tether. He murmurs to her, stroking along her flank before checking that the saddle hasn’t loosened.

“What’s her name?” you ask.

“Daybreak.”

“Pretty name.”

“My father named her. He said I couldn’t be trusted.”

You laugh. “Really?”

“Apparently I’m bad at names.”

“What would you have named her?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You look like you’re going to say something, but Daybreak noses at you, searching for treats, and you coo over her instead. Diluc makes a note to give her an apple in the stables; he’s not sure he could bear to admit his chosen name to you. He lets you pet her for a bit before he nudges her away.

“We should be off,” he says. “The sun will start to set soon.”

“Alright,” you say, tucking the rest of the dandelions into the saddlebag carefully. “I’m ready.”

Diluc helps you up onto Daybreak before taking her reins to start to lead her down the path.

“Diluc,” you say. “Surely you don’t expect me to ride while you walk.”

“It is what I intended.”

You peer down at him. The sun haloes you, crowning you with divine fire. He has to look away.

You sigh. “If you’re walking, I might as well walk too.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Then ride with me. At least then we’ll get to the city before dusk.”

He hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He sighs and hands you the reins. He swings himself onto Daybreak with one graceful movement; he hears your breath catch. He settles behind you, stiff in the saddle to try and keep from pressing up against you.

It’s not enough. He can feel the curve of your ass between his thighs, the swell of it soft against him. He sucks in a breath. Your scent billows over him, your perfume lingering on your skin even after hours in the sun, lush and inviting. He shifts; you glance over your shoulder at him. He focuses intently on the sweep of your lashes instead of the curve of your lips.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

He nods, flicking the reins lightly to set Daybreak into a trot.

You eye him for a moment before turning around. You settle back into the cradle of his hips again, and Diluc bites down on a curse.

It’s going to be a long ride.

—

By the time the two of you arrive in the city, the sun is cracking open over the horizon, bleeding crimson and orange. Cider Lake is afire as you ride across the bridge; it glows golden, a molten pool.

Daybreak snorts as Diluc brings her to a halt just before the city gates.

He swings down off her back and offers you a hand. You slip your fingers into his grasp; he grips them carefully as you dismount. He almost thinks he can feel the heat of you through the thick leather of his gloves.

He lets go once you’re safely on the ground, though his fingertips linger. He pulls back when he realizes, flexing his hand. You don’t seem to notice. You��re already rummaging through the saddlebags to collect the dandelions you’d gathered. Some of them are a little worse for the wear, but they’re burned copper by the setting sun, gleaming in your arms.

“I’m going to find Lisa,” you say. “Will you be at Angel’s Share?”

He nods. “Come to the tavern when you’re ready to leave,” he says. “I’ll accompany you back.”

“You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble.”

You examine him for a moment; he doesn’t know what you see, but it seems to satisfy you.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll see you then.”

You’re off before he can respond. Lawrence salutes to you as you spare him a small smile, your lips a sweet curve. Diluc watches you sail through the gates of the city; he breaks free of his trance only when Daybreak nudges at him, nuzzling up against his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs to her, stroking a gloved hand along her neck. “C’mon, let’s get you stabled.”

He waves off the stable boy when he tries to take Daybreak from him. He sequesters himself away in an empty stall, carrying in water for the mare and stroking at her flank as he takes off the saddle. The light fades as he works, slanting through the window, a melting patch of gold.

It’s dusk by the time he leaves the stable, faint fingers of light still lingering on the horizon, blending with the darkening velvet of the sky, a watercolor thing. The full-bellied moon is beginning its steady rise. He pauses in front of the stable, glancing towards Angel’s Share.

Then he heads the other way.

The Grand Goth Hotel gleams in the moonlight, rising high into the sky over the courtyard. It should be intimidating, but there’s something quietly graceful about it, like the curve of a dancer’s back. Vines trail over it like lace, tatted over the wood and dotted with bright pops of flowers. A lone Fatuus stands guard in front of the grand doorway.

Diluc’s fingers twitch.

He longs for the weight of his claymore, for the way the pommel rests in his palm. It would pacify the thing that lingers behind his ribs, a yawning maw that always hungers. He’s never been able to satisfy it; in the darkest hours of the night, he sometimes fears he never will.

The Fatuus yawns. Diluc steps closer, until he can feel the faint mist of the fountain’s spray. The faint scent of the fountain’s planters rises, stirred into something lush by the water. It’s a little musty, but he doesn’t care; the hotel has his full attention. He scans the building and zeroes in on a moving curtain.

There’s a figure just beyond it, made misty by the distance, a ghostly outline against the window. The curtain flutters again, flicked shut, and Diluc huffs out an annoyed breath. He watches for a moment more, but the fabric remains still.

When he returns his gaze to the guard, his shoulders stiffen.

You’re chatting brightly to the Fatuus, who has a slight flush on his cheeks, visible even from across the square. Diluc grits his teeth. You’re turned just enough that he can’t read your lips, that he can only see the corner of them, a sweet curve.

Whatever you say, the guard steps aside. He pulls open the door for you and ushers you inside with a hand on the small of your back. He returns to his post as you disappear behind the massive door of the hotel, the building swallowing you down.

Diluc’s gloves creak as he curls his fingers into a fist. He strides towards the hotel, his boots echoing against the cobblestones. The guard sees him coming; he pales a little but stands firm at his post.

“The Goth Grand Hotel has been reserved for the Fatui delegation alone,” he says, though he can’t quite look Diluc in the eye.

“My wife just went inside,” Diluc says, crossing his arms over his chest, knowing it emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders. “I’m meeting her.”

The guard wrinkles his brow. “No access for unauthorized persons!”

“She’s authorized?”

“That’s not information I can share.”

Diluc raises a brow. The guard flinches.

“My wife,” Diluc says, “is inside. I will be joining her.”

“You’re not authorized.”

“Do I look like I care? Take me to my wife. Now.”

“Sir—”

“I’m not asking.”

The guard wilts at Diluc’s authoritative tone, but he holds firm. Diluc would be impressed if he wasn’t so annoyed. His fingers itch for the weight of his claymore again; his Vision is warming against his thigh. He shifts, but before he gets far, your voice rings out in the square.

“Luc.”

He goes still. Even as children, you’d never taken to calling him by a nickname; to hear it slip from your lips now makes something in him swell. He hadn’t thought—

“Yes, Miss?” the guard asks.

“It’s ma’am,” Diluc says, petty. “She’s married.”

“I’m sorry about my husband,” you say, sliding out from between the heavy oak doors of the hotel to lay a hand on the Fatuus’ arm. “Diluc, stop tormenting Luke.”

That feeling in his chest deflates like a pierced Anemo slime. His brow knits into a thundercloud expression; the guard—Luke, apparently—flinches.

“I wasn’t tormenting him,” he says drily, staring at where you’re still touching the other man. “If I was, everyone would know.”

Luke pales.

“Ignore him,” you say. “He’s just grumpy because I’m late.”

Luke just nods, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. You sigh and turn to Diluc.

“Shall we?” you ask, and Diluc finds himself raising his arm for you to take hold of without thinking. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow; he thinks he can feel the heat of it even through his coat.

You make it just a street over before Diluc can’t help himself.

“Are you often allowed into restricted areas?”

You blink, confused, and then your face clears. “Oh,” you say. “It was just because I was going to see Anatol. It wasn’t going to take long, especially since he met me in the lobby.”

“Still.”

You hum. “It’s because of child,” you say, as if that makes any sense.

“A child?”

The laugh that leaves you is bright; it echoes through the street, lingers shimmering in the air. “No,” you say. “Childe. The Harbinger. We’re quite friendly. It allows me small exceptions at times.”

Diluc tamps down on his automatic reaction. This is not new information. If anything, he should be glad for it. But it stirs something in him that he’s afraid to name. He breathes out through his nose, a slow, steady flow of air that serves to put out the embers smoldering within him.

“I see.”

You glance at him; he can’t quite decipher your expression before you turn away.

The rest of the walk to Angel’s Share is spent in silence.

—

The two of you do not spend long at Angel’s Share; Diluc speaks to Charles as you greet a table full of Knights of Favonius. Diluc watches as they stand to greet you, looking far too pleased to have your company. He huffs.

“Master Diluc?” Charles asks.

“It’s nothing,” he says, returning his attention to the bartender. “Please, continue.”

Charles nods and goes on to detail a few small issues that have come up since Diluc was last in the tavern. Diluc listens intently, but his gaze occasionally wanders to the knights’ table.

You make a sight, sitting primly at one of the tavern’s rustic tables, your hair shining in the flickering lantern light, as if stars are scattered within it. You’re a queen holding court, your mouth a sweet curl. The knights’ cheeks are cherried by alcohol; they’re stumbling over themselves to tell you stories of their trips, their fights, their bravery.

Diluc wonders if any of them could even take care of a few slimes.

You laugh, covering your mouth with one hand. Your wedding ring glints in the light, and something satisfied curls through Diluc’s chest.

“Is there anything else?” he asks Charles.

“That’s all, Master Diluc.”

“Thank you, Charles. I’ll take tomorrow night’s shift as planned.”

Charles nods.

Diluc gives him a sharp nod in farewell before stalking over to your table. You glance up as he approaches, your mouth still curled into that rosebud smile.

“Is it time to go?” you ask, pitching your voice just loud enough for him to hear you. You don’t wait for an answer, starting to push to your feet. Next to you, one of the knights starts to rise to his feet as well.

Diluc lengthens his stride. He reaches the table just as the knight starts to extend a hand to you; he offers you his hand before the knight can fully reach out. You blink as the knight freezes. He sinks back into his chair as Diluc extends his hand further, an obvious prompt.

You laugh, though Diluc is not sure why. Still, it doesn’t matter, because you slip your hand into his and he closes his fingers around it, helping you from the table. He lets go as soon as you’re by his side.

“Goodnight,” you say to the table. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“Of course!” one of the younger knights says, grinning widely. “Though it’s a shame the captain missed you!”

You laugh again, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Don’t fret,” you say easily. “I’ll see him soon enough.”

Diluc frowns.

“Travel safe,” one of the other knights—Anselm, Diluc realizes, the one who had escorted you earlier—says. “May Barbatos protect you.”

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a little smile.

Diluc clears his throat. “It grows late,” he says. “We need to be off.”

“Of course,” you say. “Goodnight, sirs.”

The knights chorus a series of goodbyes, somewhat clumsy with inebriation. You laugh again, but don’t linger, heading towards the tavern door; Diluc lengthens his stride once more and opens the door for you.

Your lips curve sweetly, but you don’t say anything.

The walk to the stables is quiet. True night has fallen, a dark curtain lit only by the lantern of the full moon, casting its light in a perfect halo, blotting out the stars. It grows darker when a cloud crosses the moon, a ship cutting across the sea of the sky.

Diluc, though, is used to it. He leads you to the stables carefully, keeping to the main roads in lieu of his darker paths, of the murky alleys that not even the moonlight pierces. He stays close by your side; sometimes he thinks you might even lean into the warmth of him.

When the stables come into view, still lit by multiple lanterns and humming with life, stablehands settling the horses for the night, Diluc pauses. “Did you bring the carriage?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I didn’t want the fuss,” you say. “It seemed easier to just ride.”

He nods before guiding you into the stables. Your horse—Sunsettia, if he’s remembering correctly— is stabled next to Daybreak; he slips into her stall and starts to tack her up for you. He smoothes a hand over the mare’s flank before he tightens the saddle. Her tail flicks and he pets her again.

When he steps out of the stall, you’re nowhere to be found.

Then Daybreak nickers inside her stall. Diluc glances into it and blinks. She’s perfectly saddled, nudging against you in a quest for apples or some other treat. You meet his gaze over the stall’s edge. You smile, a crescent moon curve.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

You tilt your head. “Neither did you.”

He huffs but inclines his head to you. Your smile softens, the edges of it smoothing into something sweeter. You slip out of Daybreak’s stall and take Sunsettia’s reins instead, leading the mare outside and calling out a quiet goodbye to the hovering stablehand.

Diluc leads Daybreak out of her own stall and presses his face into her flank for a breath, then he follows you.

It’s a long ride home.

—

“Master Diluc.”

“Yes, Adelinde?” he asks, not looking up from the document he’s reading. He flips to the next page, mouthing along with the numbers as he does, sketching them down on a scrap piece of a paper.

She clears her throat.

He pauses. He sets down the paper and glances up at her. She smoothes down her skirt and his brow furrows. Whatever she’s come to tell him, he won’t like it.

She meets his gaze steadily, her shrewd eyes gone to seaglass in the morning light. “Your wife is preparing to leave,” she says.

“I’ll be down in a moment.”

“She is insistent on not taking any personnel from the winery.”

“She needs to take at least an attendant with her.”

“She has one, she says.”

“One of ours, Adelinde.”

“I understand,” she says. “She disagrees. Quite strongly.”

Diluc pushes to his feet. “I’ll convince her.”

Adelinde studies him for a moment, her green eyes flickering, all St. Elmo’s fire. “If I may, sir,” she says, “I’m not sure that you can.”

He pauses. “That I can? Or that I should?”

Her eyes soften; her mouth curls into something tender, a still-healing bruise.

“Both,” she says.

He sighs. “I’ll take it under consideration, Adelinde. Is there anything else?”

“That’s all.”

Diluc inclines his head to her before he strides from the room. He makes his way to your room, but there are only servants in there, stripping down the bed and throwing open the bay windows to air it out. He moves on to the rest of the winery, but it’s not until he steps out into the warm glow of the mid-morning sun that he finally finds you.

You’re petting one of the winery’s ratters, stroking along its head and laughing when it tries to lick you. The dog is a beautiful one, sleek-bodied with short-cropped fur the color of burnished copper coins. It sees him coming and pulls away from you, trotting up to him instead and nudging its head against his gloved hand. Diluc obliges, skating his fingers behind the dog’s ears and scratching.

“Yours?” you ask, standing from your crouch.

He shakes his head. “One of the workers’,” he says.

“I suppose I can’t take it with me, then.”

“No,” he says. “But you can take one of the attendants with you.”

You sigh. “I already told Adelinde that I have no need of another one.”

“It’s different now,” he says. “You’re a Ragnvindr.”

You raise a brow. “I assure you, my current attendant meets Ragnvindr standards, despite what you may think.”

“My staff is vetted.”

“So is mine.”

“It’s—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Diluc.”

He’s about to argue when a whistle rings out, long and low and fluting, and the dog’s ears perk up. It arrows off into the distance, pausing only to snap at a crystalfly that had fluttered a bit too low. The two of you watch it go.

When Diluc glances at you again, you’re already watching him. You’re unreadable, a new moon’s outline in the velvet sky, and he sets his jaw.

“Alright,” you say. “If I accept your attendant when I’m in Mondstadt, will that pacify you?”

He frowns. It doesn’t get him what he needs—one of his people in your office—but it’s a start. “I’d prefer that you take them with you to Liyue.”

You study him for a moment. Your eyes are knife-sharp and slip beneath his skin, but Diluc is used to being sized up by worse opponents.

“Very well,” you say, sighing lightly. “I’ll take them with me to Liyue.”

He blinks, startled by the sudden capitulation, but he recovers quickly. “Thank you.”

You hum as he beckons to a nearby worker, sending them into the winery to alert the attendant he’d picked out. It takes a bit to sort everything out, but you’re ready for departure in a timely manner. Diluc approaches you at the carriage’s side and clears his throat..

“You are prepared?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Shall I?”

You nod and he hands you up into the carriage, where your new attendant is waiting. You settle into the seat gracefully before glancing at him once more.

“Thank you,” you say. “For your hospitality.”

He shakes his head. “It is your home too, now,” he reminds you.

“Still.”

Silence descends, pulled taut like a harpstring. It’s broken by the driver’s arrival.

“Safe travels,” Diluc says, a little bit stiff. “Send word when you arrive.”

Something crosses your face, a lightning-strike expression. It’s too fast for him to parse.

“I will,” you say. “Goodbye, Diluc.”

“Farewell,” he says as the driver closes the carriage door. Your eyes are the last thing he sees, gleaming in the morning light. Then the driver is up on their post and clicking the horses into movement down the road.

He watches until the carriage is out of sight. Then he turns around and heads back into the winery.

Somehow, it feels a little emptier inside.

#genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnivindr x you #bee writes genshin #fic: moon eater

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