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possessedmen · 23 hours ago

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Legal Affairs

The clock in the corner of Atticus's office ticked rhythmically, a sound that had long since faded into the background of his life. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where he sat, papers strewn about in an attempt to distract him from the thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks - thoughts of William.

There was a knock at the door, soft but insistent.

"Come in," Atticus called out, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt.

William stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a click that seemed to echo in the quiet room. He was dressed in a sharp suit that did little to hide his youthful vigor. His eyes, however, held a mischievous glint that Atticus had come to both dread and anticipate.

"Working late, Atticus?" William asked, his voice a velvet whisper as he approached the desk, papers in hand.

"Seems like I'm not the only one," Atticus replied, his eyes following William's movements. He couldn't help but admire how the younger man's suit fit him, tailored to accentuate every curve of his body.

William leaned over the desk, placing documents down, but not before his eyes met Atticus's with an intensity that made the older man's breath hitch. "I found something incredible at this antique store," William began, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial tone.

Atticus raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And what might that be?"

"A book," William said, pulling an old, leather-bound volume from his bag. "It talks about ancient rituals, including one for body swapping. Imagine, Atticus, getting a taste of youth again with my body."

Atticus's interest was piqued, but he kept his tone skeptical. "Body swapping? You can't be serious."

"I am," William insisted, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Have you ever thought about what it would feel like to... make out with your own body? To see yourself through someone else's eyes?"

The suggestion sent an unexpected thrill through Atticus. He tried to dismiss it, but the idea was too tantalizing to ignore. "And how exactly does this work?"

William moved around the desk, standing closer, now behind Atticus, his breath warm against Atticus's neck as they started kissing, William's hand roaming over Atticus' chest. "I want to experience what it's like to be the boss." He then whispered, "We need something personal from each other. Something intimate."

Atticus nodded, reaching into his desk drawer to pull out a tie he often wore. William, in turn, unbuttoned his shirt slightly, revealing a silver necklace. "This should do."

They moved to the center of the office, where William had already set up candles. He opened the book, its pages yellowed with age, and began reading from it, his voice a low chant. The air seemed to thicken around them, charged with an energy Atticus could feel against his skin.

As William finished the incantation, a sudden dizziness overtook them both. When Atticus opened his eyes, the world looked different — taller, somehow, and the mirror across the room reflected not his own seasoned face but William's youthful one.

"Atticus?" William's voice came from Atticus's own body, sounding bewildered yet thrilled.

"This is... incredible," Atticus said, touching his new, younger face, feeling the smooth skin under his fingertips.

William moved closer, his eyes wide with wonder as he touched Atticus's face, now his own. "We did it."

The exploration began, each touch a discovery.

"Now, you're the young associate," Atticus said, his voice now William's, vibrant and eager. He pushed William, now in his own mature body, against the desk, roleplaying the power dynamic. "Show me how you'd impress your senior partner."

William, in Atticus's body, played along, his hands fumbling with the unfamiliar buttons of the suit, his touch more deliberate, mimicking the authority he now embodied. "I'd start by showing you how much I've learned from you," he said, his voice deeper, commanding.

They explored each other slowly, Atticus marveling at how his own body felt under his hands, the hard muscles, the slight sag of age replaced by youthful tautness. William's hands, now Atticus's, traced over the firm chest, down to the stomach, feeling the texture of skin that was now so alien yet intimately known. Each touch sent shivers through Atticus, the unfamiliar sensation of his own body's skin under his fingertips, now William's, making his breath catch.

"You're always so composed," William teased, running his fingers through Atticus's hair, now his own, feeling the thrill of control. "But how composed are you now?"

Atticus, in William's body, found himself responding as if he were William, his movements more daring, his touch more exploratory. He kissed down the neck of his own body, tasting the salt of skin, feeling the pulse quicken under his lips. He whispered, "You've always wanted to be in charge, haven't you?"

William, playing the part of the senior partner, guided Atticus's hand to his own erection, showing him how he'd pleasure himself in these stolen moments. "Learn from the best," he growled, his eyes dark with desire. Atticus felt the warmth, the weight of it, a new sensation that made him ache with desire.

They moved to the floor, the carpet rough against their skin as they switched roles again. Atticus, still in William's body, sat atop William, now mimicking the senior partner's usual demeanor, riding him with an enthusiasm that was both William's and his own. Each thrust was a lesson in sensation, the feeling of tightness around him, the heat, the friction, all new and exhilarating.

"Look at you, so eager to please," William gasped, his hands gripping Atticus's hips, now his own, with a strength that surprised them both.

Just then, the phone on the desk rang, vibrating across the wood. Will, in Atticus's body, looked at Atticus with a wicked grin, quickly picking up the call on speakerphone.

"Atticus Montgomery here," William said, his impersonation so perfect that even Atticus raised his eyebrows in surprise. He watched as Will, in his body, leaned back, chewing on a pen — a habit Atticus had, which William mimicked flawlessly.

"Atticus, it's Henry. Need to run through the latest on the case," came the voice of Will's father and Atticus's long-time friend and partner.

"Sure, Henry, go ahead," William responded smoothly, his voice carrying the authoritative tone Atticus was known for.

As Henry talked, Atticus, still in William's body, decided to push the boundaries further. He moved between William's legs, now his own, and began to work his mouth over William's cock, who was now in Atticus's body. Will's eyes widened, but he managed to keep his composure on the call, his voice steady despite the pleasure.

"Uh, yes, Henry, I've noticed some discrepancies in the client's statement," William said, his breath hitching slightly as Atticus took him deeper, his tongue swirling around the head, eliciting a soft moan that he tried to cover with a cough.

"Everything okay there, Atticus?" Henry asked, concern in his voice.

"Absolutely, just a little throat irritation," William managed, his voice steady as Atticus continued, his head bobbing rhythmically. "I think we should consider involving William more in this case. He's shown remarkable insight."

"Wait, what? Will's too green for this case, Atticus," Henry argued, his tone sharp. "We can't risk it on his inexperience."

"He's not as green as you think, Henry," William countered, his voice firm, the roleplay adding an edge to his words as Atticus continued his ministrations, his lips and tongue working in tandem. "He's been instrumental in piecing together the evidence timeline. He caught something we all missed."

"And what's that?" Henry challenged, the skepticism clear.

"He found that the witness's timeline was off by an hour, which could change the entire narrative of the event," William explained, his voice steady despite the distraction. "That's not something a 'green' lawyer would see."

Henry paused, considering. "Alright, but I'm not convinced. We'll discuss this further. Now, about the deposition..."

As Henry detailed the deposition strategy, William listened, his voice sometimes faltering with the pleasure of Atticus's skilled mouth. "Uh, yes, I think William should be there to observe. He might catch something else."

"Fine, but he's to observe only," Henry conceded reluctantly. "I want to see if he can keep up."

"Absolutely," William said, his breath hitching as Atticus took him deeper, the sensation overwhelming. "I believe in his potential. We should nurture it."

Atticus, now in the spirit of mischief, moved to Will's feet, now his own, and began to massage them, his fingers pressing into the arches, a silent promise of more to come. William's breath caught, the sensation new but intensely pleasurable.

"And Henry," William continued, his voice thick with suppressed desire, "I've been thinking... maybe William could take on some of the witness interviews. He has a good rapport with people."

Henry's voice was doubtful. "That's a lot of responsibility, Atticus. Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," ambitious William said, his voice cracking slightly as Atticus's fingers found a sensitive spot, sending a shiver up his spine. "He's ready for this step up."

"Well, if you're sure... But we'll review his performance after the first one."

"Agreed," William managed, his voice a mixture of authority and arousal as Atticus's hands continued their work, now kissing the soles of Will's feet, the act both worshipful and erotic.

Once the call ended, Atticus, still in William's body, pointed out, "You played me too well."

With a playful smirk that held a kernel of truth, he replied, "I could get used to being you."

Atticus chuckled, his hands still on William's feet, now his own, caressing them with a reverence that was both playful and sincere. "You even got the pen chewing right. But how did you know so much about the case?"

"I might have been paying more attention than you think," William said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or maybe I'm just that good at pretending to be you."

Atticus, with a laugh, leaned forward, his breath hot against William's toes as he spoke. "You're too good, Will. It's almost frightening."

William, still in character, retorted, "Frightening? No, Atticus, I think you mean 'impressive'." He wiggled his toes under Atticus's touch, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "Besides, you seemed to enjoy me 'being you' quite a bit."

Atticus's cheeks flushed, the truth undeniable. "I can't argue with that," he admitted, his voice low, his hands moving up William's legs, now his own, feeling the familiar yet new contours. "But don't get too comfortable in my shoes... or my body."

William grinned, the playful banter continuing, "Oh, I think I might just enjoy this little twist of fate a bit longer. Who knows, I might even learn to tie a tie like you do."

They laughed, the sound mingling with the soft glow of the candles, their bodies still intertwined in the complexity of their swapped selves.

"Henry seemed scarily impressed," Atticus noted, his tone a mix of admiration and humor. "But are you sure you didn't put too much work on yourself? Witness interviews, depositions?"

William shrugged with a playful grin. "Maybe I did, but I think you'd like the idea of someone else doing your work for a change."

Atticus couldn't help but smile. "You got me there. I must admit, the thought of you handling some of my responsibilities while I get to sit back and keep an eye on you... it's quite appealing."

"Now where were we?" Atticus kissed William as they continued the exploration of their bodies, the boundaries of their roles blurring in Atticus' office.

#male bodyswap

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moonyspupp · 5 months ago

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Just like old times

Sirius Black X Female!Reader

SMUT AT THE END

CW: character deaths, smut

Post Azkaban

·.★·.·´¯`·.·★ ·.★·.·´¯`·.·★ ·.★·.·´¯`·.·★ ·.★·.·´¯`·.·★

The order of the phoenix is once again in need, as more cases involving Voldemort rise. With actions to be done, the members work hard together to devise a plan against him. The old home of the Black family is quiet and dark, yet filled with small chatter.

As a member of the order of the phoenix, You weren’t a stranger to the place, in fact, you’ve been there before. Before his imprisonment in Azkaban, you were close with Sirius Black and spent quite a bit of time in his home in secret.

You quietly walk around the place before the routinely meeting started. Silently admiring the intricate walls and antique furniture, almost as though you were walking through a distant memory.

“(Y/n)!” You hear a voice call

You turn your head and see Nymphadora , giving her a warm smile.

“Meeting in 15” she grins, you thank her and nod and make your way down the corridors of the house.

As you continue walking you come across a familiar room, one that you recognize just from the door itself.

You open the door slowly and look around to see a messy room with red duvets on the bed and of course; a gryfindor banner still proudly hanging on the wall. Smiling at the sight, you ignore the dust flying everywhere and step in, obvious that the room hasn’t been touched in many years.

This was Sirius’s room.

A soft solemn feeling washes over you along with the memories you held deep within you. The memories of your time in hogwarts spent with him. With nights filled with endless conversations and laughs, contrasting with the secrecy of your friendship with him, the memory was a bittersweet one. You remember how it all eventually came to an end soon after the Marauders fell apart. The many promises made to one another to stay in contact even after leaving hogwarts.

You slide a finger across the cover of a dusty book

You can’t help but remember the news you received learning about the death of James and Peter, along with Sirius’s imprisonment in Azkaban. All the fingers pointed to Sirius after the death of the muggles and Peter, even going as far as saying he betrayed Lily and James, but you knew that wasn’t true. You knew him far too well, but no one seemed to believe it but you. After that the thought of Sirius filled you with sorrow and worry, you knew he was supposed to be a free man.

Breaking out your trance, you let out a sigh and have a seat on the bed. Looking over at the nightstand, a thin layer of dust covered the lamp from head to toe, along with a framed group photo of everyone, including you. With gentle hands, you pick up the frame to get a better look. Blowing the dust off it you can now clearly see all the smiling faces you remembered and cherished. Even though the group was no longer complete, you couldn’t help but smile. Setting the photo back down onto the stand, you open its drawer. Inside the bottom was littered with numerous letters.

Your eyes widen at the sight, you wrote all of these many years ago over the summer when you and Sirius were apart. Lying near the faded parchment, your eyes darted to a small necklace with a gem pendant. The one you left at his home all those years ago. Your mouth parted slightly shocked that he kept them, you gently close the drawers and let out a small content sigh.

Though it’s been over ten years since you’ve seen any of them, the countless tears shed will always be a reminder of what things were before; you missed all of them dearly.

You missed Sirius dearly.

You would be lying to yourself if you said that you’ve never liked him at some point when you were in hogwarts. But seeing how so many girls swooned over the rebellious handsome dark haired Sirius Black, your teen self decided not to pursue him. Remembering how much James and Remus teased you about how your feelings for Sirius was as clear as day, a slight tinge of regret fills you. You ignore the thoughts of regret, what’s done is done anyways.

You get up and brush off the dust on you and leave the room, remembering the meeting being held. You make your way back into the main room, hearing dumbledores voice you worried you may be a tad bit late.

You peek over the corner of the door and see that the meeting has already starting, you jump when you hear dumbledore speak

“(Y/n), just in time, please have a seat” he smiles gently

Before you could even make another step into the room, your eyes widen as they fall on a rugged man at a table.

“Ah, you finally decided to show” Sirius says voice rough yet still melodious. Your heart does a little jump at the sound of his voice. The eyes in the room direct to you, all seeing your surprised face.

You nervously make your way to the table and have a seat, while your eyes left the familiar man, he stayed in your mind the whole time. With a relaxed expression Sirius’s watched you as you sat, his grey eyes never leaving you.

However you suddenly feel very aware, aware of the fact that you were sitting across from the man whom you missed so dearly. As the meeting goes on, your eyes peek back at him every so often, studying his face noticing the obvious change caused by Azkaban, nonetheless he was still the handsome boy from hogwarts all those years ago. A soft tender feeling along with one of relief fills your heart as you plan on reconnecting with the man after the meeting.

As you tried to focus still on dumbledores words, Sirius eyes dart across the room remembering in the familiar faces of old acquaintances. His eyes fall upon you and your nostalgic presence. He hadn't seen you since the fateful night everything changed. As he locked gazes with you, a mix of emotions shows on his face, one of regret and longing. Your face softens as you look at him, bringing your lips to a small smile.

The meeting continues on as the two of you share stolen glances at each other, both with heavy yet joyful hearts at the sight at one another. Your heart feels the same as it did all those years ago, so many questions yet to be answered.

The meeting eventually comes to an end, you and Sirius share a longing glance at each other as the rest of the members begin to get up from the table. Everyone exchanged their goodbyes for the time being while you and Sirius still sat quietly at the table.

“Still as pretty as always (y/n), you haven’t changed one bit” you hear Sirius say from across the table.

You roll your eyes playfully at his response.

“What happened to hello you sly dog?” You say laughing, a tender feeling fills your heart to see he was still the same as well. As the laughter dies down the room once again returns to silence.

“Sirius..” you say breaking the silence of the now empty room. The sound of you saying his name brought him a nostalgic warmth.

"(Y/n), I didn't think I'd see you again," he said with a soft yet regretful voice “been a while hasn’t it doll?” You can feel that his words carry years of pain and longing.

You nod, “it has hasn’t it?, we should catch up Sirius” you say getting up from the table. “Let’s walk around for old times sake, this time without fear” you laugh remembering you couldn’t freely roam around here in fear of his parents seeing you.

A grin appears on his face as he gets up from the table as well. "Ah, the good old days, I have to admit, I do miss causing trouble with you (y/n)” he said chuckling

The two of you walk side by side in the halls as the familiarity of the home begin to set in.

"How... how have you been?" Sirius asked his voice filled with curiosity. Despite the years and his own troubles, he wanted to know about your life since he had been gone. He missed you all this time.

Everyone knew he went to Azkaban shortly after the events of James and Peter for over a decade. But not everyone knew it was to be locked away, for a crime he didn’t commit. Being known as the man who betrayed his friends. Even then, you never left his thoughts, he was filled with regret and guilt being away from you. He had no one but himself those 12 years, he had desperately hoped at least someone would believe him.

“Been alright Siri, after hogwarts I started working at an apothecary now, so it’s been quite busy, especially with the meetings.” You say smiling letting him lead the way now.

"An apothecary, huh? That sounds... fitting. Potions was always your thing." Sirius said with a surprised but affectionate look

“I guess you could say that Siri” you grin widely

"I imagine you're probably quite successful at it too. Always were a bit of a secret genius, weren't you?" His smile cheekily as he continued walking

A sweet feeling washes over the two of you as you walked and made small conversation to catch up with each others lives. You see Sirius stop when he reaches his old bedroom door.

“Merlin… I haven’t been in here for forever” he said with a nostalgic but sad look on his face.

You gently hold onto his arm as he opens the bedroom door.

He moved further inside, his eyes lingering on the old memories in which the room held. He settled down on the edge of the dusty bed, with heavy thoughts; patting the spot next to him to signal you to sit as well. As the two of you sit the air grows weary by the second.

"It's strange, being back here... Seeing everything again..." Sirius says with his eyes wandering around the room still. You rub his back trying to comfort him and he lets out a soft sigh. The feeling of your touch comforts him, brings him back to a time before all those years In Azkaban, to a time where life was kinder. But deeper than that, it brought him back to a time where he was with you.

“It is isn’t it? I remember you used to sneak me over Siri, that was a lot of fun wasnt it?” You say looking at him with a smile trying to lighten the situation; hoping it’ll help him look past it

"Sneaking you in was certainly... eventful. I remember the risk... the moments where we laughed all night and told stories to each other, and the way you took up half the bed when you slept” he said laughing, but his eyes looked somber remembering those memories, the simplicity of youth so distant now.

You nudge him playfully at the bed remark and lean slightly on his shoulder.

"There's so much I haven't told you.” He said looked around

(y/n)..." Sirius said breaking the silence, his voice quiet. He stared straight ahead at the tattered curtains; avoiding your gaze. "After... everything. Azkaban too. So many things I wish I could explain... and apologize for..." his voice trailed on

You shake your head, “you don’t have to apologize for anything Sirius” you said quietly.

He lets out a dry laugh, doubting your words as he shakes his head.

"But I do,(y/n)... I owe you so much more than an apology." His eyes met yours eventually, looking remorseful “I never wanted to leave you, you know that, right? Everything that happened... feels like it was my fault.” He says with a sigh.

“But it wasn’t Siri, and you know that too.” You begin to rub his back again, you can tell that he’s still carrying all the weight from the past. He stirs slightly under your touch, but doesn’t pull away. Your heart hurts from seeing him like this.

"I should've... done more. Should've been there for you. For Harry. For James and Lily... I should've done something," Sirius said, his voice heavy with guilt.

“You did all that you could, you did your best, none of this was your fault Sirius, I know what you’ve heard what others have said but I’ve believed you from the start.” You say almost pleading

Sirius looks at you with a mixture of surprise and gratitude at your words. For the first time in years, someone believed in him, trusted him even. He feels some guilt wash away upon hearing it, a sense of comfort replacing it.

"You... believed me?" He whispered quietly, his voice still showing his disbelief.

“Of course, I’ve always have Siri” you said with a soft smile.

Leaning slightly closer to him you see small tears brimming in his eyes, with mixture of relief and regret. You reached out, your hand gently cradling the side of his face, your soft fingers caressing his stubbled cheeks. All you wanted to do was make him feel safe again.

"Thank you. You... you have no idea how much that means to me." He said his voice breaking.

His gaze lingered on your face, studying your features carefully full as if he was trying to make up for the years he spent away from you. The weight of his past seemed to lift ever so slightly with your presence. He leaned in closer, his face now inches from yours

"I've missed you, (y/n). So damn much. You were... the one thing I held onto during my darkest time, you were my light, the thing I looked forward to when I broke out." Sirius said his voice quivering as a tear ran down his face.

“I’m here now Sirius, I missed you so much too, I always worried about you while you were away, I missed everything we had before it all changed” you cooed as you continued to caress his face.

He closed his eyes, giving into your touch, your words soothing his aching soul. Sirius out a shaky exhale, a mixture of pain and longing. All he wanted was for time to stop, to keep this brief moment of vulnerability with you forever.

"(Y/n)... I've dreamed of this... seeing you again, hearing your voice. It felt like a lost hope, a distant memory I would never relive, I thought I was gonna die there..."

He pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You held him close as held you intimately, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his arms holding onto you as if he feared you'd slip away from his grasp forever. He took in the familiar scent of you, the one always remembered.

“I really missed being held by you Siri.. it was the one thing i looked forward to when I hoped to see you again, I’m so happy you’re here.” You muttered quietly as you savored the moment.

"All those years... the loneliness, the fear, the despair. It's all faded now, just having you here... feels like I can breathe again." Sirius said softly still holding you right.

“And I’ll stay right here with you, where I’m meant to be, always” you say nuzzling into his neck.

Your breathing became more relaxed as you felt his hair tickle your face, everything felt like how it was meant to be in that moment.

Sirius pulls back slightly and lets out a soft huff, feeling his lips ghost over the skin of your neck, peppering kisses along it. You savor the feeling and let out a small content hum.

"(Y/n)... I need to tell you something. Something I should've said a long time ago. Before everything changed, I regret not saying it before...." he said his voice gruff.

You pull away to meet his gaze, head tilting slightly waiting for him to tell you, feeling his arms tighten around you, the air grew tense.

"I... I love you my sweet girl. I always have. From the first moment we met, I knew... I knew you were special. I just... couldn't admit it. Couldn't allow myself that happiness, that vulnerability, didn’t think I deserved it." He muttered quietly

Your heart leapt through your chest hearing those words, the words you dreamed of hearing ever since you met him, you stayed in his embrace just a little longer not knowing how to get the words out.

“Sirius.. you.. you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say those words” “I love you, ever since we were at hogwarts, I just couldn’t say anything because I didn’t think you felt the same.” You said your grip on his back tightening as you feel yourself begin to tremble slightly.

“you don’t give yourself as much credit as you deserve dear, only a fool wouldn’t see that.” Sirius lets out small huff as he sees your face full of truth and honesty.

Your expression softens as he admires your (e/c) eyes, he can’t help but let out a smile.

“I never want to let go of you (y/n), never again. I want to be by your side once more.” He said still looking into your eyes, his voice trembling with emotion

You respond by placing a rough needy kiss on his lips, one you should’ve done a long time ago, he pulled you closer deepening the kiss desperately. The kiss was ravishing and hungry yet still filled with love. You feel the desire grow as his hands roam around your body on his lap.

Countless years of pent up longing in such a brief moment.

His hands found their way under your shirt grabbing onto your bare flesh. you shuddered at the rough feeling of his palms, your need growing by the second. You grip his back even tighter wanting more. After what seems like an eternity, Sirius pulls away with a low growl.

“(Y/n).. Merlin I need you badly.. now.. here.” Sirius said panting.

You whimper at the lost warmth, looking up at him with pleasing eyes along with your swollen lips. The way you look sends him into a spiral, pinning you down on the dusty bed.

His lips roughly bit at your neck, desperate to mark you as he should’ve done so long ago. He continued to nip at your neck sucking at the delicate skin as you wince and squirm at the feeling of it. His hands come down to the bottom of your shirt, carelessly pulling it off and tossing it aside, his eyes growing hungry at the sight of your naked top half.

"You're so damn beautiful... How did I ever stay away from you for so long?" He says while his eyes roaming your body

“Sirius.. more please.” You say your breathing becoming shallow. Your hands trail down his tattooed chest, fuck.. you thought to yourself. You desperately wanted more.

Sirius let’s out a small chuckle at your pleas, his mouth met yours again as he obliged, tongue exploring every part of your mouth as his hands has free rein over your entire body. You felt pure bliss he touched you, you pull him close and nipped at his ear

“I need you.. all of you” you said panting in his ear

His lips down trailed your body, stopping and letting down a huff of desire as he reaches the edge of your shorts.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this.. I’ve only imagined it in dream.. may I?” He asks looking up your face

You frantically nod, Sirius laughs at your eagerness

He leans back slightly, his fingers hooking the waistband’s edge along with your panties, taking his time to inch them down your delicate hips. Your body was now fully exposed to him, he groans at the sight of your wet cunt, the sight of you undressed driving him wild.

“(Y/n).. my god.. you’re perfect in every way.” Sirius said his eyes not leaving your sopping pussy for even a second

You stir slightly in embarrassment covering your face instinctively at the thought of being completely bare beneath him

Sirius playfully laughed at your shy gesture and blushed cheeks, he gently tugged at your hands, a feeling of endearment filling him.

"No need to hide, love. You're utterly beautiful. Let me see you... all of you." He said placing a kiss on your lips

You removed your hands, feeling your shyness melt away under his reassurance, his eyes once again returns to roaming over your body, remembering every little detail of it.

"You're a goddamn masterpiece..." he said gruff and full of desire as he ran two fingers down your sopping cunt, making you shudder

He gently positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping and caressing your thighs, He looked up at you, his gaze radiating heat and love.

"Can I...? I need to taste you... I need to... worship you..." you hear him say

“Sirius please.. I need it” Your legs shake slightly at his words.

His eyes darkened at your words, gaze locked, letting out a low growl as you feel his face not even an inch from your core. You let out a surprised moan as you feel his tongue run up and down your slit spreading them open.

“Sirius fuck!” You say with your back arching slightly at the pleasure

Sirius hums in response , not stopping for even a second as he continues to ravish your pussy, using one hand to gently rub on your clit while using the other to hold you in place.

You continue to wince and moan at his tongue, your face growing redder by the second, you couldn’t help but grab onto his long dark locks for more.

“Sirius more please don’t make m’ wait I’m begging you” you cry out loudly your breathing now heavy

“You want it that bad don’t you doll?” He says looking up from your trembling legs.

You throw your head back against the pillow and continue to spew out pleas and moans. Sirius laughs at your reaction again as he reaches back up to meet your face.

“You’re so beautiful..” he murmured. “Let me make you you feel even better, let me make you mine” he growls

You nod as you brush a strand of hair away from your sweating face. “Make me yours please Sirius.” You say pulling him into another kiss

He groans as you share another passionate kiss with him. He pulls down his boxers, his aching cock hitting right before his navel dripping with need, eventually pulling back to brush against your core before guiding himself to meet your entrance. and my god was he big..

You shudder at the feeling and spread your legs further, he looked up at you for final approval and you gave him a nod.

He pushed himself in slowly watching your face letting out a guttural sound, you moan out at the feeling of being stretched, being stretched by Sirius. You throw your head back at the feeling. He briefly stops to let you adjust to the feeling before pushing more of his throbbing cock into your cunt. His eyebrows furrow at the feeling of you clamping down on his length. Another minute or so goes on and he’s completely sheathed in your heat.

You felt so full.

Your breathing turned into pants and Sirius looks up at you and caresses your face gently, he inches back up to meet your face and places a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you (y/n)” he mutters softly with his eyes full of love and trust

“I love you too Sirius” you whisper back smiling

He holds the back of your knees up and pressed them to your chest as he quickens his pace. Your moans growing even louder. Sirius presses himself on top of you, allowing him to go even deeper inside your core, and you can’t help but yell out in pleasure from being claimed as his. Now balls deeps; he’s completely lost in you as his pace quicks once more. The feeling of his entire cock ravishing your core sends you over the edge wanting even more. Sirius’s pace becomes unforgiving as he pushes your legs down even further.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” he says gritting his teeth

“More Sirius!” You scream out trying to hold onto his neck and he pounds you from underneath,your arms grow weak as you give into the feeling as pleas for more turning into babbling as he gives you what you ask for. The bed creaks loudly under the two of you adding to the intensity of the situation. You continue to moan loudly as you dig your nails into his back. The wet slick sound of your hips slapping against his fueling your need even further. Your mind starts to give out as you feel his cock hitting the tip of your cervix. You look up at Sirius to see his shut eyes with sweat beading on his forehead. His hair falling over his shoulder was a sight to see.

And god was it all you’ve ever wanted and more.

“Don’t fucking stop Sirius” you groan holding him close to you. Your dripping cunt hugging him so well. As if you were meant to take his cock alone. You bite his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming your lungs out, making him moan at the feeling. His grip on your hips tightens; almost bruising as he continues to fuck you hard. You become a drooling mess under him and he loved seeing you come undone all for his touch. His hips rocked against your sopping cunt, as his breathing got even more ragged. You shut your eyes hard as you feel yourself grow closer to your climax.

“Fuck (y/n) I’m getting close” he groans as his thrusts become more sloppy as his breathing becomes more intense.

“Inside Sirius, cum inside please!” You babble loudly feeling myself grow even closer to finishing.

“Fuck doll you’re mine and mine alone” Sirius pants as he buries his face in your neck. You lock your legs around him to feel him ravish your pussy even further. It doesn’t take long for you to finish, a small dribble of drool leaving the corner of your mouth as you moan. A warm feeling fills you as Sirius lets out one final groan as he pushes himself into you as much as you can; his grip on your thighs feral, attempting to cum inside you as deeply as possible. You let out a cry as you feel your own climax come to you. Your legs now loosening their grip around his waist trembling.

Sirius lays on top of you for a while , placing kisses all around your face and neck before he pulls his softening cock out your cunt, letting the evidence of your love drip out slightly. He lets out a content sigh as he pulls away just enough to see your worn out face.

“You alright there doll?” He asks breathing heavily

“Yes surprisingly” you smile at him huffing to catch your breath.

He lets out a tired laugh before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Wish I’ve done that sooner” he says

“Me too Siri” I mutter quietly

He pulls you into an embrace for a while, a much needed break for the both of you. The room is filled with laughs as you continue to catch each other up with minuscule stories. The house that you both cherished no longer feels bleak as the life it needed returns with the company of the two of you.

Just like old times.

#harry potter #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black #sirius being sirius #sirius smut #sirius black smut #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n

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thespnreferencedesk · 19 days ago

Text

A Fic Writer's Guide to Bobby's House

Part 1 | Part 2: Library/Den

Click for the full-size, annotated versions of images!

Bobby's library is the unofficial home base of many of the show's earlier seasons. If you keep an eye out, you can spy a handful of objects and pieces of furniture consistently popping up over this room's many appearances, but no two episodes have them arranged the same way. It's also very often that a piece of furniture will pop up in one episode only to be gone the next. Since 4.02 reveals that Bobby has a spare storage room upstairs, it's possible that's where he keeps most of this extra furniture.

There are two main iterations of Bobby's den. The first appears during seasons 1 - 3 and features less furniture, far more books, dark brown trim instead of black, and a different wallpaper (or no wallpaper in 1.22). The new wallpaper and black trim first appear in 3.10, and they can be seen alongside the new layout in seasons 4 - 7. This iteration of the library includes a large Persian rug, ornate wooden desk, twin book shelves to the left of the fireplace, a floor lamp and bookshelf to the right of the fireplace, the red couch in front of a set of bay windows, a half bookshelf in the far left corner, and a rolltop desk in the far right.

A large Persian area rug typically sits in the center of the room except for when some type of trap is being painted on the floor. A devil's trap can be seen on the ceiling in 1.22 and 6.20. Bobby's ceiling is beige and has wooden beams that match the rest of the trim.

The heart of Bobby's library is a wood-burning fireplace with green tiled surround and a black carved mantle where Bobby keeps books and random knick-knacks. In the later seasons, these include a small bulldog statue/bookend, a pewter pitcher with tankards, two silver trophies, and a wooden antique radio. Above the fireplace is a landscape painting framed by two electric wall sconces.

Decorations aside, Bobby's fireplace is also a practical hunter's tool. It's often used as a flame source for spells, and the iron pokers and other tools make for an easy handheld weapon against ghosts and specters. In 5.04, it's revealed that the center section of the mantle hides a secret compartment where he keeps a hunting journal similar to John's.

Bobby's carved wooden desk is first seen in 4.02 and, with a few exceptions, appears consistently up until it burns with the rest of Bobby's house. Earlier episodes (3.03, 3.04) either have a simpler table in its place or no desk at all (seasons 1 - 2).

Bobby's desk is a free-standing open pedestal desk with turned legs, lower shelves, and diamond-shaped carvings. Based on the style, it's likely from the late 19th or early 20th century. Similar desks can be seen here and here. The desk also has three shallow upper drawers, two deeper drawers on each pedestal, and a green stone top that Bobby uses as a chalkboard for spells. In 5.18, it's shown that Bobby keeps his Single-Action Army revolver in one of the drawers. In 6.15, Balthazar is rummaging through Bobby's drawers and finds a saint's bone underneath a false drawer bottom.

In seasons 4 - 5, Bobby tends to use a black flexible goose-neck desk lamp. Starting in season 6, he switches this lamp for a thin, rectangular, golden brown mid-century lamp. It could be assumed that this lamp was also destroyed in the fire that burned Bobby's house, but it actually shows up in Dean's bedroom in the Bunker in later seasons. So either the Men of Letters had the same lamp, Dean found a similar one at a thrift store at some point, or he was able to recover the lamp from the ruins of Bobby's house.

In seasons 1 - 3, the corner to the left of Bobby's fireplace contained the rolltop desk, a console table, and piles of books. This layout can still be seen in 4.01, but it is replaced in 4.02 with two matching bookshelves. The more left of the two bookshelves has a black gooseneck lamp clamped onto the top shelf, and sometimes a dining chair stacked with extra books is also pushed into this corner. Inside of Bobby's mind in 7.10, these shelves also hold framed photos of Bobby with loved ones as well as a book cut out to hide an elaborate crucifix.

Along with the matching bookshelves, 4.02 places a floor lamp, chair, and upright bookcase in the corner to the right of the fire place. This chair is typically some kind of living chair but is sometimes one of the wooden dining chairs that frequently get moved around the library. Next to the bookcase, underneath the bay window, is a red couch with a faint swirl pattern, carved wooden feet, and decorative panels on the arms. Bobby also owns a matching armchair (5.18, see above), but it is not usually seen in the library.

This couch is where Sam or Dean sleep while at Bobby's. If the both of them are there, Sam takes the couch while Dean sleeps on the floor (4.02, above). A gray blanket with faint stripes pops up in a few episodes as well as a striped pillow that appears to match the pillows on the cot in the panic room and in the linen closet upstairs (4.02). Various end tables and dining chairs get moved around the couch and used as nightstands or bookshelves.

To the right of the couch is a half bookshelf and console table stacked with books. In season 5, the console table is replaced with a vintage stereo cabinet. The stereo is used as a table and sometimes holds records (5.18 - 5.21), sometimes holds drawers and books, and sometimes holds a TV (6.04). A similar stereo can be seen here, though note that Bobby's has tapered legs. Also note that the wall sconce in this corner is the only one in this room that has two lights instead of one.

A pair of black pocket doors sits at the back wall of the library and leads to the kitchen. These doors slide into the wall rather than opening in- or outward, and are typically left closed. To the right of the doors is a black double light switch.

To the right of the pocket doors are typically a dining chair stacked with books, a black trunk, an upright blueprint holder filled with maps and plans, and at various times books and a radio. When this radio isn't on the trunk, it tens to sit on top of Bobby's rolltop desk alongside one of his many desk lamps and a decanter and glassware set. This desk is also where Bobby keeps a CB radio (used in 5.10).

Like Bobby's main desk, the rolltop desk is also either likely from the early 18th or early 19th century or is a replica of a desk from that period. It's always seen open and has an assortment of small drawers, cubbies, and cabinets on the desktop. It has a center drawer, and four drawers on the pedestals, and sits on casters so it can be easily moved.

As previously mentioned, there are several variations of Bobby's library within the show. In it's first appearance in 1.22, the library didn't have it's signature red wallpaper. The first wallpaper appears in 2.14 and has a toile pattern while the second wallpaper has a look closer to a jacquard or brocade. When we see Bobby's heaven in 10.17, the wallpaper (and rug and radio and couch...) is different once again.

Sometime between seasons 3 and 4, the dark brown wood trim in Bobby's library is painted black. In season 5, while Bobby uses a wheelchair, the couch is replaced with a twin bed with wooden headboard.

Bobby's library gets neater and cozier with every episode. What is little more than a dark place to stack hundreds of books in its first appearance is, by season 7, a proper living space with multiple light sources, tchotchkes, records, a couch, and pillows. No wonder it's the place where time and time again someone is brought when they need to stay somewhere safe and familiar. After years of being alone after his wife's death, it's almost as if reconnecting with his boys motivated Bobby to finally turn his house back into a home.

#my guides #art refs #locations #bobby's house #singer auto salvage #sioux falls #bobby singer

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kissofthemis · 2 years ago

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Hello, may I request headcanons for the NXX boys when they hear reader (who isn't mc) that usually only addresses them by their last name calls them by their first name for the first time, while giving a heartfelt compliment with the softest and sweetest expression?

Bonus if they're normally shy yet silly in general. Another bonus is if they did it without realizing it and immediately fluster when they realise what they did, and puff their cheeks when in denial when called out upon.

Thank you!

"Thank you so much! Luke, you're a lifesaver!"

A wave of relief washed over you as Luke repaired the final piece on your drawer. You still weren't sure how you'd ripped the cabinets clean off their hinges, but all that mattered was that your friend Mr. Pearce, antique repairer extraordinaire, had come to your rescue.

Mr. Pearce.

Luke Pearce.

You hadn't realized how casually his name had slipped out of your mouth until it was too late. "I... Um... Mr. Pearce! Thank you!"

Humbly you bowed your head. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you could only imagine how much you resembled a boiling lobster right about now. Cautiously, you tilted your chin up just enough to get a peek at the brunet's face, only to find...

That he looked just as flustered as you.

His gaze darted to the floor. "L-Luke..." He stumbled over his own name, and you could have sworn you saw him bite his tongue in his own embarrassed frustration. "Luke is fine. Great, actually." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Because... we're friends, aren't we?"

His eyes flickered back to you, aglow with the warmth of a fireplace but the intensity of a bonfire.

"At least, I've been trying to put down clues that show you I consider you a dear friend."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"You tend to these all by yourself? I can tell how much love you pour into your garden, Vyn!"

Awestruck by the vast array of flora and foliage before you, the words fluttered from your lips before you had a chance to truly think about them.

Of course, you meant what you said! When Dr. Richter had invited you to see a garden, you were excited at the prospect of going to fancy botanical gardens. When he mentioned it was his own personal garden, a healthy dose of curiosity sprouted alongside your eagerness to see his home. Now, upon seeing how beautiful his "humble" garden was, you were impressed and delighted.

But as a moment passed without any response from the gardener himself, you began to worry that you'd said something inappropriate. "Don't tell me, is Dr. Richter bad with prai--"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and began bowing rapidly, bobbing up and down and up and down.

"Dr. Vyn! I mean, Dr. Richter! I'm so sorry! That was super informal and super rude of me! Oh, Dr. Richter, I can't apologize enough!"

A gentle hand came to rest upon the top of your head, stopping you in your tracks.

"Now, while I'm qualified to treat them, I'd appreciate if you didn't give yourself a concussion from whipping your head up and down so many times." He chuckled softly as you rose to a full standing position again, then gave you a gentle pat.

"Raised them with love, you say?" he murmured. "I don't know if I'd put it that way. I'm simply following standard guidance and instructions for each and every species of flower." He pursed his lips for a second, then continued. "But if tending to flowers is anything like tending to people in need of tender love and care..." He turned to look at you, and his golden eyes glinted in the sunlight.

"Then I'm sure you have quite the green thumb yourself."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"This is the best grilling I've ever tasted in my life, Artem!"

You had barely spared a second to sing the attorney's praises before digging back into your meal.

When you'd fallen ill with the latest seasonal flu, you had messaged him as a courtesy to let him know you wouldn't be able to meet him this weekend as planned. You certainly hadn't expected the star of Themis Law Firm to offer to bring you some food. You were less prepared when he said he was going to cook it himself, asking for your favorite foods and flavors.

Least of all did you expect his food to be so delicious!

'Never judge a book by its cover,' you thought as you devoured another spoonful. 'I just didn't expect Mr. Wing of all people to have the time to learn to cook so well!'

You peeked up at him, concerned that he hadn't responded yet. He probably wasn't the type who received compliments often; he seemed like the type who intimidated others. Respected, but never appreciated in this way.

"Your cheeks are really red. Are you catching a fever from me?"

Wildfire had spread across his face, from the tips of his ears to the tip of his nose. If he got sick because he was taking care of you, you'd never forgive yourself!

"You... perhaps need more rest," is all that he said in response. "But..." He smiled gently at you.

"If a flu is what it takes for you to loosen up around me, I can't truthfully say that I'm upset about it."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"You designed this? Marius, you're a creative genius!"

Your jaw dropped as you absorbed the details in the painting before you. The effect was almost reminiscent of a stained glass window, with the way the colors and strokes created a mosaic image. You could easily see this hanging up in a museum or even a church.

But like a dog who received one treat and was desperate for more, the painter turned to you with big, pleading eyes and whimpered, "I couldn't hear that. Could you repeat it, please? For me?"

He wasn't usually this pathetic. "I said you're a creative genius!" You folded your arms over your chest. "Don't make me take back the genius part."

"No, no~ Before that."

Before that? What exactly had you said that brought this CEO to wag his tail so desperately?

Realization struck you like lightning and you spun away from him instantly. "Mr. von Hagen, it's very unprofessional to tease me like this!"

You could almost feel the mood shift as Marius deflated behind you. "Aww, you were being so friendly a minute ago," he whined. "Even calling me Marius~ Marmar~ Mariri~"

"I didn't use any stupid nicknames!" you protested, whirling to face him with flustered tears stinging your eyes. "You're such a pain in the neck, Marius!"

He perked up immediately. "Oh! There it is again! We are close, aren't we?" He leaned forward, the corners of his mouth turned up into a cheeky grin as he batted his eyelashes at you.

With a huff, you shifted your attention back to the painting. "On second thought, I think this is too abstract for the exhibition. I guess Pax can't host it after all."

"Whaaaat? Now that's just too cold!"

#tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #tot #tot x reader #gn!reader #artem wing #vyn richter #luke pearce #marius von hagen #Thank you for the ask!

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choccy-zefirka · 2 months ago

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...It is imperative that my most esteemed house gain the upper hand in this ongoing duel...

...My honored ancestors have made it abundantly clear in all their messages, written in blood on my mansion's walls, that they will not return to eternal rest until their rivals are taught their place...

...The Watch, therefore, must ensure that the noble undead lords and ladies of my lineage are armed with the appropriate blades and enchantments, as befits their station, not just the remnants of what they were buried with...

...I thus expect you to swap the decaying armor they currently carry for the finest work of your blacksmiths, with decor to match the glories of my family's past and the purity of our blood...

...Remember whose coffers bear the load of the Grand Necropolis...

...We have always been giving to the Watch most generously. Perhaps it is high time you showed proper appreciation for your betters...

...Should my forebears win the duel, I shall double my donations to the Watch, and provide you with special compensation of your choosing...

...The reward for bringing the upstart from our so-called rival "house" to heel will be much to your satisfaction, I assure you...

Professor Dieter Nessler, foremost expert on the provenance of enchanted antiques and one of the Mourn Watch's liaisons to the noble houses of Nevarra, taps at his mahogany desk with bejeweled fingers, his gaze traveling back and forth between the two scrolls he has recently received. They are laid out before him, unfurled, one pressed down by his impeccably polished obsidian inkwell, the other by the massive ink blotter with a procession of dancing skeletons carved into its side. Letters from the highborn: different in penmanship, identical in meaning.

Which house to support, which house to support... Perhaps if that much-promised reward were paid up front — then he could write something non-committal and vaguely affirmative to both noble scions, and then act depending on the situation...

His thoughts — which have already started carrying him away in a gently rolling gilded carriage, laden with multiple chests of coins and gemstones — are interrupted, most rudely, by a loud knock on his study's door. Nessler scowls like he'd just taken a sip of lemon juice — several sips even, each more unbearably sour as the knocking persists.

Before he deigns to answer, he carefully tucks the letters away into a desk drawer — just in case his unbidden visitor turns out to be someone like Volkarin.

The man may be a renowned corpse whisperer, and thus useful to stand next to, in a nonchalant, handshake-ready pose that might lead the right people to assume that they are friends... But when it comes to actual negotiations with the highborn, he is a nuisance at best and an active saboteur at worst. Of course, what would Volkarin, with his talk of always doing what's best for the living and the undead, know of proper conduct in noble company? Once a butcher's son, always a butcher's son.

"Come in," Nessler says at last.

The door nigh flies off its hinges, revealing someone much shorter, curvier, and more... pink than Volkarin.

Ah.

Nessler's grimace gradually stretches out into a sugary sweet smile, befitting this sugary sweet thing.

It's her.

His apprentice, the official paperwork calls her. But one glance at her makes it abundantly clear: that word is not meant for her.

Apprentices come to the Mourn Watch to be taught... And what could the senior necromancers possibly teach this rosy-cheeked dwarf — with her head of cascading curls, like candied rose petals; her pouty, gloss-covered lips; her ridiculously frilly dresses that she supposedly sews herself? She is no Watcher; she is an adorable round-eyed doll, lashes going bat-bat, little feetsies going stomp-stomp, soft mouth moving, trying to shape long, complex sentences that belong on the lips of people with actual brains inside their skulls.

"I apologize for bothering you at this late hour, Professor, but... With all the respect in my heart, this cannot continue! The so-called War of the Banners is spilling too far out of the nobles' crypts! Just today, I had to patch up a classmate who caught a stray javelin from around the corner; they were lucky I was not the only person around to help, because I obviously cannot cast magic, and without a well-timed healing spell, they might have lost an arm! And the peaceful undead are suffering too; the upper hallways will be turning into refugee camps for skeletons at this rate! What we need — again, with all my respect — is a small questing party to delve into the main mausoleums and take down the heads of houses! Maybe they can be pacified with words, but if not... We might have no other choice, serah. I think — "

She thinks. How precious.

Maybe she has gotten into her cute little head that this is how she will earn herself a promotion. Well, obviously that stratagem of hers is doomed to fail. But the doll need not fret: there are other, more time-tested ways of advancing through the ranks... Especially for one in possession of such soft, ample bosoms, barely contained by her ribbons and lace.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, Nessler spins a fine, glittering thread of magic and pulls a second chair out of a far corner closer to his desk. Much, much closer. Opposite his own seat, in fact. Within arm's reach.

"Come, come, Beata. Sit. Take a breath."

She obeys, as all good dolls should; but the moment she is in the chair, she begins to chatter again, about all the things that are so far beyond both her station and her intelligence.

"Thank you for agreeing to listen to me, serah! Having such a prominent professor in my corner truly means a lot; now if we could also get a hold of Master Volkarin... I have no way of contacting him, as I only ever got to sit in the back row at a couple of his lectures, but you do mention so often what excellent friends you are..."

"Beata, Beata, Beata..." Nessler murmurs, leaning forward ever so slightly. The little doll tenses up, clearly confused. Ah, the silly thing. So adorably unaware of the effect her curves have on tired mortal men trapped in their study all day.

"You are a promising Watcher, but a little headstrong. Still in need of a lot of... guidance..."

He breathes out the last word in a trailing whisper, just as his hand closes the distance between them and rests on her knee. Then, gently moves up her full, delightfully jiggly thigh...

There's a sharp ripping noise: his doll has leapt to her feet, ignoring the fact that one of his rings has snagged against her silky stockings.

"What... What are you doing?!" she shrieks, all color pooling away from her face and collaring her throat instead. "I came to talk to you about serious matters; there are lives at stake — and you... and you...!!"

Now her imitation of an intelligent being is no longer convincing. Or endearing.

"Such serious matters are the concern of real Watchers!" Nessler barks, ramming his fist into the edge of his desk in frustration. "Yours is not to meddle; yours is to wear your pink dresses and look pretty!"

"I am a real Watcher too!" she protests, twisting the hem of her skirt in her dimpled hands, her eyes growing redder by the second. "I read the arcane lore, I passed the exams, I took extracurriculars on the symbolism of shroud embroidery and repairing skulls with gold! I even trained in sword and shield combat, because I have no magic to defend the Necropolis! Will you truly never take me seriously — because of what I look like?!"

"What you look like is what you are, little doll," Nessler says.

The thought of those delectable breasts moving further and further out of his grasp stirs a scraping, seething anger deep within his gut, so he neglects to watch his tongue as carefully as he perhaps should have... And the secret nickname slips out.

"Very well," the doll says, fighting back a small, teary hiccup. "Then I will go to my quarters and take out my makeup brushes and apply the cutest skull war paint a doll has ever worn, and deal with the undead myself. Have a good night, serah."

She slams the door so hard that one of Nessler's most prized paintings — a portrait of himself surrounded by the most noteworthy members of the Watch, yes, Volkarin included (though Hezenkoss has been thoughtfully blocked out in bold black paint strokes, now that she has become an... undesirable) — thunders cacophonously onto the floor, its frame smashing to pieces. If the doll survives this foolhardy quest of hers, the cost of repairs will be deducted from her stipend. And only then will Nessler see to it that she is expelled, and sent back to whatever Pink Hat Atelier for the Brainless that she crawled out from.

***

Emmrich has heard much about Beata Ingellvar. The woman who fearlessly went into the ever-shifting maze of the aristocracy's burial grounds, and struck down the two feuding undead nobles before they could amass even more forces for their never-ending vanity war. Their living descendants nearly collapsed to the ground in a conniption fit in front of the entire Watch — but the crypts went quiet. Meaning no more trembling, harried civilians staggering about in search of a healer, clutching a swollen forehead or limping on a red-soaked leg that got grazed by a wildly swinging blade. No more poor, frightened darling wisps fleeing the sounds of clashing steel with the softest "meep-meep" of desperation. No more innocent dead pushed out of their own coffins by skeletal mercenaries on the march under the banner of some lord or other.

They should all be deeply, wholeheartedly grateful to the young Watcher for intervening when she did. Yet not all accounts Emmrich received from his colleagues have been as glowing as his own mental image of Ingellvar — victorious warrior with a would-be tyrant's skull under her boot, sword aloft, hair billowing.

Many have called her air-headed, unserious, childishly scattered and scandalously debauched at the same time. Dieter Nessler, the pompous Arschgeige (not a word for Manfred's innocent metaphorical ears, that), has gone so far as to claim she barged into his study prior to her expedition into the nobles' crypts and attempted to seduce him, slamming herself down on his desk and putting his hand on her knee before he kicked her out and she shuffled off into the night, wailing and sobbing over being unwanted.

That last part is particularly hard to believe. Especially now — after Emmrich has joined Ingellvar on her new mission (such a great honor and monumental responsibility!). After he has seen what she is like, both amid the carnage of the battlefield and back in the safety of the Lighthouse.

She may quite literally wear her passion for the color pink on her sleeve, but is that truly such a condemnation of her intelligence?

That simply makes no logical sense.

Not when her eyes — a lovely shade of deep blue, almost lavender; but that is neither here nor there — are so quick to scan the wretched crags of blighted wilderness, and her mind is even quicker to calculate the angle at which she needs to toss her shield, so it can slice apart a blister of infection and make the sticky red tendrils retract.

Not when she falls so easily in stride with Neve on the trail of a cultist through bustling, ever-rainy Minrathous streets, and lights up with a bright smile, dimples indenting in her cheeks (also neither here nor there), when she points out a clue that the detective can use. Which is often a sliver of torn-off fabric on some splintered crate or metal fence. She does know her fabrics...

And certainly not when, not even one hour after their proper introduction, she knelt beside the unfortunate man the Venatori had dragged in as a slave — as fodder for their blood magic rituals — and extended her hand, comparing the bumps and indentations on her skin to his. "You were a tailor, weren't you!" she beamed. "How fortunate! I am certain the Mourn Watch will find you work as a free man! There is always a demand for prettying up the dead!"

And oh, whenever they return from their long travels, sore bodies beckoned by the softness of the couches the spirits have helpfully provided — the conversations she has with the others! Again and again, as he hurries past, on his way to his books and to his lessons with Manfred, Emmrich indulges in lingering halfway up the stairs, listening in.

He often finds Ingellvar — Rook, to her new comrades — helping Bellara restore the brittle vestments the Veil Jumpers found in a casket within yet another floating ruin. And also bombarding the dear girl with technical terms about the types of weaving and stitching used by her ancestors; which Bellara does not seem to quite follow, but takes in with rapid, enthusiastic nods.

Or unsheathing an impressive arsenal of makeup brushes to paint intricately rendered, almost three-dimensional dragons on Taash's bare forearms and midriff in the bright shades of vitaar — while wearing a mask and gloves to protect herself from the toxic body paint, and gushing in a muffled voice about color grading and about how the final design will look like it’s flapping its wings with every flex of Taash's muscles.

Or using very similar brushes, each softer and more delicate than the next, to explain to Harding how to unearth ancient inscriptions without eroding the stone with cleansing potions. "I remember going a little way back into the passage where they found me as a baby, to see if it does connect to the Deep Roads; and I actually found some writing there... It was certainly not Tevene or Nevarran, and absolutely not Trade — so it might very well be old dwarven! I can take you there some time if you want; maybe your new powers can help read it."

She is so bright, so quick-witted, brimming over with knowledge in fields Emmrich only has a cursory familiarity with. Oh, there is so much he could have learned from her!... If only she let him.

She has never been outright hostile to him… not like Taash. She has taken him out into the field, certainly, especially into places abounding with unquiet spirits, and thanked him for his contribution after each fight. But outside the necessary interactions dictated by their shared cause, she has never sought him out, never visited him on her daily Lighthouse rounds, never invited him to talk about his day, like she has the others.

Perhaps it is the difference in their age that makes her assume they have little in common. Perhaps she knows what the other senior Watchers think of her, and is wary of her attempts at friendship being met with the same disdain. That is only fair, but still... He cannot help a certain twinge of pettiness. Bitter, juvenile — indeed, spiteful. Spite himself even... eloquently said to him once, when he walked behind Rook by Lucanis' side, "He does not! Let me! Talk to Rook! And Rook. Rook does not let you! Talk to her! All by herself!"

Aptly put.

And the feeling certainly does not sting any less when he ponders how she is the only other Mourn Watcher on their little team. The only other person who might have commiserated during his occasional bouts of homesickness; who might have laughed at an inside joke about Vorgoth's mist form; who —

Ah. But it is not fair to her, is it? She endures enough old man hand-wringing with the Dread Wolf visiting regular visions upon her.

But still.

Emmrich is in the middle of mulling all of this over for what might well be the thousandth time, laying wide awake in his bed, well-hidden behind a bookcase, when on the other side of his secret rest nook, down comes a thunderous avalanche of... books? Followed by a familiar inquisitive hiss.

He is out of bed in an instant — well, two instants, as the pose he has frozen up in is hardly… conducive against back stiffness. Hastily smoothing back his hair with his hand and throwing a dressing gown over his shoulders, he rushes out to assess the aftermath of Manfred's mischief. Only to find that his assistant — who is waving enthusiastically, quite proud of... whatever it is he did — is not the only one staring at him over the chaotic mound of covers and spines and rustling pages. Rook is also here, petrified in mid-step, with her arms wrapped around the stack of books that she has already started putting back.

"Oh, Emmrich!" she clears her throat. "It's all right, you can go back to sleep. I apologize for being here at this late hour — I needed to borrow a book on rare varieties of blighted monsters, to see if it has something I can translate from Nevarran for Davrin... About the Gloom Howler... And Manfred, he, well — he noticed me, and decided he needed to help. I will put everything back. And will be quieter next time."

Emmrich inhales sharply, feeling something tired and frustrated and altogether unkind bubble to the surface.

"Oh, if only there was a way to avoid all these sneaky theatrics," he snaps. "By, perhaps, having a conversation with me?"

Rook flinches, and Emmrich instantly regrets his tone.

"I... That was uncalled for. I am sorry, Rook, I am still half-asleep and let my petulance get the better of me. Would you perhaps allow me to help clean up? And Manfred — please remember not to tug at books so forcibly when trying to dislodge them."

The skeleton nods and hisses eagerly, clapping his gloved hands together.

As the two Watchers set to work — Rook stocking the lower shelves and Emmrich whisking the rest of the books up in a soft turquoise cloud of magic — her delicate, thread-trimmed eyebrows knit into a frown.

"You seemed quite upset because I never visit your part of the Lighthouse… Not when you are there, at least."

With a singular swooshing, conductor-like gesture, he guides yet another floating book to its place — and handwaves her observation away.

"An irrational feeling to have. The first sign of my mind beginning to slip, I fear."

She does not join in his self-deprecating chuckle.

"Please. Let me finish making sense of this.”

There is a hint of urgency in her voice — an echo of a past hurt. It is important for her to be listened to, uninterrupted; to be taken seriously.

So Emmrich nods, slowing down his silent book concerto — focusing slowly on her.

Her stance relaxes; she exhales in relief.

“Thank you. As — as I was saying: I am just realizing that I have been avoiding you far too much. That was… poor leadership on my part; I should not have made you feel excluded... Especially among, uh, non-Nevarrans who do not appreciate your skull collection. I really should have known better; I know what it is like to feel like you don't belong..."

Her tone shifts again, and she dips her head, eyes hidden in shadow. Emmrich's stomach twists a little. Whatever did the Arschgeige put her through as his apprentice?

"It really is quite all right, Rook. You and your friends are young, always rushing off far ahead. I am perfectly content where I am. Sometimes one merely has odd thoughts when it is five in the morning."

She clutches the latest book she's picked off the floor closer to her chest.

"I believe it's three in the morning. And Emmrich — "

There is something more than her usual distant politeness in the way she says his name. Something soft and tremulous and vulnerable, like the heartbeat of a captured bird. Lilac eyes meet his, and she holds his gaze the longest she ever has.

"I am sorry for… shunning you so unfairly. The truth is, my rational mind knows you did not do anything wrong to deserve this; you have been nothing but kind to all of us! But..."

She pushes down a shuddering breath.

"Whenever I look at you, I keep thinking about... my former mentor, Professor Nessler. He liked boasting about your supposedly rare and beautiful friendship, and — "

"Hah!"

Emmrich did not intend for the loud, wry laugh to escape his lips so abruptly — yet it does, while before his mind's eye, a jeering little boy dances. A future Mortalitasi of noble blood, dressed to the nines, his squeaky boots not losing their sheen even as he gleefully kicks the filthy butcher's son lower and lower into the ground... Until a conjured icicle hits him on the side of the head, sending him thunk! right beside his target.

Hey, he was mean to you! Can I kill him? Pretty pretty please?

Johanna no!

Johanna yes?

"Rare and beautiful friendship? With a man who did not give me the time of day since we were twelve, and up until the point when I earned my first accolades?"

Rook snorts. A soft flush seems to have crept over her cheeks — at about the same time Emmrich burst out laughing. That is, quite naturally, neither here nor there.

"That does sound like Professor Nessler. And more the fool me, for thinking you would sincerely associate with him!"

Emmrich shakes his head, and she smiles, finally letting go of her book and setting it down on its proper shelf.

"I know, I know — no diminishing my own intelligence. Other people do that aplenty."

"They are the foolish ones, Rook. But... If I may — "

Emmrich has taken his rings off for the night, but he instinctively rubs the band’s imprint on his index finger while gathering up his thoughts.

"What did Dieter do to you, that the sheer notion of me being his friend unsettled you so profoundly?"

She casts her gaze away, jaw tightening.

"I cannot... I am not ready to talk about this right now."

"Of course!"

Her eyes slowly travel back to his, light blooming back in their depths.

"But you know what I am ready for? Tomorrow, after we report back to Myrna and Vorgoth about that new haunting... Would you like to visit the Memorial Gardens with me?"

"Oh Rook, I would love to!"

For a split second, Emmrich's heart beats faster. Neither here nor there.

#dragon age #da:tv #emmrich volkarin #mourn watch #rook ingellvar #emmrich x rook #emmrook #age gap ship #cw for beata being sexualized and harassed by her professor :') before meeting an older man who actually respects her

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lesbicosmos-writes · 2 months ago

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very late but here's my prompt fill for @paynelandpromptfest day 3!

i've been so busy with school and other stuff i couldn't get this finished on time but oh well it's here now!! i'm also working on one for the day 6 prompt so that should be up soon <3

prompt: mistletoe

summary: charles keeps putting mistletoe up around the office as an excuse to kiss edwin, crystal is a little shit (affectionate) and decides to pull a prank about it

notes: this was very crystal-centred for a payneland fic but idfc i love my girl

also on ao3!

it's tradition, crystal!

Crystal couldn’t take them much longer. Well, she could, and would, but that didn’t mean she’d enjoy it.

“Really, Charles?” she sighed after walking into the office with a cup of hot chocolate to find Charles hanging yet another sprig of mistletoe up, slotting the ribbon tying it together under one of the slats in the ceiling above Edwin’s chair.

“What?” Charles asked innocently.

“This whole room is practically a mistletoe forest!”

“It’s décor, Crystal!”

“Décor that also just so happens to be an excuse for you to kiss your boyfriend every ten seconds while we’re on case research!”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, it’s just pretty,” Charles argued, his mouth curling up into a smirk.

“You’re unbelievable. When I told you you two are like a dead married couple on acid, I didn’t think it could get worse.”

Charles grinned, giggling a little.

She loved them, really. Of course she did. And she was always the first person to step to their defense if a client with outdated views – or one who was just a bit of a dick – said anything about them. Only she was allowed to bully her best friends like that.

At that moment, Niko and Edwin walked into the office, both laughing about something.

“Successful trip?” Charles asked, having just jumped down from Edwin’s chair and leaned back against the desk.

“Yes, I believe it was. Maggie’s antique shop is always a delight,” Edwin said, his brown overcoat disappearing into thin air.

“And I dragged him to HMV,” Niko smiled, as she placed her tote bag down, then took her own coat off and hung it on the stand next to the front door.

“She did.”

“Aces.”

Edwin strode across the room and took his usual seat behind the desk, placing the knickknacks he bought in the bottom drawer.

“Hey, mate,” Charles said as he looked back up.

“Yes?”

Charles pointed to the ceiling above Edwin, smirking.

“Oh. That’s interesting. Well then, I think we both know what we have to do now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles teased, leaning closer.

Edwin pulled him in by his braces and crashed their lips together.

Niko giggled. Crystal faked gagging.

“I thought you said you wanted to get straight back into researching the Graveyard Goblin case when you and Niko got back?” Crystal asked, her arms folded.

“Of course. But there’s always time for mistletoe,” Edwin replied, finally moving away from Charles’s lips.

“It’s tradition!” Charles grinned.

“It is tradition, Crystal,” Edwin agreed.

Crystal scoffed in amusement. It was almost funny seeing Edwin like this. He was usually so annoyed at distractions to their cases, but since it got colder and the festive decorations went up, he was much more relaxed – and much more lenient about taking breaks to indulge in his boyfriend. Charles had told Crystal that Edwin had always adored Christmas, so maybe that was it. She had to admit, it was difficult to get too annoyed about anything when there were brightly coloured lights strung around the room, and a little snowman plush smiling at them from one of the bookshelves.

That didn’t mean she was going to let them off that easily, though.

Over the last few months, Crystal had gained much more control and understanding of her newly realised psychic abilities. Edwin had been helping her delve into her subconscious, exploring the extent of her powers – and through their little sessions, he had also taught her some magic.

He had only taught her a few novelty spells, just to get her started, but one of them had been perfect for the situation at hand. Perhaps if Edwin didn’t want to be pranked, he shouldn’t have told Crystal how to cast such prank-worthy magic.

She had to do a little extra reading herself to figure out how to adapt the spell to this specific circumstance, but that wasn’t too difficult, and within a week her plan was set – and she had a sprig of enchanted mistletoe.

“You coming, Crys?” Charles called from the top of the staircase of the office building.

“I just totally fucked up my makeup!” Crystal lied, shouting back from the bathroom. “You guys go on without me, I’ll meet you at the café!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you three go!”

“’Kay, we’ll see you there!”

Crystal smiled to herself in the mirror. It felt good to be enacting a harmless prank for once. From what she’d learned from the memories David had stolen from her, most of the tricks she pulled had ended in at least one person getting hurt in the process. It made her so angry, and guilty. How could she have done that? How was the person who did all those terrible things her?

She shook the thoughts away. No. She wasn’t that girl anymore.

When she was sure Charles Edwin and Niko would be halfway down the street by now, she made her way down the stairs and hung up the mistletoe in the main doorway to the building.

Now to wait. And have a nice day out without stressing about cases.

It was a nice day out. Crystal caught up with the others at a small café, which was hidden in one of the more supernatural parts of central London and run by shapeshifters.

The four of them had found a booth, Niko and Crystal sitting opposite Edwin and Charles. Crystal could tell the boys were holding hands underneath the table and found herself smiling at them. She really was glad they finally got their shit together – it was a little easier to deal with the old-married-couple-ness when they were actually both aware of their feelings. Aside from holding hands in public more often and disappearing occasionally while out on jobs to make out in an alleyway though, not much had really changed between them. They were still two best friends above everything else – just best friends who happened to kiss annoyingly often, and put mistletoe around every inch of the office as an excuse to do so.

After they’d all had hot chocolates at the café – including Charles and Edwin, since this café had recently come up with recipes that ghosts could enjoy too, leading to a huge surge in business – the four of them ventured to Leicester Square to look around the Christmas market. Crystal and Niko got hot dogs for lunch while Charles and Edwin were over by the huge Christmas tree, eating…each other’s faces, it would seem. A female ghost was watching them in a mix of awe and mild scandal – based on her outfit, the girls guessed she died somewhere in the 1950s. Crystal chuckled.

Soon, it was getting late, so the group headed back to the office. Crystal had told Niko about her plan while Charles and Edwin were off on one of their little dates in the afternoon, so the two of them hung back behind the boys to get the best view of the action.

“Well would you look at this?” Charles said as they approached the entrance to the building, spotting the mistletoe hanging in the doorway.

“Charles,” Edwin said fondly, “when did you have time to put that there?”

“This one wasn’t me!”

“Mhm,” Edwin hummed, unconvinced.

“I’m serious! It wasn’t! It must’ve been Ethel!”

Ethel was a psychic who lived in the space directly below the office and ran a spiritual shop, doing tarot readings for local ghosts. Crystal wouldn’t have put it past her to pull something like this, which is why she decided to hang the mistletoe there in the first place: the boys wouldn’t question it.

“Well, you know what we’ve gotta do.”

“Actually, Charles, I do not believe I do know,” Edwin teased.

“Come here.”

Charles held Edwin’s cheek in one hand, gently pulling him in to softly brush their lips together.

It would have been a really sweet moment…if the mistletoe didn’t open itself up the second their lips connected, raining a strange substance over their head that covered both of them in glittery spectral goo.

Crystal immediately burst out laughing, watching as the boys slowly moved away from each other, wiped the bright purple ooze from their faces and turned to face her.

“You should see your faces!” she laughed, and Niko joined in, giggling at the sight before them. “God, I wish you two would show up on camera, this would be priceless!”

“Very funny, Crystal,” Edwin said, clearly intending to be sarcastic but the slight amusement was not completely hidden in his voice.

“This is hilarious,” Crystal confirmed.

“It is pretty funny,” Charles giggled, turning to face Edwin, his eyebrows creasing in amusement.

How could Edwin not find it funny when Charles was looking at him like that, his face covered in whatever the bright purple substance was that Crystal had cursed the plant with? He was soon smiling, too, reaching up to wipe some of it away from Charles’s cheek.

“This is payback for the number of times I’ve had to witness you two being all lovey-dovey the last few weeks,” Crystal grinned, gesturing between them with her hands.

The four of them laughed, and didn’t stop until they’d climbed all four staircases and got inside the office.

“This was a very good prank, Crystal,” Edwin said.

“Thank you,” Crystal replied proudly.

“But…” Edwin continued, a smile growing on his face that made Crystal a little scared. “If you thought this would stop us being – how did you put it – all lovey-dovey, you are sorely mistaken.”

With that, Edwin strode across the office, grabbed Charles by the face and kissed him soundly despite both of them still being covered head to shoulders in gunk.

“Seriously guys? Come on!” Crystal groaned.

She’d come to accept by now that there was no escaping them. Even with enchanted purple goo.

#so glad i finally finished this lmao #i have too many ideas too little time to write atm #dead boy detectives #payneland #charles rowland #edwin payne #crystal palace #niko sasaki #payneland promptfest

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months ago

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Chevy Corvette: Harmon Rabb x Reader

Tagging: @keyweegirlie@dizzybee03@snowlover250@kenbechillin@too-strong-to-lose

You are the only woman that Harm has ever let drive his 1969 Cherry Red Corvette ‘Betty’. He’s away six months out of the year and you are the only person he trusts to give her a run around to keep the engine tipping over.

“Drive her to work a couple of days a week or take her out at the weekend.” He requests as he hands over the keys before his latest deployment.

“I’ll make sure to keep your darling happy.” You tease as you place the keys in the drawer by the front door. “Just make sure to keep this darling happy too.”

He smiles at you then with that wolfish grin of his before he takes you bed.

“How’s my baby doing?” He asks when he calls a month later from the USS Allegiance.

You’re standing outside in the sun back in Washington. You have his aviators perched on your head, pushing back your loose hair as you sit inside the Corvette in the parking lot at work.

“Do you mean me or the car?” You ask him and he can’t help but laugh.

“Why not both?” He responds as he adjusts the picture he has beside his bunk. It’s the one of you leaning against the Chevy in nothing but a denim shorts and a white vest top. It had been taken a couple of months ago when he’d told you about the deployment.

“Let me give you something to think about while you’re away.” You’d whispered in his ear, as your fingers curled in his hair. “Any fantasy, anything that’s going to keep you thinking of me when you’re away.”

“There is one thing…” He’d said.

He’s always had a thing for pretty girls and fast cars.

You’d fulfilled that fantasy and then some. You’re the only woman he’s ever fucked in the Corvette. If that isn’t love, he doesn’t know what it is.

“Have you given any thought to the other thing we talked about?” He asks you as he sits down on the edge of his rig and runs his hand through his dark hair.

“I have.” You say quietly, looking at the antique engagement ring on your finger, the one Harm had left on your nightstand the morning before he left.

“Just think about it.” He’d whispered as he’d smoothed the hair away from your sleepy features. “There’s no pressure.”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought.” You tell him, your thumb chasing over the pretty silver band. “And I think I’m ready to marry you Captain Rabb.”

Love Harm? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#harmon rabb jr #harmon rabb jr x reader #harmon rabb #harmon rabb x reader #jag #jag series #ncis los angeles #ncis la #david james elliot #harm rabb #harm rabb x reader

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gauloiseblue · 11 months ago

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John Price as a arm candy personal bodyguard

General HQ | Part I | Part II

(Enemy to friend to lover AU)

He never planned to be anyone's bodyguard, but here he is, standing beside his wife like a guard dog

To tell the truth, she doesn't really need his protection, but sometimes there's moment when she becomes a target for black market dealers

She has an extensive collection of antiques, and some of them are priceless

So naturally, it becomes his job to keep them safe as well

It's not really a challenge for him because he's used to keeping the military assets safe. He knows all of the tricks and methods to store them and guard them during transport.

Other than that, his days are mostly filled with domestic kind of life

He'd complete his daily training, practice his rifle skill (mainly for hunting birds or deers), and help her with her work

Although he easily adapted into his new life, he's still not used to living in luxury. He has slept on the wet ground of a forest, used to eating the bland ratios, and lived in constant danger. But now, he gets to live comfortably

To cope with it, he sometimes goes on a camping trip for several days. He prefers to do it alone because he doesn't want his wife to get sick when the weather turns bad.

The only luxury that he allows himself to indulge in is having an expensive cigar

Of course, he does it only moderately. For a reason that his wife hates the smell

Whenever they're invited to a party, she'll book him an appointment for suit fitting. He'd complain to her, saying that he had more than enough suit, but she'd win the argument every time

While they might have different views in life, they share the same frame of mind, and have their desires align. She wants a loyal companion, and he wants to devote himself to the right person

One night, as they lay in bed, breathless and tired, she told him that to love someone is to constantly be disappointed by your partner a million times. She asked him if she had already disappointed him enough, and he told her he never expected her of anything in the first place

He knew that her wife kept a personal note in her drawer, and he only opened it once, when they're on the verge of separation. That was the last time that he ever doubted her, the first time he allowed himself to be fooled by his own feelings

You see, he's always the man with rationality, so to allow himself to be controlled by his heart is almost the same as betraying himself

He never regrets his decision, even to this day

Since he's the only one who's retired, his team would visit him from time to time, if their schedule allows them, that is

Soap would joke that if someone had told him years ago that his captain would settle down with her, he'd laugh at their face, asking them what kind of drug they took

(He said it because they both had a rough start. They hated each other on their first meeting)

While it's common for ex special force member to work as a bodyguard, it's rare for them to settle down with someone, let alone marrying the person they work for

Which makes his story into some kind of legend in the army

He'd roll his eyes at every comment about them, but she found it amusing that people either mock him, or wish to be as lucky as him

Sometimes, when his pride takes over, he reminds himself that arrogance won't lead him anywhere in life

But his love will guide him somewhere. Eventually

#cod #call of duty #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader #there's something about price being a loyal dog..............#i swear I'm normal about it #cod headcanons

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zzoomacroom · 6 months ago

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Rain Is Coming Down, but the Clouds Will Surely Pass (Chapter 5)

✨✨✨✨✨

Dreamling, Retired Dream, Multi-chapter, Mpreg, Fluff, Smut, Angst

(Start from chapter 1 here)

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5/12 (~6700 words)

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional tags: Retired Dream, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Trans Dream, Fluff, Smut, Angst

✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 5: 26 Weeks

Today they have a rendezvous with Death.

Hob goes through his mental checklist: he’s put the kettle on and washed the nice cups—the ones for company—and the apple crumble he nabbed from the pub is warming in the oven. He fiddles with the charcuterie board he’s cobbled together, rearranging the cheeses, grapes, and little dishes of olives for the dozenth time this afternoon. He stands back to survey his work, then checks his watch. Almost time. It’ll have to do.

He’s got nothing to be nervous about, really. He’s always happy to see his sister-in-law, despite his aversion to her function, and he knows there’s no need to try and impress her (not that he’s put together a particularly impressive spread, although he hopes it comes across at least somewhat classy). Whatever news or offers she may have regarding their child’s mortality, she’ll let them know regardless of which cup her tea is served in. Even so, his stomach has been roiling all day, and he suspects the prickles of sweat on the back of his neck can’t be blamed on the fact that he’s got the oven on in this suffocating August heat.

He triple-checks that he flicked the kettle on and wipes his damp palms on a tea towel before making his way down the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief at the immediate drop in temperature as he steps into their newly air-conditioned bedroom, where he’s greeted with the sight of his husband frowning at the full-length mirror and fussing with the hem of his shirt. Hob meets his eyes in the reflection as he settles behind him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Morpheus is wearing all black today, he notices. Hob isn’t sure what to make of that, or if there’s anything to make of it at all. It’s not his old uniform of skinny jeans, dramatic coat, and Doc Martens, but he still cuts a striking figure in his soft black joggers and flowy tunic accented with abstract splashes of gold and silver.

“Hey there, handsome,” Hob smiles. “All set?”

(Continue reading below or on ao3)

Morpheus gulps and nods. “Yes. I believe so.”

He’s looking more than a bit peaky, and under any other circumstances Hob would suggest they cancel their plans, even at the risk of suffering the wrathful pout Morpheus would no doubt inflict upon him for daring to presume any weakness in his constitution. But this is important, and they’ve already put it off long enough. This will be Morpheus’ first time seeing his sister since last Christmas; Death keeps a very busy schedule, and Morpheus has been reluctant to call on her for reasons that Hob mostly understands, though he may not fully agree with all of them.

“It’s going to be fine, love. I know it will,” Hob says, stroking and cradling his husband’s belly in an attempt to reassure them both. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, eh?”

Morpheus nods again, sighs resolutely, and shuffles to the chest of drawers where he keeps his makeshift “gallery,” which consists of an ornate antique jewelry box filled with an array of trinkets they picked up at a flea market. The whole thing is adorable, in Hob’s opinion. There’s a tiny leather-bound notebook, a silver ankh pendant, a tarnished gold heart-shaped locket that neither of them ever managed to open, a single earring with a stylized fish hook, and a large glass marble swirled with a psychedelic rainbow of clashing day-glo colors. No need for Dream’s sigil (where would they even find anything like it?) as Morpheus is a natural lucid dreamer and could easily contact Daniel if he ever needed to. Not that he often calls on any of them, but Hob knows that he feels more secure having the option.

Morpheus removes the ankh from the box and sets it on top of the chest of drawers, staring intently at it as he drums his fingers on the wooden surface. Not quite ready then, evidently. Hob stills his restless fingers by taking his hand—he’s shaking, poor darling—and wrapping him in a hug, gently rocking them from side to side.

He may try to hide it, but it’s obvious to Hob that Morpheus is a nervous wreck. His morning sickness has lasted well into the afternoon, and he’s been hovering restlessly around the flat all day—fidgeting, tidying this and rearranging that, checking his hair every ten minutes, and so on. He’s afraid. Hob empathizes; they’re finally getting an answer to the question that’s been hanging over them for months. What if it’s not the answer they want to hear?

But besides that, Morpheus is apparently worried that Death will scold him or generally disapprove of his recent life choices. It’s quite sweet, really, the way he holds his sister in such high esteem. And it’s understandable; Death is absolutely lovely—when he finally met her for the first time, Hob had been pleasantly surprised to find that he liked her right away. Even more shockingly, she liked him too, despite all the things he’s said about her over the years. He’d felt like a right tit apologizing for calling her stupid, but she’d only laughed and told him he had been forgiven the moment he made her brother smile.

So Hob doesn’t quite share his husband’s fear; he can’t imagine that Death will be anything but happy for them. Morpheus firmly believes he’s done some great wrong just by living his bloody life—the same life his sister enthusiastically bestowed on him specifically so he could finally live after countless lonely, miserable eons of being slowly crushed under the weight of his duties. It’s like—what’s that thing his students are always saying? Like he’s trying to get a good grade in being human, something that’s both normal to want and possible to achieve.

It doesn’t matter whether or not Morpheus’ fear is rational, though. Either way, it’s clearly eating him up inside; he’s so tense, the muscles in his back taut and rigid, unwilling to be soothed as Hob runs his hands up and down his spine. “I can’t do this,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can. I know you can,” Hob whispers, bringing one hand up to the back of his head and caressing his silken hair. “My strong, brave, beautiful husband. You’ve got this, dove.”

Hob pulls back just enough to give Morpheus the most encouraging smile he can muster, although it’s probably not all that convincing. Even if he’s not anticipating a dressing-down from Death, Hob can’t help but be a bit wary of her. As much as he likes Death the Person, his distaste for Death the Actual Thing is so deeply ingrained as to be instinctual, and he’s always a little on edge before her visits. And then there’s that thought he’s been trying in vain to bury for the past four months, clawing its way to the surface once more.

What if the baby is mortal? What if they have to bury another child someday?

Well. They’ll find out, won’t they? Better to rip the band-aid off now. Hob presses himself against his husband and breathes deeply, encouraging him to do the same. “Breathe with me, love. That’s it. I’ve got you, darling. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

Morpheus heaves a shuddering breath before extricating himself from Hob’s embrace and picking up the ankh again. “Sister,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving. “I hold your sigil—”

His invocation is interrupted by a deafening whoosh of wind followed by a flurry of wings, like a bevy of doves startled into sudden flight.

“I’m here!” a cheery voice calls out from the sitting room.

Morpheus gives Hob a pleading look, and Hob strokes his trembling shoulders with sweaty palms. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss the deep furrow between his husband’s brows.

There’s a noise from behind them—a faint huff of laughter followed by a tiny “aww.” Hob turns to see a kind face surrounded by a profusion of sable curls peeking through the bedroom door.

“Will you lovebirds get out here?” Death grins, sighing in mock exasperation. “As adorable as this is, I’m afraid I haven’t got much time to spare.”

Hob feels his neck flushing with embarrassment, and Morpheus looks like a deer caught in the headlights after having just sucked on a lemon. He opens his mouth to rejoin, but before he can speak, a shrill beep sounds from down the hall.

“Ah. That’ll be the crumble,” Hob says sheepishly. “I’ll just go and fix the tea while you two get settled, yeah?” He squeezes his husband’s arm apologetically before heading towards the kitchen. On his way out the door, he ducks to give his sister-in-law a friendly peck on the cheek. “Good to see you again, love. How’ve you been?”

“A bit worried about my brother,” she replies. “But I see that he’s in good hands.” She turns to Morpheus, beaming as she takes his hands in her own and surveys him up and down. “Look at you! I hardly recognize you, little brother,” she coos. “You look so…”

“Pregnant?” Morpheus deadpans.

“Alive!” she laughs, putting an arm around his back and herding him towards the sitting room. “Human! You look great, Morpheus. You really do.” Morpheus scoffs, but does not hold back the small, pleased smile that creeps onto his face as he lets his sister drag him to the sofa.

Most of Hob's worry drains away at Death's enthusiastic reaction, bleeding out of him like the inky clouds seeping into steaming water as he makes the tea. He hopes his husband is feeling the same. Morpheus rarely talks about it, but Hob knows he still feels awful about Orpheus, and about Daniel and Lyta, and a thousand other things. And he thinks his sister is going to tell him he’s wrong for starting a new family after all that. Hob gets it, he really does. He often wonders what Eleanor and Robyn would say if they could see him now. Would they be hurt that he’s “replacing” them? Would they hate him? And what would they say about all the other cruel, horrific, unforgivable things he’s done? Someone like him probably shouldn’t have a family at all…

He exhales heavily, shaking his head as he loads up a tray with their tea and nibbles. Now is not the time to go down that road.

He walks into the sitting room just in time to see Death giving her brother a playful punch to the arm before pulling him in for a hug. “...No, you idiot! Of course I’m happy for you! And it’s obvious you’re happy, so stop moping, will you?” she huffs, clutching his narrow shoulders tightly.

“Thank you, my sister,” Morpheus mutters bashfully. “As usual, your words are a balm to my conscience.”

Hob can only stand in the doorway, grinning and shrieking internally at how cute they are. His anxiety dissipates further at seeing his husband so obviously relieved; just as he suspected, Morpheus had no need to worry about any judgment on Death’s part. Hob is so caught up in witnessing this rare display of Endless sibling affection that he momentarily forgets the reason for his sister-in-law’s visit and the very real possibility that she may have bad news for them.

He ambles over to the sofa, only spilling a few drops of tea as he sets the tray on the coffee table. “Tea and a bite to eat, if anyone’s interested,” Hob announces, furtively scanning the room to be sure he didn’t miss any of Morpheus’ risqué artwork when he tidied up earlier. Fortunately, the only paintings visible are perfectly inoffensive sunsets and still lifes, and Hob feels slightly more at ease as he nestles into his husband’s side. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Morpheus melts into him, the knots in his shoulders unwinding as Hob slings his arm around him.

“Thank you, Hob. This looks lovely,” Death says, taking her tea and a generous portion of the crumble. “So,” she continues after taking a bite, glancing between them with a ‘let’s get down to brass tacks’ expression on her face. Right, this is it, Hob thinks, tightening his grip on his husband’s shoulder. “Are you having a baby shower?”

“Er…” Hob begins, just as Morpheus splutters and nearly chokes on his tea. Not what either of them expected her to say, evidently. “We hadn’t planned on it,” he says dimly, looking at his husband and finding him equally nonplussed.

“But you have to have one!” Death insists. “It’s been ages since you’ve seen the rest of the family, and they’re all excited about their new niece or nephew. Del’s been beside herself. Literally; you know how she gets. And everyone in the Dreaming—”

“Sister,” Morpheus interrupts, rolling his eyes in amusement, “I do not think that will be necessary.”

“It’s sweet, but we really don’t need any more baby stuff,” Hob chimes in, hoping to rescue his husband from the mortifying ordeal of spending time with family. While it sounds like quite a nice idea to Hob, he knows Morpheus has been less keen than ever on socializing lately (which is saying something; it’s getting to be concerning, really). “Suze—er, friend of ours, think you met her at the Christmas party—anyway, she’s given us loads of things her grandkids have outgrown. We’ve already got more than we know what to do with.”

“Nonsense,” Death asserts. “I’ll talk to Lucienne about it. I’d throw it in my realm, but it doesn’t exactly have the right atmosphere for a baby shower, you know? I’m sure Daniel won’t mind us having a little get-together in the Dreaming.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this,” Morpheus says wearily.

“Nope!” his sister replies brightly.

“Very well,” Morpheus grumbles, looking resigned as he nibbles a morsel of Gouda. “As long as you promise it will indeed be only a ‘little get-together.’”

“Of course! Just the family and inner circle; forty, fifty people tops.”

Morpheus groans dramatically and throws his head back against the cushions, and Hob can’t hold back his snort of laughter. It’s absurdly endearing, the way they act like a pair of perfectly normal human siblings; anyone else witnessing this conversation would never guess that one’s an all-powerful cosmic being and the other used to be just as cosmic and all-powerful.

“Well, I think it sounds wonderful. Thanks, D,” Hob says, earning him a betrayed glare from his husband. Hob shrugs and smiles ruefully at him. It would do Morpheus good to get out of the flat, although if the party’s in the Dreaming they technically won’t be leaving their bed—which, come to think of it, might actually convince him to go along with it. And it would be rude to reject the offer, especially when their child’s future might be hanging in the balance. Speaking of which, Hob is eager to get that conversation over with, but he’s not sure how exactly he should broach the subject. “So, er…”

“You want to know if the baby will be denied my gift,” Death says gently.

Morpheus stiffens in Hob’s embrace. Hob gulps. “Yeah, well, we’ve er. Been wondering, is all. Will—I mean, should the baby be immortal? Don’t imagine there’s much precedent for this sort of thing, is there?” he chuckles, tugging nervously at his ear.

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “How about this: the baby will grow up normally, the same as any other human child, and they’ll have my protection until they’re old enough to decide what they want. Then it will be up to them whether or not they want to live forever. They’ll get the same deal I’ve given the two of you unless they choose otherwise. And they may choose to be mortal; you’ll have to be prepared for that possibility.”

Hob lets out a shaky breath. Right. That seems fair. Death’s offer is simultaneously a load off his mind and a whole new source of worry. He can’t imagine any child of his would choose not to live forever, but he supposes it would only be right to give them the option. And at least now they can take solace in the fact that they know what to expect.

Hob takes his husband’s hand and meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows in silent query. Morpheus responds with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. All good, then.

“Thank you, sister. That is a generous offer, and a great comfort,” he pronounces.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s really good to hear,” Hob agrees. “Thank you, Death. Er, I don’t know how we can repay you, but—”

“Don’t be silly,” Death interjects with a wave of her hand. “You’re family. You don’t owe me anything. So. Now that that’s taken care of, tell me, how are you handling prenatal care? Have you been going to Eileithyia again?”

“Yes,” Morpheus says shortly, suddenly taciturn once more. He pops an olive into his mouth, apparently unwilling to elaborate further. It’s still an understandably sore subject, which Death is well aware of, and Hob feels a flash of mild irritation with his sister-in-law for bringing it up.

“She’s been coming to us, actually. Can’t beat the convenience,” Hob chimes in, awkwardly attempting to lighten the mood.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Death replies. “She’s the best there is—on Earth, anyway—and it’s good that you’re mending fences.”

Morpheus scowls at that but doesn’t dispute her words, and Hob squeezes his hand in a silent show of support. He’s glad, too, that his husband just happened to know the ideal person to help them with their medical dilemma, even if they weren’t on the best of terms to start with. Because of course he knows the actual Greek goddess of childbirth and midwifery, and of course there was bad blood between them.

“What do you mean we can’t ask her? She sounds perfect.”

For weeks now, Hob has been agonizing over finding a doctor with a halfway-decent bedside manner who can treat Morpheus and the baby under the radar without asking too many questions. Morpheus hasn’t been much help; if he had his way, they’d avoid that whole mess altogether and he’d lock himself in the bedroom to give birth alone, like a stray cat. So Hob has had his work cut out for him.

And now his husband is presenting him with the answer to all their problems, yet he’s saying they can’t go to her. There’s a story here, Hob’s sure of it, but he’s a little afraid to hear it. “What happened, dove?” he asks softly.

Morpheus sighs—a heavy, creaking thing like an ancient tree toppling over. “She delivered Orpheus,” he murmurs, so quietly that Hob can scarcely hear him over the muffled din of the crowd downstairs. “She is a lady-in-waiting to the Kindly Ones. And a sister of Calliope.”

Ah. Hob can see how that would complicate things. Still, he’s been racking his brain trying to come up with a better solution and consistently coming up blank. “I understand, darling, but are you sure—”

"There is more,” Morpheus interrupts, staring down at his lap. “She—I… sent a dream to her. A portent of things to come. Her son was to be offered up as a champion in battle. Sosipolis—the child—he… he was only a babe, still at his mother’s breast. I…” he trails off, his voice rough.

“Oh, love,” Hob whispers, taking his husband’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“It was not my wish for him to die. You must understand,” Morpheus pleads, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “visions of the future are on the border between dreams and Destiny. I was, in essence, only an unwitting messenger—less than that; I was… merely the paper on which the message was written. Nevertheless…”

“Sweetheart,” Hob says, bringing his hand to his husband’s chin and lifting it to look him in the eye, “I know I’m biased, but this sounds like another one of those stories where you blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Like you said, you were only the messenger. Besides, she chose to do what the dream told her, so it sounds like that was on her.”

“She is a servant of the Fates. She would be a fool to ignore Destiny.”

“Well, then maybe she ought to have taken it up with him,” Hob replies, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. He’s only met Destiny once, and he didn’t much care for him. No sense of humor whatsoever on that one, and he apparently has a history of letting Morpheus take the blame for things that have little to do with him.

“Even so. I… could have been kinder to her.” Morpheus sighs and shakes his head. “When the battle began, the child was transformed into an enormous serpent, and the invaders fled in fear. The serpent survived, but… it was no longer Sosipolis. Not in any way that mattered. Eileithyia came to me then, grief-stricken and enraged. I took no responsibility for my part in her tragedy. Even the boon I offered her was a paltry consolation; I told her to kill the serpent, and her son’s soul would live on in the Dreaming. He would remain a child, and she would never again see him in the Waking World. It was not in my power to offer her more.”

Recognition dawns on Hob as he listens to Morpheus’ tale. He vaguely recalls reading this story in some mythology textbook or other—the bit about the boy turning into a serpent rings a bell, anyway—although at the time, of course, he’d had no idea of his then-stranger-now-husband’s role in the whole thing. It’s always a bit mind-boggling to hear about all the legends, historical events, and even celestial phenomena he’s been involved in, especially when Morpheus talks about them like they happened down the road last Tuesday. Hob is never quite sure what to say, and now is no different.

“Er, that… that just sounds like a tough situation all around, love. And it sounds like you tried to make the best of it; hell, I’d have taken you up on the offer if I were her,” Hob says, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s bony knuckles.

“She did not share your sentiments. She was insulted by the proposition, and she… she told me that she hoped I would know the same pain one day.” Morpheus sniffs and smirks bitterly, his lower lip trembling. “I suppose she ultimately got her wish. In her grief, she eventually killed the serpent. She took some comfort in the dreams of her son, but it was not the same. He was not as he should have been. He should have lived, he…” his voice wobbles as he trails off, and Hob finds himself blinking back tears as he pulls him close, stroking up and down his back.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the parallels to Orpheus, and to Daniel. Hob thinks of Robyn, of the daughter who died before she could ever live, of the child he left behind and never knew. A tangled thread of grief and regret that winds through both of their lives, the same story cropping up again and again… It can’t go that way this time. He won’t let it.

“I’m so sorry, dove. You’re right, things didn’t turn out the way they should’ve. But you did your best. And I understand why you don’t want to ask her for help. We’ll find someone else, I promise.”

In the end, the best candidate Hob managed to find had been a veterinarian with a discreet side practice treating human patients. When he had brought it up to Morpheus, well… if looks could kill and Hob could die, he’d have been reduced to a pile of ash on the spot. He’d almost made a joke about the vet being perfect for his angry cat of a husband, but he didn’t fancy sleeping on the sofa for the next century, so he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I suppose,” Morpheus had conceded through gritted teeth, “I would be willing to speak to Eileithyia. If there is truly no better option.”

Contacting the goddess turned out to be fairly straightforward. Morpheus called on her in much the same way he would call one of his siblings, while holding a talisman that Hob didn’t recognize from the gallery—a small stone figurine that looked a bit like the Venus of Willendorf, apparently the same one he used when he was pregnant with Orpheus. Hob had found it touching that he’d kept it all this time, although Morpheus admitted he hadn’t actually held onto it and had retrieved it from his own dreams with some help from Lucienne. To Hob’s credit, he had only been slightly mystified at this pronouncement and made a mental note to remember that trick the next time he loses his keys.

Eileithyia—who now runs a small private practice in Thessaloniki for people going through difficult pregnancies—had graciously responded to Morpheus’ call and agreed to meet with them at the pub that weekend.

“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Hob asks, his leg bouncing involuntarily beneath the table. Not their usual table, but a booth in the back where they will, in theory, have a modicum of privacy.

“For the third time, yes,” Morpheus sighs beside him.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

“Don’t say nervous,” Morpheus snaps. He looks perfectly composed, his shoulders straight and his face that familiar old mask of aloof neutrality that had taken Hob centuries to crack, but Hob knows his husband would rather be literally anywhere else right now (including Hell, probably).

“Sorry,” Hob mutters, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Morpheus gently bumps Hob’s shoulder with his own, and Hob smiles and knocks their knees together in reply.

They sit there in silence for a few long, tense minutes. Hob sips his beer while Morpheus barely touches his lemonade. Hob has never been a particularly introspective bloke, but he’s been making a sincere effort to be better about that, which is exactly why he’s now frantically trying to calculate how he should behave around the literal goddess they’ll be meeting. What’s the right combination of deference, gratitude, and affected nonchalance to avoid embarrassing his husband and himself? He ought to be used to this sort of thing by now, but the giddy thrill of meeting divine beings in pubs never really wears off.

Before he can overthink it any further, a woman slides into the seat across from them. She’s beautiful, in a surprisingly down-to-earth way, and looks casually sophisticated in her long white blouse and loose-cut trousers. She looks like any other middle-aged woman, so much so that Hob is about to politely inform her that they’re actually saving that seat, when—

“Eileithyia,” Morpheus says. “Thank you for coming.”

“Oneiros,” she responds with a curt nod. “You look well.”

“Robert Gadling—er, call me Hob. We really appreciate you coming all this way,” Hob interjects, reaching his hand out before wondering, a split second too late, if Greek gods shake hands or if he looks like an arsehole right now. Fortunately, Eileithyia grasps his hand across the table and shakes it firmly while giving him an appraising look.

“A pleasure to meet you, Hob Gadling. You are the father, I presume?” she asks. Her voice is low and pleasantly accented, with an authoritative and decidedly maternal tone to it.

“Guilty as charged, ma’am,” Hob replies with an awkward laugh.

Suze appears and takes the goddess’ drink order (black coffee), cheerfully oblivious to the fact that she’s speaking to a millennia-old deity, and once she’s gone Eileithyia leans back in her seat, folding her arms on the table. She seems a very no-nonsense sort of person, with shrewd hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair swept back into an elegant bun. Nevertheless, her stern gaze is softened by laugh lines, and she actually reminds Hob a bit of his own mother, what little he remembers of her. Formidable, but kind.

Right now, she appears to be waiting for one of them to say something. She doesn’t exactly look happy to be here, but the fact that she was willing to come all the way from Greece must be a good sign, right? Even if she did magically teleport.

Hob clears his throat to begin making awkward small talk, but Morpheus speaks first. “Eileithyia. I… owe you an apology. I am. Sorry,” he says haltingly, like the words are being wrenched from him against his will.

Eileithyia raises her eyebrows. “I have never known you to apologize to anyone. It seems Calliope spoke truly. You have changed, Oneiros.”

Morpheus blanches at the mention of his ex-wife, but he nods and cracks a wry half-smile. “Indeed. I have experienced several significant changes as of late.”

Eileithyia’s face softens as her eyes drift down to Morpheus’ midsection, just barely beginning to swell, and Hob can’t hold back the proud grin that blooms on his face. It’s true—Morpheus has changed, for the better in Hob’s opinion. And he knows very well how hard it is for his husband to apologize; the man’s held grudges for billions of years, so this is big.

“Very well. Apology accepted,” the goddess declares. “In truth, I forgave you long ago. Besides,” she adds gently, “my feud was with Dream of the Endless, and you are no longer that.”

Morpheus’ shoulders sag, in relief or regret or maybe both. “I— thank you. That means… a great deal,” he murmurs.

“So, will you be able to help us, then?” Hob asks.

Eileithyia takes a long sip of coffee before answering. “My abilities are much diminished. There are fewer and fewer worshipers; my shrines have fallen into ruin. However, as long as there are those who pray for a safe pregnancy, I retain some of my power.” Hob nods as she speaks, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation, one that he fully understands and that doesn’t sound like a passage from Homer. “Regardless,” she shrugs, “I am also a certified midwife. I doubt there will be much need for divine intervention.”

“Well, even so, you’ve got at least one new acolyte,” Hob chuckles. “I’ll be lighting a candle every day, or… making an offering? Er, how does this work, exactly?”

“I also take cash,” she says, smiling for the first time since her arrival. “But only in euros. None of your funny English money.”

Hob bursts into surprised laughter. “Yeah, alright, we can do that,” he says, shaking his head in bemusement.

“You are sixteen and a half weeks along,” the goddess says, turning to Morpheus. “We’ll start with visits every four weeks. I will come to you; I imagine that will be simpler than you coming to Thessaloniki. You can accommodate a home birth?”

“I—Yes. That… that would be ideal,” Morpheus replies, looking rather nonplussed.

“Good. We will increase to bi-monthly visits in the third trimester. Possibly once a week if there are any complications, though I don’t sense anything now.” Eileithyia looks Morpheus up and down, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s not twins. Do you want to know the sex?”

Hob gapes at her. “You can tell all that just from looking? And you say your powers are diminished?” The goddess simply smirks and shrugs in reply.

“We would prefer not to know the sex,” Morpheus says, and Hob nods in agreement. “Thank you, Eileithyia. Truly. I… I was not sure you would be willing to speak to me again.”

“I would not turn down an expecting parent in need,” Eileithyia assures him. “I am glad you called for me.”

“I’ve got to say, this is all just fantastic news. We’ve been tearing our hair out trying to find a doctor, so we’re really grateful for your help. What a relief, eh darling?” Hob beams, putting an arm around his husband’s shoulders.

Eileithyia surveys the both of them, her expression thawing into something tender and wistful. “Your man cares deeply for you, Oneiros. I am happy for you.”

Morpheus smiles—a full, broad smile that shows his teeth and lights up his whole face. “Yes,” he replies softly, tilting his head to face Hob. “He is a good man. I am lucky to have him.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” Hob splutters, his face heating as he tugs at his ear with his free hand. “I’m the lucky one.”

They hammer out the finer details of the agreement, and Hob can feel his husband relaxing further with each question that’s answered. Apparently fathers are not typically welcome at appointments—something about sacred mysteries and arcane knowledge or some such—which Hob isn’t thrilled about, but they at least manage to talk Eileithyia into letting him be present at the birth.

After they’ve discussed and planned and finished their drinks, a muffled chime sounds from somewhere nearby. The goddess pulls a mobile phone from her pocket and frowns at it. “Ah. A patient is going into labor. I must be going.”

The two men thank her again and say their goodbyes, and as she turns to leave Morpheus calls out to her. “Eileithyia, I… If you speak to Calliope before I do, would you… give her my regards?”

Eileithyia nods and smiles warmly at him before vanishing into the crowd.

So everything worked out brilliantly after all, and Hob couldn’t be prouder of Morpheus for burying that two-thousand-year-old hatchet.

“Yeah, Eileithyia’s been a life-saver,” Hob says, nodding in agreement with his sister-in-law. “If it weren’t for her, we would’ve had to go with one of my, er… underground contacts. And they’re all either glorified drug dealers or so-called ‘doctors’ with questionable credentials whose usual gigs involve extracting bullets from mobsters. And of course anything through the NHS is out of the question.”

“Of course. Can’t have your secret getting out,” Death winks.

“Too right,” Hob agrees before downing the last of his tea. It’s a relief talking to someone who understands. “Only it’s a bit frustrating; not like we can tell any of our friends the real reason we’ve got a midwife making house calls instead of going to an obstetrician like normal people living in the 21st century. Suze keeps trying to talk us out of having a home birth. I think now she thinks we’re just artsy-granola-hippie types. What was it she was asking you the other day, darling?”

“She was impressing upon me the importance of vaccinating the baby,” Morpheus replies. “And reminding me that there is no shame in getting an epidural,” he adds with an endearingly perplexed frown, which only deepens as Death hides a snicker behind her teacup.

“And she’s certainly not wrong!” Hob says. “Still, better that we’ll be dealing with all that in the comfort of our own home. Speaking of the birth, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask your sister, dove?”

A tinge of pink appears on Morpheus’ cheekbones as Death leans forward, glancing between them expectantly. “Ah. Yes, I…” Morpheus begins, stumbling over his words. “Sister. Would you… be there? When the baby arrives?”

“It would be my honor, little brother,” she replies, her eyes shining. “Technically I’m present for every birth, but it’s lovely to be invited.” Morpheus nods, looking a little choked up himself, which naturally makes Hob’s eyes water too. “By the way,” Death continues, “are you planning on introducing the little one to mum and dad?”

Morpheus lets out a derisive bark of laughter. “No. No, I think not.”

“Probably for the best,” Death grins, shaking her head. “Oh, that reminds me, I was talking to Despair not too long ago, and she was saying…”

Hob quickly loses the thread of the conversation as the siblings discuss things that probably happened billions of years ago to people he’s never heard of. He simply watches the movements of his husband’s face, his brow gradually unfurrowing and his eyes creasing with laughter as he listens to his sister’s tales. He’s just so bloody beautiful, so extraordinary. Hob still can’t believe he’s his. He can’t believe he’s sitting here, in his flat, having tea with the former anthropomorphic personification of dreams and the current anthropomorphic personification of death, and they’re talking about literal stars that they know, and their midwife is a goddess, as is his husband’s ex, and…

And what is Hob, compared to all that? Just some bloke who became immortal by accident and knocked up someone so far out of his league they’re not even playing the same sport. The baby is going to be an incredible person, though. Hob is already sure of that. And then he’ll have two extraordinary people in his life, and he’ll still just be some doofus with nothing to offer.

His spiraling rumination is cut short as the two siblings erupt into laughter. Hob laughs along, even though he didn’t hear whatever was so funny. Still, it brings a genuine smile to his face to see Morpheus enjoying himself and looking so relaxed.

“Well,” Death sighs, stretching as she rises from her chair, “I’d better be on my way. Got another appointment nearby.”

“Oh! Wait, you’ve got to see the nursery before you leave,” Hob says, standing up with a groan and extending a hand to help Morpheus to his feet. “Mo’s mural is looking spectacular.”

“Next time. I promise,” she beams, pulling both men in for a hug. “It’s been wonderful to see you, brother. And you, Hob. I’m so happy for you both, really.”

“Thank you, my sister. For everything,” Morpheus murmurs.

Death kisses his temple and whispers something that draws a smile from Morpheus, then turns to Hob. “Take good care of him, Hob,” she says softly.

“I will,” Hob promises, nodding fervently. “Always.”

And then, with a blinding flash of blue light and a fluttering of wings, she’s gone.

Morpheus collapses back into the sofa cushions like his strings have been cut. He looks exhausted. Hob is right there with him. He settles back down beside his husband, gathering him into his lap as he begins to knead out the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Proud of you, love,” he whispers. “And hey, great news from your sister, eh? One less thing to stress about.”

“Mmm,” Morpheus purrs in agreement as he luxuriates in Hob’s touch. “Although I am not looking forward to this ‘baby shower’ of hers.”

“Party pooper,” Hob chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It won’t be too bad. I’ll set an alarm, wake you up if it gets too painful.”

“I will hold you to that,” Morpheus replies.

“How are you feeling, darling? Time for a nap, do you think?”

Morpheus considers this as Hob continues to work out the knots in his neck. “No,” he says finally, “I feel. Restless. And I am craving chips.”

“Why don’t we head downstairs for a bite, then? Probably do us both good to get out and work off this leftover adrenaline.”

Hob is half expecting Morpheus to insist on staying here while Hob goes and fetches him some chips (a frequent occurrence in the Gadling household), but to his surprise, his husband nods. “Yes. I think I would like that,” Morpheus says, moving to stand up.

“Brilliant!” Hob exclaims, with a bit more gusto than he’d intended, as he hauls them both to their feet. He can’t help it; getting his husband to leave the flat feels like almost as big a victory as the positive news they’ve just received. “Shall we?” He holds his arm out in an exaggerated show of gentlemanliness, and Morpheus takes it with a roll of his eyes that belies the adoring grin on his face.

Hob has a spring in his step as they make their way down to the pub, arm in arm. There’s nothing, he thinks, that could spoil his good mood right now.

Well. Almost nothing.

✨✨✨✨✨

Thanks for reading! Reblogs, as well as kudos and comments on ao3 are always appreciated! 💗💗💗

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candysugarush · 7 months ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞...

𝐎𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

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The trap door of the attic creaked loudly, a sign of the wear of time and rare use of the old wood as dust particles flew in the air of the cramped space. One might wonder what led to this? Well, it was nothing more than the curiosity of two children of man, youthful and curious beings completely excited at the propect of exploring and sniffing around the corner of the old house of their sweet grandma. The first head popping up, pushing on weak limbs that should definitely have seen more exercise considering the age of their owner, let out a cough as they got a mouthful of dust and old smell right in their nose and mouth.

" Argh?! *Cough* *cough* It's so fucking dusty in here! Is there no ventilation?!"

Finally pushing the rest of their body on the small ladder and standing fully in the space, they took the time to dust off their clothes as a sliver of light from a tiny window made them visible on the dark space. A young man whose youthful energy was only matched by his bravado, your older brother. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped around the space, watching the dust particles flowing around like fairy dust.

" Hey, munchkin. Get your ass up faster, would you? I don't know how long we can stay there until we need to take fresh air in our lungs. So hurry up."

Pushed by the insistence of the young man, you followed after him and stood beside him in the secret space full of antiques and secret of the past. You didn't even have time to wonder too much about your grandparents' belongings as your careless sibling already went to move around and touch stuff without waiting for you. He huffed as he looked through boxes and old furniture's drawers but seemingly his searches didn't seem to satisfy his exploratory soul.

" Tch, boringggg... "

You were about to scold him for his recklessness with handling the items that definitely saw better days and shouldn't be thrown around as this hooligan was doing, when you caught glimpses of a small shelf with books on it. Immediately, you felt drawn to it as you approached the old wooden furniture. But it wasn't the structure that interested you. It was the content of it.

There were a few things on the shelves. Mostly trinkets and old leather bound journals. Probably diaries of your grandparents. And there was a lone book there. It was large and quite big too. It was bound close with ribbons and ropes for some reason. As you felt compelled to reach toward the scripture, a hand reached forward before you and went to grab it with a groan. Snapping out of it, you turned your head to look at your brother who was holding the book in his hands with a smirk.

" Ugh, damn it's heavy! What is this? The entire movie script and original text of 'The Lord of the Rings'?"

He paused his antics to look at you with a mock stern tone.

" You should be careful, kiddo. That thing could easily crush your foot if you let it slip from your hands."

He placed the book back on the shelf as his eyes noticed a certain item. An ink pot that looked ancient but chic and elegant. Everything that would catch the attention of your brother. He grabbed the glass flask, glancing at the content in awe.

" Woah, there's no inscription on it but it does look like an ink pot. And it even looks shimmery... You don't think grandma will miss it if we take it, right?"

You had a bad feeling about this and were about to tell him off as he pulled on the stopper of the flask, trying to open it to look at it more closely. Seems like luck wasn't on your side at all during this small exploration trip as he suddenly gasped when he managed to open the flask. Unfortunately, his movement was too abrupt and sent the liquid splash out right into the book on the shelf, the liquid seeping through the paper exposed. He yelped as he put the flask back on the shelf and went to grab the book.

" Shit, grandma is going to kill me! Y/n hold the book for me while I open it and assess the damage!"

He literally almost threw the heavy book in your hands as he undid the ribbon and rope around it before opening it. The sound of papers flickering resonates through the room. And it would have been the end of it if not for the shimmery ink on the paper, starting to glow ominously and spread through the pages. The sight made both of you recoil from shock. But where he could simply stepped back, you had the heavy scriptures in your hands and could only watch helplessly as the glow turned into a flash of light blinding you before you lost consciousness, the last thing you heard being your brother calling out your name.

After what felt like both a few seconds and eternity, you fluttered your eyes open only to see the blue sky with the soft rustling of leaves in the trees from the wind. Pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a grunt, you held your head while regaining your bearing and glancing around. The scenery was unfamiliar and you seemed to be in different clothes than the one you were wearing previously. You honestly didn't know what to make of the situation until your eyes landed on a paper beside you with something scribbled on it with ink. Hesitantly grabbing the parchment and bringing it closer to read it, your breath hitched in your throat at the content.

" 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮, 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓬𝓮. "

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Taglist: @loumin908

#yandere #fairy tales au #bts #txt #enhypen #x reader #yandere txt #yandere enhypen

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niqhtlord01 · 1 year ago

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Humans are weird: Hearts of Steel and Lightning. An Earl Von Morgan tale.

( 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)

“Mrs. Roth, I thought I told you I was not to be disturbed.”

The banging against the door had gone on long enough to finally draw the ire of Junior Ambassador Jung. He nodded apologetically to his guest at the disturbance who smiled in return. He would have enjoyed nothing more than to fire and replace the assistant but for the moment he still lacked the political position to replace members of the diplomatic core.

It had been several months since the night of bloody velvet. When Jung had heard of that horrible incident he was shocked, but he almost didn’t believe it when he was informed that Ambassador Morgan had protected the Hive ambassador Tilith by tackling an assailant out of a four story window.

Several notable figures had been killed during the attack, but surprisingly Ambassador Morgan was not one of them. He used the assailant he had tackled to cushion his fall which lessened the damage, but not fully negated it. No sooner had EMT’s arrived on the scene was he carted away to the nearest hospital where he has resided since. In the interim Jung had been appointed as humanities ambassador, and now his scheming and double dealing that would ensure his ascendency to the primary ambassadorship now that Earl Von Morgan was still recovering in the hospital.

Without warning the doors to the officer burst open. Jung stood to his feet and was about to lambast whoever was foolish enough to think they could storm into his future but bit his tongue as he saw the man standing before him; almost literally as a small droplet of blood rolled from between his lips as the figure slowly walked into the office.

“You are lucky I find you amusing, Junior ambassador,” the figure spoke, emphasizing the “Junior’ of Jung’s title, “because in any other circumstance I would have shot you for such disrespectful conduct.

Carrying himself on a pair of metal crutches and half a face still covered in bandages, Ambassador Morgan slowly made his way into the room.

“Ambassador..” Jung stammered as he walked around the desk, “so good to see you up and about.”

“Oh really?”

Morgan’s one uncovered eye fixed itself on Jung and he felt as if he had just entered the lense of a deadly hunter.

“Why of course!” Jung continued. “Had I been informed that the hospital had released you I would have sent a car to pick you up.”

Morgan held his gaze for a few moments more before grunting and walking past Jung. “I find that rather hard to believe.” He said as he sank back into the chair Jung had just vacated.

Jung looked at him confused, but was forestalled from answering as the guest finally spoke up.

“It is a pleasure to meet you ambassador Morgan; my name is-“

“Fitzgerald Fondwell, founder and CEO of Fondwell industries.” Morgan finished. He waved for the man to sit back down as he rummaged through the drawers of the desk looking for something.

“What did you do with my cigars?”

“I had them thrown out.” Jung replied.

Morgan’s head slowly lifted itself from the drawer he had been inspecting and fixed him with yet another withering glare.

“They were terrible for your health,” Jung explained,” and with your recent injuries-“

“ROTH!”

Morgan’s voice was loud and authoritative, silencing the Junior ambassador and Fondwell like a school teacher chastising rowdy students. From outside the officer the elderly secretary came in holding a pair of cigars in one hand and an antique lighter in the other.

“Don’t worry, I have your spares still.” She replied dryly as she walked past a still silenced Jung. “And how many times have I told you not to shout at me?”

She laid the cigars and lighter on the desk and crossed her arms. “Damn boy threw out my cigars.” Morgan mumbled as he put one of the cigars into his mouth and fiddled with the lighter. His bandaged fingers could barely ignite the flame and those gathered in the office watched on as an increasingly angry Morgan failed to light his cigar. Just as he seemed ready to throw the lighter at Jung Roth snatched it from his hand and in one swift motion ignited the flame.

Morgan shifted the cigar in his mouth to the flame and took several puffs from it. “That will be all.” He spoke and the secretary let out a long sigh before leaving the room again.

As the doors shut Morgan returned his gaze to Fondwell and Jung. Both looked at each other but neither said anything as they waited for what was to happen next.

Morgan motioned to the one remaining seat open opposite him. “Sit.” He said and Jung sheepishly took the offered seat. He took another round of puffs from his cigar before taking it out of his mouth and dabbing it in what was previously Jung’s drink.

“You will need to forgive my sudden intrusion.” Morgan began, “I understand that you were discussing some rather important matters before I returned to MY office.”

Another emphasis directed at Jung which made him grind his teeth. “It was nothing to trouble you over, ambassador.” Jung began with his fake grin plastered across his face. “We were just finalizing the matter now.”

“You mean the continued enslavement of the B37 Units?”

Fondwell’s eyes went wide and Jung’s mouth fell open.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Fondwell interjected, “the B37 units are products my company manufactures.”

Morgan nodded, though he looked to regret the motion as a flash of pain darted across his face.

“That is true,” he replied, “were we not receiving reports that several units have gain sentience and began requesting equal treatment.”

Fondwell laughed and shook his head. “I would hardly call technical glitches a sentience.”

“A glitch you say?” Morgan looked at the industrial tycoon before activating the intercom.

“Mrs. Roth, please send in my guest.”

The doors opened once more and both Jung and Fondwell turned to see a new figure enter. They wore custom fitted clothes that held their shape, but both of them knew from the sound of the heavy footfalls and the clanking of gears that this new guest was mechanical in nature. To their greater surprise as they finally took stock of the figures face they saw it was a B37 unit.

“What is this?” Fondwell demanded as the unit stopped in front of the desk directly between Jung and Fondwell and removed their bowler hat.

“This,” Morgan said as he pointed to the B37 unit, “is Fizz.”

“Fizz?”

Morgan nodded. “It is the name they wish to be addressed by.”

“This thing cannot have a name.” Fondwell spoke, turning in disgust from the machine.

“And yet it is my own.”

Jung and Fondwell jumped in start as Fizz finally spoke.

“Mr. Fizz made me aware to his people’s plight while I was in the hospital.” Morgan continued as he took another puff from his cigar. This seemed to trouble Jung who looked at his boss.

“I was told you were heavily medicated for the duration of your stay.” Jung asked.

“I was,” Morgan admitted, “until Mr. Fizz here hacked themselves into the medical equipment. Damn near killed me in the process before I came to my sense and called off the rabble of doctors around me.”

“So you’re saying this unit tried to harm you?” Fondwell stood to his feet now and backed away from the unit as if it would lunge at him at any moment. To his surprise Morgan shook his head.

“Quite the contrary; it would seem that the medical equipment, while stating I was receiving the standard amount of drugs, had been in fact giving me nearly three times the dose amount keeping me in my medical coma.”

“We will need to have this investigated at once.” Jung interjected. “I assure you we will find out what went wrong.”

Morgan looked at him and chuckled. “Oh I already know what happened, boy.”

Jung could feel the bands of sweat racing down his forehead now.

“I know it was you who had the machines altered to keep me in this state, and while I was under you could use your new found position to block the motion being put forward to recognize synthetic life as equals.”

Jung gave a nervous laugh. “Why would I do such a thing?” In response Morgan motioned to Fondwell who was similarly sweating now.

“Because if synthetic life became recognized Fondwell here would need to cease production of his most popular product lest he be accused of slavery; which is why he agreed to give you a sizeable bribe for your support.”

Both men looked at each other in stunned silence as Morgan continued puffing away at his cigar.

“You know I think I missed these most while I was in the hospital,” Morgan joked, “I dreamt of them but they never had the same flavor as the real thing.”

“I will not stand here and be made a mockery of!” Fondwell shouted. He shot a glare at Fizz before storming past his creation and throwing open the doors. He found a squad of police officer waiting on the other side that grabbed him and hand him in handcuffs before he could let out a cry of surprise.

As they dragged away the increasingly vocal tycoon another pair of officers entered the office and approached Jung.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Jung demanded as he back away. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Spare us the false hoods.” Morgan touted. “Fizz brought me all the proof I needed before I left my hospital bed.”

As the officer drew closer Jung lunged at Morgan. He wagered if he could take the ambassador hostage he could get them to back off and let him go; that there was some way to salvage this situation.

He made it half way before he felt a cold metallic vice grip grab his arm and throw him back into a nearby bookcase. Jung gasped as the air was driven from his lungs and saw that Fizz had interposed himself between the two of them and had so casually derailed his last attempt at freedom. He laid their gasping as the officers clapped him in handcuffs and began reading him his rights as he was dragged out of the office for the last time.

------------------------------------- “Thank you for that.” Morgan spoke to Fizz as the doors to the office closed.

“I calculated if I had not intervened there was a 96% chance that you would have wounded the Junior ambassador, resulting in a substantial release of his vital fluids across the room.”

“I did not know you cared for human life so much.” Morgan replied in surprise, but Fizz shook his head.

“In truth, I was more concerned with the additional work the cleaning machines would need to perform to remove Mr. Jung’s blood from the carpet.”

Morgan’s eye went wide in surprise at such an honest answer and let out a deep billowing laughter that made his side’s ach in unimaginable pain. Only when his coughs drove what was left of the air from his lungs did he stop and compose himself again.

“Thank you for that.” Morgan said, to which Fizz shook his head.

“Honor your word, and we shall be even.”

Morgan looked at the machine and grinned. “I promise you that by weeks end you and your people shall have the freedom you seek; after that what you do next is up to you.”

Before either could continue the buzzer rang again. “Excuse me ambassador,” Mrs. Morgan’s voice came through, “but ambassador Tilith has arrived and is rather insistent on seeing you.”

“I hate to be rude after you just save me,” Morgan began as he straightened himself up as best as he could, “but I will need to ask you to return at a later time to continue our talks.”

“More trouble?” Fizz queried. For the first time since he saw the human Fizz witnessed Earl Von Morgan look nervous.

“When last I saw ambassador Tilith I was grappling a would-be assassin through a window and falling several stories.” Morgan remarked. “And you her being here brings back those memories?” Fizz asked, but Morgan shook his head.

“Hardly; but in comparison I am more terrified of how she will berate me for being so reckless, and that’s if I am lucky.” He chuckled.

Fizz looked at the human for a moment before turning around and leaving the ambassador to his strange fate.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #earl von morgan #robot rights

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drjohndisco · 11 months ago

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Evermore (Chapter 04)

( Masterlist || Ao3 Link )

Content Warnings: discussions of of grief/death, mentions of puppets, mentions of (assumed) dead parents, mentions of pregnancy.

Author's Note: These bitches gay! Good for them!

Beetle was curled up on top of the attic bed when Ruby found them.

After the funeral they’d gotten Emma to give them a lift back to her parent's place (it’s where they’d chosen to hold the wake), and hadn’t moved since going upstairs and lying down.

(Everything had gone to custard. The thing with Ruby, and now their dad was dead? Life truly didn’t have it in them to give her a break, it seemed.)

Then, there was a quiet knock on the door.

‘Hey.’ Ruby said, quietly. ‘May I come in?’

‘Sure.’ Beetle mumbled, not rolling over.

Ruby wandered over and sat herself down in the space next to Beetle.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to say anything to you. I don’t think words are the right thing, and I’m sure you’ve heard everything everyone could possibly tell you a bajillion times over.’ Ruby said.

‘Yeah. You got that right,’ Beetle replied. ‘But, I don’t think bajillion is a real number, Red.’

‘Well, maybe it should be!’ Ruby laughed.

Beetle sat up then, now properly looking at her.

(She was so cute when she smiled.)

‘Ruby, what are you really here for?’ Beetle asked, after a beat. ‘What have you got to tell me?’

‘I--’ Ruby mumbled. ‘I think if you'd been there. I would have kissed you instead.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh? That's all you have to say? Just, oh?’

‘Well, it's a lot…’ Beetle sighed. ‘I mean, don't get me wrong, it's really good to know that you do - in fact - like me back---’

‘Wait….back? What do you mean, back?’ Ruby said, interrupting Beetle.

‘Rain said that the kiss brought my feelings to the forefront. Perhaps, they'd always been there? Belle, isn't going to be a problem…my feelings for you were what was confusing me.' Beetle explained.

‘Okay, well, then we can take it slow?’ Ruby asked, after a beat.

‘Yes. I’d like that.’ Beetle confirmed, taking her hands.

(Gold's Antiques Shop)

Rain was leaning against the shop walls when Belle and Rumple got there.

(Sure, they could have picked the lock like August had taught them to, but they really couldn’t be bothered.)

‘What are you…?’ Belle asked, when she noticed them. ‘Why are you outside the shop?’

‘I’m here to arrange for Geppetto’s parents to be picked up by August. They’ve been gathering dust for a while, it’s the least I could do.’ Rain replied. ‘Would you please, let me in?’

The door to the shop then clicked open, and Belle and Rain followed behind Rumple. Abruptly they stopped, shocked, staring at the interior of the building.

It had been completely totalled.

‘What happened here?’ Belle questioned.

‘Hook. This is why he attacked you.’ Rumple stated, stepping through the debris to make his way towards the counter. Behind him Rain walked to the stand that had the dolls on it, and picked them both up.

‘Creepy little things, aren’t you?’ Rain muttered, then paused. ‘Uh, I’m sorry, if you can hear me -- as you’re sort of my in-laws….I suppose? But, we don’t want to get into that now.’

Rain then shoved them both quickly into their bag, and turned back to look at Belle and Rumple; only to see that they were now by the opened safe and smashed counter.

Suddenly, Rumple brought his cane down on the counter - throwing away a small model ship. The glass shattered, and fell to the floor with a loud crash. Besides Rumple, Belle flinched.

‘Rain,’ Belle asked, moving closer towards them. ‘Could you please walk me back to Emma’s?’

‘Of course I can.’ Rain replied.

‘Wait, Belle!’ Rumple called out, reaching down and pulling out a gun (of all things) from the drawer under the cabinet. ‘Before you go, could you please take this?’

Seeing this, Rain grabbed the gun from him before Belle could touch it, and checked to see if the safety was off.

‘Really?’ Rain said, handing Belle the bag with the dolls in it, so they could clip the gun onto their belt. ‘She doesn’t even know what a gun is!’

‘But-’ Rumple protested.

‘No!’ Rain stated fiercely. ‘I’m taking Belle and leaving before I cave and decide that I should shoot you with this.’

So, they took Belle’s hand and led her away from him. As the door closed behind them Rumple placed his head in his hands.

‘Bloody fairies.’ He groaned.

(Emma's House - Again)

Confident that Belle would be okay on her own upstairs, Rain plonked the dolls down on Emma’s counter (next to the salad and Archie’s memorial photo).

Emma’s house guests had gone now (after leaving various condolence cards for August and Beetle), so now it was just August, Beetle, Belle, Ruby, and Rain left.

‘What the hell are those things?’ Emma asked.

‘Archie’s parents.’ Rain replied, deadpan. ‘I was going to give them to August, but then I thought that might be one thing too many to pile on him today.’

‘Understandable.’ Emma laughed, awkwardly. ‘He’s over there, against the couch if you want to see him.’

‘Thank you, Emma.’ Rain said, with a soft smile.

(Storybrooke Docks)

‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ Rain sighed, when they realised where exactly they’d stopped. ‘I did not think this through at all, I just wanted to get us someplace quiet.’

‘No, I think it’s quite funny really.’ August laughed. ‘It almost seems appropriate. You, bringing me to the sea, where I died, on a day like today. Like fate can’t let us go.’

‘Fuck fate!’ Rain moaned.

‘I very much agree.’ August commiserated. ‘Now, what did you want to talk to me about?’

(For a moment, Rain considered mentioning their recent positive pregnancy test, but thought better of it.)

‘Putting it simply,’ Rain replied, swinging their arms up and down. ‘I thought you needed a break.’

‘I certainly did, today has been a lot. Most of them being on the not-particularly-good side of things.’ August said, taking Rain’s hand in his. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘Yeah, I’m just sorry it took so long.’

Elsewhere Belle was reflecting on her (rather odd) day, as she walked along the docks searching for Hook's ship.

(So far she wasn’t having any luck.)

Behind her, in bug form, Beetle was following; ready to act as back up if Belle needed.

‘Where is it?’ She asked.

Then her attention was caught by the sound of creaking rope. Pausing in her tracks she looked around once more, and saw some seagulls fly into view and land on something invisible.

Belle then stepped backwards and opened the sandbox to her left, taking a handful and throwing it in front of her. This action revealed a set of stairs, presumably leading onto the ship.

‘Found you.’ Belle gasped, tentatively stepping up and onto the boat.

Reaching the end of the stairs Belle found herself in front of a wooden door, which she pushed open cautiously.

‘Hello?’ A muffled voice cried out.

‘Uh, hello?’ Belle asked.

Beetle took this moment to circle around the room, antennae twitching. Then, they transformed back with a flash of red light and pointed to the middle of the deck.

‘How do you know?’ Belle questioned.

‘Like August said to me the other day, I can feel the vibrations.’ Beetle replied. ‘I think whomever is in here is under the floorboards.’

‘Down here!’ The voice called out again.

‘Dad?’ Beetle muttered, reaching down and opening the covering.

Inside the space, tied up but very much alive, was Archie.

‘Oh, thank god!’ Archie celebrated.

‘Dad!’ Beetle gasped, suddenly overcome by a wave of relief. ‘You’re okay?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Archie said. ‘It’s good to see you both. Now, can you, uh,’

So, Belle took a nearby sword and cut his ropes with it. He then stood up and got out of the confined space, moving immediately towards Beetle and embracing them in a hug.

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ Archie gasped.

‘Go, find Rain.’ Belle ordered. ‘Tell them I’m here on the ship.’

‘What? You’re not going to come with me?’

Footsteps then sounded overhead, causing them to jump.

‘Go, go, go, there’s no time to argue.’

‘Dad, come on!’ Beetle said, taking hold of Archie’s arm. ‘I saw them sitting at the docks, they’re not far.’

By the time Beetle had made their way back to Hook’s ship with Rain (Archie had opted to stay behind with August for a proper reunion), Rumple had gotten there before them.

He was looking down at the prone body of a beaten and bloody Hook, while holding a small beige rag. Belle was standing over to his left; having not moved out of fear and the shock of seeing Rumple’s sudden violence.

‘Oh, and Beetle’s here too with their friend, how fun. Come to watch me suffer, have you?’ Hook cried out weakly, shifting his gaze to them. ‘You know, I saw your mother the other day.. I wonder what she’d think about all of this?’

At this remark Beetle reached into their pants pocket and pulled out a handgun, firing two shots into the mast above Hook’s head.

‘Don’t ever mention her to me again!’ Beetle yelled.

‘Was that really necessary?’ Rumple asked, voice steely as he turned to look at Beetle.

‘Yup.’ Beetle replied, grinning. ‘Now step away from this crime scene, or I’ll shoot you too.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘Well, there’s harassment and assault to start with..’ Rain stated, counting with their fingers before looking over to Belle. ‘Belle, do you have anything to add?’

Cautiously, Belle shook her head.

‘But what about him?’ Rumple questioned angrily. ‘Doesn’t he have to pay?’

‘Yeah, but we have to get him to a hospital first.’ Beetle replied. ‘Then we’ll think about it.’

(Later)

Emma had chosen to take Rumple to the holding cells after talking to the others about what had occurred. But, since there was no way in hell Emma would have also taken Hook in her car with Rumple, that task was left up to Rain. Which, unfortunately, led to several long hours of waiting and piles of hospital paperwork.

Now, however, they were seated in Granny’s diner alongside Archie, August and Ruby.

‘I am going to need so much therapy after this.’ Belle sighed, resting her head against Ruby’s shoulder.

‘Well, then it’s good my dad isn’t dead then, isn’t it?’ Beetle joked.

‘BEETLE!’ Rain groaned at the same time as Archie muttered ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ Beetle laughed. ‘You heard me, I went there.’

Rain just shook their head.

‘Good to see everyone happy again, isn’t it?’ August asked them quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Rain replied. ‘It is.’

(So why couldn't they shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong again?)

(The Outskirts Of Town)

‘Hey!’ A mechanic called out. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Just a cheap car check-up is fine.’ The man replied. ‘Now, tell me, where can I find Regina Mills?’

#ouat au #my writing*#universe: evermore (ouat au)#oc x canon #oh want to hold her hands so bad.....

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