#bc my brain is fading and tonight is my last chance to do this and I wanna do well

[yakultii]

just spent 5 hours doing what

[rosy-cheekx]

Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

-

1.

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

2.

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

3.

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

[harryhandstan]

This is my contribution to @meetmeinfleetwood​‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I chose the trope roommates to lovers and the prompt “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” This was fun to write thank you for allowing me to participate!

Thank you to my beta readers @tbslenthusiast​, @witch-harry​, and @sunflowers-styles​! Y’all are the best!!

no warnings that I can think of other than alcohol tw // bc of the wine they share!

word count: 2.3k

writing tag | masterlist

It’s 5:45 p.m. when you finally leave work for the day. You should’ve just said to hell with it and went home at 5:30 like you were supposed to, but you were nice enough not to. Too nice you’d been told in the past, but it’s a flaw you’re willing to accept if it gets you a promotion to the position you ultimately dreamed of working when you started there 3 years ago.

After a quick stop to grab a bottle of wine (or two), your car can’t get you home fast enough. It’s Friday and you’re looking forward to spending time doing absolutely nothing for the next two days but curling up in a blanket and watching Christmas movies in the apartment you will essentially be alone in. Your roommate Harry shared the space with you, but kept to himself for the most part. Aside from dinners and movie nights on rare occasions when your schedule lined up, allowing you to spend the evening together.

As if your thoughts summoned him, your phone dinged, indicating a new message. Your eyes dart down to where it sits in the passenger seat, careful to keep your eyes on the car in front of you, waiting patiently for the light to turn red so you can grab your phone to respond.

It’s one simple word, “Home?” so you know he’s either still working or on his own drive home. 

Your reply is just as direct, “Not yet. On my way! Movie night?” 

The light’s green again so you tuck your phone back into your purse, ignoring the next ding until you arrive home. You’re through the door of your apartment and down the hall before you read his message, “Sure. Chinese or pizza?” 

“Chinese! I’ll pick the movie and you pay for dinner?”

“That doesn’t sound fair :(”

“Alright fine, you get home before I’m out of the shower and in my pajamas you can pick the movie..deal?”

“Deal!”

The race is on then, both of you competitive and determined to win. You have a movie in mind that you’ve been dying to watch all day and you don’t want to have to rock-paper-scissors to break the tie like you usually do when the two of you don’t agree on who wins  these little games. 

You’d already shed most of your layers of clothing easily as you moved through the apartment; your boots kicked off by the door, jacket gone and thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, cardigan pulled from your body and tossed on the bed by the time you made it to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long to strip the rest away and to gather a set of pajamas from your well organized drawer before darting across the hall to the shared bathroom.

You know you have at minimum 45 minutes to be done, an hour if he goes to the better Chinese place a little further across town, which he most likely would. You’d been dreaming of ending your week with a bubble bath, but you don’t take the chance now, just hop under the hot spray of the shower, hoping it will have the same relaxing effect. Your eyes are closed as you tilt your head back to wet your hair while one hand fumbles over the bottles to find your shampoo. 

Eyes still closed, you tip the bottle to add a bit to your hand, but you freeze when you open your eyes temporarily to close the bottle and put it back on the shelf. It’s Harry’s shampoo you’ve grabbed instead and for a moment you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how many times you’ve teased him about how expensive his products are. But he would never let you hear the end of it if he came home and you smelled like him. Ultimately you would’ve felt too guilty to waste it, so you work it through and hope he never finds out. Pray that the act washes away just like the suds do when you rinse them from your hair. 

By your hopeful calculations, you still have about 10 minutes left before he arrives by the time you're done in the shower. You decide to give him a fair advantage, venturing into the kitchen to decide which bottle of wine would pair best with dinner. When you make your selection, you pour yourself a glass, settling into a comfy spot on the couch. The black remote taunts you from the small wooden coffee, and you grab it. No harm in getting the movie ready while you wait, right?

You’re 2 glasses deep and 20 minutes into the movie when he arrives, a smirk on his face at the sight of you. Your eyes go wide when you see him. You’re not sure why, there had been many nights he’d found you in the same position, but tonight feels different. You gulp down the sip of wine, too tipsy and unaware that you’re staring. Had his dimples always been that prominent when he smiled? Even without your glasses you could spot that grin that stretched a mile wide across his face.

“Haroldddd..you’re home!”

He hated that nickname, had always despised when other people called him that, but falling from your lips it sounds like a prayer and he would gladly change his name to that if he thought it would make you the least bit happy.

“S’pose I lost, huh? Got the food pretty quickly but stopped to get this,” He holds up a bottle of wine, ironically the very same kind that you’re drinking now, “Shoulda known y’would already have some!”

“Oh good, you got some for yourself..this one’s almost empty..”

“M’not that late, am I?” He chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, looking between you and the bottle.

“Hey..it’s a small bottle! This is only my third glass and I’ve barely even touched it.”

“Rough day?” He’s pulling plates down now and retrieving a glass for himself from the cabinet.

“Rough week. Rough few weeks, really.” You take a few more sips as you watch him prepare a plate of food. You figure he’s just making his own, and you wait patiently for him to finish so you won’t be in the way. But when he makes his way around the counter, he’s holding two plates in his hand and wow you want to jump from your spot and kiss him. You restrain yourself, as hard as it may be, and try to focus on the question he’s asking you.

He holds the plates towards the table and then towards where you sit on the couch, silently wanting to know where you’d prefer to enjoy your meal. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to move closer, knowing how much effort it would take to lift yourself from your warm, comfy spot to go eat at the table.

“Emily still on vacation?” 

“Yes! And she expects us to do double the work while she’s gone! It’s her 3rd vacation this year. I know she’s the boss but..”

“Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch to you.” He finishes your sentence for you, brow furrowed, upset at even the idea of someone mistreating you in the slightest. 

“Right! Thank you!” 

You hold your hand out to accept the plate he’s made for you, “Got our usual, hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I was just joking earlier about you paying for all of it. I’ll pay you back for my half.”

He’s already shaking his head no, stuffing a bite of food in his mouth, “It was my turn anyway, r‘member? You paid for those tacos we had last week.”

“Right, I did. Forgot about that.”

You watch him devour a few more bites, your eyes darting from your plate to his, “Yours looks better.”

“Huh?”

Maybe it’s the wine making you more bold, you’d normally never complain, “Your plate it just..looks better than mine. Switch with me.”

“It’s literally the same thing..and I’ve already eaten half the noodles off mine.” He looks mildly annoyed at even the suggestion.

“Don’t care..it looks better. Switch.” You realized just how bratty you sound, so you add a quick, “Please?”

He huffs dramatically, switching the plates and giving you a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”

You return his smile, blissfully unaware of his annoyance in your tipsy state, “Very, thank you.”

You both turn your attention to the tv you realize now you had forgotten to pause, so the movie had progressed further, about 30 minutes in now.

His irritation has already faded when he asks, “What are y’making me watch?”

You start to explain the plot but stop mid-bite of your food, “Wait..have you never seen this movie?”

He shrugs, “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Oh we’re definitely starting it over then!” 

“No, ya don’t hafta..”

It’s too late, you’ve already discarded your now mostly empty plate of food, nearly knocking your glass of wine over in your excitement of making him watch one of your favorite movies.

Almost an hour in, you don’t notice that Harry’s eyes have drifted to you. In fact, they’d mostly stayed on you since you’d restarted the movie. Your facial expressions were better to him than any movie; the way your eyes softened at the more heartwarming parts, or when your mouth formed a soft ‘o’ and gasped at parts he was certain you had probably seen at least a dozen times before.

You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically and he doesn’t even flinch, just listens intently when you say, “I love this part..this is the moment.”

His eyes temporarily flash back to the tv then, “The moment?”

“Yeah, you know, the moment. Where the guy looks at the girl and realizes he’s in love.” You sigh deeply, “I always wanted someone to look at me like that.”

Oh, you mean like what’s happening now between us? God he hopes for just a glance from you, a chance to show you that you’re living your own moment now if you’d just look at him. 

It’s tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he can stop it, his mouth working faster than his brain, but it’s a low enough whisper he thinks maybe you won’t hear.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.”

You do hear him, though you don’t believe it at first. Your hand is still resting over your heart, searching his face for any sign of teasing or dishonesty.

“H..did you just..?”

He’s looking down at his hands, fingers fiddling with one of the rings adorning his fingers, nodding before replying, “I did.” 

“How long?”

“Um..since the first week we’ve lived together? That first night we made dinner together and it was a disaster. Thought you were gonna catch the place on fire.” A giggle escapes him at the memory of you, rushing around the kitchen that night, face flushed red and hair a mess.

“That’s my moment? Almost burning our apartment down?”

“That and now, yeah. Just been strugglin’ with the best way to tell you. S’pose the wine’s making me a lil’ more fearless,'' He takes a deep breath, still not able to look at you in case he finds even a hint of rejection on your face, “But I understand if you don’t feel the same..”

“I do.”

His head snaps to look at you then, eyes widening for a second before he composes himself, “Really?”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms across your face at the sight of the thrill in his eyes. There’s a new buzz of elation in the air, but neither of you make a move at first. A pleasant tension fills the space between the two of you.

You break the silence, “So..what do we do now?”

“S’all up to you how fast and how far we take this. M’all in though, ready when you are, love. A cuddle might be nice while we finish the movie, if you’re up f’that.”

“I think I could handle that. I want something else first though.”

He’s trying to read your mind, thinks he knows exactly what it is, but he wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear the words he’s been waiting to hear for what feels like a lifetime now.

“Kiss me, Harry.”

You’ve already turned your body towards him; the movie, the food and the wine all long forgotten. He clears the space between the two of you easily, a hand on the side of your neck to add just enough pressure to pull you towards him.

Your lips crash against his, noses bumping at first but it doesn’t stop you, it only makes you crave him deeper and closer. You press your knees into his thighs, pushing yourself up so that you hover over him, your hair falling around his face. It’s still slightly damp from the shower, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your head now. 

There’s a smug look on his face when he pulls away, a hand still placed on your hip to hold you steady. He’s still breathless when he asks, “Did you use my shampoo?”

When you wake up in his bed the next morning, you question if last night was a mistake. You don’t regret it, not for a second, just wonder if maybe things will be different in the morning light. 

So when you barely touch the plate of eggs and toast he’s made for you for breakfast, he worries you’re having second thoughts about him, that he’s ruined any friendship you’ve already built by rushing into a relationship. 

So when you say, “Did you really mean what you said last night..about loving me?” He visibly relaxes, dropping his shoulders and beaming at you from across his own breakfast plate.

“Oh, darlin’,” He plucks a piece of uneaten toast from your plate, winking at you as he does, “You don’t know the half of it.” 

[irrelevantwriter]

Spellbound

Pairing: Chief Jim Hopper x Witch!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, dick Hopper (bc I don’t want him any other way)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: You’re the new resident in Hawkins. But Chief Jim Hopper senses something isn’t quite right with you and he’s dead set on figuring out what that is.

A/N: In honor of spooky season, I wrote this completely necessary Jim Hopper x Witch piece. It was intended to be something completely different, but I can’t hide my true self so it turned out smutty and slightly twisted. I hope you guys enjoy and share with your friends!

P.S.

I know I have some requests to fulfill and I am actively working on them! I was in a bit of a rut, but hopefully this will end that. Thanks for being so patient.

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

Your deep purple nails clung to the black sheet beneath you, your body contorting in ways that should be impossible. Fire rushed through your veins while sweat dampened your skin. Your cries echoed off the walls and while it might appear that you were in the most debilitating pain of your life, you were actually experiencing pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

A man was ravaging your neck while his heavy body pinned you to the bed. His bearded face burned your skin, but you yearned for more. His meaty hands gripped your body in animalistic hunger, a thin string of control barely present. His deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he growled and cursed in desire and exertion.

Your eyes were screwed shut against the deep, penetrating thrusts of his hips up into yours. His movements were erratic, touching you with both gentle passion and wild abandon. You craved more.

You were sure your deep red lipstick was smeared against your cheek, the residue already showing itself in his facial hair. His hair was tousled, his own flesh reddened and glistening from your activities.

The man was a special one. He wasn’t just any townie. He was the Chief of Police. And he was under your spell. Literally.

Jim Hopper hadn’t liked you from the moment he spotted you. You were new in Hawkins and had just purchased a storefront right off Main Street. You sold homemade lotions, oils, and candles. Products that were advertised as harmlessly holistic. But somehow Chief Hopper knew better.

He’d come snooping around your shop, eyeing your products with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. He’d asked you questions about your life, prodding like the law man he was. You’d obliged him. Being overtly accommodating and sweet to throw him off.

It hadn’t worked.

He was suspicious and you had to keep just as much of a close eye on Chief Hopper as he did on you.

Which is exactly what led to him fucking your brains out on Halloween night.

You’d known he’d come sniffing around your place tonight. He was probably going off the stereotypical ideas he had of witches. A chilly Halloween night complete with cat sacrifices and bubbling cauldrons. He was somewhat right.

Because of your unique senses, you’d been anticipating his knock at the door. You’d answered, no longer playing the innocent card. You didn’t bother to tighten the sash of your black robe, instead choosing to let it fall open slightly. The hint of cleavage would add to your favor.

He’d walked in adorned in fill uniform, all hulking frame and thick limbs, studying your home with careful interest. He made an excuse about wanting to check in on a single woman living alone.

It was bullshit.

The man was nosey. And attracted to you. You’d picked that up from the start. And it wasn’t one sided.

Part of your appeal as a witch was your mystical aura and blatant attractiveness. It’s what kept the men coming. Town after town. Always a lost man who found you irresistible and the answer to all his problems. And Chief Hopper was no different.

You’d made him a cup of coffee. Laced with your own herbal blend of course. And you waited.

It didn’t take long.

He was shoving you against the wall and devouring his mouth with yours before you could ask if he wanted another cup.

He’d tasted like cigarettes and caffeine. He smelled like faded cologne and the autumn air. It was hypnotic.

Clothes were shed quickly, the urgency and clear need apparent. You were wrapped up into his arms, his lips tasting your bare breasts as you directed him to your bed of satin and velvet.

He’d thrown you down and barely gave you a chance to breathe before he was burying is tongue deep inside you, pulling your nectar straight from you as if you were the juiciest peach. Your fingers pulled at his roots, urging him to take you to that point but begging for mercy.

You found that Chief Hopper wasn’t a merciful man.

He punished you with his mouth, adding his fingers as an extra device of torture. He forced your first orgasm from you, his manic eyes taking in all your convulsions and shivers with pride.

You’d felt him climb on top of you, not giving you a choice in the matter. He split your legs open and took you for his own pleasure.

Your teeth bit down on his shoulder as he thrust hard and deep. His brow was furrowed, almost as if he was angry. You liked it. You liked it far more than you cared to admit.

“Fucking hell,” He cursed as you moved beneath him, squeezing his thick cock with your walls. Every thrust made him scrape deliciously against you, the friction exactly what you needed to crest again.

“Again. Do it again.” He commanded against your neck. You obliged, eager to feel him release inside of you.

Feeling the cum of a man under a spell was an other-worldly experience. The sensation of him filling your insides was an alternate universe of orgasmic pleasure. It was euphoric. Addictive. It was your drug of choice.

“Son of a bitch.” He rasped as he slammed against you one last time, his whole body tensing.

You used his body to rub against your clit, letting his vibrations aid you. You came with a gasp, nails digging into his back as you both took from the other.

The Chief collapsed next you, his absence making your body feel unnaturally empty. You could feel him leaking from your swollen lips, your thighs sliding together obnoxiously.

You felt his stare on you, but you were waiting for the inevitable heavy slumber that came with your concoction. Most of the men passed out and slept off the remainder of the spell. That was usually when you stole from them. A little here and there so they never noticed.

But Chief Hopper kept staring at you, a self-satisfied smirk adorning his lips. You turned to face him, enjoying the way his male gaze faltered and landed on your breasts.

“Something to say?” You asked, voice a lot more hoarse than you expected.

“You make a great cup of coffee, you know that.”

His statement was odd and it made you pause. His smirk stayed plastered to his face. It was almost eerie.

“So I’ve been told.” You replied, playing along.

He shifted up so that he was leaned against your headboard, his chest firm yet soft. You found yourself wanting to lay your head there, listen to his heartbeat.

“There’s a little something different about it though. I can’t put my finger on it.”

He snapped his fingers suddenly and you jolted, caught off guard by his jovial mood. The man was nothing if not a grump.

“It’s the blend right? A spice?”

“Why the sudden interest in my coffee making skills, Chief?” You shifted so that you mirrored his position, your sheet pulled up to protect you from the sudden chill in the air.

“I just like to know what’s in my coffee when people drug it. Call me old-fashioned.” He quipped, rubbing at his graying scruff. His demeanor was strangely calm for a man who just claimed he was drugged.

“And why would you think I did such a thing?”

He laughed, though there was no humor behind it. “I’m a cop, sweetheart. I don’t just accept shit from people I don’t trust.”

You nodded, appearing to agree with his statement.

“Valid point. But I didn’t.”

He startled you when he pounced and pinned you to your back, the sheet ripped from your body. His hands gripped yours above your head, a twisted grin on his face.

“You did. I saw you.” He ducked into your neck, breathing in your scent as he spoke. “And I switched our cups.”

Your eyes widened at his admission, struggling against his hands. You met his eyes and could tell he spoke the truth. Smug bastard.

“I’m guessing my hunch was right by your reaction then.” He leaned into your body, pressing his now hard cock against your thigh. “You use your magic wand and put a spell on it, sweetheart?” He provoked, his tone condescending.

“Prick.” You cursed, your body betraying you and responding to his movements.

You felt your eyelids start to get heavy, the endorphins and adrenaline now washing away to reveal the true nature of your spell. You weren’t worried per say, but you also weren’t sure what his exact motives were.

You moaned as a calloused finger danced around a pebbled nipple, his greedy mouth reaching down to suck harshly at the appendage. You writhed beneath him, trying to stay alert but feeling your mind starting to slip into unconsciousness.

You felt like you were floating and the last image you saw was Jim Hopper’s face as he spoke to you.

“You get some beauty sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up, sweetheart. We’ve got some more business to tend to.” He caressed your face softly, but you could tell even in your drowsy state that he was not going to be gentle once you woke.

You couldn’t wait.

[killjoy-loveit]

Just a Dream Away

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This is written in first person (my comfort zone when it comes to writing), and has been left with an open ending, which means I may write another part to this. Also, I’ve been working on this for approximately a month and it was loosely inspired by Saw You In A Dream- The Japanese House.

Excerpt (in place of a summary bc you guys know I suck at writing them): He would just laugh lightly, the adorable sound causing me to giggle along as he pushed the dark brown locks of hair back behind his ear. I never got his name, not once in the month I’d been having dreams of him. Tonight was no different, as I was more occupied with conversing with this quiet, lighthearted guy that was occupying my dreams at night and thoughts during the day.

Word Count: 1,661

Genre: Fluff, internal angst***

***Trigger warning for those who suffer panic attacks, one is described within this piece.

    There I was yet again, walking in this ethereal dream world. Every night sleep overtook me it seemed that I ended up in the same place, meeting the same guy over and over. No matter what he was there like clockwork, waiting for me on the edge of the dirt path splitting from the main road. Always with a smile gracing his features, making my own light up in response. Something about him made me forget my woes, letting them slip to the back of my mind as we wandered.

    It was always perfect, it was a dream after all. The grass growing alongside the path the two of us walked nightly was forever green and remained the perfect length, never needing to be trimmed because it had grown too high. Trees were spaced out beside the path, sometimes seeming to follow a pattern, and others like they had just sprung up of their own free will. Pale blues painted the sky overhead, joined by white, almost iridescent, wispy clouds. Light breezes swished past every so often, rustling my companions hair, blowing it into his face.

    He would just laugh lightly, the adorable sound causing me to giggle along as he pushed the dark brown locks of hair back behind his ear. I never got his name, not once in the month I’d been having dreams of him. Tonight was no different, as I was more occupied with conversing with this quiet, lighthearted guy that was occupying my dreams at night and thoughts during the day. To be honest I cared more about knowing him, he intrigued me, than knowing his name. Sure, names are important but only if you have the opportunity to call that person by their name. But I knew I’d never have this chance.

    More likely than not he was just a figment conjured up by my imagination, fueled by my desires to meet someone that interested me for once. It saddened me, knowing that the person I was pining after wasn’t real, more like a ninety-nine percent chance he wasn’t real. After all it wasn’t very likely for my mind to conjure up some real guy I had no recollection of, yet I felt would fit my life perfectly. Although this was no time to be focusing on such disillusioned thoughts, I had to remind myself that these dreams were all I had, so I needed to embrace them while they lasted. As it was, I wasn’t sure how much longer the dreams would last, never before had I dreamed of the same place and person for more than a week.

    Sadly, I was aware when I began to drift from this unconscious dream state to consciousness, as the world my mind had built started to fade before my eyes. Naturally I wanted to scream and cry out at having to leave what I have come to deem my safe haven. Instead, all that I allowed myself was a heavy sigh and a singular tear. Begrudgingly, I slid out of bed and got ready for the day. Throughout my morning routine, getting dressed, brushing my teeth and hair, putting on makeup, he was the only thing on my mind. He took over my headspace, filling every nook and cranny of my brain, every thought.

    The way he’d cover his mouth when he laughed too hard and the corners of his eyes would crinkle in amusement. How at first he’d seemed so quiet and maybe a little reserved, but then as the dreams continued, I saw him relax and let his real personality through. In fact, the way it happened seemed so real, eerily similar to how a person would behave in real life. Although that was probably due to the fact that the human brain is capable of conjuring up your deepest desires and showing them to you in your sleep. Kind of like when you have a dream about someone you’re trying to forget, but still have feelings for, thus the subconscious pulls them forward in your dream.

    To be quite honest, I felt a little pitiful that I was potentially falling for a nonexistent dream person. At least, I thought he was nonexistent, a mere figment of my imagination, a culmination of my loneliness and desire for someone who actually understood me in some way.

    As I walked down the crowded sidewalk, anxiously fidgeting with my purse strap, I realized that since I was ten minutes later than usual, meaning the normal coffee place you go to would be crowded. And as always, with so many people in such small quarters, tempers were bound to rise, and tempers meant outbursts. Outbursts meant confrontations and yelling, lots of yelling. It makes me uncomfortable, seeing as how I’m typically one to blend into the background. Briefly I considered skipping my usual cup of coffee before heading onto campus, but I decided I couldn’t let my fear drive me. So, with a huff of determination and a quick roll of my shoulders, I entered the cafe.

    My heart was pounding the second I stepped inside, upon seeing how long the line was and how many people were actually crammed into the small space. Logically, I could tell that there was still quite a bit of room around each person, giving each one their own modicum of space. But at this point I had stopped being logical and approximate foot- give or take some inches- of space between each person, was shrunk down to the point it seemed everyone was all over each other. I almost turned around and walked right out of there, unwilling to face this today, but once again I steeled myself in this decision. Sometimes things are scary and you just need to get through them by choosing to do so, not because someone was making you, and this is what I was deciding to do.

    Except, well, this decision was one that was quite difficult to stick to. Especially once the line had moved significantly and I was in the middle, completely surrounded by people. It was like I could feel the walls start to close around me, and my throat constricted, relieving me of the ability to take in a normal breath. This caused my chest to tighten and the edges of my vision to go dark and hazy. I knew what was going on, I had apparently pushed myself too far and was now paying the consequences for it. The solution to my problem was clear, remove myself from the situation. Leave the cafe.

    Which is exactly what I did. Although, it was in no graceful manner, I barely managed to stumble out without bumping into anyone, which I knew would cause me to go into full on hysterics. Once I finally made it outside, I moved around to the edge of the building where there was less foot traffic. This gave me the space I needed to shut my eyes, take in deep breaths, and try to calm down. It took a few minutes, but with the deep breathing and going to my mental safe haven, I had almost managed to completely calm down. That’s when it happened, I felt a hand meet my shoulder. One that was large, warm, oddly comforting, and somehow felt familiar.

    “Hey, I saw you leave that cafe a little disoriented. Are you okay?”

    That voice, I knew that voice. This was the voice I had wished a million times over belonged to an actual, real, human being, rather than just one my subconscious had created. The voice I heard echoing in my thoughts with odd remarks and witty statements. A voice whose laugh seemed to oppose it so strongly, and yet fit so perfectly. This voice belonged to the man who I thought only existed in my head. I had to be mistaken. There was no possible way, right? With the strong belief that I had to be imagining that this random guy’s voice only sounded like the figment of a guy in my head, I turned around.

    The breath I had been so carefully holding was knocked free from my lungs at the sight of him. It was him! He was there, standing right in front of me, a concerned look etched on his face. I was in the middle of telling myself that I must have seen him somewhere before, which is why my brain latched onto his image as the person to create to ease my loneliness, when he interrupted my thoughts.

    “It’s you!” He exclaimed, eyes wide.

    “M-me?”

    “You’re the girl from my dream!”

    “W-what?”

    The light in his eyes dimmed at my stammered question, as if he expected me to immediately agree that I was indeed the girl from his dreams.

    “I know it’s you. You have a scar on the bottom of your foot from when your brother was trying to fix the stairs but left a nail up on one of them. Your favorite book is the Great Gatsby because you love the little hidden meanings in things, how there are lessons to be learned from it. I know that you love the smell of lavender and eucalyptus because it makes you feel relaxed. The one thing I don’t know, is your name.”

    As he’d kept talking, the determination in his voice keying me up, I realized either I was dreaming again, or this was real. He was really here or I was finally losing it. Because everything he said was true, everything he said were things I had told him in my dreams.

    “I didn’t think you were real.” I murmured.

    “I thought the same thing.”

    “I’m Aera, and now you know my name.” I say, giggling lightly.

    “Now I do.” He says with a smile. “Mine is Hwiyoung.”

    “I’m confused about something though.”

    “What are you confused about?”

    “How come we were both having dreams with each other in them? Were they even actually dreams?”

[suggers-got-dingled]

I really do both LOVE and HATE what stage we’re currently at during this final week of reunion build up

it’s tropey and cliche and messy and frustrating and 100% rom-com shit that I live and breathe for

there’s feelings rising so close to the surface and almost BURSTING AT THE SEAMS

it feels like we’re going round in circles on a rollercoaster and I’m pretty sure from tonight alone I caught motion sickness

I MEAN IT’S MAKING MY HEAD SPIN SO GOD KNOWS WHAT THESE TWO IDIOTS ARE GOING THROUGH

WE REALLY ARE AT THE PART WHERE DANNY SAID THERE’LL BE LOTS OF TEASING AND YOU’LL BE SCREAMING AT THE TV TO JUST DO SOMETHING GET BACK TOGETHER ANYTHING

but it’s so interesting???? because we’ve never had this kind of dynamic before

aaron’s the complete human disaster and robert is the selfless one in a state of disbelief not quite sure what to take from these crossed wires and mixed signals flying everywhere but still putting aaron’s feelings above his own

he’s gone on a journey from uncertain to bewildered to hopeful and back to crushed and it’s so new to him

in the past couple of months he really has tried so damn hard to let aaron go with full intentions of being the most supportive friend he can be, giving him space, championing his relationship with alex, doing whatever he needs as long as aaron is happy

there’s no ulterior motives at all

he’s not even actively trying to mess them up

he’s trying to be good and keep his distance so he doesn’t ruin what he thinks is best for aaron

(GOD HE EVEN WALKED IN THERE AFTER YESTERDAY EXCLAIMING HOW AARON DESERVES THIS INSTEAD WHEN HE COULD HAVE USED WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS FULL ADVANTAGE)

….but then here comes aaron consciously making the moves off his own back with no force from anywhere but within, leaning in for a kiss, letting him in to the knowledge that he might not be as happy as he thinks he is, telling him upfront that he’s lying to himself and it’s sent robert’s muddled brain into haywire

he’s still tiptoeing carefully and skirting around what happened because he still isn’t aware of how much aaron is denying himself and he still only wants aaron to be ultimately happy

but now the tables have turned and there’s a hint that aaron’s happiness could be with him again

he always thought this overpowering rush of love still carried was just one sided and his own problem to deal with, to shut down, and suppress but now aaron’s thrown him off and that obliviousness is starting to fade

it went from “I can tell him that it’s not what it looked like” to “there’s clearly still something between us” back to deflation as he dismisses him and walks straight past him in the pub

LIKE ALL HE HAS TO BASE THIS ON IS AARON’S RESPONSE AND HE’S SO INCONCLUSIVE RIGHT NOW THAT IT’S MAKING THE SITUATION TEN TIMES MORE STRENUOUS FOR BOTH OF THEM

like aaron pretty much admitted that he wants him back, robert’s now been made well aware of this fact and is attempting to process it all, while aaron flicks the switch back to cold and stubborn and takes the typical aaron puts his walls back up road

and despite every sign that aaron’s shown and every word that has left his mouth, robert’s about to have his heart stamped on and his world come crashing right down again when he sees alex move in to what should be his home

after everything

he’s going to have to forget the entirety of the last few days and move on for the billionth time bc aaron’s just out here in a real battle between his head and heart doing what he does best and making it harder for himself

choosing alex out of pity, doing what he thinks is right, putting his feelings aside and pushing away his emotions rather than thinking about who he wants and what makes him happy bc

a) he’s feeling guilty for not giving alex a proper chance and is doing what is ~expected~ of him

b) he’s finally let it sink in that he’s still massively in love with robert but that means putting his heart back on the line and taking a risk of letting that stitched up heart break into pieces again

and

c) he really is caught between a rock and a hard place

it’s sad to see him going through this struggle and to see him so lost but it’s also so good to know he was going to choose robert before the jealousy kicks in on the very final countdown next week

you can see in his face that his heart and his head are just pulling him in opposite repelling directions and he hasn’t quite caught up with the speed of that yet  

his internal monologue is just screaming out

he’s literally within a heartbeat of coming home to robert

and now we’re going to have to spend the next 7 days watching him try and repress what he’s freshly discovered and act like he’s not completely miserable

him yo-yo'ing back and forth and confusing the living daylights out of both himself and robert

it’s all going to blow up in his face and robert’s going to be so angry at him for having him on a thread like this

BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH HOPELESS AND USELESS AND TO SAY THEY’RE SOULMATES WHO READ EACH OTHER FROM THE FLICKER OF AN EXPRESSION WHAT THEY CANNOT DO IS COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THOSE BARRIERS

IT’S GOING TO BE SO SAD AND ANGSTY AND DRAMATIC AND HEART WRENCHING AND BITTERSWEET

BUT IT’S GONNA BE SO WORTH IT

IT HAS TO BE AARON DOING THE CHASING AND THAT’S WHAT HE’LL DO

HE’LL FORGET ABOUT PLEASING ANYONE ELSE

HE’LL FINALLY NAVIGATE AND FOLLOW THE MAP OF HIS HEART

HE’LL DECLARE HIS TRUE FEELINGS FOR REAL

LAY THEM ALL OUT

AND SNOG THE FACE OF HIS MAN IN THE POURING DOWN RAIN WITH NOTHING BUT SMILES AND A FULL HEART THAT’S COMPLETE AGAIN

[multimask]

Session 4 Rundown

So, last session we hit level 3 and our paladin swore her Oath of the Crown. To Queen Tatiana, queen of the Summer Court, ruler of the Seelie Fey. We'll get back to that. Oh, and we had a sort of heart-to-heart conversation with the party. It was a super fun and intense session, and I'm still somewhat reeling from what happened, but damn if it wasn't fun and we didn't get some cool threads from that. Apologies for the suuuper long post, but lots of things happened and this got very very wordy.

TLDR; fought some gnolls at the cave and found the druid girl, confirmed a 3rd party existence, Queen Tatiana and Iriph showed up to for the Oath, my rogue ended up then also swearing allegiance? aligning themself? to the Summer Court, and we found another entrance to the gnoll cave system.

We last left our party outside of the gnoll cave entrance, having just fought some gnoll door guards and being unable to stop one to raise some sort of alarm. Gnoll!Candle backs off into the woods to retrieve their stuff and change back to their tabaxi form before moving forward with whatever the plan is. While Candle is retrieving their stuff, the party backs up to the tree line to watch the cave and see what comes out.

What comes out is the gnoll shaman we fought being dragged by a barbarian-esque gnoll and followed by a gnoll that looks almost cleric-y ish? They look around and see no one. The shaman is killed and its body tossed to the side of the cave opening. The other two gnolls go back in to the cave. The party waits a few minutes for them to be gone and then go up to the cave entrance and look over the shaman’s corpse, then start to creep inside the cave.

The first little bit of the cave isn’t too interesting, just a tunnel that curves and opens into a small room with some rotting kills and a torch on the far wall. Not too much of interest, but is somewhat dark. Ren is not a fan of the light level and sends a mental link message (bc Kalashtar) to Candle, once again startling the poor cat… The group continues to stealth forward with Candle in the lead and Elias just behind, and the dice continue to remark at just how urban a creature Candle is with her rolling poorly enough to be spotted by a gnoll with a hyena just past the room. Initiative!

Just behind that gnoll is the “cleric” gnoll and the druid woman Candle had spotted earlier. There’s some brief back and forth, cut short when the woman declares that “[we] have been a nuisance, and so my master wants you dead” and attacks. We take down the barbarian gnoll and severely damage the other two, who turn and flee deeper into the cave and collapsed the tunnel behind them.

The party is hurting, and we flee into the forest, stopping in a clearing to catch our breath and lick our wounds. While we’re patching ourselves up the best we can without hit dice (yayyy multiple combat encounters in one in-game day at lvl 2…), we receive a visit from the Knight and the Queen of the Summer Court. The world goes silent and the two step out from behind a tree. (We as players knew that *something* was going to happen with our paladin bc of hitting level 3 and the whole oath thing, but we weren't exactly sure as to what it would be. Bc of chatting with other players, the DM, and some friends, I knew it was going to be fey, but I was not expecting the Summer Queen herself. This also happened earlier in the session than the DM was expecting bc of how we players took things, but it all worked out so it didn't really matter)

The Knight, Iriph, looks over the party, his gaze pausing and narrowing on Candle, but he said nothing. Candle slowly works their way to the back of the party and is Decidedly Not Happy with the two figures in front of the party. The Summer Queen has Poppy swear her Oath of the Crown to the Summer Court while the rest of the party is more than a little shaken by the appearance of The Summer Queen and her Champion Knight. That’s a thing that happened. Our paladin swears her oath to the Summer Court, and the Queen transforms the paladin’s warhammer. It is now a +1 magical weapon that has a single white rose etched into the head.

And then the Queen turns her attention to Candle. The Queen bears down on Candle and she is all but cowering against a tree in the Queen’s imposing presence. If Candle has been useful to Poppy, then Candle should be on the court. Candle has no idea who these people are or what the Courts even are. At this ignorance towards the Courts, the Queen gives a brief rundown of the two courts and what's going on with the Seelie and Unseelie.

(The actual timeline of these events is a little jumbled bc I as a player could not take as detailed notes as I usually am able bc *holy shit* that scene, so apologies for any contradictions. Since being a changeling is out in the open, along with persona/true names, I'm going to continue to use their persona name except where they are directly called their true name. I'm not sure how I'm going to call them for future rundowns, might stick to whichever persona/form is up. For now, they'll remain Candle) 

Edit: I went back over my notes and cleaned up the timeline

The Summer Queen is intrigued to see a changeling here, and one so unallied with any Court, and offers to take this stray into the fold. The rest of the party (except Elias) are chiming in with their thoughts on this. Poppy is pushing for Candle to accept, while Ren and River are pushing for Candle to do what they themself want to do. Candle declines the offer, and the Queen is not happy and restates her offer. This is Candle's "one chance" to accept the offer. Poppy pushes for Candle to reconsider. Candle is more than a little confused as to why the Queen cares about her and is not happy to be put on the spot by an authority figure who is royalty Just a little intimidating...

Cue this intense and intimidating dialogue btwn the two:

The Queen asks for Candle's name. They respond "I am called 'Candle in the Rain'."

"A fine name for a tabaxi, isn't it. What is your name, changeling" She spat. (By this point, I as a player had a death grip on my fan and was curled up in my chair experiencing this and also messaging a friend who had wanted to sit in on this session for this event but couldn't join us)

Candle hesitated and replied, “I am called… Nix.” At this name, Iriph perks up and quietly informs the Queen that this is the youngest sibling. At this Candle, aka Nix, perks up and is surprised to learn that they might have family alive. (And I as a player go flying for my private chat w/ aforementioned friend and session notes bc welp, I’m caving also goddammit DM I know I should have expected something like this when I gave you the siblings last week). In order to sweeten the deal (and also make Candle owe her something), the Queen fully heals Candle.

While Candle is hesitating and trying to turn down the offer again without being insulting, the Queen gets fed up with the side comments distracting Candle from actually giving an answer and silences the area. Everyone can hear Candle and the Queen, but Candle can only hear themself and the Queen. The two go back and forth some more, and Candle caves. If they get to meet their family/siblings, then they shall agree to the Queen's offer. (Yeah that's totally not going to bite them in the ass down the road)

The Queen is very pleased at this, and transforms Candle’s rusty old rapier into a +1 magical weapon with a rose for the basket-hilt. It blooms and then closes up into a rosebud, with the implication that if Candle stays loyal it might bloom again. Satisfied with what transpired, the Queen and her Knight leave. After they’re gone, Candle wheels on Poppy and demands to know what they just got themself into. Poppy insists that this is the best thing to happen, and is super glad that they’re on the same side now. Everyone is a little suspicious of how much Poppy is singing the praises of the Summer Queen; as players it’s bc you never trust the fae oh dear gods no, and as characters, well, everyone has their own reasons.

The characters decompress after that encounter and find another entrance to the gnoll cave courtesy of blood trails from corpses being dragged off. After we find the temple, we set up camp and decompress and Poppy explains the way that the fey courts work. And the session fades to episode credits as night falls. As we settle in to camp, and since it’s only mid afternoon, the party asks if there are any other secrets anyone wants to get out in the open and if there are any other forms that the group should be aware of from Candle/Nix. They hesitate at that and then show the persona of the sun elf Soliana. We don’t learn much about Ren, and we learn that River is an empath and has a box that is a family heirloom and magically sealed. Elias had a person named Maria in his life who was the brains behind the guns that he has. The empath feels grief off him when he brings her up.

And the session fades to episode credits as night falls.

That was quite the session and now I’m going to go make my backup character for my Tomb of Annihilation campaign bc we’re about to go die tonight.