#but then between each stop its still like woods and stuff so

[oflgtfol]

my favorite part about taking the train into the city is watching the degree of urbanization increase with each stop

[dollfacefantasy]

NOT A TOY! ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: you and rick play around with the piece holstered to his belt

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, gun play (humping it), praise/degradation

wc: 1.4k

a/n: um sorry gang i wanted this to be longer but my brain wasn't working when i wrote it and it lowkey still is not 😔 based on this ask tho which i loved. i hope you guys like it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated.

kinktober slot: day 22 - gun play

"You like this?" he asks, feigned disgust dripping from each syllable, "Dirty fuckin' girl."

"It feels good," you whimper in defense of yourself.

He chuckles at that, the sound coming out raspy and low. It's accompanied by the smirk on his face. The nearby light of the lantern makes his eyes look as though they're flickering with amusement at the position you're in.

The two of you were on watch for the night shift. While the sun set behind the tree line, you each climbed up into the tower that sat along the wall. Both of you started off focused on the task at hand. You kept your eyes forward, scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble, walker or human.

But as had been the norm for your time in Alexandria so far, nothing happened. No staggering figures emerged from the woods, nor did any cars creep down the road. You sat in the two chairs perched up there and talked back and forth about different things. You vented about different people in the group, shared stories about your lives in the old world, just normal stuff.

As the hours stretched on, you grew tired and migrated into Rick's lap. He let you settle in against his chest, expecting you to rest there for the remaining time. But like it normally went for the two of you, being so close meant you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

It started with simple making out. Your lips moved with one anothers in slow, open-mouthed kisses. His hands swept over your figure, stopping every so often to grope at your thighs or hips. He spun you around on his lap after a while to get you situated in a position to ride him.

In doing so, he went to move his gun out of its holster. The cool wooden finish of the grip brushed over your thigh, and the sensation sent a visible shudder through your body. 

His brows had raised with curiosity. Testing the idea, he dragged the weapon up your leg, and you shivered again.

"Feel somethin' good, sweetheart?" he asked.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, timidity gleaming over the small spheres. You responded with a little nod, and that was how you ended up here. The gun lodged between your thighs, the smooth grip pressed right up against your damp panties. 

You rut on the weapon like a puppy in heat - back and forth, back and forth. You're not sure if it's the thrill of using something so inherently dangerous as an object of pleasure or just something about the even curve of it that has you even more whiny than usual.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, dragging the fabric of his shirt up between them. His free hand not keeping the gun secure holds your chin. You want to drop your head back so bad. Your eyes are already so droopy with lust. You want to just melt and let loose, but he keeps you locked in this moment with him.

"Look at you. So desperate. You'll rub up on anything if it gets you off, huh?" he whispers.

Your head bobbles in his grasp, nodding yes.

"Mhm. As long as it feels good you don't care," he tuts. He boosts one of his legs to knock you closer. You topple forward further into his chest and stay there, accepting the warm expanse as refuge from the stimulation down below.

"Not my fault," you whimper, "Just feels so good."

"I bet it does," he chuckles.

Carefully, he angles the firearm upwards a bit more, letting your clit bump on the end of the grip. A sharp whine shoots from your lips, so he knows it was the right move.

You don't worry about anything right now. In this moment, it's just you and him. There's nothing to think about but humping the object below you like your life depends on it. You don't even worry about your own speed or force or anything. If there's anyone in this world you'd trust to do this with, it's Rick.

Rick who's intensely familiar with guns from his years on the force before this. Rick who's piece stays attached to his hip at all times. Rick who looks at you like you're the most precious being on earth, but who also can't get enough of reminding you what a little slut you can be. He's the only one who gets you to this level of depravity.

"Harder, baby. I know you can do better than this," he teases near your ear. You feel his breath tickle your skin, the sensation sending chills all across your heated flesh.

You try to follow what he says and press yourself down with more force. The smooth handle slots between your folds. You whine as you feel the increase in pressure, so close against you the contact almost feels direct.

His hands around back knead your ass. He gives it a small smack, beckoning you to keep up the pace.

"Want you to make yourself cum all over it. Get it all messy for me," he breathes, "I know those cute little panties are already soaked."

Your eyes flit down as if you didn't know that. His gaze follows in suit, a small laugh coming out of him. The more you rut on top of him, the darker the wet patch on the front of the delicate garment becomes. The sticky fabric adds to the friction though, making your release approach faster.

"F-fuck," you whimper. Your body tightens up at the impending sensation. The edge is right there. You don't think you could stop now if you wanted to.

"That's right, sweetheart. Making me proud. You're actin' like the perfect whore for me. Keep it up," he mumbles, each word only spurring you on.

You keep bucking your hips. Your grasp on him tightens. Your chest puffs in smaller intervals as you feel yourself racing towards the finish line. When you finally crest the peak, your back arches. You let out a strangled cry. Your body continues to rock brokenly on top of the object.

He grabs your chin again and pulls your face from where it'd been smooshed against his chest. His fingers direct you upward, forcing you to look at him.

"Look in my eyes while you cum, darlin'. Look at who's making you feel this good," he says.

Your cheeks fill with heat at the intensity of his gaze. Despite your instinct to look away, you keep your pupils locked on his blue irises, taking in all of the desire swirling there. Everything hits you harder. You tremble even more as the thing between your legs continues bringing you pleasure.

He chuckles and  drops his hand from your face. Once you're beginning the downward slope, he rubs your back, soothing you through it.

"Good girl. Let it all out. I've got you," he murmurs.

He keeps a firm hold on you, ensuring you don't fall off his lap. You continue on shuddering and riding out the rest of the high, but soon enough your body begins to settle. It feels like you're melting down into his chest. Every part of you loosens. You let out a deep sigh. And your eyes flutter.

His hand slithers down between the two of you to carefully extract his gun from the junction of your legs. He slides it out, briefly admiring the small sheen coating it. You scoot closer to be further in his arms as you hear him set the weapon on the table beside you.

He holds you there for a moment, letting you calm down. It's dark out now. Everything's quiet except for the sound of your breathing. His fingers massage the nape of your neck while he looks out at the pitch black expanse outside the walls.

Even though his attention resides elsewhere for the moment, when you shift around, you feel his bulge nudging the plush underside of your thighs. Reaching down, your fingers toy with the button on his jeans.

That same smug expression from earlier returns to his face as his eyes find yours again.

"You want more already?" he teases.

"That was just the warm up. I want the real thing," you say with a tiny smile.

"The real thing, huh? Greedy girl," he tuts playfully. But he adjusts his position a little in a way that you know you're gonna get what you want. "Let's see if you can handle the real thing without waking everybody up."

[regal-bones]

SWORDTEMBER DAY 18 : BARD

Uproar, of polished wood and turning crank 🌲🎵 “It started slowly. An eerie sound that spilt from the instrument and lapped at the corners of the camp like rising floodwater. And then, it got faster, and faster. The sound churning, a roiling current that swirled through the cave, the shadows of the campfire dancing maniacally, the smoke curving its body to the rhythm. The bards hands were a flurry, crank turning and fingers weaving between keys. His eyes were alive with the sound, glazed over and seeing something else, something other than his camp mates. He peered into that place, of singing strings and turning cogs, bringing back as much as his hands could carry. The cave sang, even the creatures from the surrounding forest could hear its song now, each felt that primal pit of dread in their stomach until, as sudden as the cacophonous dance had begun, it stopped. The fire died down, the shadows pulled themselves from the ceiling. The bard blinked, back here, back in the cave, sat by the fire. The night was so quiet, the memory of the music etched itself in the air like the smell of rain after a thunderstorm. The fire crackled, and the bard turned over, closing his eyes. Even is his dreams, the music still followed him, dancing, and jeering.”

Gurdy blade! This one is dedicated to my man Guilhem Desq 🙏

Yesterday’s sword!

You can support me on Patreon for £1 and help me make stuff like this!

[piper-2244]

sophrosyne

how liaison intern!reader and spencer grapple with a recent case that's taken an individual toll on them

angst! eeek! word count: 1277 warnings & tags & stuff: lowkey sad, reader cries a little, mentions of schizophrenia (in an unsub), and correlations to spencer/diana are hinted at, it’s mentioned that that unsub gets shot, like the beginnings of a crush showing but otherwise no fluff, just gentle spence as always, social commentary & my personal thoughts on our justice system definitely peek through. very first attempt at some bigger sad scary feelings authors note: hi!!! im alive!!! and guess what!! its my birthday!! i'm 20 which is totally insane. anyway i missed you all and i HAVE been writing, just not posting. it just got like too much when it registered that THAT many people are reading my stuff, yk? i do appreciate all the love SO MUCH but its still a little scary. anyway. i hope you enjoy, i think this is an interesting one? not sure. i fear my intentions for it may have gotten lost in the writing so please let me know if it doesn't make any sense. okay have a superb day ily!!!

Spencer is spinning and he won’t stop and it’s hypnotic.

There’s a little squeak coming from the chair with each turn that sends goosebumps down your legs, filling the otherwise silent bullpen with noise.

You imagine it must be a little sickening, or at least uncomfortable, spinning in a chair for such a long amount of time. You're honestly a little concerned. His legs are crossed like a child’s.

The look on his face—one that you can't quite make out right now due to his motions—has been the same for the better part of the afternoon. That was concerning. It’s so contemplative and stoic. Like an old Greek statue, Odysseus? you think, carved from marble, weathered to the point of near crumbling.

But this case, this case, the one you got back from exactly four hours and twenty two minutes ago, wasn’t anything too bad, was it?

You blink at that thought, taken aback with yourself, the empathy hitting you like a wave. Of course it was bad. They’re all bad. People are dead. All those families are broken in ways that won’t ever heal.

Your second month as an intern under Agent Jareau, working to become a liaison just like her, proved to be almost everything that one grouchy ex-FBI-Agent-turned-guidance-counselor at your university said it would be. 

Harsh. Sad. Cold. It will strip you of your sensitivity. Your gentleness.

But this case. It had a sharper edge to it than the rest, slicing the littlest bit deeper into your skin. A lingering heaviness weighed on your chest. Were you the only one who felt it? Clearly not, if this guy spinning in his chair was any indication. 

Most of the bullpen had cleared out, leaving only the mess of the team’s half-finished mugs behind in the sink. You had stayed though, needing to shake this weight off before you brought it home with you. The last file of the day is spread out on your desk, but you’re far from it, standing across the room by the coffee machine. Hiding. 

You pour two cups, unable to stop the methodical replay of the case in your mind. Not just the brutal MO, but the bigger picture. The circumstances. The diagnosis. The history.

Agent Jareau had made it your responsibility to take care of all the family-related files.

Male, aged 30, diagnosed with acute schizophrenia at age 22. Stabbed 6 women in the throat.

Family history of disorder? (Check one) : Y ☐ N ☐

The unsub, his father, his aunt, and his grandfather. They all had the same last name, bump on their nose, gap between their teeth, and identical diagnoses of schizophrenia. A twisted family tree. The branches, the unsub’s fate.

You turn toward the spinning blur of the chair, unsure if Spencer even knows you're there.

… 

Ceramic scrapes against wood. Still warm, it leaves a condensation trail in its path. “I added a bunch of sugar,” you offer quietly, unsure if he’ll even acknowledge it. 

Spencer slows. He doesn't reach for the mug like you’d hoped, but he stops spinning. Small victories.

He stares down at the file in front of him, and for a second you wonder if your interruption made things worse. That little groove between his eyebrows- today, there more often than not- shows up, a problem trying to become untangled in his mind. 

You really should go. Leave him alone, Spencer clearly has his own things to sort out. But your legs are tethered to the ground. Maybe it's due to the fact that he just got a new haircut, and it’s nice. Really nice. Or maybe it’s because you, too, feel like getting lost in your own head right now. 

You swallow. “You okay?” you ask, before you can help yourself, and you regret it instantly. It sounds too personal, too sudden, too much, like teeth clashing during a kiss. You're intruding on something that Spencer isn’t prepared to share, something unfinished.

His eyes finally land on you for a split second, and he gives you a nod, shallow and unconvincing. You know better than to push for the truth.

You lean on the edge of his desk, keeping your distance but not leaving. You stare into the swirls of your coffee, fingers drumming on the side of your mug. This moment is fragile, you know, and yet you’re unable to stop yourself from talking. A chronic weakness, on your part. “I don’t think this case was…” you pause, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t like the others, was it?” 

Spencer looks at you again, for a beat longer than you expect. The tension in his face softens, just a little. You see it too.

“No,” he says finally, voice low. “It wasn’t.” 

There's something in the way he looks at you that makes your heart pound. There’s a sense of openness to it. He’s not exactly confiding in you, not yet. But he’s also not completely shutting you out, either.

Strange. The total opposite of what you’d expect. You keep talking.

"Everything he did was just a clear demonstration of his schizophrenia, which is genetic and so prevalent in his family. I just keep feeling like… like it wasn’t his fault. Like it was predetermined. And he died for it,” you ramble quietly. “Morgan shot him.” Your voice breaks.

He stills, not saying anything for a beat.

“He wasn’t given much of a fighting chance, was he?” Spencer asks quietly, almost to himself. Like the question was a familiar one. His eyes drift over the file, the unsub’s family members listed front and center. There's something sad in his gaze. Resigned. Like he’s thought about this before.

You shake your head.

“I think,” Spencer starts softly, staring at a point on the floor, voice barely above a whisper. “You're the only one here who sees it. The way we villainize them.” The words sting in a way you didn’t expect.

Silence rings between you two. It’s thick, and nothing but sad. The weight of the case, of the pain, of the impossibility of it all hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

You dip your head, a sudden tear slipping down your cheek and falling into the fabric of your brand new dress pants. Your hands hold the edge of the table behind you and you inhale shakily. 

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this job,” you whisper after a long while, the words delicate.

Silence hangs between you two again. Then, his voice, thoughtful and deliberate and caring, breaks it up. 

“I don’t think it’s about being cut out for it. It’s not about being tough. It’s about being able to hold that much emotion without letting it break you, because you recognize the alternative of not doing the job would be worse. And it’s hard. It’s so… hard. But you’re doing that. You're doing really well.”

You blink, surprised by the calmness in Spencer’s words. The logic is almost comforting in and of itself, in a way.

“Not everyone can hold that much empathy,” Spencer continues, his voice low. “We need more of that, the team does.”

Your throat tightens. 

“I'm sorry,” you say, your voice small. “I didn't mean to put this all on you.” Spencer shakes his head, not minding. 

“You should go home and get some sleep. Maybe it’ll be a little better in the morning. It usually is.” 

You nod, but you don’t move right away. You feel like the moment you leave, you’ll slip from this edge you’ve been teetering on.

“You go,” you eventually say, quiet. “I’m gonna wash all those mugs people left in the sink.”

[chxrrydrxp]

ok so i'm so in with your theme rn and i loved your after car with jason drabble but what i really came here to say imagine poor jason todd realizes he's in love in dick's girlfriend. he doesn't say anything but he knows he can treat you better and be better for you. he knows dick cares about you but he's bad for you because he'll never fully love you but believes he can. so he watches you from afar, trying to sweet in small ways like helping fixing your car and stuff. he watches you and dick fight, break up and of course make up till the point he's fed up of watching dick play you because he's knows dicks cheating and he knows dick isn't trying to hurt you but its not fair. poor jason he doesn't want to be a rebound he just wants to give you the love you deserve.

I'm really about to break jasons pretty heart and staple it back together with this fic. apologies for the wait! I got too excited and decided to write a series about it 🥹

I'll release it chapter by chapter 🤭 and you're a genius I love ur brain 🧠

and fr dick damn near slept with every dc character that man is a whore. I'm still tryna figure out what excuse imma give him for why he is a serial man whore

all jokes aside, I'm gonna have some much fun with this.

𝒻ℴ𝓇𝒷𝒾𝒹𝒹ℯ𝓃 𝒻𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉

Jason Todd x (Dick's Ex! Fem!) Reader:

chapter 1

chapter 2

warnings: this series will get heated eventually, and I'll just put a warning on those specified chapters.

this might be a long series, depends how much yall want it 🤭

Loud rain poured against Jason's window. He laid against his dark wood bed frame while reading a book. As he flicked through thin pages, the sound of you and Dick arguing could be heard from across the hall.

He wasn't exactly trying to eavesdrop, but he could make out certain sentences like “why's her name still..’. He sighed, growing more and more tired of the constant back and forth between you two. The conversation slowly moved from the room into the hall, and the argument could almost be heard throughout the whole manor.

“Dick, I cannot do this anymore. I'm tired. I'm tired of being confused about your feelings for me!” He could then hear Dick's annoyingly condescending voice. Another tired sigh escaped Jason's lips as he ran his fingers tiredly through his dark strands. He rolled off the bed, put on a loose white tee, and slipped on black house shoes.

Pulling the door back, he wasn't even noticed by the two of you until his deep voice rumbled through the hall. Even as a quiet, “The hells’ all the commotion, I'm tryna read damn it”, his voice caught your attention. You felt slightly embarrassed. But the anger just wouldn't let up. “Sorry Jason, just go back to your room,” Dick pleaded, leaning against the wall with a frown. Jason rolled his eyes at Dick's continuous attempts to sound like an older brother, and his eyes flickered to yours.

Noticing your red eyes and a tear of anger falling down your cheeks, his jaw relaxed and he almost looked concerned. “You alright?” His soft voice coaxed you out of your bubbling fit of anger. “Yeah...I'm okay…I'm just gonna go home..” Your eyes stuck back to the floor and then you walked away, leaving the two brothers alone. Dick began to walk away, only stopping in his tracks at the mention of his name.

“Dick…you can't keep doin' this man-” Dick spun around shooting a cold glare at him. “Doing what? You think I want to hurt her?” Jason's eyebrows furrowed. “You're not doing a good job of proving me wrong.” Dick walked away.

You dropped your keys on your marble console table, falling onto the couch with a sigh. You knew he wasn't right for you. This cycle of toxicity would go on and on forever unless you stuck your foot in the ground. The repeating doubts about your relationship circled your mind almost daily. You and Dick had been together since late middle school days. You went everywhere with each other and attended every dance together. You were both practically attached at the hip. You had everything in common and could get lost in various topics for hours.

But, that connection had seemed so far away. So long ago. Like a distant memory. The romance in the relationship felt like it was fading, but neither of you was ready to let it go. And it puts a strain on your relationship, even without romance.

You curled up on the soft sofa, bringing your knees to your chest and feeling stinging tears well in your eyes. You knew it was bad for you. God that's all you ever thought about. But it hurt too much to even consider ending things. He was so familiar.

You don't know how much time has passed by of you being stuck in a constant loop of repetitive thoughts, but a knock on your door shook you out of your trance.

“y/n? It's Jason, can I come in?” You quickly wiped your eyes with your shirt and straightened yourself out. “Be right there!” You cringed at that obvious wavering of your voice. You reached the door, opening it slightly so he could only see your upper half. Your head was leaned downward as a half-assed attempt to hide your tear-stained face. “Hey,” was all he said, with a faint sheepish smile. You lazily nodded at him. “Need something?” You'd hoped you didn't sound angry at him. “Well, I came here to ask you the same thing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, a familiar habit of his. “Come in.”

(yall I cannot think of a title omg)

[bunchofdoodlesinspace]

Fuck it, Mystery Twins Hcs:

[specifically post-show hcs]

It takes them a bit to readjust to being at home again. Everything is so aggressively average and normal it's almost mind-boggling.

There is unfortunately an argument about keeping the pig. But Mabel is stubborn and Dipper defends her. And Waddles is also just extremely adorable and hard to say no to. They keep the pig.

What they went through doesn't really start to Sink In until probably a week or so after getting back home. As soon as they're settled fully and back into a routine, it sort of slowly dawns on them that,,,yeah, that really did happen, huh. Some of it results in laughter at the absurdity, some of it fond reminiscing, and some of it...quiet, tense recognition.

Of course, they both get nightmares. Mabel starts getting such vivid ones about being trapped in Mabeland that she actually develops some level of claustrophobia. Dipper, on the other hand, gets horrid sleep paralysis, in which he'll be stuck, unable to move, while his own body stares down at him, wide-eyed and grinning manically.

They do their best to comfort each other. Deep down they know at some point they probably should bite the bullet and try to seek out something more professional, but there's no way to explain any of what they've experienced in a way that makes sense. So they rely on each other, at least for now.

They're still in contact with both Stan and Ford ofc! At first, they started out just having a walkie-talkie type situation, but eventually the kids convince their grunkles to get a tablet of some sort, so they can video call and actually see some of the stuff they uncover.

Trigonometry inexplicably becomes the funniest subject to both of them and no one understands why (it's humour to cope with the horrors)

Another way to cope with the horrors: making a game out of crossing out the "eye" in as many potential Bill peepholes as possible and turning the act into a competition (Mabel is currently winning)

Their parents are absolutely shocked when they both practically beg to go back to Oregon for the summer the following year, after being so reluctant the first year. It becomes the highlight of every year after that.

Mabel goes through like 5 different style phases over the next several years. Every summer post-show she looks different, up until she's like, 18-20. She never stops making her own clothes and stuff though.

They're the first ones to find the statue. Neither of them dares to go near it until they talk to Ford and Stan. And even after they can confirm it's most likely Just A Statue, they all try to avoid that section of the woods. Just in case.

The first summer following the events of the show, Stan and Ford notice the two of them carrying a book around with them. It's a thick notebook, clearly a fairly cheap one bought at some stationary store chain. On the front is a makeshift cover obviously put together by Mabel, with two symbols drawn on paper and taped to the front: a star and a pine tree. Between them sits the number 1, written in sharpie. Upon further questioning the twins explain that it sort of served as a way to handle all the weirdness in the world they were suddenly aware of. Sure, Piedmont is pretty normal. But every place has its mysteries.

Ford is mildly surprised to see Mabel so invested in the journal, given that seemed like Dipper's thing. And in a way, it is. Dipper writes most of the entries and Mabel mostly just adds doodles and pictures and whatever stickers she decides are appropriate. But the journal is just a log of their adventures, and those they always do together. Their first summer made it pretty clear to them: they each have their strengths, but when it comes down to it, they work best as a team. :)

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound By Fate Chapter 4

Please note this chapter is just mindless smut involving Shanks- only. You can skip this chapter if that is not for you. I hope you enjoy, please like and leave a comment if you can.

Shadows pooling in the corners of Shanks’s cabin as he sat on the edge of his bed, your dress clutched tightly in his hands. He barely registered the solid wood under him, only the delicate fabric, the faint but undeniable essence of you woven into its fibres.

His hand trembled, the tension within him twisting like a knife, coiled so tightly it was a wonder he hadn’t yet snapped. Every breath he took was laced with your scent—a mixture of salt, warmth, and something uniquely yours. It lingered, teasing him with memories that weren’t even there, but ones he couldn’t stop imagining. He let his fingers skim over the silk, closing his eyes as he let the scent drift through him, grounding him just enough to stave off the worst of the longing tearing at his insides.

His knuckle turned white as he gripped the dress tighter, bringing it closer to his face. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the warmth of your skin left behind, letting it settle within him. The faintest hint of lavender floated through it, mingling with the salt of the sea, a delicate contrast to the storm churning inside him. He forced his mind back to the image of you—the fire in your eyes, the quiet strength in your defiance—every detail etched into his memory. He let that strength soothe him, if only slightly, against the maddening ache brought on by the pollen.

The need gnawed at him, relentless and unyielding, every inhalation intensifying the unbearable pull to have you close. He tried to imagine your voice, grounding himself in your words, the way you’d pushed back against him, fierce and fearless. But it only made him ache more, the fight between the logical man he knew himself to be and the feral instinct clawing at his self-control growing more difficult with each heartbeat.

In the silence of his cabin, he found himself murmuring your name, as though saying it aloud could somehow quell the fire raging within him. His fingers brushed over the delicate fabric, running his thumb over a frayed edge that had worn from the journey. The roughness steadied him, a tether in the dark, a reminder that you were real, here on his ship, and not just some fever dream conjured by the pollen.

With a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on the soft fabric. He closed his eyes, breathing you in, letting the quiet settle over him like a balm against the chaos that had seeped into his blood. And in that stillness, his resolve flickered, almost breaking beneath the weight of his longing, the need that urged him to go to you, to throw caution and reason to the wind.

But for now, he stayed rooted in place, fighting the wild storm within him, grounded by the only connection he could allow himself—the delicate scent of you in the room, he needed this. 

His cock was straining against his trousers as he took another drags of our scent. He needed this, just to give in for a moment, to indulge himself so he could take the hash edge off so he could function, with you around it was a battle that he was quickly losing. 

The bronze skins of his body were now shining with a sheer layer of sweat. Nibble fingers pulled at the laces of his breeches, the knot surrendering with ease and the sagged around his hips. He was too hot. To hot to function. Every scrap of clothes felt like an inch of lava smothering his body, burning him alive. Frantically, he freed himself from his boots, his shirt and his bottoms. Freeing himself into the cool sea air. He let out a satisfied hiss as his cock bobbed against his stomach. This was wrong and he knew it, but he didn’t care, the guilt would have to wait. For now he just need to feel, to satisfy the thirst he had for you.

Tossing himself on to the bed he nestled himself comfortably against his bedding. He would have to get new stuff if he was going to share this cabin with you, he would not lay his one and only again the soil and stain sheet and lumpy pillow. He cursed himself as a surge of desire pieced him. Just the mere thought of you being in the same room made his thick thighs tremble uncontrollably. God, he needed this. Needed it to reign back the control.

Peeking down he saw the thin trail of red hair leading down to his cock, the head was engorged, red and angry weeping hot beads of precum his balls rested heavy beneath, aching. He stroked himself, languidly, rolling his wrist as he let off a long, low hiss. His touch both pleasurable and painful, he released the feeling coiling inside but it was a cold reminder that you were not there with him.

Letting his cock go for a moment he brought the garment to his nose and inhaled deeply. A juddering moan rattled from his chest, as he tugged a little harder. If he scrunched his eyes shut it was just like you were there with him. Breathing deeply he rocked his hips to meet nothing. The dress fell beside his face as a wave of need crashed over him, forcing the very breath from him. The smell of you was so strong it seeped into him, spurring him on. 

Wrapping his firm hand once again around him he quickly found a rhyme, hips juddering off the bed as he found a relentless pace. His hand moving with desperation, everytime he was close, the coil inside him would slip, loosen till the point that of madness, he was so close but as soon as he got to the edge he was cruelly snatched away from the brink.

Shanks gasped, pressing his face deeper into the silk of your discarded dress, inhaling as if each breath pulled him closer to relief. His body was taut with desperation, every muscle strained as he worked his hand over himself, the sensation agonisingly intense. Each stroke seemed to feed the need inside him rather than quench it, until every nerve was singing with an almost unbearable tension.

He clenched his jaw, stifling another whimper, trying to hold himself together, but the feel of your scent, so faint yet somehow so overwhelming, seemed to unthread his very self-control. It was as though he could almost feel you there with him, your warmth, your touch, and that elusive softness he’d been craving since the moment he brought you onto the ship. The pollen still simmered within him, amplifying every sensation, every fantasy that slipped into his mind, igniting him further.

The tension coiled, growing sharper, white-hot, and then finally—his control snapped. Instinctively, his face buried itself in your dress, biting down hard as a  rough, broken moan escaped his lips as he surrendered completely, riding the waves of bliss as jets of cum painted his chest, cresting his jaw as he inhaled your heady scent. For a moment, he simply lay there, body spent but mind still restless, the echo of you lingering on his senses, grounding him in a way that felt both soothing and excruciating.

In the dim cabin, with the traces of you clinging to his skin and the haze of his own need beginning to fade, Shanks let out a soft, rueful laugh. He’d never wanted anyone like this, with such helpless urgency—and he knew, as he lay there, that his need for you wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, more consuming than he’d ever allowed himself to feel before. And now that he’d tasted it, there was no going back.

@commanderfreethatdust @hauntedluna

[mikalame]

Date me... please

'yes tom ill be down there in like 5 minutes, just let me finish my make up okay' you type into your phone. Tom was BLOWING it up nervous about the whole ordeal,

Ever since you had asked for his number he was texting you ever miniute, of every hour all day long, you found it quite cute tho, for him to be thinking of you that much, it made you kick your feet like a little school girl.

You rush down the stairs, quickly grabbing your heels as you hop to put them on, you look at your self in the hallway mirror, flatting your dress and making sure your lipstick wouldn't smudge you open the door.

Seeing Tom right there was a bit of a shock but it still made you blush, he had his phone in his hand 'he was probably going to text me to see how much longer i would be' you think.

Tom fumbles to put his phone in his dark jean pants, lifting his black and red top, that unknowing matched well with the little dress you had on aswell.

"___, you look.... stunning" he mumbles his eyes tracing over every inch of you outfit, "why thank you tom, you dress up nice as well" you giggle adjusting your handbag.

Tom takes you hand and escorts you to his car, as he hops in the drivers side, starting the car he exsplains about what you two would be doing for the night.

"So what i was thinking was that we go walk around the park and visit the arcarde store, then we can go to restaurant, how does that sound" looking at you before eyes flicking back to the road.

"Arcade store?" you ask "Yeah i mean we could do somthing else it just kinda what i thought in the moment you know" his words faluter as he speaks, his eyes pinned to the road wondering if you thought i was a stupid idea.

"No i think it will be fun, i havent been to an arcade store in years, oooo i wonder if they still have donkey kong, i LOVED that game when i was younger" you rant, you start telling tom all the games you loved as a kid getting side tracked if one had a specific memory you remembered.

By the time your finished your at the park, you can see the neon lights to the store from here, you look down at your outfit now feeling like you dressed up a bit much for an arcade store.

"Hey ___ its kinda chilly do ya want my jacket" Tom asks seeing you look at the outfit your wearing, "hmm oh yeah please tom, thank you" you mutter as you shrug it on.

As you two walk to enjoy the evening light and the nice cool breeze washing over your selfs, you stop and take a small amount of time to stop and watch the family of swans wading through the water.

Once getting to the arcade store after you dared tom to a game of how could get there faster tom only winning because you had a hard time running with heels on, but that didnt stop tom from bragging for the next 5 minutes.

The first game you visited was... donkey Kong of course after you two had got the pass you practically DRAGGED him over there holding on to his hand, playing a few rounds then moving to a game tom wanted to play, then switching back and fourth between games you or him wanted to play.

Walking back to the car goodies in hand you tried to stuff the majortiy of what you one in you handbag but that didn't really hold much, tom had decided to just use his top as a bag and place all his goodies inside, shortly followed by you placing your goods with his, tom held the rest of his top close to him so they didnt fall out.

Tom chucked all the treats onto the dash before speeding off to the restaurant, cracking jokes, and eating a few of the lollies you won.

Once arriving tom opens your door, holding it like you were some queen or something, before placing your hand in his walking to the big glass double doors.

You to get escorted to your reserved table and get handed these wood print menus with 4 different panels showing you the drinks, the food and the deserts, the majority of them had super fancy names that you and tom tried to pronounce to each other but failed miserably.

While waiting for you food to arrive you and tom were given your chosen drink of coke in a nice tall cold glass with a fancy little straw with a lemon on the side, tom decided to challenge you with a contest of who could stay the most calm while eating the slice of lemon.

Half way through your little contest you food had arrived, they had seen you and tom trying to keep your composure then freeze and turn slowly to face the poor waiter who had both of your food in hand.

Once she left you two busted out laughing, "The look on the poor ladys face ahahha" tom chuckles wiping a fake tear from his eye "i know that was so stupid tom" you giggle before taking your first bite of food.

When you both had finished tom went up to pay talking bout how he has to because hes just manly like that, but stumbling when his pants got caught on his shoe making him trip a bit.

You walk to the car with tom he was showing you how many of the free mints he got while paying he seemed very proud of this saying how you could have to but not anymore because you 'didnt help get this'.

You two sit in the car remisising about the night laughing at the race you didnt win, tom getting mad saying the arcade game scammed him and how he wanted hi money back, the face on the lady when she saw your little competition at dinner and when you guys had so much lollies they were dropping out all over the place.

The drive back to your home was calm, no awkwardness around just tom and you enjoying eachothers company, his hand placed on your inner thigh only moving when he has to change gears but putting his hand back before the area could even get cold again.

Toms car pulls up to your home opening your door just like he did at the restaurant walking you to your door. "Oh wait i forgot somthing" he says running back to his car, grabbing somthing beofre running back to you.

"Here, i remember you saying how these were you favorite flower, so i got some for you, i didnt give them to you before cause i forgot" he laughs running the back of his neck before holding them out for you.

"Wow tom these are beautiful im so glad you remembered i liked these" you say smelling the sweetness waft off the flower "i had a really great night tonight tom" you whisper you eyes flicking from his brown eyes to his pierced lip.

Tom caught on knowing what you wanted as well he whispers back to you "I had a great night aswell ___ i hope to do this again" taking his hand out holding you jawline and slowing bringing you in for a kiss.

You felt as if you were in a movie the porch light shining down on you, tom hand on your jaw, you and around his neck, it made you feel amazing like you were on cloud-9.

Your lips separating and you pull in air to your lungs you look at tom again before wishing him a goodnight kissing his cheek and closing the door softly behind your self.

Tom looks back at where you were standing just progressing the fact you kissed his back, he walks back to his car he looks at the lollies on the dash eating one of the blue ones a small smile on his lips,

ready to spill all of this to the band when he gets back he cant wait for you next date.

HEYYY GUYS sorry this took awhile and its quite long to read but i hope you all enjoyed, wasnt going to make a PT2 but so many of you liked the first one so here you gooo

taglist @oppopotamus @violentnewmarley@saumspam@adissonsss

[puffin-smoke]

redactedtober 18!! sorry for skipping yesterday, college is kicking my ass.

Huxley; Hanahaki

(tw for typical hanahaki stuff, blood, choking, ect)

It started off small. Innocent. Things he could dismiss.

The butterflies in his stomach. The tightness in his throat, the way he couldn't seem to breath whenever Damien was around. The hot flushes, the waves of nausea, the coughing fits.

Just a particularly bad fever. With all the time he spent in the woods it was bound to happen at some point, catching a bad bug that he'd just have to wait out.

So he waited. He hid the tissues from every time he would cough up his own blood, he leaned against walls whenever the world began to spin. He nodded and smiled every time someone asked him if he was okay.

"Course, dude! I'm fine, don't worry."

It became harder to deny it when he saw the first petals.

He had been bent over the toilet, hacking and wheezing, turning the water beneath him crimson and metallic smelling. Blood-soaked toilet paper littered the floor beneath him, ultimately forgotten as he struggled to breath. His throat was burning, the world was a mess of dark blurs.

He almost didn't notice the petals fly out of his mouth. The dainty way they hit the water, slightly curled at the edges.

But then he did notice. In between the fighting for air and the tears in his eyes, he notices.

Rose petals. Coated in blood and phlegm. A brilliant yellow turned muddied brown by his insides.

One was hanging off of the edge of his lips, glued on by blood and saliva. Huxley pushed away from the toilet and into a wall, sliding down it and into a mess of tissues. He let the tension seep from his body, exhaustion washing over him like a blanket. Limbs suddenly sluggish, almost entirely focused on forcing the air into his lungs, he plucked the petal from his lips. It left a trail of gore and sinew in its wake.

He rotated it in his hand, thumb running over it. Each breath he took hurt, scratching as though he had inhaled sandpaper. The petal tore in his hand.

"Oh, fuck-"

Another barrage of coughs thrust themselves out of his throat, the sheer force of each one making him buckle over, tucking his head in between his knees. It felt as though nails were being raked along his oesophagus, as though he were breathing in hellfire. Petals piled up beneath him, the bathroom smelling like an amalgamation of flowers and gore.

Eventually they stopped coming. But he still couldn't breath. He felt his tongue snag something, something spanning the breadth of the floor of the mouth. He felt a dust coat the tip of his tongue as his tongue lashed out blindly trying to dislodge whatever was there.

It wasn't working. Dark spots danced across his vision.

He reached into his mouth and desperately grabbed the mass, feeling it rip as he grasped it. He began to pull, wrenching it past his teeth. Another flower. A full flower. He dragged the leaves and petals out, gagging as they brushed the roof of his mouth. Sobbing as thorns carved swaths across his throat.

It took five minutes of careful pulling, but eventually he ended up with a rose and blood running down his chin.

It was only slightly easier to breath.

[acerathia]

Magic Shop || S. Todoroki

Summary:

After 'accidentally' getting cursed, you seek the witch of the forest to fix this problem. Only did you not expect a beautiful man to reside there...

Wordcount: 12.4k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Witch!Todoroki Shoto / GN!Reader

Tags/CW:

witch!shoto, contractual partners to friends to lovers, pining!! lots of pining, aged-up characters, GN reader, honestly mostly vibes in the woods idk what to say, fluff, innuendos, but sfw, maybe shoto is ooc, forgive my transagression <;/3

Note:

Please note that information about witches may be inaccurate as I was only using my fantasy. And any links are safe!! Also!! This is part of the 'Haunted House Collab' by Willow's House, check out the other works!!

Your hand slaps against the surface of your ringing phone, hoping to silence it with a lucky stroke back to sleep. But that only works for a couple of minutes as it starts once again relentlessly chiming, with no way to stop it. With a groan you remember the infinite number of alarms you had set yourself the night before, your past self too aware of your strong desire to sleep overpowering your need to go to work. So you don’t have a choice, you’d like to keep your job for as long as possible, even with your current sleeping habits.

Slowly you swing your upper body up, and blink blearily, just staring into your room for a couple of seconds, just trying to force you to properly wake up. You take your phone into your hand to stop the still blaring alarm and of course every subsequent alarm after that one. You run your hands over your face, once again trying to wake yourself up before getting up. Shuffling your feet, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. A good splash in your face does wonders against this fatigue, but only sometimes, so you hope it works today.

It actually helped a bit, your eyes stinging from the direct contact with the flying water. After finishing the rest of your routine, you go back to your room and put your work clothes on, ignoring the crinkles in them, even if your hands mindlessly try to flatten them, they will eventually disappear, hopefully. You just don’t have time nor the patience to iron them out. Nobody is going to notice them underneath a blazer. A last look in the mirror tells you that you do look presentable enough to show up at work. So you grab your necessities and hurry out of the door.

You don’t hurry because you might be late, you just like to be a bit early on the street, never sure what might delay your way, a traffic jam leading every car to link its arms with each other, making any other form of transportation nigh unusable. This especially accounts for you being stuck between arms and torsos of other people, holding for dear life on a pole in the bus, trying your best to avoid falling onto the ground with every rumbling stop.

Your stop draws near, and you’re finally able to leave the suffocating transportation can, you take a second to breathe, to collect yourself once again. The shaking of the bus has almost begun to lull you back to sleep, even if you were standing with hands in a death grip. So you slap both of your cheeks and continue your way to your workplace.

At your arrival, you think that luck must be on your side, as you still have a couple of minutes until your shift starts, enough time to calm down after all that speed walk, and simply drink some water. You put your stuff into the locker and begin your work. And you hope to keep that luck running for the rest of the morning.

But it seems that your luck is already strained thin, as you mess up some of the dates by accident, inconveniencing a visitor at their work. So you hurry up to apologize for this mistake before they can ask for your boss.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. We’ll fix this as soon as possible, so feel free to take a seat, Mrs. Nukarumi,” you offer her with a smile, not moving a muscle as her face shifts at the name-drop. You don’t realize your mistake until she steps closer, a menacing aura clogging your airways. You begin to panic, but you keep your face professional, a smile, a questioning tilt to the head.

“Listen, I can excuse some mishap at work, happens to the best of us. But getting my name wrong, and to such a distasteful degree is arrogant, especially after being quite the regular at your establishment,” she puts two fingers on your forehead, her nails pressing against your skin, and now you drop your smile for a frown, as the shadow of her hand covers your face, suffocating in a way only air can be. “It’s Nakamura, and I’d like to know how you will live your life without a soul ever recognizing you.”

Her fingers begin to feel warmer with each second, and at first, you thought it might be due to the prolonged skin contact. That is until this warmth turns into heat, her fingerprints searing themselves into your skull, your skin non-existent. Some kind of pain spreads all over your facial features, not painful enough to coax out a scream, but enough to make your muscles twitch in response. At this sensation, you try your best to pull away, but you seem to be glued to her fingertips, like she’s holding the strings of your body between her knuckles with this simple touch.

You finally manage to take a step back the moment her fingers leave your skin. She seems to be satisfied with whatever she just did, as a grin spreads over her face as she glances over your face. Mischief is coloring the outlines of her lips before she just leaves without another word, not caring if the situation is fixed any time soon.

For some reason, this is the least of your worries, as you make your way to the bathroom with quick steps in search of a mirror. But the moment you stand in front of one, you can’t see anything wrong with your face, not even a small print of her fingers on your forehead. Everything looks normal and proper to you, so you just shrug it off, keen on returning to your post behind the desk.

On the walk back to your space, you come across the manager, who gives you a weird look, and you glance down at yourself, thinking your clothes might have gotten in disarray. But there’s nothing wrong with them. You still straighten your blazer a bit, which doesn’t seem to help, as he finally comes up to you.

“Excuse me, this area is for staff only,” he tells you with a warning in his voice, and you can only furrow your eyebrows at that.

“Uh, yes, I am a staff. It’s my shift right now,” you reply, confusion tinting your voice.

“Lying is useless in this case, I don’t recognize you, and I know all of my staff.” He shakes his head in some form of disappointment before threatening to call security if you don’t clear the space immediately.

Absolutely confused, you just leave the space, and even the building altogether, just heading home, because what else are you supposed to do? You got kicked out by your boss, for some strange reason, and nothing makes sense to you.

What did he say again? He doesn’t recognize you? That’s the wildest reason to kick someone out, ever. Does he want to fire you, or is he pulling some kind of elaborate prank or scheme? You honestly don’t care, you just hope you still get paid for your work.

As you have some time to spare, for obvious reasons, you decide to take a short trip to the store to get yourself some groceries, and maybe you could chat a bit with your acquaintance there, letting a couple of minutes pass in idle talk.

So you enter the store and begin collecting whatever your heart desires, and whatever your wallet allows you, before making your way to the register, where your almost friend works. You smile and greet them, hoping to be able to listen to whatever gossip they have at the moment. But they only give you the usual customer service smile, the usual greeting voice, no recognition sparking in their eyes at all.

Your chest constricts and you try to think of what you might have done to offend them, yet nothing seems to be the problem. And you could hardly bother them while they’re working, so you leave the place without inquiring any further about any possible reason.

Trudging home, you can’t help but wonder if you had done something for all of this to happen. There’s no way this day is filled with one unlucky incident after the other. There’s no correlation for this bad luck, you started your day as you do every single day. The only weird moment was with that weird woman, who just grabbed your face for no reason. But whatever she did, it didn’t work, you checked yourself in the mirror and everything looked fine to you, normal. So why does it seem like no one can recognize you?

You enter your home as the final puzzle clicks, and everything makes sense, well barely. A gasp escapes you at this revelation, and you almost throw your groceries onto the table, grabbing for your phone. With a frown, you open the front camera, seeing yourself, with every feature you know and are used to. Maybe the effect is similar to the one with a mirror?

You decide to take a picture of yourself, not focusing much on looking good, but rather on verifying your thoughts. After you take one where you’re sure your whole face can be seen, you open the gallery to click on the newest picture. But instead of a picture, you’re faced with a blurred mess. Did your hands tremble? There’s no way they moved that much while you took the picture. Still, you take another one, and another one, and another one. And all of them turn out to be blurry.

Chewing on your bottom lip you scroll further to some of the older pictures you have on your phone and they all look normal, your face still visible and clear. So there’s only one conclusion: only the ones you took today have that particular problem, so that means the woman had actually done something unexplainable to you.

With a sigh you put your phone away, driving your hand over your face. You screwed up, you accidentally messed up with the wrong person today, and now you reap the consequences. What are you supposed to do now? How could you even undo this? You can’t go to work if no one recognizes you, and you can’t just not work! You’re ruined, your life will be in shambles over a little mistake, this is so ridiculous.

Panic is running hot through your veins and you do what every sensible human being would do in such a dire situation. You take your phone and look it up, even if you don’t know how to phrase the problem properly. So it isn’t surprising when the first couple of hits you stumble across are different subreddits and medical pages about loneliness. But no matter how far you read into those, there is just no correlation between them and your current problem.

Thus, you dive deeper and you discover some shady-looking forum, all small font and 2000s style of blogging, in which you read a rather recent post.

Does the witch in that forest actually exist? Cuz I heard rumors, but no one has shown real pics smh. If yes, how do you meet them? Like, I wanna get some potions or stuff, idk

– i guess that’s one way to touch grass – that’s some witchful thinking LMAO – ofc, u just gotta go that fb page, there’s proof

Your curiosity gets the best of you and you click on the link, which turns out to be a rickroll. You don’t know if you’re supposed to laugh or groan in frustration. The only upside of this is that you had gotten some form of lead to… something. You’re not quite sure what the whole witch thing is about, but if there’s smoke, there must be a fire. At least you hope so, because it’s the only thing that could solve your problem at the moment. You’re pretty sure the woman put some kind of curse or spell on you, there’s no other way to achieve this kind of effect.

Naturally, you’re going to look for that witch now. You have quite some free time left, so maybe there is some upside to that too…

Trying to be positive about the whole predicament, you trade your current clothes for something more robust, something suitable to endure a visit to the forest. The place mentioned in the post isn’t that far from your living place, so you plan to walk there, getting some blood running to prepare you for the worst.

With a bottle, your phone, and whatever is necessary for your trip, you leave the building. Your phone in hand, you try to discover the fastest way to these woods to avoid losing time.

Finally arriving at the entrance of the forest, you decide to take the already existing paths, leisurely walking along them. And you have to admit it has taken you some time to realize something important in your current endeavor: there’s no way a witch is going to be living on the equivalent of a main street of the forest. No one would do that if they’re actively trying to get by without notice, and witches don’t want people to know where they live. That’s like, their lore or something.

This makes sense, and you nod to yourself, convinced by your own logic before you step off the path. At first, you paid attention to where you put your foot down, careful to not destroy any plants or to get stuck somewhere. But after a while, you simply forget to look at the ground and where you’re going. As a result it shouldn’t be a big surprise when one of your feet gets caught in something, you’re not quite sure what, because the moment you topple over you immediately begin to roll down a hill.

Scrunching your face, you brace yourself for the upcoming impact, hoping sincerely you won’t get knocked against a rock or a stump, breaking something or injuring you in any other way.

Nothing happens. Slowly the rotations come to a stop and you feel your back thud against the ground one last time, even if you still feel the turbulence in your head.

After taking a couple of seconds to get your head straight, you hesitantly open your eyes, only to glance at the face of another person. And for a moment you feel like nothing is real, he’s beautiful. Soft plush lips, slightly agape in surprise, eyes widened and sparkling in the early afternoon sun, and you need to look a couple of times back to notice the different colors, gray and blue, a storm separated from its lightning. His lashes brush against his smooth skin on one side, and against a burn mark on the other, as he blinks, trying to understand what just happened.

You immediately close your eyes again, hoping to fool him into thinking you had passed out, even if he probably saw you staring at his face like a fish out of water.

A slight chuckle, air fanning over your face, tells you that he is no fool. So you have no other choice but to take a breath and to slowly sit up, avoiding looking into his eyes with all your might, even if you’re compelled to look at him just a while longer.

Instead, you start looking around and you notice that you have fallen onto the edge of a beautiful meadow, flowers sprouting all around you, colors bursting underneath the late afternoon sun. The wind dancing between the petals. The delightfulness of this place fills you in awe, and it only grows bigger when you glance back at him, seeing the perfect man sitting underneath the rays of the sun, the wind ruffling his red and white hair playfully. You think about how it feels to touch this cloud in the afternoon sun.

That is until you finally register his gaze lingering on you. Your eyes widen in surprise and you can’t look him in the face anymore, once again. Nerves get the best of you, as you realize that he must have caught you staring at him and you fiddle with your fingers before you gather some courage to talk to him.

“Uhm, sorry for that, heh… You might be wondering why I’m here, and honestly you won’t even remember me when I’m gone, which is for the best I’m not going to lie. But I still wanted to ask, and I know it’s a weird question, but honestly, my whole day has been so weird, you can’t even believe it. What I mean is, do you happen to know where maybe, just maybe, where the witch of this forest is? I kinda got into that situation and I need help…” After getting everything off your chest, you take a second to take a breather.

“Oh, yes, I know where the witch is–”

“Really? Wow, that’s cool, rad, cool, cool! Oh, do you mind telling me? That would be awesome, for real,” you interrupt him, leaning forward in an outburst of excitement, once again just staring at his face

“No, I don’t mind. It’s simple really. The witch is here,” he answers, and if you’d known it better, you could have sworn to see some mischief glinting in his eyes.

But you’re too distracted, squinting your eyes trying to see anyone else in this open meadow. The witch can’t be hiding in such an open space, so you turn around to look behind you.

You jut your lips out when you couldn’t see anyone in the near distance. “Where? There’s no one here?”

The corners of his lips raise slightly. “Well, because we’re the only two people here, the best conclusion is that I’m the witch, is it not?”

You can only nod slowly, mouth agape and eyes roaming over his figure once again. Now that he mentions it, if you focus a bit on his blue eye, the one seemingly illuminating and softening his scar, you could discern symbols circling his iris, whispering secrets only he is to know.

It takes you a moment to bring these two concepts together, as this turn of events just swept you over in a cold rush. Even if you’re going to be honest with yourself, what did you expect? Some beautiful woman with long black hair, miraculously emerging from the waters of some shallow pond? This probably is your sign to read less fantasy… Does it count as fantasy if witches are apparently real?

You blink and push this thought away, this is really not the time to contemplate the structure of your world. So you take a breath, trying to formulate your thoughts more coherently this time.

“Oh, okay. Uhm, so… hold on, no, how am I supposed to call you? Because there’s no way I’m calling you a witch for, I don’t know how long, but that doesn’t matter… Uhm,” you veer off topic before just introducing yourself in the same breath.

Wow, you did amazing, you should pat yourself on the shoulder, because how can someone start at a point and finish at the wrong place? You bite on your bottom lip, slightly crunching your face. But the moment he says your name, the strain seems to melt off, you’re so taken aback by how elegant your own name sounds from his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose you can call me Shoto.”

With a nod, you do your best to memorize his name and to replace the imaginary picture of a witch with a replication of him, sitting between the flowers, and you’re aware that your memory could never truly replicate this look, this moment; it always be something faded compared to this, and you curse your insufficient brain capacities. Until you remember the actual reason you came looking for him.

“So, Shoto. I need your help, you know, as the witch, because, uh, I don’t know if you noticed already, but I guess someone cursed me? For some reason. Unrelated to anything really…” you laugh nervously and avoid his gaze “Like no one is able to recognize me, which is weird! I look normal in mirrors, but not in pictures? And, uh, see, I kinda need my face to work, you know? Is there something you could do to help me? You’re my last resort, pretty please?” You had hurried to explain your reasons for arriving at this place before the silence between you could even start, or worse, before he got the time to just stand up and leave.

He leans back and his eyes glance over your face, examining you, and you notice how the contrast between his eyes seems to grow for a moment; one almost glowing eerily while the other darkens to reach the depth of the universe. It feels like you’re in the presence of a supernova, a star about to burst by its seams.

But the moment he blinks with a nod the moment is gone, almost like it never was any different. At least he looks like he found whatever he’s looking for, the curse probably.

“I will help you. But in exchange I do need you to aid me in the time it takes me to break this particular spell,” he sets his condition and slightly cocks his head to the side, waiting for your response.

A wide grin splits your face as he agrees to help you. excitement thrumming through your veins at the prospect of working with an actual witch, and even getting rid of this problem altogether. But you still take your time to weigh the choices in your head.

You don’t really have another choice, do you? Because if you refuse, what are you supposed to do? It’s either you help him with his potions, whatever that requires of you, you’re ready to even give your blood for this, or you just suffer for the rest of your life under this horrid curse of unrecognition. Even if you have to admit that this condition of yours could be a real killer in the shady business of the underground, assassinations, break-ins, or whatever illegal activities they entertain. No one would ever be able to catch you, as you practically have no face to be identified by. If you only possessed more usable skills to pursue this potential path of corruption, but you don’t. So you only truly have one choice left.

You readily agree to his terms, on your own condition, you want to be able to go home at the end of the day. You’d like to enjoy your sleep if you involuntarily have to miss work. With the same reasoning, you promise him to come back tomorrow before you’re already on your way home. You hadn’t noticed how late it already was, because the meeting didn’t feel like it took hours off your day. But who are you to judge the sun for packing up a bit earlier, at least it’s still bright enough for you to walk on your own. And on your trek home, you see his captivating eyes every time you blink, almost being able to feel the difference in temperature, coals and ice, hot and cold.

They haunt you, no matter how often you shake your head to get rid of them. You do have bigger problems to concentrate on. But your worries vanish once you land on your bed, all washed up and in clean clothes. The short hike seems to have taken a toll on you, or maybe the revelation of the whole situation, as you fall asleep as soon as you could even think of sleep.

The next morning you wake up all sore, and you whine into your pillow, already despising the possibility, the simple thought of getting up. Yet you sit up and grab your phone to tell your boss that you’re sick. Which technically isn’t a lie, if something does belong in that section, then it’s a curse for sure, and it’s the best option to not get kicked out again, or fired for not showing up to work.

With that you pat yourself on the back for finding a solution to that particular problem, and for giving yourself at least a week to solve this mess. If it doesn’t work out by then, you’d have to get a doctor’s notice, and you honestly doubt that a doctor can diagnose you with this if they even can recognize anything in the first place.

One problem out of the way, you go through your morning routine to head out to start solving the main problem. You put on some proper clothes for this trip, and this time you’re not keen on not tumbling down a hill, and being aware of the hill in the first place will definitely make it a lot easier.

The way to the meadow turns out to be a lot easier once you know the way, and as a consequence, you gain fewer bruises on the way down. You’re glad for that because the ones you earned yesterday throb every time they get touched, even by the barest breeze. But you will survive this horrendous pain, everything to reach your goal of getting rid of this curse.

If only everything is as easy as you wish it to be. Because the moment you arrive at the border of the meadow, you encounter another problem: Shoto isn’t here today.

You curse under your breath while glancing around the empty open space. What are you supposed to do now? You can’t just walk aimlessly and shout his name into the darkness of the woods. That would be stupid, you don’t know what lurks in its insides, and you’d like to avoid disturbing the wildlife and him, probably, if he is actually living in this forest.

Should you just take a seat in the middle of the meadow? Would he be able to see you from wherever his residence is? Once again you curse, but this time at your inability to plan forward, because you really should’ve asked for some details, but for some reason, his agreement seemed enough for you to just up and leave. Now it is obvious how you didn’t think any of this through.

With a sight, you lightly kick the ground. After you take one last look over the meadow, you decide to walk up the borders of the open space in hopes of finding some sort of hint about his possible whereabouts.

It takes you some time to come across a small river, water glistening clearly under the sun. and you decide to follow it on a whim. Honestly, this is probably the next best thing, because everyone needs some form of water, and this forest has no lake, so the river makes absolutely sense.

The flowing water leads you deeper into the woods, but you can’t actually get lost if you just follow the river in the opposite direction, so you’re not really worried about that.

This decision turns out to be the right one because after some time you spot a cottage in the near distance. Surrounded by bushes and the ivory sparkles under the rays of the sun breaking through the ceiling of leaves. As you step closer, leaving the river behind, you’re able to see the veranda filled with all different kinds of plants in pots, hanging, standing, thriving. You think you can even discern some form of garden on the other side of the building, but you decide to stop in front of the door rather than visit that small space. Who knows how a witch is able to protect their place.

Before you even think about knocking, you note how this place doesn’t look like what you expect of a lair, but honestly, you don’t have any other visual than the gingerbread house, and to be fair, that’s a fairytale and as much as Shoto looks like he came straight out of one, there’s no connection between these two. Not that it matters, you’re certainly not a kid, so you doubt he would eat you, which is unlikable in the first place.

You raise your fist to finally knock on the wood of the door, but before your knuckles could even connect with it, the door actually opens, and you make eye contact with Shoto. You slowly lower your fist and notice how he’s holding a basket in his hand, eyebrows raised in silent surprise. For a moment you both just look at each other in confused surprise until he finally starts speaking.

“Oh, good morning. I didn’t expect you to be here so early. Come in,” he steps aside to fully open the door, inviting you into his home.

With hesitation you step inside, looking around as curiosity tempts you with its soft claws. A smell of a mix of herbs wafts in front of you as you inhale. There is a small seating arrangement, a loveseat, a sofa, an armchair, all resting on top of a soft carpet, inviting you to sit on the ground and enjoy some tea or read a book.

Connected to that space is an open kitchen, to which he heads to, and you hurry to follow his lead. It takes you a moment to take your shoes off, so you can’t help but follow his path carefully, too scared to accidentally disturb this calm space of his.

His home seems rather normal, but once again, what did you expect? Some kind of massive cauldron, some random stuff hanging off the ceilings, or body parts in a mysterious liquid? You should’ve expected this, this is just a normal cottage in the depths of the forest, the only exceptional thing, or person, is Shoto, and you don’t mean him being a witch.

Once you arrive in the space of the kitchen, he motions you to sit at the table, and you do, your expectations getting the best of you and waiting for some form of grimoire to thud onto the table. But nothing of that sort happens, he just sits on the opposite side, leaning his chin in his hand and just looks at you with slightly furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips.

You try your best to stay silent, even if the urge to say something is getting stronger with the second, but you withstand his piercing gaze resting on your hot skin. You bite on your tongue to swallow your question down. Especially when his eyes begin to emit a low light once again, all stormy weather, dark clouds shrouded in lightning.

It abates the moment he hums. “I see. Well, I guess I am able to undo this spell, but we both don’t know anything about the workings of the spell, it probably will take me some time to fix the proper counterspell. For that, I need your presence. Should we get started?” He leans back, his eyes glowing under the sunlight, but this time it feels a lot softer, less like magic and more like a fairy tale.

The next thought you have is filled with indignation because he just assumed you don’t know anything about the spell. Well you don’t, but it’s about the assumption itself, not the fact that you have no idea about this craft. So you can’t really say anything in your defense, because there’s nothing to defend but your pride, and it’s not worth it at the moment.

“Sure thing, but I have to let you know: I know how that woman put this spell on me, and… uh…” you start confidently, only to peter out, not knowing how to continue this trail of thought.

Despite that, he does seem surprised by that in some way, indicated by the way his eyebrows shoot up. “Is that so? Would you mind telling me?”

You almost think to hear some sort of accusation in his tone, but you have no reason or idea why that might be. So you just shrug it off before delving into a short explanation of the events that had occurred to you, until you recount the first meeting with him. Of course, there are some details you omit, because you’d rather not embarrass yourself in front of such a graceful person, because he’s a witch, not because you think he’s so beautiful you might turn blind if you look at him for an extended period of time, that would be ridiculous. Also, telling him about your fall is just unnecessary to the plot of this story, isn’t it?

He nods, eyes telling you that he realizes the omission, but he doesn’t comment on it. At least he seems like he understands more about the situation than you, simply from the description of whatever she had done to you, from whatever you had felt.

“This does help quite a bit. Doesn’t make the process much faster, just easier. Not that it matters, I’m qualified to undo this spell either way.” He stands up and begins to open the cabinets, rummaging through their insides before pulling out a notebook and a pen.

There’s no way this is his spellbook. The place where he keeps his most secret, most important spells. It looks like any ordinary notebook from the store, and it probably is, considering how normal everything looks. Maybe he has a special way of safekeeping?

You squint and stare at the notebook, trying to discover something hidden, but the only thing you see is how Shoto is writing some stuff down, the signs clear and elegant.

Only occasionally does he look up, eyes roaming over your face without sitting still on anything in particular. You doubt he could even if he wanted to.

And now your thoughts wander to the possibility that he would actually want to look at you, how his gaze would soften when caressing your skin, the sun sparkling against his dual-colored eyes, making them glisten with adora–

No, you have to stop here, or you’re not going to survive his presence in the upcoming brewing sessions. Healing sessions… Yeah, healing sessions, because he’s healing your hurt ego, getting rid of your predicament. There’s nothing else to call them. Uncursing? Spell Deletion? No, that sounds ridiculous. Healing sessions sound like some form of therapy, and being in the forest is kind of therapeutic, well, his presence sure is. Not that the name matters, you’re never going to talk about it with anyone, ever.

You blink a couple of times to come back to reality, only to make eye contact with him and your breath hitches. You do your best to act casual and prop your elbow onto the back of the chair but you slip and you have to catch yourself with a jerk.

A nervous laugh escapes you and you lean back, crossing your arms in front of your chest to get rid of your fidgeting. You avoid looking into his eyes this time, focusing on the fringe falling onto his forehead, red and white braiding into each other seamlessly.

He doesn’t even bother to say anything about what just happened and just goes straight to business. “Here’s what we’re going to do in the next few days,” he starts explaining like you just didn’t utterly embarrass yourself in front of him. “I doubt a counterspell will work without consequences because we don’t know the exact working of your curse, even if I have a good idea of it. Still, I don’t want to risk it, so I’m simply going to brew a potion, which will wear it out until it disperses on its own. That means we have to go out and collect some necessary materials. We’re going to do that later though, as there are some preparations I have to make first.”

With that, he closes his notebook and leaves it on the table as he stands up. He motions you to follow him and you leave the house at his heels.

Outside he pulls some sort of platter from below a table and hands it to you before he kneels on the ground in front of a pot in the form of a long rectangle. Inside it is a green plant, stalks spreading out like rays of the sun, leaves tiny and feather-like.

“These are Maidenhair Ferns, also called The Hair of Venus. They could have some effect on your current condition, but we have to dry them first for their potency to unfold. I’m going to take care of the cutting of the plant and I ask you to put them neatly onto the platter. That way we can continue our work at a faster rate,” he explains, his gaze only brushing over you before leading his focus back onto the plant in front of him.

You nod, even though you’re not sure he could register this movement with the way he’s intently looking at the leaves of the ferns. You still take a seat by his side and put the big plate on your lap, ready to receive the first leaves and stems.

At first there isn’t a lot for you to do, so you’re busy looking around, taking in the sights of the forest, enjoying the sun on your face, but soon enough you start taking the stalks filled with neat leaves and arrange them properly on the plate, trying to avoid stacking them as much as possible.

Luckily, he doesn’t pick that many plants for you to even begin thinking of that possible problem too much. With a platter covered with just the right amount of leaves, he finally turns around to face you.

“We need to pluck the leaves from the stem because each part is different, and will need a different time to properly dry. We only need the leaves for the potion, but I’d hate to waste the rest,” he murmurs, his long, nimble fingers already running along the stem of one of the plants, picking the leaves off with careful fingertips, barely staining his nail beds in the process.

You proceed to take one fern in your hand, trying your best to imitate him and to rip the leaves at the right spot and not rip them apart accidentally. Sticking your tongue slightly between your teeth in concentration, you manage to not destroy the first fern, even if the process has gotten a bit messy, your fingers turning slightly green. You begin to understand why people who garden have a ‘green thumb’.

You both work in a comfortable silence for some time, simply enjoying the repetitive motion. Before you even dare to think about standing up, you both make sure that everything is properly separated and not layered. Just then you stand up and follow him around the corner to some sort of backyard. You reckon this is the place you glanced at earlier. There’s a table standing out in the open, and he motions you to put the platter you were carrying onto its surface. In that position, the sun is going to dry them for you, essentially doing the work for you.

The moment your hands are free, you get the urge to stretch into the rays of the sun, your blurry, lidded gaze glancing over the edge of the open space between the bushes. And that’s where you spot it. A beautiful deer.

With a silent gasp, you blindly try to tap Shoto on the shoulder, accidentally brushing against his jaw in your hurry. Normally you would apologize, but you don’t dare tear your eyes away from the deer, much less make a noise, in fear of it disappearing without a trace. The doe, you correct yourself, as it lacks any form of horns.

“Oh,” you hear Shoto say softly under his breath, finally spotting the deer too.

For a moment you both just stay silent, not daring to even move too much, simply enjoying the mesmerizing sight of a doe under the shining sun, framed by the lush green of the forest. That is until the deer just turns around and jumps away like it just doesn’t care about you both just staring at it in awe.

You release a small puff of air, some tension releasing as you had been too caught up in the moment. Turning around in his direction, you regret even breathing the second you lock eyes with Shoto, his face closer to you than you had anticipated. It seems like you both have moved closer in that short moment, huddling together for some reason at the mere sight of the doe.

Your eyes jump over his dark eye to the lightning blue one, electrifying you like a summer storm, and you wonder if he’s gotten hit by lightning itself, resulting in these mesmerizing eyes, and the scar around that bright eye, the only blemish on his smooth, soft looking skin. Maybe it’s connected to his powers, to these symbols deep inside the blue, unreadable to you.

To avoid staring at his scar, your gaze travels over his high cheekbones to his plumb lips, and you could almost imagine them quirking slightly, the moment before he reveals a true laugh of joy out of his soul. This thought startles you and you immediately take a step back, bumping into the corner of the table.

A low whimper escapes as you double over, clutching your wounded side in a dramatic manner. At least now you’ve got a reason to avoid looking at him, to avoid getting lost in all these daydreams about him and…

“Are you okay? Did you hit a sensitive spot?” he asks, worry tinting his voice as he puts his hand softly on your back.

You nod at first before you begin to shake your head, these two questions colliding in your head, all while you try to ignore the possible innuendo. If you step into that territory of thought, you might as well run into the woods and bury yourself in some random cave, to never face him again.

The pain slowly abates after you take a couple of breaths to calm yourself down. It’s going to form a bruise, which isn’t that big of a deal, but you wish it wouldn’t feel like something had impaled your guts.

Straightening up, you show him a thumbs up, even if his slightly furrowed eyebrows and jutted lips show that he isn’t quite convinced. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to fight you over that, so his hand leaves your back. The spot is suddenly so cold, and you can’t help but miss the warmth of his skin, even through clothing.

You try your best to divert his attention away, and maybe yours too, as you look around, in particular to avoid looking at his face. You spot some form of wooden fence, probably a small garden, and you step in its direction with a craning neck to see what he could have planted there.

“Oh, is that a garden? What did you put there? Do you sustain yourself like that? How do you know what soil to use for what plant? Are these to eat or just for your potions?” These questions pour out of your mouth, the perfect distraction for you both as you don’t have to pull out some random question out of nowhere. And you’re genuinely interested.

He seems to have noticed your attempt at distraction according to his rising eyebrows, but he still indulged you and steps closer to the high edge of the garden and you join him close behind him.

With a soft voice he starts explaining the use of each herb, each fruit and plant, patiently pointing toward them, all while mentioning neat little details, like their harvest season, how picky certain plants are. And you can’t help but be captivated by his knowledge and the way he shares it. Even if you sometimes break out of the immersion of his voice when your eyes begin to roam over his face instead of listening.

Time passes with you both kneeling in the soft grass and inspecting the little space filled with love. You only notice how late it has gotten with the way your eyelids feel heavy, your gaze unfocusing and hazy. And as much as you’d love to just take a nap in the middle of the grass under this beautiful weather, you have to get home before that.

So with a goodbye and a promise to return tomorrow, you make your way home, the way easier to walk as your body starts to memorize the path. You could say you could find the way to the cottage in your sleep with how tired you currently feel.

It’s no wonder you barely remember getting ready for bed, much less going to sleep because your brain is practically already out of commission before that happens.

The next day you wake up with a satisfied groan. You’ve never felt this refreshed in your life before, and when you glance at the time, you startle, realizing why. You’ve overslept, you’re late for work! You immediately stand up, heart beating a frenzy in your chest and your arms tremble slightly. With a sudden rush, you remember how you had taken sick leave just yesterday, and you slump back onto your bed.

With a shaken sigh, you sink back into your pillow. You could have slept a bit more, but it seems like your internal clock was keen on terrorizing you today. And with that rush of adrenaline, you might as well stay up and get ready to visit Shoto today.

You take your time to eat breakfast and just enjoy the silence of your home before you make yourself ready for the way. You also check on the state of your food, in case you need to get some groceries. But you don’t, so you clean your place a bit before heading out.

And once again you step through the same path you’ve been visiting the last few days, and you wonder if it would inevitably become some sort of established path with the amount of walking you’ve been doing between the same couple of trees. Maybe you should start changing the route a bit the next couple of times.

You arrive in front of his door and this time you’re able to knock on the door before it’s ripped open, and you startle by the look Shoto throws out of the door, all narrow eyes and downturned lips, almost resembling a snarl. You hesitate in asking if something is wrong. His eyes blink before recognizing you, in the widest sense, and his whole face seems to almost soften. With no exchange of words, he steps to the side and opens the door for you to step in.

Mirroring the day before, he makes way for the table and sits down, waiting for you to do the same. And you do, because you’ve been walking closely behind him.

His notebook is already open on the surface of the table, and he leans slightly forward. “The leaves of yesterday still need some time to fully dry, so today we should go out and collect some other stuff I mentioned yesterday. Is that alright with you?”

You would do anything to get rid of that curse on your face, so of course it’s alright with you, and you nod to show him that. He also nods in confirmation before closing his notebook and grabbing a basket to put whatever you will collect today inside.

While he is doing that, you hurry to the door to open it up for him, even bowing slightly with a grin across your face and the moment he passes by you, you think to see a small smile on his lips, amusement sparkling clearly in his face.

After closing the door behind you, you follow him to take his side as he ventures deeper into the forest. His steps are purposeful, and you’re sure he knows where to find the target material. Still, you wish you could help with whatever he’s looking for, but you doubt you would be able to recognize it even if he told you the name of it. Despite that, you’re happy to listen when he starts talking, explaining what he’s looking for.

“I have some vague idea of what could help against your current ailment. Right now, I’m looking for a Bird’s Eye…” he trails off as he seems to have spotted something.

This revelation confuses you. What does he mean with a Bird’s Eye? Is he going to pluck the eyeballs of some poor bird? Is that something he usually does? He doesn’t seem like the person to entertain such thoughts. You want to ask him if there’s another way, but he had vanished between some bushes.

You swallow down the tremble in your throat and fight through the shrubbery to catch up to him. You emerge a couple of steps next to the spot he’s bending over. With some paces to place yourself at his side, only to see him hold some sort of purple plant delicately between his fingers. Petals growing upward the long stem to a soft point. A lavender plant… A Veronica… And suddenly you feel stupid for still assuming something without real proof. Still, you can’t help the relieved breath you let out.

Straightening up, Shoto shoots you a look, all hidden crinkles, and creasing eyes, almost like he’s making fun of you, like he’s amused at your obvious relief. “Seems like you had expected something else, didn’t you?” he asks, his gaze resting somewhere on your cheek.

“Uh, what else am I supposed to think? Telling me, ‘oh yeah, we need some bird’s eye’, doesn’t sound like, I don’t know, like you’re about to pluck an eyeball? How am I– hold on, did you do that on purpose?” you gasp at your own accusation. “You did! That’s so mean of you, I can’t believe you would use my trust like that!”

You pout slightly, even if you doubt he could see it properly, so you cross your arms in front of you to show your stance on things right now, even if you’re aware that you look overly dramatic. But that’s the point.

Your stance doesn’t seem to affect him, because you suddenly hear a light chuckle escape his lips, and when you glance at his face, you can clearly see how his lips quirked up in a silent laugh, all soft and delicate.

While you’re staring at him, you’re suddenly glad he can’t see your face clearly, because you probably look stunned, amazed, stupefied, and every other word to describe the way your eyes widen and your mouth standing slightly agape.

His eyes wander over your face, eyebrows scrunched up as if he wants to see whatever the fog is hiding behind that blur. Whatever he’s looking for doesn’t seem to be there, because the frown only deepens before he turns back to the flower in his hand, putting it carefully into the basket.

“These are the flowers we’re looking for. Do you mind picking some up?” he asks, already doing so himself, inspecting each one carefully to only select the ones most fitting.

You nod and diligently begin to pick the ones you seem worthy, collecting them into some sort of bouquet in your other hand. After a while, your hand is barely able to hold onto more, and you’re quite content with the look of your makeshift bouquet. Not being able to resist the urge, you tap him on the shoulder and hold it under his nose.

“Please accept this!” you say dramatically, acting like you just confessed your undying love to him, but you couldn’t stay serious long enough to wait for his response, especially after seeing his raised eyebrow. You burst into laughter. “Sorry, sorry! I just thought it looked like a bouquet, so–”

“Oh, so you wanted to offer me the Eye of a Bird? How romantic,” he drawls, his mouth puckered and eyebrows high on his forehead. Only the gleam in his eyes seems to betray his serious stance.

You nod with a muffled giggle. “The peak of modern romance, of course! You deserve nothing less than the best.”

He takes the flowers from your outreached hand and inspects them, acting too critical of your offering before nodding in approval. “I shall accept these, but only this time.”

You gasp, a hand over your heart. “Only this time? My good sir, then I shall prepare something more glamorous, something you can’t refuse for the next time!” you declare with a boisterous voice and a puffed chest.

Once again his lips purse in consideration. “Well, I don’t know if this is possible, there won’t be a next time, that’s for certain. You shan’t woe me this easily.”

“We shall see how this turns out,” you puff with arrogance, only to break down in little giggles.

The moment you break the immersion, he too breaks his facade with a broad smile, pearly teeth on display and eyes crinkling with happiness and mischief. With the breeze ruffling his hair he looks like the image of pure bliss.

His obvious happiness makes you smile, and you have to catch yourself before you let out a dreamy sigh. You have no other choice but to break the line of sight, lest you do something you might regret, especially with the way your insides feel all soft and malleable at his sight, full, ready to give something to always enjoy the way he seems to be in such peace. But you can’t give in, no matter how much your heart seems to plead with your senses. You should not do this, you shouldn’t even think like this in the first place.

So you redirect all your focus into picking the perfect flowers, paying close attention to the details. With that, you both slowly fill the basket, and before you know it, the evening sun is shining through the leaves, putting everything in a soft orange glow.

The full basket has gotten quite heavy and you both decide to share the burden, each one of you grabbing a side of the handle to carry it together. This arrangement is there to make it easier for you both, so no problems should arise. Even if the path you’re taking is narrow in some passages and trying to get through them together, side by side, his shoulder ends up bumping, brushing against yours more often than not. And every time this contact happens, you do your best to not flinch away or to think too closely about the warmth he radiates; avoiding leaning closer to him than you already are.

Finally, you arrive at the cottage and you feel like you have lost all breath in your lungs, most of it evaporating by the simple look at him, by the simple brush. Despite needing some space, you continue to help him carry the basket to some sort of designated space inside the house. And once you get rid of that weight, you stretch your arms above your head, hearing a silent yet satisfying crack.

Feeling the need to rest outside, even if you just were under the open sky, you take some slow steps out of the door, because you desperately need a moment to breathe without being scared of brushing against him.

That’s how you end up sitting on his veranda. The sun had already set and darkness is swallowing the forest, which is now filled with entirely new noises and movements. Despite the lack of light and the unknown biting at your toes, you don’t feel unsafe or in danger, rather the silence and the cool breeze have a calming effect on you.

With a roaming look into the sky, you notice the amount of stars visible against the deep blue of the night. Without any trees obstructing your sight and no artificial lights destroying their twinkle, you can’t help but be entranced with them. You’re so fixated on their beauty that you almost miss Shoto taking a seat by your side.

For a moment you both stay silent, arm against arm, shoulder against shoulder, knee brushing a thigh, and this time you don’t even dare to hold your breath. You feel the desire to lean against him, to feel his breath flutter against your skin. But you’re satisfied with this moment, with the way he seems to glow under the stars, giving him a halo of silver light.

Only because you’ve been staring at him do you notice when he stretches his hand into the sky and lets his finger connect individual stars into constellations. You squint, trying to see the lines from your perspective but you struggle a bit as everything is shifted, so you don’t even know which stars are connected despite following the way his finger moves.

He seems to notice your struggle, as he scoots closer, his front now almost touching your back, his head hovering over your shoulder to get down to your height. After settling like that he carefully grabs your fingertips and waits for you to pull away or to react in any way to show him your rejection, but you don’t. You rather marvel at how soft his skin feels against yours in that feather-light touch.

His hand leads your fingers to make a fist with only your index finger pointing out. With your hand like that, he rests his palm against the back of your hand, on your wrist. Positioned like that he slowly begins to show you the constellations with your own finger, all while making sure it’s visible from your perspective. While guiding you, he softly murmurs their names and the planets and stars, explaining everything and yet nothing, because you’re almost too focused on his breath against your face, the way his chin brushes against your shoulder, and you try your best to not turn around to directly face him.

After some time you do begin to relax and to enjoy all this information and the light contact. You end up leaning against his torso, his cheek resting on your head, and you both remain like that for some time, simply soaking in the presence, the silence and the warmth between you.

So it’s no wonder how you barely notice the atmosphere wrapping around you, lulling you into something peaceful and welcoming.

You only notice how gone you were when the sun's rays hit your face softly, waking you up with their soft kisses, and you can’t even be mad at being woken up like that. It is comfortable and warm. Still, the moment you open your eyes, you startle slightly at the sight of the unfamiliar, yet familiar ceiling. You slowly sit up and a patchwork blanket slides off your shoulders to bunch around your waist.

With a quick look at your surroundings, you realize where you are: the cottage. And with that realization you put the pieces together: You fell asleep on him, while stargazing, while holding his hand.

You bury your face in your hands, embarrassment flooding your ears. You hope you didn’t mumble, or worse, drool in your sleep. Or you might simply never look him in the face again.

Peaking between your fingers, you spot him in the open kitchen, silently working on something over the stove, his back turned towards you.

“Breakfast is almost done. You can freshen up a bit, I put some clothes that might fit you in the bathroom,” his voice sounds and you flinch, surprised he had noticed you being awake. “It wasn’t difficult, you made quite some noise.”

You frown, jutting your lips out. Is he reading your thoughts? Is that one of the abilities of witches? You sure hope it isn’t, or else he would know about everything that had crossed your mind in his presence… You desperately want to avoid this possibility, but it can’t hurt to try. So you think of something so stupid, so outrageous, he has no choice but to react.

I couldn't read the witch's handwriting at all, she always wrote in curse-ive.

You almost hit your own face with a groan, but you keep your gaze on his back, trying to see if this entices any form of reaction out of him. But nothing happens and you just sigh, even if you’re still curious how he had guessed your thoughts to that degree. Maybe you should ask him later…

A shrug and you stretch the last bit of heaviness out of your limbs before you grab the blanket to fold it and to put it neatly onto the sofa you’ve been sleeping on. It would be rude to leave it crumbled like that, especially after he put the effort to carry… you… For a moment you stop in your tracks and just blink blanky at the blanket in front of you.

He carried you… and put a blanket over you… He carried you…?

This realization hits you like a swinging bat and you have to bite on your lower lip to suppress a gasp. Your eyes jump to his figure, making sure he’s not looking at you, his back still turned towards you, and you slowly make your way to the bathroom, your joints feel like they’re locked up and creaking like a bad oiled machine.

Once you arrive in the bathroom, you close the door behind you and lean heavily on the sink. You feel like you just gave yourself some serious whiplash. So, with a deep breath, you begin to splash your face with cold water, trying to calm yourself down before you turn around to look at the clothes he had prepared for you. Holding the shirt in front of you, you decide that it will fit you even though it might be a bit loose, but you can’t complain about that.

With that you change into the fest pair of clothes, folding your clothes neatly. You don’t even take the time to look into the mirror to check how they fit, almost afraid of what you might see.

You leave the bathroom with another stretch and enter the open kitchen to offer your help to him, but he refuses politely because he already plated the table and there’s simply not enough space for the both of you to cook something without elbowing each other.

So you take a seat at the table, resting your head on your palm, content with just watching him being busy with the food preparation. He moves with a practiced hand, movements smooth and elegant. You can only observe as his surprisingly broad shoulders move, muscles stretching and filling his shirt. Your eyes wander over his lean back and you purse your lips the moment you see his small waist. You wonder if you would be able to put your arms around his whole torso, or your legs…

You inhale sharply, immediately averting your eyes to the window, trying to divert your thoughts to something else, anything but to look back to his direction. It’s a beautiful day outside, there’s no need to stay in the bedroom, or inside, no need to have any thoughts relating to inside activities.

Your gaze jumps around, looking for something to latch onto, but there’s nothing but the wonderful depth of the forest, which isn’t quite enough to distract you from the possible way his muscles could coil when he leans over you…

A bite to the inside of your cheek brings you out of that train of thoughts, and you’re aware of how you need something more concrete for your distraction, like that deer. But you could only vaguely discern some movements in the bushes and nothing really stepped out of the shadows.

The clatter of a plate disrupts your almost desperate search as Shoto puts a plate in front of you, and you can’t stop the excited grin spreading over your face at its contents. He made some waffles, toppings dripping down its sides and its smell luring you in to take the first bite. It looks delicious, an absolute masterpiece. And you can’t resist it, barely taking your time to thank him properly for his efforts, before digging in and letting the soft dough melt over your tongue. You close your eyes and you almost moan out of delight, the taste an explosion of pure bliss. Instead of embarrassing yourself like that, you just stuff your mouth with another bite.

And before you know it, the plate is empty, leaving you full, yet yearning for more. But you doubt you could even manage to get another bite down and just slump backward into the back of the chair, feeling some kind of satisfied drowsiness.

“Shoto, my man, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You got some magic hands,” you tell him and grin widely when he raises his eyebrows at your choice of words.

Instead of properly answering your compliment, he lets out a puff of air before beginning to collect the empty dishes. You immediately stand up, keen on helping him this time around, especially when you don’t need much space to do the dishes. That’s how you end up drying the washed dishes and putting them away in their respective places. Of course not without him showing you where they belong first.

With this arrangement, you finish doing the dishes at a faster rate. He’s drying his hands as he turns around to look at you. “I’m going to brew the potion today, or at least try to. Feel free to take a book to entertain yourself for the time being.”

He points to the huge shelf covering the entire wall of the living room and you gape slightly at its size. How did you miss that in the first place? Even if you have been distracted by a lot of things, this thing is huge, there’s no way you could have just not seen it.

You barely give him a nod before immediately stepping closer to the shelf, running your fingers along the spines of the books. So many different topics, genres and authors, and there is no way Shoto didn’t read them all. No wonder he has such huge amounts of knowledge. After you have taken a couple of strides along the length of the shelf, you finally choose one of the books and take it out of its place.

With it firmly in your palm, you go and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Once you’re in the perfect position you start reading, thumbing through the book about heroes and their powers, and your brain rattles with all the possibilities and the groundwork of this fictional world.

The background is filled with the sound of utensils clashing and clattering, soft blubbering of his potion, and after a couple of pages, you decide to take a look from afar.

He’s still in the kitchen, bending over his work, a slight furrow between his eyebrows, a thoughtful pout tugging at his lips. And you just look. Just admire the evenly split hair of red and white softly falling, framing his face, the calm demeanor revealing his kind heart. You smile. You can’t help but think, these thoughts filling your veins, coming from your heart, how charming he looks, how beautiful, how handsome. Despite being aware that this relationship is entirely contractual, the chance of seeing him again after this ordeal is slim, you admit to yourself, you like him, a lot. And there’s no way to truly know how he feels about you. To him, you’re probably just another person requiring his services, nothing more, nothing less, only bound by the verbal deal you’ve made.

This realization makes you smile bittersweetly, already accepting the outcome. So you try to get back into the book, to put your focus back on the ongoing plot. But your thoughts circle back to the endless ways this could end, the endless ways this could turn and bend. And no matter how badly you wish for it to end otherwise, every path leads to the same blocked path, a deal done, a face regained and a connection lost. Who are you to interfere with fate?

You force yourself to face it, to accept it, no matter how much your heart resists. It will hurt, but everything turns out to be how it’s supposed to be.

A breath and you begin to digest the story word by word, forcing yourself to take them in until you finally relax and get into the flow of the story and its plot, all while the background noises fade out of your consciousness.

You feel yourself clutching at your non-existent pearls as you near the end of the book when Shoto walks up to you, nudging your foot with his to get your attention. And once you look up from your book, he holds a cup with some sort of tea in your direction. With thanks you take it and immediately sip from the warm liquid.

“I thought you’re supposed to brew that potion?” you ask him, cupping your hands to warm your palms on the glazed ceramic.

“I was. That’s the potion in your hand,” he answers and the corners of his mouth slightly dip upward.

You startle at this revelation and almost let the cup drop. “Wh-what? You could’ve said that earlier!”

“How could I when you so eagerly took it from my hands before I could even say anything?” he chuckles and cocks his head to the side, eyes crinkling at your shocked face.

You gape at him and look at the half-empty cup in your hands, then back at him. “Are you messing with me? It feels like you’re messing with me…”

He shakes his head. “As amusing that would be, I’m not. You’re drinking the potion right now. It will probably take some odd hours to take full effect, if at all.”

Slowly you nod and just down the rest of the tea-potion in one big gulp. You exhale and the warmth of the tea coupled with the late hour begins to make you quite drowsy. There’s no way you’re staying two nights at his place, that would be just so utterly rude of you, especially if you’re going to lend out some of his stuff. That means it’s time for you to head home, as much as you’d like to stay on the couch and continue reading.

You close the book and return it to its place before you thank him once again and take your stuff. With everything in hand you begin your way home, the evening still young and the wood still filled with enough light to not get hurt when crossing it.

Finally arriving home without accidents, the first thing you do is change out of the borrowed clothes and prepare them to wash later so you can return them to him. And you start doing your nighttime routine, even if the initial drowsiness is now gone for some reason, but you’d like to be prepared for the moment you feel tired again, and maybe you need some distraction. If you don’t, you might as well go insane with anticipation, literally expecting something to happen immediately.

This anticipation fills you with adrenalin or something, because for some time you just walk around your place aimlessly, not able to settle down without feeling your heart race. You finally settle on your bed with your phone in hand, trying to calm down to the best of your abilities. It doesn’t quite work, because you realize you never asked Shoto for his number, you never felt the need to, and maybe you shouldn’t even ask in the first place.

You sigh and roll around, beginning to scroll through whatever apps you have in rotations, and you only stop to scratch at your tingling face. At first you don’t think too much about it, as it only itches around your mouth. But then the itch begins to spread over your cheek and you have to stop everything you’re doing, because you have to know if you suddenly have some sort of allergic reaction. After thinking for a while, you don’t remember eating something that could elicit such a reaction, so it can’t be that.

It takes you a moment to realize what that could mean and you jump off the bed, rushing to the mirror only to stop in the middle of the way when you remember that mirrors don’t show your problem with your looks. So you race back and dive for your phone, almost hitting your head on the headboard. You don’t pay attention to that though as you’re opening the camera, facing it towards you.

After you take a picture in semi-good lightning, you click into your gallery, only to see the newest pic and stare at it. There’s you! With every single feature you remember and cherish.

And before you know it, you’re already out the door, dashing through the streets and into the woods. You know you should be careful about tripping, but the need to see him, to thank him, to hug him, is overwhelming. Excitement is coursing through your veins, giving you a boost in energy and you feel laughter bubbling through your lungs.

Then you stumble. Unlike the first time, you don’t immediately take a tumble down the hill, because someone catches you right on time, long before you could even get closer to the ground. You grab their arm to straighten up and end up looking directly into Shoto’s eyes. For a moment you just stare at him, mesmerized by his glittering, compelling eyes, by the way you can so clearly see them despite the darkness surrounding you both.

His words bring you back to reality. “Oh, back so soon?”

“Wh– huh? How? I mean, yes, but how did you know it’s me?” you ask bewildered, shutting your mouth with some force before you keep it open when you remember that he can see your expressions now.

He smiles, plush lips revealing perfect teeth, eyes crinkling with obvious joy while roaming over every detail of your face, taking their time over every little feature; almost like he finally found whatever he has been looking for every time he glanced in your direction. One of his hands cups your face, caressing your skin. You lean involuntarily into his touch, enjoying the soft skin on yours more than you should have.

His next words make your heart beat faster than you thought possible, and suddenly a new path opens itself before you.

“My dear, I would always recognize you, no matter what.”

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 7 - Scripture Fire

            With a finishing strike of Monkey’s staff, the Golden Golem cried out in defeat. Sobs and pleading words faded away as his form turned to ash, carried away on the wind till nothing was left. The once sealed gate swung open, allowing Monkey and Jen to leave the temple grounds.

            “Finally!” Jen jogged outside, taking in the fresh air and open space. “I thought he was gonna bring the whole place down when he started stomp–” she trailed off when she noticed Monkey hadn’t followed her to freedom. Peeking back through the door, he spotted him rummaging through a chest tucked under an awning.

            “Find something?” Jen called, hesitant to reenter the temple. Grabbing a wrapped parcel from the box, Monkey hurried across the courtyard to join Jen. “What’s that?”

            The protective cover was removed, revealing a carefully folded cloth. The fabric was a lustrous crimson hue embroidered with gilded clouds. Braided golden cords wound around the bundle, tied off with jade beads.

            Jen couldn’t help tracing a finger over the silky pattern. “It’s beautiful. But what’s something this nice doing in a place like this?”

            Pulling the ties loose, Monkey shook the cloth out to its full size. It was hard to tell what exactly it was; perhaps a blanket, a cloak, maybe even a fabric waiting to be used for something extravagant. The texture was smooth as water and the sunlight danced along the shimmering surface like fire.

            In a quick flourish, Monkey gathered the fabric and draped it over Jen’s shoulders like a shawl.

            “Uh, thanks?” Jen said after a moment, feeling the material between her fingers. “I mean it’s pretty but I don’t want to mess it up hiking through the woods, you know?”

            When she reached to shrug it off, Monkey caught her wrist in a gentle grip. Gesturing with his head, he tugged her towards one of the torches still lit by the path. Her confusion turned to panic when Monkey hovered her hand over the open flames.

            “Woah hey!” The desperate yanks and twist of her arm did nothing to free Jen. Despite the gentle hold, the monkey’s grip was like unyielding iron. He pointing to the fire then to the cloth, shaking his head the whole time. Jen calmed down enough to stop struggling but stayed wary of her proximity to the torch.

            “The cloth has something to do with fire?” she guessed, still unclear on his motives. While Monkey didn’t speak, his dark eyes stared at her with a sort of reassurance. He’d done nothing to harm her before, protecting her from danger as they traveled together. While they hadn’t known each other very long, Jen knew she could trust him.

            Jen took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. “Okay. But if I get burned, I’m blaming you.” Fighting back a flinch, she thrust her hand into the fire, eyes closed and body tense for what happened next.

            Nothing. No heat, no pain. Only a tickle like the wind between her fingers.

            Peeking open her eyes, Jen saw her entire hand engulfed in flame and yet, she didn’t feel it. The flickering reds and oranges danced over her fingers, leaving no trace of their touch. She pulled her hand out, studying her uncharred skin.

            A sort of giddy excitement bubbled out of Jen in a laugh. “It makes you fireproof!” ‘

            Monkey snorted with a bemused shake of his head. Give her wrist a final tug, he led the way back to the path, Jen following in delight as she swirled the fire cloth around her. Watching the antics of the silly human, Monkey couldn’t fight back a small smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (I switched the Scripture prompt out for Fire. Huge thanks to everyone that's taken the time to read these. It means a lot especially since I have such anxiety about post my stuff. Hope you're enjoying them so far.)

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 15

I swore I posted this here, but seems not... getting ready to post the end this weekend, hopefully.

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) On AO3

Chapter 15: Reunion (part 1)

Eddie lingered in that warm, fuzzy twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness. He didn’t want to wake up.

His dream—at least, the parts of it trickling back to him—had been hot, hot, hot, and sweeter than a glut of cotton candy. He’d been back in his tiny room in Wayne’s trailer, with his beloved warlock framed back on the wall where she belonged. He’d been back where he belonged, killing nine-minute ballads on air guitar and making luuuurve sweet luuurve with the guy he was beyond crazy about and…

…what the hell?

Eddie began to wake up for real. The happy glow in his breast totally rivalled his boner. Possibly because he’d gotten his nose buried in a mass of messy and mildly sticky hair.

He was spooning Steve.

His eyes flew wide, and his heart lurched. Not a dream. 

The reality of yesterday totalled him. Every inch of his body tingled with joy. He notched his chin on Steve’s shoulder and burrowed in Steve’s hair, inhaling his own cheap dime-store soap. Slowly, careful not to wake Steve, Eddie crawled an arm over him, wandering fingers under Steve’s t-shirt and through the tangle of hair on his chest.

This was real. Oh my God. It was REAL, which set fears scuttling like cockroaches in the darker corners of his mind.  He was on the run from the law. The trailer, devoid of most of his old stuff, rocked post-apocalyptic vibes. The pair of them snuggled on a camp bed so miniscule that they could barely move without risking a tumble over the side.

He was grinning so hard his face ached.

Because, stuck in the penthouse, this had become his ultimate dream. Not fame as a rockstar, nor even regaining his riches for any other reason than to help Steve. 

This.  

Eddie closed his eyes, snuggled even closer—not deliberately notching his morning wood into the cleft of Steve’s ass, though it happened anyway.

Dammit, almost wish you weren’t so sexy, Sweetheart.

Because this moment was as pure and perfect as this crappy old world could serve up. And usually the mere concept of ‘pure’ gave him the heebie-jeebies. Since that first morning, when they’d basically been strangers, they’d never woken up like this. Steve had always rushed off to work, and Eddie had wakened hours later, listless and hungover, kinda guilty.

Existing only to see Steve again.

When they’d shared that sleazy, silky Playboy bed, he’d usually been so out of it on drink and drugs, that he’d barely even listened to Steve snuffle and softly snore.

As he did now.

Not strangers anymore. No more secrets. 

Yeah, they’d not discussed everything, and he knew Steve wanted to tell him more but struggled. Still, only a few hours together had reminded him how well he knew Steve, and also that it was a total gift that he’d still much to discover.

Like how Steve’s snoring was the most adorable sound that he’d ever heard.

Eddie pulled the blanket up over them both and held Steve tight while he slept on.

…

The previous day

“I love you too,” murmured Eddie. “Never leave me again, Babe. Never.” 

“Not planning on it,” replied Steve, who seemed as dizzied by events as Eddie. They stood in the trailer, rain still pattering on the roof, clasping each other tight. And reeling in the afterglow of a kiss that’d stopped the freakin’ world spinning on its axis for a good thirty seconds. “You’re the one who did the Houdini act, Eds.”

Eddie’s knees sagged slightly, and he rested his forehead to Steve’s. “I’m sorry. I flaked out. I had to get out of the city pronto and I didn’t want to drag you into things with the cops on my tail, and... How is this even real? Hey, are you cold, Stevie?” Eddie pressed his knuckles to Steve’s cheek, his brow. “You’re damp. Hold on, how come you’re not wetter? This weather is mental! You want me to turn the heating on?” 

“Christ, stop clucking. I’m good.” Eddie glanced around his bombsite to locate his mini convector heater. Steve grabbed Eddie’s frantic fingers and pressed them to his own lips. “Wayne gave me a ride over and leant me an umbrella.”

Eddie’s head spun faster and faster. 

Wayne.

That explained a smidgen of this deliciously unholy miracle. 

They stood there staring at each other, hearts pounding like they’d both sprinted all forty-one storeys of that lowlife hotel. A small, hopeful smile flirted on the mouth Eddie obsessed over. He flitted his attention, over and over, between Steve’s lips and his pretty eyes, those gorgeous curling lashes. 

Yeah, this was a little weird, them staring at each other. Not as uncomfortable as it perhaps should be, and boy, Eddie basked in it.

If parting had taught him one thing, it was that every part of Steve was precious to him—every hair, whether gelled or wild, and every adorably lick-able mole. He was in goddamn thrall to the guy, as if they’d been parted for far longer than a few days.

“How did you find Wayne?” he asked, blinking himself out of his trance.

“I hooked up with your brainbox techy chums, you know, Suzie and… Hold on, that can wait.” Steve’s sudden scowl verged on a pout, setting Eddie simply dying to kiss him again. Also, fizzing with unease. “I’m not mad about you running from the cops. Great parting shot with the guitar, dude��you got me arrested!”

“Whut?”

“Jimi Hendrix’s guitar! It was real, you numbskull! And stolen—like, what the fuck? I tried to sell it and… I mean, that did get all of us together to find you, so I guess it had an upside, and Dustin started wittering about… Oh God! You’re too far away.” There was about six inches between their noses. “I don’t give a shit about any of it. I missed you so much, Eddie.”

…

Steve couldn’t quite believe this was real.

A few minutes ago, he’d been lost, rooted to the spot, his nerves knotting so tightly he felt sick. The muted beat leaking from the run-down trailer—muffled further by the noise of the rain pelting onto Wayne’s umbrella—hadn’t been enough to convince him the search was truly over.

Now, they clung to each other, clung and kissed, and there were so many words to spit out, so much to clear up. Thank Christ he didn’t need words to show Eddie how he felt, nor to be sure what Eddie felt for him was real. He was kissing Eddie like he wanted to drown in him, working the kiss like both their lives depended on it.

The fact they’d both spluttered out the ‘l’ word seemed almost redundant.

He’d never tire of the taste of Eddie. Though today, Eddie tasted slightly different for sure. Steve’s tongue swept tinges of honey crunch and coffee, maybe a hint of minty toothpaste, and best of all, something uniquely, addictively Eddie.

Something else struck him, and he broke the kiss, kind of abrupt: “You quit smoking?” 

“I did.” Eddie dabbed his wet lips with his tongue and Steve found himself mimicking him. “I’m on the nicotine patches, other than that, total cold turkey. Gives me the jitters ten times a day, but—"

“You didn’t have to,” mumbled Steve, awkward, as Eddie backed him toward a giant beanbag, one of the few pieces of furniture on the paper-strewn floor. He bounced down onto it, tugging Steve with him. They landed and sprang straight back into each other’s arms.

“I wanted to, Babe. Ya know, I need my demon vocal cords on tiptop form for when I’m killin’ the Superbowl. I’m not a natural songbird like you.”

“Bullshit.” Steve lightly backhanded Eddie’s chest, but… Ugh. Eddie made light of it. They both knew the real reason why he quit. Eddie had been dreaming of a future with Steve.

And the past few days he’d kept the faith, too, right? Under darn trying circumstances, to be fair.

“I better double check I still like the taste of you.” He kissed Eddie again. No tongues this time, he just touched his lips against Eddie’s, reminding himself how lush and soft they were. Eddie went with it, touching and brushing, the back of his knuckles lightly stroking Steve’s cheek in the whispering ghost of a caress. Steve lazily winded his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

Soon, he also grinded his semi against the very prominent bulge in the front of Eddie’s sweatpants. It was the dumb beanbag’s fault for rolling them together, basically dick-to-dick.

“Want me to do something about that?” asked Steve. “Hope you’ve got something better to use as lube than that jar of peanut butter I spotted.”

Eddie licked his lips—damn, why was that so fucking erotic? Then everything got complicated:

“What do you want, Stevie? Look, kissing you always makes me hard. We don’t have to leap straight into the gorey stuff. I mean, I’m sorry about the guitar. Jesus, I can’t believe I got you arrested. I’m sorry about so fucking much.”

Steve took a beat, flinched from Eddie’s super-sweet intensity. 

What did he, Steve Harrington, want, right at this moment? 

He had a ton to apologise about too. Some of those apologies sent him tumbling into areas that his memory had basically cordoned off with some hardcore crime-scene tape. Even he, dumb as a brick that he was, understood that. He was still dog-tired, though jacked up on Wayne’s coffee, and lost in Eddie’s gaze, and…

Cut the crap, Harrington. You know what you want.

“Things are totally different now,” Eddie was saying. “We need to start over. Figure out… Gnnng, fuck!” 

Eddie’s eyes crossed daftly. Steve plunged his hand down the front of Eddie’s baggy sweatpants and began giving him a lazy hand-job.

“Thought that might shut you up, Munson.”

Steve giggled. Fucking giggled! He’d hardly laughed in days. Not even when Robin “deconstructed superficial categories of sex and age” by illustrating how she kicked some ass at terrible dad dancing. So yeah, he totally needed this. Moments later, they’d scrambled each other’s shirts off over their heads. Steve nearly whacked Eddie’s teeth out in the process, and they’d both gotten their pants pooled around their thighs. They giggled together like idiots, and all Steve’s thoughts rushed in tandem with his blood, to where Eddie stroked him into a gorgeous frenzy.

Eddie sure knew his way around a hand-job, slowly pressuring that g-spot on the underside of Steve’s dick, then smearing over Steve’s nub. Okay, when he touched that part, Steve was never gonna last too long. They resumed those featherlight kisses, moaning into each other’s throats. Then spattering, pretty much as one, over each other’s skin.

Steve kept on giggling and giggling.  He wasn’t even sure why, apart from this was a release he desperately needed.

“I’d been dreaming of that,” sighed Eddie, hand still cupping Steve’s softening dick. 

“Jerking off together like a couple of dumb teens?” panted Steve, flopping his head back and taking in a little more the trailer interior: “Sheesh! What is this place anyhow?”

“Oh, I lived here with Wayne from when I was 11. Nobody took up the lease when I bought the house, so it’s been empty for a couple of years. It’s a dump, huh?”

“It stinks of you,” smiled Steve. “The new you, Eds. I totally love it.” 

“Well, you might have to get used to it,” sighed Eddie. “Remember how I was stuck in the penthouse? Well, now I’m kinda stuck here, and… C’mon, if you were here and I still smoked, I’d kill you.”

“I’d survive,” mumbled Steve, squirming a little, and then, wonder of wonders, he stuttered it out: “Erm… thank you? I honestly appreciate it. Though it’s not like we’re stuck here for… Oh!” He read the rest of the truth in Eddie’s still guilt-stricken eyes. Thunder rumbled outside, low and distant. “You mean, you’re stuck like you were stuck in the penthouse?”

“Oh yeah, Baby,” crooned Eddie. “Getting this far nearly did for me. Guess the cops will probably drag me out sooner or later, tho’.”

Not if I can help it , thought Steve. Thunder rolled again, loud enough to set his pulse jumping. The rain bounced like bullets off the metal roof, and Eddie, cool enough, spilled more about how he’d got here. 

He kept things light, skirting around the ‘incident’ at the hotel. Poking out his tongue and being silly, though what he’d been forced to face must’ve been a living nightmare.

Icy fear tightened around Steve’s heart. The rain eased off.

He wanted nothing more than to help Eddie get over his agoraphobia. Truth was, he could help get the police off Eddie’s back too.

“You okay, darling?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve flapped a hand breezily. “It’s just before, we didn’t talk about important shit. Then you opened up to me, like you are now. I totally didn’t. Which sucks. There’s so much I need to tell you, Eddie. It’s not all bad stuff. Some of it is actually good, I guess. It’s just… really, really difficult for me.”

“It’s fine, Baby. Take your time. Or keep mum. Unless you can hear any police choppers hovering above that uproarious downpour, I got all the time in the world.” Eddie trailed his thumb down Steve’s stubbly cheek. Steve flinched from Eddie’s tight, if loving, scrutiny. “You wanna eat? Drink? I got half a flask of coffee left and—"

“I’m good. Kinda sticky, tho’.” He smeared his hand down Eddie’s tats. He’d missed them, too. “Does this place have a working shower?”

“Oh, I reckon I could get a trickle out of it, but… I got a better idea.” 

“Woah… What ya… Jesus, Eddie, you’re gonna kill me.”

Eddie had rolled off the beanbag, and was nudging his way between Steve’s legs. His hands crawled up Steve’s thighs, revelling in the stickiness. Steve shrugged and slid toward where Eddie lavished attention on him with hands and now also tongue. Steve’s dick, still soft in the wake of their recent adventures, perked up a little. “I’m not gonna be able to… oh shit.”

“You like?” Eddie’s earnest question was hilarious and life-affirming all at once.

“Love, Eddie. I love it.”

Steve flopped back, exhaling unsteadily, sinking snugly into the beanbag. Eddie licked around Steve’s balls and the base of his dick. He made dopey “Mmmm, mmmm” noises, easily coaxing from Steve that renewed flush of blood. He kissed his way along Steve’s dick, then slid his lips over his tip, where fresh pre-come mingled with Eddie’s saliva.

The press of those lush lips and tongue against around his dick felt fucking amazing. Eddie palpably luxuriated in it. All Steve could do was clench his fist in Eddie’s hair, clench and unclench, and rut lightly into Eddie’s mouth.

Back in the hotel, Steve had felt kinda guilty when Eddie blew him. Like he also did when Eddie ate him out or gifted one of those kickass hand-jobs. Eddie had always been so desperate to make sure Steve came too, that it bordered on exhausting.

Steve still wasn’t convinced he could climax again so soon. It was mega-fun finding out, and the demonically sexy glint in Eddie’s eyes cheered him on. If the storm raged on outside, his own heavy breaths smothered it. His sacs tightened, and waves of tingling pleasure surged, each better than the last. By the time Eddie sucked him deep, Steve was pretty much at the point of no return. The delicate flutters at the back of Eddie’s mouth, alternated with the scrub of Eddie’s tongue, sealed the deal.

“Yes, yes, yes… Eddieeeeee!”

He came harder than the first time, hand flying from Eddie’s hair to twist in his own, screaming hoarsely as he rode out the rush. Eddie’s eyes kept grinning wickedly, while he swallowed.

He slid off Steve’s shaft, slapped his glowingly red come-spattered lips. “You taste totally metal, Baby. Who needs Skippy’s creamy?”

“We do,” gasped Steve, as Eddie crawled back onto the beanbag beside him, “if you’re gonna stop messing around and fuck me.”

“You really want that?”

All Steve could do was gawk. “I always wanted you, Eddie. In every which way. Yeah, I was kinda surprised at the start. Sex had not exactly been much fun for me, not since I was fooling around as a kid. But, honest to God, you made it more than fun—and you being the hottest freak on the planet was one of the main reasons I took the job.”

Okay, talking about this proved unexpectedly simple. Especially when Eddie did one of his ditzy smiles, wrapping his hair coyly around a finger. “Aw, shucks.”

“I’m not saying what we did wasn’t totally fucked up,” continued Steve. “But that first night, you spent more time with your fingers up my ass than your dick. The only part which was hard labor was how you always wanted to get me off too. You cared that I was enjoying it, and I was. I wasn’t faking, okay? Hardly ever. So no guilt trips.”

“Ooookay,” said Eddie, frowning, now idly twisting Steve’s hair around his fingertip. “But you—”

Steve placed his hand over Eddie’s wet mouth. “Seriously, you have got something better to use as lube than the peanut butter, right?”

Part 16 on AO3 Part 16 on tumblr

perma-tag for the best inspiration friend ever: @wheneverfeasible

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 1 - Uprooted Abijah Fowler x servant! Reader

Summary: Fueled by anger at what the English / Tudors did to him, Fowler keeps a handful of English Roses to take out sadistic tendencies on as a form of passive retribution. The reader is a commoner caught stealing during a feast and is offered an indentured servitude contract as Fowler's servant by the town Sheriff as an alternative punishment to execution (the punishment in England for theft at the time). Takes place before he stopped using the dungeon, so before 1647.

Banners and dividers by @roseschoices

It's ironic that such a man as Fowler, starved of stimulation and novelty, would become dull to both. To the point that he began to crave the mundane and familiar, a taste of home. For these rare occasions were mistresses shipped over from the English Isles along with the two beeves he brought for milking. As good as cattle, and just as hardy. For they had to last as long as he needed them, indefinitely. At least in principle. Night after night spent shackled and beaten in the dungeon, but eventually their bodies would cave even as their eyes bled with life and spoke every curse their throat could no longer even whimper. Their attire stained progressively deeper shades of red before rendered entirely black and blue by the end of it. Perhaps fortunately, then, it wasn't often that Fowler found himself craving the touch of an English maiden. He'd only need a handful, and could bare to wait a while between shipments if he exhausted them sooner than intended. Sparing however many from his ever expansive "imagination" which so often craved exoticism instead, an ever rarer commodity when grounded at one station for decades at a time. His spring pilgrimage alongside a ready supply of local flesh at his associate's behest somewhat sated his frustration and brought some respite from his cabin fever, but this supply was always quickly burnt through and the delights of the pilgrimage soon stale and forgotten. The girls brought in being too fragile and easily broken to enjoy for long. And while the heady high of seeing his dissatisfaction being met with swift replacements and adjustments instead of outward (though still very apparent) disgust and horror at what he costed the brothels in blood did amuse him, he still needed toys not trinkets. To feel the slight more effort it should take to make them break. Still like porcelain, but not as precious as bone china. And all the sweeter to hear crack at the hands of someone the English so often spat at in all his years over there. Ideally someone he could even tangentially say was directly culpable for manufacturing the suffering he endured, but good graces with people like that was what kept his pockets lined fatter than the breadth of the Atlantic... so commoners would have to do.

"You boy, bring us another round!", another sloshed patron blurted, barely holding onto his pint which dangled loose from his fingers with his arms snug around his mates' shoulders, keeping him afloat from practically drowning in ale. His clearly costly cloak now soaked damp in the stuff both by his own inebriated hand and that of his well-to-do peers. They had all gathered to generously shower their decadence like a fountain of obnoxious charity upon the Woodward Farmhouse, as the town's representatives had done every Easter since its construction. A tithing of sorts, to be sure the wood about St. Ann's well stayed pleasantly pristine for all to enjoy its miracle water.

Inside the farmhouse the air sat thick with tobacco smoke, stale breath and abuzz with disorderly glee as folks stumbled to and from the bar back to their tables. Barely holding together the clusters of steins they brought. Every round overflowing with beer. Each haphazard step tipping more of the precious brew onto the floor which lay already slick with the spillages of other patrons. Ironically making those who'd mustered the audacity to clamber onto the tables and dance of steadier stance than anyone else there. Even as the more lively maidens among them began to gladly chant,

"My granny is sick, and now is dead, And we’ll go mould some cockle bread. Up with my heels and down with my head, And this is the way to mould cockle bread!"

-before either being curtailed mid-chant by a stumble off the table's edge or being hastily ushered down by their attending kin before they could so much as bend to reach their skirt's hem, let alone perform the dance that accompanied the chant. Faces flushed red with embarrassment rather than intoxication.

As appreciative as the Woodward and nearby townsfolk were for the funding, that didn't make their rowdy display any less exhausting to accommodate. What it DID make was a perfect distraction for opportunists like _______ to swipe every loose coin and discarded luxury the nobles might lose track of amidst their merriment. Not that they'd miss any of it, mind. They came here to walk out bellies full and their purses spent, and that's exactly what they'll be by day's end.

Having waited until the festivities were well underway, the greatest challenge (besides remaining unseen, a fairly easy feat given how blind drunk all but the staff seemed to be) became dodging wayward hands flying or being crushed if any brawls broke out or someone proved too unsteady even when idle. As the thought passed _______'s mind, some poor sod began to tip backwards from his chair and nearly onto her had she not skirted so quickly past them. An amused cheer resounded across his table at the sound of him crashing onto the stone floor, much like was customary to do when any crockery shattered in a tavern such as this. "Lightweights...", she muttered so herself, smug with the fat payout the day's already granted her. Enough that there was barely any space left to covertly tuck anything away. Might be worth heading home and stowing away what she had to free up space again. Maybe just another handful...

Taking a moment to pause and see who had anything by their side or on the floor that she could swipe on her way out, she started thinking of all the food she could afford and store for winter with what she's already accumulated. Even if prices inevitably rose again because of yet another crop failure. Or because of more people flooding the town and driving up demand after being enclosed on by the damned Willoughbies like hers had been in Sutton Passeys. Or whatever war the powers that be demand the food should be diverted to instead. She won't go hungry, not this time!

Just as she felt drool begin to well up in her mouth, she spotted a particularly well dressed gentleman just past the open door laying down a round for his table. The two men sat beside him were oddly dressed, in much plainer clothes than the puffy, blouses and jackets expected by the feast's usual attendees. Come to think of it, she didn't recognise any of them from previous years. The man who brought the drinks didn't look rich per-say, but was certainly smartly dressed. Hair dark brown cut to shoulder-length and a feathered cap atop his head. Perhaps a merchant? The other two had a strangely cool tinge to their skin and such dark eyes it was as if their pupils were as wide as a rabbit's and hair dark to match, styled much higher and tighter than their fellow's loose tie-back. Their robes more like a shawl with sleeves and less gathered. Unrecognisable patterns resembling a grid of angular flowers dotted the fabric, but beyond that little decoration darned their outfits. Remarkably modest given their company and the occasion.

As she sauntered closer, she attempts to fain disinterest by periodically gazing about the place and hums along with the raucous singing blasting from within the farmhouse. Every so often darting a glance at the table both to scan for goods and to take in more and more odd details they noticed about the people sat there. In spite of how shoddy her attempt at "acting natural" was, it shouldn't matter as they surely should be too drunk to notice her pinch his coin pu- "There it is!", a hand had grabbed her wrist before she could register what happened. She froze as the Englishman tightened his grip on her wrist before plucking his coin purse back from her aching hand, "Thought someone might have nabbed it there for a second, thank you kindly for returning it to me..." No manner of tugging freed her from his grip, which kept her uncomfortably close, her frantic squirming further broadcasting her guilt as the thief in front of his associates, who simply stared unbothered. As the man turned in his seat to face her, she could see the ornate badge pinned to his breast pocket and his less ornate but still remarkably well-kept attire... a uniform?

"This isn't the usual way I'd spend Easter, but word is this feast has been swarmed with thieves these past few years," he snaked a hand under her chin and held it there, forcing her to keep eye contact, "I'd be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to lose something valuable tonight... would you?"

With that he let go, and her wrist practically flew free of his grasp. Rubbing it gently to sooth the sore mark he'd left, she hastily scampered off to hide her stash somewhere safe. Who was that? Who were they? Those people? Was that their first round? Of all the tables she picked a sober one last, fantastic!

In the mad dash back home, she hadn't noticed the trail of coins she was leaving behind like breadcrumbs leading back to Lenton village. Some coins dropped on the heads of sleeping vagrants and children playing nearby snatched up what they could once they realise what had littered the ground, scrubbing off the mud that now caked each coin. Unknowingly covering _______'s tracks, at least through the main street, but still too preoccupied in their frantic gathering to notice which alley she'd darted through next. Pushing through her backdoor and clambering for somewhere to hide the goods (or herself) her hands spread wide, feeling the floor for any loose boards. In her panic the floorboard she lifted to stuff the goods under got jammed slightly out of place, and no manner of prying could correct it while in such a state. She'd force it back into place once she'd calmed down. Before she could, though, a daunting knock at the door could be heard. Timidly she peered through through the window. The unnerving man from earlier. How did he know where she went? Doesn't matter. Just keep quiet and unseen and he will leave. Hopefully. The man knocked more forcefully after a minute or two of silence. Then again... and again, before finally sighing and demanding, "If you don't open the door you WILL be arrested. You know the charge for theft. Open. The. Door." Keep quiet.

Luckily the feast had most people out and about for the day, but a worrying patter of footsteps upstairs tore _______ between trying to sway the man to let her go, hand herself in, or let him loudly break down the door and potentially rope in her kin with her punishment since the stash she added to could be implicated as everyone's under the roof. She'd weaseled herself out of tighter situations before, but that was when she was alone. It's all different now! What- Her indecision was cut short by the abrupt kicking open of the door which slammed hard onto the cold stone floor, small fragments of wood breaking off at point of impact with the hinge swinging loose like a doomed man's head. Her decision was already made. She held in her yelp, mustering a whimper, but the sound of the break in already alerted her kin upstairs who clattered downstairs, only to stop at the top step, the eldest of them immediately recognising who was at the door.

"Sheriff! What a lovely surprise, what brings you to our humble abode?" Playing dumb was never her grandma's strong suit, as senile as she was she wasn't ignorant by any means, the darting of her eyes hinting as much. The awkward silence lay like an unmoving layer of fat over water, hardening as the room grew cool with the Sheriff's imposing demeanor freezing everyone in place. His eyes scanned the room, flitting between faces before landing at the jammed floorboards by the stairwell. His attention drawn by the faint glint of sparkling gold. Raising a finger to the gap, he asked, seemingly to no one but clearly directed at _______, "Is this yours?" Shifting in place, _______ was about to say "N-" but her aunt interjected, "It's mine. My dowry. My husband, his family wouldn't let him marry a vagrant but he brought what he could and married me despite their wishes." Her stunned confusion blatantly on display, _______ caught herself and nodded along with the best slack they had. God bless you Auntie, I owe you one. "That looks like far more than eleven pence right there. Rather risky to keep such a valuable asset on display right by the back door, don't you think?" Saving face her aunt doubled down, "Well... that's why it's exactly where a thief wouldn't think to look! You see?" attempting to look chuffed with herself, forcing a confident grin as best she could.

"I DO see, so you're saying you can think like a thief, eh?", a smirk crept up on the Sheriff's face, something he'd clearly been holding back the whole time he'd been standing in the doorway, blocking our nearest exist. "And uh, Ma'am you do realise vagrancy isn't exactly... appreciated, well, anywhere in God's land? You look able-bodied, I assume you've made yourself useful since your marriage?" The questions stewed in their minds, bringing their patience to a boil. Days spent toiling at the spinning wheel, knitting until the skin on their fingers thickened into boot leather. 'Made yourself useful?' as if the Sheriff himself wasn't a bloated mouthpiece for the inept aristocracy that didn't so much as blink before they shoved people like them off of land they'd subsisted on for centuries, for what... aesthetics? So they didn't pollute their lovely view? _______'s fists clenched, tighter and tighter with her family glancing over and back like if they looked away too long she'd set ablaze. "YES. They have..." _______ said firmly through gritted teeth. Closer and closer, the Sheriff stepped, circling _______ as her kin hugged the banister like a lifeline. Wanting to hide back upstairs, but not wanting to abandon their child to the whims of the law. After tracing her curves with his gaze up and down, he crouched to pry open the "dowry". As he did the metal caught the light, brilliantly gleaming in the spring daylight. Certainly not rusted. Not in the slightest. The kind of money no one has touched in years. Could be a dowry, then. Could be new, counterfeit (more likely, he thought). Could be the pretty pennies of the drunken nobles who needn't worry about directly paying with money but once in a blue moon.

"I'll ask again... is this yours?" A trap. She wasn't sure how, but the way he phrased it made it seem like answer answer she'd think to give would lead to a trap. Yes, and that could be an admission that she'd stolen it. No, and that could be admitting it's not hers and she stole it. Please Auntie, please, you or grandma. She wished they'd speak for her, like they always did, now was the time but they stayed quiet. This time it was her gaze flitting to them, back and forth as they evaded hers. The Sheriff reach down and pinched a coin from under the floorboards, rotating it to catch the like, eyeing it closely. Not counterfeit. The real deal... He chuckled, bemused by their awful attempt at saving face. "I know it's not yours. I just needed to see if it was all of you who needed executing, and not just this skank here I caught in the act." he grabbed her by the forearm, raising it like an unwilling volunteer. Despite being but one man, running from the house didn't seem wise, where would they go? Hide? He could just nail the door shut and burn it down with everyone still inside. He didn't need to shackle anyone to keep them right where he needed them.

"Please, I asked her to do it - we needed the money!", Grandma blurted, hoping to help. Honest to a fault. Auntie shot a death-glare at her, not in anger but fear. Now they absolutely would be implicated in the theft, not just _______! Desperate, she kept going, "She was only doing what she was told. If you should prosecute anyone, it should be me, I'm culpable." Her frail, old form gently slinked down the stairs, leaning on the banister for balance. Before she even reached the last step, the Sheriff refused. "How noble, but you're already on death's door you old Crone. It wouldn't be much of a punishment at this point." Offended wasn't quite the word. Disheartened? Shocked? It didn't really matter. An embarrassing withdrawal, she held herself by the bottom of the stairs not sure what to do with herself anymore. His smugness grew, seeing them all so flustered and disheartened. While he couldn't change the law (legally speaking, they deserved death), anything he offered would seem better at this point, and that's exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, only one here would be suitable for his associate's tastes. The other two were clearly too worn and delicate to withstand a long-term tenure with his associate. No, only the skank will do.

"Tell you what! Unless you'd rather let the gentlemen back at the farmhouse sober up, realise they've been robbed blind and let them hunt you down... I have the means to make it look like you're as good as dead and they'll be none the wiser.", he paused, as if waiting for someone to question his proposal, but all that rose was curious silence amidst a flurry of glances between the three women as if performing furious wordless debate amongst themselves. He continued, "I can redistribute the evidence accordingly, and you'll be long gone from the reach of any gallows rope." "Banishment, then? To where?", _______ demanded, exhausted with his drawn out charade. "Oh, nowhere you'd know. A land in the far East, but don't worry! If anything where you'll be is far grander than this... dusty hovel.", he said, gesturing about the place. _______ could feel their brow twitch, if he was so disgusted by their humble lodgings he shouldn't care what they stole, they clearly need it and couldn't afford anywhere "better". "Since you stole a hefty sum, you can pay it back by working under contract as my associate's indentured servant. With how much is here I'd say it should last roughly,", squinting, he sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "fifteen years".

"WHAT?" _______ yelped, "You've got that wrong, surely?" "It's adorable how you think you grasp the severity of your situation, when you clearly don't.", he scoffed before letting out a small chuckle. Reaching in a hand under his cloak, he pulled out what was presumably the contract and unfolded it to show only _______. "Do you intend to only spare her?", tentatively asked her Auntie, voice hushed like her words might kill her if she spoke them any louder. Again, he scoffed, "The old Crone there isn't worth the trouble of an execution, and she", he pointed right at _______'s face, barely a centimeter from slapping her as he did so, "Is young and clearly fit enough to work this contract as written. YOU are neither. I'll give you a chance to live by still confiscating the evidence but any suspicions that lead back to you leave your fate thrown to the wolves. Tag along if you wish but I don't you'll be much use to my associate." A chance to stay and live, especially while Grandma (sturdy as she was) would still be here, even if it was but a chance and not a certainty seemed too vital to cast aside. No, better she be here for Grandma rather than risk both herself and _______ dying and leaving her to fend for herself. "I'll... stay, thank you." _______ shot her a desperate glare, pained and conflicted. She can't really be serious? The contract was still held there, the Sheriff growing impatient, so she took it from him to glance it over. "...", she looked back up, "You do realise I can't read this?" Snatching it back briskly, he began to read the contract in full, she assumed. The terms seemed fair. Room, board, food, pay contributing back to her debt she owed the nobles, doing general duties expected of a servant / maid, even tending a garden of sorts? It seemed strangely described and involved caring for some animals? Her family did pasture sheep they made the wool yarn from for a while so, that shouldn't be too hard. "Now, normally you'd sign your name, but since you're illiterate I'll just sign your name on your behalf. What was it again?" "_______" "No, your full, legal name." Confused, she repeated, "_______" "Right..."

[sebastianswallows]

okay so like maybe 7th year Sebastian but like taking a fluffy shower together? Like he's all like 😍😍😍 and MC is like 🤭🤭🤭 iykwim

My sweet anon 😭 My poor little nonny. You sent this ask, like, a month ago, and I just barely now got to it. I'm so so sorry. I really was caught up in other stuff and other WIPs.

But I finally have it for you 💚 I hope you enjoy it, my dear! I kept it fluffy and flirty for you 😘

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC [both 7th year]

— WARNINGS: Idiots in love, requited unrequited love, a lot of banter, sneaking glances and looking disrespectfully but also respectfully and just looking, a lot, while naked and wet

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

It was their third day travelling together, chasing after a relic that Sebastian was certain was once the property of Herpo the Foul. He didn’t care that Herpo had lived in Ancient Greece, no, somehow Sebastian was convinced that one of his artefacts ended up in the Scottish highlands.

“It makes perfect sense if you cross-reference the footnote from the Dictionnaire Infernal with the artist’s signature from the 7th illustration in the Compendio de i Secreti Rationali and —”

“Sebastian, need I remind you that you can speak neither French nor Italian?”

They shouted at each other as they crossed a mounted wilderness, climbing over rocks, tripping, heaving, and arguing the whole way.

“I have a translation quill, it works just fine,” he said, waving his hand dismissively — which caused him to lose his grip on the edge of cliff he was hanging on to and almost fall backwards.

“And what did you say this item was again?”

“The bowl in which he is said to have bred his basilisk,” said Sebastian excitedly.

“I swear, Sebastian, if we came all this way just for Herpo the Foul’s chamberpot…”

“I know, I know, you’ll make Crucio seem like a tickle, I know,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Once they finally got on stable ground, they caught their breath and looked around. Sebastian checked the map again while she cast a Revelio.

“I think we need to head north from here,” he frowned.

“Yes, about 100 feet that way.”

They had managed a charm on their backpacks that let them store there everything they needed, including flying brooms, but for now they decided to continue on foot and better assess their surroundings. There were clear indicators of where they needed to look, according to Sebastian’s research, and they should have been getting closer. A cave inside an aspen forest, with a river flowing out of its mouth. That both narrowed it down and didn’t.

“There’s hundreds of caves littered all across this area,” he grumbled. “And there’s no way of knowing if the forest is still there from however long ago that book was.”

“Want to give up?” she smirked. “We can be back at Hogwarts in time for the school year to start.” It would be their 7th year, their last, and this is what they spent their last summer holiday doing.

“No. I won’t stop until I find it,” he said. “You’re free to leave whenever, though…”

“Oh please, as if I’d ever hear the end of it.”

In truth, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t put much stock in Sebastian’s research this time, but she wanted to be by his side whether he succeeded or failed.

What the Revelio charm led them to was an old cottage hidden in the woods, abandoned since long before that map was even made, and right in the area where they intended to look come morning. No more sleeping with one eye open between rocks and crags. Night was falling around them just as the little building came into sight.

It was made of large and heavy stones, overgrown with grass and moss, and had a tilted, somewhat stooping roof. There were an encouraging amount of aspen trees growing around, scattered and few, with more growing thick and clustered in the distance. They looked at each other and smiled hopefully as they finally reached the cottage.

“It isn’t much,” said Sebastian, looking around the little place with Lumos shining at the end of his wand. “But it’ll do for tonight.”

“I claim the bed,” she said, putting her backpack down and rubbing her shoulders.

“Bold of you,” said Sebastian calmly, “to assume there’s any bed at all.”

The place was split roughly into two rooms, one of which seemed to serve as a kitchen, the other as a bedroom of sorts. Most of the furnishings had long since rotted away save for those made of stone. There was a fireplace and a rusty old cauldron still sitting there, and a few wooden stools to show that the cottage had once been lived in.

“I’m exhausted,” she sighed. “And tired and sore and exhausted.”

“I heard you,” smiled Sebastian kindly. “I am too. Tell you what, I’ll transfigure some of these little old chairs into something to sleep on, and you’ll summon us some water, alright?”

With a few lengthening and softening spells, Sebastian could make a pretty good pair of beds for them, with pebbles transformed into pillows, and moss turned into soft green blankets. He spent a bit of time afterwards casting Incendio at the spiderwebs that hung in the corners — after all, getting rid of the furry-legged insects (because that’s what they were) could always serve to make him feel better.

When he was done, he stepped back into the other room. He immediately saw that on the other side, by the two windows, a construction of wooden planks was put together like a little house within the house, and above it were a pair of buckets enchanted with ever-flowing water. Beneath, the stones were softened into a patch of earth out of which grass grew, and there the water disappeared. On the stone windows, which had no glass inside them anyway, were a small hard bar of tallow soap they once bought from a goat farmer in Feldcroft, and a pair of bathing brushes they had brought over from Hogwarts just in case.

“Where did you get buckets?” asked Sebastian.

“I found them just inside the cauldron,” she smiled, her hands resting on her hips. She seemed proud of her creation. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think I can’t wait to get this three days’ worth of dirt off me,” he grinned. “Check the beds, see if you approve.”

“Alright.”

While she assessed his handiwork, Sebastian lit the fireplace. It was small and wouldn’t last for long, but it would do. He sat down on one of the little chairs that were left and started to take his boots off. His feet were sore, his legs were sore, his back ached and his neck was stiff — his whole body needed the gentle caress of a soft trickle of water.

He ran his hand beneath it as it flowed. Not cold, but no more than lukewarm. Still, it seemed a luxury right now. He took his jacket off, and then started unbuttoning the vest beneath.

“What are you doing?” asked the girl as she stepped back into the room.

“What does it look like? I’m going to put your contraption to the test.”

“I made it, I want to use it first,” she pouted.

“Is that so?”

His eyes scanned her up and down. She was his friend… His best friend aside from Ominis. Sure, he liked to tease her now and then, but he never went further than that. She wouldn’t like it. She wouldn’t want it. If she did, she’d have made it clear by now, right?

“How about this?” started Sebastian slowly, grinning in the way he did when he got a really bad idea.

“What?”

Sebastian slid his tie from around his neck — which was already loose from him tugging at it when climbing made him breathless — and then began unbuttoning his shirt, from the top, one button at a time.

“You can use it first, on one condition…”

“I made it, you don’t get to set conditions,” she frowned, arms crossed, but he could tell her hands were shaking. He made her nervous. “But what is it?”

He smiled wider and finished unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it now out of his trousers but not taking it off. Then, he started tugging his belt out.

“The condition is,” he said with a sly smile, “that you can get to it first!”

He had the advantage and only needed to remove his trousers quickly enough, but he didn’t count on her quickly dipping back into the room to get her wand and disappear her robes away. She was naked and beneath the spray of water at the same time as he was.

“I was first!” she said, covering her modesty with her hands and letting her hair fall over her chest.

“No, I was!” said Sebastian over his shoulder. He could already feel a blush bloom on his cheeks.

“Sebastian!”

He threw his fingers through the water and sprayed her face, laughing without any guilt as she turned her head away and started spraying him back.

“Stop it!” she said.

“You stop first!”

“You started it!”

They sprayed each other silly until their hair was wet. Eventually, Sebastian raised his arms in a peaceful gesture and gave up.

“Alright! Alright, you win,” he sighed. “Menace…”

“You’re one to talk,” she scowled from beneath a curtain of wet hair.

Now that they could actually look at each other, they tried not to, standing almost back to back and sharing awkward looks. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught glimpses of her, and it was enough to make his face feel warm again.

“Well, I don’t care what you do,” he said, and quickly took the soap from the window sill.

He lathered his arms and neck, then down his chest, sighing as his muscles finally relaxed. The water didn’t seem so cold anymore. Outside, he could see the moon rising in a black sky.

“Give it here,” the girl muttered, taking the soap from his hand.

While she lathered her arms, he allowed himself a smile and let his eyes trace lower, from her shoulders to the small of her back, the angle of her hips, and lower, lower… Even from behind, she was completely ravishing. That was the pretty body that had been hiding beneath her Hogwarts robes? He felt like he’d never be able to see her in a skirt again without imagining those legs, those hips, that —

She caught him looking. He’d been staring for several minutes, his arms frozen in an awkward pose as he tried to wash the side of his chest. The water had nearly rinsed all the soap off him before he even got in with the brush, and his mouth was hanging open. He closed it shut when he caught her eyes, expecting her to scream at him or at least to get angry — but instead, she turned around and giggled.

Sebastian blushed again and turned around as well. He let the water cool his head as he tilted his head beneath it, closing his eyes and swallowing the knot in his throat. He waited for his body to relax, but it never did, it never could around her — not when she was in her skin right next to him.

He looked at her again. She was bent over, soaping down her legs, her hair covering her chest from him, but it was a delicious enough sight to make him moan.

“Did you say something?” she asked, straightening and shaking the water from her eyes.

“Give me that,” he muttered, taking the soap from her hand — but not before catching a glimpse of her from the front.

He closed his eyes and sighed his frustrations away, then started furiously working up a lather up and down his body to distract himself. Behind him, he heard her giggling again.

“Something funny?” he asked a little tersely.

“Yes,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?” he said, afraid of the answer.

“Nothing…”

Sebastian grumbled, but couldn’t be mad at her. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, and she did the same.

He picked up the brush and started scrubbing his body, rubbing his arms raw, and his chest and his legs and his back as well. It felt good, it made him feel clean, and each light breeze of air from the open windows beside them made him shiver in a fresh and invigorating way.

Bowing his head beneath the water, he tried to catch another glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. He did. The stretch of smooth skin of her torso with her hair licking down it like an ink spill, spots of white lather where she’d missed scrubbing it off, and enticing little shadows and angles and bends that he wished he could look past to see more of her. When his eyes trailed up her body, he found her waiting for him, as if she knew he would try to look at her again.

“Do you want to say something?” she asked, sounding more smug than he ever did.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, turning away. “Just… thank you, for this. It’s a, erm, neat little contraption.”

“I see you are very much enjoying my neat little contraption.”

“Well, naturally…” he said, daring to look at her again.

She still looked self-satisfied, and for a second, she trailed her eyes down his body as well — his shoulders sprinkled with freckles, his strong arms, broad back — but much like him, she shied away before really having her fill of him, and cooled her blushing face beneath the water.

They finished not long after, all scrubbed clean, the stress of their journey unwound from their bodies — only to be replaced by a new kind of stress. Stretching toward his pile of clothes, Sebastian picked up his wand and undid the water charm, making it stop flowing.

She bent and squeezed her hair dry while Sebastian buried his face in his hands and shook the water off — trying to shake his thoughts away as well. How could he sleep next to her, knowing what her body looked like from such a close, intimate angle? How could he walk with her tomorrow without wanting to see more, to watch her take her clothes off, to see her wash herself again? His thoughts were far away from Herpo the Foul’s basilisk basin now, and he wasn’t even sure he had it in him to be excited when they finally found it. He wanted to stay in the wilderness with her forever.

He needed to sleep, to rest, to think seriously about this, and after years and years he knew he needed to finally confront what she made him feel, and what it meant… He couldn’t wait to get back in the little bedroom.

“Wait,” he said, looking around them. “Did we bring any towels?”

[stemmmm]

Stem's thoughts on Harvest Moon GBC2

AKA how I ruined a perfectly good game for myself

The first Harvest Moon on the GameBoy was a port of a pretty simple game onto an even simpler console. The limitations involved meant that only the most basic mechanics could reasonably be left in. The farming gameplay loop still existed, but without any superfluous aspects like wandering the forest for forage or speaking to any of the NPCs. The town still existed of course, as you needed to have a place where you could buy more things for your farm. The compromise they made was to turn the whole thing into a menu where you could choose a business and go inside to buy things, but nothing else, which is disappointing but understandable for such a simple game.

The first thing that Harvest Moon GBC 2 does is put you in a conversation with an NPC, and then makes you run around the town– a place that you can actually walk around in, with buildings and people outside –to talk to and meet everyone as you tell them that you’re going to take over the old farm.

To say this game was a relief to play is an understatement. I actually played this one immediately after GB1 because I decided to skip 64, so when I turned on the game and experienced its opening, I was still extremely raw from how awful GB1 felt. The first time I played it, I actually had to stop after day one, I didn’t even get to do any farming yet, because I was reeling so hard from how absurdly different this one was– and how COMPLETE! The excuses I made in my mind for GB1 were a complete and total sham!

The first thing that you see when starting a new file is something of a character creator. It’s a simple menu where you choose your name, your gender, pick a birthday out of any day in one of the four seasons (64 only let you choose a season), and then choose between a cat or dog for a pet. You aren’t told this in the selection, but a cat will bring home random seeds you can plant, and a dog will scare away wild animals, meaning that you can only leave your livestock outside overnight if you have a dog. I like free stuff though, so I chose the cat.

The next thing you’re exposed to is the town and what story there is, but I’ll get into that later. What I’ll instead explain next is your farm, which is a little weird compared to earlier games. In the first area, you have your house, a big open space, and then the usual barn, coop, silo, wood bin, with extra space on the left and bottom of the farm for a sheep pen and hothouse/greenhouse that you can buy in the future. You cannot grow crops in this area. Instead, there’s a different area to the south that hosts a huge, empty field where you’re expected to grow everything. This is also the only place where there’s an outdoor shipping bin, so you have to go all the way down there rather than just to the entrance of your farm if you have forage to ship. To the east of the farming area is a lake where you can catch fish, and a pond where you can save fish you’ve previously caught. The only thing to do with fish is sell them though, so the only reason I can really see for using the pond is if you caught something past 5PM, when anything put in storage will rot before it can be picked up. The lake is connected to a river that runs through the crop fields, and there’s actually a space to put a bridge so you can access the other half of the space for double the planting capacity. 

You won’t use any of that space to plant grass though, as all of that is meant to go behind the animal houses. Each one has its own individual field behind it for planting grass, and the game won’t let you buy any animals to go in the corresponding buildings unless a certain amount of grass is growing in the field behind it. It’s pretty awkward to make sure the grass is actually cut, as a player who doesn’t go back there every day, but I see the logic behind it.  They want to make people plant grass as an extra way to gatekeep animals beyond just money. It also works pretty tidily with the mechanics they have for putting animals in and out, which is that you get special tools for each of them that automatically sends them in or outside. I didn’t use these things because I didn’t have a dog, so putting my animals outside was equivalent to throwing them to the wolves… literally. And as you may have already theorized, individual items for three different types of animals turns into an inventory disaster because of the way tools work.

In your house is a tool chest that opens a menu when you interact with it. The chest holds up to 20 tools, each with a designated slot, and it has an additional page for all the different types of seeds you can buy. You’re able to carry four different tools or types of seeds on your person at any given time, with the ability to swap between which one is equipped quickly via the START button, or more precisely by opening up the inventory menu via the SELECT button, which is pretty nice in my opinion! It works quickly, and four tools is more than any other game has let you carry so far, but that only means so much when the game has such an excess of tools, while most others only have about six– not including seeds. Navigating the tool chest also becomes something of a pain because there are so many items, so it’s desirable to only keep the absolute necessities on your person.

Included in the excessive amount of tools is an exciting new item: the bug net. See, this game has reincorporated the forest as a foraging area, but it’s a little more than that. While it has the usual seasonal wild plants, a daily-replenishing supply of lumber, and a hot spring, it also has a myriad of insects that wander or fly around in short, predictable loops. It’s no Animal Crossing– the bugs always spawn in the same place and do the same thing for a whole season until the next one, where they’re replaced by a different kind of insect doing the same amount of nothing, but I think that’s appropriate for a game on such a short schedule. Bug catching is less about skill and more about remembering to bring your net with you on days and times that you haven’t gone bug-catching before. The fishing mechanic is similarly simple– it’s less about waiting and more about timing, as the rod will bob in the same pattern every time you cast it, you just have to catch it at the right time. As a result, if you get the timing down, you can always reel it in at the first bob and catch fish extremely quickly. This strategy ended up being my favorite during the time while I was getting started and didn’t have a lot of cash for seeds or animals yet.

But what do you do with these things you catch? You can sell fish but you can’t sell bugs. Instead, both are recorded in collections that you can access at the library in town! The function of the library is to let you access your collections of bugs and fish, view photos that you collected through experiencing events (kind of like what was in 64), and connect to the save files of your friends who have the game to share information and trade items. See, this game took a little inspiration from Pokemon in that while there aren’t separate versions, you only get access to certain things if you’re playing as either a boy or a girl. You get different crops, different bug and fish spawns, and there’s a certain quest that requires making a connection. It’s very cute! But inaccessible if you aren’t playing a physical copy of the game on original hardware, unfortunately.

Other than the library, the town has a carpenter, clinic, church, restaurant, ranch, tool shop, and flower shop. My making a big deal about how the town isn’t a menu this time feels a little disingenuous getting more into it, because while it is a space you can navigate and where people walk around, once you go in a building it’s almost exactly the same– no interior, just a portrait of the shop owner and their wares, but all of this is preceded by an option to talk to them this time around! Not that they have much to say, but it’s still a difference. You get another chance to talk to the shopkeepers and give them gifts (because you can carry items between rooms this time) on Sundays when all the shops are closed, which is another unique feature compared to GB1 where every day was exactly the same.

To the north of the town is a little square with a fountain and bulletin board where everyone who isn’t employed usually wanders about during the business week. At the start of the game, the bulletin board is loaded up with handy tutorials on how to play the game (yet another thing GB1 severely lacked). Later on, it fills up with dates for town festivals like the cherry blossom festival and horse races. The festivals usually aren’t much, shops don't even close for the majority of them, but they give the world a little more life and variety and the horse race gives you the ability to purchase a minigame from the tool shop that you can play anytime you want! There are several minigames which are all unlocked to replay by doing things like going to events or completing certain objectives.

The last new thing in this game is that if you press SELECT twice, instead of giving you the option to turn on Harvest Sprite helpers (no sprites to be found here), you get a more detailed menu with information about your animals, possessions, and then a long FAQ list with information like “weeds are back!” and explanations on how to get sheep or grow flowers inside the hothouse.

The Story

The premise of the story is that there’s an old farm in town that’s going to be replaced by an amusement park. It opens with your character trying to talk the mayor out of agreeing to any deals, saying that you’ll take over the farm to save it. He agrees to give you three years to do the best work you can and then you’re sent on your way. The first thing you have to do is announce the deal to everyone in town, who all happen to already know you… and apparently very well! The town doctor confirms that you grew up in this town, and everyone around is your childhood friend. I’ve never personally seen any farming sim take this angle, and I think it’s pretty fun! The game doesn’t do a ton with it, but it at least has a different vibe. It works well for a game where you do have relationships with these people, but they’re not in a ton of depth and they don’t go anywhere in the end because marriage doesn’t exist here.

This entry is also the first in the series that we see a wholly unique cast (almost). You could argue that 64 does it since technically the folks in town aren’t the same, but they’re awfully damn similar. Everyone here is a new character design unrelated to anyone we’ve seen before. Aside from Mary (librarian) and Ken (carpenter) anyways, who are both the same exact design as their counterparts in 64. While their personalities are similar, there’s nothing to indicate that these are the same characters in any way.

The stories to do with all of these characters mostly aren’t anything too special. There’s twin boys who run the tool shop and their narrative is tied to how you get tool upgrades. Whether you play as a boy or a girl, there are a couple events that indicate certain characters have a crush on your farmer. There’s also a marriage that happens once you make it into year three that puts a tiny change in the town where Rosie, who runs the restaurant is replaced by her sister. Some of these events have to do with little quests where just about all you have to do is go to a certain location when asked, others just occur. As I said before, the story’s all very simple, but it’s just fine like that. 

For the most part, necessary events will trigger when the time is right, but other things only happen if you’ve made good friends with everyone by talking on a regular basis and occasionally giving gifts. You’ll know if you’re on the right track when peoples’ dialogue changes, which happens a few times as you become closer. There’s apparently all kinds of little events in the game, but I failed to see a good number of them.

As usual, the easiest way to get on everyone's good sides and progress the story further is by doing well on your farm and either giving people the appropriate harvests as gifts or just upgrading things further. Despite all the changes to your farm layout, the actual things you have to do to work the land and care for animals are the same as ever. It’s pretty simple and quick to get good farming work done, and a decent amount of options afforded to you in terms of how you want to focus your energy– be it crops, animals, fishing, forage, or friendship, so it’s up to you how you want to get to the finish line. While you’re not told the requirements very clearly, the game is pretty low-stakes and just wants you to take your time and enjoy the three whole years it expects you to play.

How I ruined the game for myself

So of course, without a clear goal given to me, I had to look up the endings as soon as possible. Which brings me to my problem with this game: the requirements it has for the best ending are completely absurd. Well, to be accurate, one of the requirements is completely absurd. The best ending in the game requires 70 or more Happiness Points, having 10,000 G or more, have at least 3 of each animal (cow, sheep, and chicken), find 10 Power Berries, and have the third home expansion built, which are all extremely reasonable to do. So reasonable in fact that I handily managed all of those things before the end of year two out of three. The final, problematic requirement is to ship 10,000 or more items. This is a ridiculous amount of items. This is a “fill your entire field to the brim and never let it run empty” amount of items. I knew this from the second I saw it, but… well, it’s three years of gameplay right? And you aren’t told this is what you need anywhere within the game that I saw, so surely the developers thought this would be a reasonable goal for people, right? I had to give it a try, right?

Saying this from the future where I succeeded, I wish I didn’t try at all. I spent the full three years of this game constantly on the grind, filling my fields as completely as I could, and panicking to rush everything to the shipping bin before 5PM hit so I would have more empty land to plant more crops that I would water in the dark of night before going to bed and doing it again. Fun fact, this game doesn’t make you reset until 6AM the next morning and without any real repercussions. I only found this out because I’d stay out all night weeding and watering. There was very little time left to talk to the people in town after that. I did manage to get them all up to their maximum friendships pretty early on, before I had the means to constantly be churning out veggies, so I had every opportunity to catch their events, I just missed them because every day, no matter the season, I was farming.

The funny thing is, I’ve mentioned before that I enjoy playing the games this way. That is still true, and I very well could have enjoyed my time much more if it weren’t for the damned horse and its awful AI. See, there may be four inventory slots for tools, but there are none for items. Every individual one has to be plucked and carried to the shipping bin, same as SNES, same as GB1. The saving grace in those two games, and technically this one as well, is that around winter-ish of your first year, a horse will appear on your farm, and when it grows up in a couple seasons, it either already has or you can buy for it a saddle bag which functions as a mobile shipping bin. All you have to do is ride your horse out to where you’re harvesting and while it wanders a bit, it stays put well enough for you to load it up with veggies as you run back and forth to harvest, which speeds up the process dramatically in the vast fields you have to work in these games.

This horse is not like those other horses. This horse will take off in a dead sprint with no warning in any direction it pleases. In my experience, this was usually in the worst possible direction that would put it the farthest away from me. And the timing of it was typically whenever I was about to throw something into the saddlebag. This aggravated the hell out of me not only because it was a huge waste of my limited time, not only because it wasted a ton of crops, but also because it was constant. Nothing I did, no positioning I tried was able to help keep the horse where I needed it, and this was how I was spending 80% of my time in this game, dealing with this horse. I could have been seeing fun events, I could have been peacefully farming at my own pace and leisure, even better this technique easily could have just worked out if the horse didn’t behave so erratically. 

But I can’t judge the game on the merit of all the time I spent with the horse alone because that was my own choice to do. The best ending may require 10,000 shipped items, but all it takes to avoid the worst ending is to have more than 10 Happiness Points, more than 2,000G, more than four Power Berries, expand my house, and ship 100 items. With three entire years of game, the only way you fail to achieve that is by basically not playing the game. The vast space between the requirements for the best ending and the worst ending is to get a normal ending that accomplishes exactly the same thing as the best ending does, only the cutscene is different and you get a trophy for the best one. The cutscene barely stands out as anything special, which led to me having no idea what ending I got until I discovered the trophy was a thing I had to search for in my house. That’s it, you still get to keep playing the game either way, not that there’s terribly much else to do regardless of which ending you get, since there’s no special post-ending content.

I’ll still judge it a little bit though

While it makes sense to use your workable area to its fullest extent, having it be a requirement for the good ending to use all of it to the best of your ability for the whole extent of the game is excessive to me, especially since by year 3 it becomes completely unnecessary to try to earn money. I already had everything I was working for, and the requirement being to ship more things rather than better things meant there was no reason to get anything other than what was cheap and quick. No reason to make my animals like me so they’d produce better stuff, no reason to use the maker machines even though they weren’t obtainable until it got to the point where money had no meaning. I hardly bothered with the hothouses because they were both so confusing about what I could plant in each, and so tedious both to unlock and to harvest things since I needed a special tool that would take up a precious inventory space, lest I have to run back and forth between the tool chest. The hothouse might have been more useful if there weren’t winter crops, but there were.

What’s wild about my criticisms is that the game itself has something built in to mitigate everything that I struggled with. There is a tool called the miracle glove that automatically ships your crops the moment that they are harvested. But the only way to get it is via a link connection to a friend’s copy of the game– something near impossible in this day and age because you’d need to somehow find two working copies of this game with two functional GameBoys, and completely impossible if you’re using the magic of the 3DS eShop which doesn’t exist anymore and didn’t have functional multiplayer for most games anyways. That item alone would have solved the biggest problem I had in playing this game, and it was functionally DLC.

Closing thoughts

It took me a really long time to try and get to this review, and I’ve beaten two more games since, which has given me a new perspective. My original nugget for this one was going to focus on how much I hated the horse the whole way through and on how disappointed I was that the game was so hard for such little reward, but I’ve since realized that playing in a way that was no fun for me was my own choice. At any point I could have scaled things down and reprioritized to focus on the details of the game that are more fun like seeing events, but I just clung to that damn horse for 50 hours instead– which by the way, is longer than it’s taken me to beat any other game in this series so far that I’ve recorded my playtime for. The average sits around 25 hours.

If you don’t play like I did, it’s actually a really neat game!It’s not dissimilar to a scaled-down version of 64, with the way it focuses a little more on events and adds features to make the world feel just a touch more alive like the bug and fish collections. It’s not as deep or detailed as 64, but you still get to experience something of a sweet little story with a small set of characters in a game that feels very smooth and fun to play.On the bright side, even with the struggle I went through trying to get the perfect score, it was still a better game than GB1. It says a lot that I’ve found it more appropriate to compare it to  64, a fantastic game, rather than its actual predecessor.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

I've never watched pretty little liars but tell me about your favourite pll femslash.

Hi I think I wrote half of a response to this a while ago but it got lost somewhere… starting over so I’m such a multi shipper between the pll women that I think it would be more appropriate to tell you my top 5 rn.

Vandermarin —- (Hanna Marin & Mona Vanderwaal)

I tried to choose pics from the pll wiki gallery for each of these dynamics I thought encapsulated the dynamic and its gayness as well as two random images can. In this case the image on the left is Mona lovingly visiting Hanna in the hospital after Mona herself drove a car over Hanna, because they fought/Mona is jealous that Hanna has affection for people who are not her and also Hanna was too close to uncovering her identity as A the nameless faceless entity that badly wants Hanna to break up with her boyfriend and leave her friends and only hang out with Mona but we’re meant to think Mona is straight…. and the right image is after Hanna has found out Mona’s identity at the evil mastermind to her troubles but she’s still visiting her ex wife in the mental asylum, and lying to her boyfriend about it and the show plays every beat of this like Hanna is cheating on her boyfriend. Insane. They’re the love story of pll because literally if Mona wasn’t obsessively unhealthily in love with Hanna the whole plot of the show would not have happened. An undersung toxic yuri queerbait for the history books I seriously think it’s deeply misogynistic they don’t get their due in this department. 

Spemily (Spencer Hastings & Emily Fields).

This is so funny to me because these two images perfectly encapsulate the dynamic. Either they are soo in sync getting coffee for each other and detecting murders together and stabilizing/calming each other, or they are having the Messiest fights and bickering/getting on each others nerves like a married couple going through their third divorce. I joke about them being adansey coded for this reason, also there’s a dynamic of a class difference and Emily/Adam call out Spencer/Gansey for it similarly and Spencer/Gansey being protective towards Emily/Adam in a way the latter doesn’t like or feels infringes on their autonomy. Great stuff, I have a type. And speaking of..

Monison (Mona Vanderwaal & Alison Dilaurentis)

There are other gay pictures of them interacting but I chose the left image as Mona cleaning the dirt off Alison, the girl who bullied her, after pulling her out of a grave (Alison was buried alive this night and it’s a whole thing but not really relevant to this post) and they’re in a motel in the lost woods. There’s another scene from this flashback that’s Mona kissing Alison’s forehead but I can’t find a cap anywhere (I also couldn’t find a cap of her kissing Hanna’s cheek the homophobia). The one on the right is Mona’s shrine to Alison that’s in her evil lair girl literally was so obsessed with and in love with girl who bullied her and wanted to wear her skin and also for her to stop existing and also to be loved by her and then she made the love of her life Hanna into her own personal Alison doll… wild stuff. They’re also a bit adansey coded imo (and Hanna/Alison didn’t make this list but they’re rather Jordanessy coded imo). They’re also really gay for each other on the spin off which is not a good show but did give me crumbs. 

Spona (Spencer Hastings & Mona Vanderwaal)

Sometimes / in the past this has been no.3 I’m just in a very Monison mood rn so it’s fourth rn. The left image is of their psychosexually charged debate scene and the right is Mona trying to get Spencer’s attention at a political rally. Will say no enough of their really gay scenes are appropriately represented in that wiki gallery but I did the best with what I had. Overachiever x Overachiever but one is an evil mirror of the other,  the actresses have a ridiculous amount of chemistry, there’s a whole arc where Mona wants to corrupt Spencer and is furious when Spencer “turns her down” and seeks to ruin her life so she has no choice to accept her… another toxic yuri of all time. They’re also my two favorite characters on the show individually (although I love all six of the main women) so that gives an extra something special to their scenes for me. 

Arison (Aria Montgomery & Alison Dilaurentis)

left image is a flashback to them eating frozen yogurt together while bullying Mona, right is Aria’s hallucination of Alison that she has when her father’s girlfriend who looks a bit like Alison and who Alison wanted Aria to tell her mother about Byron’s affair with poisons her, again sadly there were fewer images in the gallery for them but. This is a really fascinating relationship to me and one I wrote a fic about that Imran quite proud of when I first got into pll a couple years ago. Aria is the only one of Alison’s friends she treats kind of as an equal rather than a subject or a rival, she’s very fascinated by the way Aria lives freely rather than at the whims of other people and Alison develops an alter ego that looks a lot like Aria, Vivia Darkbloom. She also gets into a relationship with an older guy while acting a lot like Aria and then this same guy (who is a predator and groomer but the show never addresses these dynamics as such L) goes after Aria after Alison’s death. Also Alison secretly took pictures of Aria while she was sleeping and hid them places and when they were uncovered her brother makes a comment about how Alison always hid things and it was almost second nature to her don’t remember the exact quote but it reeks of internalized biphobia to me (Alison is canonically a bi character it’s just that the show defines her as only gay for one girl which is Emily and straight for everyone else which is insane but we won’t get into that). Anyway. They’re really underrated and interesting. 

some honorable mention ships that I also love a lot: Sparia (Spencer x Aria, if I had done this a few months ago do think they would have a shot at top 5 I really love them), Spanna (Spencer x Hanna), Hannily (Hanna x Emily), Spalison (Spencer x Alison), Monaria (Mona x Aria), Emison (Emily x Alison this one is canon), Emaya (Emily x Maya also canon), Emona (Emily x Mona), Halison (Hanna x Alison), Aria x Jenna, Emily x Jenna, Aria x Alex Drake.