#but then i find my way back to the tea website to find they have pear matcha back in stock? AND new artisanal sugar cubes?????

[solipseismic]

my fatal flaw is that. i will use any occasion to. buy more tea.

[pathologicalreid]

caretaker | s.r.

in which you take care of your fiercely independent boyfriend after he gets shot in the knee

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: canon compliant injury, gun violence, alludes to spencer's past addiction, alternative pain relief, spencer's anthrax poisoning word count: 1.03k a/n: oh spencer reid who at certain points had to raise himself and never learned to let himself be cared for. i love you. this was a request <3. i hope you enjoy

A crash very rudely wakes you up, sharing the same level of poise as a cartoon cat while your heart very nearly bursts out of your chest, you jolt up from the cushions. Trying to catch your breath, you scramble on the couch and peer over the back of it, looking to the ground to find your boyfriend with a desolate look on his face, “What are you doing?”

Your eyes wander to his knee, secured with a complicated black brace, which he was supposed to be staying off of for the next week so that it could properly heal. “Lying on the floor,” he answers, staring blankly at the ceiling as he does.

Raising your eyebrows, you start to untangle yourself from the crocheted blanket you fell asleep with, “Why?”

Spencer sighs from his spot on the floor, “Felt like it,” he mumbles, bringing his arms up to cover his face.

“Did you fall?” You ask, getting off of the couch and crouching down next to him, noticing the way one of his crutches was twisted in the tassels of your area rug. Quietly, you pick both of his crutches off of the floor, resting them against the arm of the couch before reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder. “Do you wanna get up?”

All you receive in response is a groan, so you sit fully on the floor, maneuvering your hand around his arms so that you can smooth his hair back. “I want to walk,” Spencer complains, putting his arms down to his sides.

You frown at him, your ministrations on his head faltering, “Well, I can help you walk back to bed.” He insisted he was fine when you left him to go lay down on the couch, but obviously he had decided he needed something else.

“I want to walk alone,” he corrects himself, finally glancing over at you.

The tears in his eyes are enough to break through your cheery demeanor, “Oh, Spence.” You pout at him sympathetically, reaching out your arms to help pull him to a sitting position. “I’m sorry, baby,” you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand.

He simply held no familiarity with being taken care of. Spencer was an independent being first. Once a caretaker, always a caretaker, but now, the roles were reversed, he simply couldn’t get around without your help. “I just wanted to do something on my own,” he admits mournfully, “I can’t even get a book without…” his voice trails off, “Did I wake you up?”

You shake your head quickly, “No.” The lie easily slides off of your tongue, saving him from the guilt of waking you up. Honestly, it was time for you to make your way to bed anyway. “Ready?” You ask him, eyeing him cautiously as he leans to the side in order to put all of his weight on his good leg.

Taking both of his hands in yours, you pull him gently to a standing position, helping him hobble over to the couch so he can lean on the back of it for support. “Thank you,” he mumbles bashfully, ducking his head so that his hair covers his face.

“Do you want some tea before bed?” You ask, skimming your palm up and down his upper arm. You had scoped out a tea that was used in herbal medicine, ordering a bunch of it off of a sketchy website to help Spencer try and manage his pain.

He foregoes a response, shaking his head, “I can make it.”

You smile softly at him, “I’ll make it, Spence. I know you don’t like it, but I really need you to rest.” You squeeze his upper arm comfortingly, “You got shot a week ago, please let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you, “I don’t want you to have to take care of me.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “but you owe me.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows in confusion, “I owe you? What do I owe you for?”

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you tilt your head back slightly, “Letting me take care of you is the ‘My co-worker had to call my girlfriend on a seemingly random Tuesday afternoon to tell me I had been shot in the line of duty’ tax,” you inform him dutifully.

“Okay, yes, Garcia could have worded that phone call better,” he cedes, flicking some of his hair over his shoulder.

Looking at him in disbelief, you cock an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, it’s right on up there with the anthrax poisoning phone call. You’re already on thin ice with me,” you warn him, mostly meaning it in jest.

Each of these phone calls had sent you into such a tailspin that the BAU had to send someone to get you, and they weren’t experiences you were likely to forget. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, studying your expression with sad brown eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” you instruct him, “Just let me take care of you! You take care of me all the time—it’s only fair.”

He chuckles lightly at your comment on fairness, the sound enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter, “Okay,” he says, “Okay.”

Ducking your head and having him loop his arm around your neck, you beam up at him, “See how much easier things are when you agree with me?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, using you and the wall as support as the two of you make your way back to the bedroom, getting him down on the mattress with practiced dexterity. “I’m certainly seeing the benefits,” he says, smiling up at you as you sweep his hair behind his ears.

Leaning down, you press a tender kiss on his forehead before stepping away, “I’ll go turn on the kettle. What book were you trying to get? I can grab it and maybe you can read me to sleep tonight.”

“You want me to read you to sleep in Russian?” He asks after rattling off the title to you, a smile on his face even though you can’t see it.

You laugh from your spot in the kitchen, “God, yes. I can’t think of anything better.”

[tbaluver]

When You're On Your Period- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff, comfort a/n: posting my drafts atm bc i just have writers block sorrys /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He's not particularly educated in the realm of menstruation. So when he saw you clutching your sides in agony, he was so worried about you and ran to your side. He thought you were sick or injured. You try to explain to him that you're just on your period and he eagerly listens to you as you explain it to him.

It's his mission to try and make everything easy for you and makes a special effort to bring you things that might make you feel a little better.

"Can you buy me pads with/out wings?" And he would be really confused at first. He would think you want pads and wings. He would stand in the aisle for a while figuring out which ones you needed. So he'll come back home with a BUNCH of menstrual products with wings from your favorite restaurant.

But also the type to buy you your favorite snacks and drinks before you even ask. Sometimes he'll come home with a small plushie for some support.

Lowkey worried if you're going to be alright but he knows you're strong and will remind himself that you know how to handle yourself.

He would gently massage any areas that were aching. Lots of your time is spent in his arms or resting your head on his chest and he explains that the health website says its "beneficial" to do so and you're not complaining. He's so comfy.

Zayne:

In the beginning of your relationship, he was kind of inexperienced in this department. He knew some knowledge about the menstrual cycle but not too much so he made sure to educate himself so he knows how to take better care of you.

He runs down to the pharmacy to get you some pain medication and any menstrual products you need without any ounce of embarrassment. He doesn't find a reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed about getting you things for your period. Makes sure you have enough supplies to last you the whole week.

Prepares you some yummy warm foods that are nutritious for you and all cooked to your liking. He would also make sure to run down to your favorite bakery to pick you up some baked goods.

If you suffer from cramps, then he would find the best pill for you or make you effective tea. He'll also offer any massages you want on your body and let's just say this man is good with his hands that you don't want his hands off of you.

The type to not tell you that you stained the bed. He'll prepare you a soothing bath while he washes the sheets. When you come back the bed is nice and warm.

He'll start marking it down on his calendar so he can be prepared more in the future

Rafayel:

He would kind of forget periods are a thing but once you remind him, he'll try his best to take care of you. He has good intentions looking out for you and getting whatever you need. You would text him if he can get something for you and he's already on his way to you with whatever you requested.

He'll pay attention to your specific needs and preferences. He'll make sure you're getting your rest, staying hydrated, and eating well.

Would joke around and call this "Shark week." Would pray to any gods to bring mercy on him if he were to ever to be sassy to you on your period.

He'll be worried about you but he knows that you're strong. That doesn't mean he'll leave you alone during this time, unless you want him too. He'll be there to try and ease everything as much as he could.

If you were to have any bad cramps, he would give your lower abdomen a small massage while talking too it. "Hey don't be so mean to my cutie....." or sometimes he'll tell you some stories about Lemuria or maybe hum you a song in Lemurian to get your mind off it. Your head would be resting on his chest, his hands massaging gently into your aching sides.

It's easy to fall asleep in his arms because he can be so warm from his evol

He'll offer to make you a bath and gather your favorite bath bombs and your oils that might ease your discomfort. He would have the perfect temperature for you and would help undress you and help you into the bathtub. Would also feed you some yummy fruits like a princess while you were in the bath

Sylus:

Sylus treats you like royalty the entire time you're on your period. He's extra patient and understanding. You don't have to feel embarrassed at all with him and he will never be disgusted by you being on your period.

If you ever stained the bed, he would clean it up for you. He would reassure you that everything is okay and that bleeding is normal. He'll help run a bath for you while he cleans the sheets. He would never use these situations against you or even embarrass you about it.

He's always there to give you a massage knowing how bad cramps can be. Tell him where it hurts and he'll immediately massage the area with his hands. If massages weren't helping, then he'll warm up a heating pad for you and would find the best painkillers to make it go away.

The first time you were on your period, he bought way to many products for you so you were stocked up. Eventually in the future he knows the exact brand and everything you could possibly need.

When you wake up, he already has a meal prepared for you. Sometimes it'll be made from a private chef or he made it on his own. He'll gladly carry you to the kitchen so he can feed it to you or if you want, you can eat in bed.

Would give you random and frequent kisses. He knows that during this time you can go through a lot of emotions so he'll make sure to give you kisses to remind you that he loves and cares about you.

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in Sept 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup [ @1dmonthlyficroundup ] which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #66 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis / Harry -

🩵 Better is the End by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(M, 26k, Greek mythology) Louis stands at the entrance to the labyrinth, and knows that this is the end. No one escapes from the labyrinth. No one can defeat the monster inside and make it back out alive.

🩵 Sugar, Sugar by @parmahamlarrie

(E, 25k, sugar daddy Louis) Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website.

🩵 Break (Up)? Coming Right Up! by The_Halcyonic_Lachesist / @chai-hat-tea

(M, 14k, breakup) Louis promised Harry that they would always be together, but when Harry's dreams get in the way, will Louis be able to keep his word?

🩵 Like A Miracle by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(M, 12k, established relationship) Louis thinks he finally knows what it feels like to be truly nervous now that he has one very important question to ask his boyfriend. Part 4 of Marcel series

🩵 touch me baby, put your lips on mine by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 12k, pwp) the soft and sweet sex party fic with a dash of dom/sub dynamics and a LOT of public sex.

🩵 Smells Like TEAM Spirit by @persephoneflouwers

(NR, 10k, high school) Punk Louis and quarterback Harry have been secretly dating for years. Feeling overwhelmed by his commitments, Harry suggests a short break, fearing he can't give Louis enough time. As Louis reflects on his vulnerabilities, Harry struggles on the field without him.

🩵 This Ain't Red Wine by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 9k, supernatural) the one where Human Louis accidentally finds himself at a Vampire only party which actually turns out to maybe not be the worst thing

🩵 Haunting Beauty by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

(G, 6k, ghost Louis) It’s 1988. Harry has just finished his first year of teaching English and looks forward to a relaxed break. Louis is a poltergeist and has different plans for Harry’s summer.

🩵 Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy by not_fitzwilliam / @not-fitzwilliam-darcy

(NR, 5k, omegaverse) When a miscalculated decision leads to an accidental courtship with the sweetest, most gentle alpha, Harry is torn between breaking the alpha's heart and telling the truth. 

🩵 we could be enough by @hellolovers13

(M, 5k, omegaverse) Louis never imagined anyone could love him for who he truly is. Then he meets Harry.

🩵 Only Angel by starryhaze / @starryhaze28

(E, 5k, pwp) the one where Louis is in Japan and stumbles upon a boy wearing angel wings

🩵 this cage was once just fine by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

(T, 3k, uni) the one where Harry pines for Louis

🩵 A Tight Space by @haztobegood

(T, 2k, shapeshifter curse) Louis startles with a hand to his chest. “What the fuck was that?” “Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.” “Are you sure that’s a cat?”

🩵 The Wilds - Timestamps by @jaerie

(E, 2k, omegaverse) The fact of the matter was that they were still bonded. And since they were just like any other bonded pair, Louis really wanted his knot. Part 3 of The Wilds

🩵 we could be the greatest team by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou

(G, 1k, friends to lovers) Imagine your OTP accidentally and unofficially moving in together. Bonus points if they aren't dating at the beginning.

🩵 Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(G, 1k, meet cute) Dr. Louis Tomlinson is worn to the bone, but only has a few patients left before the end of the day. One of those appointments takes quite a few twists and turns.

🩵 The Ball Guy by @homosociallyyours

(T, 1k, humor) Harry is an unpaid intern on his first film set, and he's pretty excited to see that his number one celebrity crush, Louis Tomlinson, will be a part of the movie. He's on the call sheet for the day, followed by a very odd addition: a ball guy?

🩵 Wordplay 2024 (series) by @kingsofeverything

Nest (G, 100 words) Harry wakes up first. Tight (NR, 100 words) Louis comes home early. Carry (NR, 100 words) Baby bump. Press (E, 100 words) Louis asks for it. Interference (G, 100 words) Bottom of the ninth.

- Rare Pairs -

🩵 circling the truth by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 3k, Liam/Louis) Liam Payne has met his soulmate. He knows he has, because he woke up with his power this morning.

🩵 'Cause What I Want Came True by @lululawrence

(NR, 1k, Louis/Diego Luna) He’d known Diego was attractive, the few photos he had shared on the dating app had made that clear, but there was something about seeing him in person that made him feel… more.

[pfhwrittes]

Heeeeyyyyy p. I am an awkward soul with an awkward question, but how does ao3 work? I noticed a lot of writers are speaking of migrating there and doing things that I don’t quite understand LMAO. I tried looking into the website but honestly, it seems so daunting and I am a terrified chicken who would rather recede into the pits of hell than do something “wrong” on that website.

I dunno if you are the right person to request of this, but you are always so kind when answering questions so i figured who else is better than to scream into the void at?

Pls disregard if you aren’t interested in answering/don’t feel like it!

Have a great day/night/evening/tea time 😽

hi anon! don't feel bad for reaching out, one of my favourite things in the world is showing people how to do things (you know that chill coworker who goes "okay, so i do it like this..." when they show you things? that's who i want to be in the world). if my handy guide doesn't make sense to you, please please please feel free to come back and ask clarifying questions and i'll wrack my brain on how best to help you!

i'd be remiss if i didn't point you in the direction of AO3's guide on how to search and browse the archive first of all. it's a bit wordy so if that isn't to your liking i've made a little video below the cut on how to use ao3 on a laptop below the cut:

Warnings for potential flickering, scrolling motions and flashing.

[ID: A 3 minute video with no audio showing a basic guide on how to use AO3. /END ID]

so that's a pretty bare bones way of using ao3 as non-member!

step 1: search for the fandom you want to explore.

step 2: use the drop down menu to tailor your fanwork selection to something you might want to read by using the filters on the right hand side.

tags are the ingredient list of what you can expect to find in a fic, you can also search by using the tags if there's something in particular you've taken a fancy to (or you can use the "exclude" button to avoid seeing it - just like i excluded konig from my selections).

the rating system is used to filter out mature content, if you click on something rated M, E or Not Rated you should get a little warning at the top advising you that the work you're about to view may include adult content and you agree that you wish to see that content.

step 3: check the tags and summary to see what piques your interest (in my case i chose @boolger 's "a love letter to gaz" because i thought it was fitting).

step 4: click on your desired fic or fanwork and enjoy!

step 5: leave a kudos AND a comment (it doesn't have to be lengthy, it can be a little note to say "i loved this! thank you for writing it!) when you're done.

i recommend asking for an invite to join ao3 so you can see all the lovely archive locked fanworks (fanworks that are hidden from non-members) like mine! it doesn't take long to get an invitation and you can still browse the archive as a non-member in the meantime.

anyway, i hope this helped just a little bit for you anon.

[onlytibki]

Iruma Ficlet: Meme

The Netherworld has an Internet, websites, social media, etc.

Eventually, as high schools do, Bablys becomes riddled with the equivalent of the worm meme:

Would you love me if I was a human?

Iruma… does not participate.

He listens, closely. He watches when others ask it, watches the shape of the word ‘human’ around their lips and the face they make with it. He watches the faces of the responders and memorizes their answers. Despite himself, he ends up making mental lists— lists titled maybe okay (laughter/maybe/I’d find a safe place for you/we can be humans together),

and maybe not (no/how would loving a human even work??/ew gross),

and definitely not.

(Sure I’d love you… for dinner!)

Iruma does his best not to let it all bother him, the questions, or the reactions, or the places various classmates and teachers have on his new lists.

He fails.

Iruma does not ask the question. Of anyone.

.

Someone scrapes together enough nerve to ask Balam-sensei in the middle of Iruma’s class. The teacher freezes.

Someone else takes the moment to cut across that Balam-sensei would eat them and write research on what they tasted like; Balam goes pale.

A third demon says Balam-sensei wouldn’t eat them, since it’d be like eating an endangered species. He’d probably keep them in a jar like a pet. Balam-sensei’s hands begin to shake.

He finally interrupts. And doesn’t look at Iruma. “I’d keep you safe,” he says. “I’d fight my hardest to keep you safe. Of course. You are my students.”

Balam-sensei gets teased by the class and his coworkers for how soft he is for the rest of the week. The next time they have tea, Iruma doesn’t even give a cursory squirm about the hug, and just squeezes back tighter.

.

Ameri does not participate. She serves anyone who does, in her hearing range, a debilitating axe-kick to the chest.

(Those who respond a… certain way receive kicks to the throat.)

People admire her dedication to spending school time on productive tasks and not foolish games.

.

Clara asks Iruma.

Iruma freezes, skin gone pale, hands gone shaky. He can feel his internal defensive beast starting to rise, but he squashes it.

Azz starts to scold her for wasting Iruma-sama’s time on foolish games (he was one of those who admired Ameri’s response), but Iruma doesn’t listen to him. Can’t.

Iruma takes Clara’s hands, gentle, still shaking. “Yes,” he says, immediately, fervently, looking her directly in the eye and all but pushing what he can’t say through his gaze and into her mind. “I’d love you, and Azz, no matter what you were, or what I am, or where we are. There isn’t anything that can change that. Ever.”

[lemoncrushh]

Seven Six Five - Part Three

Summary: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again.

Warnings: smut, body image issues, angst. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Enemies to Lovers. This was originally written and posted in 2020, right before the pandemic, so the story takes place then with flashbacks of 2013. Harry Styles x Plus Size OC, written in third person.

Part Three Word Count: 3.5k+

STORY PAGE

27 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

Bronwyn had tossed and turned all night. After returning home from her meeting with Harry, she’d started feeling a pang in her gut. She’d worried that perhaps she had been a little hard on him, and maybe even downright cruel. She’d thought about the look in his eyes when he’d asked her about that night, and how he’d sincerely sounded clueless. Perhaps she’d had it all wrong, or maybe he’d just been a different person then, seven years ago. People do grow, in fact. And maybe...just maybe, he’d been looking for a way to apologise.

When she’d sat at her computer with a glass of wine, hoping to distract her mind and get some work done, she’d soon found the attempt futile. Instead, she’d opened the website where her article was published. She reread it, looking at the photos she’d taken and scanning through the comments. They were all positive, many true, die-hard fans giving their thanks and input. A few were also from newer fans, people who’d only recently discovered him and kicked themselves for not listening to him sooner.

Nobody called him fake. Nobody said he was a phony. It was all just the opposite. Everyone honestly adored him, and called him things like “genuine”, “a class act” and “the kind of man I hope my son turns out to be.”

Setting her laptop aside, Bronwyn walked to her tiny kitchen table where she’d left the tote bag Harry had given her. Slipping her hand inside, she pulled out the vinyl record and unwrapped the cellophane. Surprised to find it was a gatefold, she examined the fish-eye photos on the cover and the inside. When she pulled the record out of the sleeve, something else fell out and onto the floor. Picking it up, Bronwyn saw that it was a folded poster which she quickly opened, letting out a cackle.

“Oh my God, you’ve got to be joking!” she exclaimed, looking at the photos on either side.

Shaking her head, she placed the record on her turntable and dropped the needle. She recognised the intro to the first song, having listened to it a handful of times that weekend on Spotify. By the middle of the song, she found herself singing along to the lyrics. Then sitting down on the sofa, she inspected the poster again, the side where Harry was laid out on the floor...naked.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself.

She realised nothing was really showing. It was a tasteful pose, and his hand and thigh were covering his unmentionables. It was art, and she could respect that. But she didn’t like the way it made her feel.

Or maybe she did.

Folding the poster back up, Bronwyn slipped it back into the album sleeve and grabbed her glass of wine.

Perhaps it had been the chardonnay, or maybe the half a dozen listens to Harry’s album that had kept her awake most of the night. But nevertheless, Bronwyn was determined to do some actual work when she finally got out of bed and brushed her teeth. No thinking of Harry Styles today, nor her history with him. No listening to his music. His album was tucked away in her vinyl collection, along with that ridiculously enticing poster…

It was mid-afternoon when Bronwyn finally showered. After getting loads of work done - thanks to the promise she’d kept to herself - including some housework such as cleaning her bathroom, dusting and watering her plants, she took a nice, long, steaming shower. Slipping into a striped tee and a pair of denim overalls, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Deciding it was time for tea, she was just about to walk to the kitchen when she heard the buzzer for her building. She wasn’t expecting company, nor a package, so she was curious who rang.

“‘Ello?” she called into the intercom.

“Hi Bronwyn. It’s Harry.”

Shocked, she blurted the first word that came to mind. “Who?”

“Forgot me again already,” he laughed. “It’s Harry Styles.”

Clearing her throat, Bronwyn tried to get her bearings. “What can I do for you, Harry?”

“Well, I’d like to come in, if I may.”

“Um…” she pondered for a moment, looking around the room. It wasn’t as though he was going to walk into a mess and think her a slob or anything. She’d just cleaned, and her flat was tidy as a pin. “Okay.”

Bronwyn hesitantly pressed the button to buzz Harry into the building. Opening the door, she stepped out into the hallway, just in time to see him enter and look up at her from the bottom of the stairs. This time, he wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous in all black. Instead, he’d gone a similar route to his Tiny Desk performance, choosing a striped sweater vest, pinstripe shirt and brown trousers. He was again carrying a tote bag.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey...how did you...find out where I live?” Bronwyn asked.

“Same way I got your number.”

“Oh. Well, um...what are you doing here?”

“Well, after we parted ways yesterday, I got the feeling that something was wrong. I just couldn’t shake it, wondering what I’d done,” Harry explained, taking the stairs to meet her. “Then it dawned on me.”

Stopping at the second to top step, Harry was nearly eye level with Bronwyn. She swallowed hard as she got a hefty whiff of his cologne.

“What’s that?” she mumbled.

“One of the things I remembered most about you, when we’d originally met all those years ago...was that you loved vinyl. It was something we had in common in fact, as I was just starting to grow my own collection. So my initial thought had been to bring you a vinyl copy of my album. But I see now that that was very presumptuous of me, if not a little pretentious. Of course you wouldn’t be interested in that. You like the old stuff, the classics.”

Her knitted eyebrows relaxing, Bronwyn’s expression softened as Harry handed her the tote bag.

“Brought these for you. Thought you might like them.”

Taking the bag, Bronwyn stared incredulously at Harry before peeking inside.

“Why did you-?”

“I offended you. Clearly,” said Harry, holding up his hand. “And I apologise. It’s my peace offering.”

If you only knew…

“Um…” Bronwyn faltered again, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a cuppa.”

“Can’t stay long,” replied Harry, his lips slowly stretching into a smile. “But...that would be nice.”

With a short nod, Bronwyn turned for the doorway of her flat, Harry following. Then shutting the door behind him, she watched as his eyes perused her tiny studio apartment. There was a half wall separating her bed, a beaded curtain used for the rest of the wall. A small desk sat in the corner beside the window which was lined with plants. Beside the sofa stood her turntable, her record collection underneath. Harry took a moment to inspect it all, taking it all in whilst Bronwyn headed for the kitchen to start the kettle.

“This is really lovely, Bronwyn.”

The sound of her name from his lips made her insides jump. She looked up from the counter to see Harry walk over to the large window and gently touch the leaves of a plant.

“Thanks.”

His long legs strode across the room where he stopped and pointed to the beaded curtain and grinned.

“That is very you,” he said.

“It is?” she asked, feeling herself blush.

Harry nodded. “I reckon if I had to imagine your place, I’d picture it exactly like this.”

“Um...I’m not sure how to take that.”

His audibly pleasing laugh echoed as he walked over to the turntable.

“Do you mind?” he gestured.

“No, sure, go ahead.”

Harry grabbed the tote bag from the counter where Bronwyn had left it and pulled out the records. Choosing the Donny Hathaway Live album, he placed it gently on the turntable. As the music started, the familiar light crackling that only came from listening to vinyl, Harry turned for the kitchen, an easy smile on his face.

“I like live albums, don’t you?” he inquired.

“Sometimes.”

“It’s great because you feel like you’re there. Even when it was recorded forty years ago.”

“Hmm, yes,” Bronwyn nodded. “Except when it’s not really a hundred percent live.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Like I heard somewhere that KISS Alive! wasn’t actually all live. The producer or engineer, or maybe Gene Simmons decided some of it wasn’t clear enough, so they overdubbed it with studio clips. I don’t think some of the audience sounds were even real.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Harry pouted as he leant against the counter.

“Yeah. Still a good album though.”

“Have you listened to this one before?” he asked, pointing to the record player.

Bronwyn shook her head. “I haven’t. I like Donny Hathaway, but haven’t listened to very much of his stuff.”

“You’ll like this,” Harry declared with a nod.

Though the first song wasn’t even complete yet, Bronwyn somehow knew he was right. Not because she already liked it so far, but because she knew Harry had good taste. She remembered the scattered conversations about music they’d had that night…

The kettle whistled then, bringing her out of her reverie, and Bronwyn busied herself with preparing the tea.

“Um, how do you take it?” she called, seeing as Harry had made his way back to the turntable and was browsing through her record collection.

“Just lemon if you have it,” replied Harry, his head down as he studied an old jazz album.

Moments later, Bronwyn announced that the tea was ready and set Harry’s cup on the counter.

“Thanks,” he said. Inspecting a Linda Ronstadt record, he held it up. “This is one I need for my collection.”

“Yes you do,” Bronwyn agreed, carrying her cup and leaning against the edge of the counter. “It’s one of my absolute favourites.”

“I just fancy her in those roller skates and socks.”

Bronwyn couldn’t help but laugh. “Then you’ll also need the one where she’s on the beach and her nipples are showing.”

Turning his head, Harry gave a smirk. “Oh, I do have that one.”

“Figures.”

“Oh, here’s a gem!” Harry exclaimed, holding up a Bill Evans record. “I have this, too.”

Biting her lip, Bronwyn felt the heat rise on her neck as though Harry had just discovered a special secret.

“That’s my writing album. I play it a lot when I need inspiration. Or when I’m reading.”

“Wonderful,” Harry commented softly before returning it to the pile.

Last, he picked up a sleeve of Stevie Nicks’ album The Other Side of the Mirror.

“Another brilliant choice,” he said, noticing the item was light. “Where’s the record?”

Bronwyn frowned. “It got damaged in the move to New York. I have all of hers except that one. I’ve been meaning to replace it, but never did.”

“A shame,” Harry muttered. Then he rose from his spot on the floor. “Sorry, I guess I should drink that tea now.”

“It might be cold, do you want-”

Harry shook his head after taking a sip. “It’s fine.” Then he smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, unable to tear her eyes from his face. “Um...I don’t reckon I’ve ever had anyone in here who dove straight for my vinyls.”

The dimples dipping deeper in his cheeks, Harry looked down at his cup. “We have quite a lot in common.”

“Hmm…” Bronwyn nodded.

“Of course, I knew that when I met you.”

Grinning slightly, Bronwyn set her cup on the counter. She’d been wanting to say something, the feeling that she’d had the night before whilst listening to his album. Now with him stood in her flat, she knew she needed to say it face to face.

“Harry, I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to you yesterday.”

“Wha’?”

“When you gave me your record...I thought you were just being an arsehole celebrity plugging his work.”

“I understand, what’s why I-”

Bronwyn held up her hand. “I read the comments on my article, and so many people are fond of you, some even saying that they’ve met you and you’re the nicest person. I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions.”

“I can see how you would think-”

“Harry, just accept my apology so we can let it lie.”

Pursing his lips, Harry nodded. “Apology accepted.”

“Good.” Bronwyn brought her teacup to her lips and took a slow sip as she watched Harry step around the counter to meet her.

“Now tha’ that’s done,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper, “can we address the elephant in the room?”

Lowering her cup, Bronwyn widened her eyes. “What elephant?”

“What’s still left unsaid between us…” Harry gestured.

Bronwyn shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because...it was seven years ago. Let’s just forget it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” said Harry, his face expressionless.

Bronwyn rolled her eyes and turned for the stove, but Harry grabbed her arm.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly. “I thought you wanted...me.”

Taking a deep breath, Bronwyn blinked slowly. “I thought I did, too. I mean...I did.”

“I had a great time, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You still remember?”

“Of course,” Harry grinned, stepping around to stand in front of her. “I remember everythin’. Your musical knowledge that could rival anyone else’s I knew, the way you could hold your own and drink everybody under the table, your infectious laugh…”

Her lips spreading, Bronwyn let out a hearty chuckle.

“That’s the one,” Harry remarked. “And most of all I remember the kiss.”

“You do?”

For years that kiss had continued to haunt her dreams. It had been the most amazing, perfect kiss. Right before he’d asked her to leave with him. Before…

“Hold that thought!” Harry held up a finger before rushing into the living room.

She watched him take the record off the turntable and place it on side B, letting the needle drop. She hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped, she had been so caught off guard by Harry’s kiss comment. With a satisfied grin, he made his way back to the kitchen and stood before her again, just where he’d been.

“Where were we?” he beamed.

“Um...I dunno…” Bronwyn said, running a hand through her curls. She noticed his cologne was making her a bit dizzy. “You were saying how you remember…”

“Ah, right, the kiss.”

“You smell really nice.” It was involuntary. Word vomit. Still, Harry chuckled, making her feel warm all over.

“Thank you.”

Harry leant in, his lips nearly brushing against her skin. She could feel his breath on her. Awkwardly, she touched his wrists as he rested his hands on either side of her on the counter. He searched for her gaze as she looked down, focusing on how his hips were pressed against hers. She was certainly trapped, just as she’d been that night in the alcove. The rush of adrenaline combined with the memory, as well as his intoxicating aroma, made her light-headed. Bronwyn slid her hands up his arms, and just as she lifted her head, his lips found hers. They kissed soft and short kisses at first, until he pulled her closer and darted his tongue inside. Grabbing a fist full of his sweater, she let out a tiny whimper before releasing herself from the kiss and pushing her palms against his chest.

“No. I mean...sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry breathed.

“I just...I can’t.”

“Why not? Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. It’s not that. I just...can’t be that woman.”

“What woman?” Harry inquired, furrowing his brows.

“The one who wakes up alone in your hotel bed after a shag and you’re nowhere to be found because you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.”

“We’re in your flat, love,” Harry giggled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

With a sigh, Bronwyn pushed against him again, trying to wriggle herself free from his body. Stepping back, Harry allowed her space as he stared at her incredulously.

“This...it can’t happen, Harry,” declared Bronwyn. “I realised some things that night...that I just can’t get over.”

“What things? What happened?” Harry reached for her, but she waved him away.

“Please. I really would rather not talk about it. It would just...it’s too painful.”

Harry tilted his head. “But love, if we don’t talk about it, how can I-”

“I think you should go.”

“Bronwyn-”

She lowered his head, trying her best not to cry. “Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Alright.”

Bronwyn stood frozen in the kitchen as Harry made his way toward the door. Donny Hathaway continued to serenade, punctuating the scene when Harry stopped and turned around.

“The number I called you from...that’s my personal cell,” he offered. “If...you decide you wanna talk, you can call me. Or text me. I’ll be all ears.”

Bronwyn nodded, looking down at her hands. Harry opened the door and held it open as he looked at her again.

“I really hope you do, Bronwyn. I mean...no pressure, but…” Harry paused with another sigh, “I’d really like to finish that kiss.”

With that, Harry stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving Bronwyn in the kitchen with the first of many tears to wet her cheeks.

20 August, 2013 - London, England, UK

Her entire body was on fire. She didn’t remember ever being this turned on. Not that she had a lot of experience, but...well she’d had enough. But this...this was different.

His lips had moved from hers to her neck, nibbling seductively as she tried to keep her balance against the wall of the alcove. His right hand that had been at her waist had made its way to her bum where it cupped her and urged her to lift her thigh.

“Harry…” she breathed.

His wet mouth traveled to her ear then where he whispered her name.

“Leave with me,” he requested.

“What?”

“Come with me to my hotel. Stay with me tonight.”

With a quiet yes and moan of agreement, Bronwyn turned her head to meet his lips once again.

“Let me um…” she stammered, “I need to get my bag and camera. Meet me...by the lifts? Fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded as he stood straight, adjusting himself. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Tugging on her dress, Bronwyn gave him a sexy smile before a quick peck on the lips.

“See you soon,” she murmured, heading down the hall.

Finding her camera quickly, she took a trip to the loo to freshen her makeup and get her bearings. Looking in the mirror, she saw a right mess staring back at her.

“Oh Bronwyn, look at you,” she tsked. “You already looked absolutely fucked.”

Applying just a touch of cosmetics, she finger-combed her hair the best she could, trying to tame the frizzies and lift the flat parts. Then after a tiny spritz of perfume, she stood back and examined herself.

She’d never been terribly fond of her body. In fact, she’d always thought herself fat. But tonight...she felt pretty, beautiful even. Harry made her feel that way. He’d even whispered how he found her sexy whilst they’d made out in the alcove. And if someone like him wanted to sleep with her...well, she couldn’t be all bad.

Dropping her lipstick in her bag, Bronwyn slung it over her shoulder and pushed the bathroom door open. Halfway down the hall, towards the lifts, she heard voices. Slowing her steps, she came to a large door that was ajar. Peeking inside, she saw a circle of boys, and quickly recognised them as Harry and his bandmates. Harry seemed to have his back to her, and she couldn’t make out their words. That is, until she heard her name.

28 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

12:13 AM. Bronwyn kept clicking the button on her phone to check the time. She’d been doing that for the last forty-five minutes. Perhaps it was too late to call. He might be asleep.

But maybe not.

She didn’t like the feeling in her stomach. It turned and flipped like one of those children’s toys with the water inside. After Harry’d left, she’d let herself cry on her bed until she’d fallen asleep. When she’d risen, she’d barely eaten a few crackers and cheese before settling on a glass of wine and some tunes.

Eyeing the tote bag on the counter, Bronwyn had pulled out the other vinyl Harry had brought her. It was Wings - Back To The Egg. While she was a fan of Paul McCartney and had several of his albums, this was one of a few she’d been missing. The notion that Harry would have known that was ludicrous, but it warmed her heart just the same.

After listening to the entire album, and then the Donny Hathaway one again, Bronwyn had resolved that she might have been an idiot. Maybe Harry wasn’t a phony. Maybe she didn’t hate him anymore. And maybe...just maybe...she actually kind of liked him.

Pressing the button one last time, she unlocked her phone, finding Harry’s number easily. Her head and heart pounded as she heard it ring.

“Hi.”

Bronwyn thought she might throw up as she swallowed hard. “Hi.”

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t either.”

Eeeek! What do you think happened??

Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[duckprintspress]

August Releases from Duck Prints Press

August has seen us releasing several new works – a short story on our webpage, four more short stories on our Patreon, and an original artwork on Patreon. Have you been considering backing our Patreon as part of the August Patreon drive but weren’t sure what you’d get? Read on for some examples of the awesomeness available to backers – or, if backing on Patreon isn’t your cup of tea, pop over to our website and buy a copy of our latest short story release!

New Patreon backers during the month of August may claim freebie Duck Prints Press merchandise worth up to $5! Read all about this promotion in this blog post: https://duckprintspress.com/2024/08/01/duck-prints-press-needs-you-become-a-patron-get-a-freebie-reblog-enter-a-giveaway/

(read more!)

New Art

Artist: Zel Howland Title: Chrysopoeia

In this beautiful, haunting piece, the multi-talented Zel Howland created an artwork entitled Chrysopoeia to accompany their short story of the same name.

Viewing Access ($5/month and $7/month backers) | Print-Suitable Download Access ($10/month and $25/month backers)

-

New General Imprint Titles

Author: Willa Blythe Title: Tincture of Clarity

Modern with Magic, M/M Rivals to Lovers, Magical Tea Shop Setting. An Add Magic to Taste bonus story!

Teaser: Restaurant Week had never been a good week for Steep—not once in the six years since Emery had opened his beloved little tea shop. Every year they scraped by, struggling to get passersby to darken the doors for promises of royal tea and creamed scones and magical teapots. None of that appealed to the young and vibrant community Emery had found here, beyond the people who always came to see him, special Restaurant Week offerings or none.

Available to all Patreon backers!

-

Author: Lyonel Loy Title: Rabbit, Run

Fantasy, Family and Found Family, The Children of War Find Peace

Teaser: Soraya is nine years old, and Zhengyi her oldest living brother is fifteen, when the world rises against their father at last.

“Follow the road,” Zhengyi says. He has taken off his demon war-helm to kiss them goodbye; someone else’s blood stains his face and his armor. “It will take you to your mother’s keep; they will shelter you there. Don’t leave the road, and don’t stop for anyone or anything. I’ll make sure no one follows.”

Available to $25/month Patreon backers!

-

Author: Genevieve Maxwell Title: Bubbles and Butterflies

Fluffy Modern F/F Meet-Cute

Teaser: Jill was surprised when she heard the door open behind her right after she exited. The woman who had been in front of her in line was leaving as well. Jill had noticed earlier that she was pretty, but it struck her now that not only was this woman adorable, she was incredibly attractive. When she saw Jill looking, she grinned and raised her hand in a wave. Jill smiled tentatively back and turned toward her.

“Looks like we’re headed the same way,” said the woman.

Available to all Patreon backers!

-

New Explicit Imprint Titles

Author: YF Ollwell Title: LA Photographs Itself

Historical First-Person Point of View M/M One-Night Stand

Teaser: It was something about the way Pax dropped the robe that made me realize there was no Playgirl test-shoot after all. He looked over his shoulder in a move he must have picked up from some femme fatale as I considered the pale shape of his spine and the bad stunt scar that sat just above the cleft of his ass… and he grinned.

“Okay, Martin,” he said in a voice barely suppressing a giggle, “I’m ready for my pin-ups.”

Available on our website for $1.99!

-

Author: Terra P. Waters Title: Dancing for the King

Fantasy M/M Deity/Worshiper Size Difference. Stand-alone story set in the same ‘verse as The Wayward Timekeeper.

Teaser: Five years ago, when Andelion was 16, he had won the lottery at his school and was given the privilege of, as part of the ceremony, carrying the Book through the temple to where Tenemor sat on a dais. As Andelion had gotten his first close-up look at the god-king, he had been awestruck. Tenemor was of giant stature; his crown soared three yards up. The king’s skin was unnaturally pale, gray, and death-like, nothing like Anavita’s deep, soil-toned brown skin. Nothing like the medium-brown skin that Andelion and his family members all had. And his eyes! Andelion had fallen into those gray-brown eyes, irreparably changed.

In that moment, Andelion decided he would join Tenemor’s harem and become one of the few mortals the god-king loved.

Available to $7/month, $10/month, and $25/month Patreon backers!

[vorenado-m]

happy disability pride month! please consider helping me take back my life as a disabled person!

the TL;DR is that for the last 3 months i have had an absolutely soul-sucking miserable minimum wage retail job that, due to the way scheduling works (and the app being broken as fuck) has prevented me from having access to literally any of the life-saving mental health/medical care i need as a disabled person.

my disability is best managed through a combination of medication, therapy, and casework-- not a single one of which i have had since march! :) contextually, up until i got this job, i took three daily medications and had casework once a week and therapy once or sometimes twice a week. these services are offered at an affordable cost to me through a local organization that is threatening to close my case due to lack of participation.

ill make another, more detailed post later with some of the services i can offer for money (i draw! i code! i write!) but until then here is a code you can scan if you have a few dollars to spare:

there are more details beneath the cut (idk about you guys but im kinda nosy so i wrote some more stuff in case anyone else is also nosy) but thats the gist of it. you can also always ask for details. i dont have a therapist right now so it might feel good to say things.

my plan is as follows: i would like to take the month of july more or less "off" from work to get my affairs in order, starting with scheduling appointments for therapy and casework and getting back on my meds. i am actively looking for a job, but i would like the ability to be somewhat picky instead of applying everywhere i think might have me for the sake of having money coming in to pay rent.

for the last two years i have made less than $800/mo and i can survive on roughly $600-$650 a month. my july rent ($550) is paid and my august rent (at least $500) is most likely also squared away, through a combination of some cash i was hoarding, a previous donation, my last expected paychecks from my current job, and my brother generously offering to cover whatever is left over. the extra $100ish is for roughly a months supply of the food that is part of my daily routine that i get cranky without (i have tea every morning, for instance.)

i have a fantastic roommate who is not struggling as much financially who will do everything in her power to make sure i have access to staple foods (rice, eggs, etc) so i really just need to buy the things only i consume (kimchi, milk, etc.) there is a food bank i go to, so i am not worried about food, but i can only go to it once per month. we have a barter system where i trade her the things i dont want from the food bank and she buys me things i will eat; alternatively, i sometimes give her things i get from the food bank (eg meat) that she turns into meals for both of us.

i live independently/"alone" with roommates and do not have support from my family pretty much at all. they have never been particularly useful for emotional support and have openly denied me financial support since i was a teenager. moving in with them/getting help from them/talking to them is not an option.

i have emailed my caseworker at the mental health organization i work with as well as my caseworker with the disability vocational program i work with to help me find a new job that is "back of house" and requires less customer interaction. i did this over the weekend, so i expect to hear back from them sometime this week. in the meantime, i am searching for jobs on my own in places like indeed, jobhat, careerbuilder, etc. as well as checking company websites of places like chain grocery stores to see what is available in my area.

my job pool is a bit limited due to the fact that i cannot drive (due to both my disability and the medication im supposed to be taking for it) but i am very well-versed at taking the bus, which is free. getting to and from work is not a concern for me; it is being able to do the job without being driven to the edge of a mental breakdown that is the problem.

the disability vocational program is my ticket out of poverty! last month i had a follow-up evaluation (i had to call out of work for it, but frankly i was at the end of my rope then too) where they approved my career goals as a web developer and we are in the process of deciding what my next steps are! the program will likely (depending on what route i take) help pay for vocational training, too, but i obviously have to pay rent while in training. which i think i can do if i have a job that doesnt make me want to die.

i have some other things that make my life a bit harder (im mixed race, i am nonbinary + gay, etc) but i would say those things dont really impact my ability to get a job as much as the disability does LOL which is why i did not feature them prominently in this post. like, the reason i cant get a job isnt because people dont want to hire me because i have blue hair and pronouns, its because im obviously disabled.

if you have any other questions, no matter how intrusive you think they might be, feel free to send a DM or an ask, and i will try to answer.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 1.4 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: VLAD]

“You’re really not going to move any of your stuff in or sleep here?” William demands as he storms into the study room. 

“And deprive you of the joy of having a room to yourself?” 

“Don’t try to turn this shit back on me.”

Bemused, Vlad takes a sip of his coffee. He would prefer a mocha, but there’s no way he’s trekking over to the Commons. “You don’t even want to sleep here.”

“Yes, but that’s because graduate housing is…” William glances around the dorm, his disdain clear, "I’ve stayed in nicer hotels.” 

“I see you’ve spent the morning with your family.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

William knows what it means, just like he knows that Vlad prefers living at home and the bliss of not sharing a space with random sims who talk and breathe in ways that annoy him. He only sleeps in the dorm when he’s too drunk to get himself back to Henford-on-Bagley. 

“Maybe I would like a little companionship,” William grumbles, “Maybe I want to spend time with my best friend while we enjoy our last year of freedom.”

“But then where would you bring your non-Christopher boyfriends?” Vlad smiles, “In fact, it's lunchtime. Shouldn’t Vaea be on his way here?” 

“And what about you?” William snaps, ignoring the question. “There isn’t a single speck of free space in that entire compound you call a home, assuming you could find a sim willing to take the train to the countryside for a hook-up.”

Vlad doesn’t do hook-ups. He barely likes to be touched. Most of the time, masturbation suits him just fine. His ex was confused about this. Fuifui took great pride in being his first until he discovered that Vlad didn’t attach any morality to sex; he simply hated most sims so much he could never quiet his mind down.

“William, bringing my delightful brand of friendship to strangers is low on my priority list.” 

“Well, this is our last year of law school, Vladislaus. You are supposed to be meeting strangers, living it up, having fun.” 

Vlad wasn’t a hermit by any stretch of the definition. He let William drag him to any number of social activities. But it wasn’t his preference. He was better when he was alone.

“The Volkovs were wrong,” William continues, reading Vlad’s mind in a way that is only possible when you’ve been friends since the 5th grade. “You are fit for public consumption.”

Actually, Fuifui and his adopted family were far more specific than that. Their exact words were that Vlad lacked a conscience and a heart. The first part was accurate, but the second part? 

The second part filled Vlad with an unending desire to flay open his chest and see if it was true.

“Quit being so difficult and put yourself out there,” William scolds, “You don’t need to study, so you might as well use your time for something.”

“I could plan your wedding,” Vlad quips as he returns the book he was reading to the shelf. Truthfully, he just wants to rile William up so he can secretly check his phone. 

There’s no reason to admit it yet, but he is putting himself “out there.” Judging by the available profiles on Cupid’s Corner, though, it’s a wasted effort. 

The app loves to tout its “secret algorithmic formula”—and yes, Vlad read the entire website. The urge to read every single detail on a topic is one he can’t often subdue. But clearly, the algorithm is broken. Every single sim on this app is insufferable except—

Vlad’s finger hovers over the message button. There are a million things wrong with this profile that should send him screaming—typos, misspellings, terrible grammar. But her username makes it seem like she’s daring him to bring up even one of her faults, and Watcher helps him; he likes it. 

Her real name is Alice, and the title of her bio is “Nothing to see here folks!” Instead of describing her hobbies and university major, she just lists her top ten Tea and Treachery hot takes. 

Vlad fires off a message and grins when he gets an immediate response. 

“Are you even listening?” William cries. “I asked if you had nightmares.”

“I slept fine,” Vlad murmurs, focusing on crafting the perfect reply to Alice’s challenge.

Finally, he looks up from his phone to find William staring at him strangely.

“You know I don’t dream,” Vlad sighs. “Never have. Probably never will.”

(not for nothing but I love this dorm built by @bojanastarcevic and idc if makes my sims pay like $3000 a semester for tuition)

PREV | NEXT

[qdrex]

TCDO ep 2

I woke up to the sound of a kettle with boiling water. It could already be heard upstairs.

-Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you serious? It's already eight o'clock!

-Good morning, Dark... Wait, eight? Today is Wednesday, right?

-Yeah, that means you'll be late for work again. Want me to make you some tea? - asked Dark, drinking a slice of bread with strong coffee.

-No thanks... - I rubbed my head - Or you know what, you can actually...

-So what? What are you dressing up as?

-Hmm? What do you mean? - I asked, taking a sip of hot tea.

-We're going to the Halloween party, Cho! This Friday. Don't tell me you forgot?

-Ah... Well, yes. Sorry.

-Chosen...

-What?

-You keep forgetting everything.

-I know... I'm sorry. I guess it's because of stress...

-Do you need a massage?

-What? -I giggled.

-I'm serious.

-I mean... - I rubbed my head - it's actually not the worst idea.

-Then lie down -Dark pointed to the couch.

-Now? Okay.

I lay down comfortably on the sofa and closed my eyes.

-Just don't kill me.

-I'll do my best.

Dark gently lifted my shirt and placed his hands on my back. His touch was unique: warm, confident and pleasant.

He gently moved his fingers over my skin, squeezing it lightly.

-Mmm... Could you do it a little harder...?

-Haha.. You sound like you're in seventh heaven. Sure, I can.

Then he applied a little more strength, so I could feel his touch better. From time to time I let out a long but quiet moan of satisfaction, to which Dark responded with a short laugh.

-Someone's feeling good here, huh?

-Oh, shut up... - I laughed.

After about a few more minutes of the massage, I stood up and started getting dressed for work. What an irony, I had just been massaged by Dark, which is exactly what my job is - a masseur.

I don't earn much, but at least it's enough for us. Dark still can't find a job, and it probably will stay that way.

I'm so glad there are a lot of hollow heads in town. Thanks to this, I don't have to hide behind a hood every time and pretend that I am someone other than the famous "The Chosen One". Because that's what others know me by. In our free time, Dark and I are cyber criminals to de-stress. We destroy websites, we kill innocent beings. Maybe it's brutal, and I'm not too fond of it, but that's how it is. Anyway, it's not my decision, it's Dark's.

I finally got to work. It's time to do the work, not think about other things.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Lady C Tea YouTube 1/4/23 (a few nuggets paraphrased by me) by u/daisybeach23

Lady C Tea YouTube 1/4/23 (a few nuggets paraphrased by me) Greetings from Castle Goring,Lady C, did you know that Saint Meghan of Nothing has been given the boot by WME? I’ve been trying to say for a while now that she is on very thin ice. I don’t think she has been completely cut off from them. She is not listed on their main website (which features many A-List talents) but she is listed on their separate website for their speakers bureau. I think what people are noticing is that WME has not been able to find Megsy baby any work.Lady C reads out a comment from a viewer because she loves it so much: “Truth Hertz”Lady C, I think this is all Meghan’s idea. I think Harry would prefer to go places incognito. I think you are right. Harry thrills at the idea that paparazzi are always chasing him, but I don’t think he calls them. Lady C begins her parody of Meghan calling up a paparazzi and telling him she’ll be at a car park at 9:47am wearing stress patches and the hair of Turkish virgins.Lady C, none of this had to happen. I believe the Queen wanted Harry and Meghan to leave Royal Duties with no drama. I think they had the full support of the Queen until they started telling lies about not receiving financial support which was proven not true. I believe Charles discontinued all financial support when he realized his money was being used for PR to attack family. All of this is interestingly observed because Queen Elizabeth II was ambushed by Harry and Meghan. They did what Diana did and used public statements in the media to create scenarios for their benefit. The Queen was given 20 minutes notice before Harry and Meghan made their public announcement. The Queen wanted Harry to be happy. She did not want them to leave but told them if you want to leave, we will find a way to make it work. Harry would have gone along with the Queen’s proposal no problem, but Meghan was the one who wanted to be free of the family but also wanted her photo op moments also. And Meghan in her dumb, clack cack handed, unsophisticated, hustler style didn’t understand that what people wanted to buy was gold, stardust, glamour laced with grit. Nobody wanted their brand of trashing family and venom. She got away with trashing her own family so she thought she could get away with trashing the Royal Family. Instead, she unmasked herself.Lady C, how soon will lack of finances push them back to Buckingham Palace? It’s not really if there is a need from them, it is whether anybody wants them back. My understanding is aside from the King, nobody wants to see them. The King has hopes that a miracle will occur. He genuinely believes in God and he believes in miracles and perhaps he thinks he will be the beneficiary of one. I do not see them coming back. Not in the short term. Not knowing what is coming down the line this year. Let me put it that way. And to those of you who say that I have said things will happen that haven’t happened yet – don’t you think enough has already happened? And for those of you who are so dissatisfied that the final curtain has not fallen, a curtain is falling later this year. And no. I am not prepared to say what it is. And for those of you who say I am just spinning a yarn, what can I say? You must follow your instinct; I am not trying to convince you of anything. I do not see Harry and Meghan returning in the foreseeable future and if some have their way, not ever.Lady C affirms her opinion that Harry does not qualify as an internationally protected person. IPPLady C talks about how Meghan and Harry have deserted their paternal families. Of the maternal side she says, “It could be argued that one mother is dead and the other never lived at all. That may be too obscure. Let me put it this way. What are things that have never lived? One thing is for sure. They are pretty heartless.”Toodles Sinners!​ post link: https://ift.tt/tmjq0kf author: daisybeach23 submitted: January 06, 2024 at 05:17PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

It's Mountain March!

A new post for an old(er) fic, since I went to reblog it and it's vanished from my page?!? istg this website...

Cling to the Light (acespec ghouls <3)

Mountain and Zephyr had always known they were different from the other ghouls in the Pit so when they found each other, they clung on tight. Mountain's struggles when Zephyr is banished back to the pit, and with the new feelings he is experiencing for his pack.

Rating: M to be safe, vague allusions to sex but nothing explicit or nswf Content: grey-ace/demi mountain, asexual zephyr, dysphoria/self doubt, heats/ruts, they/them zephyr, discussion of sexual repulsion and associated dysphoria, ghouls in the Pit having unhealthy relationships with sex, character being sent back to pits, Angst, hurt/comfort Words: 4782

In hindsight, I think my writing has got better over the last few months. This fic even improved towards the end imo! But I'm still proud of this, and what it represents for me personally <3

Read below or on AO3!

Mountain and Zephyr had each always known there was something different about them. Growing up in the Pit, they had been anomalies, leading solitary lives, struggling to find connection with other ghouls. In a landscape where battles were fought, allegiances won, and futures decided with sex, they had both felt that the world they had been created in wasn’t for them. When they had seen the opportunity to claw their way topside, it had been an escape to a different life, a reset.

Life on the surface was better, granted. Here they had a purpose and safety, but more importantly they had met each other. Zephyr; slight, fragile, and shy Air ghoul that they were had initially been frightened of the solemn and hulking Earth ghoul. But they had soon come to realise quite how much they had in common with each other after many evenings of retiring to bed early once activities between the other new ghouls had begun getting heated.

Ghouls naturally seek comfort and warmth in each other, and as Mountain and Zephyr became closer, they appeared to Dewdrop, Ifrit and Aether to be developing their own relationship. Monogamous ghouls weren’t unheard of in the Pit, they were certainly a lot more common than solitary ghouls. But whatever relationship the others thought was developing behind closed doors, the reality was far tamer, and yet just as exciting for the pair.

For Mountain and Zephyr, sitting together in the den then going their separate ways each evening had slowly morphed into them staying up late reading together in the comfortable silence of Zephyr’s room, and later Mountain spending the night. In truth, it had taken a long time for either of them to feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed, let alone cuddle together as they now did each night.

Zephyr was entirely repulsed by most sexual activity. They always had been, and yet the physiology of their ghoulish body still put them through the inescapable agony of heats. These times were the worst, as in addition to the physical pain they felt a strong sense of dysphoria coupled with the lingering terror from the Pits of their scent being detected and them being hunted as a conquest.

Mountain was the only ghoul they would allow to help them through it, because he understood in a way the rest of the pack could not relate to as much as they tried. For the others, heats were still painful if ignored, but were free of the emotional pain that accompanied Zephyr’s. Mountain understood, and sought to make sure Zeph always knew that no matter how their body and mind may be betraying them by behaving differently to normal, their feelings were still valid and nothing they did during these times would change anything between them. He brought them tea to try and calm their fraught nerves, and to supress the urges of the heat they hated so much.

For Mountain, he wasn’t actively repulsed by sex in the same was Zephyr was, more just apathetic. Helping Zephyr through their heats the same way a healer would assist someone through a sickness in the infirmary. Together they had figured out what Zeph felt most comfortable with, striking a balance of what their body and mind could handle.

After Mountain’s first rut topside, he would no longer let Zeph be involved. They had offered to help him through it, but even through the haze of hormones he could tell how uncomfortable it was making them, and he had fled to his bathroom to take refuge. After a few more hours of misery, he had sheepishly emerged to ask Aether for help. Now, he knows that any of his other packmates would be more than willing to help him out, and let him direct what he needs and can tolerate.

As Mountain and Zephyr’s own connection had grown, they had eventually both become more comfortable with the other ghouls in their pack. One night after a movie in the lounge, Dewdrop, in his characteristically to-the-point manner, had asked them outright why neither had ever been interested in a physical relationship with their other packmates. After explaining their own feelings as best they could, the pack had embraced this knowledge with open arms and grown even closer as a result.

Things had been a little awkward for them as a newly summoned pack from the Pit: Dew, Aether and Ifrit had never interacted with ghouls who weren’t all over each other all the time, but they had soon come to understand each other. In the Pit, both Mountain and Zephyr had felt like anomalies, but their new pack had worked hard to rectify that feeling. After a while, the three guitarists were able to playfully tease them when they would retire to bed early to drink tea and read together. They would frequently refer to them as the pack’s old married couple, safe in the knowledge that Mountain and Zephyr knew it came only from a place of love.

A year of touring the world had also helped the pack to bond. Many a post-ritual night on the bus had ended in a pile of sleepy ghouls cuddled together in the back of the bus, all too tired to fight over bunks.

Since returning, Mountain had occasionally found himself wanting to sleep with his packmates outside of his ruts. The first time he had these feelings, he had been confused. What did it mean for his special platonic bond with Zephyr?

Zeph had, of course, been wholly supportive. They would do anything to support the pack who had given them everything they could never have dreamed of having in the pit. Even if they would never feel the same way about their packmates that they felt for each other, they found other ways to show them how much they were loved.

After many moons with his pack, Mountain had reached a point where he felt comfortable initiating sex with Ifrit, Aether or Dew, and they with him. He knew that this was how they shared their love for each other, and he was overjoyed to be finally comfortable enough in his own skin around them to be able to show them how much he loved them, in their language. Mountain sometimes still felt put on the spot midway through these encounters, but his pack had become strongly attuned to his tells for when he was uncomfortable and wanted to stop, and when he genuinely wanted to continue but wasn’t taking his own pleasure from it. In these circumstances, Mountain had emphatically explained, he just wanted to make them feel good without the pressure on himself to finish.

He had described it once to Ifrit as “like brushing your teeth or something”, in an attempt to describe it as something neither overtly positive or negative, and Ifrit had almost fallen over laughing. Mountain knew better than to be offended, even when the next day Ifrit had winked at him across the dinner table and asked if he wanted to brush his teeth after eating.

The others tried to understand as best they could, even if they didn't fully get it. The same went for Zephyr. Nowadays, they knew that Mountain was never offended to be asked, and likewise they knew to never be offended to be turned down and offered an alternative pack bonding activity.

The five packmates had found so many other ways to show their love besides intimacy, sharing interests, sweet words, even just existing in proximity to each other. Zeph had introduced everyone to ceramic painting one cold winter's afternoon when they were craving closeness from their pack. Mountain had painted a vase with flowers representing all his pack, and it was unironically Aether's favourite thing in the whole world.

The pack's close bond had been shattered when Zephyr and Ifrit were sent back to the Pit. Zephyr had been deemed too old, not befitting of the Clergy's desired image of young and active ghouls. Ifrit had ruffled too many feathers, and been removed for being too outspoken in the days after Terzo was ripped offstage. The three remaining ghouls had spent their next few days glued to each others sides, their evenings spent huddled together in the den, terrified of another knock at the door and a summons for one of them.

On yet another evening like this, Mountain has his head tucked into the space between Aether’s shoulder and neck, his legs resting across Aether’s with Dew curled up tightly in both their laps, finally sleeping. Overwhelmed by fear, sadness and a desire to be as close to what was left of his pack as possible, he had pressed his lips to Aeth’s collar bone. He had needed to feel the connection to his pack, as the pain of bonds cut loose ate away at him inside and left a hollow, empty feeling. Aether had frozen, the gentle hand rubbing soothing circles into Mountain’s back pausing in its movement.

“Hey, Sapling, we don’t have to do anything, you know we love you without any of that.”

“No, I want to.” Mountain shook his head vehemently, and entwined his tail with Aether’s like a boa constrictor. “Need to feel you. Need to know you’re still here.”

Aether turned his head to place a gentle kiss to Mountain’s forehead, humming softly. As he pulled back, Mountain tilted his head up to meet swirling violet eyes. Aether’s love and loss for his pack seemed to be radiating from them behind a film of unshed tears matching Mountain’s own, sucking Mountain into their depths as though to hold him next to his very psyche. In this moment, Mountain couldn’t ever recall feeling such a strong physical pull to his packmates before and slowly leaned in towards Aether, letting him surround all his senses.

Time seemed to slow, as Mountain pressed his rough lips to Aether’s own chapped and bitten ones. It wasn’t like the many romance novels he’d read; there were no sparks. Instead, Mountain felt something far stronger and deeper, a connection more than mere physical contact. In that moment, it felt as though their souls were intertwining, twisting together as their tails did beside them. He felt the tears in his eyes finally spill over and run down his cheeks, but the hot bitterness from before was replaced with a host of new emotions he struggled to name, all condensing to one he was familiar with though: love.

As Mountain moved to deepen the kiss, he let out a breathy noise that he almost couldn’t believe came from him. He could sense Aether’s hesitation, so he pulled back to catch his eyes once more, matching tear-tracks staining his lavender-tinted cheeks.

“I love you, my Moonlight.”

“Oh Sapling…” Aether seemed just as affected as he was, pulling the arm around Mountain tighter, trying not to jostle the sleeping ghoul in their laps. This time, Aether leaned in first, moving at a glacial pace. Mountain closed his eyes, and let himself drown in the sea of emotions once more.

The pair continued to kiss as though the world around them was ending, which wasn’t too far from the truth, until Dewdrop slowly woke from his fitful sleep and smiled to himself at his packmates. He let out a sleepy chirp, and nuzzled his head deep into the warm bodies of his packmates. Mountain broke the kiss to smile down at him and move his arm to pull him securely against his body. Pressed against Aether, with Dewdrop’s comforting weight in his lap, Mountain felt more peaceful than he had since the last Ritual.

Mountain ran the tips of his fingers up Dew’s spine, counting every vertebrae as though to check he was all still there. He tangled his hand in the hair at the nape of Dewdrop’s neck and gently scratched glamoured claws along his scalp the way he knew Dew liked. The little ghoul started up a low purr in response, which must’ve been contagious as Mountain and Aether soon also began to purr in sync. Before long, the evening turned into night and the fire burned low in the hearth, but none of the three ghouls seemed to notice as they fell asleep in a pile of sleepy kisses, soft touches and sweet words.

This was just the first of many nights the trio of ghouls spent curled into each other in front of the fire or in one of their nests, the constant need to touch and know the others were there becoming more desperate over time. Mountain didn’t fully understand where this newfound desire had come from. It felt to him as though his close bond with his packmates was overflowing, that he had to let it out or it would burn him up inside.

After a few weeks, it had become clear that no one else was at imminent risk of being returned to the pit. One of the more respected Cardinals, who had long shown interest in the activities of the Ghost project, had taken over as figurehead and he appeared to have ambitious plans. Aether, Mountain and Dewdrop had already had a few rehearsals with him, trying out new songs, so it seemed their positions were safe for now.

Cardinal Copia had big plans, bigger than Terzo, even. He had announced his intentions early on to introduce live backing vocals, multiple sets of keyboards, and to hold even larger Rituals. Mountain had been sceptical, there had never been this many ghouls in the project, and what did this mean for a pack dynamic? Aether and Dew had been more keen, although Mountain suspected this was in part due to Dew’s switch to lead guitar – he was half fire ghoul after all – and the Cardinal encouraging their playful bickering, suggesting they bring their regular antics to live performances, too.

In the end, it turned out Copia was equally worried that too many new ghouls would fail to integrate into the pack if summoned simultaneously. It would seem that he had had many conversations with the previous Papas about ghoul pack dynamics, and he was keen to ensure his ghouls were as happy topside as they could be. He had even made a point of apologising for the Clergy’s actions regarding Ifrit and Zephyr, and he had seemed sincere. Plans were therefore made to stagger the summoning of new ghouls.

First, a new water ghoul was summoned. They had all agreed that a new bass player was their priority for rehearsals. The night of the next full moon, with torrential rain pounding against the windows of the Abbey, they had gathered in the summoning chambers. Cardinal Copia had spoken the required spells and incantations and a slender, cobalt-skinned water ghoul had clawed their way out of the pits. Even hunched naked on the floor, his eyes darting around in suspicion and sharp fangs bared, the ghoul had exuded a lissom gracefulness.

He was beautiful, Mountain had to admit. This was apparent to all of them, but none more so that to Dewdrop. He had immediately been fascinated by the pretty new water ghoul, the pair spending hours together down at the lake each day. A week into being topside, he was well on his way to integrating into the little pack, bonding with Aether and Mountain too. Mountain had invited him to the greenhouse one afternoon and, beneath his initially prickly exterior, the water ghoul seemed to be a sweet and somewhat shy ghoul. Mountain could however attest to overhearing much evidence to the contrary from Dewdrop’s room late at night.

Seeing how quickly and closely the two had bonded had sparked something within Mountain that felt partly like jealousy, partly still grief from losing Zephyr and Ifrit, but also something like… guilt? He understood for the first time just how much Dewdrop and Aether had lost, losing Ifrit. Mountain found himself feeling conflicted every whenever he spent time with Rain, and pulling away from physical contact with Dew and Aether again.

It didn’t take long for Aether to notice something was up, his quintessence deeply attuned to the emotions of his packmates. One evening, when Mountain had excused himself immediately after dinner, Aether had hunted him down to Zephyr’s old room to find out exactly what was bothering him.

“Mount? Can I come in?” Aether knocked gently. He was met with a non-committal grunt, so let himself in. He found Mountain curled up in one of Zeph’s old hoodies, knees tucked up inside it.

“Oh Sweetheart…” he moved to the bed to scoop Mountain into his arms. “It’s ok to still miss them, you know.”  

Mountain nodded silently, letting Aether rock him gently from side to side. After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke,

“Was it even real?”

“Was what real, Sapling?”

“Everything! With Zeph… I never had the kind of relationship with them that I do now with you and Dew, but you did with Ifrit. I miss Zeph so much every day that it feels like I’m drowning, but how can I even understand how much more you and Dew must miss Ifrit when you had a real relationship with him?”

“Mountain, listen to me.” Aether tried his best to keep his voice even, even as Mountain’s words made his heart break for the ghoul.

“What you had was real, as real as any relationship I’ve ever seen. You and Zeph were two halves of a whole, you had a deeper relationship than any I could ever hope to understand. Whatever relationship you have now with me and Dew doesn’t devalue what you had with Zeph in any way. It’s different but it’s not any more special.”

Mountain sniffed, burying his face tighter into Aether’s side,

“I miss them so much, Aeth.”

“I know, Sapling.”

The pair stayed curled around each other until Mount was all cried out, and fell asleep the same way.

Next on Copia’s list of summons had been a new air ghoul. This was the summoning they were the most worried about – unlike Rain this ghoul would be a direct replacement of one of the original pack. They had discussed summoning an air ghoul last, however the ritual to summon a multi-element ghoul was by far the most complex and took the longest to prepare, so it had made more sense to summon them last instead.

The first surprise of the summoning was the appearance of a ghoulette. Only once before had the Ghost project had a ghoulette amongst their ranks: they were notoriously resistant to being summoned against their will. The second surprise had been the second ghoulette clinging to the first, a veritable stowaway. It was quickly revealed that the ghoulettes were Mates in the pit and, having heard of the topside activities of the Ministry, had made it their goal to be summoned.

Aether had initially taken the lead on welcoming the ghoulettes, sensing Mountain’s hesitation. It was impossible to ignore the similarities between the new ghoulettes and Zephyr, from their icy blonde hair to the graceful way they held themselves. However, it had soon become apparent that while they were visually similar, the ghoulettes were both very different from Zephyr and each other in personality, and Mountain had made more of an effort to bond with them. This, along with the inherent independence of the ghoulettes and Rain’s fast bond with Dew had been a blessing for Aether, it didn’t take much to see just how tired he was from his self-imposed role in charge of integrating the new pack.

Cirrus, the taller of the two ghoulettes, was outwardly the most confident. She had broken through Mountain’s barriers almost immediately, dragging him out on walks to explore the grounds of the Abbey and asking a million questions about the nature around them. While reluctant at first, Mountain quickly recognized a kindred spirit in their respect for the topside world around them. He found her presence deeply calming, and Mountain grew to consider his afternoons incomplete without them sharing tea in his greenhouse, sometimes with Rain joining them as well.

Mountain had taken longer to bond with Cumulus. While she had appeared to be the shyer of the two at first, once she realised Copia wasn’t about to send her or Cirrus back to the pit she had opened up and become more confident. Mountain was a little intimidated by the short ghoulette: she spoke a million words a minute, and was filled with an enthusiasm for the mundane that Mountain often didn’t feel up to reciprocating. The benefit of this however was her ability to pull Aether out of his shell. Mountain had no idea how she had managed it, but Cumulus’ infectious optimism was able to relax the increasingly shy and withdrawn Aether in a way no other packmate had succeeded in. Mountain had first-hand caught her, and later also Cirrus, slinking into his room late at night to help with just that.

However as the weeks passed and the newly summoned ghouls bonded more and became closer with his original packmates, Mountain found himself feeling more alone once more. He missed Zephyr’s simple comfort more now than ever, and their quiet evenings together just existing in the same space. It hurt to see the others enjoying the same closeness he so deeply mourned. It was especially clear between Dewdrop and Rain where the two seemed to orbit around each other, each on their own path but guided by tremendous forces beyond their comprehension. This time when Mountain began to withdraw again, it was Dewdrop who sought him out.

Mountain was working in the Abbey gardens, when he heard light footsteps padding his way. Looking up, he saw blond hair blowing in the breeze and Dew picking his way through the maze of flowerbeds towards him, clutching a thermos and two mugs.

“Hey Sprout.” He plopped to the ground, cross-legged next to where Mountain knelt, looking at him with his head tilted expectantly. Mountain, sensing this was more than just a casual chat, put down his trowel and also folded his long limbs into a more comfortable position. He accepted the steaming mug from Dew, inhaling the comforting scent.

“Nice to see you out here Droplet, what’s up?”

“Why are you hiding from me and Aeth?” Dewdrop was blunt and to the point, as ever. Mountain sighed into his tea as Dew tilted his head to the side, questioning.

“I’m not avoiding you-” he started, going silent again at the cut the crap look on Dew’s face. “I’m not trying to avoid you?” he suggested instead.

“You don’t even join us all for dinner anymore! Aeth’s been really struggling, and he doesn’t need to worry about you too.”

Mountain hung his head. He knew Aether had been finding the changes difficult, but he thought he’d been feeling better, he didn’t think he had been adding to his stress.

“I’m so sorry Dewbug, I’ve been trying to protect you all from me being so down all the time, and I’ve just made things worse.”

“Oh Sprout, you know you can always talk to us right?” Dew crawled towards him on his knees to wrap him in a hug. “I know how much you miss Zephyr.” Mountain leant his head down on top of Dew’s, comforted by the heat radiating from the smaller ghoul.

“How do you do it, Dew? How have you let Rain in so quickly, when Zeph and Ifrit’s rooms still smell like them and their voices still echo through the den?”

“I don’t think I ever had a choice, Mount. It’s like I was pulled to Rain by a siren’s call, like the second I saw him there in the summoning circle this door opened in my heart to let him in. I never had to think about it, it was so easy.”

“As easy as breathing, right?” sighed Mountain, pulling his arms tighter around Dew, neither noticing or caring as the damp of the grass soaked through their jeans. “That was Zeph…”

“I miss Iffie every day, but it’s not like the hole he left in my heart has gone away or healed, more that it’s grown space for another.” Dew fiddled absently with one of the rings in his ear. “The more acute pain might be healing, but there will always be a hole.”

Mountain hummed in agreement, gently rocking the pair back and forth but careful not to spill the remainders of their cooling tea.

“I am happy for you, you know” Mountain ventured after a while. “You and Rain. It’s like your souls have linked already, you’re good for each other.”

“Like you and Zeph.” Dew looked up at Mountain with wide and sincere eyes, “I saw it. You were soulmates. No one’s expecting you to ever be okay about it.”

Mountain made another noncommittal noise of affirmation. “I’m am sorry for acting so jealous though, just because I miss what you have.”

Dew shrugged, “Don’t sweat it Mount, I’d have been far worse if our positions were flipped.” He chuckled drily, before silence stretched between them again.

Mountain drained the rest of his tea and refilled it from the thermos. “Tell me about Rain, Dew? Tell me how he makes you feel, why you love him?”

“Who said anything about love?” Dew’s cheeks gained a slight coral tint, which he shook his hair to disguise.

Mountain levelled him with a look, eliciting a small giggle from Dew before he began talking.

“Well…”

That evening, once the sun had set and Mountain and Dew had finally traipsed back inside to find dry clothes and warm food, Mountain had set out to locate Aether and forcibly extract him from whatever task he was overworking himself with. He had found him in Copia’s office, going over the paperwork for the summoning request for the final new ghoul. Mountain had nodded politely at the Cardinal, grabbed Aether by the hand, and silently pulled him from the room, his tail coming up to bat the pen from his hand.

Mountain led him back to the den, tugging him through the corridors, not letting go until they reached the door to Mountain’s room. He looked back at Aether, unspoken question clear in his eyes. Aether nodded, and Mountain held the door open for Aether to enter. Mountain moved to sit in the pile of furs of his nest, and beckoned Aether to join him. He pulled Aether into his chest, gently knocking their horns together and entwining their tails.

“What’s all this about, Grasshopper?” Aether was the first to break the silence.

“You work too hard Aeth, you need a break. I’m sorry I’ve been so checked out, I promise I’ll be here for you and the pack from now on.”

“I’m fine, I just–”

Mountain cut him off with a small, chaste kiss. Aether looked up, violet eyes meeting green, and Mountain offered him a small smile in return.

“Enough, my dear Evening Primrose. We’re pack, even if I haven’t acted like it recently. But that means we share our burdens, and you’ve been carrying them all. Let me take care of you, now.”

As Mountain drifted off to sleep that night, with a purring Aether still wrapped in his arms, he felt at peace for the first time in months. He had pack who loved him, and he had purpose in loving them. The rest could follow.

With the summoning of the new ghouls, Mountain hadn’t felt the physical pull to them that he did to his existing packmates. Even now, that still grew and fluctuated day by day. However, he had come to realise that the biggest difference between these new summonings and his own was that there was no longer a feeling of wrongness. He understood that he didn’t feel that attraction right now, he possibly never would, but now he could explain things in time.

This time, he knew how deeply he was loved, and how deeply he could love, even if it wasn’t in the way that was initially expected of him. And now he understood that no new love could ever replace or invalidate his bond with Zephyr; each of his relationships with his packmates are as different as the ghouls themselves are. He will never forget Zephyr, the wounds of their banishment may never fully heal. However his love for them will always remain a fundamental truth, regardless of their separate futures or if their paths ever cross again.

And if he starts to feel something for the handsome new multighoul… well, he knows that if he leans into those feelings, his heart can only grow bigger.

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA Fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] || Also on AO3 and my personal website

Chapter 6: I live alone, I look to die alone

It was the first time since Emma’s death that Gertrude didn’t feel she needed to worry about how long she was away from the Archives.

She had begun to suspect in recent years that the key, or keys, to the Watcher’s Crown lay somewhere within the statements and files in her charge, and that Elias knew it as well, so whenever she was gone, she always found herself rushing rather to try and get back as quickly as possible. Jurgen Leitner living beneath the Institute, something she had no intention of telling either Tim or Gerard about, meant at least there was someone keeping an eye on it, but good Lord, the man was a coward of legendary proportions, and she wouldn’t put it past him to run if Elias threatened him. The sorts of things Elias was likely capable of—especially if her theory was correct—would truly be a fate worse than death to someone who had, inadvertent though it may have been, caused as much harm as Leitner had, so maybe it wasn’t wholly unwarranted.

Still, it had been a long time since she’d left someone behind she could really rely on, and she was going to take full advantage of Tim’s offer to handle things. He had a good mind, and his background in publishing—not to mention his acting talent—meant that he could produce incredibly bland, uninformative reports, whether they had a hidden report or not. At first she’d wondered if he was lying about how well things were going, but the fact that she’d received a slightly more excited report that the fancy computer Elias had initially installed in the Archives had caught fire, and that interspersed in that particular report was the hidden message It took all the digital records but only some of the false paper ones, told her that he was actually handling things well.

She’d pretended annoyance, but secretly been pleased, that he had attached a requisition form for an upgraded fire suppressant system in the Archives rather than wait for her to get home. Even if she wouldn’t be able to chase up on it until her return, it was good to get the ball rolling while she wasn’t distracted by immediate concerns.

The problem, as days stretched into weeks and weeks gave way to months, was how little she had found. Again and again there would be a tantalizing hint—here a whiff of something that might be the Stranger, there an incident involving a circus, everywhere the niggling sense that there was something to Know around the next corner—and again and again she would be disappointed. The potential for the Stranger in Paris had turned out to be a rather nasty bit of Corruption; the circus in New Zealand had yielded nothing but an avatar of the Flesh that very much did not consider her a friend but at the very least respected or feared her enough not to consider her food.

The farmer might have considered it a memorial to Toby, but she had looked at the smooth, cold grey concrete and felt a twinge of mourning for Adelard.

Their trip to the United States had been worse, because she felt the Stranger’s presence. More than once she’d heard faint, distant calliope music, but when she went out to investigate, it was always gone before she was able to pinpoint it. She’d even tried ignoring it for two nights before going out to catch it off-guard, but it seemed to know she was coming. Or she was hallucinating. It was possible—she wanted to find the Unknowing, and badly, and she was surprised at how much she wanted to believe it wasn’t in England—but not probable. More than likely the Stranger was taunting her.

At least, Gertrude thought, sipping pensively at the weak, lukewarm excuse for tea she’d got from the station shop, at least they had eliminated some things. The files she’d had Xiaoling pull for her, which would hopefully meet her in Washington instead of following one step behind her all around the world—the last thing she wanted was them going through the Institute—should illuminate details of the Risen War, and a part of her looked forward to being able to tell Tim he was wrong in the best way…or possibly right in the best possible way. And while they had certainly found more evidence of the Hunt’s power building in the wide open spaces at the middle of the United States, she was inclined towards Gerard’s theory that it wasn’t actually interested in completing its ritual.

Speaking of Gerard…

She jerked her tea out of the way as he twitched in his sleep next to her and frowned at him. It seemed as though he was having an incredibly unpleasant nightmare; while he wasn’t crying out—she’d never heard him do so—he was thrashing about, almost but not quite as though he was fighting something off. He was facing away from her, so she couldn’t tell if it was in fear or desperation or determination. She probably ought to wake him, but she also didn’t want to get hurt. After a moment’s deliberation, she took off her heavy woolen coat and draped it over him, hoping the weight would comfort him.

It seemed to work. After a few moments, the movements settled and stilled. Gertrude nodded to herself and took another sip of the tea, but before she could lose herself in her thoughts again, Gerard spoke in a hoarse, half-choked voice. “Fuck.”

“It’s all right, Gerard,” Gertrude said calmly. She was trying to stay out of his head, more because she didn’t want to lean too much into the Ceaseless Watcher unnecessarily than out of any kind of respect for his privacy, but she assumed he was either disturbed by the nightmare or embarrassed at having had it in public. “There’s no one about, and you didn’t hurt anyone.”

Gerard didn’t reply, simply struggled to a sitting position. Gertrude watched him out of the corner of her eye. He normally kept his emotions close to his chest, but there was no disguising the mingled hurt and resignation on his face, just for a moment, before he got himself under control. She pondered for a moment, then decided to give sympathy a try. She wasn’t great at it anymore, but she could make the effort.

“You’re safe,” she said in as reassuring a voice as she could. “It was only a nightmare.”

“I wish,” Gerard mumbled. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple slowly.

Gertrude noticed, with some surprise, that his fingers were trembling, ever so slightly. “A memory, then.”

Gerard started to shake his head, then winced and stopped with a faint groan. “Ugh. Do you have any aspirin or anything?”

“I’m afraid not.” It was, perhaps, an unpardonable oversight, but Gertrude rarely needed medications or painkillers, so she never thought to pick any up. “Do you not have any?”

“Took my last ones last night.”

“Well, there must be a shop somewhere in the station.” Gertrude glanced at the departure board. “And our train doesn’t leave for another hour.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Gerard started to stand, then fell back into his seat, his face somehow even paler than usual. He clutched at the armrest as if for support. “Give me a minute.”

Gertrude wasn’t one to worry. At least not about mundane things. The end of the world, the ascendancy of one of the Fourteen, the machinations of the Web—all of those were valid things to worry about. She rarely paid attention to petty concerns like holidays, or birthdays, or physical ailments, not even her own and especially not anyone else’s. Gerard could have walked into their rooms holding his own severed leg and she wouldn’t have cared beyond making sure it didn’t make him the keystone of a ritual. But it did occur to her that Gerard had had rather a lot of headaches lately, and that he seemed to be in a significant amount of pain.

Her first, selfish thought was that the Distortion was stalking them, that it was tormenting Gerard because it couldn’t touch her, but that thought was quickly overruled. Gerard knew the Fears almost as well as she did, and he wouldn’t have bothered with medications if it were something they wouldn’t help. This, then, had to be actual illness. Her natural inclination was to tell him to brace up, to remind him that they had work to do and no time for weakness. Perhaps, begrudgingly, she would get up and get those painkillers for him herself, less because she wanted to help and more because it would be faster than if she expected him to go himself in this state.

Something, however, stopped her, even as the words rose on her tongue. It might have been the way Gerard clung to the bench as if afraid it would move out from under him if he didn’t, his head tilted carefully to one side but not quite resting on his shoulder, an odd posture that looked as though he was patiently waiting for something to fall out of his ear. It might have been the fact that, despite being in so much pain he couldn’t stand or even see, he was bearing up without complaint—for fear, she knew without even needing the Eye’s power, that if he wasn’t useful she would discard him, either leaving him behind or killing him outright. It might have even been that she’d come this far and could hardly abandon her attempt at sympathy.

Possibly, though not likely, it might have been the fact that the station was beginning to fill up, and ignoring such an obviously ill person would have drawn more attention than simply helping him.

“Do you tend to have migraines?” she asked, keeping her voice as low and soft as she felt she could.

“No.” Gerard’s voice was a mere thread. “Not until the last few months. And I wouldn’t call them migraines exactly. Just really nasty headaches. It’ll ease up in a bit.”

Gertrude decided not to quibble about the medical terminology. “How frequent?”

“More and more often lately.”

“How would you describe them?”

Gerard smiled feebly. “Like someone’s trying to bore a hole in my brain with a really, really smooth rock.”

Gertrude thought for a minute. She was no medical professional, and while she could use the Eye to know what kind of headaches he was having, she would prefer not to. “Do they often correlate to…dreams or memories? Do you usually get them when you’re falling asleep?”

“Wh—oh.” Gerard bit his lip briefly. “I, uh, I wasn’t asleep.”

On the other end of the platform, the phone in the hands of a burly-looking man in a cap with a bear on the front burst to life, loudly playing a news report about some sort of sporting event or other. He cursed rather inventively, obviously not having expected that, and fumbled to try and turn the sound down. Gertrude was turning to offer to get the painkillers for Gerard after all when a single phrase slid into her ear and down her spine like a cold, metal lance.

In another universe, perhaps, she ignored it. In another universe, she dismissed it as a coincidence, continued with her original plan, and bought a travel-size bottle of Tylenol at an outrageous markup. In another universe, she boarded the train from Chicago to Pittsburgh and noticed nothing amiss for nearly two weeks before circumstances dictated otherwise.

But then, in another universe, she had stayed away from the obvious temptation of a statement that could possibly have made a difference in her plans and never actually met Timothy Rodolfo Stoker.

"You weren’t having a nightmare, were you?” she asked, her voice sharpening without conscious thought.

Gerard flinched, but answered honestly. “No.”

“Or a flashback of some kind.”

“No, just…” Gerard gestured vaguely with one hand. It had, at least, stopped shaking.

That didn’t make her feel any better. “Involuntary, uncontrollable movement. Has that happened before?”

“Two days ago,” Gerard admitted. “I didn’t black out or anything, and I figured…I mean, it was a pretty bad headache. Natural I should just hurt so much I couldn’t move right, yeah?”

Understandable, certainly, but Gertrude couldn’t shake the sudden conviction that there was something seriously wrong, something causing it. She watched him carefully tip his head up straight, then asked, “Does that help?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno. Might be a placebo effect thing. But they always start here.” Gerard lightly touched a spot on the side of his skull. “First few times, it felt like someone was balancing a weight on my head, so I thought maybe if I leaned it the other way it’d ease up the pressure. And it kind of helps. A little. At any rate, it gives me something to concentrate on other than the pain.”

That settled it. There were simply too many red flags. Gertrude tightened her hand around the handle of her laptop bag. “Can you walk now?”

“I—I think so.”

“Good.” Gertrude stood decisively. “Come on.”

Gerard obeyed, a bit more slowly and gingerly, but without argument. He did look confused, though. “Thought our train didn’t leave for another hour or so.”

“Seventy-two minutes.” Gertrude didn’t bother telling him they wouldn’t be on it. She hoped that would become obvious shortly. Of course, it was possible they would be able to make it, but hardly likely. “Follow me.”

Gerard did, bewildered but obedient as usual. It had been his way since he’d started working with her, since she had burnt Mary Keay out of the Book of the Unnamed Dead and given him its remains. He never argued, never questioned, never refused an order. He trusted her implicitly in the field; while he might offer suggestions occasionally—not often—he never balked when she issued an order. If she had told him he was fine and that they should move on to Pittsburgh immediately, he would have trusted her without a moment’s thought, just as Michael Shelley once would have. Tim was more likely to push for what he felt was a better solution, but in the end, if she insisted, he would bow to her wishes without another murmur.

If she was being honest with herself, the irritation she felt at the thought was there to serve as a very powerful insulation against the well-deserved sense of guilt.

There was a line of taxis outside, valiantly fighting a battle against the encroaching rideshare start-ups offering nominally cheaper alternatives. Gertrude went to the third one in the queue and tapped on the window. “Are you engaged?”

“No, ma’am,” the driver said hopefully. He had a thick accent she couldn’t quite identify, except that it thankfully wasn’t Russian.

The Ceaseless Watcher pushed through the knowledge that the man was from a small village in India and was saving money to bring over his wife and four children, the youngest of whom had a genetic condition that would eventually prove fatal if not treated. Gertrude ruthlessly forced it back into isolation where she kept it.

“You are now.” Gertrude opened the back door and assisted Gerard into the seat, then slid in as well and shut the door. “The nearest hospital. Quickly.”

The area of Chicago known as the Illinois Medical District was less than two miles from Union Station, and the driver, whose name proved to be Prashant, came around to help get Gerard into the emergency room. He tried to refuse the fare, but Gertrude pressed a hundred dollar bill into his hand, despite his protestations.

“For your family,” she told him. He didn’t argue after that. Only later would she realize she had spoken to him in Maithili.

The nurse behind the desk was polite but obviously harried. The waiting room was occupied but not overfull, so Gertrude estimated their wait would be no longer than an hour, a time frame corroborated as the forms were handed over and to which both she and Gerard acquiesced without complaint. She gave the forms to Gerard to fill out and sat next to him, ready to assist as necessary but hoping she wouldn’t be needed.

She used the opportunity to look around, feeling around with senses born of long years of practice and immersion in the Fourteen for any hints of the Fears on their fellow occupants. She ignored the sparse staff for the moment; even knowing how few, relatively speaking, genuine encounters there actually were, she knew medical staff were among the most likely to have encountered them. Survivors, after all, often needed treatment. Her interest was more in the patients, who would have more recent encounters—more direct ones—and therefore would be more likely to be dangerous, or perhaps to sustain her. She didn’t enjoy compelling live statements out of people, but she was beginning to grow tired and needed a bit of a lift. In absence of the statements she was expecting from Pu Songling, someone in America she would never meet again would do.

There wasn’t much, though, which didn’t surprise her. An old man with a crying child on his lap, his expression worried and tender as he pressed an ice pack to the girl’s eye, bore traces of the Slaughter, but the hat boldly proclaiming his status as a veteran of a war that had ended forty years previously gave an explanation for that and also suggested it wasn’t recent enough to attract her. The Dark lay heavily on the shoulders of a patient clutching his stomach and rocking slightly, but he appeared to be about ten years old and the woman sitting next to him, whom Gertrude took to be his mother, did not seem the type to allow him to speak to unknown adults. The most promising source was the woman sitting in the corner amidst a swirl of the Lonely, but before Gertrude could even think about standing, a nurse came out and called for a Latasha Brown, and the woman got up and drifted quietly through the back.

Beside her, Gerard rubbed his face with his free hand, blinking hard. Gertrude normally wouldn’t have bothered to say anything—he could ask if he wanted her help—but since she was apparently being honest with herself today, she knew he wouldn’t. “Do you need assistance, Gerard?”

“Please. I’m seeing triple.” Gerard slid the clipboard and pen towards her.

He had filled out his true name and date of birth, something she would ordinarily chastise him for. Indeed, she had started to before it occurred to her that, with the cost and state of health care in the United States, he would need to give his actual information in order to not have to sell everything he owned to afford whatever was coming. She swallowed the protest and began filling out the remainder of the paperwork.

Address, employment, insurance information, emergency contact…Gertrude hesitated over that one. The obvious name to put was her own, especially since she was here. She could claim to be his mother, perhaps—say she had kept her maiden name—or perhaps an aunt; some kind of relative, at any rate. And medical privacy laws meant that she certainly wouldn’t get any information out of the doctors or nurses if she wasn’t his emergency contact.

On the other hand, she had the ability to convince people to tell her anything she wanted. Gerard would be more likely to forgive her using the Eye than an outright lie, especially given his…complicated relationship with his mother.

She printed Tim’s name and mobile phone number in the blanks. In the space reading Relationship to Patient, she hesitated for no more than a split second before writing Domestic Partner.

The second page dealt more with the medical information—allergies, family history, and reason for visit. She glanced sideways at Gerard. “Do you want me to ask you about these, or just fill it out?”

“Ask. Please. I’ve got enough of a headache as it is.”

Gertrude ticked the box labeled Headache, then went back to the top of the page. Gerard gave soft, monotone answers to her questions, and she marked and scribbled as quickly and neatly as she could. Some things she didn’t need to ask about, but she methodically went over everything else. At last, she handed the stack back. “You have to sign, I’m afraid.”

Gerard barely opened his eyes enough to see the page, so Gertrude placed her finger at the start of the lines. He scrawled his signature, which ended in a complex sigil that warded against it being used to harm him in any way, then sat back in the chair and leaned his head gingerly against the wall. She checked to make sure he was breathing, then went up to the desk to turn in the clipboard. The nurse accepted it without really looking.

“Have a seat, and we’ll be with you as soon as we can,” she said, in a voice that was more than half mechanical.

Gertrude glanced at the clock behind her desk and noted that they likely had another forty-five minutes, at minimum, before it would be their turn, and that only if someone more critical didn’t come in ahead of them. She returned to her seat beside Gerard, folded her arms over her chest, and settled in to wait.

Her eyes drifted to the television mounted in the corner, tuned to a news program, the volume muted and the closed captioning about thirty seconds behind the audio, if the reporters’ lips were to be believed. The camera switched from the studio to a sporting event of some kind, roughly a dozen young women in shorts and sleeveless jerseys running around some sort of indoor court—she wasn’t a sports aficionado and couldn’t have named the game precisely. The play all seemed to be focused around one particular player, a young and frail-looking girl barely out of her childhood with a hopeful smile and a look in her eye Gertrude knew far too well—the one her mother had called in sight of the silent lands. According to the captions scrolling across the screen, this was meant to be an inspiring, feel-good story.

Gertrude felt nothing but a niggling, incredibly irritating sense of dread.

The door opened, and another nurse appeared and called for Jordan Westburg; the boy with the stomachache stood alongside his mother and limped, whimpering with every step, towards the exam rooms. Gertrude watched him go impassively, but Gerard made a small noise of sympathy. “Hope it’s not his appendix. That’s no fun.”

“Likely his hasn’t progressed as far as yours had.” Mary had rarely bothered with her son’s physical health until it became an inconvenient crisis, a fact that would possibly have spurred Gertrude to seek assistance for Gerard sooner had she known about it.

No more than a minute passed before the door opened again. “Gerard Keay?” the nurse called, emphasizing the second syllable of his first name in the American fashion and turning his surname into a two-syllable name.

“That was fast.” Gerard pushed himself to his feet and staggered; Gertrude caught his arm and assisted him towards the waiting nurse.

“Excuse me!” A man in a tailored suit with an elaborate comb-over made a show of looking at his flashy, expensive watch before glaring up at the nurse. “I have been waiting for two hours—”

“Congratulations!” the nurse interrupted without missing a beat, not even looking in the direction of the man, who blinked at the unexpected comment. “That means you’re not dying today!”

Gertrude assisted Gerard in walking a little faster.

It was the mention of seizures that had moved him up the list, a fact Gertrude learned from the questions the doctor—after Gerard’s mumbled assent to her remaining in the room while the examination took place—asked of him. After a cursory examination, another nurse came in with a wheelchair and Gertrude was left in a hallway to wait while Gerard was taken to be prepared for an MRI.

She sat silently for a while, listening to the sounds around her—the occasional page over the intercom, the squeak of gurney wheels, the low murmur of voices as nurses and orderlies conversed, and the incessant tick…tick…tick of the clock opposite her—as she tried to get her thoughts in order. Gerard was ill. That much was clear. The MRI would find…something. With a bit of effort, she could Know what was wrong, but that would be a violation of his privacy for no real purpose, so she would leave it for if the doctors failed to diagnose it, and then…what? Force them to treat the situation, even though they found no evidence of it? She supposed that would have to be her next course of action. Since she found the very idea distasteful, she sincerely hoped the doctors would be able to find the truth.

It occurred to her, very suddenly, that she had no ties to Gerard. She hadn’t listed herself as his emergency contact, and even though she had brought him in, privacy laws meant that the doctors likely wouldn’t tell her what was wrong with him. They may not even let her in to visit him. She was fairly certain it wouldn’t come to that, and she could deal with it if it did, but…

There were no signs forbidding cell phone usage in this part of the hospital, likely because it was a waiting area. Gertrude fished out her phone, calculated the time, and pressed one of the preset buttons.

A moment later, Tim’s voice came on the line, clear and alert despite the relatively late hour in London. “What do you need, boss?”

It was a question that could have come across as rude, depending on the tone, but Gertrude appreciated the economy of words. No greetings, no pleasantries, no small talk; just get down to business and handle the situation. He knew she wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, and that it was likely something time sensitive.

She, too, wasted neither time nor words. “You. Get the next flight out of London arriving in Chicago. Send me a text when you land and I’ll let you know where we are.”

“Got it. Need me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself. And that folio I gave you before we left London.” Gertrude hesitated, then chose to be honest. “It’s Gerard. He’s ill.”

Tim gave a hissing little intake of breath. “How bad?”

“Severe headaches, and he’s had at least two seizures. He’s in for an MRI now. I put you down as his emergency contact on the paperwork, so I need you here to assist if need be.”

“I’m on my way.” Rustling sounds and footsteps did in fact seem to imply that Tim was grabbing a bag and running out the door. “I’ll text you the flight details. Tell him I’m coming, okay?”

“I will,” Gertrude said, although it was a promise she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep. “I’ll be looking out for your text.”

The line went dead without further ado.

Gertrude sighed and sat back. She could hardly leave the hospital until Tim arrived, and she would certainly not be so unkind as to leave Gerard alone in a foreign land with a medical condition, but she did rather chafe at the timing. Still, it could have been worse. They could have arrived too late.

They still might have, but at least this way she would know she had done all she could.

Her phone buzzed, startling her, with the information for Tim’s flight. Evidently he had purchased his tickets on the way to the airport. She nodded, committing the time to memory, then sent him a text in reply: [Remember to keep your receipts for any purchases you make on Institute business so they can be reimbursed later.]

[Don’t think Elias is going to pay me back for this.]

[He will.] Gertrude didn’t elaborate. She only settled back and sighed, pocketing her phone once more.

It would be seventeen hours before Tim arrived. Hopefully he would be in time. She wouldn’t want to get Gerard’s hopes up only to have them dashed, or to leave him stressed and worried before whatever was about to happen. He would need all his strength to concentrate on himself.

She prayed it would be enough.

[danceontheceiling]

back home with my gencon haul

my fave ribbon was def fungi freak (it me) that i got with a purchase from a booth. the escape room person did say we were the fastest so far that con though (we got done with like twenty minutes left)

i loved this set (rainbow drops) when it first got released a year ago but i ended up talking myself out of it cause i didn't need ANOTHER set but then when i decided to do it they were sold out and they have taunted me for a year, on the website but sold out the whole time (at least anytime i check and i didn't get a notification that they were back in stock). so when i went to the dispel dice booth (i loved it, it was set up like a jewelry display case and they had catalogs you could flip through too) i asked if they had a set of it and they did!! so now i finally have these and it only took a year

i don't collect stamps but i do pins so i grabbed that from the usps collab, a gencon pin, and then gawki (where i also got the ribbon from) and also crytime art.

lilystrations made the cool token card based on spiritfarer (i don't play any card games that use them but i did still like looking at the token cards everyone had) grabbed a couple patches from a booth, and then this fridge magnet set (i liked the cube magnet too but i 95% picked the set up for the collector tarot magent) from rollacrit

and finally thought i'd pick up some tea tasters and another fridge magnet from tea and absinthe

(also not part of my haul but i did meet sam reich (sort of))

and i didn't get a picture with her but i did get to meet someone i've been following since vine!! she played in a couple ttrpg oneshots with glass cannon network (who i hadn't seen anything of before but they were very fun games) and they were like usually people know us and then find sydney through us, not the other way around. but she was very cool in person!! also didn't meet him but was about five feet away from ross bryant at one point

anyway i'm very tired and happy to be home and i spent too much money but i had a good time

[kingdomvel]

WIP Wednesday

Extra from Welcome to our castle

Anakin and Obi-Wan go for some tea in Stewjon's Capital

(Read the snippet under the cut)

Anakin sighs as he sits down on the chair. They have spent the whole day walking around, visiting places. The capital is as lovely as Anakin thought it would be, but there is also a lot of people. That is why he, even if he is not tired, welcomes the peace of the place they are in now. Obi-Wan had insisted they had some afternoon tea, and Anakin had let himself be led to a building just in the heart of the old town, to a big library with tall columns, a wide central hall surrounded by smaller nooks between the bookshelves.

They are sitting in one of those alcoves, the rest of the library hidden in a way that makes them almost feel like they are alone. The window at the other side lets them see the groups of tourists, but it is soundproof enough that they are not bothered by the noise.

Anakin pulls out his phone as soon as the woman that led them to their table leaves.

“What are you looking for?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice genuinely curious.

“I’m looking up this place to see a menu, she didn’t leave one with us.” Anakin answers. He opens the first search result, the library’s website.

“There is no menu,” Obi-Wan answers, “the menu is pre-set, they will bring the savouries in a minute.”

“Yeah but they must have some menu here.” Anakin says, scrolling through the page. “Like to at least know what they are going to serve and how much is it.” Obi-Wan reaches out for his phone then, but Anakin stops his hand before he can take it from him. He pauses. He has found the menu. “Sixty pounds?!” he exclaims, and immediately realizes he probably spoke too loudly. “Obi-Wan, your afternoon tea is sixty pounds per person.”

“I know Anakin.” Obi-Wan answers, infuriatingly calm as always.

“That is almost how much I wanted to spend on food in out two days here.” Anakin says. Obi-Wan must know that sixty pounds for some tea and sandwiches is not normal.

“For the two days?” Obi-Wan asks, with a frown. Anakin nods. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I insisted we came here, you are obviously not going to pay.”

Anakin doesn’t answer, not immediately. Of course Obi-Wan would insist on paying, But they are already staying at his house and not at an hotel, he had already insisted on paying for the breakfast too. Anakin was always aware of the differences between them, Obi-Wan was the owner of a castle, for fucks sake. Anakin would be lying if he said he didn’t find it hot, the difference between them, but…

“I am not your sugar baby.” Anakin says. Obi-Wan looks at him with wide eyes, surprised, at the same time as there is a thud on the table. Anakin looks to the side. The waitress has just left a silver tiered tray on the side of the table. She looks slightly blushed, embarrassed about what she has just heard.

“I-“ she starts, and clears her throat, “can I bring you some kind of tea?” she asks.

“Just normal black tea for now, thank you.” Obi-Wan answers. The woman nods before she turns around and leaves. Once she is no longer within earshot, Obi-Wan turns back to Anakin and leans forward on the table to be closer to him. “Anakin I know you are not my sugar baby.” He says, his voice low, soft. “I never once thought like that about you. I like to think that our-“ he frowns, struggling to find a word, “arrangement is deeper than that. If I decide to spend some money on you, to make use of my… patrimony, it’s not because I think you want it as some kind of compensation. Trust me a bit here, will you?”

Anakin doesn’t answer, thinking it over.

“You can pay tomorrow for some normal what, five pounds tea?” Obi-wan says, and it makes Anakin smile.

“Okay,” Anakin agrees. The waitress brings them their tea then. As soon as she leaves, Anakin reaches out for the teapot, but he is stopped by Obi-Wan’s hand.

“Anakin we’ve talked about this, let it sit for at least three minutes before you pour it.”

“What? Sixty pounds and they can’t bring the tea ready to drink?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan shakes his head, but there is a small smile playing on his lips.

“At least pour the milk first.”

“I strongly believe that the order does not influence the final product.” Anakin says, just to tease Obi-Wan, because he has very strong opinions on tea and Anakin loves to reel him up about them.

“You should be banished from this country.”