#can you tell I’ve never drawn horses before

[banditblvd]

I just learned what a kelpie was today thanks to someone in a discord server I’m in sharing art of one, and then I remembered when he used that grass electricity trick thing in the Onawa country arc, and when bebo asked how he knew that he said “raising kelpies” and then I started thinking and you all know something is gonna happen when I think

This is what happened

[lunajay33]

Missing🖤

Summary: You and Daryl got separated at the started and now you’ve just been wandering hoping to find a secure place will you find Daryl again?

Pairing: Season 2 Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You and Daryl have known eachother since you were kids, growing up right next to eachother, along the way feelings grew and you got together right before graduation, you became a teacher and he worked at a mechanic shop, life was nice and simple together, you were even thinking about having a family but then things change, the world ended when you were teaching and you haven’t seen Daryl since, you search everywhere for him until eventually you had to leave down because of the walkers and venture out on your own, hoping you meet him again

Along the way you came across a barn, you scavenged for food finding some cans and as you looked out the window a horse was grazing the field, you packed up the rest of the food and ventured out finding a saddle approaching the horse steadily trying not to spook it away, thankfully it was friendly and approached you with ease letting, you strapped the saddle around her and hopped up, leading the horse as it trotted north

You’d be alone on your own for about 5 weeks now and it’s been lonely, you just wanted to see Daryl again just needed for him to hold you, you were on the horse walking through trees when a clearing opened up showing a farm house with people walking around, you were a bit wary since you’ve run into some shady people along the way but for some reason you were drawn to this farm, you lead the horse, you named Pixie, slowly as to not scare the people

As you and Pixie walked up the dirt road people started to gather, you hopped off Pixie holding her rope and waiting for the others to do or say anything and not just ogle you

“Who are you?” A man in a police outfit asked

“I’m y/n, I’ve been alone since the start, until I found pixie here” you said as you pet her shiny black hair

“Where’d you come from, who’d you find this place?” Another man asked he seemed a little crazy

“I’m from outside of Atlanta, I’ve just been wandering until I found something, I lost someone at the start and I’ve just been looking for him”

“Sorry to break it to you, he’s probably dead”

“Shane!” The officer glared at the man

“I still have hope, but do you guys have room for one more, I know how to hunt and I can help out”

“Of course, we could use another hunter, got one out hunting right now”

“Thank you”

The officer who introduced himself as Rick, showed you around introduced you to everyone even the owner of the farm, the sun was setting by the time all that was done

“We don’t have anymore tents we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get you one”

“Oh that’s no problem I can sleep out with Pixie” it was the normal for you now

“You sure?”

“Yeah it’s no problem…….shouldn’t your hunter be back by now?”

“Yeah oh there he is now” he said looking over you shoulder at the dirt road

A man with a crossbow and plaid shirt with ripped sleeves, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, you sprinted off towards him your heart racing, tears streaming down your face

“DARYL” you screamed as he looked up dropping his crossbow just in time to open his arms and wrap himself around you as you threw yourself into his arms

“Is it really you peach?” He asked in such disbelief it broke your heart

“It’s me, I can’t believe I found you I thought I’d never see you again, I looked everywhere for you I waited at our house hoping you’d come back but……I had to leave I had to find you” you said quickly your eyes not believing you found him having to tell him everything you’ve been thinking these 5 weeks without him

5 weeks may not seem like a lot but in the apocalypse there was no guarantee about anything so everything was precious

You held his biceps as he traced his fingers over ever features on your face completely forgetting others were around you both

“So I’m guessing you two know eachother?” Glenn asked

“She’s my girl” Daryl stated not taking his eyes off of you

“Thee Daryl Dixon got a girl?” Andrea laughed, you turned and glared at her

“You bet your ass I’m his”

“And ya ain’t ever leaving my side again”

[violettduchess]

hi violet, can i req for gilbert, prompt forbidden love? if it's ok i'll leave it up to you whether if it's gonna be a fic or hc :) thank you

A/N: You all voted for this to be an Angel / Devil AU and here we are.

CW: death, sickness, war

Gilbert x Reader

Word Count: 2650

1095: the Holy Land

The first time you see him it is over a rising cloud of brown dust, stamped from the earth by a cacophony of hooves and sandaled feet charging at each other. Sunlight glints off curved steel and chain mail as blades from both sides bite into flesh, punctuating the haze with red droplets.

Through the blood and dust you see him, walking amid the chaos. He is, quite simply, the most beautiful being you have ever seen. Every movement exudes grace, from the bend of his torso to the tilt of his head. He is so arresting that you stop in your tracks, frozen under the burning sun, watching him across the din until he turns his head. Fatefully, his gaze finds yours. His eyes, the clearest, deepest red you have ever seen, pull you in, like a fishing line cast into the ocean. You find yourself moving towards him, the epicurean tide drawn to the beauty of the ethereal moon, breathless with something. Time stands still, all sound dwindling into nothingness. The screaming of men, the groaning of the dying, the frenzied cries of horses, it all fades when he smiles, your heart suddenly caught in the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw.

And then he sees you clearly, as the dust begins to clear, as the last man lays gasping, calling for his mother. He sees you and his beautiful face darkens with an emotion you are all too familiar with. The shadowed mask of fear.

You blink and he is gone.

1348: London, England

It is nearly a millennium before you see him again. You step outside of the small, dank house, the smell of sickness lingering in the air. It clings to you, the sheen of rot and ejecta, and you are grateful for a moment’s respite. It is then you see him, walking alongside the rickety wooden cart piled high with bodies, some still oozing sickness from their sores.

“Bring out your dead!”

The man pulling the cart and yelling is sweating, salty droplets of water leave tracks in the dirt caked on his sallow skin. His heartbeat is too fast, too erratic but he fights it, the fist squeezing his lungs, wanting to get just one more footstep further away from this thing they call the Black Death.

But then his voice is gone, his knees buckling as his heart finally gives up the fight. Gilbert, draped in robes the color of twilight, kneels in the dirt road beside him. You watch as his pale hand touches the man’s face and soothes back his matted hair. He speaks and whatever you expected his voice to sound like, it is not this. Not like the soft sound of the wind sweeping across rolling plains. Not like the velvet depth of night, when darkness blankets the mortal world.

“Hello Richard." He is gentle, so very gentle. "My name is Gilbert." He cups the man's face with a tender hand. "It’s ok, my friend. There is nothing to fear. It’s simply time to let go.”

Like a being transfixed, you watch as he guides the soul from its prison of flesh and bones, and with a wave of his hand, sends it on its way.

“You look so young.” 

The words leave you before you can stop them. You know speaking to him is forbidden and yet, somehow, it feels as natural to you as sunlight.

He looks up at your words and again, the flicker of fear burns in the red brightness of his eyes. He rises slowly and you admire the way he conquers it so quickly.

“I’m older than you.”

He knows he should not answer you and yet he does, turning to face you fully now. You tilt your chin upwards, letting him look, letting him drink his fill of the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Something dances across his face, tears his gaze away from your form.

“My duties were elsewhere for a time.”

The story behind his words is in his eyes, straining to be freed. His lips burn with the need to tell you more.

And then the bell tolls and you both look in its direction.

Time is fleeting. You have work to do.

With great effort you turn away from him, walking toward the next sad building reeking of death. When you look over your shoulder, past the curve of your leathery wings, you find him watching you.

And you smile.

1839: Mazatlán, Mexico

The winds and water have washed away the small town on the coast. There is nothing left of it, aside from bits of broken buildings and bodies lying in watery graves.

An old woman with a broken back lays, panting heavily as the light slowly fades from her dark eyes. You approach her, your heavy robes trailing in the dirty water and mud. When she sees you, her breathing quickens, her eyes widen and her fingers, old and gnarled and broken, scramble to touch the worn silver cross that has hung around her neck for the last sixty-eight years. Little does she know it too has been lost in the storm. You kneel beside her and she whimpers, her whole body trembling as you reach down, laying your hand on her forehead.

“Por favor,” her voice creaks, “por favor.”

“Begging won’t save you now. You know the life you led. The women you sold. The children.” It doesn’t matter what you say. They can always understand you.

Her body spasms as you reach for her, the real her, the essence inside. Her last words die unspoken on her lips as you send her soul to its journey's end..

Rising, you scan the debris, feel the call of so many souls and you are weary. You make your way towards the beach, stepping over the rubble until you have reached the soft, white sand and smooth gray boulders. You slump down against one of them, tired. The sand is soft, the boulders warm with collected sunlight. You have learned to appreciate the simple things of this plane of existence. The sound of the ocean. The smell of the salty air.

“So even your kind needs a break.”

That voice.

He is standing above you, backlit by the sun, and you wholly believe he is worthy of the countless prayers shot to the heavens by pleading lips.

You can’t help but smile. “Come sit with me. Take a break yourself.”

He smiles back and your heart cracks open, bursting with something newborn and unexpected. Something you can’t give a name to, yet.

“Isn’t there a story about a garden and a serpent that starts this way?” But he lowers himself until he is next to you. His arm brushes yours and it feels like holy fire.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your voice is softer than usual as you watch the roll of the waves along the beach. A single shoe made for a tiny foot bobs alone in the water. Its former owner is his responsibility. Babies always are.

“You’re doing your job.”

“No, I mean here. With you.”

The words sound as loud to your ears as the waves crashing into the rocks scattered about the shallows. Embarrassed, you start to move away from him, from his warmth and his light and his heavenly smile.

And then you feel his hand wrap around yours, the dawn grasping the dusk, and he pulls you towards him.

Falling into his embrace is easy, so much easier than you ever would have believed, easier than you could have dreamed. Easier than all the rules that say it is forbidden would have you think it is. He is light and warmth to your shadow and shade. You drink him in, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close against you. He gasps softly into your hungry mouth, stunned by the feel of you.

His kind have always been told a litany of warnings to stay away from you. That nothing good will ever come of associating with devils. That he would burn in the pit fires of hell if the rules were ever broken. And oh he is burning, just not the way they described. 

As he pulls you against him, your softness yielding to the planes of his body, he does burn. He burns with a singular need to kiss you, to touch you, to claim you as his. He burns with a desire far more dangerous than hellfire. It sharpens him, hardens him, shifts his purpose with every movement of your lips against his. Your mouth is ambrosia. Nothing will ever taste as good ever again. He will forever be thirsty for it. The feel of your hands, pressed against his back, just under his wings, is branded into him, changing him, claiming him.

It is only the tolling of the celestial bell that falls like an ax through the haze of your lust. The call to work.

“I must go.” He looks over his shoulder, then back to you, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers ache to touch it. “We’ll meet again.”

He stands slowly, spreads his large, white feathery wings and in a rush of wind, a flash of light, he’s gone, leaving you alone on the beach with the mournful sobs of the dying, the monotonous lull of the ocean’s waves and his kiss burning on your lips.

October 1916: Somme River; Picardy, Northern France

It feels wrong, rushing to meet him with the thunderous sounds of war rocking the world, and the deadly fog of mustard gas rising like a cobra to sink its fangs into shaking men. Even you shudder as the shrill cry of artillery shells and the spitting rage of the machine guns echo hell on earth. Men are dying in record numbers but it is precisely for this reason that you can meet. The bloody ground with its endless sea of death and destruction masks your movements from anyone who may wonder where exactly you are. Too many souls departing too quickly. Everyone is busy, thanks to men and their thirst for war. Angels and devils alike roam the ravaged fields, answering the call of the doomed.

He waits for you behind a burned-out house amid charred, leafless trees. You gasp when you see him. One eye is covered by a swath of black silk. 

“What happened?” Your hands are on his face, now familiar to your touch. You have loved him for almost a century, a drop in the ocean of time, and yet, short as it may be, it feels essential. Sacred. 

“They know.”

Those two words sink into your heart like a stone, dragging you down into a trench of despair. He has lost an eye in punishment. There will be more coming. The sky above you explodes orange against gray.

There are so many words that they stifle your speech, stacking one behind the other in your throat. None of them will change anything. None of them will save you. He reaches out, pulling you into the shelter of his embrace, a tender kiss placed on the top of your head, between your short, black horns.

“It will be alright. I have a plan.”

You tilt your face up to look at him as the world rumbles, heavy tanks rolling like moving fortresses through the dead fields.

“I will come for you. Give me time.” He sounds so sure.

Dread crawls up your spine with tiny, grasping claws but you nod slowly. You trust him. 

He leans down, pressing a light kiss to your lips, a small beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds you, the darkness that fills you. Then he steps away, unfurls his pristine wings, and vanishes, leaving you alone amid the wreckage.

2023: St. Anne’s Nursing Center; Regina, Canada.

The old man sees you, although his eyes stopped working years ago. Ignoring the exhausted muttering of the overworked nurse, his drawn face, etched with lines and mottled with brown spots, turns towards the doorway where you stand.

You are never who they want to see. You with your black wings and horns, with your fiery eyes and ashen skin. You, devil. His heart, worn and faded, skips its final beat as you walk over, curling your cool fingers around his frail wrist.

He wants to scream but all that comes out is a wheeze of fetid breath. Holding his wrist in your hand you lean down, lips close to his ear.

“It’s time.”

Every last living cell in his body wants to fight and you sigh, tightening your hold on him. It’s not a pleasant end when they fight, especially once they realize where they are going. And this one has reason to fight. His soul is as tainted as can be, a history of violence and hate and a pile of bones that will eventually be unearthed in the far corner of his remote property. Too many for just one person.

He submits, his soul needing to be pried from its cage of weak bone and flaccid muscle before you are finally able to send it down, down, down where it belongs.

There are others here, dancing on the edge of this life and the beyond, but none require your attention. Not today. You leave the now still body, making your way down the generic beige hallway and across the dated, olive-green tile of the entrance until you are outside, breathing in the cold, clean winter air.

Above you, the sky is black, the moon only a sliver of silver amid the twinkling stars. You’re about to move on when you hear it. The unmistakable beat of wings.

You turn and you see him, dropping down to the ground in one elegant movement. What you see brings both hands to your mouth, snatches the breath from your lungs.

Gone are the soft white feathers of his wings. They have been plucked out, burned away. The bloody leftovers re-formed into the stretched black leather of bat wings, darker than yours and wider. His robes are darkest obsidian, his hair midnight kissed by stars. And sprouting from it, the surest sign of what he has done: long, black horns, curled like a ram’s and deadly sharp.

“No…..no……” You know what this means and it brings you to your knees, right there on the icy pavement. His red eye is aflame with determination as he walks over to you, leaning down to take a strong hold of your arms and lift you again.

“It was the only way.” His voice is steady, gentle but sure.

You shake your head. “You are Fallen. You know what He will do. What you will have to do to prove yourself.” The Morningstar is cruelest to those just like Him.

Gilbert brushes your soft hair back, his skin pale as bone, now cold as ice. 

“I will not only endure it, but I will conquer it and prove that I have earned a place among His agents. Perhaps….even….conquer Him.” His expression softens as he cups your face, his thumb stroking the line of your cheekbone. “I can master anything. You are by my side. You,” he pauses, his voice a whisper that roars louder than thunder, “are the reason for it all.” 

And then his mouth is on yours and you melt against him, love for him clouding the danger of his words, the fear of what is to come. You wrap your arms around him and you return his kiss hungrily, greedily, covetous. His teeth sink into your lower lip, his wings extending to black out the sky before wrapping themselves around you, his hands grasping at your robes, yanking handfuls of it away from your skin until he can take hold of the soft underside of your thighs. With a deep growl he lifts you, pulling you against him, his unbound lust finally free. 

After all…..he too is now a devil.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

[mulderscully]

henlex ficrecs? i don't know where to start

i was like who tf is that til i realized some of u are calling firstprince that lol i'm sorry but i bring you porn only so i hope that's what you want 🫣

some of these are bookverse and some are movieverse and tbh i see no great difference bc it's the same relationship to me but i added a * to the ones that are specifically movieverse, the others are either an au or bookverse or a mix of movie and book

familiar gravity

"Yeah,” Alex breathes, and he pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about you fucking me in this chair for, like, weeks. Every time you sit down here with your stupid book.”

Henry likes it when Alex speaks Spanish and Alex has a request.

in the teeth of strong opposition

"You know what?" Henry says loudly, annoyed beyond belief that he has to hear for the millionth time how fucking cool Alex is with Henry's sexuality. "If you're such a good ally, why don't you suck me off? Since you're so insistent, why not get on your knees, Alex?"

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, but it's not like he can shove them back into his mouth; he can't take them back. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the shocked expression on Alex's face and takes a few deep breaths.

"Sorry," he says tightly a moment later, eyes still closed. "That was uncalled for."

"Do you want me to?"

the red side goes up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

bedroom warfare (3 part series)

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

voted most likely to run away with you*

Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

who knew polo was such a turn on?*

Henry had no idea the horseback riding lessons he started as a child would lead to this.

save a horse, ride a cowboy

“Forget about walking,” Henry tells him boldly, giving him a hard kiss before he pushes himself back up vertical. “Just wait until you see me ride.”

baby*

Henry has plenty of pet names for Alex, but how did Henry end up with the pet name "Baby"?

i dream your name backwards

Three times Alex wakes up from a dream and can’t help but tell Henry about it, although they're apart and an ocean is between them.

And one time, Henry wakes up from a dream and Alex is there.

isn't it amazing how every line of our hands align

Alex knew it was going to be one of those days the moment he realized his third coffee of the day had absolutely zero effect on the turmoil of his thoughts. It was not even nearing ten in the morning when he had to face defeat, annoyed and broken down to a single thought: Henry was right. Not that he never was, far from it, but Alex had this kind of constant competitive streak with his boyfriend — and he hated admitting when Henry was right.

Or Alex is having a bit of a day, and Henry knows exactly how to help him out.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight)

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.”

Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

i like that thing you do

Ever since the first polo match Alex attended, his obsession with Henry on a horse has only grew. Years into their relationship, Alex is still hanging onto the pitch's fence, watching with rapt fascination. Read to find out what happens when Phillip asks a question that creates a lust monster Alex can't control. No one ever said those white pants Henry wears aren't meant to be destroyed.

alright that's all 4 now i can do a non smut one later too but say hey if u see urself on her @ authors!

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

“Always.”

A/N: I wrote this a while ago, but never finished it. It’s an Aidan Gallagher x Black!fem!reader. Y/N is me tbh, I’ve been wearing wigs for the rest of my highschool days, and still do, because I didn’t like the way my natural hair is. And this is really for comfort, that when I do meet someone, I hope this is how they’d react.

Synopsis: You and the cast of The Umbrella Academy were invited into this huge event. And this is how I thought Aidan would react, when he finds out the love of his life, is going to wear a wig.

Today was the day.

It was the first time you had went with Aidan to an event together. So you’d have to look killer, ready to snatch people’s wig off when they saw you.

You had ordered a really stunning and gorgeous lace front wig. It was a light brown, with a hints of a light orange, in every other strand. So there was no way, in hell, you weren’t going to wear this today.

You hopped out of the shower, wrapping at towel around your body trying to keep warm from the cold air, facing the now foggy mirror, hearing a gentle knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, just wanted to tell you, we have plenty off time before the event, so don’t rush.” You smile, cheekily, before saying, “Okay, thank you, Mother Em.” You can practically hear the eye roll, as she sighed and her she moved away from the bathroom door and descended down the stairs.

Y’know ever since you had been in the show with them, they have become almost like a second family to you. And you didn’t know what you’d if you haven’t meet the 7 of them.

And you also didn’t know what you’d do without having met Aidan. He was just…AHH. He was a lot of things that just couldn’t be put into words if you tried. It was damn-near impossible.

But if you tried, he was just an amazing person all ‘round. He was sweet, caring, kind, all that and more. And when he asked you out, you said, no. Only because you wanted to do it first, and he smiled and said ‘yes,’ but he was secretly trying to calm his heart, after thinking you actually didn’t want to go out with him.

The first date was like something out of a fairytale, except not. He ordered take out and you both spent time hanging out at his house, watching movies on his laptop. It doesn’t sound much like a fairytale, but who said fairytales required magic and horse drawn carriages?

As long as you both had each other, it was more then perfect.

“Hey, (Y/N)? You done yet?”

“Oh! I’m done, my bad!”

You had rushed out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around you and you had went to the other bedroom to change into something cozy, and put your hair up into a silk bonnet.

Your really hair was nothing crazy, you did in fact take care of it, but in all honesty it was much easier to just have something styled and ready to wear for you, all you gotta do, is glue it to your head after putting makeup down on your wig cap. If I’m feeling cute, gather some baby hairs and swoop that shit.

Done. Did. Period.

Another stunning look.

And you’ve done it copious amounts of times, it was like second nature to you.

You walked out of the room, and went to sit on the couch in the living room, with Emmy and Elliot.

“Look who’s finally, out of the dungeon.” You gasp, and put a hand over your heart. “Excuse you, I was changing in there.”

“It took you damn-near thirty minutes. What were you doing? Giving yourself a full spa treatment?”

“No! But I’d be a liar, if I said, I didn’t need to one of these days.” You unlocked your phone going straight to the camera, looking at your face. “You guys gotta come with! I’ll treat everyone to a nice day at the spa.”

“That’s sweet. Thank you, (Y/N).” You smile, and give Elliot a side hug. “It is, but is she just trying to bribe us for using up all the hot water?” You roll your eyes toss a pillow at Em, but she blocks it with her hands. “Oh shut up!”

Not long after, the sun began to set and the moon rose, shiny brighter then ever. You had gone to Aidan’s home to change, as y’all had agreed upon before hand, that you both were going to the event in the same car.

You had done everything else, then last but not least was putting the wig on. Leaving it for last, was probably not the best idea, but you had gotten so caught up, at yourself looking amazing in the dress, you picked out you almost forgot. Almost.

You were putting on it, and didn’t notice someone was standing behind you, observing.

“(Y/N)?” Aidan asked, as you mumbled a curse word. And you absolutely dreaded turning and facing him, but there was no why you were getting out of this. Is not like it a was a secret, that you wore wigs, the majority of the time. But you thought you’d tell him before he’d find out like this.

But now’s a good a time as any, right?

“Hey..”

Great start, (Y/N). Beautiful.

“Take it off.” Aidan said, walking up and leaning against the bathroom doors entrance. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” He says as gentle as possible, not trying to sound rude or anything when he said it.

I slowly took it off, along with the wig cap, I didn’t have time to even glue down, to reveal my real hair. It almost looked a small do to the bobby pins holding it in place. Feeling nervous, I place a hand over my hair and Aidan had token it off, with the utmost care and adoration.

“Don’t hide it.” He says, taking the wig from my hands, then the room was filled to the brim with an awkward silence. “You know I didn’t do this to hurt you, right? I could never hurt you, or a fly for that matter.”

“Five would say otherwise.” You said, looking down at the floor, like the floor had suddenly become the most interesting thing to you. You had no clue, why you brought Five into this, but unbeknownst to your knowledge, it worked out later on.

“Okay, but Five is just a character, a fictional one, at that. I play him, but I’m not him. I’m Aidan.” He said, putting a hand on my cheek, making sure you were looking at him, when he said the next part. “He was also a killer at one point, and that is something, I’ll never be. But you on the other hand are gorgeous, and that’s what you’ll always be to me. Absolutely gorgeous. With or without the wig.” He said, holding the wig gently, in his hand.

He smiled at you and you smiled, blinking back the tears, that were brimming your eye lids. You look away and close them, one lonely tear falling down, taking some of the makeup off with it. Aidan grabs your chin gently, grabbing a tissue to lightly dab that salty liquid away. And you hug him so incredibly tight, telling him you love him with every fiber of your being. And tells you the same.

You stand up straight and take a deep breath. Before you grab your wig from him and walk over to the mirror.

“What are you going?”

“Putting the wig back on. What else?” You said, as a matter-of-factly, leaning over the sink to touch up your makeup. “But I thought we-”

You give a slight nod, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “Oh we did, but after all the money I spent on it, we best be getting to wearing it and I do plan on looking hot, sexy, and beautiful today. You best believe.” You said, pushing him out the bathroom and closing the door on him, and Aidan shakes his head laughing.

[toads-treasures]

👖 🐉  📓

👖 - Coffee shop or high school AU, your choice: tell me their role.

High school gross no thank you coffee shop all the way

Leda- I actually can’t think of Leda in a coffee shop au for some reason. Maybe because she wouldnt like coffee 😂 unless it had so much milk and sugar in it that you cant tell it is coffee. If I had to pick an AU for Leda I think I would go with flower shop and tattoo parlor AU. I think she would be the tattoo artist who specializes in floral tattoos because she’s always loved flowers. Or maybe if it had to be coffee shop AU she works at the flower shop around the corner.

Cori- cori would be a barista in a artsy cafe, one that doubles as a small local art gallery or something. She would probably end up being offered a management position because she is the one all the other workers go to if a customer is being an ass. She can talk them down and diffuse the situation but not necessarily in a genial way 😂 the perpetrator would be walking out with their tail between their legs. Something like, “Sir are you alright? Do you need us to call someone for you? you are yelling at a child over a cold brew, so clearly you are in some kind of distress,”

But she wouldn’t take the management position, she’d be too busy with her other job of preforming in clubs and bars.

🐉 - Very serious question… are they more like a dragon, or a unicorn?

Leda- I wanna say unicorn, and Leda would want to be a unicorn, she’s got the color scheme for it, but I think she might be a dragon. A little selfish, a little pointy, prone to fireballs.

Cori- for sure a unicorn, hard to spot, even harder to catch, will disappear just when you think you’ve got a good look at her.

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

Haha I have a normal amount. I for sure don’t have two Pinterest boards overflowing with quotes and things….

Leda

Second Child, Restless Child - The Oh Hellos

See, I was born the second child / with a spirit runnin wild, running free / and they saw trouble in my eyes / they were quick to recognize the devil in me

and heaven knows I tried / but the devil whispered lies I believed

Also Little Chaos by Orla Gratland, just the whole song, and Unsweetened Lemonade by Amélie Farren (but you already knew that one you have secret knowledge)

Cori

Irish Eyes - Rose Betts

My sister says I’ve a restless soul / restless soul, restless soul / easy to catch, but I’m hard to hold / Like a song on the wind that you caught one day / I get under your skin, then I slip away

Shake it Out - our lady Florence and The Machine

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind / i can never leave the past behind / I can see no way, I can see no way / I’m always dragging that horse around / all of his questions such a mournful sound / tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground / I like to keep my issues drawn, it’s always darkest before the dawn

[threewaywithdelusion]

I Would've Liked to Know You (Mike)

Warning for Major Character Death (Steve) before the story starts. I've also written parts for Dustin and Max.

1996

Mike took a seat in his designated armchair on the stage and looked out at the crowd. 

It was a packed house tonight. A room full of fantasy nerds, all clutching his new book in their laps, roaring at the sight of him. 

He never could have imagined this kind of success so early in his career. Yes, the crowd only filled a small bookshop, but it more than he’d expected with only three published books. It wouldn’t please his father, who still insisted Mike should get a real job, but it was enough to make him feel confident that he was making the right decision by pursuing writing. 

In the front row, El and Will were smiling at him. Will would probably be approached by fans once they realized he was artist who had drawn the covers for the Shadow World trilogy. Or perhaps by the fans of his comic series, Zombie Boy, which told the story of a young boy shunned by his town after he died and came back to life with super powers. 

Mike and Will both had what was probably the oddest publication process in the country. After they wrote any book or comic and before they could send it to their editors, a special board created by the US government had to read and approve their story, ensuring it was different enough from their experience with the Upside Down so as not to raise any eyebrows (or violate any NDAs). 

Will’s comics leaned heavily into his other life experiences to ground the plot in real feelings while divorcing it from Will’s true story. Mike just periodically fought the US government when they declared his story too closely inspired by real-life events. He had never fought them as hard as he had for the final book in the trilogy, King of Nowhere, but he felt it was worth it in the end. 

As the interviewer took a seat in the armchair across from Mike, El gave him a thumbs up and a big smile from the front row. Mike felt a comforting squeeze around his shoulders, easing his stage fright, and El discreetly wiped at her nose with a tissue. 

“A round of applause for Mike Wheeler, author of the Shadow World trilogy!” the interviewer said. He was a man a decade older than Mike and he shot Mike a smile as the room burst into applause. 

When it finally died down, the interview said, “So, Mike, how does it feel to finally have finished your first series?”

“It’s bittersweet,” Mike said. “I love these characters, and I’m going to miss them, but I know their story ends here. I’m happy with where I’ve left them.”

“Did you always know this was where the story was going to end?” the interviewer asked. 

“No,” Mike said. He thought of how many days he’d spent sitting at the computer in his office, writing and rewriting the same paragraphs. Giving the lost princess powers and then — after a phone call from the US government — taking them away. Having the hero rescue the princess only to delete three entire chapters and have her rescue herself. Having Mavis, the fastest horse rider in the kingdom, use her magic to know where to steer her steed, only to get yelled at by Max for making it seem like blind people could only be capable in a universe with magic. 

“How do you do it?” Mike had asked Will once. Will didn’t get yelled at by their friends for his comic and Mike felt overwhelmed by everyone’s complaints. 

“You have to tell your story, Mike,” Will had said. “You’re trying to tell everyone else’s. Zombie Boy works because it’s not a story about the Upside Down. It’s not even a story about creatures from another world. It’s a story about how monsters can be human and what it’s like to be an outsider. It’s my story. What’s yours?”

Mike had had to take a one year writing break after that, pushing back the publication date of the final book, which his publisher hadn’t been happy about. 

But Mike was proud of King of Nowhere. It had been hell to write — way worse than the other books. There had been tears and screaming and it had felt, at times, like Mike was bleeding onto the page. He’d broken down countless times in El’s arms, crying over wounds he’d thought had healed a decade ago.

He knew it was his best book to date.

“Let’s talk about some of these characters. Now, this is going to contain spoilers, so,” he made a show of turning to the audience. “Have you guys had time to read the book?”

The audience cheered. 

“Alright,” the interviewer said. “I have to say, the character whose fate I was most surprised by was Stark.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the audience. 

“Yeah?” Mike asked. 

“Of course,” the interviewer said. “You must have seen the fan theories. All the foreshadowing from the first two books pointed to the fact that he was going to die. And his role in the story was clearly that of the mentor. Most mentors don’t make it through a fantasy series alive. How is the hero meant to take his rightful place if there is still someone older and wiser around?”

Mike looked out at El and Will again. El’s dark eyes were boring into Mike, proud and steady.

“I thought, when I first started writing the series, that I was going to kill Stark,” Mike said. “Like you said, he’s the mentor and the mentor doesn’t get to live. But Stark’s character was actually based off a friend of mine. He used to drive me and my friends around in middle school. He’d give us arcade money and bitch at us and protect us from bullies. He was brave and snarky and kind of annoying, just like Stark. And he died, ten years ago last month.”

The room was silent, everyone hanging on Mike’s words with bated breath. 

“That’s why I couldn’t kill Stark,” Mike said. “Because he thought he was meant to die, just like Steve did, and I didn’t want to keep perpetuating that story.”

“What story?”

“That some people are just doomed by the narrative,” Mike said. “Because they aren’t. They always have a choice. A chance. And it’s stupid that the mentor always dies, as if the hero can’t become a fully realized person without losing someone he looks up to. I can tell you from experience, losing someone like that, it doesn’t make you feel ready to take on the world. It doesn’t teach you to stand on your own two feet. It just reminds you that the world is senselessly cruel and that no matter how brave or good you are or how much you fight, you can’t escape tragedy.”

“But we’re not fictional characters,” the interviewer said tentatively. 

“No,” Mike said. “But we still let ourselves get trapped by narratives. The ones other people tell about us and the ones we tell about ourselves. A good friend once told me that if I wanted to finish this series, I had to stop trying to tell everyone else’s story and I had to figure out my own. So I stopped listening to the publishers and the beta readers and even my friends. And I discovered that this was the story I wanted to tell. In my version of the story, Stark isn’t doomed and he doesn’t die. Him living doesn’t stop any of the people he mentors from becoming heroes. And the world is cruel in other ways, but it doesn’t tell a man that he never had any chance of making it out alive.”

“Do you think your friend would have liked the book?” the interviewer asked. 

Mike laughed. “He wouldn’t have read it. He called my fantasy books bricks and he probably would have waited for a movie adaptation. But I think- I think he would have liked the message. I think he would have liked to know that Stark didn’t need to die to be loved.”

Mike had jealously guarded the story of King of Nowhere until he’d finished it. Unlike with his first two books, his friends hadn’t read it until right before publication, when he’d sent them all ARCs. Dustin had called Mike in the middle of the night, sobbing over the phone line, saying that he loved the book. 

He’d thanked him for not killing Steve. For letting Stark have the happy ending Steve had never believed he would deserve. 

A week after that, the book had been published and dozens of newspapers had given Mike’s book five-star reviews. None of them meant more than that teary phone call from Dustin. 

“A good message indeed,” the interviewer said. “Now, Nico’s plot was unexpected as well. He’s been chasing power and leadership for three books, trying to unite the seven kingdoms against the Shadow World, and I think we all expected him to lead the final battle and become king. But instead, he makes a very different choice. Can you talk about that more?”

“It’s simple,” Mike said. “Sometimes, in order to be the hero, you have to realize that the story isn’t about you. You have to know when to step aside and let someone else take the reins.”

The rest of the interview didn’t get quite as heavy. Mike got to talk more about his characters, about the people he loved and the things he’d realized about himself while writing this final book. When the interview was over, Mike was given a ten minute break before he was expected to greet fans and sign books. 

He ducked into the bookstore’s back room, Will and El following after him. El gave him a kiss and he held her close, pressing his forehead against hers and breathing for a moment. 

“You did very good,” she told him. “I liked the part about Princess Elysande.”

“I loved what you said about the narrative,” Will said. He paused and then said, in a smaller voice, “Do you think Steve knew? Do you think he always expected to die?”

Mike thought of Steve’s bloody face, pressed against Mike’s side while Max drove her brother’s car. Thought of Steve stumbling, unsteady on his feet, in the tunnels and the way he insisted on going first anyway. Thought of Steve driving them all through a pack of demodogs sometime after the ground had cracked open and the monsters had begun flooding through. Thought of that final battle, standing back to back with Lucas and fighting off demodogs, so focused on keeping himself alive that he hadn’t noticed anything had gone wrong until Dustin had screamed like his soul had been torn from his body. 

He remembered being fourteen and feeling unworthy of Eleven’s love and how he had nearly torn them apart. He remembered watching Steve Harrington for years and seeing the way he had always treated love like something to be earned, something the Party would gift him if he was just good enough. 

Sometimes, he thought Steve Harrington had written his own tragedy, convinced it was the best possible outcome for everyone else. 

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “I hope not.”

“But you believe it?” Will asked. 

“I don’t know,” Mike repeated. 

It was too late; Mike couldn’t do anything to change Steve’s mind or his end. All he could do was write Steve a happier story and hope that it mattered, even if it was ten years too late and even if it was fiction. 

He’d been so dismissive of Steve back then. So annoyed by his very existence. He’d been a moody, traumatized teenager and he’d never told Steve that the rides and arcade money and unsolicited life advice had ever meant anything to him. He’d never given Steve anything but a shitty attitude in return for his patience and friendship. 

But now there was a book with Steve’s name printed in it, across from the copyright page. 

To Steve — as long as we live, you live on through us. Thank you for giving us the chance

~~~

Mike's "chapter" fought me. If you don't you like it or don't think it fits with the other parts, feel free to give me feedback. I don't have a beta, so I'm kinda using Tumblr as one. Eventually, this will end up as a 5+1 (but really 7+1, nuggets + Robin) fic whenever I'm happy with everyone's parts.

[crinkled-emotions]

Maverick, Rooster and an ER Visit

Sitting in the emergency room with Rooster leaning against him was not on Maverick’s bingo card. To be fair, he didn’t exactly have a bingo card. It was something Amelia said that Bradley seemed to understand-

“Mav.” Maverick glanced at his godson, brows knitting as he rubbed his back. Rooster swore under his breath, dropped his arms to lean against his knees so he could put his head in his hands. Initially he’d told Maverick he was having shoulder pain, and that was normal for Rooster, but it had become back pain and even Payback trying to put his back into place didn’t work. When Maverick had woken at 3am to Rooster sitting awkwardly on the couch in the living room, Top Gear playing on the TV whilst he mindlessly scrolled on his phone, he knew it was bad. Rooster wouldn’t say it at the time, but it was bad. “You okay?” Maverick asked quietly. Rooster shook his head. “Made a mistake; we should go. I can talk to the base doctor later in the morning. C’mon, I can just alternate Tylenol and Advil for another couple hours.” Maverick reached up, brushing through the curls at the base of Rooster’s neck. “Sorry, no can do. I’ve never seen you in this much pain, kid, it’s making me a little nervous.” “Had kidney stones the first year I met Fanboy and Payback; ended up with them in the ER and a next of kin I told them not to call.” Maverick winced, keeping his hand on Rooster’s back whilst his other subtly tried to double check he didn’t have a fever. There was nothing subtle about it; hand to forehead, hand to his shoulders, and then his lower back to triple check. It was something Carole had taught him when they’d gone through the transition period of picking up every bug that went through Bradley’s school and it had been one that had stuck with him for years. “Take some deep breaths, can you show me where the pain is?” “Right now it’s in my lower back, but it was in my ass earlier.” He turned to Maverick, face drawn with the movement. “Don’t ask.” “Trust me, I won’t.” A little longer pause for silence.

Despite the pain Rooster was clearly in and the fact he was sleep deprived, he was doing well for being in the same hospital Carole had died in. It’d had renovations, maybe that was helping his anxiety or he’d grown out of it- “Mav- you listening?”

Maverick’s attention snapped back to reality.

“I was just thinking about the last time I brought you in here.”

“Mav,” Rooster blurted, sounding mildly confused, “I don’t want to relive that-“

“-no, no, before your mom got sick. You broke your arm at a baseball game, your mom was working and I’d promised to be there but I was half an hour late. Ice and the guys were in the stands and they were telling me all about this home run your team had just made. Anyway, so right as I sit down, I hear a crack and then you just started yelling. Kid, you were thirteen, you were always yelling so at first I thought nothing of it.”

Rooster snorted.

“Yeah, I remember. Slider had to carry me off the field and I remember you appeared outta nowhere... sorry about that shirt, by the way, I don’t think I ever apologised for that.”

Maverick’s eyes fell to the floor.

“Kid, a little puke and blood was the least of my worries. We brought you in here and you’re still yelling your head off, so I told the guys to talk to the nurses about getting through faster and I sat with you, in this same waiting room, talking about horses of all things.”

Rooster’s brows furrowed, but now he was distracted so it wasn’t pain.

“Wait. I don’t remember horse talk.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m not entirely sure why; I think it was mostly just to get you to shut up for a couple seconds. Hearing you screaming in pain is something I hoped I’d never have to hear again.”

Rooster grunted, doubling over again and Maverick sighed.

“But that would have been too easy. Alright, just breathe, easy...”

-

It took another hour before they were finally called through. Because the doctors wanted to get an idea of where the pain was, they’d asked the nurses not to give Rooster any pain relief before they had a look at him so by the time they went through he was in agony. Watching him try to find a comfortable position to lie on the exam bed that wouldn’t trigger a spasm made Maverick’s own back hurt; that could have been from his multiple ejections no one thought he’d survive, though. When the doctor finally came into the room he looked up from Rooster’s chart and an eyebrow raised.

“It’s never good when I see a man wearing dog tags in visible pain. How can I help?”

Rooster began to explain the last three days; from twinging something in his side playing basketball with the rest of the Daggers of all things, to mild discomfort in his shoulder followed by intense pain in his back which had kept him from sleeping earlier that day... night. Whatever. The doctor hummed, scribbling notes from time to time, before reaching for hand sanitiser.

“Alright, Bradley, why don’t you roll on to your side for me and try to pull your knee to your chest...”

Maverick’s eyebrows shot up.

“Okay, uh, I’m- I’m just- I’ll wait outside.”

He was out the door before Rooster could reassure him and the doctor looked between the two, apparently confused.

“Father?”

“Kind of. It’s a long story. Uh, so what are you thinking?”

The doctor worked down Rooster’s back, starting at his shoulders and then making careful movements down to his lower back where it had been the most painful. To the touch he was fine, but any kind of movements triggered a spasm.

“Well, initially I had a feeling it was kidney stones. Considering the nurses didn’t mention a fever and you’re not displaying any of the other symptoms I’d say it’s safe to rule that out. I can’t feel anything off with your back but what I’d like to do is get an x-ray and an ultrasound just to make sure it’s only a pulled muscle.”

“Man, I’m never going to live it down if it’s just a pulled muscle.”

The doctor chuckled to himself.

“I get that. Wait here, we’ll get someone in to see you shortly. I’ll tell your...”

“Mav, it’s fine, I got to keep my shorts on and everything.”

“That solves that. I’ll also get the pharmacy to drop off some Tylenol for now just to curb the pain a little.”

The doctor was visibly amused when Rooster called out of the open door, shaking his head as he gathered his paperwork and made a quiet exit. Maverick appeared at the door, hesitantly poking his head into the room.

“Oh, good. Hey, are you hungry yet?”

Rooster lifted his head from the pillow, frowning at Maverick.

“Do I look hungry to you?”

“You look pale, Roos.”

“I’m in pain.”

Maverick pulled the seat in the room over to the exam bed, squeezing his godson’s arm.

“Won’t be long; we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“You didn’t get to finish your story earlier,” Rooster murmured. Apparently the Tylenol was starting to work as he stretched out, yawning.

“You know, honestly, I don’t remember what happened after I started the horse talk. I think you threw up on me again and then passed out in pain.”

Maverick checked the time on his phone again, about to start talking when he realised Bradley was dozing and promptly shut his mouth.

-

“Thanks for your patience; I’ve just been speaking with the team and we’ve come up with a diagnosis. Bradley, you said you twinged your back playing basketball, correct?”

“Uh... yeah?”

Bradley sat up on the exam bed, grimacing at the sharp warning shots of pain radiating through his spine.

“Well, turns out you have a slipped disc in your back. It can also be called a herniated disc. If you look at this...”

The doctor produced an MRI, holding the tablet out to show Rooster and Maverick.

“It’s definitely there. Did you notice any back pain before the game?”

Rooster’s brows furrowed. Maverick was quiet for a moment, then leaned to get Rooster’s attention.

“You had that hard landing last week, remember? No major injuries.”

The doctor added that to his notes.

“Playing basketball for someone with your fitness level isn’t something that would cause a herniated disc, but an abrupt movement like a hard landing has the potential to.”

“So I’m going in for surgery?” Rooster asked, mildly irritated. Maverick knew it was mostly at himself and nudged his hand. The doctor shook his head.

“It’s an easier recovery than you might think; PT, and pain management until you feel ready. Uh, no flying though, not for the first six weeks.”

“Damn,” Maverick muttered while Rooster swore under his breath. The doctor cleared his throat, prepared to make an exit.

“We’re going to get you discharged with pain medication, and then we can see about getting you set up with a PT-“

“-I have one, thanks, I’ll go see them about it.”

“Other than that, regular movement which seems to surprise everyone. Walking, to start, but I have no doubt you’ll be back up and running before you know it.”

Maverick couldn’t keep the grin off his face, his heart finally starting to beat in a regular rhythm.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t something more serious. Thanks, doc, we really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Good luck, Bradley.”

-

“Roos, the doctor said walking, not preparing for an eight mile run.”

Rooster glanced up from where he’d been stretching on a bench, surprised to find Phoenix standing in front of him.

“Maverick send you?” He asked. She snorted.

“I could sense your dumbass behaviour from home. C’mon; let’s get coffee and walk.”

Usually now was about the time Rooster would have one of his famous... temper tantrums, but this time he followed Phoenix without complaint. They managed to get coffee to go from a café on the beach and then found a relatively quiet walking track.

“Seriously; did Mav put you up to this?”

Phoenix glanced at her best friend, rolling her eyes as she nudged his side.

“So what if he did? You’re my best friend, you can’t fly and I have no doubt it’s driving you crazy. I’m not letting you push yourself to come back early and hurting yourself further.”

“Tash, I wouldn’t-“

A look.

“If anything I’d wait even longer-“

A very knowing look.

“Fine. Whatever. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You do it well enough on your own; I’m just making sure I still have my wingman.”

Rooster paused their walk to give Phoenix a hug.

“Besides; god knows I don’t really want to fly with Hangman.”

-

[kxlinthesky]

ESSENCE 7 SIDE STORY - Eden

A white room. A white place.

This tiny world, where time seemed frozen in place, was known as Eden.

And locked away inside, a young boy waited ever more for angels to arrive.

 When at last the boy escaped his gilded cage, what was it that he saw, and who was it that he met?

This is his tiny tale of adventure, searching for the “upside-down city” he so desperately yearned to see.

■■■■■■■■■■

I dream of an “upside-down city,” where an opalescent night sky dotted with twinkling orange-gold stars floats under the buildings instead of above.

In those dreams, I live in that city. It looks like the illustrations in books I read long ago. I can remember the smell of the cobblestones after rain, and the nostalgic familiarity of the windows shining with light. Crowds of people in colorful clothes live there, too, and four-wheel horse-drawn carriages travel in the spaces between massive brick buildings. The whole place feels like a toybox.

“I want to go there, too. Where is it?” I would ask.

“I don’t know,” you would reply. You laughed at me, but I wasn’t kidding.

Because I’ve been waiting here for so, so long, for the angels to descend from the upside-down city to take me by the hand.

■■■■■■■■■■

Do you get this painful ringing in your ears when things get too quiet? The place where I am is like that. It’s a tiny room that’s all white – the walls, the ceiling, the door, everything, and it never changes. The desk, bookshelf, and bed are all lined up symmetrically, and the quill, books, water jug, and cookies lying on them are all white, too. Even the bit of sky I can see through the skylight is white. It’s all boring.

Aah, I just want to go back to sleep and dream about that city again. That place is such a delightful jumble of objects and colors that it makes being locked up in this tranquil room all the more suffocating. I’ve long since grown bored of this static, unchanging life I’m living. I just sleep the days away.

I don’t remember anything from when I was born.

In my earliest memories I was already living here, hearing caretakers tell me in toneless voices that I’m a “supremely precious existence.” They bring me books, and at three o’clock they bring cookies, too. But they also feel sort of floaty, like clouds – they don’t feel real. Everything in here is like that. It’s all shaped like how it’s supposed to look, but it’s been encased in this white something or other.

I don’t even know if the caretakers are machines or real people. Honestly, there might not even be more than one – all of them look the same, so for all I know they could all be the same person. They come in every day, and all they do is perform the same actions and repeat the same phrases.

“May you spend your day peacefully and quietly,” they say.

It’s been a long time since I realized that there was nothing reflected in their eyes.

Where is the upside-down city...? It’s not here, at least.

The air smells of sunshine. My hair flutters in the breeze. I can feel my feet thumping against the steady, firm cobblestones as I race along the pathways. And I can feel the warmth of a large hand gripping mine as we walk along... but none of that is real here.

When I opened my eyes to the white skylight overhead, my heart sank. When I looked at the clock, it was still too early for me to get up. But I slept more than enough – I wasn’t going back to bed. I took in my surroundings. Everything was dead quiet, same as every night. The silence weighed heavy on my ringing ears. I scowled, conjuring up images of my dreams to escape the familiar pain.

And suddenly, I came up with the most brilliant idea.

What if I broke the rules and went outside, to look for the city?

I could find that wonderful place out there, see it with my own two eyes. Warm anticipation welled up deep in my gut at the thought. I didn’t remember ever going outside before, but it was possible that my dreams were actually memories from when I was just a baby. It was honestly kind of odd that the idea hadn’t crossed my mind before.

I stole from my bed on silent feet and gently opened the door just a crack. On the other side was a hallway with a rounded arched ceiling, stretching in both directions as far as the eye could see seemingly without end. My legs froze. I was breaking the rules. My body was subconsciously warring with my mind.

For a while I stood there, completely motionless, hesitant, wavering. But eventually the excitement in my heart won out over the uncertainty, and I took my first bold step out of the door and headed down the hallway to the right.

I proceeded with caution, but no matter how far I walked I didn’t see anyone else. Maybe there weren’t that many people in the building. The thought reassured me, and soon enough my bare feet were positively flying down the endless white hall as fast as they could go. It wasn’t long before I ran out of breath, though – I was always running around everywhere in my dreams, but I’d never pushed myself like that in real life.

I had to pause to catch my breath. I’d ended up in some kind of atrium, where the ceiling was so high I couldn’t even see it. The gigantic white stone walls around me were dotted with dozens of passageways stretching out like wedges. It was a big area, but it had this cooped-up feeling to it, like I’d stumbled into a prison, that left me struggling to breathe.

There were plenty of paths to choose from, but I knew I was going to end up lost no matter what I did. I chose the route straight ahead.

– All I could hear was the tapping of my feet echoing in the vast space as I walked endlessly onward. The halls were dim, lit only by flickering electric lights spaced evenly along the walls. I kept glancing back over my shoulder, wondering when the caretakers would finally notice I was gone and come chasing after me.

My sense of time grew warped in this ever-repeating loop of identical halls with identical walls. Anyone who experienced it once would understand the fear brewing in my heart, not knowing if I was actually progressing forward or if I was going in circles. I began to grow discouraged when I continued to see no change in my surroundings, and the thought of turning back gnawed at my mind what felt like hundreds of times.

But finally, I spied it – an exit off in the distance, a literal light at the end of the tunnel. The faint shine peeking through the cracks dispelled any doubts I had. Secretly, I felt like crying at the sight.

I rushed up to the exit at the end of the hall and peeked through to see the largest space I’d ever seen in my life. The area looked to be some kind of place of worship, laid out in three aisles. Off to the right, in the depths by the altar-looking thing, a ten-meter-tall geometric monument hung on the wall. The chairs where people would sit were unreasonably massive. Only two people were inside, each standing guard at opposite ends of the room. I snuck forward through one of the side aisles, hiding in the shadows of the pillars, heading through a lobby on the opposite side of the altar, and eventually reached a door that looked like it led outside.

I scanned my surroundings as I opened the door, but as soon as I turned my eyes outside, I was blinded by overwhelming panic. The “whiteness” was suddenly assaulting my entire body. I somehow managed to swallow the scream that threatened to erupt and slowly, carefully, opened by stinging eyes a crack, and eventually, I began to make out a faint image wavering in front of me.

... An endless sea of white earth and white sky.

That was the first view I got of the outside.

Once I cautiously confirmed there was no one around, I dashed outside the building, feeling the loose earth scatter underneath my feet like sand and dust the backs of my legs. It wasn’t hot. I shouted in delight, unable to contain my excitement. I’d only ever seen a slice of sky through the skylight in my room, and now the whole wide open expanse in its infinite glory was mine to enjoy.

For some reason, laughter bubbled out of me. I pressed a hand against my pounding chest and darted up a sloping white hill.

■■■■■■■■■■

Everywhere I went in the outside world was a never-ending white desert under a colorless sky, occasionally interspersed with round pillar constructions that sprouted from the ground like peppermint. At first I was on guard every time I saw one of them, but no matter how long I watched them I never saw any signs of people, just the structures themselves jiggling around every so often as they changed shapes.

Eventually I grew bored of the monotonous landscape, and as I walked along I couldn’t stop my doubts from floating to the surface. What time was it? Where could I find the city?

... What would I do if I couldn’t find it?

Would the caretakers’ frozen faces change at all if they knew I was missing...?

I was tired, spacing out, walking through the world with only my increasingly incoherent thoughts for company. But soon enough, I realized that the land around me was changing.

... The first oddity I noticed was “smell.” The scent of fresh grass laden with evening dew wafted through the air. It was the smell of a humid night.

It was a sensation I’d only known in my dreams. The vague, floaty sense pervading the world had suddenly gained something tangible, something to give it definition. A chill shuddered its way down my spine.

The next thing I noticed was “sound.” A rustling sound overhead, the sound of leaves on a tree swaying in the wind.

... Yes, trees were growing around me. I hadn’t noticed them at first. And when I glanced around, I could hear the faint chirping of insects. Everything together created this unshakeable sense of nighttime.

“... What is this place?”

I’d ended up in a forest in the dead of night, just like the places I saw in my dreams. I’d meant to go outside – was I just dreaming again? But even as I realized that the air around me, heavy with moisture, coiled around me like a shroud, I shook off my uneasiness and continued to climb the hill.

I had to see what lay ahead with my own eyes. And when I thought that I might see the upside-down city that very night, my frozen legs managed to push onward.

■■■■■■■■■■

What I found at the top was a strange silhouette of a building.

The weathered white rectangle was haphazardly constructed, like a child working with toy blocks, and above it stood a line of lonely looking radio towers pointed up at the heavens. I stared at it for some time, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but looking closer I eventually spotted a small set of double doors at the bottom, in the same pure white color as the walls around it. There was no handle. I tried pushing on it instead. The hinges creaked.

Slowly, timidly, I pushed further, until the door opened just enough to peek inside. It was surprisingly bright on the other side, and wider inside than the outside led me to believe. White pillars stood scattered unevenly around the space, and a small, illuminated display twinkled in their midst. Heartened by the light, I slipped inside the mazelike building without further delay and began to slowly but surely creep my way forward.

What was this building for? I glanced around as I went. The pillars looked similar to the structures outside, and on closer inspection they were also slowly changing shape. Maybe I could learn more if I looked at my surroundings from the rooftop, where the radio towers were.

I kept my eyes peeled, wondering if there was any way for me to get up there, but it wasn’t until I faced forward again that I saw it, a tiny yelp escaping my lips. A spiral staircase reaching all the way to the ceiling had suddenly appeared while I hadn’t been looking.

“But this wasn’t here before....”

This day had been one odd thing after another, but I could still be surprised. I craned my neck, staring up at the spiral that slowly faded into darkness, too far for the light to reach.

The handrails creaked under my touch. I stretched myself up as far as I could, trying to see just how far it went, but even on my tiptoes I couldn’t see the end of the seashell-like spiral. It was paralyzingly high, that much was certain. Fear suddenly gripped my heart.

(Should I go back...? If I act innocent enough, I probably could. No one’s come after me tonight, thankfully... and I even left that kid alone in the room, too....)

But even with those thoughts swirling in my head, my legs still unconsciously rose onto the first step. The handrail curved like a living, breathing being, and it had a lavish mosaic pattern on it, but it was still old, and it groaned with every step.

Trembling, I continued my journey up. Somewhere in the middle I couldn’t help but peek down and saw the yawning pitch-black pits of Hell opening below, forcing me to hurriedly avert my gaze back up. The entire day had been nothing but stressful. It was just one unending nightmare, and frankly, I was getting sick of it. All I wanted was to go see the city. Onward and upward I climbed, growing more desperate by the minute.

Finally, though, I saw the top of the staircase. I climbed the final steps to find a short pathway leading to yet another set of double doors. I ran up without thinking, pressing a hand to my chest with a relieved sigh. I threw my entire body against the heavy doors, and when they opened, a gentle breeze kissed my face as the world opened up before my eyes.

A sea of stars stretched in all directions above me. From the roof of the white building, the uniform indigo sky had transformed into a brilliant gradient of azure and jade green. The heavens above glittered like blue topaz, the stars twinkling like pearls reflecting light.

And sitting there in the center of my vision was the thing I’d been searching for all this time: the upside-down city.

“... I finally found it!”

My heart throbbed in my chest at the sight. I couldn’t help the shout of delight that unconsciously spilled out of me.

The world overflowed with color. The city bustled with energy, with people the size of poppy seeds and horse-drawn carriages flitting back and forth between oddly shaped roofs. But... no, the city was floating in the midst of such faraway stars. There was no way I could see all that.

But even still, from somewhere in that faint, flickering upside-down city, I could catch a whiff of a creature that didn’t exist here.

I knew that place. Because – because I wanted to return to that place. I’d always wanted to return.

“    ”

I heard a voice calling. It said a familiar name.

... Name? But I didn’t have one of those. I stretched my hand up to the heavens, to the city, my chest aching with longing and pain....

“... Gin?”

And a tiny voice reached my ears.

I gasped, lowering my hand and twisting my head around frantically. Whatever sound I was going to make next died in my throat, strangled by a rolling wave of shock. I had been on the roof of the white building just now, but suddenly, everything around me had changed.

– Well, no, not everything. The glittering sky still looked the same. But at some point, the rooftop had vanished, replaced by a field of short, swaying grass. Cicadas sang gentle songs in the evening light. A dirt path wound ahead of me, faintly damp – maybe it had just rained – and amid the fluttering stalks of golden grass stood evenly spaced poles, large and ash gray.

And in the middle of the dew-laden, shining field, was a boy with golden hair that I knew oh so well, quietly looking my way.

“You came...?” I rushed up to him, thinking he’d followed me out of the room, but then I saw the triangular ears poking from his head and skidded to a halt. Were those – were those animal ears? And looking closer, this boy’s eyes were the color of pomegranate, not the shade I was familiar with.

... No, this wasn’t him. I eyed him cautiously. The boy with animal ears opened his mouth and spoke once more.

“I see... so this place can recreate the memories of whoever enters it.”

“... What are you talking about?... Who are you?”

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else. My memories must’ve interfered with yours when I called out to you.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, but... I know someone who looks a lot like you, too.”

A large scarf covered much of the boy’s face, but take away the ears and eyes and he really did look a lot like the one I lived together with in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

The boy’s eyes, expressionless up until now, suddenly swam with unease. “... I’m looking for something I lost. Something I need to go back. But I’ve been looking for a long, long time, and I haven’t found it.” With his head hung low, his golden hair masking his scarlet eyes from view, he could have been his twin.

“Something you lost...? Do you want me to look with you?” He wasn’t the person I knew, but my mouth automatically opened anyway. The boy’s behavior reminded me so much of him, I couldn’t just leave him be.

But when I tried to shuffle closer, the boy simply gave a tiny smile and an even tinier shake of his head from within his overlarge scarf. He pointed up at the sky. “This is the edge of the world – a space where our worlds collided. You can’t stick around here if you don’t have the right qualifications... and besides, our time is up. Your ride’s here.”

“My what?”

Just then, a round geometric pattern expanded in midair, and a pillar of white light enveloped the area around me.

“... Thanks, my other –”

I thought I could hear his voice fading into the distance, but the light was too bright. My eyes screwed shut.

The last thing I remember from that day is looking up at a downpour of feathers in the world of white, and my fingertips brushing against tough skin.

[wordsmithings]

[ PILLOW ] Our characters build a pillow fort together

ooc: answer under readmore because it's long XD

Reza’s narrative:

“So, is there any particular reason why we’re building a pillow fort in the middle of the living room?” Reza looked up once he fastened the end of the loose bedsheet on his end, his brow arched and his lips curled into in amusement. He could see Chae was doing his very best avoiding his gaze, and even with the distance between them, he could imagine the flushed cheek and reddened ear tip that Chae was trying very hard to hide.

It made him want to close the distance between them and bite Chae’s ear, if he was being honest.

“You said you’re good with your hands,” was the reply that he received. Reza’s eyes drawn to the man’s hand; fingers long and delicate, more so than his at least, fumbling over the sheet at his end.

“Yes, well.” Reza got up from where he had crouched down, stretching his arms above his head. “When you tell me you wanted to see me, I wasn’t expectin’ this.” He smiled when he caught Chae trying to steal a glance when he stretched before looking away again.

“What were you expecting?” Reza walked around their pillow fort and crouched next to Chae, close enough that he could feel the warmth emanating from Chae against his cold skin.

“Something more… laborious?” He looked at Chae, a mischievous smile across his lips when he confirmed red tint on Chae’s skin grew darker at his words, if that was even possible. “You look like a cherry, by the way. Should I lower the temperature for you?” A teasing lilt coloured his voice when Chae’s eyes widened as he quickly looked away, his hand quickly covering his cheek as if that would brush the redness away. Reza then took the end of the sheet and tied it to the chair for their makeshift fort. “There, all done. Now what do we do?”

Chae seemed hesitated to answer, his gaze fixated on the ground. Reza wondered if he should assure the other than he wasn’t going to do anything that Chae wouldn’t like, but he didn’t have it in him to promise such thing. “I was hoping,” Chae’s voice came out softer than expected, and Reza had to leaned forward to catch his words, “that we could watch a movie or something. I’ve never done that before, so...”

Both of his brows arched, and Reza took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, he’s never done this before either, but he never saw the appeal. But if that’s what Chae wanted, then who was he to deny his request. He’s a guest at the man’s house anyway. “Sure. What kind of movie are we watchin’?” Reza got up, groaning when his knees popped at the movement. “You have snacks, yeah? It’s no fun watchin’ movies without snacks.” He made his way towards the kitchen, ready to ransack the inventory for their snacks and drink.

It was cozy inside the pillow fort, and other than letting his feet rest on Chae’s lap and eating his popcorn and drinking his hot sweet cocoa, he didn’t do much else. Reza didn’t remember much about the movie. Something about the miracle of Christmas or some Hallmark bullshit. He was too busy watching Chae watching the movie, anyway, smiling to himself when Chae admonished him with flustered look for watching him instead of the movie.

Reza made a mental note to do this again in the future.

Aldemar’s narrative:

“Scoot over a little.” Aldemar plopped himself next to Chae under their makeshift pillow fort, fluffing up the pillow before leaning his back against it. He was in the middle of cleaning the house when Chae came over. The house was a mess after babysitting the kids for his pack, but he decided to have the pillow fort stay up a little longer and invited Chae to accompany him for pizza and beer. He handed the can of beer to Chae, opening his own beer and took a large gulp. There were pizza boxes between them, and a rerun of The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse on the tele. “I don’t know what you like, so I got half-and-half of everything. Well, not everything, but.” Aldemar gestured at the pile of pizza boxes, hoping Chae understood his meaning.

He smiled to himself when Chae took a slice of the pizza at the top before grabbing a slice for himself. “Thanks,” he heard Chae mumbled, and Aldemar nodded in acknowledgement.

“This is certainly better than the first time we met.” Aldemar laughed good naturedly as Chae whipped his head around, the faint rouge colour started to bloom on his cheeks. He had met a few times at the Little Duck, and he would like to think that they had bonded a little better, enough for him to be able to joke around with Chae without making it awkward. “Sorry, sorry.” He patted Chae’s shoulder, asking for forgiveness for his little teasing. “I am glad you’re looking better than the last time we met, though.” He squeezed Chae’s shoulder lightly before letting his hand fall to his side.

“Yeah, well.” Aldemar glanced towards Chae, watching as he hugged his legs to his chest as if to make himself look smaller. He wondered if Chae was too embarrassed to talk about their first meeting this much. “I don’t usually need rescuing from high places.” Chae shrugged, taking a bite of his pizza.

“It would be very concerning if you do.” Aldemar chuckled, shaking his head as he finished his slice of pizza in a few bites. He heard Chae muttered under his breath, though he didn’t bother to comment what it was. “Anyway, thanks for coming over. You didn’t have to help me clean the house, though.”

Chae shrugged. “It’s no big deal. We get to finish early if we clean it together.”

“Cheers, mate.” Aldemar clinked their beers together and took a sip. “So what do you want to watch?”

They both settled in as they watched reruns of Long Island, chattering away about nothing and everything. It was cozy, and Aldemar couldn’t ask for nothing more to spend his day off.

[rxscss]

‘ceremonials’ the debut album of persephone + the machine.

ceremonials is the first album released by persephone in eleven years - using her real voice instead of the autotuned ‘baby’ voice she is notorious for. a huge pivot from the pop bangers she once churned out, ceremonials is an alternative/indie album completely written and produced by persephone herself, along with help from her new band that she has affectionately dubbed as ‘the machine.’ the album consists of a collection of works she has written over the past eleven years and tells the story of where she’s been and ends off with hopes of brighter days ahead. ceremonials has been dedicated to her children, archie and austen sinclair.

complete track list under the cut!

morning elvis {song here}

"oh, you know i'm still afraid. i'm still crazy and i'm still scared. but if i make it to the stage i'll show you what it means to be spared."

leave my body {song here}

"i don't need a husband, don't need no wife. and i don't need the day, i don't need the night. and i don't need the birds, let them fly away. and i don't want the crowds, they never seem to stay."

hunger {song here}

“i thought that love was in the drugs but the more i took, the more it took away and i couldn't get enough. i thought love was on the stage, you give yourself to strangers, you don't have to be afraid. then it tries to find a home with people, or when i'm alone picking it apart and staring at your phone.”

falling {song here}

"sometimes i wish for falling, wish for the release, wish for falling through the air to give me some relief. beacause falling's not the problem, when i'm falling at peace. it's only when i hit the ground it causese all the grief."

girl against god {song here}

"and it's good to be alive, crying into cereal at midnight. if they ever let me out, i'm gonna really let it out. i listen to music from 2006 and feel kind of sick. but oh god, you're gonna get it. you'll be sorry that you messed with this."

the bomb (song here)

“you said this could have been the best thing that ever happened to you, so you decided not to do it now you come back every summer like a carnivorous flower and i stare at your hands in the heat, and i think they are the most beautiful thing i've ever seen.”

heartlines {song here}

"this fantasy, this fallacy, this tumbling stone, echoes of a city that's long overgrown. and your heart is the only place that i call home. can i be returned? you can. you can. we can."

cosmic love {song here}

"i took the stars from my eyes and then i made a map, and knew that somehow i could find my way back. then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness, too. so i stayed in the darkness with you."

never let me go {song here}

"and the arms of the ocean are carrying me and all this devotion was rushing out of me and the crashes ahead for a sinner like me, but the arms of the ocean delivered me."

dog days are over {song here}

"happiness hit her like a train on a track, coming towards her, stuck still no turning back. she hid around corners and she hid under beds, she killed it with kisses and from it she fled, with every bubble she sank with her drink and washed it away down the kitchen sink."

shake it out {song here}

"and i've been a fool and i've been blind. i can never leave the past behind. i can see no way, i can see no way. i'm always dragging that horse around. all of his questions, such a mournful sound. tonight i'm gonna bury that horse in the ground. 'cause i like the keep my issues drawn, but it's always darkest before the dawn."

you’ve got the love {song here}

"sometimes i feel like throwing my hands up in the air, cause i know i can count on you, sometimes i feel like saying 'lord, i just don't care' but you've got the love i need to see me through."

free {song here}

"but there's nothing else that i know how to do but open my arms and give it all to you. 'cause i hear the music, i feel the beat and for a moment when i'm dancing, i am free."

bonus track:

tiny dancer (cover) by elton john (song here)

“but oh, how it feels so real lying here, with no one near only you and you can hear me when i say softly, slowly hold me closer, tiny dancer count the headlights on the highway lay me down in sheets of linen you had a busy day today.”

[zahirwon]

When they chose me, they draped me in gold. Gifts. Endless gifts. Swords with jeweled hilts, cloaks that shimmer in the sunlight, books filled with ancient spells I’m supposed to learn. Trainers come from every corner of the realm, all of them falling over themselves to teach me how to fight, how to lead, how to wield the power they’ve bestowed upon me. My new room is fit for a monarch—pillows stuffed with feathers so soft they melt under my skin, tapestries woven with stories of kings and queens who ruled this land long before I was born.

They think I should be grateful. That I should bow my head and say thank you and pledge my life to their cause.

But they don’t know me.

They don’t know the child who used to sleep in the streets, who fought for scraps of bread, who watched the rich sweep through town on horses while we starved in their shadows. They don’t know how I watched my mother die, her hands trembling, skin pale and drawn tight over her bones. I can still hear her voice, soft and broken, saying “Hold on, Lira. Just hold on.”

And I did. I held on to every scrap of memory, every ounce of fury, every promise I made to myself that I would never forget where I came from.

They thought bringing me here — dressing me up in finery, teaching me their ways — would make me one of them. That I would forget the hunger, the cold, the nights spent staring up at the stars wondering if I’d live to see another day. But I never will.

The Kingdom expects my loyalty. They think they’ve already won me over, that I’m theirs now. But I’m not. I’m still Lira, the girl who grew up with nothing. And they may have chosen me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll choose them. Not when the streets I came from still echo with the cries of the forgotten. Not when the people who raised me are still out there, scraping by while the rich sit in their castles.

I feel the weight of their expectations like a chain around my neck, but they don’t know the truth.

I will never be theirs. Not really.

They parade me through the halls like a trophy. The courtiers bow, the servants scatter, and the nobles nod with thin smiles like they’ve already carved out a place for me in their world. They don’t see the fire burning beneath my skin, don’t hear the silent roar of my past pushing against the walls I’ve built around myself.

I walk these halls like a ghost, a stranger in a body they’ve tried to reshape, but every step I take is heavy with the weight of the streets I left behind. They act like they’ve erased that girl, scrubbed her clean, but I’m still here. She’s still here. And no amount of silk can cover the scars.

Even now, in this moment, I feel the tension pulling at me. A handmaiden is kneeling at my feet, lacing up my boots — fine leather, stitched with gold thread — and I can barely breathe. Her eyes never rise to meet mine, her movements quick, careful, like she’s afraid to touch me. I want to tell her it’s okay, that I’m not what they think I am, that I was once like her — smaller, maybe, weaker, but no different in the ways that matter.

But I say nothing.

Because the truth is, I’m afraid. Afraid of what happens when they find out I’m not who they want me to be. That I’m not their weapon, not their savior, not some obedient piece in their game. I’m something else entirely — something they can’t control.

When the handmaiden finishes, she whispers a quick apology, then disappears, leaving me alone with the silence of my new life. This room — my room — is a prison dressed up as paradise. The walls are high, the windows narrow, and every door is guarded. It’s a cage, even if it’s made of velvet and gold.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The girl who stares back at me is unrecognizable, her hair braided with ribbons, her skin scrubbed clean and glowing, her clothes impossibly fine. But her eyes — my eyes — are the same. Dark, sharp, hungry. The hunger is still there, no matter how many feasts they lay before me, no matter how many gifts they pile at my feet.

They can give me all the gold in the world, but they’ll never fill that emptiness. Only I know what it’s like to be hollowed out by need, to be driven by desperation.

They want me to fight their battles, but I’ve already chosen my side.

And it’s not theirs.

When you were selected as the Chosen One, you were showered with gifts, training, and a new cushy room in the castle. The Kingdom thought you would automatically be on their side, but the memories of your impoverished childhood will never fade.

[mrmonster459]

The Bluebird

Location: Deadcrow, a small town in California

Time: 1854

I’ll never forget the day she walked into the saloon.

A Native American woman walked in, with a bow dropped over one shoulder and a quiver full of arrows propped over the other. She took a seat at the bar, and said “Whiskey, dry.”

The bartender laughed and said “Little lady, you sure you…”

“Yes, I am.” She said, and the bartender then poured her a drink.

I normally just tried to bus tables and ignore the patrons (the men in that saloon weren’t kind if they thought you were eavesdropping), but even I couldn’t help but stare at the woman ordering a drink in a place that would almost surely chew her up and spit her out.

“While I’ve got your attention, I’m looking for a man named Laurence Cole. I heard he frequents this saloon, is that true?” She asked.

“Yes, I do.” Laurence Cole said as got up from the table where he and his friends were playing poker. Laurence Cole was one of the leaders of the militia that essentially ran the town of Deadcrow, on behalf of the company who owned the rights to pretty much the entire gold mine our town’s economy thrived on; he was a man you didn’t wanna anger, unless your idea of a nice Sunday afternoon was being whipped in front of the entire town.

“What’s your name?” Laurence asked as he stood next to her.

“Sialea-lea.” She answered, much to the surprise of pretty much everyone who heard.

"What was that? See a leah leah?" One of Cole's cohorts asked.

After seeing the confusion on their faces, she said “But you can call me Bluebird, if that’s easier for you to pronounce.”

“Alright, Bluebird, can I help you?” Laurence asked.

She then drew a knife and stabbed him in the gut before kicking him backwards.

Three other men stood up from a table and began to draw their weapons. Bluebird quickly drew an arrow and shot one right in the neck. She then jumped over the bar to take cover. The two militiamen fired at the bar, hoping they’d land a lucky shot and kill her.

They did not.

After they used up all their shots, one of them said “She’s gotta be dead, right?”

Bluebird then emerged from the bar, with an arrow fully drawn. She fired at one of them, hitting him right in the chest. The other one rushed to reload, but she then put an arrow right in his eye.

Everyone else in the saloon was rushing to get out, including Cole, who was able to make it to his horse.

Bluebird ran outside and shouted “DAMN!” as she tried firing at him, but it was no use. He was already too far away for her to land a shot. After he rode off, she went back inside to finish her drink. I knew I should've been running away, but I couldn't help but talk to her. She was something our town had never had before; a glimmer of hope.

“You know he’s not leaving for good, right?” I asked. “He’s definitely coming back with more militiamen.”

“Good.” Bluebird replied as took another sip of her whiskey. "Saves me the trouble of having to track him down again."

She caught me glaring at her, and said “What’s your name?”

“Eleanor.” I answered.

“Well, Eleanor, I don’t much enjoy drinking alone; care to join me?” She asked.

I couldn’t say no, I had to know why she was on a warpath against the local militia. I took a seat beside her and said “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” She replied.

“We have time.” I said.

____

She spent over an hour telling me her full story. For the sake of time, I’ll give you the abridged version.

“I grew up in a Navajo village, back in New Mexico.” She began. “My dad was a war chief, who taught me archery and knife fighting from an early age. He wanted me to be tough enough to survive out in the desert.”

“One day, a group of militiamen came into our village. They wanted to buy the land our village sat on. They said it had copper, and that they could flip the land and sell it to a mining company.”

“We turned them down. The land was important to us, we had no interest in selling. The next day, I went out elk hunting, and came back to find that my entire village had been killed. The militia swallowed up and sold the land for pennies, and then they moved on to find the next opportunity.”

____

“Guess where they moved on to?” Bluebird asked before finishing her drink.

“I, I’m so sorry.” I said.

“Save your pity.” She said. “I didn’t come here for tears, I came here to get revenge. Laurence Cole is the reason my tribe is gone, and I am not leaving this town until he’s dead.”

I heard horses riding up to the saloon.

“Well, that sounds like your chance.” I said.

_____

There were eleven men standing outside the saloon, all armed. One of them was Laurence Cole; he had a bandage that was covering his stab wound, but other than that, he looked fine.

“BLUEBIRD, YOU’D BETTER COME OUT NOW!” He shouted. “Come out with your hands in the air, and we’ll just hang you and get it over with. But if we have to go in there and find you, we’ll do a whole lot worse.”

“Don’t listen to him.” I advised. “He’ll torture you no matter you do.”

Bluebird sat there and did nothing. “Kid, I’d advise you to either run, hide, or start loading a gun, because shit’s about to get bloody.”

I did both the second and third thing options. I grabbed a revolver off one of the fallen militiamen, and his box of ammo too. But then, I went to hide in the bar’s supply closet. I could still see everything through the slit, but the militiamen wouldn’t notice me unless they were looking (which they wouldn’t, not with an expert archer firing at them).

Moments later, two militiamen entered the saloon. They both received arrows to the face in rapid succession. Another two came in, both attempting to shoot Bluebird with repeating rifles, but Bluebird moved too quickly for them to hit.

She closed the distance, and stabbed one of them in the neck while kicking the other’s leg out. Before he could get up, she slashed his throat open.

The rest of them opened fire from the windows. Bluebird had no choice but to take cover, and the remaining militiamen began to storm the place. Worse, Bluebird was almost out of arrows, she only had one more left.

“WHERE IS SHE?” A militiamen asked before getting hit with an arrow in the side of the neck. But that was it; there were still five of them left, and Bluebird was out of arrows.

I then realized it was now or never; I summoned all the courage I had, opened the door, and unloaded at the militiamen. This was my first time firing a gun, so I only landed two of the six shots; but that didn’t matter, because Bluebird then rushed at the surviving men, isolated one of them, and sliced his neck open. She then took his rifle, and fired it at one of his comrades. Another militiamen turned his gun towards her, but she kicked the gun away before he fired; the shot ended up hitting the wall, and she then stabbed him in the chest.

There was one more of them, and he was too far away for her to grab but I had already loaded one another shot. I rushed closer to get to point blank, and moments before he was gonna fire at Bluebird, I nailed him right in the back of the head.

We both breathed an unfortunate sigh of relief, thinking we were safe. Then, a bullet sailed in from the window and hit Bluebird in the leg. Laurence Cole emerged, holding a smoking gun in his hand.

I aimed at him, but he was quicker on the draw. He fired a shot that hit the wall just six inches or so away from my head. “I missed on purpose, I won’t again. Drop the gun or my next shot will bore a hole in your forehead.”

I dropped my revolver and put my hands in the air.

“That’s better.” He said. “You, I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and call this a panic response. I’ll let you off after, I don’t know, three or four dozen lashes.”

“But you.” He said as he looked down at Bluebird, who was practically helpless down on the ground. “I am gonna make you regret even being born.”

The moment he turned, I dove down, grabbed the gun, fired a shot, and then ran towards the bar to take cover. Of course, I missed, but that was okay; I gave Bluebird just the opportunity she needed to crawl closer, and stab him in the thigh. After he fell over, she then stabbed him in the chest.

_____

We took her to the town doctor. Thankfully, the bullet just grazed her leg; if it had just landed an inch to the left, her leg would have had to be amputated. But all she needed was a few bandages.

“What do you think this town will do without the militia?” Bluebird asked me.

“Probably breathe a sigh of relief.” I said. “Only reason we tolerated those assholes was because the company would’ve fired all the miners if they staged any kind of revolt. Now that that's' been done for them, maybe they can run this place themselves; might even go on strike, demand they finally get good wages.”

“I hope they do.” Bluebird said. “Well, I have no reason to stay here anymore, so I’m headed off. I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do now that I got my revenge, but I’m getting out of Deadcrow, that's for sure. Wanna join, Eleanor?”

“You know, I think I do.”

[fromasgardandback]

Tour Of Asgard // Loki Laufeyson Headcanon

masterlist | oneshots

you were the first girl Loki was bringing home. he never brought anyone back to Asgard and unlike Thor, it wasn’t an abrupt and sudden coming

you were excited and nervous. you had no idea what to expect considering you were going to another planet and dating their prince

you already met Thor since you worked with him and that’s how you and Loki met. he was aboard the first time he came to Earth when he fought in the Battle of New York

you sat in front of the clear circular dome he was in and talked about anything. you were sent to analyze who Loki was and why he acted the way he was. Instead of finding a monster, you found a man in pain wanting to prove himself to his father while trying to figure out who he was supposed to be

you walked through the portal and Heimdall stood in all his glory. like a gentleman, Loki introduced you and even had two white horses awaiting your arrival to travel the rainbow bridge to the castle

along the way you looked both left and right almost getting whiplash from trying to take in all of Asgard’s beauty

you couldn’t believe what you were seeing and told yourself it was all a dream

“Over there, is where I shifted into a frog to scare Thor,” Loki looked over at you. “My love, are you listening to me?” He asked.

“Huh? Sorry, no I was taking in all the beauty of this place. I can’t believe I am even here. It feels like a fantasy, or more like a drawn-up movie or a tale to tell the kids at night.” You said still in awe.

“Well darling, believe it. You’re dating a prince. Here it is called courting because I am a royal. We are courting to become Asgard's future prince and princess. Even though we haven’t spoken of marriage, others will see it that way.” He said leaning over to kiss my hand.

“Princess. Princess of Asgard. I like that title. As long as you’re my future they can talk about marriage all they want.” You said looking at him lovingly.

he got the bags in his room before leading you to a private balcony for lunch. he knew the journey was long for a Midgardian, so he set up an impromptu date overlooking the waterfall

Asgard has some of the best food you’ve ever tasted and mainly because it was all fresh, but you would need to smuggle some of your favorite snacks and treats because they have no chocolate. no chocolate was your deal breaker

after the meal, Loki walked you around the entire palace and described each and every story he shared with Thor and their friends. the kind of battles and fighting, real and not, and places he would escape to

speaking of escapes, he showed you all three of his hiding places. one in the palace, one in the mountains, and one in the town. he treated it as no matter where he was, he could run to his hiding place every time

“I came here a lot when no one noticed. Especially in my younger years when I didn’t feel understood, which was quite often. I was bringing a blanket and snacks with me to keep me occupied. Although I wasn’t the best at hiding from my mother. She knew where I was at all times, being that she is a witch herself.” Loki smiled softly with sadness behind his eyes.

“Would she sit and stay with you?” You asked and held his hand.

“She would. She’d stay with me until I felt comfortable coming back. My father, Odin, was not a father to me as you know. But he would show his affection in a way that others would see as equal to Thor and me, but cruel and hurtful in reality. But mother,” He chuckled, looking down at his hands. “Mother was my best friend.” Loki looked at you.

“She would be so proud of you, that I know. I’ve only met her a few times when she came to visit, but I do know the kind of special bond the two of you have.” You sat up leaning over to press your hand softly to his cheek. “It is an honor to be shown the places you were and are most vulnerable and places you shared memories with her. Thank you.”

you spent the night in one of his hiding places with him just talking about anything and everything

[books]

Tumblr Exclusive: Forestborn

Do you like shapeshifters, epic quests, magic, dark forests, and obstinate princes? Well, have we got an exclusive excerpt for you!

Forestborn is an upcoming @torteen novel by debut author Elayne Audrey Becker. Becker graduated from Vassar College with a BA in classics and history. She is currently continuing her education at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland after time spent as an editor with a New York publisher. She grew up with a lake and woods as her backyard, spending long days outside and visiting national parks with her family.

Forestborn will be available at bookstores everywhere from August 31. Read the exclusive excerpt below, and thanks again to Elayne for sharing her inspiration moodboard with us!

Forestborn By Elayne Audrey Becker

One

I find her deep in the Old Forest, facedown in the dirt. 

Sharp pain needles my palms where I’ve balled my fists so tight, the nails have carved half-moon marks into the skin. Snaking across the twig-strewn ground, gnarled roots press against my boots like a warning as I roll the young woman onto her back. Best to be sure.

No, she is certainly dead. Cold, stiff, and hungry like the rest; even with forest debris masking much of her shirt, the threadbare cotton dips in unmistakable rivulets across her bony frame. I swallow my disappointment and push her eyelids shut, wanting to spare her kin the sight of those empty, pointless eyes.

“Sorry,” I murmur, sitting back on my heels. “I’m guessing you didn’t deserve this.”

Around us, the trees lean inward and down with ominous uniformity, leaves and branches straining against their holds, drawn to the dead woman as if tethered by ropes. The sway, the humans call it. I ignore the prickling in my belly. They’ll straighten out soon enough when the magic leaves her body. 

With a final nod, I push to my feet and wend my way back to the forest’s edge. It’s a close wood, with broad oaks in summer bloom crowding the grassy floor, their leafy canopy admitting shafts of sunlight that glitter like crystal chandeliers. All in all, too peaceful a setting for someone driven to madness to die alone. I breathe it in deep to savor the scent while I can, grateful that for whatever reason, these trees never seem drawn to the magic in my own blood. I’ve had enough of vengeful wilderness to last a lifetime.

“Well?” Seraline asks, her knuckles nearly white where they clutch the hem of her shirt. 

I shake my head. “Dead.”

Her shoulders sink. Though Seraline is sturdy as iron when she’s in her aunt’s tannery, shaping leather into draft horses’ yokes, standing a determined two paces behind the tree line now, she seems shakeable as snow.

“Come on,” I say, nodding to the stony town just across the open fields. “You’re going to be late.” I don’t ask if she plans to examine the body for herself. Seraline may have insisted on coming as a show of support, but our friendship has many limits, her discomfort with the dead and dying the least of them. 

After a brief hesitation, Seraline falls into step at my side, sweeping her seeing stick across the ground in broad strokes. “Poor thing.”

I nod, my jaw clenched tight. 

This time of year, the late summer air hangs heavy even in the early morning, enough that the back of my neck is already slick with sweat. The barley fields remain mercifully empty as we pick our way through the dusty rows, but still I plow forward with my head down and shoulders bent, half from habit and half spurred by the hour. Seraline isn’t the only one who’s running behind. 

“Will you not come with us?” she asks, her head tipping to the side as we near the town. “Aren’t you due back in Roanin, anyway?”

“I can’t,” I reply, making it sound like an apology. I’m not really sure why we still play this game when we both know it’s futile. “I have a few things to take care of first.”

“Today of all days,” she snorts.

“You know how it is.” In truth, I’d give my right arm to stay away from the capital today. But there’s no help for it.

“Her husband deserves to know,” Seraline adds after a while. “The two of them were inseparable.”

“He will know. The trail wasn’t hard to follow.”

Seraline is always trying to persuade me to talk to the deceased’s families. She believes I have a softer manner than many in uniform, and once she even called me heartless for refusing. That time hurt the most. But it isn’t my job to report any deaths I uncover to next of kin. Only to the king. And it’s not like she’s stepping up to volunteer, anyway.

Briarwend is a humble farming town that stretches all of three streets, a collection of squared off stone shops that deal in necessity rather than charm. Its weather-worn residents are the same. When I began seeking intel here four years ago, long days tending the surrounding fields made the people lazy and open over a couple of pints. Lately, they’re just hungry, poor soil and rising taxes leaving gaping holes that only tempers seem to fill. 

Each night under dwindling lamplight and over stained, sticky tables, the pub dwellers deal out anger and judgment like tossing seeds across the earth. The battered forest walker I helped home last night is not the only magical person I’ve found bleeding on cobbled streets. The humans’ anger is growing fists.

Seraline’s family is fixing their horse’s harness to an old wooden cart when we reach their cottage home. Most others have long since departed.

“Where have you been?” her mother demands, tightening the leather straps. The roan mare stamps a hoof, ears flicking nervously in my presence. “We should have left hours ago!”

“Lela needed my help. And you’re not ready, anyway.” Seraline shrugs.

“Nor are you. Breakfast is gone, so you’ll just have to wait. Go get changed.” She studiously avoids my eye, as if I’m not even there. 

Seraline bids me farewell with a light touch on the shoulder, which causes her little sister to quickly interlace two pairs of twisted fingers and pull them apart. The sign to ward off bad fortune.  

“You shouldn’t indulge my sister,” the dreadful Arden says once she’s gone, stomping over and swiping a greasy hand across his forehead. By far the weakest sibling in this family of four. “Seraline is delicate. She can’t be tramping about the kingdom with the likes of you.”

Which is ironic, really, since he was eager enough to sidle close last year, when he thought empty flattery might earn him a kiss. That was before a too-often empty belly soured his tongue, before he learned who and what I was. And though I truly could not care less what this boy thinks, I’m dismayed to find my stomach still burns with anger and something close to shame. My gaze drops to his pant leg, which bears splotches of dried blood from the night before. 

“Problem?” Arden sneers, white skin burned red from long days in the sun. 

A slow tingling feeling bubbles up from my core, threads of numbness that tiptoe across my arms and legs. I force myself to breathe deeply, to beat the threads back. “I know it was you,” I mutter. 

He traces his chapped lips with two fingers, beady eyes darting to his mother before he leans forward, his smile stiffening. “You know nothing,” he hisses.

“You forget I have certain resources at my disposal.” I raise a hand in front of his flaking face, where my nails have sharpened into claws. “And that I know where you live.”

I stare until a satisfying trace of fear tinges Arden’s expression before stomping away toward the town’s single inn, which is little more than a guesthouse with four creaking rooms. If Helos were here, he would tell me to not take the bait, that I’m better than that. What he never seems to understand is that I’m not better than anything at all.

[ijustwant2write]

A Secret Romantic-Benedict Bridgerton x Reader x Eloise Bridgerton (Platonic)

(GIF credit to @aryaofoldstones​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hello! I saw your looking for Bridgerton requests, I would love some Benedict x Eloise sibling fluff! They have such a good dynamic in the show and I need more’

(I wouldn’t mind making another part of this if people want it tbh)

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Eloise Bridgerton x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise’s gloved hands clung onto her book as she and her family arrived at yet another social event, a ball once again. Her mama had ensured she was dressed to catch the eyes of men, and Eloise knew that meant there would be no room for intelligent conversation. With Daphne now married to the Duke, Eloise had more pressure on her shoulders than she imagined, having to find a suitor of similar standards. However, it wasn’t just her on the market, her brothers were too, especially Benedict (Violet knew it would be extremely difficult to marry off Anthony first, opting for the second eldest son).

Eloise smiled whenever her mama looked her way, though it quickly disappeared once she turned around. Benedict had been instructed to escort her sister around the ball to help seek out suitors, the men knew each other or something about someone; he could help her meet the right one.

“I cannot believe I am here.” Eloise moaned as she looped her arm through her brothers.

“Believe me sister, I do not wish to be here either.”

“Why must you parade me around like a horse at a dressage in order to find a new owner?” Eloise kept catching the men’s gazes, turning up her nose in disgust.

“So dramatic.” he chuckled.

She scoffed.“Well, if you’re going to advise me on who I should be marrying, I shall do the same for you. Now let’s see...”

Eloise looked around the room at all the women, wondering who would be the best match for her brother. Most of these women had no personalities, relying on their outfits to express themselves. Eloise knew of some ladies that were nice, though had nothing in common with her brother.

Eloise shrugged, tugging on her brother’s arm towards the door.“Ah, there’s no one here for us. Let us make haste and leave-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Benedict pulled her back,“we have been strictly told to stay for the night, even if it is just to socialise and...get our names out there.”

Eloise groaned a little too loudly, Ben ducking his head in embarrassment.“How long do these balls go on for?”

“I have never stayed for the full duration.”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear.”

Benedict glanced down at her, somehow only just realising that Eloise had brought a book with her.“Is that book sewed to your hand sister?”

“I brought it just in case I became bored. Which I am already.”

“I shall go and grab us some refreshments. Might as well enjoy them whilst we’re here.”

Eloise let her brother slip away, quickly finding a hiding spot by leaning up against a wall, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. She opened her book, continuing where she left off, happy she brought a pencil to scribble down notes for later. The studying never stopped for Eloise. 

“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice interrupted her too soon.

Eloise tried her best to be polite, though her smile came off as sarcastic.“Yes?”

“Sorry,” the woman looked taken back,“I thought you were reading a book that I am reading at the moment, but I was wrong. I’ve disturbed you, I shall leave you alone-”

“Wait,” Eloise had now sparked an interest. No other lady had ever approached her like this,“I don’t mean to be rude. What book had you expected?”

“It’s oh so obvious, but I’ve been reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s the newest book out at the moment, and my mama lets me read it seeing as it involves a woman finding someone to marry. Although, it’s definitely about something deeper, that’s just what I told her.”

“I don’t indulge in romantic novels myself, but I am glad to hear of a female author selling her work.”

“It’s fantastic. And it’s nice to be able to read something without it being snatched out of my hands. Oh, where are my manners? I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Sorry, I’ve been dancing with men all night and none of the conversations have been as riveting as this so far.”

“Why am I not surprised?” they both laughed.“I’m Eloise Bridgerton.”

(Y/N) tried to not show her shock when she heard the surname. They were only the most talked about family, her mama had gone on and on about them, especially when Lady Whistledown mentioned them in her writings. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask what it is that you are reading?”

“It is to do with my studies. I truly hate these events, so I thought I would ensure my mind was being worked properly.” Eloise realised that could come off as rude, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment.“I did not mean to offend you by that.”

“It really isn’t any bother.” (Y/N) giggled.“I rather enjoy these just for the dancing and drinks, I find promenading to be more successful in finding a suitor. Though I would much rather sneak off and see if I can get a few more pages in of a book I shouldn’t be reading.”

“Eloise, why must you go wondering off like that...” Benedict’s words trailed off as he approached his sister, spotting a beautiful woman stood by her.

Eloise’s eyes flickered between the two, and she smiled when she saw the adoration in her brother’s eyes. Cheekily taking the two glasses from his hands, she passed one to (Y/N), who awkwardly took it. (Y/N) had gazed upon the Bridgerton men in passing, they were very nice to look at. Of course, she never divulged in any fantasies about them, that would be silly. But seeing one in front of her had taken her breath away.

“Thank you brother.” Eloise said, taking a sip.“This is Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a new friend of mine.”

He gently took her free hand in his, bending forwards slightly to kiss it. (Y/N) had this done to her many times, but this was different. Benedict made her feel butterflies in her stomach. Eloise could tell her mama was going to love this.

She cleared her throat.“We were just speaking of art, actually.”

(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows.“We were talking about books.”

“I was about to move the topic along.”

“What kind of art would that be then?” Benedict asked, knowing what game his sister was playing. 

“The...drawing, kind.”

“Isn’t all art drawn?”

“No, it is also painted.”

“I think artists may sketch out a rough idea before painting.”

“Well you would know brother, seeing as you yourself are an artist.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“You paint, Lord Bridgerton?” (Y/N) asked.

“Ah, yes, and I sketch.” he hoped his cheeks weren’t turning red. 

“Anything in particular?”

“Mostly people.”

“Are you both attending the art exhibition my family are holding next week?”

“That’s your families’ exhibit?” Benedict became excited.

“Yes, my father collects a lot of art work. Then mother realised she could make a social event out of it, but at least everyone will be able to admire the work.”

“Would you believe it, we already have it noted down in our social calendar!” Eloise informed (Y/N). Benedict could sense her over-reacting, trying to keep a smile as (Y/N)’s face lit up in excitement. 

“Perfect!” (Y/N) looked back up at Ben, making him stand a little taller.“It will be nice to have someone there who knows about the artwork. It will make for an interesting conversation. Just don’t let my father lecture you, he will talk for far too long! And I know you will be too polite to try and get away.”

“My brother is very polite.” Eloise said.“In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t-”

“Excuse me for the intrusion,” a young man said from beside (Y/N),“but I was wondering if we could resume our dance lady (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) was smiling, but Eloise knew that look; it was the face women made when a man who made them uncomfortable approached, but they had to remain ladylike and polite.

“Actually my brother just asked her and she said yes. You two best make your way to the floor before the music starts again.” Eloise nudged her brother.

Benedict was confused at his sisters offer, until he locked eyes with (Y/N) again. They were pleading him to sweep her away, she was even leaning away from this man. He had been disrespectful in some way, and he wasn’t letting (Y/N) go through that again (despite only knowing the girl for a few minutes). He smugly smiled at the man, holding out his arm which (Y/N) took a little too quickly. Eloise was happy with herself as the pair walked off, sending the man a death glare when he asked her to dance instead. Once he left, her eyes went back to find her brother, who was already dancing with (Y/N), both smiling and laughing. Her mama was going to be ecstatic about this. 

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise sat in the drawing room, obviously lounging with a book. Her younger siblings were being irritating as usual, running around her in circles. Before they arrived, she had peace. Eloise wanted a few moments alone, because she knew her mama would be bursting with questions about the night before.

“Ah, there you are.” Violet said as she walked in.

The book flopped into Eloise’s lap, a frown on her face. There goes her reading time.

“So, how was last night? Did you meet anyone?” her mama sat beside her.“You two, go play outside if you’re going to run around please.”

The children stopped as their mama spoke, sending each other devilish grins before they ran out of the room again, their giggling echoing down the halls. Violet went to shout after them, but decided to leave it be, there were more pressing matters.

“Well mama, do you see any suitors?” Eloise gestured around her.

Violet sighed.“Did you even try last night?”

“My life will not be reduced to a single night where I was forced to peacock around in order to please a man.”

“Oh, Eloise, must you make everything so dramatic?”

“Funny, Benedict said the same thing.”

“Actually, where is your brother? I have not seen him all morning.”

“He went out.” Eloise was relieved that the focus would now be off of her.“He’s calling upon a lady.”

Violet’s eyes widened.“What? When? Who?”

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/L/N)? They are quite reputable.”

Eloise rolled her eyes.“Mama, she is a lovely girl. I don’t think you should just judge her on what family she comes from.”

“Oh, so you approve of this girl?”

“I...I mean...Well, I only spoke with her for a mere few minutes.”

“But?”

Eloise let out a huff.“I enjoyed her company. I think Benedict likes her. I didn’t see him for the rest of the night until it was time to leave. He spent all his time with her.”

Violet became overjoyed.“Oh, what marvelous news! I wish he had told me. Do you know what he took to her? Flowers? Food?”

“I have no idea mama. Just wait for his return and he will tell you all the details. I am not a psychic.”

Violet was impatient as she awaited the return of her son. Poor Collin had also been questioned when he showed up in the drawing room, but he had overslept in bed, waking with a terrible headache. It seemed that it was about to come back to him when his mama bombarded him with questions as to why he hadn’t called upon anyone that morning. Eloise kept her giggles quiet, ducking behind her book when Collin sent her daggers.

Poor Benedict had no idea what was in store for him. His cheeks were aching from how much he was smiling. He wasn’t surprised when he arrived at the (Y/L/N)’s house and saw multiple callers for (Y/N). However, jealousy rose inside him when he thought about these men dancing with her, trying to convince her that they were the man to marry. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers, remembering that (Y/N) had mentioned her favourite the night before. Looking around at any other flowers she received, he was glad to see no other gentleman had chose it. Surely that would show he was listening? He endured sonnets, stories, songs and boasting from the other men, trying not to show his dissatisfaction as each one stepped forward. There was pressure that her parents were there, especially when he realised he was the last gentleman, everyone else had left.

(Y/N) had been incredibly anxious when she saw Benedict that morning. He had been the only man she genuinely smiled at, hoping he came at his own will, not forced by his mama. The night before had been the best ball (Y/N) had ever been to. Benedict was sweet, charming, handsome and interesting. They were able to talk about anything and everything, no small talk involved like all the other men she danced with. He had swooned her, and here he was, calling upon her. 

Back at the Bridgerton house, Violet had not sat down since talking Collin’s ear off. Eloise was still in the drawing room with her, as were her two youngest siblings, munching on biscuits as they threw questions at their mama. She did not have all the answers, sometimes not even hearing them speak for she was too deep in her thoughts. At one point, she did sit, but beside the window, o the lookout for any signs of her son. When a carriage pulled up in front of the house, Violet leapt out of her seat, startling her children. She made a beeline to the door, standing there with her hands clasped together. When Benedict walked in, he too flinched, not expecting his mama to be there.

“Mama, how long have you been stood there?” Benedict asked as he walked past her, pinching a biscuit from his brother’s plate.

“She’s been waiting for you.” Eloise explained, also excited to hear about his calling.

“I hope you sat down at some point.” he joked, sitting beside Eloise and slouching.

Violet hurried to sit on the sofa across him.“You didn’t tell me you were calling on a lady this morning.”

“Well, we got back late from the ball yesterday evening, and I had to leave early to ensure I got there in good time. Though it seemed every other man thought that too.”

“There were many men there?” 

“Yes, quite a few.”

Eloise straightened up at her brother’s grumpy expression.“You really like her!”

“How wonderful!” Violet gushed. 

“Do not get ahead of yourselves.”

“But you do, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have called on her.”

Ben was lost for words. He couldn’t argue with that, and he did like seeing his mama happy.“Yes, yes I do. And it would seem she reciprocates the feelings.”

“This is such good news! I must see what our social calendar looks like, we must ensure you two spend time together.”

“Actually mama-” Eloise went to tell her about the art exhibit until Ben interrupted.

“Good idea mama.” he nodded, smiling at her as she walked away, a spring in her step. Once she was gone, he let out a big breath.“I just needed a moment without questions from her.”

“Well, you’re going to have questions from me.” Eloise angled her body to face him, her elbow perched on the sofa with her face resting in her hand.“I didn’t think you were going to call upon her. Are my match making skills really that good?”

“I hate to admit it, but yes, you have done an excellent job.” Benedict felt relaxed thinking about (Y/N).

“So, what happened this morning?”

“I took her flowers, she told me her favourites last night, and then I had to sit there whilst her other gentleman callers desperately tried to impress her. It was agony! Finally I was able to have time with her, and it was just...I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“Did you bring her anything else?”

Benedict became bashful.“I brought her a sketchbook, like the one I have. She mentioned how she used to often sketch when she was younger. I thought it would be a unique gift.”

“Benedict, you truly are a romantic at heart.”

“For her I am, yes.”

Eloise smiled for her brother, until a smirk fell on his face.“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Aw, is someone also a secret romantic?”

“No!” Eloise protested, quickly grabbing her book again.“I am just happy you found someone.”

“And you helped, because you secretly want everyone to find someone.”

“No I don’t! You’re ruining this moment now Benedict.”

“Don’t worry Eloise, you’ll find someone.” Ben joked.

She groaned.“You are insufferable...but I still want to go to that art exhibit.”

“To see love bloom?”

“N-no, to see the art work.”

“Of course, of course. But, thank you Eloise.”

She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it.“You’re welcome.”