#chill practice drawing hands? more likely than you may think

[jazzatron9000]

here’s a drawing that sat in my sketchbook for a while. this one goes out to you firesetter nation <3

[strangesem]

hobie brown x shy/quiet!reader headcanons

spider-punk x reader this is not a drill

long as hell I’m so sorry

a/n: reader is mentioned as being a mom friend but imo that can be gender neutral so this can still be read by anyone!! if that makes you uncomfortable though please skip this post :)

I also imagine hobie as being 19-ish so it’s kinda implied reader lives alone but can def be read as younger!!

most people didn’t notice you at first.

you were quiet; really quiet. you’d mumble your thank you’s, whisper apologies, and generally go out of your way not to interact with people as a whole.

I feel like that gentleness/softness would almost draw hobie to you though?

he’d definitely first meet you as spider-man; saving you from some sort of robber or attacker. and then he’d see you be so shy about thanking him and apologizing as if it was your fault??? he finds it sweet but also kinda concerning for you tbh

and over time he begins to notice you more and more during his patrols; something about you just draws him in.

he definitely likes that you don’t try to tell him or others what to do lol

after talking to you enough as spider-man, and you start to open up, he begins to like you even more

you listen to some of the music he likes? your humour?? not to mention how genuine you are???

(also very useful if you happen to be a “mom friend” type who keeps first aid, candy, etc on you at all times!! he’d definitely appreciate a lollipop to help with the pressure changes while swinging around or a bandage for his cuts)

speaking of which if you ARE the type to have those things on you he may start seeking you out if/when he gets hurt

and after that even when he’s not tbh he’ll just pretend to have a headache and eat some of your candy on your couch lmao-

one time though he comes with wounds a little too serious looking for the standard wet cloth and bandaid treatment you had been used to; and it scares you

you raise your voice a bit louder than he’d ever heard, in a scared tone that was different than your normal anxious voice, and you tell him he should probably definitely go to a hospital

“but I like you so much better” he leans in a little too close, holding on to you a little too tight to keep himself steady, and you suddenly realize the reality of you situation

spider-man is in your living room. he’s bleeding a lot. and you’re the first person he thought to come to; because he likes you? not like that obviously- unless it is like that? NO. people barely even notice you, no one would ever feel like that type of thing for-

“you’re staring” you can feel the shit eating grin on his face; it’s practically burning through his mask

you stutter out an apology and after stammering around for a moment you get him to sit down and do your best to treat his injuries

you can tell the disinfectant stings by the way he flinches whenever you apply it, as well as his teasing that he “thought you were supposed to be nicer than the nurses” but he does his best to sit still and let you dress all of his wounds

you both remain still for a moment, and you think you can feel his eyes on you but you’re too scared to look up. your hands are shaking; they have been this whole time.

“that’s everywhere right? I didn’t miss something?”

he takes off his mask to look you in the eye and tell you he’s okay but you’re just like ????

:O

ANYWAYS you are once again staring bc you now know spider-man’s identity???

I feel like he’s gently hold your face and just give you a quick peck to make sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries

but if you kiss him back? he’s NEVER stopping

he’ll start randomly crawling through your window with excuses of missing you or wanting to show you something

and soon he’s staying the night at your place or he’s swinging you over to his so you can stay with him

I think dates would definitely be super chill and more like hanging out at each others places than anything else

but if he does a show for his music he’d definitely want you there!!

he’d also probably pick you up and start swinging around the city with no warning just for the way you’ll grab on to him so tightly-

but ofc is you asked him not to he’d stop immediately!

doesn’t get super jealous or anything, he’s a pretty chill guy, but he will get sorta bothered if someone’s aggressively pursuing you even after knowing you two are together

like if someone doesn’t know and flirts with you he’s just like “yeah I’m lucky”

but if someone ever went so far to imply you should be unfaithful and/or should leave him he’d probably tell them to back off and either leave with you or put his arm around your shoulder and glare at them until they leave

either way he’s not starting any fights or anything though; he’s super comfortable in your relationship and hopes you are too

genuinely thinks you’re the most beautiful/handsome person ever like he WILL flex to the other spider-people if relationships come up

he’s really not in to pda though; he’ll put his arm around your shoulders/waist but that’s it. maybe hand holding depending on the situation.

but when you guys are alone he likes physical touch; don’t expect to be on top of each other or anything but having your/his head rested on the others lap or him just resting his hand on your leg is pretty common

he’s also not very big into gifts (he doesn’t buy into the capitalist need for abundance and all that) but he does like giving you jewellery/other wearable items bc he likes to see a reminder of himself/your relationship on you

pls make him a bracelet or something he’ll literally never take it off (also jewellery for any of his piercings is fair game)

he values small intimate things in a relationship; like painting each others nails, listening to each other rant about things you’re passionate about, etc

overall he may not be big and showy but he’s an amazing boyfriend and would love you like a lot

he’d also definitely write songs about/for you bc you’re so important to him and he wants the whole world to know that :((

I haven’t written fanfiction in forever but if anyone has any hobie requests I could write as headcanons I’m open to them!! :)

[ereawrites]

couldn't stop thinking about this post so I wrote it.. from elrond's pov bc why not!

wc: 1.1k | cw: none

fluff, mutual?pining, dumb puppy elrond

Elrond spots the necklace nestled amongst the wares of an artisan jeweller one early autumn day - a stall he barely even glances at in his haste - and for some inexplicable reason, he thinks of you.

Well. He knows the reason. It's because the gem is the exact colour that your eyes are when you turn your head away from him and the light catches the iris just right and you practically glow - and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that he can't recall that same hue in any of his other friends' eyes.

He's in a rush, but he stops anyway. The woman is kind, motherly-looking; she laughs when he has to juggle the armful of scrolls he carries to fish the coin purse from his pocket.

"Your love is a lucky one," she smiles as she hands him the box, a soft green velvet that reminds him of your favourite cloak. "To have such a generous admirer."

Elrond blinks, and swallows. "Ah - no, it's for a friend. A very dear one, but no more."

She pats his hand gently, eyes twinkling. He's running too late to dwell on it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's four days before he's able to make the time to seek you out. The box sits on his desk in the meantime, and Elrond keeps finding himself opening it. Admiring the craftsmanship, he thinks. The colour really is quite beautiful.

Four days of torturous meetings and endless papers to read over. Gil-Galad seems to take pity on him then, tells him to leave in time for the evening meal, and perhaps run a brush through his hair. Elrond laughs at that, but does it anyway.

He has to run - why must he always be running? - to catch you in the gardens before the food is served. Once, he used to join you here every evening. Now he counts himself lucky to come once in a moon's turn.

As always, you're happy to see him, welcoming him with a warm caress of his cheek. He leans into it. As always.

Your palm lingers, thumb tracing the dark shadows that have formed under his eyes before falling away. "You look tired, mellon. Somehow I sense you may be overworking yourself again."

"Nonsense. I do only as much as is required of me.", he begins, desperate to wash away the concerned furrow of your brow. It works, if only because you instead raise it as if to scold him wordlessly. "Ai. I suppose it has been a busier week than usual."

You've always been able to see right through him, and he's never been able to lie to you anyway.

The autumn breeze catches your hair as you reply, twist of your mouth and crinkle of your eyes betraying your admonishing tone. "Just a week? I haven't seen you for two. I'd half-feared our king had shackled you to your desk and condemned you to an eternity of paperwork."

"I beg you, do not speak the idea around him. He may just follow through."

You laugh, and the trees dance in response, shaking off their golden leaves. Elrond gathers your hands in his, holding them close to his chest. "But, truly - I am sorry that I have neglected our friendship of late."

Your gaze softens and you make to comfort him, perhaps, or to say that you understand - you always understand, no one knows his mind better - but he silences you by drawing the velvet box from within his robes.

"A gift?", you ask as he presses it into your palms, not taking your eyes from his. He nods. "Well... I am very upset with you."

"And rightly so.", he says gravely. Your smile warms him against the chill of the evening breeze. "I had hoped this might redeem me."

Once he gives your wrist an encouraging squeeze, you open the box, and gasp like all the air has been knocked out of you. "Oh - it's beautiful."

"It made me think of you.", he responds instantly, before he's given any consideration to how that sounds. Fool. You don't seem to notice, though, too focused on tracing a finger over the gem and watching the way it sparkles in the dying sunset light.

"Thank you, Elrond. Mae carnen. In fact, I must wear it tonight so everyone can share in its' beauty.". You press the necklace into his waiting palm, and turn from him. "Will you fasten it for me, please?"

He fumbles a little with the clasp, a far cry from his usual steady hand. It must be the cold air. Or fatigue, he thinks. He lowers the chain over your head and his heart warms at the way your hand comes up to caress the stone against your chest. "I am glad you like it."

You hum contentedly. For that moment, there is only the rustle of the leaves, the gentle lapping of water in the fountain, the distant music and chatter - the clasp does up easily and Elrond lifts your hair carefully, meaning to settle the chain against your nape. He doesn't know why the tips of his fingers linger against your skin, or why he so gently moves away the stray tendril of hair that isn't interfering at all, or why his knuckles seem to brush against your back of their own accord as he lets your hair down. The movement lets him catch just the barest hint of the scent you wear, and the breath in his throat hitches almost imperceptibly.

What is he doing?

That quiet moment is gone as quickly as it came. You turn to face him. "I would like anything in this world if it came to me from you, mellon. But this really is beautiful. I am lucky to have you."

You're close enough that he can see the goosebumps rising across your collarbones. His head is spinning. He's exhausted, he must be, more so than he realised; he hates to worry you, though, so he smiles, and says softly, "Am I forgiven, mellon nin?".

Then, you come up onto your tiptoes, steadying yourself with splayed palms against his chest, and - you kiss him on the cheek, something you've done a thousand times, so - why does he feel dizzy?

"Quite.", you grin, and slip your arm into his in a well-practiced motion. "Now, let us go and find you some food. You look a little faint. I'll be having words with our king if this continues, I don't care that-"

Elrond hardly hears the rest of your tirade as you lead him out of the gardens. The realisation has hit him like a punch to the gut.

Oh. Oh.

He's in trouble.

[susicheng]

✮⋆˙ .exposure. njm smau.

ch. 10: always

📷 count: 1 word count: 1641

. . .

the sunrise bathed the room in an orange hue, setting jaemin's skin alight. a sort of glow reflected off of his bare skin, making it impossible to look away. his sweatpants hung low on his hips, practically begging your eyes to travel downwards. you inhaled deeply, centering yourself.

you sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in your shorts and one of his old shirts. his scent enveloped you, rational thought flying out the window as he leaned against the wall, soft eyes trained on you.

it felt like the right moment, especially after what had transpired last night. a tangle of bodies, both of you too sober to even pretend to have forgotten. there was no way to draw it out any longer.

"can i be honest?" your voice cut through the silence. his eyes lit up.

"always. anything you want."

"i was going to leave. before you woke up, i mean." you maintained eye contact, no matter how much you wanted to look away. he deserved this much, at least. your honesty.

"but you didn't." you could see the ghost of a smile on his face.

"no, i didn't."

"can i ask why?" a tilt to his head, a slight adjustment to his posture.

there were so many things you could say. there were so many questions being asked, even if he didn't speak them aloud. "it's not fair."

"what isn't fair?" 

"me. the way i act towards you. i don't know. everything." you had no way to tell how he would react to your vulnerability. he was still an anomaly to you.

"what do you mean?" 

"do you know i've never been serious with anyone?" unless your 3 week long relationship in your freshman year of high school counted (it didn't).

"is that so?"

"yes" you paused, fighting the tremble attempting to overtake your voice's steadiness. "and i want to be serious with you. and i'm terrified."

"i understand." 

"no you don't. i feel awful. i proved all of my friends right. i went far enough with you to never be able to go back. and i still want more" you tore your eyes away from him, finally. your gaze shifted down to your hands, you took a deep breath, stabilizing. "and even then, i'm still selfishly asking you to wait. i'm asking you to stand there and wait for me to be ready because i want so much with you but i don't know how to do any of it. i don't even know if i'm capable of being with anyone. and still, i want you to wait." you looked up again. this time, jaemin had crossed the room, crouched in front of you. he took your hands in his own, his warmth fighting the chill that had settled in your body.

"isn't the fact that you want me to wait proof enough that this is real?" the shine in his eyes had only grown.

"that's an interesting way to interpret it." you let yourself stop fighting the smile trying to make itself known.

"thank you." his own smile grew, eyes sparkling as he held your gaze.

"you're a weird guy, do you know that?" you were deflecting. you knew that he knew you were deflecting.

"yeah, so i've heard." and still, he allowed for you to take your time. more than anything, he wanted to know what you're thinking, and he still indulged in your diversion. your heart stuttered.

"and all that does is make me want to understand your weirdness more. i want to see the inner workings of your brain. and i want to love them." he looked just as shocked as you felt, hearing love fall from your lips. voicing the desire to love him, to know him unlike anyone else does. to see his flaws, to accept them, and to love them.

"it sounds like you're figuring this commitment stuff out as we're talking." he was still smiling, brighter that he had all morning. the light in his gaze may have even rivaled the rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains.

"it does, doesn't it?" you smiled back. it wasn't time to voice it yet, but you knew you might be in love with this boy. you wanted to flesh out everything you had ever hidden from others. you wanted him to know you, inside and out. "i keep secrets from you." honesty felt good.

"me too. i keep secrets from you." your hands were still intertwined with his, warmth seeping into you through the point of contact.

"like what?" 

"i don't really like your guys' music. not that your voice isn't beautiful, because it is. i just don't like the style of your music as much as i do, like, ariana grande." funnily enough, this was the moment he had to avert his gaze. you could see the flush creeping onto his cheeks at his admission. you couldn't help but find it endearing.

"that's cute. why do i find everything you do cute?" his eyes shifted back to meet yours, face flushed and hair still messy from a night of your hands tugging on it. 

"i think that comes with the territory of wanting to be with someone. i think everything you do is cute." he was never reserved about finding you pretty, or cute. his admission shouldn't have surprised you, and still you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

"really?"

"yes. your turn." he hadn't forgotten.

"my turn?"

"what's a secret you kept from me." 

i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. you wanted to scream it. but you weren't ready. it wasn't time. you settled for the other one. he would need to know sooner or later, if you were going to get serious. "i used to sleep with haechan. regularly."

"okay." he looked unfazed.  

"okay?"

"yeah. okay. do you still sleep with him?"

"no. i stopped a couple of weeks before i met you." you weren't sure where this was going. his reaction was surprising; unexpected. but then again, you knew by now to expect the unexpected with jaemin.

"okay. thank you for telling me." he squeezed your hands, unspoken reassurance.

"thank you for listening. thank you for last night. and for this. for right now." you could feel tears building in your eyes. this boy meant so much to you, and he knew, and he treasured that fact.

"thank you for being honest with me."

"always." a tear fell. he was quick to detach a hand from yours in order to wipe it away with his thumb. "can i stay here tonight?"

"again?" he smiled, one hand cradling your face, the other still intertwined with your own.

"yeah. i just want to stay in my little safe haven. i don't want to face reality." in the month and a half that you had known him, you had grown comfortable with his little family. you had grown comfortable with him.

"you know you'll have to eventually though, right?" his voice a whisper now, as if he didn't want to shatter the bubble that had formed around the two of you.

"yeah. but maybe by the time i have to do that, i'll have you by my side." you watched as his face fluttered through emotions: first shock, then joy, until he settled on a small grin, pink adorning his cheeks."

"you sound hopeful." he looked hopeful, grin stretching over his face and eyes brightening.

"you tend to have that effect on me. everything feels lighter with you."

"oh." his shock returned.

"yeah. oh. i think i might be a little bit in love with you." it felt too natural to not say it. it was too much to keep bottled up, not when your feelings for him were this big.

"is that another secret?" the tightening of his hand holding yours gave away the giddiness you knew he was feeling.

"yes. is that okay?"

"more than okay. can i tell you another secret?" 

"of course. i always want to listen to you." 

"i might be a little bit in love with you, too."

"oh." you were expecting it, and yet it didn't stop the redness from flooding your cheeks.

"yeah. oh."

"can we be exclusive? officially. not officially. do you even understand what i'm saying?" you cut yourself off before you began to ramble, filled with excitement over the direction you knew your relationship could be headed.

"can you explain it. i want to know what you're thinking. what happens in your head."

"i don't want you to be seeing anyone else. i don't want to be seeing anyone else. but i don't want to push a label onto this yet. not now. is that okay?" you knew it could be dangerous, placing yourself into a sort of situationship intentionally. but you trusted jaemin. and you trusted that he trusted you back.

"more than. you know i would wait forever for you." you knew. he made it clear that you were it for him. he had dedicated so much of himself to you already.

"yes. and you know that you won't have to do that." he removed his hand from your face, running his fingers through your hair with a soft smile on his face.

"yes."

"good."

"go back to sleep." he shoved you playfully, laughter echoing around the room as your back met the bed.

"okay."

"okay."

you grabbed his hand, looking up at him with a plea in your eyes. "will you join me?"

"if you want me to."

"i do."

"thank you." he finally climbed back into his bed, settling with an arm around your back, cradling your head to his chest.

"always." a whisper, as you both let the warmth of the early morning sunshine lull you back to sleep, a weight lifted off of both of your shoulders.

. . .

.. next | .. masterlist

© susicheng : please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work

#: @kpopwh0r3 @alethea-moon @t-102 @jae-n0 @yukisroom97 @kukkurookkoo @urlocalbeaner5

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

Could you do a Quinn Fabray shot that she's feeling jealous of Y/N with Santana and end up with Y/N ​​doing her best to calm Quinnie down? Like, with affection, or otherwise

Red Light, Green Light

Who knew Rachel could be louder than she normally is? Apparently, with a little bit of alcohol, anything was possible.

Everyone was a little bit tipsy here at Rachel's little 'Glee house party' and the noise was getting a bit much for you. You found out that you were the 'quiet, chill drunk' of the group. That's why you were quite comfy on the couch while everyone was fighting over the microphone. Your eyes travel across the basement, amusement dancing in your eyes at the drunken antics of your friends. The only other person not amongst the fray mirrored your actions on the other side of the room.

Quinn.

The blonde sat on top of the washing machine with a soft smile on her lips. She was nursing a drink, not keen on getting as drunk as the others. Her smile widens when you meet eyes and a silent conversation happens.

"How ridiculous are these guys?"

"Is that Tina trying to sneak the mic away?"

"Aaand tackled by Rachel. That didn't last long."

The two of you share a quiet giggle before suddenly, Quinn's smile falls from her face. You're confused until you feel a pair of arms wrap around your neck. A soft cheek nuzzles against yours before you even register who it is.

"Santana. 'cha doin'?" You ask in a fond voice. You were never shy with affection and Santana always liked to try and toe the line. Especially when she wanted something.

"Can't I just love on you a little?" Her voice was low and husky. While a different, specific, person may have affected you more, the Latina's use made you suspicious. Infinitely moreso as she plants little kisses along your face.

"You can, but you don't without a reason." Knowingly, your eyes travel to Brittany who was preoccupied with Artie. "And I see your reason over there. She's not lookin', San."

The girl huffs and drops her head into your shoulder. "I knoooow. I've been trying all night. So help me."

You reach back to pat her head with a smile. "You want her eyes on you? Get everyone's eyes on you."

You point towards the karaoke machine, currently abandoned while people argue. Santana thinks for a moment, letting the hand on her head rake through her hair. You don't feel her smile until you start humming a tune to get her brain started.

"You're a fucking genius," she says, giving you a solid kiss on the cheek before dashing towards the microphone. Before you can search for Quinn, sensual music fills your ears and draws your attention.

As it plays, Santana is swaying her hips to the beat, letting the movement bring everyone's attention to her. Those who recognize the song begin to bop their heads and tap their toes.

Take a good look at it

Look at it now

Might be the last time you

Have a go round

The boys (and Brittany) move towards Rachel's tiny stage, eager to get closer to the performance. The girls (and Kurt) move to provide backup vocals. You stay put and notice that Quinn also hasn't moved. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, as if she's trying to figure something out.

Before you could consider grabbing her attention, Santana is upon you, dragging you out of the couch and against her swaying body. Brown eyes plead you to help with the performance. When you give her a smirk, she turns so her back is to you and places your hands on her waist. Suddenly you find yourself dancing and grinding against her.

Baby, it's yours if you want it tonight

I'll give you the red light special

All through the night

You can see Puck practically drooling on himself. You can also see Brittany staring intently at Santana, biting her lip.

But Quinn? Quinn is nowhere to be seen. Your heart squeezes in panic, worried that this display made her think the wrong thing. Thankfully, Brittany hopped up onto the stage to take your place by Santana's side, allowing you to make your exit to search for your own blonde.

As soon as you make it up the stairs and into the Berry house proper, you start your search. It doesn't take long with Quinn despondently leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of water. With a relieved sigh, you take the spot next to her.

"Was wondering where you went."

Quinn lets out a soft scoff.

"It was getting too thirsty down there. I had to get a drink."

The unexpected joke makes a laugh burst out of you. Quinn breaks into a smug smile as a result before it falls into a frown again.

"What about you? Why are you up here and not dancing with Santana?"

"Britt took my place," you reply. "Besides, I'd rather be next to you"

Quinn turns away but you catch a glimpse of a light blush. "You were pretty comfortable with her being handsy with you." There's a slight snark in her voice. You grin knowingly.

"You know how we are. It's nothing, really." You take the glass from her hands and set it on the counter. "It's just a lot of affection."

"But you're only like that with her," she retorts. You just shake your head.

"As far as we ever get are cheek kisses. And maybe the occasional suggestive dance if the mood arises." You shrug. "I'd give cheek kisses to anyone who wants 'em."

"What about regular kisses? What's the criteria for that?" Quinn was actually curious now.

"Dating, I'd say. That's a privilege I don't give out freely."

"Oh, so anything else is free game for you?"

An idea pops into your head and you smirk. "I mean, if I'm allowed. For example..." You take her hand and lay a soft kiss along the knuckles. You meet her surprised eyes, and move to kiss the back of her hand. You continue your path up her arm and Quinn can't keep her eyes off you. A soft gasp escapes her lips when you reach her shoulder and slowly make your way to her neck.

"Y/N..."

Immediately, you freeze and draw back.

"Too much?"

Her body is tense. The hand not in your possession is gripping tightly on the counter. Her face is turned away from you and her blush is up to her ears. You gently pull her hand to draw her attention back to you.

"Hey, hey. I'll stop. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Your thumb runs across her knuckles, as if trying to erase the initial kiss. You see her shoulders slump down, easing the tension and it makes you smile.

"Seriously, I'm sorry. I won't do that again. Promise."

Quinn looks down at your joined hands, almost lost in thought. When she feels your hand slip from hers, she holds on tighter.

"I..." She chews on her words a little. "I... Wouldn't be opposed to you doing that again."

Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes a little. "Oh."

"Yeah."

There's an awkward moment before a smile spreads on your face. You gently nudge Quinn with your shoulder. "You... Want me to do it again?"

The blonde looks at you, slightly baffled before letting out a laugh. She shakes her head fondly. "Actually, I have a better idea."

With a swift, smooth move, she leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. When she pulls away, you're absolutely stunned.

Quinn Fabray just kissed you.

Said smug girl is now making her way back downstairs, forcing you to scramble after her towards something new.

[asolareclipses]

“Isn’t she a beaut?”

“A what?”

“Gods Nico, you never know what i’m talking about.” Leo sighed, turning his attention away from the chariot he was just boasting about.

“Maybe because you never make any sense,” Nico rolled his eyes anticipating the next comment about to leave Leo’s mouth.

“Or…you’re just an old abuelo,” Leo failed to hold back his smirk.

Nico glared at him, he didn’t speak spanish but he’d heard that word enough to know what it meant. “Call me that one more time fire boy and you’ll wish you died the first time.”

“Holy smokes! Someone’s feisty today,” Leo raised his hands signifying a truce. “Anyways, moving back to the important things, just look at this masterpiece!” Leo gestured back to his creation.

As Nico’s eyes move to scan over the chariot, he had to try not to be visibly impressed. It was incredible. Each wheel had hundreds of gears all lined with celestial bronze and steel. The sides and rims danced with various contraptions, every piece was delicately crafted with the upmost detail. It looked as if it was built to withstand whatever may come in its way.

“You built this in a week?” Nico asked, hoping his awe wasn’t evident in his tone.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “Perfect for the race don’t you think?”

Yeah? Nico almost sang his inner praises to Leo at that moment. But he knew if he were to boast Leo’s ego like that, he wouldn’t see the end of it for days.

“It’s not bad..” Nico spoke carefully.

Leo smirked, “Finally glad you decided to be on my team?”

“I didn’t decide anything,” Nico said. “You begged me for weeks and weeks on end until I said yes, just so you would leave me alone.”

“Hm, funny. I don’t remember that happening.”

“Leo-“

“Anyways- You said you had the horses taken care of?” Leo masterfully changed the subject.

Nico nodded with a sigh.

Leo stared at him, before looking around as if he were expecting something. “Well…where are they?”

“Right, you might want to step back.” Nico suggested.

“Step back why would I-“ Leo was cut off by the ground beginning to rumble, kicking up dust and small rocks. “Right that’s why,” he hurriedly stepped backwards.

The grass shivered and after a moment of rumbling, a bone popped out from the ground. It was then followed by another and another. Soon several bones came together forming two skeletal horses. They moved similar to regular horses, if regular horses had no skin or organs.

Nico stepped back, admiring his work. In the back of his mind he imagined the future lecture he’d receive from Will. ‘What did I say about unnecessary power usage?’ Still, looking at the horses, Nico figured it was worth it.

“Woah,” Leo smiled. “That’s so much cooler than a regular horse, or even a robot one.”

“More durable too, any attack and they’ll just reassemble.”

“Dude!” Leo was now practically jumping up and down, “we are so going to win this!”

Part of Nico wanted to join Leo in the excited jumping. But the other part of him thought that would be out of character; what this ‘character’ of himself was though, he didn’t know. Nico had struggled with displaying his excitement, every time he felt that burst of joy. That buzz of happiness. It reminded him of when he was younger, first arriving at camp with that same feeling. He wondered where that little boy had gone.

A horn blew, drawing Nico out of thoughts.

“That’s Chiron,” Leo said. “Time to head to the starting line.” A devilish grin appeared on his face that made Nico a little nervous. Clearly Leo’s chariot was armed with machinery that would even make the Stoll brothers jealous.

As they stood in the chariot at the starting line, Nico rethought all his life decisions. Why had he agreed to do this race again? At the time it seemed like the only way to get Leo to leave him alone, since he had been profusely begging Nico to team up with him every day. Now Nico couldn’t decide which one was worse, and annoying Leo or a brutal chariot race. Suddenly a cold chill ran down Nicos spine, he couldn’t place it but something was wrong.

Before he could dig deeper into this feeling, Chiron blew his horn again, signaling the beginning of the race. The chariot promptly took off, immediately blasting ahead with the upmost speed. Nico had to grip the railing just to not go flying off, struggling as the winds made it hard to keep his eyes open.

The Athena chariot tried to launch a net from behind them in an attempt to catch the chariot, but it wasn’t fast enough. Instead, the net came flying back at their chariot getting caught in the wheels and sending the campers into a panic. At the same time the Stoll brothers were shooting some contraption they’d made at the Ares cabin. When resulted in both chariots veering off track and into the woods.

As they continued to speed up, Nico watched as all the other chariots got farther and farther away. He’d began to think this was going to be a lot easier than he’d initially thought.

“Works just like a dream!” Leo yelled over the winds.

Nico nodded, pointing to the floating finish line, Chiron had decided the chariots needed to not just be fast but be able to account for height too. Of course for Leo that had been an easy task. For the others, well they had to hope their pegasuses were strong

Sooner than expected they were nearing the finish line, and Nico waited for something to go wrong. He was sure the others would catch up and give them a hard time, but when he looked back the other chariots were still lagging behind.

Then a hint of smoke began to fill the air, slowly becoming stronger. Nico looked around, the chariot was shaking now. A deep rumbling that shook his whole body. More smoke started pouring out from the golden edges, polluting Nico’s lungs.

Leo looked shocked, rushing around as he tried to find the culprit of the smoke. “I don’t get what’s wrong?”

A fire sprung up and danced along the rims of the chariot, Nico stepped away, coughing as his lungs begged for clean air. He looked at Leo with panic in his eyes at the same time Leo seemed to realize that Nico wasn’t immune to smoke.

“Oh gods what do we do?” Leo called out.

Turns out Nico didn’t need to answer that question because in a blast of light the chariot exploded, sending them both flying.

The world went black.

—

Why did every creation of his blow up? That’s what Leo wondered as he plummeted from the sky. He figured he would turn into a Leo pancake when he hit the ground, splat.

The idea would’ve made him laugh if he weren’t currently falling to his death. Leo could still see the flaming chariot above him, another masterpiece blown to pieces. Maybe that would be his legacy, the demigod who destroyed everything he made.

The wind was fast as he fell, blowing through his hair and stinging his eyes. It was eerily familiar, probably because it wasn’t the first time he’d fallen from the sky. As he fell further, Leo tightly shut his eyes, expecting to hit the ground any second. But instead he felt something hit him. Well, less like hit and more like grab. When he opened his eyes, he almost jumped out of his skin.

Jason had caught him, he was now face to face with him. Startlingly close. All Leo could see were his striking icy blue eyes. He felt Jason’s arms tightly secured around his waist, and he felt the breath of relief Jason sighed when he realized Leo was safely in one piece.

Why Leo obsessed over each of these small incriminate details, he would never say.

“Thanks superman,” Leo grinned nervously. He hoped the blush across his face wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

Jason glared at him as they began to descend to the ground. “Next time i’ll let you fall.”

Leo was about to make another comment when his heart dropped, “Nico.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he looked up at the chariot. They seemed to flicker across the sky, as he tried to locate the other chariot rider. “Oh gods.”

Splash.

Just in time Leo turned to see Nico plunge into the lake, Jason had been too far to reach him seeing as they’d somehow been blasted in two different directions.

Leo’s shirt was still smoking from the explosion and his bones felt like jelly, but it didn’t stop him from rushing to the lake as soon as they touched the ground.

Will had gotten there first, he’d always managed to get there first. He began dragging Nico from the water, a crowd of panicked demigods forming around them.

As soon as Nico was pulled to shore Leo stumbled his way over, pushing through the crowd. “Is he okay? Is he breathing? Oh gods this is all my fault.” He stuttered and tripped over his words as the guilt built up inside his stomach like rocks. He shouldn’t have made Nico join this stupid race, he should’ve known it would go wrong. Everything he did always went wrong.

“Leo, don’t say that.” Jason stepped forward putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder.

Leo wanted to believe him but the guilt was overpowering it consumed his mind.

He silently watched as Will hummed placing his hand on Nico’s chest. Leo didn’t know what he’d do if Nico didn’t wake up, but luckily he did. Shooting up, coughing and spluttering, Leo recognized the look of relief that flashed across Wills face.

Jason’s hand gripped Leo’s shoulder tighter as he remembered to breathe. Suddenly his adrenaline rush crashed and so did he. His knees went weak and he would’ve fallen if Jason hadn’t caught him, again.

“You okay?” Jason asked softly. A warm tone that felt delicate and strange, yet it reassured Leo every time he heard it.

Leo nodded, looking back at Nico who was smothered in a hug from Will. He seemed to be repeatedly telling Will he was okay, despite him being dripping wet with several burnt holes in his shirt.

Nicos seemed to search the crowd until he locked eyes with Leo, he figured Nico would be incredibly pissed off at him. But he wasn’t, his eyes flashed a look of concern before he mouthed you okay?

Leo nodded as convincingly as he could, overly aware of Jason’s warm presence behind him, being the only thing holding him up.

The crowd was dispersing as Will managed to pull Nico to his feet, draping his arm across his shoulders. “Both of you,” he looked towards Leo, “infirmary. Now.”

On the way, Jason did most of the walking, as Leo’s new jelly legs hadn’t regained their sense of feeling yet. His whole body was aching by the time they’d reached the infirmary. Turns out, being exploded hurts. Shouldn’t have been surprising as he’d been exploded before.

As Leo sat on the infirmary bed his mind was spinning. He thought through every piece of bronze, every gear, wondering what had gone wrong. He had double, scratch that, triple checked to make sure everything was in tip top shape. Yet something still went wrong, seemingly out of nowhere. He replayed when the fire broke out, despite his frantic waving and patting down of the fire it didn’t extinguish. The realization hit him like a semi truck.

“Greek fire,” he said out of nowhere while Jason and Will rushed around; checking that he and Nico weren’t severely injured.

“What?” Jason said, his hand freezing in place as he picked up a bandage.

Nico inhaled sharply, looking at Leo as if he immediately understood. After hanging out for so long Nico had learned how to understand whatever thought process Leo was on, “That’s what it was, that’s why it kept burning. Why was it in the chariot?”

“I don’t know,” Leo sighed. He racked his brain for any contraptions that would lead to the emergence of greek fire. But he was sure that it wasn’t built into his chariot at all. “I never used greek fire, I don’t get how it would just erupt like that…unless…”

Jason’s eyes widened, “Do you think someone put it there on purpose?”

Leo met his eyes, he knew an accusation like this was dangerous. It meant that someone intentionally sabotaged their chariot, in a way that could only be intended to kill.

“But why would someone try to hurt you with fire?” Jason asked.

Leo felt his heartbeat stick in his throat, “Maybe I wasn’t the one they were intending to harm.”

He looked over at Nico whose face was now unreadable.

“You’re saying someone tried to kill Nico?” Will asked, his tone laced with anger.

“That or they meant to injure him severely, I guess they didn’t account for the explosion preventions I had in place.” Leo replied.

“Explosion preventions?” Jason asked, his eyebrow tilting up in the way it always did when he was confused.

“Yeah, I figured with my track record i’d add an extra layer of protection. Something that would lessen the impact of a possible explosion. That’s why we went flying away and not…well everywhere.”

“First of all, that’s impressive.” Jason spoke, “Secondly, who would intentionally try to hurt Nico?”

No one answered. None of them could fathom the idea that someone in camp would deliberately do something like this. Leo grasped at straws to find meaning, to find an excuse as to why this happened. But there was nothing. He knew Nico had never done any harm to cause this, he’d been nothing but a hero. He thought that everyone knew that, that everyone should know that. So why did this happen?

“We should talk to Chiron,” Jason said, breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

—

Will was fuming. Almost literally. He was sure if he’d been Leo his whole body would be aflame. The idea that someone had targeted Nico in such a way, was impossible for him to swallow. His anger felt hot, it bubbled up like a volcano inside of him. He could feel it ready to erupt any second as he dug his nails into his palm.

Then a light touch pulled him from his inner turmoil. A cold hand had slipped its way between his fingers, releasing the tension. Will looked over at Nico and felt a wave of guilt, he hadn’t thought about how Nico must be feeling now.

Years ago Will had told Nico that he was welcome at camp, that no one had pushed him away. Now someone had tried to kill him.

His guilt was followed by fear. Will tightly squeezed Nico’s hand, pouring every ounce of assurance into the touch and praying in his mind that this situation wouldn’t influence Nico to run away again. Just the thought of Nico suddenly disappearing like he had years ago made his heart feel like it was being suffocated slowly. He had to remind himself Nico was okay, he was right by his side.

Explaining what had happened to Chiron was the easy part, it was Dionysus who was difficult.

“We must find this traitor at once!” Mr D. stood up slamming the table, vines began to crawl up from the floor and around the table legs.

Will had never seen him so mad. Of course, if it were anyone else he’d probably just shrug it off. But this was Nico. So Mrs D. was reasonably pissed.

“We have to handle this carefully,” Chiron said; his eyes were filled with a deep sense of sadness and disappointment. He too couldn’t imagine why someone had done this.

“Carefully?” Mr. D asked, his eyes glowed with a dangerous hue of purple. “I say we round everybody up and unrelentlessly interrogate them until the rat comes out.”

“We cannot tortue innocent campers in hopes of finding the culprit,” Chiron calmly explained.

“We can’t. I can.”

“Then you would be punished by several angry gods.”

Mr D. had no response this time, sighing as he sat back down. The vines following suite as they shrank back into the floorboards.

“I don’t understand who would’ve done this, and why now?” Jason said, his eyes seemed to be clouded in worries.

“Leo, is there anyway this could’ve been a prank taken too far?” Chiron asked, there was a sort of desperation in his eyes.

“I really wish it was, but there’s no way they couldn’t of known about the precautions. I added the explosion barrier last second. The greek fire must’ve been somewhere near the engine, whoever put it there wanted the chariot to catch fire and explode. Midair,” Leos voice was somber, he leaned listlessly on his elbows which set on the table.

Jason watched Leo carefully, his face seemed to analyze Leo’s every movement, every word. Will recognized his attentiveness.

Chiron sighed, “We will investigate this. Perhaps there is someone, something, whispering things to the demigods again.”

“We can talk to Clovis,” Will added. “If it’s something to do with dreams or visions he might be able to help.”

Chiron nodded, “Just be careful. I don’t know how whoever did this will react if they catch on that we are suspicious.”

Will nodded, he couldn’t help but notice how silent Nico had been. He seemed to be lost in thought. Will wish he could crawl into his brain and disintegrate all the negative thoughts.

It appeared Mr D. was also concerned, his face flashed with worry as he looked over at Nico.

“We’ll talk to Clovis tomorrow,” Will made the executive decision. “You two need rest.”

Jason agreed, not allowing Leo to protest by quickly grabbing him and dragging him out the door way. “Let’s go hotshot.”

It was dark, a cold breeze blowing through camp as Will and Nico walked; a blanket of silence lay between them. Nico seemed to be trapped inside his mind again, his eyes dancing with unspoken worries.

“You okay?” Will asked as softly as possible, reaching out to touch Nico’s shoulder.

Nico nodded, “I guess.”

Will frowned, “You guess?” He expected Nico to lie and hit him with a ‘I’m fine’ like he normally did.

“I’m not sure what to think to be honest.” Nico replied, he began chewing on his bottom lip; a nervous habit Will had taken note of several times.

“Yeah...” Wills voice was quiet, his racked his mind for the perfect thing to say, but came back with nothing.

The two of them kept walking as Nico slightly leaned into Wills touch, despite his uncertainty he still sought comfort.

“I’ll stay in your cabin tonight,” Will paused, “to protect you.”

Nico face spread into a smile, a smile that punched Will right in his stomach. He felt a sense of relief to see him smile, “Yeah i’m sure that’s the reason.”

“What?” Will raised his hands in false defense, “It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse.”

“Uh huh, super convincing.” Nico’s voice was coated with sarcasm, which was a stark contrast to the smile that danced across his face.

“It’s an excuse that would hold up in court, you know i’m not a lawyer but I know these things-“

Nico cut him off by grabbing his hand, “Come on sunshine.” He tugged Will lightly towards his cabin, it was obvious he didn’t want to be alone. That’s not to say Will didn’t want to stay with him on his own accord, obviously it was a little bit for himself. But mostly for Nico, mostly.

—

“Gods Leo use your legs.”

“I can’t they feel like jello, my arms too, and my-my everything!” Leo whined as he let himself be dragged along by Jason.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head in the explosion too?” Jason feigned annoyance. He was intentionally bantering with Leo, trying to boost the mood. Anything that could distract him from the fact of a potential murderer in camp was good, and Leo was really good at distracting.

“I think the explosion hit everything,” Leo stumbled. Jason quickly caught him, snaking his hand around Leo’s waist. He hoped Leo couldn’t hear his heartbeat which was pounding so loudly in his ears.

“You’re clearly incapable of walking,” Jason sighed. He figured he was getting quite good at acting as he almost believed his own false annoyance. “Just let me carry you or at this rate we’re going to be eaten by harpy’s.”

Leo smirked, “If you insist.”

Leo was a light weight against Jason’s back as he locked his arms around Leo’s legs; and when Jason walked, Leo’s arms dangled from around his shoulders. Then with a sigh he rested his chin on the top of Jason’s head.

“Dang the weather is pretty nice up here,” Leo said, his hands absently drumming against Jason’s shirt.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Jason replied, earning a small thump against his chest.

Leo paused as he noticed where Jason was headed, “Correct me if i’m wrong, but this does not look like the way to my cabin.”

“Well..” Jason almost panicked looking for any excuse, “I figure you need to be watched over. You know, with your jello legs and brain.”

“Aww,” Leo teased, “are you scared?”

Jason tried to bite back a smile when his lame excuse succeeded. “Yes, terrified.”

“Don’t worry Jace, I’ll protect you from the big bad scary Zeus statue.” Leo giggled as he tightened his arms around Jason.

Jason smiled, he didn’t say the real reason he’d wanted Leo to stay with him. He didn’t say it was because he worried about his safety, that he didn’t want him beating himself up with guilt. Or that he’d seen Will sneak into the Hades cabin and felt a sense of envy.

Jason contentedly carried Leo on his back into the cabin; and as they entered Leo seemed to shrink against Jason whispering, “He’s looking at me,” before bursting into giggles.

“Now you know how I feel every night,” Jason complained. He walked over to his bed, where he’d recently gotten a divider; placing it so that his view of the statue was obscured. When he reached the bed he turned and promptly dropped Leo onto his bed.

“Ouch,” Leo said, sprawling out on the bed with his eyes closed and tongue stuck out as if he were emulating roadkill.

“Looks like jello boy died, what a shame.”

Leo opened one of his eyes and when he saw Jason was still staring at him he closed it again; a grin began spreading across his face, though he’d tried to hold back.

“You leave me no choice,” Jason rubbed his hands together, creating a harmless amount of static electricity. “Clear!” He called out thrusting his hands towards Leo.

A small shock was produced and Leo sprung up falling onto the floor with a yelp, pieces of his curly hair stuck up in the static.

Jason burst into laughter, almost doubling over as his whole body shook.

“What the hades man,” Leo looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I resurrected you,” Jason said between giggles. He’d laughed so hard his eyes began to water.

Leo stood up, patting down his hair. “Okay, i’ve been resurrected before and it did not feel like that.”

Jason shrugged, “What can I say? I’m too good.”

Leo shoved him lightly, pretending to be mad although he was still smiling. “Whatever, because of that you’re sharing the bed.”

“Fine.” Jason pretended it was an inconvenience. In reality he was desperate to be near Leo, to be by his side in any way possible. As close as possible. Leo emanated this warmth in a way Jason had become addicted to. It was a warmth that filled his bones and soul completely and fully.

So when Leo curled up next to him, it took all of Jason’s willpower not to wrap his arms around him and bask in the warmth. Just being beside him had to be enough, yet still he yearned for the full closeness.

Soon he heard the soft breathing from Leo next to him, the moonlight from the window filtering in and sparkling my across his face. His eyelashes look so delicate in the light and the splash of freckles across his face started to resemble a constellation. Jason almost hoped that the moment would last forever; that tomorrow wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to face the harsh truth that someone in camp had tried to hurt his friends. He didn’t want to leave Leo’s side. Not again. The fear of losing him was always so strong because he’d lost him before, they’d both lost each other. Now they were together again and Jason prayed that they could stay that way.

But he doubted anyone was listening to that prayer.

(Part Two)

[wowcatboys]

Hi, love your writing! Could I perhaps get some headcanons of Hearsteel with a (GN) tattoo artist partner? I'm a tattoo artist (apprentice) myself, and very curious. Thanks! 💕

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HEARTSTEEL /TATTOO ARTIST READER ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW ♡ No TW's ♡ I did Sett, Yone, and Kayn since they are the only HS members I'm writing for right now. ♡ Anon!! I would love to see some of your work sometime if you're comfortable sharing !! <3

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KAYN

Inspired by your art, Kayn buys a shitty tattoo gun off Amazon and messes around with it. He's not serious about tattooing, not really, but he thinks it's super cool that you do it. And, like anything he thinks is cool, he wants to try his own hand at it. (Plus, he wants to impress you. Oh, he may act like the picture of Rhaast he inked into the top-right edge of some practice skin is no big deal, but he actually spent like four hours on it and inside he's just screaming for you to compliment it.)

Protect your practice skin fiercely, because Kayn will absolutely nab some if he's bored. It's not uncommon to pull out a rubber sheet of practice skin and find scratchy sketches of demon masks and glowing eyes.

Kayn lets you tattoo him, as long as he gets to pick the design. He assures you he'll sit well, but it's a lie. He's a squirmy subject. Not because of the pain, mind you—he doesn't care about that. No, he's fidgety at the best of times, and with you so close to him, with you breath and your hands sending tingly heat across his skin? How is he supposed to keep still? Threatening you'll never kiss him again if he doesn't chill the fuck out might do the trick, though. Contemplating a life without good-morning kisses has him doing his damndest to sit still and let you do your work.

While Kayn likes all of your work, he's especially fond of the dark, the creepy, and the ultra-stylized. The more morbid drawings fit his bad-boy image, and the stylized ones? He respects innovation in all its forms, and he loves to see your artistic boldness so plainly expressed.

Kayn often sends you pictures of graffiti that he's proud of. In truth, he does it more for the property damage than artistic expression—but that's besides the point. He's picked up some skills along the way and of course he's going to use them to impress you.

If you ever, ever have a problem client, Kayn will explode in their face. Expect loud words, shoving, maybe a punch or two getting thrown. And if you don't want him exhibiting that kind of behavior in your shop? Well, fine, he can play nice. Just don't be surprised if you find out your little problem client finds themselves with "DUMB FUCKING CUNT" keyed into their car door. Kayn denies any and all knowledge of doing this. "Must've been Rhaast," he claims, but you're not so sure. Either way, it's a warning signal for your future clients to behave.

SETT

After you're sore from a long day shrimp-hunched over someone's leg, you don't even have to ask Sett for a massage. He already knows you're cramping up and he knows just how to make his fingers work. "Lay down," he tells you, and waits for you to get comfy before straddling your back. "Hold still, 'kay? I'm gonna take care of you, don't even worry 'bout it." His strong fingers gently rub at the knots winding up and down your spine, and he smooths the pain from your muscles. And this isn't some five-minutes-and-done back rub, either— he's committed to getting you right. Chat about your day, ask about his. He'll be up there for as long as you need.

Even if he's not interested in getting tattoos yet, Sett still loves your art, and he's willing to commit to something a little less permanent. Any time he's about to leave on tour and won't see you for a few weeks, he asks you to Sharpie a design on him. Whatever you want, wherever you want (just try not to abuse the privilege—he will never forgive you if you draw something embarrassing on his pecs the night before a huge show). He thinks it's sweet to have that little reminder of you etched on his skin. Sett will send you periodic updates of your sketch. If it's holding up well, expect to witness Sett twisting around awkwardly to show you in his daily post-gym selfie. When it's gone? He sends you a photo of blank skin, with a solemn text: "he's dead :(" . Don't worry about the untimely demise of this picture, though—you can draw him another as soon as he gets home!

Sett keeps some of his favorite flash designs of yours framed in his room.

It doesn't matter that he doesn't have any tattoos—if you or your shop sells t-shirts, Sett will wear them, and he'll do it proudly. He loves to represent you. All someone has to do is ask about it and it'll send him on a ten-minute (minimum) rant about his kickass tattoo artist partner, how talented and awesome they are. If you don't have a sleeveless option, though, don't be surprised if the sleeves "mysteriously" disappear.

YONE

Yone is interested in getting some traditional Japanese work done, but not for some time yet. Just know that whenever he's ready to ink up, if you're willing to tattoo in that style, you've got a client for at least a full sleeve, if not two. And when the day comes? Oh, Yone sits like a dream. He's the client from heaven, barely flinching and only taking breaks when you need a second to stretch. It's a bit difficult to convince him to put down his work, though, so be prepared to listen to Yone building some song beats with his free hand while you're buzzing along his other arm.

You both have rather demanding jobs and schedules, but Yone enjoys your quiet moments working together. He plugs away at his music while nearby, you finalize designs for clients and work on new flash pieces. Whenever he needs a break, he comes over and tenderly rubs your shoulders. Yone watches you work, occasionally breaking the silence to ask about certain design choices or what kind of client this tattoo is for. Watching you draw gives him a sense of peace.

Since he knows you work long hours, Yone always gets you a drink on his morning iced coffee run. He gets you lunch sometimes, too, if he knows you'll be spending the day in one long session and might not want to leave the shop. Yone knows what it's like to get lost in your work better than anyone, but he wants to make sure that even if you're in the zone, you've got something to drink and a bite to eat nearby. Now, if only you could get him to take care of himself the same way...

Dating Yone brings you a lot of new clients. Even though he left the mainstream music industry some time ago, he's still got friends within it. If anyone asks him for advice on where to go, of course he recommends you, which means you get your fair share of music artists coming to your chair. Of course, they always tip fabulously (they risk Yone's wrath if they don't).

Yone comes to you for advice on a lot of Heartsteel's artistic visuals. Their loud, messy, brash style meshes well with tattoo aesthetics, so he likes to run creative choices by you before implementing them. He also asks you to design some merchandise, if you're okay with doing that. Whatever you come up with, the guys absolutely love. Consider yourself the creative lead for all future merch endeavors.

[cherryvampiro]

 Next generation creek kids (ft. 2022 art of MJ, Nancy, &Sonya) Introducing The Flower Scouts: Troop Honeysuckle & The Alvarado kids Jaime & Laura 🌼🌼I’ll write a little about them below:

Troop Honeysuckle:

 Troop HS are a girl scout group that fill in the role for the scouts in the future. Just like their predecessors their main goal is to protect the wildlife & kids of the creek (Though in a less assertive way compared to he original). They all follow under their scout master Shawn and when he isn’t present, Stevie fills in the role as troop leader. 

Stevie: Stephanie “Stevie” is the eldest of the trio (12). She joined the scouts at the age of 7 both out of curiosity & to help her get more settled in the states. Stevie speaks 3 languages: Spanish, English, & American Sign Language. She’s an openminded girl who’s happy to learn new things.

 Penelope: Penelope (10) is levelheaded chilled out kid. She carries with her all sorts of helpful & useful things in her backpack. Band-Aids, hand sanitizer, rope, snacks, you name it she has it!! Penelope’s reason for joining the scouts was cuz of her mom hoping it’ll help her focus more. Penelope often gets lost in the clouds and completely zones out on everything around her. So it may take a couple hollers to ground her back to earth. 

 Regina: Regina (8) is the daughter of Big Red & Boris. Regina wanted to join the scouts so she could be just like her dad. Reggie’s more of the muscle/crowd controller of the group, with her loud voice & stronger than average 8 yrs strength, she can really clear an area. Under that tough shell though she’s a real sweetheart! She knows more about the animal wildlife than the others. 

 The Alvarado Kids:

Jamie: Jamie “Two Punches” (9) is the son of Kelsey & Stacks. This little dude loves boxing with the passion! You’ll rarely ever see him without his red gloves. He spends his time at the creek practicing throwing swings at trees. Jamie’s called “Two Punches” cause he throws one punch as a warning & then a second to put down/knock out his opponent (inside & outside the ring if anyone tries it). He’s a good sportsman and would never fight outside of self defense. Jamie also has a habit of calling everyone “Coach”, including his moms. 

 Laura: Laura (10) is the daughter of Kelsey & Stacks. She’s a selective mute who doesn’t say more than a few hums. Unlike her brother she spends most of her times in the library with her mama (Stacks) instead of exploring the creek. When she does explore the creek she often brings her pet cockatoo, Cantaloupe, with her. Laura likes to write down what she’s seen or done at the creek. Her moms often encourages her to share her writing in a live journal but she’s too shy to want to do that just yet. 

 That’s all I have for these kids!! Sorry I didn’t draw more outside of them just standing there 💦 I love making silly character designs for this show & thinking of a future of these characters 💖💖 Thanks for reading!! 💗💗

[jamilelucato]

The Writer and The Illustrator (Part 02)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Miss [y/n]

Summary: (Part 01 / Part 03) Miss [y/n] finds herself entangled in a clandestine collaboration with Mr. Benedict Bridgerton. As they navigate their partnership, their connection deepens, sparking whispers of courtship among society's elite.

Age rating: although this chapter is pretty chill for younger audiences, the next part will have more explicit scenes, so let’s keep it 18+.

Author’s note: Two chapters in the same day? Am I amazing or what? The third part comes in some hours, though.

To read Anthony’s fic, click here! For other stories, click here.Enjoy!

He was late.

[y/n] glanced at her timeworn pocket watch, a token from her elder sister's husband bestowed upon her during her last birthday. Her patience wore thin as Mr Bridgerton dallied in his arrival.

Hyde Park hummed with activity, yet it held no intimidation for [y/n] and her clandestine pursuit. She was seated on a bench and accompanied by her hired companion, Mrs Pittsburg.

Mrs Pittsburg was a good matron, not as old as Lady Danbury, but still old enough to be someone's grandma. Since [y/n] outgrew the need for a governess, her family enlisted Mrs. Pittsburg's companionship to ensure her company during social engagements and outings.

After all, for Mrs Pittsburg's concern and the now man of the family, [y/n]'s brother, Mr Benedict Bridgerton had asked the young lady for a promenade in the park. 

[y/n] hated she had to tell such a misleading lie — Mr Bridgerton was far from courting her — but it was the only thing to explain her need to spend an afternoon with the gentleman.

"He loses my respect by the minute," Mrs. Pittsburg remarked, drawing [y/n]'s attention. "And yours too, I should think."

"Indeed, he may well be," Miss [y/n] concurred, tucking the watch back into its pocket.

[y/n] was rather fond of the dress she had chosen for the occasion. Though practical, with the convenience of a pocket, one might argue it lent her an air of maturity beyond her twenty-five years. Yet, such concerns scarcely crossed her mind.

"Oh," sighed Mrs. Pittsburg, her gaze wandering across the park. "There he is. A lanky lad, I'd say. Much too tall."

[y/n] attempted to follow Mrs. Pittsburg's gaze in vain. She would have to wait and see.

"No need to rise," Mrs. Pittsburg interjected, observing [y/n]'s movement on the bench. "Let him come to you. If he's truly interested, he'll seek you out."

Of course, in this instance, genuine interest was sorely lacking. Nonetheless, [y/n] remained silent and seated, preferring not to ruffle the old lady's feathers.

Fortunately for the ladies, Mr. Bridgerton approached. He sported a hat in a rich shade of blue, complementing his attire impeccably. Benedict cut a dashing figure, [y/n] noted, regret momentarily tugging at her for choosing practicality over a gown befitting a courtship.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Mr. Bridgerton greeted with a deferential nod. Mrs. Pittsburg rested a hand on [y/n]'s shoulder, compelling her to remain seated. "I beg your pardon for my tardiness. My mother detained me longer than anticipated."

Before Mrs. Pittsburg could voice her disdain for his flimsy excuse, [y/n] intervened. "No trouble at all, Mr. Bridgerton. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Pittsburg, my esteemed companion and friend."

Mrs. Pittsburg maintained her grip on [y/n]'s shoulder as she exchanged pleasantries with the gentleman.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Pittsburg. Your husband's tailoring skills are unparalleled."

Unprepared for the compliment, [y/n] watched with interest as Mrs Pittsburg's demeanour softened, pleased by the acknowledgement of her husband's talents. In that brief exchange, Benedict managed to dispel some of the lady's reservations, though [y/n] suspected a crucial factor still hindered their meeting.

Mrs Pittsburg likely perceived Miss [y/n] as beneath the status of a late Viscount's second son. Admittedly, the earnings from [y/n]'s literary endeavours significantly contributed to her family's welfare. Despite her brother accepting the payments under the guise of a generous aunt, [y/n] surmised he would have done so regardless of their origin.

In fairness, Mrs. Pittsburg's apprehensions were not entirely unfounded.

"Mr Bridgerton, Miss [y/l/n], I shall take my leave now as I wish to stretch my legs a bit. I trust you won't mind, my dear?" the elderly lady inquired, her tone charming as ever. It was a stark contrast to her earlier grumblings.

"Not in the least, Mrs Pittsburg," [y/n] affirmed, offering a polite smile.

"I'll be nearby, fear not," the companion assured, releasing her hold on [y/n]'s shoulder.

[y/n] nodded once more, too embarrassed to meet Bridgerton's gaze. Undoubtedly, he would be curious about the old lady's insinuations regarding their supposed courtship.

As soon as Mrs. Pittsburg departed, Benedict extended his hand to [y/n].

"Shall we promenade around?"

The irony of his choice of words, mirroring her own to her brother, was not lost on her as she accepted his gloved hand with a smile.

They had scarcely walked a few paces when Benedict broached the subject. "Shall we ask with pretence, or shall I address it as it is?"

"You'll work for W. Jabber as his illustrator. Secrecy is unnecessary," Miss [y/n] replied, her grip on his arm a touch firmer than intended. Using her pseudonym rather than her given name was always a challenge.

Benedict caught on swiftly.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Jabber. A fine man, I must say," he quipped, stealing a glance in her direction, captivated by her presence.

He had retired late the previous evening. [y/n] had been his childhood companion, always charming, and that was the extent of his assessment. He could append a few less flattering adjectives if pressed: too reserved, too reticent, lacking in confidence. Yet, in a single encounter, all his preconceptions had been upended. He struggled to reconcile those descriptors with the woman before him.

Benedict had perused works by W. Jabber before. Four out of nine, to be precise, and each had been a resounding success, according to his seller. He found them profound, each word imbued with layers of meaning that demanded careful consideration. Although not an avid reader, W. Jabber held a place of honour on his bookshelf. That meant something.

To discover that W. Jabber, a master of language and intrigue, was the demure Miss [y/n] felt akin to being informed that the sky was, in fact, naturally green.

Benedict realised he had been lingering on her form, his gaze drawn to her ample bosom owing to his height advantage. Hastily averting his eyes, he was relieved to find [y/n] looking straight ahead.

A fine man! W. Jabber had nothing of a fine man.

W. Jabber was a stunningly beautiful woman with features that defied conventional standards of beauty, but that arresting, unconventional beauty was certainly what drew Benedict closer and called his attention the most. She commanded attention effortlessly with an ample bosom and hair of a mesmerising hue. The bodice of her unusual gown hugged her waist before cascading over generous curves, creating gentle swells and dips that seemed to dance in harmony with her every step.

Why had she selected such a gown for a simple afternoon stroll? Could she not have opted for a style more befitting of a young, single, innocent lady? These questions plagued Mr. Bridgerton so thoroughly that he found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

"Does Mrs Pittsburg know?" he inquired, attempting to conjure the image of the rather plain matron, especially compared to the woman who graced his arm as they meandered through Hyde Park.

"No, she remains entirely unaware," [y/n] responded, her tone tinged with amusement at the thought. "No soul knows, save for the publisher. And if you've come here to deliver a favourable response to the proposition, you shall meet him."

Benedict couldn't help but halt their progress mid-stride. [y/n] realised this a tad too late, having taken a step ahead in their stroll. Releasing his arm, she turned to face him without shifting her stance.

"You haven't come to deliver a favourable answer," she deduced from his sudden cessation.

"No, I..."

"It's of no consequence," she interjected, securing her hat against a sudden gust of wind. Resuming her walk, she anticipated his proximity behind her. "I had always considered 'no' a plausible outcome. It's a risk too great for one's reputation, after all."

"What's a risky move? To work with the best-selling author W. Jabber?" Benedict asked, hastening to catch up with her. With his own hat in hand, he remained unaffected by the breeze, noting [y/n]'s struggle with it.

Shaking her head, still avoiding direct eye contact, she replied, "Do not jest with me. You are aware of his true identity."

"I am now. I was not previously. To be candid with you, and I trust you shall take it in the good spirit intended, it never occurred to me to ponder the person behind W. Jabber," he confessed. With sudden courage, Benedict gently grasped the young woman's elbow, coaxing her to meet his gaze again. "W. Jabber is an exceptional writer. When tales told are of such brilliance, readers seldom feel compelled to delve into the lives of their creators."

Captivated by the unexpected touch, [y/n] slowly lifted her gaze from where her elbow met Benedict's hand and turned her attention to him. His words were eloquent, yet her insecurities only seemed to strengthen with each passing year. Few could harbour such a secret for as long as she had; she had already invested a decade in this charade.

"So, your reluctance isn't rooted in shame for the author," [y/n] pressed on, eager to steer the conversation away from her lingering dread of exposure. She remained curious as to why Benedict was declining the proposal. "Then why refuse?"

A mischievous grin played upon Benedict's lips. "I am not saying no."

"But you..." Miss [y/n] began, her protest halted by his interruption.

"You scarcely afforded me a moment to speak," he reminded her gently, and she flushed with embarrassment, realising the truth in his words. Mr Bridgerton couldn't help but smile at her reaction, thoroughly delighted to witness her blush spreading from her cheeks down to her neck, and even, with a quick check, he noticed a rosy hue creeping onto the décolletage of her gown.

"If you're not saying no," she declared, seizing Benedict's arm abruptly. While the gesture was appropriate for a stroll in the park, her movement exhibited a swiftness more characteristic of informality than propriety. "Then you're saying yes."

He smiled again, feeling her happiness piercing his veins where their arms touched.

"When may I expect the manuscript?" he inquired, his tone merry and playful.

But the question swiftly extinguished the light in the lady's eyes.

"Oh, no," she protested, shaking her head. "I'm still undergoing the second rewrite; I couldn't possibly furnish you with the entire book at this juncture."

"And how do you propose I illustrate it?"

Benedict Bridgerton had never illustrated a children's book, nor any book, for that matter. Yet, the gentleman was convinced that understanding the narrative was essential to crafting suitable illustrations.

"Of course, you'll read it," [y/n] insisted, referring to her manuscript. "However, I shall provide it to you in chapters. Time is of the essence; regrettably, I procrastinated on completing the initial draft, much to my publisher's chagrin. He wants this book in the hands of children's parents as quickly as possible."

"If it's intended for children, why the urgency to place it in the hands of parents?" Benedict inquired, tilting his head towards the lady.

"Ah, well, that's precisely why its composition proved so protracted," she explained, visibly pleased to expound upon the matter, "and precisely why I shall need to vet all your illustrations before approving."

Benedict waited for her to continue, sensing her fervour in her discourse. He felt a kinship with her passion, reminiscent of his discussions about his paintings with Eloise, his sister.

"The book has a childish facade, yet it is anything but. It operates on multiple levels, you see? There's a surface narrative for children; they'll engage with it and think, 'What a thrilling tale about bees!' However, when parents peruse its pages, they'll discern that the bee society depicted therein resembles British society and our interactions with governmental entities." She seemed oblivious to her surroundings, wholly engrossed in her narrative, envisioning the pages before her despite their absence. Even the wind ceased to perturb her, and she relinquished her struggle to keep her hat anchored, cradling it in her hands instead.

Benedict was entranced.

"The beehive serves as a microcosm of our society and our exploitation of other communities for our gain, often neglecting their well-being in the process, much like bees may pilfer from flowers without reciprocation," she continued, her emotion palpable. "I realise it sounds peculiar to speak of 'bees,' but with the aid of your illustrations, we could create something imbued with darker hues yet still convey beauty."

As Miss [y/l/n] concluded her explanation, she realised she had left the gentleman in a prolonged silence, prompting a wave of embarrassment to wash over her. She turned her head to regard him, silently urging him to offer any commentary.

"So, the bees serve as the story's antagonists?" he inquired, his lips on the verge of a smile.

She almost made it evident that Benedict's question was not what she expected. After such an elaborate discourse, she hadn't anticipated such a simplistic inquiry.

"Some, indeed. Particularly the queen bee," she responded in a measured tone.

Benedict's grin widened, revealing impeccable teeth before he chuckled silently. Though offended by the notion of him laughing at her creation, [y/n] found herself oddly drawn to his mirth.

"What?" she demanded, a hint of irritation seeping into her tone, though her expression betrayed her genuine desire—to share in Benedict's joy.

"I doubt you'll believe it, but," he paused, the laughter subsiding but the happiness lingering in his expression, "my family has long been aware of the villainy of bees. It's heartening to know that the entirety of Britain will soon share our insight."

Benedict couldn't quite decipher the look [y/n] bestowed upon him, but he couldn't deny the grace with which she wore her perplexity. On any other occasion, he mused, he might have kissed her then.

Good Lord, kiss her? What on earth was he thinking? He needed to compose himself, and swiftly, it seemed.

"It would be my pleasure to illustrate your book," he concluded, his words a whisper directed to her, and then, promptly adjusting his posture. There was no room for error with his newly appointed collaborator.

Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] couldn't determine whether to believe the tale of bees and the Bridgertons. However, if that connection was all it took to elicit Benedict Bridgerton's affirmative response, then the story's veracity mattered little to her.

On their inaugural day of collaboration, Miss [y/n] arrived at the Bridgerton House with her initial pages in hand, intending to deliver them to Mr Bridgerton for his perusal.

However, her plan of swift departure was thwarted when she was intercepted by none other than Violet Bridgerton herself, who insisted she stay for tea, citing their familial connection as a reason.

Taking the chance, Benedict withdrew his implements and positioned himself in a discreet corner, remaining silent as the women engaged in conversation.

Following a thorough review of the pages, Benedict retrieved his tools and commenced a rough sketch, his focus unwavering as he captured the essence of [y/n]'s opening chapter.

As Miss [y/l/n], Lady Bridgerton, Miss Eloise, and Miss Hyacinth exchanged gossip and pleasantries, Benedict toiled away at his easel, charcoal in hand, diligently bringing [y/n]'s words to visual life. Meanwhile, [y/n] watched quietly from a distance, her gaze a blend of admiration and critique as she observed his every stroke.

Upon concluding tea and pleasantries, Lady Bridgerton gracefully requested her son, Benedict, to escort Miss [y/n] out. Though her carriage awaited her outside, etiquette dictated that he see her to the door.

Seizing the opportunity, Benedict shared his preliminary sketch with [y/n], though he downplayed its significance, insisting it was but a preliminary effort.

"You've captured the essence of the forest! It's truly enchanting," [y/n] exclaimed, breaking the silence that had pervaded their exchange. "It aligns perfectly with my vision."

Benedict met her praise with a shy smile; his cheeks tinged with a youthful blush that only enhanced his appeal. [y/n] was drawn to his earnestness, a sentiment she couldn't entirely suppress.

"Thank you, Miss [y/n]. Your descriptions made it easy to visualise."

Their collaboration had found a comfortable stride, yet an undercurrent of tension persisted between them, perceptible to those attuned to the nuances of their interactions. While society whispered speculations of courtship, oblivious to the truth of their professional alliance, Benedict diligently sketched while [y/n] meticulously reviewed her manuscript, exchanging feedback and suggestions.

Fortune smiled upon them as they were both invited to the same ball, offering [y/n] the perfect opportunity to inquire about Benedict's thoughts on the latest chapter she had dispatched through a delivery boy just the day prior.

"You've captured the emotion in this scene impeccably," Benedict remarked, his eyes lingering on her as they swept across the dance floor in the graceful movements of the waltz. "Your writing possesses a captivating quality."

[y/n]'s cheeks flushed at his praise, a warmth blossoming in her chest at his words. "Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," she responded, but the formality of addressing him by his last name felt increasingly awkward. She had grown accustomed to referring to him as Benedict Bridgerton in the letters accompanying her chapters. While it maintained a level of professional distance, it now seemed ill-suited to the intimacy of their current setting.

As Benedict guided her gracefully around the ballroom, [y/n] couldn't shake the feeling of eyes upon them. Indeed, it was rare to behold her engaged in a dance, for no gentleman ever asked. But amidst the curious glances, she couldn't help but wonder—were they actually seeing something there?

In the serene sanctuary of his studio within the Bridgerton House, Benedict devoted himself to a particularly intricate illustration, his attention steadfast and unwavering. Across the expanse of the room, [y/n] perched at his family's desk, her mind consumed with thoughts as she diligently penned notes for the forthcoming chapter of her book. Glancing up, Benedict found himself captivated by the sight of her; her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she crafted her prose.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Benedict drank in the image before him, the soft glow of the lamplight casting a halo around [y/n]'s form. He felt a surge of admiration for her dedication and talent, a longing stirring within him that he couldn't quite articulate.

Though tempted to speak, Benedict opted to return to his drawing. The prior evening, [y/n] had led him on a midnight escapade—not the romantic interlude he had secretly hoped for, but an important visit to the publisher she had spoken so highly of. Twelve days into their collaboration, Benedict had yet to formalise the book contract.

Meeting Mr. Brendy, Benedict found a man of integrity who regarded [y/n] with paternal affection. Their private conversation confirmed Mr. Brendy's protective stance, a sentiment Benedict respected deeply.

"She's a remarkable woman. Sometimes I wish she had been born mine," the man told Benedict. "Nonetheless, I'll not hesitate to take action if you endanger her or her career. Do I make myself clear?"

Benedict assured Mr Brendy of his intentions, though the man's knowing smile left him uneasy.

But those concerns were now settled; the contract was signed and sealed. Benedict wouldn't profit much from the whole thing — he wasn't such a famous painter to ask more than the minimum offered. Besides, he felt like [y/n] should be the one profiting more, for if it were not for her descriptions, he wouldn't have been able to draw a thing.

As Benedict meticulously shaded the delicate petals of a flower, his focus consumed by the task at hand, he failed to notice the quiet entrance of his mother, Lady Violet Bridgerton. Across the room, [y/n] had her pen gliding across the paper and had not seen the matron either. Lady Bridgerton observed them both for a moment, noting the intensity of their concentration, before deciding to remain silent and unobtrusive.

Content to let her son and the Miss continue their work undisturbed; Lady Bridgerton turned to leave the room, her footsteps barely audible against the plush carpeting. As she reached the door, however, she noticed a figure waiting by the wall: her youngest daughter, Hyacinth, with an inquisitive gaze fixed upon her mother.

"They've been in the same position for hours. Shouldn't we be worried?" Hyacinth whispered, her brow furrowed in concern.

Lady Bridgerton paused, considering her daughter's words. She glanced back into the room, where Benedict and [y/n] remained engrossed in their tasks, seemingly unaware of their surroundings.

Lady Bridgerton gently smiled toward her daughter, her hesitation brief yet palpable. "Let them be," she murmured softly before gliding down the hallway, leaving the two young creatives to their endeavours, shielded from the outside world.

Hyacinth couldn't shake the sense that there was more to the situation than met the eye, a whisper of secrecy lingering in the air beyond the purview of the adults.

A sense of triumph permeated the room as their gazes lingered upon the final illustration for the book.

Miss [y/n] had meticulously revised her narrative, leaving only Mr. Bridgerton's finishing touches to complete their project.

Stepping back to afford her a closer inspection of his art, Benedict couldn't help but swell with pride at the culmination of their collaboration. [y/n]'s eyes sparkled with excitement as she absorbed the drawing before her.

"It's perfect," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "You've truly outdone yourself, Ben."

He met her gaze, a warmth spreading through him at the use of a nickname. For the last three days, he noticed [y/n] had started calling him by his given name, too, and he replied by doing the same to her. Yet, to hear her shorten it to "Ben" stirred something deeper within him. He found himself savouring the sound of her voice.

"It wouldn't have been possible without your imagination."

In that fleeting moment, amidst their shared creation, the boundaries of their partnership blurred, leaving behind an unspoken connection that had blossomed over the weeks.

Yet, Miss [y/n] couldn't help but remind herself of their surroundings — her family lingered just steps away from the library door. While her brother had granted Mr Bridgerton a private moment with her, she knew it couldn't last. Any inklings of confusion she harboured were futile — for both the present moment and the gentleman. What right did she have to entertain thoughts beyond their professional collaboration with the second son of a Viscount?

"Well, then it's settled. The work, I mean," Miss [y/n] remarked, stepping away from Benedict to steady her racing heart. "I can deliver the drawings to Mr Brendy this evening."

"You're not considering going alone, are you?" Benedict interjected, his concern evident as he recalled the less savoury district where Mr Brendy's office was situated.

"Don't be ridiculous; I've managed perfectly well on my own for the past ten years," she dismissed, brushing off Benedict's worries with a wave of her hand.

The room fell into silence briefly — the space between them filled with unspoken tension.

"You were going there alone as a young girl?" Benedict exclaimed, scandalised, though he didn't wait for her confirmation; he knew it to be true. "You were barely sixteen; you hadn't even made your debut yet."

"I truly hadn't," [y/n] affirmed, the edge in his tone stinging her. She had expected a glimmer of pride when she turned to face him, but instead, she found only frustration. "But don't fret; I've never attracted much notice. You said as much the day we discussed our collaboration, remember?"

"I never said you would go unnoticed," he retorted sharply. "I merely suggested that your alias would likely escape detection, given the assumption that he was a man."

Crossing her arms defensively, [y/n] avoided meeting his gaze.

"And what a fine man I am," she sighed, recalling his earlier words.

Benedict fought the urge to curse and vent his frustration; he was a guest in this house, and [y/n] deserved his respect.

How often, before, had he teetered on the edge of propriety since they embarked on this clandestine venture? How often had he seen her frown, longed to soothe her with a kiss to her forehead, or caught her smiling at his drawings and yearned to have her? Yet, he had restrained himself, for she was a lady — unfortunate in her circumstances, perhaps, but her last name was still of great esteem.

However fortunate or unfortunate the timing, before Benedict could utter any truths and [y/n] could voice any lamentations, they were interrupted by the abrupt entrance of [y/n]'s brother, Mr. [y/l/n], poised to catch them in a compromising situation.

Mr. [y/l/n] found himself perplexed by the scene that greeted him: his sister's furrowed brow and the gentleman's evident frustration. But he did not need to comprehend; he simply interjected. A man deeply fond of his sister, likely due to the considerable time they spent in each other's company, Mr [y/l/n] couldn't help but dote on [y/n]. While their elder sister had already embarked on married life and motherhood, [y/n] remained steadfast in the [y/l/n] household, deemed a spinster by society's standards.

"My apologies for the interruption," he offered, though he harboured no remorse. "What's the discussion?"

Spotting [y/n]'s discomfort in her brother's presence, Benedict seized the opportunity to assert himself. "I've just invited your sister to accompany me to Lady Danbury's ball this evening."

The lady's brother was confused. "Will she have a second dance in the same season?"

"Lady Danbury has her own set of rules, dear brother," [y/n] retorted, finally speaking up to defend the unconventional elderly lady.

"Ah, indeed," her brother chuckled, recalling how Lady Danbury's unconventional ways had led him to his current wife. "But, little sister, did you accept?"

Benedict turned to [y/n], a defiant gleam in his eye, silently daring her to refute his claim, to hide behind the facade he presumed she wore.

"I accepted, naturally," [y/n] replied with a mischievous smile, her gaze fixed squarely on Benedict as she addressed her brother. "I'm honored by the invitation."

"Ah, splendid," Mr. [y/l/n] nodded approvingly. Rarely had his sister been extended such an offer. And here was Benedict Bridgerton, his old friend from Eton, one of London's most sought-after bachelors, extending it. The irony was not lost on him. "Bridgerton, my apologies, but I must ask you to take your leave. Family matters require my sister's attention."

"Of course, [y/l/n]. Please, proceed," Benedict acquiesced with a gesture, turning to bid [y/n] a polite farewell. "I'll call for you at seven, Miss."

"I eagerly await it," she responded sharply, immediately regretting her tone. As Benedict exited the room, leaving her alone with her brother, [y/n] braced herself for any further inquiries. "Don't ask," she preempted Mr. [y/l/n].

"I wasn't planning to," he reassured her, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence. "But how did you do it?"

"Oh, shut up," she cursed and left the room.

[dantesunbreaker]

Red Velvet Lines

(Dracopia)Papa Emeritus IV x GN!Reader

It's the Clergy's annual Halloween ball, and you're without a date. But its seems a certain pair of mismatched eyes are watching you from across the room.

TW: Alcohol, blood drinking, suggestive themes, implied hypnotism 2.3K words (There is potential to write a NSFW part two later? Maybe?)

GIF by preqvelle

All Hallows Eve is one of the most celebrated occasions amongst the clergy, and tonight is no exception you think as you find yourself mingling amongst your fellow siblings of sin. Every year a grand ball is held, siblings and ghouls alike invited to in or out of costume to drink, dance, and socialize. Many come with partners in tow, few getting a kick out of silly couples costumes, while others come alone. Whether it be in hopes to leave with a newfound bed mate for the night, or simply to have a good time by themselves. You aren’t sure which of those you would consider yourself.

Without a date for the night, you find yourself sticking to the outskirts of the room, mingling with your siblings and making a clear point to avoid the dance floor. But as the night drags on, you find yourself leaning against the bar, whiskey sour in hand. That’s when you feel eyes on you from across the room, a prickling tingle that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Play it cool. Don’t draw any extra attention. Slowly, casually, you turn around, eyes making a wide sweep until they stop on a pair of eyes staring right back at you. Breath leaves you in a hot gasping huff. Cool winter mint and frigid white ice watches your every move. Something about his eyes both chills you to the bone and sparks a burning flame at your core.

Of course you know who he is, the former Cardinal turned Papa. But you can’t understand why his attention is on you of all people. There were plenty of other brothers and sisters of sin in attendance. Siblings that are far more attractive than your own plain features. Yet, you still feel his gaze on you even as you turn back to your drink. Why would he have any interest in you? You attempt to put the current reigning Papa far from your mind, focusing on savoring the last sip of your drink. But that turns out to be a little hard to do.

“May I have this dance, mio caro?” You spin around at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. There is a flutter of your heart as you come face to face with the same multi-colored eyes.

“Oh, um... Papa?” You stammer nervously, wringing your hands and shifting from foot to foot. “Are you sure that you want to dance with me? I mean.. I’m sure there are plenty of beautiful sisters that are simply dying for the opportunity to dance with you. And well.. I’m just me.”

A warm, hearty chuckle is your response, dismissing your self depreciative comments as a gloved hand takes yours, whisking you away to the center of the dance floor. It amazes you how effortlessly he moves you, as if you were floating on air, pulling you to his chest with practiced ease. 

“I have no doubts that there are many siblings desperate for the chance to be in your place,” Copia hums into your ear, keeping your hand in his, while the other hand rests on your waist. “But, they all share the same flaw. None of them are you, piccolino.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes cast down to your feet with a wave of embarrassment while giving no resistance as Copia begins to sway you both in time with the song softly echoing around you. That feeling soon is all but forgotten though as suddenly you are being spun out from Copia’s arms, only to circle back in until your chests touch. You are far from being a dancer, more than likely to trip over your own feet. But Copia seems to know how to lead you well enough, swaying you both across the room with ease and skill that would make onlookers think you have been doing this for years.

As the song draws close to an end, Copia pulls you up from a dip and brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “Let’s go outside, catch some air, si?” It’s a hushed whisper, only loud enough for you to hear, and you find yourself nodding in agreement before you have even processed what he said. Too caught up in feeling enraptured by the way he moves your body and holds you close.

The music fades, and Copia seamlessly transitions from dancing to holding your hand and leading you off the dance floor. Together you slip from the room unnoticed, a brisk walk through the corridors of the abbey until coming to a secluded balcony. It feels like a rush of adrenaline as you step outside into the crisp air, goosebumps rising as it feels like little pin pricks biting at your cheeks.

But that shoves to the back of your mind as you are spun around, back facing towards the beautiful gardens below. Something tells you that you should be afraid, ready to turn tail and run, but you are mesmerized by soft alluring eyes as Copia draws near. Under his spell, you don’t want to run. You would allow yourself to be devoured by the beast.

“Do you trust me, amore?” Your back presses into the cool stone of the railing, caged between Copia’s arms resting on either side of you. His voice is rich as honey, putting you at ease and leaving you wanting more. Even as he leans into you, breath tickling your neck, you can’t seem to resist the charm of his soft and sweet touches. No matter how much your brain screams no, your body succumbs and outweighs all rhyme or reason.

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, eyes closing as your head tilts back at the feeling of Copia’s lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck.

You feel rather than hear the soft vibrations of Copia’s chest as he gives a pleased hum, a hand snaking around the back of your head and anchoring in your hair. Lips press against you, soft and warm along your neck, lulling you into a false sense of safety. For a moment later, you feel twin sharp pin pricks of pain from the very spot Copia presses against your neck. Eyes snap open, mouth dropping in a silent gasp as you clutch at Copia, fingers digging into one shoulder and grabbing a fistful of his hair. Tugging harshly barely has Copia moving even a fraction of an inch. 

Warmth spreads from your neck, you can feel something trickle down past his lips in the brief second you break the vacuum seal Copia has on your flesh. Blood no doubt. Your blood. Though it should send fear striking down your spine, there is something about the way Copia’s tongue soothes over the wound he has created that has you slowly returning to a lax state in his arms. The grip in his hair loosens, the hand clawing at his shoulder smoothing to a soft caress as you instead hold him to you.

A sudden rush of euphoria seems to drip through your veins, pleasure keeping your limbs heavy and compliant. Pain fades until all you have to focus on is the feeling of Copia’s plush lips, the soft lapping of his tongue as he greedily drinks up whatever you have to offer him. Carding your fingers through Copia’s hair, you focus on the heat that pools between your thighs. You feel almost suspended on air, as if Copia’s teeth at your neck were the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But through your haze of ecstasy, you notice the freckles of black that are closing in on your field of view, sucking in a deep breath becoming suddenly difficult. A spike of fear hits your chest, but lethargic limbs keep you from being able to struggle. All you can manage is a trembling double tap to Copia’s shoulder as your fingers tighten in his hair. You plunge head first into darkness, a feeling of peace washing over you.

“Tesoro,” through the dark silence, a soft voice breaks through, calling to you in a loving tone. 

Softly groaning, your heavy eyes gradually flutter open to find piercing eyes inches from your face, watching you with great intent. Your mind is foggy, but you recognize Copia’s gentle features. Though, the crimson that paints his bottom lip, bleeding into the once crisp white along his chin is peculiar. A lucid smile paints your face as a hand drops to cup his painted cheek.

“Guess I took a little too much this time.You were unconscious there for a few minutes” Copia gives you a sheepish look, arms around your back and supporting the back of your neck. “Mi dispiace amore mio. You taste so delizioso, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay, C,” the smile on your face reaches your eyes, regaining your senses the longer that he holds you in his arms. “Besides, it’s not all on you. I should have signaled sooner.... I may have also gotten a bit too carried away. Still haven’t quite learned my limits yet.”

Gathering your strength, you push up to crash your lips against Copia’s in a heated kiss that is all tongue and teeth. You taste the salty copper tang on his lips, a unique hint of sweetness that you’ve come to learn is entirely you. It doesn’t take long though before you need to pull away, gasping to suck much needed oxygen into your lungs. Copia of course has full composure, though his paint is a bit worse for wear. Black and white paint has mixed with your blood into a dull brown from lip to chin. 

“Give me a minute to get my breath back and I’ll fix your paint up,” you sigh between gasps, holding Copia by the shoulders as you work on supporting your own weight. There is a soft twinkle in his pearly eye that is full of adoration. "We can't have you going back looking like this, Sister Imperator would be livid."

Gentle lips brush yours, not quite a full kiss, but enough you feel their presence without being deprived of the room to breathe.

"Why bother going back?" Copia's nose touches your own, his cool breath fanning across your cheeks. "I can think of plenty of other things I'd much rather be doing with you back in my chambers."

You scoff, giving a playful swat to his shoulder. "Because a certain Papa is expected to give a speech, and I won't be taking the fall for the reason you are late again,” you fix him with a stern glare, recalling the reaming you received from Sister the last time.

At least Copia has the decency to give a flash of shame, like a puppy being caught being naughty. But it doesn’t last long.

"You can have me however you want later tonight,” you catch the look of mischief in Copia’s eyes and quickly amend your statement. “After! You can after you are finished with your expected Papal duties for the night."

Overly dramatic, Copia deflates, bottom lip jutting out in an adorable little pout. But he concedes. He is just as worried about the harsh lecturing you both would get for being late the second time in a row. It’s best not to play on thin ice. So Copia doesn’t fight it, your eyes locked together as you take the time to collect yourself, placing a firm hand at the center of Copia's chest when you feel you are able to manage on your own.

Knowing what to expect as the outcome from your game of cat and mouse, you have one of the emergency make up kits that would normally be used for when Copia was on tour stashed behind one of the statues in the corner of the balcony. While ideally you would want to clear his whole face of paint and start with a blank slate, that wasn’t an option. It would take too much time, and you would be late, which if that were to be the case you would rather skip it all and go to Copia’s room.

So you settle for scrubbing at the stubborn paint of his chin, only stopping once it gives way to pale white skin. Once patted dry, you dip into the white grease paint, slathering a thick layer across the bottom half of Copia’s face. When you have achieved a full and even coverage, you shift your focus to touching up the black of his lips. As you set about setting the paint, you think that it certainly isn’t your best work, but under the dim lights of the ballroom you doubt anyone will notice.

“All done,” you humm happily, giving Copia a light pat on the shoulder as you pack the supplies back into the kit. When you glance back up, Copia’s smile is practically radiant.

“So,” Copia takes a step back, giving an extravagant twirl before spreading his arms out as if to display himself. “How do I look, amore mio?”

“Handsome as ever, Papa,” you smile fondly as you tuck the paint kit back away in its original hiding spot, knowing one of the ghouls would later come by to retrieve it. “Come, let’s get back before Sister sends someone after us.”

Stepping in stride with you, Copia spreads an arm out across your back, tucking you close into his side as you enter the building. Music still filters down the hall, a quiet hum that lets you know Copia’s cue hasn’t been missed yet. You might just yet might be able to go without any suspicion being aroused.

“Amore,” Copia however, cuts your train of thought short just as you open the double doors to the ballroom. “My apologies..but you uh have a little..something dripping from your neck.”

Of course, you catch sight of the twin red velvety lines slowly dribbling down the side of your neck in the reflection of Copia’s white eye....Just as you hear Sister clearing her throat from beside you. Copia gives you a sympathetic smile, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. But in the end, you think that your fun is worth a little ass chewing from Sister.

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

I do not find it reasonable that the term "ashkenormativity" is frequently used to mean "asheknazi jews, aka the white european ones, are racist, colorist, and even antisemitic against other jews". not only is that an improper definition with loads of information, it fails to recognize that the people who are most likely to perpetuate ashkenormativity are goyim.

for the purpose of this post, I will be going with the definition that ashkenormativity is the belief that ashkenazi people are the default jews, which leads to them getting more respect, opportunities, recognition, etc. goyim, especially in the western world, have likely only been exposed to ashkenazi jews, meaning that they are likely to view them as the blueprint. they are simply drawing conclusions from the available information, which in my eyes is not a huge issue. the true problem arises when they learn about other types of jews and immediately decide that we are "improper". because we don't fit their idea of what a jew looks like, acts like, etc., we are either bad jews or not jewish at all.

it is not the fault of ashkenazim that goyim think this way, and it is not their responsibility to fix it. it is also not their fault that most jews in the western world are ashkenazim. it is absolutely the responsibility of goyim to learn that there are many types of jew and we are still one people.

ashkenazim are less likely to spread ashkenormativity than goyim because they are exposed to other jews more often. they may have different norms than a sephardi, mizrahi, etc. jew would, but they're usually able to recognize that we are all jews with a shared culture. and by usually I mean I can count on 1 hand the number of times an ashki jew genuinely thought they were better than us. 2 hands if we're counting repeated offenses from the same person. I believe that has nothing to do with their heritage and everything to do with them being an asshole. point is, learning by observing other jews is an effective tool to combat prejudices. the more examples you see of a non-ashki jew, the more likely you are to correct yourself when you promote ashkenormativity.

i feel like a fun exercise would be to compare 2 separate interactions ive had with a goy and a ashkenazi jew. both contain examples of ashkenormativity. neither is significantly worse than the other so they are close enough to compare.

interaction with goy:

context is we were talking about jewish traditions and it got to the topic of food. I actually cooked a ton this year i didnt know what I was in for.

me: I won't cook that much this year, but usually id eat a lot of unleavened cakes and rice for passover

goy: i thought you guys ate matzah

me: I mean yeah but we eat other stuff too. im sephardi so I get more options which is fun (this was said as a joke, not judging anyone)

goy: oh so you're not really jewish then?

me: no im still jewish, Im just not ashkenazi and we have some cultural differences

goy: but like you're not jewish religiously, right??

me: I mean im not orthodox but yeah im still a religious jew. i just practice based on my culture its not hard to get

goy: wouldn't it be easier to just do what everyone else does though

me: yeah I just like doing this more it's fun for me

goy: yeah whatever I dont get this im done

interaction with ashki jew:

context is i was at shabbat dinner chilling on a couch and talking to a friend i made

ashki jew: so you know that shul down by (location)

me: the what?

ashki jew: ...the shul??

me: I've never heard that word in my life what is that

ashki jew: its just the synagogue. you've never heard that word before?

me: no i was so confused ive always just called it synagogue. sometimes the old people would call it kal never shul though

ashki jew: ok just like tell me if I confuse you with my yiddish again

I feel as if the differences between these interactions is quite clear. so, I wont go into heavy detail analyzing them. the basic idea is that during the conversation with the goy, I kept explaining myself and they refused to listen. they believed that ashki jews were better than me and that they themselves were also better than me. I was essentially told that I do not know anything about judaism because in their eyes I am not truly a jew. during the conversation with the ashkenazi jew, they explained themselves immediately because we are equals. they know we are both jews and we're more similar than we are different. it surprised them that I didn't know what shul meant, yet they did not use that as an excuse to tear me down.

I truly think people do ashkenazim a disservice by assuming that they are power hungry jews (*cough* antisemitic stereotype *cough*) who will stop at nothing to be better than the sad little sephardim and mizrahim. in reality, most of them, like my lovely friend, are more than willing to learn and share with other jews. the people who are truly hurting us are the goyische antisemites.

this is gonna sound hypocritical because I just made a long ass post about an intracommunity issue, however, can we please just focus the majority of our energy on the actual antisemites who are truly hurting us instead of other jews? this is an important topic that we need to discuss it's just not the most important thing us jews have going on. other jews are my friends and I refuse to be separated from them for the approval of goyim, and I know they will show me that same kindness.

note: I am just not feeling like myself today forgive any weird writing mistakes ill fix them later or maybe not

[reorientation]

Howdy! Im not into this sort of thing (orientation play), but I am a kink practitioner and will occasionally go on deep dives for kinks I dont fully “get” to understand myself/others better, + so I’m less quick to pass judgement on others. (Used to be a bad habit of mine).

Anyhow, found your blog. You seem like a super respectful + chill dude! I really appreciate the info and articulation in your meta/reality posts that help me understand the thought process and precautions behind the practice better.

I saw you reply to a few anon asks talking about people sharing their real stories to kink blogs but only really sharing the kinky/erotic parts of their stories. (Makes total sense!) an example you used was someone you knew of who genuinely retransitioned and explored that in the kink space to relieve some of that internal tension. (Not the most articulate rephrasal, but yk!)

My question is: how would you say that works for specifically the dykebreaking stories that are being shared? Do you still consider them to be predominantly real stories? Perhaps roleplay or sexuality exploration? or are there real conversion/reorientation elements happening in these lesbians’ stories?

Also, how do you deal with the genuine bigots/unsafe practitioners in the space? I’ve only perused for an hour or so and seen a handful of ‘em already.

Forgive me if these are odd questions. Just trying to wrap my head around all of it! Cheers.

(Anon is referencing this prior ask.)

That's a really solid way to approach kinks you don't understand! Kudos for that, and I'll answer as best as I can.

how would you say that works for specifically the dykebreaking stories that are being shared? Do you still consider them to be predominantly real stories? Perhaps roleplay or sexuality exploration? or are there real conversion/reorientation elements happening in these lesbians’ stories?

I think you're drawing a bit of an artificial distinction here: "real conversion" might be different in degree from "sexuality exploration", but not in kind. Someone starts being attracted to a group of people they weren't attracted to previously, someone tries something new and likes it, someone discovers a new side of themself with a new partner, someone's real-life desires are fed and shaped by their fantasies - all of this happens a lot, across people of all sexualities, and it's only the transgressive framing and the power play that makes it into "dykebreaking" in the case of lesbians being attracted to men.

Beyond that, an angle I see a lot is women who are attracted to men / have a breeding kink / just really like dick, but aren't interested in men romantically for whatever reason. It's easy to see how, if you have submissive tendencies, that turns into kinks about "giving in to your irresistible attraction to men" or "accepting that you truly need to take cock" - which you might then genuinely indulge in, even as you carry on having relationships with women.

And finally, some of the extremes of taking the kink into reality... aren't ultimately very extreme. Even if you really end up "broken" - i.e. you become exclusively attracted to men - so what? It may be a rattling change, but being straight is fine, and it's not like it's anything irreversible. "Conversion" has the potential for causing actual damage to people's lives - wrecked relationships, unplanned pregnancies - but the kink itself is more about tension and temptation and coercion than it is about any resulting damage, so it's possible to take a lot into real life without causing any real harm.

As for this part:

Also, how do you deal with the genuine bigots/unsafe practitioners in the space? I’ve only perused for an hour or so and seen a handful of ‘em already.

Honestly, we're just blogging here. People can just block assholes and never see them again; it's not like a physical space, where people might pose major danger. And none of us have the power to delete other people's blogs, so that's about as far as it goes in terms of realistic enforcement, too. If I (reliably!) found out that someone with a good reputation had been doing bad things, then I could do something - but only by saying "hey, I blocked this guy and here's why you should too."

[luke-o-lophus]

In The Light

Nathan Bateman x Female Reader

Summary: Nathan takes you camping to the highest mountain in his estate. He may have more plans than he's letting on.

A/N: 18+, fully consensual smut, bit of powerplay, Nathan has control issues, brief reference to scars and wounds that are canon. Written on the spur of the moment on my phone so typoes. Thanks to @my-secret-shame for thinking it's an idea worth a story

"Holy fuck", you whistled, taking in the sight before you. When Nathan had suggested trekking up the hill to camp, you'd expected...a camp. It did pique your interest that you weren't carrying tents, and he'd insisted it's not necessary to pack much. Now it made sense. At the top of the mountain right behind his research facility, the man had built himself a cabin worthy of magazine covers.

"How did you...", you start, eyes sparkling in awe. "There's not even a path..."

"Life finds a way", he says shrugging off his daypack and padding over to a fully stocked wine cabinet. "Fancy a glass?"

You blink owlishly as Nathan pours a couple drinks without waiting for your response. You were still sweaty from the long hike up. Heck, you'd had to climb up rock faces at a couple spots. Within six hours you'd gone from lush rolling meadows to grey rocks and thin flaky snow. Your feet bring you to the French windows overlooking the valleys, his estate lands as far as your eyes could fathom. It's a beautiful sight, the empty rolling hills, and the knowledge there's not a single other human for all the miles around.

"I come here to take a break from everyone", He hands you a glass, tilting his own in a salute. You scoff before you can stop yourself. His brows pinch in a faint frown and his chin tilts down. His wide brown eyes peer over the gold rimmed glasses, daring you to explain yourself. "You talk as if you're not a recluse already", you mutter, setting the glass down after a small sip. Usually he'd challenge a comment like that, or outright start a debate, but today his lips curl up into a smirk.

"I lied", he shrugs, a far too recognisable spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can open your mouth to respond, he closes the few inches separating you. When you're back knocks against the thick glass of the floor to ceiling windows, he's grinning like a cat that got the cream. "You wanna know why I really come here?" he eggs you on. Something tells you it's a trap, another of his games you really shouldn't play into, but you're oh so curious. When he presses the rim of his glass to your chilled lips, coaxing them open and slowly pouring some in, you slowly nod.

"I come here", he starts, drawing away the empty glass and setting it aside. "To remind myself" His warm fingers trace your cold rosy cheeks, pausing and taking in the slight tremor in your form. "...To remind myself what's mine"

Your brows shoot up, ready to call him a cocky bastard. But words die on your tongue as a large palm settles at the back of your neck and swiftly turns you around so your face is pressed against the glass. The glass is surprisingly not cold, but there's a thousand feet drop before you. Nathan's hand slowly strokes down your back, as if petting a pouting toddler. "Relax, it's strong enough for an elephant", he says in a voice that doesn't seem eager to reassure you.

"What the fuck, Nathan", you hiss. "Let me go"

"I could", he starts, gathering your hair and sweeping it across one of your shoulders. You feel the soft brush of his beard on the sliver of skin on the other shoulder. "Or I could tell you why you're here"

You sputter in indignation at the comment. "A certain someone told me we're going camping", you huff, pressing your hips back into his. Two can play this game.

"And you believed them. Seems like my algorithm did a better job at choosing you than I'd expected", his voice is practically dripping with mirth.

"Your genius creation didn't work as you'd expected. Who would've thought", you mutter dryly.

That makes him pause. His fingers loosen around your neck, and he even takes a step back. The warmth of his broad form hovers inches away and it feels like a loss in more ways than one. Did you cross a line? Fuck, yes, you did.

"Nathan...I...", you whisper carefully. "I didn't mean to..." His hands leave you completely now, and you swiftly turn to face him. With his lips pursed he shrugs,"I brought that upon myself" He doesn't resist when you grab a hold of his hands, press a chaste kiss to his chest where you know the scars are.

"You did", you agree. "But that wasn't cool...am sorry" He regards you carefully for a few moments before he shakes his head with an amused chuckle. "You're too empathetic for your own good", he points out. "Or you wouldn't be stuck with me"

"How do you know you're not stuck with me?", your eyes dance playfully, grateful for the dissipating tension.

"Because, baby, when I'm up here.... whatever the light touches and my eyes can see, it's mine"

It sounds conceited, superfluous. If this was anyone but Nathan Bateman, you'd shrug it off as pretentious. But this man is honest, raw. As infuriating as it is to hear, it's the truth.

"I wanted to show you the sunset from here", he continues, stepping closer. His hands slide under your shirt to grip your sides, chest pressed against yours. "And I wanted to see how you look in the falling light", he completes.

Everywhere the light touches....

Your eyes are wide in a mix of awe and disbelief when he presses his lips to yours. From that it's a few moments to you moaning deeply into his mouth, tongue rolling over his as you both struggled to get the upper hand.

Your cheek bumps against the glass again, and his hands are almost rough as they pull down your trekking pants. He's grinding into your ass, hot and hard, hands grabbing your breasts in pure hunger. "Fuck me", you demand, rolling your hips into his. "You don't give orders", his snap comes out almost as a purr. If the harsh pinches on your nipples were meant to be a rebuke they didn't achieve the intended outcome.

"I decide what happens here", he whispers into your ear, rewarding your grunt of frustration with another strong squeeze of your breasts.

"M-make me yours?" your voice falters, and you swear you feel his hips stutter.

"Say that again", his voice is breathless.

"Make me yours Nathan, show me who I belong to", you moan, groaning as that earns you a sharp nip on your bare neck.

"Don't bother keeping quiet, angel", his warning sounds more of a gloat. And that's all the warning you get before he quickly parts your thighs and impales himself in one bold stroke.

The sounds you make are filthy, needy moans and pathetic begs of going harder, faster. His hips are fucking into you at a punishing pace, and your trek-tired body would've given out had he not held you up by your chest. He chases his orgasm with all the focus of the genius he is, but damn is he good at what he does. Your lips leave a small line of drool on the glass as your mouth parts in a silent cry, pleasure overwhelming every sense. When he finally cums in you, you're shaking at the ebb of your orgasm, knees weak and mind in a daze.

You wake up to soft sheets and a warm figure pressed to your front. Morning light poured into the room and the man curled up with his back to your chest was still sound asleep. You began to push yourself up to wash, but dropped back to the bed with a wince.

Nathan was up in a jiffy, eyes almost wild as he looked for potential dangers. His face softens into a chuckle when he sees it's just you, curled up in a way that explains exactly why you'd winced. "Too much?", his voice is teasing. "Did you forget I'm not an Android?" you huff, watching as his figure steps off the bed and disappears into the washroom. "You asked for it. Quite literally", he comes back with a wet cloth, coaxing you to lay back and placing the warm fabric on your swollen folds.

"Well now I can't trek down", you're actually worried now. The climb up had not been a breeze and the idea of going down in this condition was frankly terrifying.

"We're not trekking down. Arthur's getting the helicopter here in two hours. Told him we have a medical situation."

"Very believable, Nathan", you grumble burrowing your head in his chest. "A medical situation that can wait hours"

"It's a shit ruse", he agrees. "And that's how he'll know you're mine."

[hanayori89]

No Woman Beyond (Honeymoon Edition)

A/N: If you don't like sex content- this is not your chapter! You have been forewarned. 

It was easy to see how one could get lost here.

You had your arms fastened securely around Link's waist, as he directed Epona through the Gerudo Desert. A thin piece of wood acted as a plank connecting you to the main bridge that led to the fortress. Epona maneuvered in a poised fashion over the plank. She began to pick up speed once you crossed over it. Within a few seconds, Link directed her to a halt as you approached the fortress. Upon your arrival you were taken aback by the fortresses' deserted state.

"Link, aren't there supposed to be guards? Or prisoners?" You couldn't help but feel a chill run through you at the vision of the desolate fortress. It also wasn't helping that the sun was setting. The desert can be quite chilly when nighttime approaches.  Why would Link choose this as the first stop on your honeymoon tour of Hyrule? 

Link dismounted Epona and held his hand up to you. As you took his hand and began to swing your legs around to jump off, Link took you in his arms, catching you instead. His body was the perfect shield against the dropping temperature. He held you for a moment without saying anything, until he unwillingly pulled away. "Thank you... for saying yes. I know that you may see that as silly. All I can think about is all the things that could have scared you away. Now you're here with me and-" a hint of red began to poke through his cheeks, "I want to show you my gratitude." 

You couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. The fiery Link from the contest inconspicuously buried beneath awkward Link, who stood before you unsure. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a reassuring gesture. You saw his insecurities poking through much like your own had. You wanted to do anything you could to quell them. They didn't deserve a place in the bed you'd be sharing from now on. "Link, we were friends before we were lovers. There isn't a single thought in that reserved head of yours that could ever have scare me away from you. Although... " You began to dart your eyes around frantically. "Just reassure me there are no prisoners waiting inside to get me." 

"There will be only one prisoner inside." His ambiguous statement was marked by a lusty drop of his voice. This was the hero you were waiting for. The one that practically ravaged your neck in front of all of Hyrule without a second thought. 

"What did you do?" 

He grabbed your hand, ushering you along inside the fortress. "Let's just say that Nabooru felt indebted to me because of my help with the Spirit Temple. While there wasn't a single thing I wanted in return, I did run this idea by her. She was more than accommodating. All of the prisoners and guards have been evacuated. They will be staying at the Spirit Temple until tomorrow." 

You entered the western part of the fortress, where Link and you entered a tower. You knew this tower from his story of when he was captured by the Gerudo guards. Of course, you never understood why they wouldn't have barred the windows. Or stripped him of his stuff. Nevertheless, Link escaped and actually earned appraisal from the Gerudos for his remarkable craft. 

You could make out the faint outline of the setting sun beyond the window. The marble interior of the fortress amplified the chill in the desert air. Link noticed, wrapping you into his arms. "I brought blankets. Although, I have a few activities that will keep us both warm." He whispered into your neck. His voice cut off by the sound of his panting breath. You felt the warmth that radiated from his body leave your side, his breathy whispers becoming further away. 

"Y/N."

You turned around only to see Link swiftly draw his sword from his back. Your breath hitched as the cool blade rested on your clavicle. In one hurried motion, he cut the straps of your dress. 

"Link!"

The animalistic gaze from when you spoon fed him in the contest returned. Warmth and excitement surged through you, erasing how frigid you felt moments ago. You stood astounded at how quick Link could flip his character. A thrill shot through you then. Even though he was Link, your best friend; he was also the freaking Hero of Time. You watched with surreptitious longing as he returned from each temple, more masculine than the last. The journey he undertook truly had evolved him into a man. There was a dirty little secret you held close to your chest. You hadn't actually wanted Link to teach you how to shoot. You simply wanted to feel his body next to yours. You wanted to feel the body you dreamt of lying next to each night. The body that made you squirm in your sheets with desire. Now you were about to bare yourself in the rawest way possible for him to devour. 

"Undress." Link's voice was sharper than the blade he held at you. 

The impish side of you came out. You ignored the throbbing that began in between your legs. "And if I don't?"

"Who's holding the sword here?" 

You glanced downward, letting your eyes settle on the now clearly visible erection beneath his tunic. Then it all became clear. You knew exactly what Link's angle was and goddesses did you enjoy it. You continued to let your eyes linger upon his powerful hard on. Despite his confident demeanor, Link couldn't fool you as his cheeks began to redden. You decided to play along. 

"I suppose you do." 

You took the bunched fabric you held up over your breasts, gracefully letting it slide down. The fabric lay loosely, a divine halo emphasizing your hips. Link sucked his breath in, not completely sure you weren't a mirage. "So much better in person." Link whispered.

The response caught you off guard. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

The error of Link's words caught up to him. "I-I what I meant to say was-" Link knew he would have to tell the truth. He scratched the back of his neck in a nervous tick you recognized from his youth. "Remember when I showed you the lens of truth?" His voice seemed to dip at the word 'truth.'

"Yes..." You arched your eyebrow upward not liking where this was going. 

"I may have inadvertently... seen underneath your clothing with it." 

You stomped your foot in response. "Inadvertently? You've already seen me naked?" Link fluttered his baby blues at you, a waggish grin forming beneath them. "I needed something to think about when I was alone. You know-" 

"That's why you were awkward with me!" You realized you couldn't even blame him. You'd have done the same if the lens of truth was in your possession. "Well, it seems we'll have to get even then. Won't we Mr. Hero?" 

You let your hands fall to your breasts. You massaged their voluptuous tissue before you stopped at your nipples, letting your thumbs graze across them. They hardened in front of Link. You didn't fight against the moan that slid from your throat. You moved your hands downward to the dress that lay on your hips. "Drop your sword and I'll drop the rest of my gown." 

Link did as he was told, the stoic hero now officially buried. His eyes shamelessly roamed every curve of your body. You slid your gown down, standing in your f/c panties. The scraps of setting sun in the dungeon flirted with the now nude image of your body. You weren't sure if it was the desert air or the fact you now belonged to Link, but you felt intoxicated. 

"You look like a goddess." Link whispered as his eyes met your face in disbelief. "I've waited so long. I must have you." He took a few steps toward you only to be greeted by your hand blocking his way. You grabbed both his hands, meshing your body against his. You kissed him with unbridled vigor. Licking, sucking and teasing him until you felt his back hit the marble wall. You had him where you wanted him. You pulled away, only to yank his head back, running a trail of your saliva down his throat. His hat fell, revealing his tousled ponytail underneath. 

"Enough playing around!" He hissed in a throaty tone. Before he could overpower you and pull you back into him; you picked up the sword he dropped.

"Now who's holding the sword?" 

Link couldn't help but give you an amused smile. "Clever. I'd expect nothing less from my wife." 

"I bet you wouldn't expect this either." You decided to take delight in torturing him. You both waited years, what would a few more minutes matter. You took the tip of the sword's hilt, caressing it with a flick of your tongue.

"Wh-what are you-" Link fell to his knees. You kept ravaging the hilt with your tongue. Little strings of saliva dribbled down it, glimmering beneath the desert dusk. You peered at Link, meeting his gaze before you took the hilt fully into your mouth. You began to bob your head up and down slowly, refusing to break eye contact. Link began to writhe his body in discomfort. He adjusted his erection, letting out a small whimper as he attempted to fix it. 

You continued your erotic fellatio session only to become distracted by Link's increased fidgeting. "Y/N, I'm hurting. Please." You pulled your mouth off the hilt giving it a small, wet kiss on the tip. You dropped the sword and stood above Link. You took your hand, cupping his chin and forcing his face upward. "Did I just hear the hero surrender?" 

Link buried his face into your stomach, kissing and biting the flesh on your lower abdomen. He mumbled into your skin," You just heard the hero trick you." He grabbed both of your wrists as you fought against his grip. He leapt up, grabbing your lips between his thin, hardened ones. You became lost to the rhythm of his tongue working itself in and out of your mouth. Suddenly, an itchy band cuffed your wrists. He had tricked you, indeed. Your wrists were now bound together by a rope that he single-handedly tied about them. 

"When I'm through with you, you'll be the one begging." He warned into your ear. "Get on your knees." The brash demands resumed where they had left off. You did as you were told. You felt wetness accumulate in your panties. You needed some type of friction. Some type of relief. 

Link grabbed a blanket, setting it beneath you. He rolled it up into a pillow. "Lie down." He helped adjust your body to the blanket, resting your head on the pillow he created. He laid on top of you, besides his hat, he was still fully clothed. His lips swallowed yours in a few sweet maneuvers. Then he kissed your forehead, looking into your eyes. You could feel his cock through his pants as the weight of his body pinned you down. You gently rocked your hips against him, grateful for the liberation of pleasure. Until Link pulled his body off you. "Ah, ah, ah. Not yet, greedy girl." 

He submerged you with kisses from your lips, down your neck until he hit your breasts. The fabric of the chafed gauntlet still on his hands as he rubbed your breasts until they felt swollen. Goddesses, how you wanted to fill the fortress with your moans. As if by telepathy, Link got into your ear, "I purposely had this place evacuated. There isn't a soul here but us. There's no reason for you to hold back." Then with a gentle nibble of your earlobe, he resumed kneading your breasts. Your nipples stood pert; Link's lips continued to roam any bare piece of your flesh he could discover. Until finally he swooped in, allowing himself a deliberate suckle of your nipple.

"Oh!" You couldn't help but flounder beneath him in ecstasy. His eyes met yours and he released his grip on your nipple. "I've discovered a weakness." He gave you a slick grin before he continued pillaging your nipples with his lips. 

"Link! I-" You helplessly pressed your legs together. Anything to relieve the aching in between them. He was flagrant with the loud suckling noises that he made. He took momentary lulls where he would just moan into your skin and stare at you adoringly. Between the pressure you created by rubbing your legs together, the barrage of nibbling on your breasts; you felt a wave of immense pleasure seize you. 

"LINK!" He ignored your cries. He mashed your breasts together while gazing at you beneath his lashes. "Mmmm," he took turns doting on each nipple with his tongue. That was the move that really sent you over the edge. 

"OH! GODESSES!" You began to lurch forward from the orgasm that rocked throughout your body.

Link stopped his erotic task, leveling himself eye to eye with you. "Did you just come?

Your head hung over the rolled-up blanket. Your hair surrounded you in a pool of h/c. Your eyes were closed as you continued to regain composure. Your chest continued to balloon in and out from the immense panting you were doing. 

"Did I give you permission to come?" Link pulled himself up to your shoulder, clasping some of your flesh between his teeth. The sudden impact of his teeth made you gasp with delight. 

"First, you make me wait at my own competition. Then, you decide you'll just come without me. Is that anyway to treat your husband who saved Hyrule?" 

The mock pity party made you giggle. You realized he was waiting for you to taunt him some more. You secretly loved the fact that even during sex you both had such a strong bond you could joke around. It helped ease your apprehension.

"The type of hero I need is one who will alleviate all my arousals." 

"Ah, I see." Link knotted your hair in between his fingers as he massaged your scalp. He gave your hair a slight tug, pulling your head back. The delicate skin of your neck on display as he circled his nose into the crook of it and began to murmur. "So, the type of hero your body needs... would he do something like this?" 

You felt his fingers rub the outside of your panties. Even though you just came, you couldn't resist the whines that escaped. "Link... mmm" You gyrated your hips to meet the pace of his fingers. He lowered his face in between your legs, letting ragged little breaths tickle your clit. You knew what was coming next. You knew you had no chance of winning this round either. 

Link took his teeth, pulling at your panties and smoothly tugged them down. Once he had them around your knees, he grew impatient. He snatched them off with his hands, leaving your legs open and on display. 

"Goddesses, I've imagined this for the longest time." He began to strum your clit like he was playing an instrument. The noises you made eluded you. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your wetness filled the uninhabited fortress. 

You ruffled his hair in between your fingers. You tried to gently direct his tongue to soak up some of your juice, but he just continued to watch you writhe beneath his fingers. "Do you want to come again?" Link asked as he continued to diligently play with you. 

You didn't respond. You simply moaned, raising your hips up into the air to meet his fingers and go deeper inside of you. "If you guess the song I play, then I will reward you. Heavily." 

You lied still, utterly confused by what he meant. Was he really going to just stop fingering you and play his ocarina? Then the warmth of his tongue slid itself up and down your pussy. You howled at the contact you so patiently were waiting for. You noticed he seemed to flick his tongue in directions. It dawned on you then, he was etching musical notes inside of you with his tongue. His tongue pressed into you, then it stroked your clit downwards, then upwards. 

He continued this torturous stride. Meanwhile, all you could think about was sweet release. 

In, down, up. In, down, up. 

"The song of storms." You murmured as you pulled another tuft of his hair with your hand. 

He pulled away, an appreciative glare in his eyes. He gave you a slight nod of affirmation. "So, you have been paying attention. Do you know why I chose that song?" You had a feeling this was going to be corny.

He got up, finally removing his tunic. He took each gauntlet off, letting them hit the floor. He continued to take off the remaining articles of clothing. You watched him, transfixed on the scars scattered around his body. You forgot he had asked you a question.

"I'm not sure I want to know." He stood in his boxers, before he gently slid them off. There were no longer any secrets between you. The image of his cock ruptured every single fantasy you've ever had about it. You felt your lower abdomen cramp in response to it. Then you decided you shouldn't be surprised. He was Hylia's chosen hero. And chosen he so apparently was. He held his hand out to you, lifting you off of the cold, dungeon floor. 

Your wrists still tied together; he guided you to one of the walls. Retaining his chivalry, he moved your hair away from your neck. He gently pushed your body against the wall. Your nipples hardened as they felt the frigid marble against them. You could feel him rub your ass with his hands. He leaned in close, his hot breath warm against your ear. "I chose that song because I'm so proud I can harness the power to make you that wet." You knew he was going to say something corny. 

He gave your ass a swift smack, taking your breath away. "OH! What was that for?" 

"I'm still pissed you made me wait so long in the competition." You felt him caress the spot he spanked with his cock. You could feel warm, pre-cum ooze on your skin. 

"Y/N." He sweetly kissed the side of your neck. "It's my turn to come." He thrusted himself into you from behind, catching you off guard. There was no build up. Each thrust was forceful and calculated. Whereas you were demure with your moans, Link had no indignity. He fluctuated from expletives one minute to loving mantras the next.  

"I want to penetrate you!" He blurted out. You thought of Zelda and the comment about producing an heir. You were certain with the speed and voracity in which he was fucking you, an heir was imminent. 

The sound of your flesh continued clapping together over the silent sand dunes that surrounded you. You couldn't hold out for much longer. He slowed his pace, only to release a hard smack on your ass again. Your skin slightly raw from the abrasion. 

"I'm not Epona. Although, I'd say you ride her a lot better than me." 

You knew the challenge was enough to send him over the edge. He gruffly grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, fucking you savagely. You didn't know another Hylian could possess such wicked strength. He licked the side of your throat, murmuring inaudible phrases into your flesh as he bit it.

You arched your back slightly more so that his cock would slide and hit your pussy. Both of you exploded in a moan as the orgasm began to peak through both of your bodies like a flicker of sunlight in the dark cell. 

"OH, Link. I'm, I-" With a hollow grunt you felt semen began to seep inside of you. He continued to thrust until every little drop was expelled from him. Your knees began to buckle from orgasm, and you felt yourself begin to drop down. Link grabbed you, pulling you up into his arms and cradling your head into his chest. He rained kisses on the top of your head as he rocked you in his arms.

"There isn't a woman in Hyrule or beyond that could satiate me like you do." He whispered above you. "So, now you've seen who the Hero of Time really is. I don't know what came over me. Just ever since I saw you at the competition I-" 

"Link. It's okay. We both felt the same thing. For a long time, I might add." You traced one of his scars with your finger. The thought creeping back in that you just had sex, in the Gerudo fortress, with the Hero of Time. "You're definitely the hero my body needs." 

You looked up at him and he smiled warmly down at you. "Let's get you warm." He whispered into your lips as he dove in for one more kiss. 

You both settled into each other's arms. Sleep began to force your eyes closed. That is until Link interrupted," I can't wait until you see what I have planned in Lake Hylia." 

 Your eyes shot open as you looked at Link. "What do you have planned?" The only answer he gave you was the sound of him snoring. 

You guessed you wouldn't find out what delicious torture lie ahead until you got to Lake Hylia.

Wattpad with other fanfics listed below 👇🏻

[yarnnerdally]

Title: Warmth is All Around

Fandom: Ikémen Prince

Pairing: Matthias/Reader

Tags: Fluff, silliness, cold temperatures, hot chocolate, light flirting, mention of alcohol, no alcohol consumption

The cold of the north was so different compared to Rhodolite. It nipped every piece of exposed skin it could until you were left feeling raw and miserable. Worse yet if there was snow. The flakes, so pretty and whimsical as they floated through the air, landed on skin and bit it. They melted on contact and god forbid there was any wind to blow over your now damp skin.

Your excursion into the main city of Acroite had been cut short due to a storm that seemed to have appeared out of the blue. Matthias had done his best to help shield you from the worst of the sleet that came first, but the harsh weather took no pity on you. By the time both of you returned, your lips had taken on the barest shade of blue and you were practically soaked. As soon as you were under the roof of the gate house, Matthias had taken off your soaked outermost coat and replaced it quickly with an extra guard coat. It smelled a little musty, akin to a damp cellar, but it hardly mattered because it was warm. You were going to question him not getting a guard coat but remembered that he was a fair bit… broader than most of the guards. You weren't sure why the thought of him like that made you blush (a lie) but you forced yourself to agree to not thinking of it anymore (another lie). The flush it brought to your cheeks at least helped you to be warmer as he secured the front buckle of the coat, his eyes coming up to meet yours. There was so much warmth in the cool, steel blue of his eyes and it only contributed to the flush on your cheeks. He placed the back of his hand against your cheek and frowned.

"We're almost back to the castle. A few more minutes and we'll have a fire to warm by." He gave you a small smile and a heart achingly soft look that was a rarity from the often too-serious prince. You nodded and he took your gloved hand in his as you made your way through the snow and the wind, focusing on the warmth that awaited you.

The next few minutes were a blur as attendants whisked you away to an empty drawing room with a fireplace going to change out of damp clothing and into new, dry, and oh so warm ones. Had they put them beside the fireplace before they arrived? Or were you just chilled to the bone? Whatever the case, you were thrilled as you sat on the small sofa and took in how lovely the warmth felt on your skin. You closed your eyes as you absorbed the warmth, barely registering the door opening behind you.

Matthias walked in with two steaming mugs of something. You didn't realize until he got closer that it was hot chocolate and your jaw dropped a little as he handed you one.

"What?"

"I'm just… surprised. Hot chocolate?"

"Of course. Quickest way to warm up your body."

"I thought that was alcohol."

"No, Rosebud. This is a myth. Alcohol causes blood vessels to constrict so you feel warmer without your core temperature rising." You stare at him for a moment before a small grin widens on your face. "Now. Drink your cocoa."

You sat in quiet with the serious prince, only the crackle of the robust fire and the occasional rustle of fabric giving any indication that the world wasn't still. The hot chocolate itself was absolutely divine. It's flavor was deep and rich, the toasted notes of cocoa and the velvety feeling of milk and cream coating your tongue. You looked up and your short, stifled laugh broke the silence. Matthias was shaken from whatever reverie had been in his mind and he looked at you, brows furrowed.

A hot chocolate mustache adorned his upper lip.

As he continued to look at you in confusion, it only increased the hilarity of the entire situation until you had to put down your own mug and pick up a napkin.

"Wh-" Matthias' cheeks began to flush lightly, though it may have been a trick the fire played on your eyes. You gently wiped away the light brown on his lip, but you didn't miss the way his breath caught in his chest.

"Hot chocolate mustache. Admittedly, I think the clean-shaven look suits you more than it did," you tease. His eyebrow quirked up curiously, a dangerous smirk covering his previous surprise.

"Think about my face that often, do you, Rosebud?"

[the-inkwell-variable]

Lochmallow Mystery Novella Snippet!

I've decided to write a little prequel novella to the Lochmallow Mystery cozy fantasy series I've inexplicably been inspired to write, to get myself into the heads of the characters and figure out the world a little before I throw myself headfirst into it.

This little snippet explains how Hendryk and Amara got such a good deal on their shop. Enjoy! Concrit is welcome and appreciated, just don't be a jerk about it <3

"Just one more, Hendryk. I promise."

The handsome tiefling groaned, running his hand through the amaranthyne curls between his curved horns. "We've been through three empty shops already. Must we really make it four?"

"l saved the best for last. I think this one is exactly what we're looking for."

"The 'best'," he mocked, drawing his fingers up in air quotes, "can wait until tomorrow. My contract states I'm entitled to a meal and a sit-down after four hours of work, and it's been six. Six! You may be a glutton for drudgery, dear sister, but I am not. If I don't find myself back in the tavern sharpish, I fear I shall wither away!"

Amara, hand resting on the door handle, rolled her eyes as she shot him a patient stare. "Are you quite finished?"

He grinned at her, pointed canines glinting in the golden rays of the late afternoon suns. "Would I be myself if I was? You love my flair for the dramatic." He swept her his most gallant bow, and she could not help but smile. "Shall we get this little song-and-dance over with, dear sister?"

"Let's shall."

As Hendryk slipped his arm around hers, their personas draped around them like a comfortingly familiar cloak. He pulled the door open with his free hand. The soft tinkle of a bell welcomed them and attracted the silvery gaze of an elderly half-elf woman. She clapped her leathery hands on the counter to push herself off the barstool. "Sure and how can I help you on this fine day?"

Hendryk flashed his winning smile. "We're looking for a shop to make our own, and the mayor's assistant said you might be able to help us. Rose Fenwick, I presume?"

The woman studied them, smoke-gray eyes flicking between their faces. Amara innocently twisted the thin band on her finger until the afternoon sunrays glinted off its plum gem. It seemed to catch the woman's eye, and her lips parted in a hearty, partly toothless grin of her own. "Aye, I am. And you must be that couple she warned me about. What do they call ye?"

A question like that was practically begging to be snarked at. Amara braced herself; there was no way he could resist such an opening.

"Trouble, usually," Hendryk quipped with a chuckle and an easy smile. "They call me Hendryk, and this is my dear wife Amara. We've only just moved to Lochmallow, you see, and it's our dream to open a quiet little teashop in a quiet little town. Grown a bit weary of the Verthurst glamour - you understand."

To Amara's surprise, Rose let out a hearty guffaw and slapped her hand on the counter. Yet another lesson in judging a chimera by his mane - she'd assumed the half-elf would be stoic at best, stuffy at worst. Perhaps rural folk were more chill than the other carnies had led her to believe.

Yet another piece of her to leave behind.

As usual, Amara was content to let Hendryk handle the bulk of the proceedings, choosing instead to wander the empty shop with keen eyes. It was well suited for the tea shop they claimed to desire - Rose informed them that it had previously been her family's fried fish shop, which explained the astonishingly well-stocked kitchen. The front-of-house was spacious enough for Hendryk's bookshelves and a few small, cozy tables. Tall windows let in plenty of fresh light, and the loft above ensured they didn't have to stay in the tavern any longer. It truly was the perfect place to open a cozy little tea shop.

But it was the little room just before the kitchen that caught Amara's full attention.

At first glance, it wasn't much to look at - a little supply closet perhaps the size of a very small child's room. Rose scoffed as she opened the door, declaring it "good for keeping the fish cold but naught else." But Amara's mind's eye filled in the missing pieces with ease. A candle-lit table to flicker the shadows. Faintly glowing stars on the ceiling and walls. A silver-backed mirror that cast no reflection on that wall. And in the center, a beautiful glass ball on a silver pedestal.

"We'll take it."

Hendryk and Rose glanced at her, startled out of their conversation by her sudden interjection. Her brother shot her a questioning glance as the half-elf drummed her fingers against the counter. "Ye sure? Yer man was just saying it might be a wee big for yer tastes."

Amara slipped her arm around his and stared into his eyes with the most adoring smile she could muster. "Not at all - your shop is perfect. Please, Henny?"

He chuckled even as his fingers tightened over hers in a warning. "Well... one more look through won't hurt, I suppose."

Her smile became genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners. He had done his part - it was her turn now. She pulled from his arm as if reluctantly, her finger trailing a quick sigil the bulk of his tricep hid.

Rose's pointed ear pricked immediately. "Did ye hear that?"

Hendryk glanced at Amara, a poorly timed twinkle in his glowing coal eyes. "Hear what?"

The half-elf didn't move for several seconds as she scanned the room. Finally she shook her head. "May aught I'm hearin' things. Could've swore I heard a-"

What a perfect time to scream.

"Mouse!" Amara cried with a deceptively shrill trill as a tiny shadow darted across the floor from the darkness of one corner to the dim light of another. She clutched his arm and let out a faint whimper. "Ugh, how awful! How filthy!"

Hendryk patted the back of her shoulder a little too hard, a clear warning to dial it back. "How awful," he echoed solemnly, gazing steadily at the frazzled half-elf. "And here I thought you had a reputable establishment. What a shame."

Rose stamped her thick boot in the corner where the mouse had fled, but it had vanished seemingly into nothing. "Tis a coastal town," she protested, her voice husky. "Ye'll aught get mice from time to time, for certain in the autumn. Though I've ne'er seen one in me shop so soon in the year.". She crossed her arms over her burly chest and drummed her fingers on her thick coat. "Odd that. Tell ye what. I'll drop by rent by fifty bob and have the place treated on my coin. That's the best I can do ye for - that is, if'n ye still want the place?"

Hendryk pretended to think, gnawing on his thumbnail with a troubled expression. "It is the finest place we've seen today... I'm quite partial to it. Amara, dear, do you agree to those terms? I think they're quite fair."

Amara shuddered one last time. "If you think it's fair, Henny, then I'll trust you. Ugh, hopefully those awful mice are gone when we're ready to move in. How dreadful that was, and what unfortunate timing!"

"Aye," agreed Rose with a dark expression and a darker tone, "that it was."