#day 13 a pinch of magic

[deceptive-daydreams]

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Three - Two Old Fashioneds

W/C: 5.2K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Your first shift at The Bourbon goes less than smoothly and more chaotic. Does the town's hard-ass really have his shit together like he leads everyone to believe?

A/N: guys I'm so excited for this to pick up even more (i want to make them kiss like barbies but all in good time)

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The ins and outs of a bar were something you could have never anticipated and while similar in certain ways to a diner, there was a distinct line that separated the two.  A diner had grumpy old men complaining about not getting their coffee soon enough.  The bar had grumpy old men slurring their words, groaning about their lives and insisting that a ‘cute lil thing like you’ would fix everything.  You had to stop yourself from gagging, plaster a smile on your face, and carry on.  Because one complaint and you could be out of a job, only proving that you couldn’t handle the ‘rowdy’ customers as disclosed by the boss, who now that you thought about, hadn’t seen in the last forty minutes.  

Not one other server was on staff to at least show you the ropes, it seemed like you were the first one.  One of the bartenders, Jett, who had been the one you’d seen working the day before, was unfortunately selected to both train you and run the bar for the most part tonight, no time for a proper introduction before you were thrown into the deep end, only a quick exchange of names.  It was a Thursday night but apparently to people in Knife’s Edge that meant the weekend started early.  Poor Jett was nineteen years old and the whole bar depended on you two ever since 8:00 PM when you clocked in for your very first shift.  It was nauseating having to ask him stupid questions in between attempting to serve tables while he made drink after drink, desperately trying to keep up with each order and delivering them to the right customer, even going as far to step out from behind the bar to tend to some of your tables.  You assume he was probably used to it, what with how he did it without hesitation and seemed to have his own little system in place.

It wasn’t your fault, he assured you.  It’s just that you happened to pick up your first shift the very night that the kitchen ran out of beef which also happened to be the main ingredient of one of The Bourbon’s only menu items, the famous Shreddar Burger topped with an ungodly amount of cheese and jalapenos.  Turns out the customers went wild for it.  It didn’t seem appetizing but you weren’t going to argue with the crowd favorite.  And now it was being requested left and right, the explanation that the kitchen was currently out but should be back to whipping up another round soon, not enough for their hungry bellies.  The best you could offer was a basket of fries until the beef magically showed up, Jett insisting that someone was taking care of it and that the cook would be back to whipping them up as planned sooner than later.  You were beginning to lose faith in his promises but proceeded one step at a time regardless.

Just one more task and then the beef will be here and I won’t have to hear another damn grievance over a heartburn-inducing burger. 

Yet it seemed to never come to an end, table after table requesting the very same order each time; only for you or Jett to break the news that their precious burger would have to wait and that again, the best you could offer were some fries or chicken wings, neither measuring up to the pedestal they held this burger on.

By around 9:15 PM, out came Eddie from the kitchen, door swinging behind him as sweat dripped from his brow.  He was out of breath, chest heaving while he gestured for you and Jett to come over to which you obeyed, zigzagging around tables in a hurry with a tray tucked under your arm, brows pinched together stressfully.  A new party of eight had just arrived which prompted you to push three tables together to accompany them, their drink order hadn’t even been taken yet and Eddie seemed to pick the worst time to call an impromptu meeting, in the middle of a never ending rush.  Burgerless.  

“Beef’s here.  Jett, I need you to help with the rest of the boxes so we can get burgers going.”  He instructs, the boy immediately following orders and frantically heading through the swinging door at full speed, very aware that he still had the front of house to attend to.  “And you, Bambi, change of plans.  I need you in the kitchen.”

So much to unpack in just one sentence.  The kitchen?  Bambi?

“Well–I-I thought I was just a server–”

“I said change of plans, I need you in the kitchen.”  Before you could ask further questions, he disappears into the kitchen and for a split second you turn to glance at the full bar awaiting service only to wince and follow him.  No one was managing the front and that made your nerves twitch but you suppose the boss knows what he’s doing.  At least you hope.  Your first hour or so had been a shit show.

Pans clanked against the metal worktop as he shoved them out of the way, clearing the space and igniting the flat top all while not batting an eye at you or caring to further explain.  You could just make out the formation of numbers on his lips, no sound coming out, but he was distinctly lip syncing the numbers one through three over and over.  It was strange though you didn’t have much time to process it, instead opting to internally lose it over the sheer idea of filling in for another position.  You didn’t sign up to be a cook and this was way out of your scope of skills.  He deemed you as incapable of being a server and now he was putting the foundation of this place on your shoulders.

“Randy, our cook left.”  He begins, oiling up the surface, his focus never faltering.  “Don’t know why, don’t know where.  All I know is I went to pick up beef and when I came back he was gone.”  

Jett scrambles near the back door, hauling boxes of beef into the walkin freezer as your eyes dart between him and Eddie, a certain queasiness forming in your stomach.  Eddie continues pulling supplies out and though it's within your rights to demand to return to your original position in the front, you can’t, the words won’t come out.  

“So you’re gonna flip burgers, Jett and I will be in and out to help while also holding it down out there.”

“I don’t even know how to ‘flip burgers’!”  

It comes out less hostile and more alarmed, your eyes feigning apprehension at the current inconsistency of the place.  In any other circumstance you should leave, quit with your dignity intact however that is not an option and you are in no position to be calling any shots; you begged for this job, afterall.

“You don’t know how to flip burgers.”  He deadpans.

“I-”

“You ever flipped a pancake?”

It’s not a genuine question, more of a mockery of your simpleminded excuse.  His head drops to catch your line of sight that had been previously shooting around the colorless kitchen, saturated in grays and whites that would drive anyone mad.  

“That’s not what I meant–”  You proclaim, setting your tray on an unoccupied work top.

“Just–cook the meat.  Make sure it’s not raw.”

As if that wasn’t the whole point of ‘cooking’ it.  This guy must have thought you had mush for brains yet he was the one with a crumbling structure of a business just based on what you’ve experienced in one night.  One hour, even.  You were starting to miss the senior citizens from the previous evening that appeared to have had a great deal of patience in comparison to the younger crowd that seemed to have more audacity and a shorter attention span.

“But what about–”

“Stop asking questions!  Just follow my lead.”  He demands, rushing out to the back, the door propped open so he could assist Jett in retrieving the remaining boxes from his truck.

What lead?  There was no lead.  Only chaos.

You idled next to the grill, shuffling your feet against the grimy tiles beneath you and taking notice of the astonishingly disgusting drain on the floor, coated in some kind of copper-colored grease.  At least if Eddie came back in to yell at you for not doing anything, you had the excuse of manning the grill, ensuring his precious bar didn’t burn to the ground though metaphorically, it already was.  What else were you supposed to do?  

–

You were sure the smell of beef, onions and cheese were going to be crusted into your hair for eternity when all was said and done.  Eddie and Jett had been taking turns walking you through the steps of creating this so-called famous burger and after a few mutilated testers, you eventually got the hang of it and it became a game of rinse and repeat.  Sometimes an order for a rare cooked burger would come in and you could only hope that you cooked it just enough that it wouldn’t bring on a nasty case of food poisoning to whoever had requested it.

Eddie stood behind you at the fryer, back to you while putting together another batch of fries to store under the heat lamps while you pieced together yet another burger, setting it along the space designated for finished meals along with its corresponding ticket underneath.  Eddie dumped some fries onto the plate before swiping it up and delivering it to its table.  When he quickly came back in to repeat the same motions, a question lingered in the back of your mind and it only made sense to ask it.

“Why am I on burger duty?”  You question, mentally facepalming at the phrasing you chose.

“Come again?”  He gives you another chance.

“I-I mean, if I’m brand new, why put me in charge of one of the most important things on the menu?  Why don’t you cook and I keep serving?”  

It seemed like a valid concern, only your first day and suddenly you’ve moved up to head of the kitchen?  Okay, maybe not head of the kitchen but that’s how it felt when thing one and thing two were constantly rotating out and mainly only managing fries and other small bar foods that were simple enough to make in big batches.  The grease from it all felt prominent on your skin, and you feared your sweat was going to become one with the vegetable oil.

“Every person out there knows me.  And I know them.  I know how to butter them up.”  He explains, a rogue curl escaping his messy bun in the mayhem of it all as he dumps another large portion of potatoes into the fryer.  “You…well, you know.”

It’s uncertain whether that was meant to be an insult or simply him losing his train of thought.  Either way, you didn’t read much into it, only nodding hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll throw you back to the wolves in no time.”  Eddie half jokes, exiting the kitchen once again, this time with plates balanced on his forearms and palms, Jett zooming past him to start up another round of wings.

“So, how are you enjoying hell?”  He laughs, giving his hands a good scrub down.

“Oh, it’s amazing.”  You exaggerate, piling some cheddar cheese high on top of the charred meat, topping it off with jalapenos and a bun, then plating it up with some fries.

“Well, I promise it’s not like this every shift.  And contrary to what you may have seen tonight, Eddie’s a good boss.  Just kinda cranky but you learn to ignore it.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”  The man in question rushes by, heading for the walk-in freezer, yet again counting in threes, this time using his fingers as well.

–

As promised, you were sent back up to the front once things had slowed down, the bar emptying out aside from a few regulars that had straggled behind.  It was a manageable workload between three people, plus Jett was able to offer a little more in depth training behind the bar as well as giving you the official tour of The Bourbon.  

There was the main room where all the action was, dimly lit to create a nice ambience littered in knick knacks that decorated the walls, torn band posters covering the ceiling along with some Christmas lights.  Of course there was a pool table though you hadn’t witnessed any intense games in your short time here.  Jett took the liberty of educating you on the kitchen a little further should anything of tonight’s nature happen again.  You learned where everything was kept for their small but cherished menu, where the storage closet containing all the cleaning supplies was as well as the back office which was only reserved for Eddie according to Jett.  Lastly, he showed you the dumpsters, in case you happened to be on trash duty and he even gave you strict instructions on how to close them back up so animals wouldn’t rummage.

Now you were back behind the bar, being taught to make the signature drink, an old fashioned containing cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger.  You could appreciate it, a bit spicy and a touch smooth, accompanying that burnt wood taste that would get you there fast.  It wasn’t a difficult drink to make however, perfecting the presentation was what set you back.  You couldn’t simply toss a cherry and an orange twist into the liquor, it had to be done tastefully.  Or that’s how Jett explained it, claiming that those were Eddie’s words.  The drink was in a way, an art and you couldn’t be sloppy with it, not by The Bourbon’s standards.

A  hectic night of becoming a makeshift cook, training as a server, and an intake of so much new information would do a number on anyone and the bags under your eyes clearly showed the physical exhaustion you were experiencing.  You didn’t think you ever worked so hard even at the diner back at home during rush hour.

“Little lamb made it through the night.”

Tilting your head up from the cocktail before you momentarily, you’re met with that pair of intimidating but gorgeous eyes, nearly black in the low lighting of the bar.  It was interesting, you’d seen many brown eyes in your lifetime but none of them resembled something quite like the universe he held in his, his outlook on things noticeably different from the average person.  He had taken a seat at one of the stools on the opposite side of the bar from you, some paperwork laid out in front of him as he began scribbling something down.  All you could offer him was the raise of your brow in acknowledgement of his presence, too engaged in perfecting the cherries on the toothpick just right, balancing them on the rim of the glass like a circus act.  

“They’re too close together.”  Eddie remarks, his gaze glued to the paper he had been marking up, an inventory list you notice at a second glance. 

“Hmm?”  You might as well have been in your own world, some kind of trance caused by fatigue pulling at your muscles and overworked mind.  

“Cherries.  They’re unbalanced.”

For a man of such few words, he still seemed to say a lot.  The attitude ingrained in his tone never appeared to let up and it felt as if something was either always bugging him or losing his interest.  Never content, always sour and sharp-tongued.  

“Oh.”  You sigh in defeat, as if it were impossible to simply pick up the toothpick resting against the glass and your finger and move the cherries, solving the case of the wobbling toothpick.

Jett emerged next to you after participating in some small talk with a regular at the end of the bar, a grin on his youthful face despite what a shit show the night had been.  So far you observed that he was something of an optimist, smiling his way through tough situations.  It was refreshing.

“There you go!”  He praises, gesturing greatly to the drink you’d just created.  Your third try at it. 

“Jett, you’re bein’ a shitty example.  Leaving your sheep unattended.”  Eddie grumbles, sticking a toothpick in his mouth.  You’d be lying if you said you wished he’d stop sticking toothpicks in his damn mouth.  Well, half-lying.  You’d admit he looked good chewing on a tiny piece of wood but he did it far too often.

Wait…sheep?  Were you the sheep?  Was this a jab at you?  You’d just spent the night keeping this place afloat and he was insulting you once again?

“Munson, I’d say I’m doing just fine considering you left us without a fuckin’ cook the whole night.”  Jett defends.  You want to grimace, knowing this wasn’t the standard when talking to your boss but Eddie seemed unphased while the boy kept grinning at him as he leaned against the bar.  “Plus, it seems like this sheep kicked ass on only her first day.”  He nudges your shoulder with his, sliding the drink you’d just concocted in front of Eddie.  You smiled in appreciation of his kind words.

“I didn’t leave you without a cook.  Cook fuckin’ left without telling anyone.”  He reasons, immediately throwing half the drink back in one swig.  

Please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty.

“And I guess you proved not to be as dainty as I thought.”  Eddie admits to you, throwing the rest of the drink back.  No complaints yet.  Only what you could make out to be a compliment.

“So can she stay?”  Jett pleads, bottom lip jutted out for emphasis.  He seemed to have taken a liking to you but then again, the place was short staffed so maybe he was just desperate to have anyone help out.

Eddie looks up from his list, pen tapping against the bar top with annoyance.  There was still no indication whether the old fashioned had been any good or not, seemingly forgotten about amongst the conversation and it was quietly eating at you.  The need for validation.

“That’s up to her, kid.” 

Both pairs of eyes landed on you, anticipating your answer.

“Well, uh, I dunno.”  You shrug.  “Was I even any good at making a drink?”  Like you had a choice in accepting the job, this is all you had.

“I dunno.”  Eddie replies, sliding the glass back over to you.  “Try again, let's see.”

“That’s a yes.”  Jett chimes in.  “Big boy wants a refill.”

“Jett, I will personally give you a swirly.”  There’s a glimpse of humor in Eddie’s tone, the smallest you’ve seen within him so far though you refrained from giggling.

“Oh, a swirly?  Real mature.”  Jett mocks, Eddie quietly snorting a laugh in response.  

His smile was cute.  

And it may be the first time you’d seen a genuine one from him.  He had dimples, deep, deep dimples.  It was a wonder why he didn’t put them on display more.

In the midst of the banter, you began whipping up another old fashioned, The Bourbon way.  You figured it wouldn’t be your place to insert yourself among the jokes, being the new girl.  It was best to keep quiet until you blended in a bit more.  Several customers throughout the night had already initiated conversation stating they’d never seen you before and you didn’t need to draw any more attention to yourself than you’d already received.

“Make it a double?”  Eddie interrupts your process.

Again you look up to meet those large eyes, practically black holes absorbing any and all light aside from a tiny sparkle you found that survived within them.  He was asking and not demanding.  He owned the whole damn place and yet he was asking you to make it a double when he could very well just tell you.

“Yeah.”  You whisper, unsure of yourself.  A double just meant…well, double, right?

So you turn to Jett who was now scrubbing at an especially sticky spot on the bar.  He didn’t take any notice in your silent plea much to your regret.  You looked like an idiot, pondering over what exactly the measurements should be since today's training didn’t exactly cover what to do should someone ask for a double.  At least you knew how to use the entirety of the kitchen though…

“Just another shot.”  Eddie instructs, emotionless.

With a nod, you kick right into action, using what you learned and putting it to use while remembering to add an additional shot and not completely overlook it in your uneasiness.  You didn’t care to peer up at him once more, uncertain if he was still watching your every move and unsure whether he would reprimand you for making one mistake in crafting his drink.  He said nothing so it was safe to assume he had resumed filling out his boring paperwork.

“See, she’s a natural!”  Jett applauds upon turning back toward you as you carefully pierce the cherries with a toothpick, balancing them just how Eddie had taught you.  

It really wasn’t rocket science and you could feel the humiliation seep into your bones at the thought of him judging you for simply not being able to figure out why they kept falling in before.  You were by no means a natural.

“You’re gonna be the new favorite, I can already tell.  Everyone’s gonna love ya.”  Though Jett’s words are appreciated and far too kind, you can’t help but doubt his confidence in you.

You were used to being a fly on the wall, observing and keeping to yourself among loud personalities.  And you were okay with that.  Being so removed grants you the ability to perceive everyone else without barely even being perceived yourself.  It was flattering, the way Jett talked you up having only known you for a few hours but you knew you were nothing special.  He was just being nice and most likely picked up on your anxious undertones.

Eddie remained mute, continuing to scribble away at the paper in front of him as if you and Jett weren’t there.  Just as silent, you slid the drink over into his peripheral before occupying your hands with a rag to wipe up any remnants caused by your shaky hands.  He only scanned the drink over once before tapping his pen against the counter, three times.  Always in threes.  

Awaiting his consensus on your bartending, you pretend to pay no mind, as though his opinion is the last thing on earth you would want.  Really, it’s all you want.  To know if you exceeded at crafting the bar’s signature drink or if you failed so miserably that he wouldn't let you behind the bar again.  After all, your official job title would be ‘server’ and server’s didn’t generally make drinks, they served.  But this wasn’t a normal bar and it seemed everyone was performing more than one job at a time so if you had to make drinks you might as well be somewhat good at it.  And if not, it could render you useless in his perception, seeing as he’d already underestimated you before.

When he finally takes a sip, large hand wrapped around the glass, you refrain from sucking in a breath because although he had already had one, he gulped it down like water.  This time it seemed he was performing a quality check.

“Good.”  His monotone voice doesn’t convey much other than you’ve at least satisfied him to some extent.  But that's it.

Next to you, Jett celebrates again before tending to another customer and then yelling out for the last call.  Eddie’s focus doesn’t budge from his work while he sips away at his drink, this time nurturing it rather than greedily throwing it all back.

–

Some time around 12:30 AM Jett had dashed out after the bar received a phone call from his mom complaining that the racoons had stormed their barn and came too close to threatening their chicken coop again.  With all patrons now gone and only cleaning and closing left to be done, Eddie dismissed him from work and told him to get a better handle on the raccoon situation seeing as it happened three times in the past month.  Jett muttered something about how raccoons are relentless and how they will find a way if they really want to on his way out.  

With one last wipe down of the tables and a thorough cleaning of the bar top, all that was left on your mental checklist given to you courtesy of Eddie was making sure behind the bar was organized and pristine for the following day, bottles accounted for, and glasses washed and dried.  He was absent for a good thirty minutes but you concluded he was doing his share in the kitchen as you heard the clanging of metal on metal and a few curses every now and then when there was an extra loud crash. 

The sudden crackle of a speaker and booming music startles you, a glass nearly slipping out of your grasp at the sound.  A harsh metal song blares through the bar, guitar wailing and bass vibrating, causing a few bottles to gently clink against each other on the shelf.  Seconds later, Eddie came sauntering out from the back office with a broom in hand and a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, unlit.  

You try to ignore whatever he may be up to but find it impossible not to look up from the glass you were polishing off.  His hair was unruly, now out of the confines of a bun and seeming to have only gotten bigger throughout the night and–he wasn’t using the broom for sweeping.  Instead, he crawled on top of a freshly cleaned table with his dirty, clunky boots and poked at something in the rafters, tugging it forward.  You wanted to be mad that he was stepping on your freshly scrubbed table but you couldn’t help but be curious, pausing your motions to stare and try to predict his next move.  

The end of the broom was looped under the handle of a small wooden box and his arm stretched out to open it before pulling some cash out of his pocket and sticking it in the box.  Then he closed it back up and shoved it back into place, out of sight.  Once he jumped down off the table, he began walking toward the back again, stopping in his tracks when he realized you were standing there watching him the whole time.  

A puff of air escapes his lips, his bangs briefly blowing upward before resting back against his forehead.  You tear your gaze away, now more interested in cleaning water droplets off of another glass.  Your heart pounding, his footsteps only inch closer and closer and yet again, he is on the opposite side of the bar from you, staring you down.  It was obvious he had forgotten you were there.  The unlit cigarette is plucked from his lips in between his fingers and tucked behind his ear.

“You didn’t see that.  If it goes missing, I’ll know it was you.”  He speaks so gruffly and low, as if someone might hear despite the place being empty.

Nodding in submission, you can’t bring yourself to catch his fierce gaze.

“Yeah?”  Eddie pushes for a verbal response, more intensity to his tone.

“Yes.”  You chirp.  Like a pathetic little bird.  

Satisfied with your answer, he hums, resting the broom against a stool before making his way around the bar, pulling a rag out of his back pocket and assisting you with wiping down the remaining glasses.  There had to have been at least a dozen left and by the looks of it, he had finished his tasks and wanted to get out of here.  So you worked in silence, side by side.

It felt like an eternity but it must have only been two minutes later when you began to feel antsy.  Like you were supposed to initiate a friendly conversion.  Some kind of bullshit small talk.  And then your better judgment kicks in, telling you ‘better not’ since the man beside you didn’t seem like the small talk type.  In all fairness you weren’t either but it felt like you had to constantly conform to certain standards.  Then your mouth started running without a second thought because one thought provoked you and now you just had to know.

“So…the bingo night…is that a regular thing?”

A side eye from him may as well have shot daggers directly into you, his movements pausing as he scowled.  So you backtracked.

“N-nevermind–”

“Yes.”  He answers abruptly, much to your surprise.

“Oh.”  

Your voice comes out soft, as if trying not to spook an animal.  And for as annoyed as he looks, he’s the one who answered after you attempted to give him an out.  He was a very conflicting man, hard to read and mysterious.  

“Every Wednesday.  The senior home wants its residents to get out every now and then.”

“And…they chose a bar?”  A smile tugs at your lips, one that you can’t help.

“What’s wrong with that?”  

His face shows offense but his tone holds some kind of amusement, the slightest bit of personality seeping through the cracks and exposing itself to you.

“I just–nothing, it’s just, out of every place they could choose…a bar?”  You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea, shaking your head.

“I mean, we’re the only place that offered.”  

There’s a genuine kind of hurt behind his words.  You’re unable to determine if it was directed toward your question or something else wading through his mind.  Or if it was even meant to slip out in any way based on how closed off he was.  Your guess was that his sudden projection of an emotion was a slip up and that it was up to you to ignore it otherwise he’d give you an even harder time.

“Oh.”  Again, your soft spoken voice carries itself gently to his ears.  “That’s…nice.  Really nice.”  You say honestly, glancing at him.

For having such tough armor and such offputting behavior, Eddie was pretty.  His curls were messy and appeared to be pieced apart by his fingers running through them constantly, leaving them fuzzy and unkempt.  But still appealing.  And his side profile illuminated by the warm lights was soft but still manly, handsome.  He was good looking, there was no denying that.  His personality was rather repelling though and good looks could only get you so far, not that he was flaunting how attractive he was and using it to his benefit.  

Coming out of your trance, you find that you’re both down to the last few glasses, silence taking over once again.  Out of the corner of your eye, you take notice of the way Eddie’s mouth forms numbers again, without sound.

One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

All mouthed as he seems to breathe unevenly.  You don’t draw any attention to your observation much like earlier when you’d caught him doing the same thing.  There were depths to him that you were beginning to feel were unexplored by anyone other than himself.  A loneliness detected beneath the surface of his solid and impenetrable armor.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean@micheledawn1975

[chaobunnyarts]

Part 2 of Azem April art I’ve been posting on twt! Prompts and notes under the cut:

11. Family - Then and now 12. Creation - Star Sheep (?): bestowers of a good sleep and even better dreams! 13. Hobbies - She really likes making minatures! 14. Venat - First meeting 15. Free day - She can use her hair as a conduit for creation magic in a pinch! 16. Boss Fight - Her add phase is really annoying 17. Childhood - Pen pals 18. Crossover - Pokemon Mystery Dungeon AU 19. Love - Long distance (via crows as phones) 20. Loss - Goodbye, my dear apprentice Notes on Day 19 - Love (my pairing of Azem/Watcher and inspirations from Chinese mythology):

[bisexual-horror-fan]

It happened. Let's talk about it under the fucking cut.

Hello! I am here to regale you with the tale of how my Saturday at Fan Expo went! So it started with how I could not fucking sleep the night before. Fitful, I kept waking up over and over and finally got out of bed before nine. I hung around for a while, did a face mask, painted my nails, showered, got ready and into my fit for the day. We departed slightly after noon and grabbed some food and made our way to Toronto. We get there and park in the usual place and make the couple block hike to the convention centre, the check in process went smoothly and then, it was time to shop around. 

We went from the North building to the South building, much more interested in checking out niche’ vendors and artists’ alley, I was in there for less than an hour before I had to break away to run to the photo op. Mr.Bex gives me a kiss on the cheek and told me, “Try not to cum in front of them.”

“Easier said than done!” I called as I run off. Now, last year it took me forever to get back to the North building, so I left with an hour before my time I had to be there. On the way, I see a Ghostface in a very cute almost magical girl outfit, short flouncy skirt and a bedazzled pink mask. I am looking at them, they see me looking, and they give me a pose and a peace sign, I grin and give one back, a super fun moment. I get to the North building and the photo op space in less than twenty minutes. So that means I get to toddle around the dealers floor. I do so, take in some cosplays, contemplate some purchases, they had an old full sized classic Scream one poster for twenty bucks, but I passed on it. 

Finally, it’s time to go get into the actual line. I’m in line 13, in the first group for the Matt and Skeet time slot, and I made like six friends while in line. Everyone was very into my outfit, one girl had a tattoo on her arm that said, “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.” We were all losing it. Another girl was there with her partner and she was in a 600 dollar custom fitted movie accurate Ghostface costume, with the glitter fabric and all, it was shockingly impressive. She especially liked my shirt and was impressed by the fact I made it, and asked aloud, “Why don’t they make shirts like those and sell them?” I laughed and told her, “Well, I’ve considered it, I won’t lie.” 

It is a surreal experience listening to this assortment of hot gothy early twenty-something scream fans, many who came from whole provinces away just for this, just to be here for them, talking about how hot they are and how down bad they are while I stand next to them, having written a couple of hundred thousand words about the characters they love in question. I almost told em I wrote fic, almost. 

While waiting around, Matt ended up coming out into the line-up space?! There was a fan in a wheelchair, and he wheeled em back personally while chatting them up and giving high-fives, he was five feet from me. The photo op starts late, I don’t care, it’s fine. We scan tickets, drop bags and then are in the same curtained off space as them, they let in small groups at a time to keep it moving smoothly. My heart is fucking pounding. We make it back, there was a family in front of me, their middle kid was dressed as Ghostface and their baby was in a scooby doo onesie and Matt held him for the picture, so cute. 

Our especially extra Ghostface friend from the line was right in front of me, and then it’s my turn. I make sure my extra shirt is pulled to the side, Two Boys Are Better Than One proudly displayed, and I move. I greet them with a “Hi!” 

Skeet gave me a very cool sounding “Hey” and Matthew made eye contact with me and gave me a polite nod with a, “Hello.” That I can only say was said in a very him way. 

I asked, as I was moving in, “Can I be in the middle?”

And Matt had this expression with that sort of half smile he does, brows pinched together as he nods, telling me like it should be obvious, “Oh of course.” 

I get in between them, and Matt’s hand is on my shoulder, Skeet’s hand is on my lower back and my hand is on Matt’s lower back and my other hand holding onto Skeet’s side (and fucks sake he is firm.)

I got an extra second because the photographer directed me to lower my head, so I wouldn’t get glasses glare, I assume. I revel in the extra seconds and contact, the picture is snapped, and I break away, without thinking I sort of pat Skeet’s side, and he returns the gesture and tells me, “Good job.” 

Skeet fucking Ulrich told me good job. 

Bury me now. I am done for.

I get my bag, I get my picture, I get it framed, and I go find Mr.Bex. He and I leave the con, we get back to our car, and then go to a tattoo shop where my friend Mel gave me my You Might Be The Killer tattoo. We drove home, I slammed several slices of pizza, and now I am writing this for you! 

It was. Fucking amazing, I loved it so much, it was more than worth every penny. Now I can officially say, I am That Cunt that wore a shirt baring my super pornographic smut fic’s title on my tits while getting a picture with the two guys who inspired it all.

And speaking of inspiration, just you wait to see the fic I am going to write after this. 

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. Also, I’m not nice to Buggy when he tries to flirt. I definitely write him as a bit of a disaster when it happens. It’s just going to get a bit worse from here. This chapter is just kind of fluffy but also Buggy is kind of young and anxious and has a bit of an attack but Sunny gives him love. Bath time chat as well. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 11

“If you’re hanging out here today, I’m putting you to work.” Miss Pins told Buggy as she glared at him as he leaned back in the chair in the shop. You were working on an order for a customer, patching holes in a jacket while Buggy sat and watched you, but your boss wasn’t having any of it.

“Do I get paid?” Buggy asked. She shook her head.

“Your payment will be getting to spend time with Sunny while at the shop.” She told him. “Now, there are some things I need put away in the backroom that Benji can’t reach with a ladder, and I’ve seen some of what that Devil Fruit of yours can do, so go help him.”

And that's how Buggy (begrudgingly) became a shop worker for the day. If it meant he got to spend the day with you, then fine. He helped organize things on the top shelves, cleaned windows, and even helped paint the front exterior of the shop with Benji (while managing to get covered in paint). The only upside was you bringing him lunch once he was hot, sweaty, and covered in purple paint. 

“Looks like you could use a bath.” You chuckled as you set a plate of sandwiches down for him and Benji. 

“What? No.” Buggy took one of the sandwiches, shoving it into his mouth as he continued talking. “I'm fine without one.”

Benji made a face as he picked his own up. “You sure?”

“What’s the damn point? I'm just going to get dirty again.” Buggy told him as he ate. You shook your head and went inside to grab them both something to drink. “Besides, life on a ship doesn't allow for such a thing.”

“You're on land now.” Benji pointed out. “And you stink.” He pinched his nose and stuck his tongue out at him. 

“Yea? Well, that's because I'm a man and you're just a kid!” Buggy shot back. “I smell manly, got it? You just can't handle it.”

“No, he's right.” You said as you came back out with their drinks. “You do stink, Buggy. You need a bath.”

His jaw dropped at what you said. Did you really think so? He wondered if you were teasing him because you sat down and kissed his cheek. 

“One bath on land won't kill you.” You told him, smiling. “And getting caught in the rain doesn't count as one, okay?”

And he really did love you because he was nodding in agreement with whatever you told him. Benji was pretty impressed that he listened to you and was convinced you had magic powers for a moment, because at the end of the work day, you had Buggy in the bathroom and in the tub, washing his hair for him like you would a stray dog.

“Don't you trust me to do it myself?” He asked as you ran your fingers through his hair, making sure the shampoo was able to reach his scalp. 

“Of course I do.” You told him as you tugged on a lock of hair gently. “But why would I miss the chance to play with your beautiful hair?” 

He turned red and covered his face with his hands when you said that. Why did he have to blush every time you said things like that to him? You said nothing after that, just humming softly as you made sure his hair was fully lathered before using a cup to pour over his head, rinsing the shampoo out. It took a few minutes, but once it was done you grabbed a towel and began drying his hair.

“Buggy, can I braid your hair?”

“What? Why?” He asked as he turned to look at you. You twirled a lock of his hair around your finger with a shrug.

“Keeps it out of your face while you wash up.” You replied innocently. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you before nodding, wondering what was going on in your mind. Honestly, you just wanted to braid it because you thought it would look nice in a crown braid on top of his head. You got up to grab a comb and some hairpins, humming once more before returning to your spot outside the tub. He turned around to look at you with a frown.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked. “Why are you… so nice all the time to me?”

You looked at him curiously, frowning a bit before you shrugged. “I don’t see a reason not to be nice, Buggy.” 

“Yea, but-”

“I only thought you were an asshole once, Buggy, and you apologized to me for it. Other than that you’ve always been nice to me.” You leaned in towards him and he leaned back just a bit. “I think you’re sweet for a scary pirate captain.”

Buggy’s face turned red as he glared at you. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No.” You smiled and put your hand behind his head, pulling him back to you for a kiss. He tensed up, turning redder, and when you pulled back you weren’t sure you’d seen him turn that shade of red before. “You okay?”

“Y-Yea.” He looked away from you. “I’ll finish up. Uh, you probably have things to do.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded, kissing his cheek before getting up. “Come find me when you’re done, Buggy.”

~

Buggy found you in the kitchen a little while later as you started on dinner. He stood and watched you for a moment, scratching his chin, wondering if you really would marry him if he asked. Would you want to live on a ship for months at a time with him? Would you be happy with him? Why would you even think of leaving this life to join him on a ship? His mind was starting to race as he started wondering why you would even consider being with him, and he almost started to panic just a bit. 

“What’s on your mind, Buggy?” You asked, not turning around and interrupting his thoughts. “I heard you walk up.”

He hesitated but walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you carefully, letting his head rest against yours. You touched his arm softly, stirring the pot of stew with one arm carefully making sure not to spill the contents. 

“Would you really marry me?” He mumbled against you, refusing to move as he tightened his hold. You stopped what you were doing and pushed him away from the stove before turning to look at him.

“Do you not want to suddenly?” You asked with a frown. 

“I-I do! I just… wanted to know if you really want to!” He said. “Or are you just saying that to be nice?!”

You sighed softly and put your hands on his shoulders. “Buggy, honey, I do. I am not saying it to be nice, I'm saying it because I want to marry you eventually. I want to wait until I'm finished with my apprenticeship, okay? And after that you can propose however you want, but I want to marry you.” 

“Really?” He asked. You leaned in and kissed him, catching him off guard for a moment, and when he tried to hold onto it for a second longer, you pulled back and patted his cheek softly.

“Yes, really.” You insisted. “Remember, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't be this nice to you, Buggy. Feeding you, sharing my bed, all that kind of stuff. I do it because I care about you.”

“You really want to live on a pirate ship?” Buggy frowned. You shrugged and smiled at him.

“I wouldn't mind. Besides, my mom was a pirate and she used to say she could see me ending up on a ship one day like her.” You told him as you kissed him again.

“Wait, what?” He jerked away and looked at you, confused by what you just said. “Your mom was a pirate? You never said your parents were pirates!”

“My parents weren't, just my mom.” You chuckled as you smiled at him. “She was a member of the Cook Pirates under Captain Red Leg Zeff.” 

“What?!”

“I guess we got a lot to learn about one another, Buggy.” You said as you turned back to the stew you were making. “But I like that we have the time to do so.” You looked back at him. He looked like he was still processing what you told him. “You okay?”

“Your mom was a pirate?” He asked. “Really?”

“Yea, for a few years.” You shrugged. “Met my dad on a merchant ship they were raiding and fell in love. Decided to stop being a pirate and married my dad.”

Buggy stared at you for a moment, his mind still processing what you said. Your mom was a pirate but wasn’t anymore? Did… did he need to stop being a pirate to marry you, like your mom chose to do? He didn’t want to stop, but he loved you. Was this a choice he was going to have to make? His mind was starting to race; you looked back over at him, saw he was becoming distressed, and walked over to him.

“Hey, stop thinking for two seconds and sit down, Buggy.” You told him as you led him over to the table. 

“I don’t…. I can’t give up the sea!” He blurted out. 

“What? I wouldn’t ask you to do that!” You told him, looking surprised. “Why would you think you had to?”

“Your mom-”

“Yea, she chose to because it was what she wanted to do.” You told him as you made him sit down. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Buggy.”

He looked up at you, uncertainty in his eyes. You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed, letting him wrap his arms around you. What was going on, why was he suddenly so panicked? 

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” You asked softly. “You still will be a pirate if you marry me, Buggy. I wouldn’t ask you to ever give it up and no one should.” 

“I can’t give up being a pirate.” He muttered as he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. While you were touched that he was this comfortable around you to drop his guard like this, you were a little surprised how anxious he could become over small things. 

“You aren’t going to.” You assured him as you stroked his hair softly. “I promise. I want you to become the most feared pirate, Buggy, and I won’t let anything stand in your way, okay?”

He just nodded, refusing to look at you as you held him. This was such a contrast from when you first met him, when he demanded services after storming into the shop. Now he was sitting in your kitchen, letting you hug him after thinking he would have to give up his piratey lifestyle for you. 

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked. He could only nod. “Okay. I need to finish dinner. You can hold my hand if you want.”

“I’d like that.” He mumbled as you pulled away, his hand slipping into yours and popping off his wrist as you returned to the stove. Buggy stayed at the table, watching as you worked. You were adding a few spices into the stew before checking the flavor. Once you seemed satisfied, you took Buggy’s hand and put it on your shoulder while you set the table. He watched you, wondering now what you thought of him. He felt pathetic, getting worked up over nothing, but you were there for him, comforting him, which made him feel better in the end. 

He was starting to think he didn’t deserve you, but you finished setting the table and reached over to brush his hair out of his face, tucking a lock behind his ear before kissing him on his forehead.

“Dinner’s ready.” You told him. “I can walk you back to your ship after, okay?”

He didn’t really want to leave after dinner, however.

[catiecat1320]

Sonadowtober Prompt 14: Prank

Arthur decides to have a little fun… with consequences unforeseen

Technically Arthurlot and not Sonadow but shush. I’m having fun

Read Below 🔽

Being stuffed in a dress wasn’t exactly a goal of Arthur’s. By his most trusted knight, no less!

It wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but it was definitely unexpected. It was his fault it happened, he had to admit. A war of pranks, with him disguised as a new knight of their table while he pretended to be away for foreign affairs.

Its beginning sat in a joke.

“Gawain,” Arthur— well disguised with a pinch of magic as Sir Dinadan— chirped at the dinner table. “Your eating habits are despicable.”

Everyone goes silent. The Knight of the Sun stared at him, an entire bunch of grapes in his hand. He had the audacity to look surprised. Perhaps his manners were only for show when the king was present. “They are not.”

“Sure,” Arthur shoots, thoroughly amused by his knights’ habits when he was supposedly not around. It wouldn’t hurt to poke fun at them. “For a wolf. Were you perhaps raised by them?”

“Watch your place.” Lancelot! He’d know that voice anywhere. Coming to Gawain’s defense was something of a surprise; the two were well known rivals. Perhaps their bond went deeper than that. “Just because His Majesty isn’t present does not mean you can be brash.”

Arthur hides a smirk at the mention of the king. If only they knew… but this anonymity was too fun to give up so soon. “Gawain can speak for himself.” The echidna glares at him, but doesn’t say a word. “See! He agrees.” 

Lancelot stands, slamming his hands on the table. “You’ve got a big mouth for a small guy.” But before he can do anything, Gawain gives him a wave of dismissal.

“Stand down, Lancelot. I don’t need you to defend me.”

And that was that. Or so Arthur thought.

Lancelot fumed at the audacity of this new knight. To insult his comrade! He needed to be taught a lesson. 

But how to do such when Gawain refused his help, and brushed it off as if it were alright? He usually held his honor at the highest regard, but perhaps this knave has damaged his ego.

He mulls over his options for a long time, unable to let it go. A brilliant idea suddenly nests itself in his mind when he sees Sir Dinadan’s name on the participants list in the next day’s jousting event.

It was just a fun show, a series of challenges aimed to connect the people. The king himself had proposed it; it was a pity that he wasn’t there to witness its happenings. Lancelot himself would be participating in a swordsmanship contest later, but…

He smiles to himself as he signs up for jousting under a false name. In all hopes, revenge would be swift.

Arthur pulls up his visor, smiling as the folks cheer for his victory. He hasn’t had this much fun in years. Perhaps when he’s seated on the throne again, he’d request his knights joust with him.

After a short break, he’s up against his newest opponent. They’re… anything but expected. Wearing a dress and a few pieces of armor, there’s a lady on the opposite charge.

He has to admit, she’s as beautiful as she’s daring. 

His opponent’s face is covered by a simple visor, leaving him unable to identify her. Arthur knows many people, but he’s never seen her before… She mounts her horse with practiced swiftness, despite the unconventional dress. Amazing. Not even the ladies of the Round Table wore dresses in combat…

The announcer’s voice casts over the crowd and immediately, the jousters spur their horses into a charge.

Perhaps Arthur had underestimated this lady. Perhaps it was the usual chivalry weakening his fight. He doesn’t know, but as his opponent’s lance crashes into his chest at full force, he’s really, really glad he has armor on.

That hurt.

A lot.

Even more when she takes the chance to knock his own weapon out of his hands, then comes around for round two. He’s torn off his horse in an instant.

Black flashes in his vision for all of a second, ringing filling his ears along with the roar of the spectators. He finds it hard to breathe all of a sudden. 

Arthur’s vision clears to see his opponent standing over him, staring ruby eyes somehow familiar. But he doesn’t have a chance to ponder over it before he’s whisked off the list field, his consciousness slipping.

The last thing he remembers thinking is how impressive of a feat that was.

Lancelot stood by the bed in which Dinadan rested. Perhaps he’d used a little too much force in unhorsing him. The rookie had been unconscious for quite a bit now, and Lancelot couldn’t help but worry for him despite his grievance against his fellow knights.

The worry was unfounded, however. The medic had declared him a heavy sleeper, nothing more.

He could move on to part two of his plan. Was it a bit much? Maybe. But defeat was something suffered by many, and Lancelot couldn’t help but be petty enough to wish for more. Gawain had suffered embarrassment, it was only fair for Dinadan to do the same.

It was with that logic that he took Dinadan into the dining hall, rightfully in a princess carry with the dress he’d put the knight in. Everyone looked up the instant the door opened— for they were late; after all, a dress was a finicky thing to wear for someone inexperienced, even more so when that someone is unconscious.

Gawain was the first to speak. Rather, try to speak. It was a bit of a challenge when he was struggling to breathe from suppressed laughter at the same time. “I-Is that…?”

“Sir Dinadan,” Lancelot affirmed, deadpan. “Or perhaps he’d be Lady Dinadan now?”

That did it. The table erupted with laughter, and though some tried to hold it in and be respectful to their unconscious comrade, they lost to the crowd. Laughter was contagious, and it was only supplemented by the rarity of seeing Lancelot attempt a joke of any kind. It was truly perfect.

The knights took to posing with Dinadan, who was soon awoken by the rabble. 

“...what?”

“He awakens!” Gawain lifts him above his head as if celebrating a victor. Cheers rang all around, leaving Dinadan looking around in bewilderment as he’s passed around, before landing in Lancelot’s arms and seeing him smirk.

He opens his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swings open to reveal the royal wizard, likely come to investigate the noise, who quickly takes on as surprised of an expression as Dinadan wore as her eyes lock on the gowned figure. “Your Majesty!”

Everyone freezes instantly, eyes wide with shock… with the exception of Dinadan, who pouts.

“Must you ruin my charade so soon, Merlina?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she dips into a small curtsey. “I figured you were in trouble, sire.”

All of the knights tense as the truth sets, frantic thoughts practically bouncing off one another. They’d just been making fun of the king. But no other is more afraid than Lancelot, who uses all the willpower he has to set Dinad— Arthur on the ground gently before dropping to his knees.

“Sincerest apologies, Your Majesty,” he blurts immediately, words spilling out like a waterfall before he could think about their effect. “I… I take full blame and punishment for our actions against you, I provoked such out of spite and should not have done it. Regardless if they were you or a fellow knight or anyone at all. I… don’t know what I was thinking. I-I’m so sorry, sire.” He touches his head to the floor while the rest of the knights shuffle amongst themselves and bow theirs in shame.

“Lancelot…”

He flinches at his name, preparing for what came next. But Arthur just lays a hand on his head, dress splaying on the floor with his crouch. Lancelot resists the urge to look at him.

But that was the wrong choice. “Get up.”

He rises, slowly, careful not to take his gaze off the ground. But Arthur puts a hand to his chin and forces him to look at his face. Whatever magic that disguised the king has either worn off or been removed by Merlina, leaving him struggling to meet emerald eyes. “You’re not in trouble. No one is.”

There’s not a hint of malice in his voice, yet Lancelot bites his lip to keep from protesting. To parade the king around like a fool was worthy of death, it… it wasn’t just, to let him off.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur says, interrupting his thoughts. “But this was a harmless joke. There’s nothing wrong with that. I see no need to punish you, nor anyone else involved. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lancelot replies, because what else could he say to that? His king was so kind…

“If it makes you all feel any better, I find this terribly amusing,” Arthur smiles, twirling around. As everyone resumes their activities, he takes the time to tell all the knights what he noticed while undercover, coaxing quite a few laughs out of the table.

At the end of the night, the king pulls Lancelot aside, an innocent request to help him remove the dress. It’s a tedious process. 

As Arthur stands in his bed clothes, he holds up the gown in the lamp light with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I have to say, Lancelot, you wear this better than I. If you weren’t my knight, I’d consider making you my queen.”

That comment leaves Lancelot awake that night.

[kitcat992]

Identity Within - Chapter 13 - Unlikely Alliance (PREVIEW)

“You have to be shittin’ me!”

Clint’s frustration wasn’t just heard in his shout. The loud smack of his hand bounced throughout the room; his palm struck the table he sat at, disrupting the lingering, ongoing silence that came from their collective focus.

It drew attention from everyone but Tony.

“Not a damn thing! I’ve been stifling through footage for hours, and not a damn thing!” Pushing himself away from the computer, Clint let the wheels of his chair take him halfway across the room — passing by Mantis on the way, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. He paid her no mind. “Facial recognition hasn’t found anything even remotely close to him, the entire state of New York is coming up empty—”

“Coming up empty for Peter, yes,” Rhodey curtly interrupted, looking up from his own monitors and locking eyes right on Clint. “For Norman, no. So you keep looking.”

There was a gravity in Rhodey’s tone that said everything he didn’t need to. A gravity that Tony had scarcely heard before — and standing off to the side of the room, with his back against the wall and his forehead heavy in his hand, Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to think back on the times he’d heard his friend sound so grim.

The situation shook his bones, seized his muscles — he couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the same haunting, indelible reality. The same one that he’d been fighting against all year, the same one he’d been fighting to protect Peter against—

It was happening.

This was happening.

Tony suddenly pinched at the bridge of his nose, hard, and swallowed a mouthful of reflux that came surging up his chest.

Osborn had gotten to him.

This was real, and it was happening.

They all worked swiftly, urgently. But when Thor had returned to the compound empty-handed of answers, and Strange still struggled with magic that was supposed to surpass them all — well, Tony fully understood why Rhodey sounded how he did.

Every minute was critical. And the minutes were passing by quicker than they could work.

“There’s no telling how Osborn got to the church.” Clint wasn’t oblivious to the Colonel’s tone. Still, his frustrations showed. “The last any camera picked up on him, he’d entered the F.E.A.S.T shelter one week ago, and it’s only safe to assume that’s him leaving exactly forty eight minutes later.” A finger pointed to the further monitor ahead, and he kept it there for some time. The tremble was almost noticeable. “You try keeping tabs on every person in New York who looks like that — that, right there, is your average vegabond drifter! I’ve got a five hundred and sixty eight results that come up for each minute of the day when trying to narrow down facial recognition to that! The man went off the damn radar, he’s as a good as gone!”

“Keep looking,” Natasha didn’t spare Clint from the obstinacy in her voice. It was a feat she could speak at all, with her focus unbreakable on the multiple different screens that she watched. Her eyes darted them without delay. “As long as Rhodey keeps these firewalls down, you have unlimited access to every red light camera, traffic camera, speed camera—”

“—and they’ve all got nothing, Nat!” Clint threw his frustration right back at her. He wheeled his chair in the opposite way, rolling back to the computers ahead — though not eager to get back to the task at hand. “We can’t pin-point Osborn when he looks like every homeless bum wandering around in the city, and that parking garage was the last place any camera picked up on Peter—”

“Recognition algorithm for identify facial features complete,” FRIDAY’s voice announced from above. “No results found.”

Across the room, Tony managed to bury his head even deeper into the palm of his hand. His fingers massaged the temples of his forehead with enough force to fracture his skull into a dozen tiny pieces.

“Try again.” Tony didn’t even look up when speaking to his AI. It wasn’t the first time he made the request. But each time he did, he prayed it would be his last.

Clint, once again, let his frustrations show — this time in the sound of a low-throated growl that overtook each keystroke his fingers rapidly made. The screens changed as he multi-tasked, typing and clicking with a nearby mouse, the haste of their situation evident in his every move.

“Maybe he vanished,” Sam suggested, twisting his chair around to face the others across from him. Only a few looked his way. “You think we have another Mysterio on our hands?”

Of the few still standing, it was Thor who turned to look at Sam — a confused furrow to his brow highlighting the unfamiliarity behind his eyes.

“Mist-tier-io,” Thor repeated, slowly — curiously. He looked to Tony, and then to Steve; both close enough to one another that he didn’t need to turn far when sparing each a passing glance. “This creature you speak of sounds very odd.”

Sam couldn’t hold back his scoff. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“There’s other possibilities,” Natasha sounded from the opposite side of where Sam was stationed. She spun her chair around, just slightly, somehow keeping one eye on the screens while she looked to the others scattered about the room. “Peter’s phone was found on the fifth floor of the Main Street parking garage. The last any camera had him, it was the fourth floor. According to the blueprints of the garage, there’s a blind spot in the turn leading up to that level. And there’s no camera’s in the stairways.”

Standing with his arms firmly crossed against his chest, Steve gave Natasha his full attention, a deep frown looking like confusion that was masquerading his concern.

Natasha knew him well enough to see that concern a mile away.

“If Norman purposefully went for dead zones, it would make sense why they both went off the radar,” she spoke what they both didn’t want to hear.

“Clever son of a bitch,” Sam muttered underneath the clacking of his keys. He pressed firmly on the spacebar before turning his chair to face Natasha. “Escape down the stairway, hide his face from any facial recognition, take Peter away from street camera’s — make a getaway, essentially creating a ghost trail. He knew what he was doing.”

Natasha looked to Sam, her brow arched high. “He planned what he was doing.”

Steve took a deep breath in and dipped his chin low, the drop of his shoulders practically taking his gaze down to the floor.

He really didn’t want to hear that.

He tried not to let his stress show, especially with Tony so close — he refused to let the man out of his sight, even if all he was doing had been leaning up against the wall, with his head buried so deep into the palm of his hand that it was a feat he could breathe at all.

It wasn’t that he was worried Tony would go and run off on his own — it was that he wanted to make sure the man knew he didn’t have to. Even if that meant never leaving his side to make that known.

Steve tried to stay composed, but even he couldn’t deny that the weight of what could be ahead of them made the daunting task of leadership chew away at his reserves.

Looking behind him to Tony, he quickly forced himself to pushed those feelings aside.

“Recognition algorithm for identify facial features complete,” FRIDAY’s voice was laced heavy with her Irish accent, and sounded no different than the few minutes that she spoke before. “No results found.”

Tony barely moved at her announcement — didn’t respond, didn’t look up — the muscles in his knuckles flexed as he squeezed at his temples, but it was all he did.

Steve noticed it.

It was less than five steps separating them. Steve was speaking before he even made three.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to him, Tony,” he insisted, reassuringly, with a tone as hard as rocks.

Suddenly, Tony shot his head up; a scoff shaking his back so hard, it pushed him right off the wall.

“There are times when you astound me with your nativity, you know,” he easily responded, smooth enough that it was almost impossible to tell he was fighting for control — of what, exactly, didn’t matter. It was clear he just needed it, any sense of control he could get his hands on.

Everyone kept working around them, determined — dedicated. But so far, they came up with no answers. Just more questions that were starting to push Tony to the brink of his patience.

Steve frowned. He could tell.

“We knew this was ahead of us with Peter,” he said, seriously, firmly, right to Tony’s face. “All of us, we’ve all been preparing for this.” Steve took another step forward, his dress shoes hitting the floor with resolute. “And we’re all prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure Norman doesn’t harm him in any way. You have my word on that.”

For what it was worth, Tony met his look — his eyes stayed as hard as Steve’s, the fear that painted his expression one that Steve wasn’t fond of seeing.

“Right…right —” Tony swiped at his nose, quickly. “Like all the people who’ve been involved in OsCorp’s experimentations?”

Tony, no different then Natasha, also wasn’t afraid to speak what no one wanted to hear.

Even Clint looked uncomfortable at what had finally been vocalized, turning back to his monitor without any remark.

Meanwhile, Tony didn’t break his attention away from Steve.

Steve didn’t look away from him, either.

“The Mysterio’s, the rock android’s, the re-assembled, violently programmed Chitauri bombs.” Tony took a step forward, closer to where Steve stood. “How about those unsuspecting, hung up of some quick cash college students who found themselves electrocuted until they became farm grown vegetables? Or the outright revolting archives of Experiment X that I saw first hand — or, I know, how about the symbiote project—”

“Stop,” Steve firmly interrupted. He shook his head, hard. “You can’t think like that—”

“—for all we know, the kid’s strapped to a table right now being dissected like a frog,” Tony choked out, forcing the words to sound through a throat that was tightening by the second. “Osborn knows what he needs — now he has it. And there’s no telling what he’ll—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Quill wasn’t shy in interrupting what was clearly a tense conversation.

He made his way towards Steve and Tony, both whipping their heads over to face him — Tony far more agitated than Steve — but not even that got Quill to slow down his footsteps.

“You guys haven’t mentioned that this fella of yours tortures people,” Quill, for once, sounded serious in tone — even as he made a face that crinkled his brows into one long line across his forehead. He shook his head while quickly marching forward. “Not awesome, man.”

Tony couldn’t have thrown Quill a more wild expression if he had tried, with his eyes wide enough that they were a threat to fall out of their sockets and down to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he stressed, each word tighter than the last, “was I talking to you!? Does this involve you!?”

Tony’s shout could’ve echoed the R&D room, if the noises from computers and machinery didn’t already sound over their own voices. The video footage kept playing and keys continued to clack on, and each minute they stood around agitated his nerves harsher than the last. He could feel himself starting to crack at the seams.

“Dude!” Quill returned Tony’s look with his own — somewhat insulted, but still sincere. “It’s kinda hard to mind your own business when people are talking about other people being experimented on!” Quill pointed a finger firmly against his chest. “I’m part people, I kinda care about that!”

A inquisitive hum sounded not far behind Quill.

“That is right,” Drax spoke up, staying in the corner where he sat away from the others, sitting on a stool that hunched his body forward. “You are half weakingly. I forgot this about you.”

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Under foot

*Warning content mature for physical confrontation in story do not attempt in reality*

Someone should have warned him. Honestly? You thought someone had by now, and he was just ignoring the rumors. But really now, he was asking for it. If it didn't come from you, you were sure someone else would have done it.

Nobody scares your son and gets away with it. And how dare this mutt even think of telling your little Ray of Sunshine that he doesn't belong here when clearly he is thriving. How was this flea bag even related to a pedigree of Kalego-Sans caliber?

You stared down at the demon that you had just bitch-slapped to the ground. You won't apologize he was upsetting iruma and your poor baby looked close to a panic attack! You stood your ground and kept yourself in front of iruma just in case.

"It seems to me that you're the one who doesn't quite understand their place. You must have very low self-esteem if scaring a child makes you feel high and mighty." The cold tone, much like the echoed song of your slap, had the entire rooms attention.

"I don't want to hear that coming from an unrank-" another slap knocked him over before he could even try to climb back up on whatever high horse he rode in here with. You spotted a trickle of blood run down his cheek, and you buzzed with glee inside.

"Regardless of if I am or without a rank, do you honestly think that I would let you get away with threatening my child?" You examine your nails for a moment letting out a soft tsk when you spotted a chip in the perfect manicure Opera had given you for tonight.

"Frankly, I don't give a shit about who you are. I made a promise to my child from day one that I would protect them. You've made yourself a threat. It's sad to see that one who is a candidate for the 13 crowns is a mannerless dog."

You had been excited to meet the brother Kalego-San had spoken highly of, but meeting him like this, you knew Kalego-Sans opinion was unfortunately biased. He tried to push himself up, but you weren't done yet. Jamming your heeled shoe right into his calf, he grunted in pain. Mentally, you thanked Opera for convincing you to wear stilettos instead of the normal wedged shoes you would grab for height.

He snarled at you and tried to scare you with his magic. A large black wolf with 3 eyes and multiple tails. The beast imitated it's masters displeasure and growled deeply. It was scary you'd give it that 7/10 on the whole it'll eat me alive bit. But iruma being hurt or scared was far more terrifying to you.

Looking it up and down, you feigned disinterest. "Practically foaming at the mouth. A rabid beast with a moronic and tactless master." The dry monotone seemed to confuse all those watching. How could you be so calm?

Taking a small breath, you locked eyes with the animal. It was a battle of wills. And you were not willing to lose when you had iruma shaking behind you. Your baby came first, not you. So you weren't going to turn tail.

Twisting your foot deeper into your prey you grasped Fenrir's ear and also held it in a tight pinch he was not getting up or escaping anytime soon you noted from the painfull hiss you heard escape his lips. Oh, right, demons' ears were far more sensitive. You noted before brushing off the thought with a he'll live. 'For now.' A dark and twisted part of you agreed.

The wolf seemed conflicted as it watched you manhandled its owner. Though like a loyal dog, it did try baring its fangs at you. You bared your own teeth and let out a guttural snarl. You weren't certain if animal noises from Earth translated to those in Hell, but you hoped the message was still clear. 'Back off mutt.'

Its ears immediately flattened, and it let out a whine of sorts before disappearing. Glancing down, you saw Fenrir looking at you in what you could only describe as pure shock. Clearly, no one had been able to do that before. Good.

"See, even your little puppy knows when to submit to the alpha of the pack." You released his ear but did not ease your foot. Looming over him, you carefully stroaked the scratches you had landed on his face. He winced as you started applying pressure to the wound.

"You think you're superior? I literally have you under foot. I thought those of you on the border patrol were taught not to underestimate your enemy?" Tilting your head back, you glanced over at iruma just a quick check. He had stopped shaking and was looking at you in amazement.

You knew why. The entire course of your actions screamed that 'I belong here'. And if you who had less magic and no physical strength could walk amongst demons and go toe to toe with them, it was saying so could he and his ideals. You gave him a quick smile before returning your gaze to your current headache.

You had an entire room full of demons watching, and of course, you had a role to finish. Acting out the role of Irumas enraged parent was easy. Took absolutely no effort on your part cause you were actually that pissed. But being Sullivan's child, you had to show a bit of class.

You were among high society in the demon world, after all, for a party for the newest members of the 13 crowns. And you had one of the candidates under your heeled boots injured and awaiting your next move. The crowd mermered most in fascination of your control over not only the situation but the room itself.

It was as though you were holding trial over a convicted criminal. Or a ruler holding court and about to perform an execution. Finally removing your hand, you showed him your palm stained with his own blood. A vicious and cunning smile painted your face. Leaning closer, you allowed the weight of your body to press into his leg, allowing him to feel more pain from your actions.

And as he tried to hold back any sounds of discomfort and erase any traces of pain from his face, you started to whisper in his ears. "I know exactly who you are, Naberius Narnia, and I know you know what I am." His body stiffened immediately, seeming to realize how much trouble he was actually in with you.

"Don't you think it's funny? That demons needed to be the ones to leave instead of humans. I do." You purred into his ear, watching him twitch. "It's so cute how one thinks it was for the safety of humans that demon kind left!" Leaning back, you began to ease your foot off him.

"The reality of the matter is demons like you got scared of ones like me. Ones who just charge in blindly uncaring of the odds against them. Humans can be more frightening than demons when they want something." Your voice still low and hushed almost seductive.

"I don't care what you're planning. You could flip Hell upside-down for all I care. But if you try to drag my son into whatever game you are playing, just know this. You will meet your end by my hand. You will watch as I rip your wings off so you can't fly away. You will see me slowly skin you inch by inch. Your eyes will be my new earrings watching each bit of horror I wreak on you."

Standing at full height, you smirked down at him, confidence oozing out of you as you looked at the once proud alpha reduced to a quivering omega. Once more, you showed him your blood-stained palm. The madness seeping through your eyes, and you voice loud enough for the room to hear now.

"I do believe we've made quite the scene. It would be a shame for this party to be ruined by some... disagreement of opinions. I'm certain you've learned to be more mindful of your words, especially around children. They are impressionable."

The unspoken warning rang throughout the ballroom. Bowing his head lowly at you. "Thank you for imparting your wisdom on me. It was... enlightening." He remained on the floor, not daring to move. "And?"

Licking his lips, he lowered himself further down. "I apologize to both you and your son for my brazen behavior. You are correct, I acted out of line. And for that I am sorry." You tilted your head and hummed as if debating on if the apology had been to your liking.

"Thank you, we accept your apology." Iruma nervously spoke from behind you. You clapped your hands together cheerfully. "I'm so glad that's settled! Now run along doggy and go wash up." Waving the vile demon away from you, you watched as he quickly slipped out of the room. Only when he had disappeared behind the doors did you turn to face your son.

"Thank you for keeping our promise." Iruma said, smiling peacefully now that everything was over. "I intend to keep it with my dying breath." You told him before ruffling his hair. "Ugh, I'm hungry. Let's eat!" You quickly guided him to one of the nearby tables to stack countless items on your plates.

[redheadspark]

could i please request 13 with jack russell? thank youuu 🫶🫶🫶

A/N - This is a great request, I hope you like it, anon!

Primal

Summary - There was the sweet side of Jack, and then the Primal side of Jack.

Warnings - Fluff with some steam

“Okay…now I need the Thyme,”

“On it, Amor,” 

You heard clattering in the cupboard to your right, and a few sides falling to the ground abruptly.  You looked, seeing Jack quickly grab the spice bottles that were skewed about in a huff.

“You alright, love?” You asked him with a grin as he placed the bottles on the countertop.

“Fine, I just need to remember to organize that shelf again,” He replied, then handing you the Thyme bottle to watch you sprinkle it onto the stew you were making.  You took the wooden spoon to your lips and took a taste, humming to yourself as you stirred the spoon some more.

It was then that you felt his hands along your hips, his front pressed along your back and his chin on your shoulder to make you feel a bit lightheaded while you were still working on your dinner.  His fingers snuck slightly under your shirt to touch your skin, the cologne he wore that day was lingering on his skin as you could breathe It in from how close his neck was to you, even the scuff from his stubble was making you lose your concentration for a long moment.

He had this way with you, and yet you never minded it.

Jack Russell, the ever-sweet and kind-hearted man who stole your heart so quickly and abruptly, had a primal side of him that rarely out in public.  On the outside, he was composed and had to stay on top of his game given his line of work.  His work was tedious and brought him stress all day and night, not to mention needing to travel all around the world at any moment if he was in need.  But when he wasn’t working or traveling to hunt down monsters, when he was with you, he made sure to unwind in the best ways he could.  You loved how sweet and calm he was.

But you also craved the primal side of him.  

His need to constantly hold you close, almost afraid that you were going to float away in the wind, it was almost possessive.  Deep down you knew he would never hurt you, so the possessive hold and the need for him to be pressed against you was almost mind-numbing for you.  Even the way he kissed you, traced your lower lip with his tongue, or made you lose your breath, you were entranced with him.

“Darling, are you trying to distract me?” You asked him coyly as he kissed a gentle kiss to the pulse of your neck.  It made you shiver, to which Jack chuckled against your skin and shrugged.

“Just wanted to be close to you, Amor,” He replied against your neck, his voice low in a sensual tremor as you tried to focus on stirring the spoon in your simmering dinner again, “The last time we were alone with like was months ago, and I don’t wish to miss another moment with you,”

You remembered what happened last time, his job needing him to be away for almost two weeks.  He had to fly to Romania, tracking down several monsters that were causing chaos for the humans in the rural mountain areas.  Jack, being the expert monster hunter and tracker, was called to fix the problem and eradicate the monsters that were there.  

After two weeks he made it home, instantly taking you to the bedroom after he walked through the door and made up for lost time.  It was a night of passion and intense pleasure, but it was mostly laced with love that he had for you and that he wished to show you in more ways than one.

“It was a magical night,” You hummed in agreement, feeling him press more kisses along your neck and shoulder as you paused in your stirring and thought back to that evening with him, “You wouldn’t let me out of bed all night, and I was beyond sore.”

A low growl on his lips, a slight grip of his fingers along your hips as he pressed a pinch closer now to make you shutter and grip the spoon extra hard.  

“You made me come undone so many times I lost count,” He murmured along your jawline, his growl still on his lips as you blinked rapidly, “You were a siren that night, Amor.  A siren I would never deny,”

You turned off the heat to the stove and dropped the spoon, turning around to face Jack and wrapped your arms around him.

“Dinner can wait,” You hummed, kissing him deeply as you pressed close to you.  As Jack picked you up to carry you to the bedroom, his growl still on his lips as you bit his lower lip, you were falling in love with you all over again.  You loved the kind and gentle Jack, the Jack who would help those in need and make the world a pinch brighter.

But this primal Jack, you loved it a pinch more too

The End.

February Prompt Session

[goodluckdetective]

FIC: KISS ME, SON OF GOD

Ship: Gale/Durge, past Durge/Gortash and Gale/Mystra. This is a fic mainly about Gale and Gortash though.

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: Everything about Gale's backstory

Rating: PG-13

AO3

Summary: 

Lord Gortash and Gale of Waterdeep have more in common than their mutual associate.

Far more in common than Gale would like.

Based on my own post found here

Notes:

Slaps Gortash Hey, is this a Gale character foil? While there is a Durge here, I’ve used the default name as Tav and not provided much about them, simply because this is a fic about two ambitious men, not Durge.  The fic title comes from the They Might be Giants song of the same name. 

Fic is below the cut

Gale couldn’t remember the last time he cast the spell Dream.

It had to be sometime during his upper level schooling years, before he became Mystra’s chosen, but not by much. There was a classmate he fancied, a tiefling in his upper level illusion magic seminars who had a snort for a laugh and did the Waterdeep crossword each morning. In an attempt to impress them, he’d offered to cast dream on them, and when they’d agreed, he’d practically begged Tara to help him acquire a feather from a sleeping pigeon. 

For the dream, he’d conjured them a dream about the city of Neverwinter, a place he had only visited once but he knew they missed terribly. He could remember walking with them that night through the image of the sprawling gardens he’d made, speaking a mile a minute so he couldn’t think about his racing pulse. When they’d reached down to cup a red flower that bloomed even in the darkest of winters, Gale had turned a similar shade of crimson. 

They’d thanked him for the gesture the next day, but nothing further came from it. They were both quickly drowned in more classwork and Gale suspected he came on a tad too strong. But it was a nice memory all the same.

He wasn’t sure if he’d cast dream since, he’d seen it employed both as a means of sending messages and for darker purposes. Early in his tenure as Mystra’s chosen, he’d tracked down a hired killer who used the spells nightmarish aspects to kill from a distance, his victims falling asleep one night only to never wake up. They’d tried killing him with it, and Gale had woken up the next morning with the worst headache of his life and a terrible nosebleed. The experience had ruined the spell for him somewhat, knowing how easy it was to twist something potentially beautiful into something deadly. 

Maybe that was how he knew what was going on, when he found himself standing in a grand hall despite no memory of arriving there. There was something about how being in a Dream spell felt like moving through rapid water, where every movement took a little more effort than usual. He reached down and pinched the back of his palm and when it didn’t hurt, he looked up to take in the setting around him.

It was Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, he realized. He’d been there the previous day to watch a madman be crowned Duke and crow in their faces. It wasn’t an exact replica; the ceilings were lower to give a more congested feel, and the brick walls were not as smooth as their counterparts, jagged edges pointing out of the walls. But it was recognizable.

“I can’t say I wanted to be back here anytime soon,” Gale said, walking up to the still figure of a Flaming Fist. He waved his hand in front of their face and watched as they didn’t respond. “But I suppose I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

No one replied to him. Gale looked down and took in his outfit; he was wearing the same thing he’d worn during the mockery of a coronation. That narrowed down who he suspected of casting this, though there was an off chance he could be wrong. But given that one would either need to be an accomplished caster to complete this spell, or have the funds to purchase a scroll instead, he had a good feeling his hunch was right. 

“Are you going to show yourself or are you just going to skip to the chase and try to kill me? Because frankly, I don’t see the reason for subterfuge, Lord Gortash.”

It was a gamble to say his name out loud when he wasn’t certain, but Gale felt confident on this one. There was the sound of someone clapping with metal clad hands and Gale turned to find the man in question now standing at the front of the room, back where he’d stood that day. He too, looked the same as he had during his coronation, though Gale would have sworn the gold embroidery on his outfit was far flashier than it was in real life. Gortash gave him an unkind smile, one that reminded Gale of hungry knolls, and held his hands out.

“So you are as clever as you appear. Good; it would be disappointing if otherwise. Gale of Waterdeep, I assume? Our mutual friend never introduced us properly.” 

The term mutual friend made Gale’s stomach churn. That had been the worst part of the coronation at Wyrm’s Rock, where Gortash had looked at their leader, the person Gale had fallen in love with and greeted them with a familiar grin. Gale had watched as Gortash told Tav of a master plan crafted by hands Gale knew the callouses of. He had watched as the person he now shared a bed with become unrecognizable in just a single conversation. 

He still hadn’t talked to them about it, other than mentioning it was a lot and while he still loved them, he needed some time. Guilt and rage fought against one another in his mind, guilt for abandoning them when they were so clearly hurting, rage at someone who no longer existed but shared a face with someone he so adored. They instead both talked around the issue, racing around the city to accomplish a variety of tasks. And while he sometimes forgot the terrible news in the rush of fights and new discoveries, it always came right back to him when he looked at Tav and saw them looking at him like he was about to vanish. 

He gone to sleep alone in his own tent both the night before and tonight, though not before ensuring someone was watching out for Tav. Gale knew what having one’s world flipped on its head could do to a person and while he felt currently incapable of addressing Tav with the care needed for the situation, he did not want them to stumble alone until he found his own footing. Thankfully, Astarion and Wyll had seemed up to the task, and Gale thanked them both before he’d gone to his own bedroll. 

He hated himself for keeping his distance, but he also knew that if he forced himself to speak on the matter too soon, he might say something he would later regret. And while it absolutely hurt Tav now for him to keep them at arm’s length, he feared he’d hurt them worse should he misstep.

He loved them, fiercely, even in light of the darkness of their past. He despised who they used to be. He wanted them to answer his questions. He knew they couldn’t given their lack of memories. A small part of him was terrified of them. A much larger part was terrified for them. 

“I’m Gale of Waterdeep, yes,” Gale said, snapping back to the present. Self reflection could wait until he wasn’t staring down a chosen of the Dead Three. “Sorry to belabor the point, but is this an attempt to kill me?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I am trying to encourage an alliance between our respective parties; assassination would risk spoiling that diplomacy. And if I wanted you dead, I would use methods better suited to handling a wizard of your caliber.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gale said, voice dry. 

“It was intended as one. I’ve managed to learn quite a bit about you in the last half day and I must say, I’m rather impressed. Top of your class, prodigy, Mystra’s chosen. A fine reputation. Far more suited for Tav’s company than the rest of your little band.”

The praise soured with the last sentence. Karlach and Wyll were also present at that mockery of a coronation. Gale remembered feeling the heat pouring off of Karlach in waves as she took in the man who ruined her life, he’d heard the sharp intake of breath as Wyll saw the puppet Gortash had made of his father. Gale had not missed how Gortash spoke to them both as if they were no more than accessories to Tav’s presence. And while Gortash hadn’t paid Gale any mind either, Gale doubted the Lord would be visiting either of the twos dreams with honeyed words of praise.

Once, in the Shadowed Lands, after Elminster’s message was delivered, Karlach had pulled Gale aside as they walked towards Moonrise. Tav was at the front of the group, twitchier than usual and Wyll lingered behind Gale and Karlach, looking tortured at every sign of a life cut short. Karlach’s hand on Gale’s shoulder was smoothing, the heat a balm to the pain of the orb. Gale had barely turned her way when she’d looked him straight in the eye and said “I won’t accept you blowing yourself up until you can look me in the eye and tell me that I should just burn myself out taking down Gortash.” Before Gale could reply , she’d sprang ahead, a skip in her step, asking Tav about extra coin and leftover whisky. Gale watched her with his jaw agape and when Wyll walked past him, the man shrugged.

“You heard her,” the warlock said, a lazy stride in his step. “Gotta say, she’s got a good argument.” He spun on his heel, a movement that reminded Gale of Wyll’s boasts about dancing to look at Gale properly. “A word of wisdom: it’s easier to be cruel to ourselves than to our friends.”

Gale decided everyone he traveled with was officially insane. “I’m not being cruel to myself. I’m being practical.” And wasn’t he? The orb would solve the problem of the Absolute and win him Mystra’s forgiveness in one action. He knew the others didn’t agree, they’d told him that plenty, but what was the alternative? Hoping the stopgap measure lasted as long as possible while he looked for a cure? Waste their time and resources trying to fix something of his own making? 

Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra, had died when Gale found the orb. Gale was just his shade. Why not set his tale to rest properly?

Wyll had reached forward and grabbed the shoulder Karlach hadn’t touched. His grasp was different from Karlach’s, his hands smaller but no less firm. His voice was kind when he spoke, but serious.

“The fact you keep telling yourself that is partly what makes it so cruel.”

Gale ended up not taking the path Mystra set for him, something he was thankful for to this day. A good portion of the reason why was Tav, but his other traveling companions had all played their part in convincing him to stay his hand. These were the people Lord Gortash looked on in contempt: those who’d heard the opinion of a God and cast it aside in favor of the life of a mortal wizard. 

“I think Tav’s choice in company is quite excellent, actually,” Gale said, raising his chin. “Far superior than the company they used to keep, at any rate.”

Gortash grinned at the barb. “You don’t say? I will admit, I find it interesting you attracted their affections.”

Gale tried not to react to the observation. He knew their relationship wasn’t much of a secret, but something about this man mentioning it so casually felt wrong. He had no right to information on Tav’s new life, one they’d forged out of nothing but what they’d woke up on the nautiloid with. 

Something in Gale’s face must have given him away, because Gortash chuckled. He walked over, his footsteps echoing louder against the floor than they would in real life, and then strolled behind Gale. He circled Gale casually, like Tara did when she caught a mouse and was deciding just how she wanted to play with her food. 

“Interesting, isn’t it? They went from the Chosen of Bane, to the Chosen of Mystra. Well, former chosen,” Gortash added. Gale didn’t flinch, continuing to watch him, chin held high. He’d suspected as much about Tav and Gortash’s previous relationship, though it was unpleasant to have it confirmed. 

“As I said, their taste in company has clearly improved,” Gale said, voice dry. He didn’t miss how Gortash’s right hand curled into a fist at the statement. Good to know the Chosen of Bane could be ruffled about his personal life. That was a weakness one could exploit.  

“Or maybe yours has lessened. I don’t know of your previous conquests, but you don’t seem the type to bed Bhallspawn.”

“They aren’t a conquest,” Gale hissed, even though he knew his reaction would be used against him. To use such a term for a relationship with someone; it disgusted him. Of course an acolyte of Bane would see it that way, used to viewing the world as something to mold and control. Tav was many things to Gale at this point, and despite the recent revelations about their past, none of those things had changed. 

Tav was a friend who saved up extra coin so he could copy down new spell scrolls, even when they wouldn’t be tactically useful. Tav was a teammate, who made sure to stand between him and the enemy so he could cast without disturbance. Tav was a hero who fought against their nature every hour, and suffered for it greatly with little sleep and terrible headaches.

Tav was someone Gale fell in love with as soon as they grabbed both his shoulders after Elminster’s visit and said “your life is more than a tool for some God.”

Tav’s past was a lot, Gale hadn’t been lying about that, but regardless of who Tav used to be, he was proud to stand next to them today. 

He should tell them that, when he woke up, he thought. 

“Forgive my language,” Gortash said, then turned so he was shoulder to shoulder with Gale. “I suppose it makes sense,” he continued. He was far too close, merely inches away. If they were not in a dream, Gale could probably smell his breath. “Them having a taste for the Chosen. After all, that kind of power is enticing. Tell me Gale of Waterdeep; do you think we could have been friends?” 

Gale mentally scrambled to make sense of the inquiry. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one. I know you care little for my ideals, but it’s important to find ground with one’s potential allies.”

Gale could see the game Gortash was playing. He saw how disgusted Wyll and Karlach were at his proposed alliance. If he wanted to convince Tav to join forces, it would help if someone else was in his corner. As Tav’s lover who had no history with the man outside of the tadpoles, Gale was likely his best option to convince.

Something about that bothered Gale. The fact Lord Gortash looked upon him and saw a potential ally implied that the Archduke was either ignorant about Gale’s character or that he saw something in Gale that the wizard refused to recognize. 

Gale wanted to believe it was the former, but Gortash was a politician. That was not a job one kept by reading people poorly.

No, that couldn’t be it. Gale had his faults, yes, but they were not the kind that murdered people in their beds and made puppets of innocents. Gortash had made a miscalculation. 

“So that’s what this is about; convince me to convince Tav. Or is this some kind of power play.” 

Gortash laughed, low and hearty. He was actually amused, which Gale found deeply unsettling. “I’m the Chosen of Bane, everything I do is a power play, but no. Your first theory was correct; I want to establish an alliance. I thought you may be more receptive.”

“What makes you say that?”

Gortash stopped pacing, stopping in front of Gale. He eyed him from the toes of his boots, up his body and then lingered on his face. “You’re a smart man; if Orin gets all three stones, this city will go to the Hells. She’s all impulse, no brains; a rabid dog more than anything else. Not exactly the person you want to lead.” 

That wasn’t untrue. From what little Gale knew of Tav’s sister, the Gate in her hands would be a bloody massacre. But claiming to be a better leader than Orin wasn’t worth much confidence. “And you’ll be such a fine and generous sovereign.”

“I’m not going to insult your intelligence and pretend that’s the case. But I can promise you that in my hands, we won’t all turn into mind flayers or corpses.” Gortash gestured to his gauntlets, the claws sharp and tipped. On the back of the palm was engraved the symbol of Bane, something that Gale was sure wasn’t on them in the real world. A gauntlet hand gripped in a tight fist; this was one of the many symbols Bane’s faithful prayed to. “Bane is a God of Order.”

“And the God of Tyrants.”

“Tyrant is such a dirty word for someone who simply wants things to go smoothly. I might be harsher than you might like, but I crave stability as much as any other man. Convince Tav to work with me and you’ll be able to do as you please once the Stones are mine.”

“All with the worm in my head to make sure I follow orders.”

“Only if they interfere against my own. It’s not so hard a life; you’ve lived it before. Being the Chosen of a God.”

“You’re no God. You’re just a man.”

Gortash looked at Gale like he was deeply stupid. Almost pitying. Like Gale was overlooking something so clearly obvious. “For now. The Stones will change that. Anyways, why would I be a man, when I could be a God?”

And Gale’s breath caught in his chest. 

A memory came to him, one from earlier that day. They’d managed to break into the vault to gather The Annals of Karsus, and Gale hadn’t hesitated to start reading as soon as he left the vault. He couldn’t help himself from flipping through the pages as he walked back to camp, mind spinning off into countless of possibilities. 

With the crown he could cure himself of the orb. The agony in his chest would be nothing more than a memory, the scar a reminder of his greatest victory instead of his worst failure. He wouldn’t have to go rely on Mystra to fix him, he wouldn’t have to go back like a starved dog and hope to garner enough affection to cure his plight. Hells, he could meet her as an equal, no more than an equal, and that presented even more possibilities. 

How many things had Gale wished to change as Chosen only to find the power out of his grasp. Even with the approval of Mystra behind him, he couldn’t stop a city from being wiped out from a flood, or feed all the starving people in Waterdeep. He’d been incapable of addressing problems that weren’t Mystra’s concern, all the power at his fingertips dependent on her approval. If she were to fix him, if she were to take him back, he’d still have those limitations.

Would Mystra lend him the power to repair Karlach’s engine, or would that be considered extraneous? Would she aid him in fixing Astarion's vampirism, or would she claim that kind of magic was too powerful to touch. Would she help him fight against Bhaal himself for Tav’s freedom, or would she decline, telling him an empathetic but unchanging conviction, that she was not to mess in the affairs of other Gods. 

If Gale kept the crown, he would not need to convince her. He could just do it himself. He could turn his friends’ biggest problems into nothing more than a bad memory. He could-

“With the crown, I could surpass Mystra. I could be more than Gale of Waterdeep,” he’d told Tav back in camp, almost bouncing on his heels with excitement. He wasn’t sure of the specifics yet, there was far more to read, far more to study, but he was sure the potential was there. When Tav bit their lower lip, he felt his enthusiasm wane slightly. 

“But I like Gale of Waterdeep,” Tav said. Gale shook his head and showed them the pages of the crown, his finger pointing to the most pertinent bits. Usually Tav delighted in his lectures about magic. To see them instead so nervous was an uncomfortable change.  

"I’d still be Gale of Waterdeep, just more,” Gale said, taking their hand in his while holding the book with the other. “I could be a God with a mortal’s heart. Think about all the people I could save, all the lives I could improve. No more would people pray to uncaring ears; I’d hear them instead. The hurt, the needy, the frightened; with that kind of power at my fingertips, I relieve their burdens. I’d have the power to save them all. I’d be able to-Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tav was staring at him, face blank, eyes wide. It was a look they got on rare occasions when they remembered something. When they spoke, their voice wavered. 

“I just….I think I’ve heard this before. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

And then they’d walked off, leaving Gale alone with his book and the ambitions tucked within their pages. 

Gortash didn’t seem to notice Gale was lost in his own recollections. Instead, he walked up to the wizard and patted his shoulder. Like he’d patted Tav’s earlier that day. 

“Think about it, that’s all I ask. And send Tav my fondest regardless.”

Gale woke up, a yell caught in his throat. The agony the orb sometimes provided flared through his chest and he bent over, clutching his arms across his chest. It took a minute for the pain to subside and when it did, he breathed in heavy breaths, trying desperately to stop his mind from racing. With a trembling hand, he reached up to wipe under his nose.

There was no nosebleed. Gortash was not lying; he was not trying to kill him. As far as Gale could tell, the man’s proposal had been entirely sincere. 

He tried to sit up and faltered as his hand landed on a book instead of his bedroll. Under his palm was The Annals of Karsus. Gale had been pouring through the pages before he went to bed, studying the diagrams for the crown, thinking of the possibilities should he manage to reforge it. He’d even left his notebook out next to it, his excitement clear in how frantic his scribbled notes were. 

Gale felt like he might be sick. With shaking hands, he pushed the book under a blanket, and laid back on his bedroll. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He wasn't anything like Gortash. He wanted to help people. He wanted to save others. He wanted control of his own life-

His breath hitched. 

“I just….I think I’ve heard this before. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

The memory of Tav's expression haunted him until he fell back asleep. 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The One I've Been Waiting For {Part 02 of 13}

Billy Hargrove X Older!Reader

Word count: 2 K

Summary: Billy Hargrove is just one of the many students you're supposed to help. The last thing you expect from your interaction is that he'll start flirting with you... Much less than Billy would stir up feelings you'd rather keep hidden. Despite the mutual sentiments that soon enough start to grow, there are a lot of reasons for whatever it is to be left alone, and one of them is your age...

Previous part <- (01)

Next Part -> (03)

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

A/N: In this story, reader is 5 years older than Billy, who's 18.

The Stupid Game

“He failed on purpose!” You burst out the moment you reach Tanya's table, dropping your bag on the empty chair next to you and sitting down across from her. The couple on a nearby table turns a little to look at you. “Can you believe it?”

Tanya puts her cup down, raising both hands at you. “It's barely ten in the morning. Slow down and explain to me what happened.”

“Billy Hargrove.” Showing off the papers, you speak his name slowly as if it explained everything. “We had five meetings scheduled, then a quiz, and if he went well, he wouldn't need me anymore. But he failed. On purpose.” You're perplexed, furious even. After all the time you spent helping him, the guy does this? Is he stupid or something?

“How do you know it was on purpose? And why do you have his test in the first place?”

No, you couldn't have his test, but who cares? “That's not the point! Look.” Tanya gives you a weird glance before taking the test and starting to read it. “So he marked option B on all the questions?” She shrugs. “Maybe he just thought it was the right answer.”

“Look beneath the last question.”

She passes the pages, and you know when she sees it because she raises her eyebrows. “A winky face.”

“A freaking winky face!” Throwing your hands in the air, you lean back on the chair. “What the hell is he doing? Trying to get my attention or something?”

“Why would you think that?” She hands you back the test.

“Because I think he flirted with me.” Crossing your arms, you look down for a while.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She giggles, pinching her eyebrows together. “You think? Why do you think that?”

“...Because after our last meeting, he said a lot of stupid things. And when I asked, he said he was hitting on me.” Speaking slowly, you focus on her face, waiting for a reaction. But it doesn't come. Tanya seems... Normal. Not completely shocked as you expected. “So?”

“So you think he flirted with you?”

“Look, that's not the point. Billy is the perfect bad boy, so he probably won't be into me for too long. And even so, there's a massive age difference... Anyway...” Sighing, you run a hand through your hair. “He can't do this. He can't fail on purpose and I'll rip his eye off for it.”

“Age difference?”

“Tanya, focus.”

“You said half a million things, I'm only analyzing it piece by piece.” She explains herself, quickly fixing her light brown hair in a ponytail. “What age difference?”

You love Tanya. The two of you paired up on the first day of college, and her advice is good. But that's not what you need to think about. Or not what you want to think about. But since she won't let it go until you talk about it, you decide to just be done with it. “I'm five years older than him, in case you never made the math.”

Tanya shrugs in a dismissive manner, taking another sip from her coffee. “So he's eighteen. It's completely legal.”

“Oh, my God, Tanya!” Your cheeks heat up and for some unknown reason, your heart starts beating a little faster. The last thing you wanna think about is... This. “Eighteen isn't a magical number. Just because he's eighteen it doesn't mean–”

”At eighteen we are legally considered adults. And five years isn't that much.”

“Tanya, for goodness sake, that's not the point.” With both hands on your head, you sigh.

“Look, the guy is trying to get your attention, that's obvious. He did that to get spend more time with you.” She plays with a finger, pointing at your face with a smirk on her lips. “So you gotta go and tell him how stupid this game is.” “Oh, honey, I will.”

“And tell him that he'll have to do something way better to get your attention, sister.” Tanya winks at you, and you roll your eyes. “I know you're not into quick relationships but I don't see the problem with just hanging out with a handsome guy and having fun.”

'As if I'd ever consider hanging out with a kid.” Taking your bag, you stand up. “I'll stop by the campus to retrieve a book and after that, I'll speak to Billy the idiot Hargrove.” Blowing her a kiss, you walk away.

“First of all...” She says, and you stop, turning around to look at her. “Being eighteen means he's an adult, that's a fact that you can easily check. And second, Billy definitely doesn't look like a kid. You can't deny it.”

“Yeah, I noticed. He's hot. But it doesn't change anything.” Waving at her, you decide not to think about Billy anymore. At least not until you meet him again.

•••

This time, you wait for him standing by your car. You know he has to take his sister home before coming back, so there's no reason to stay inside. And you don't want anyone else to hear what you have to say.

When you see his Camaro, you take a deep breath. He parks closer this time, taking one of the free parking spots reserved for teachers and staff. He's a rule breaker, that much you know.

“Hi, there,” Billy says with a smile, but you don't even move from your position, resting against the hood of your car.

“You failed on purpose.” You go straight to the point, handing the test over to him. “And don't even try to fool me, I'm not stupid.”

Billy takes the test from your hands, not even looking at it. “So you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. After all the time I invested in you, I can't believe you did that. On purpose. And drew a winky face.” You raise your voice a little, hands on your hips.

“Why are you so mad? It's just a test and I know I can do better.” He shrugs his shoulders, a smirk on his face. “I just needed more time with you.”

“You failed a test so you'd spend more time with me?” Kinda sucks to know that Tanya was right. “That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen!” You're almost yelling, so you take a look around before lowering your voice and stepping closer to him. “I know guys like you don't give a shit about school, but if you keep doing that to get the attention of every girl you wanna go out with, you'll be held back and end up doing senior year all over again.”

“I only did that because I know I can recover, I'm not that stupid.” He seems a little insulted, and that's good. You need to speak some sense into his head. “And you made it clear wouldn't go out with me if I asked so I had to guarantee we'd have a bit more time.”

What the hell? Did you hear it right? Blinking a few times as your brain struggles to process what he just said, you gasp, running a hand through your hair. “Why do you even want to go out with me?” You were caught off guard again. You're not the type of girl to fall for someone's charm, not even Billy's. He is very handsome, but a guy needs more than that. And even so, there are just too many things standing in the way of any kind of... A deeper relationship with him. Out of the question. “As I said, I'm way older than you. And we're very different. I'm not into a one-time thing and I have heavy baggage...” Taking a deep breath, you throw a hand in the air. “You should put your efforts into someone your age.”

“God, you speak like you're twenty years older than me.” He scoffs, blue eyes fixed on you. Billy raises his hand, wiggling his fingers a little. “Five years, (Y/N). Stop being so dramatic over five damn years.”

“So now I'm being dramatic?” Chuckling out of nervousness, you step aside, putting some distance between the two of you. “I'm just using my head, Billy. Something you're not used to.”

“Ouch.”

“Didn't mean it like that. Ugh!” Covering your face with your hands, you put your thoughts together. “I tend to overthink, ok? Told you, huge baggage.”

“Look, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I almost had a mental breakdown the first time I saw you.”

“I know you say that to every girl, Billy.” Moving closer to your car, you wonder if you should just go. But then you remember he just got three more tutoring meetings with you because of that stupid test. So you're stuck with him anyway, for an hour.

“Would you listen first?” He snaps, and you raise an eyebrow, turning to face him again.

“Fine.” You breathe out, tired of this argument already.

“As I told you before, I don't have to compliment the girls I go out with. I just have to talk to them, set a time and place and-”

“Spare me the details, alright?” Cutting him off, you make a disgusting face, looking away from him.

“The point is, I don't have to tell them they're pretty, or hot or anything. It's just not necessary. But you... I want you to know.” Billy smiles, and you find yourself looking. Staring. Admiring... This smile is different and is genuine. And his lips are beautiful. Raising your eyes to meet his blue ones again, you blush, because you're sure he noticed where you were looking at. “And there's this... thing I feel about you. I have no idea what it is, but it's definitely something. And I wanna know what it is. As simple as that.”

You have no idea what to say. What are you supposed to answer? Where is Tanya to solve mysteries like this when you need her? “Well, I'm not going out with you.” You spit out because a date with Billy is... Out of the question. “We could hang out as friends, but not alone. And no fake <'friendly hang out'> when it's actually a double date. Nothing like that.”

Billy narrows his eyes a little and paces around. “Damn it.” He mutters under his breath.

“Sorry, but that's everything I can do. Going out as friends and... Talking, chatting, like two normal people.” You're using the word <friends> way too much.

But the question that doesn't leave your mind is: How much of what Billy said is true? And is it the same for you? Around him, you do feel a... Thing. A pull. His eyes have this electricity, but you're sure it's just because he's handsome. You're still a girl, and girls get nervous around handsome guys. That's only normal.

“That's not it.” He finally says after a while. “I heard my dipshit stepsister talking with her friends about going to the quarry on Saturday for some science stuff. The party is a small army so they won't fit all in one car, so she said something about needing another adult to drive them.”

“And?”

“I'm willing to... Offer to take her there you come with me. With us. Because we wouldn't be alone.”

“And why are you talking like this is such a great sacrifice?” Crossing your arms, you wonder if you should accept the invitation. He did come up with something really quick so that probably means he wants to go out with you. Can you assume that? Can you assume that about someone with his reputation?

“Because I don't enjoy spending my Saturday surrounded by nerds.” He sighs, jerking his head at you. “So? What do you say? Wanna babysit them with me? And whoever will drive the other half of the kids?”

You should say no. You should just end this right here, right now. But if you go, and spend some time with him, and actually talk, he'll realize sooner or later you're not what he's looking for.< If >he's even looking for something. “Fine.” You say, nodding. “Fine, Billy. Now let's get inside, we need to go through your test.”

“Actually, do you have a pen?”

Opening your bag, you quickly find one, handing it over to him. Billy uses the hood of your car as a table, quickly reading the questions and writing over them. After a couple of minutes, he gives you the paper, and, much to your surprise, he got almost everything right. “You only got four questions wrong.” “Well, I did fail on purpose. But since I got three more meetings, you better teach me something.” He gestures at the school and, biting back a smile, you start walking.

---

“Maxine,” Billy calls as soon as he gets home. He can't even believe what he did, but it's too late to take it back now. He never thought he'd do something like that, agree to stay around the stupid kids just because of a girl. When the idea popped up in his head, he was genuinely perplexed. But it was the easiest way, and he wouldn't have to make something up with someone else just to convince her to come.

“What?” She yells from her bedroom, making Billy roll his eyes.

He makes his way there, pushing the door open. “I'll drive you to the quarry on Saturday. Just leave the passenger seat free because I'm taking someone with me.”

Maxine looks at him with a stupid face on. “You're gonna do what?”

“Last time I checked you weren't deaf.” “I don't want you there. You'll ruin the mood.” She looks down at her book again, taking notes in an old notebook.

“Look, I'm not asking. I told this girl I'd drive you and your gang there, and she said she'd come. So that's what it's gonna happen, so at least pretend to be thankful.” And he leaves, straight to his room, pushing the door close with a loud thud.

Billy can't remember the last time he did something he didn't like because of a girl. Wait. He never did anything he didn't want to do because of a girl. They never deserved such an effort, so why now? What is different now?

Billy takes a shower, trying to understand what's going on. It doesn't help, and by the time he had dinner and is locked in his bedroom again, he still doesn't have an answer. The only thing he knows is that (Y/N) is constantly in his mind, ever since he first saw her. He likes her voice, her bright eyes, and her smile has this shine he has never seen before.

This girl has a magnetic field of her own, Billy thinks as he tries to sleep. And its pull is strong. It just now hits that he didn't even ask if she has a boyfriend, but if she did, she'd tell him that right away. And now, he wonders why (Y/N) doesn't have anyone. Heavy baggage, she said. Well, Billy has one of his own, a past he doesn't like to visit or talk about. So he understands.

With all these thoughts in his head, he ends up dreaming about her.

Taglist: @multific​ @goth-cowgirl-03 @nyctophilic0vitnir @minispice-1

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: VI Unmasking

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Trigger Warnings: Minor self harm and gore, non consensual sedation/drugging, kidnapping/captivity, mentions of emotional and physical abuse by a parental figure, mentions of plague/epidemic illness

Gale slammed the desk drawer, then kicked the leg.  Mystra’s statue teetered towards the precipice, and Tara egged it on, squinting at it as though she could will it the last millimeter over the edge.  Gale cursed at his stubbed toe, stomping on it to make it stop hurting and limping to the coat rack.  He tore his coat down.

“Mr. Dekarios, slow down,” she huffed as she trotted up beside him. 

He yanked his boots on.  “There’s no time, Tara,” he massaged his chest, the ache of the orb more present than it had ever been.  His stomach growled too, but he ignored it and Tara’s insistence that he wait as he hurried out the door.

Tara dogged his steps despite his protests.  “Mr. Dekarios it will kill neither you nor Velim to slow down and take care of yourself.  Velim would not want you running yourself ragged on their account.”

“They’re a doctor, Tara, they would have to say that,” he lengthened his stride, “Gods, if I had just walked them home when they had asked.”

Tara sprang from the ground.  Gale lurched forward with her weight as she landed on his shoulders and added new runs to his coat.  She anchored her claws in the fabric and hunkered down, ears pinned back.  “They would mean it,” she insisted.

“Tara, please,” Gale considered brushing her off.

“Gale, please,” she hissed back.

“Come with me if you must, but we cannot waste time,” Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and forced a deep breath into his lungs, pushing the orb back.

Tara’s paws kneaded his shoulder.  “I’ll make another loop of the Sea Ward.  Promise me you’ll eat when you return?”

Gale released the breath in a truncated sigh, it misted in the cold air.  “I promise.”

“Very well, Mr. Dekarios.”  He winced as Tara launched off his shoulder, her wings ruffling his hair with a gust of wind as she flushed towards the rooftops.

Gale put his head down and ducked into an alley.  It was odd, walking this route in the gray light of day.  He almost didn’t recognize the stairwell or the worn wooden sign set out on the street reading Lonzok’s Arcane Consignment.  He opened the door, the familiar warmth of magic and burning incense greeting him.  

Lonzok looked up from the shelf of books he was stocking, his spectacles shining strangely in the combined gray daylight filtering in through small windows high in the walls and the arcane fire.  “Surprise to see you in the daylight, wizard,” he grunted, “in for the usual?”

Gale sighed.  “Yes, quickly.  No time for browsing today, I’m afraid.”

Lonzok presented the tray to Gale.  It rattled with its usual selection of odd trinkets.  Gale looked at the offerings, each a pittance in the waxing hunger of the orb.  Gauze for a broken leg that needs resetting.

“Do you have anything… more?” Gale struggled to find a word that wouldn’t give him away, “something with a greater charge of magic.”

Lonzok smiled knowingly and tucked the tray beneath the counter.  “As a matter of fact, I think I do.”

Gale leaned in.  “You do?”

“If it’s concentrated magic you need, I can get you a pint or two of ancient black dragon blood.  Fresh from the source, it’s potent stuff if you know how to process it for extraction.  Good price, too -- I’m willing to cut you a deal,” Lonzok explained, setting a vial of blood on the desk.  

The liquid inside moved thickly, concentrated, and the orb lurched for the draconic weave it contained.  Gale picked it up and studied it.

“That’s already purified for ease of use,” Lonzok explained, “fresh from the living beast.”

Gale felt the power of it, the weave primed for extraction.  The orb lashed for it, ravenous.  Gale considered the things in his tower he hadn’t yet sold -- ancient tomes, his statue of Mystra, the Netherese artifacts he couldn’t bear to be rid of.  Dragon blood of this potency may silence the orb for weeks, time enough to search for Velim unimpeded.

“Very well,” Gale conceded to the hunger, “let us deal, then.”

The first thing Velim registered was the size of the crate they were in, dim light filtering in through the slats like they were a bug some child had crammed into a paper box.  The second thing were splinters where the wood wore their bare skin ragged.  With nothing to see, it didn’t matter that their vision was swimming, but they refused to close their eyes lest the sedative overtake them again.  They hissed as they willed their leaden limbs to move, leaving patches of scraped off skin on rough edges of wood.  Their right arm throbbed numbly where the alchemist stabbed the metal seed beneath the scales while they pretended to be unconscious.

Gods, they put some faith in that thing, Velim thought gratefully as they tested the flimsy hempen binds on their wrists and feet.  Their teeth bit down around a cloth gag jammed in their mouth.  Magic buzzing discordantly from a thousand sources outside the thin barrier of wood. The moans of another trapped creature echoed forlornly.  A large space -- a storehouse or a warehouse, not the cramped basement they’d been in the last time the sedatives wore off.

They reached for the ropes binding their wrists and their fingertips sizzled, acid dripping down from beneath their claws and onto the fiber.  Sulfurous smoke billowed up from the ropes.  Their scales protected their wrists from the burn as drops fell to the wooden floor and began eroding it, adding to the stinking smoke choking Velim’s senses.  They closed their eyes against the sting of it and found themself bundled on the crate floor when they opened them again, waking with a sharp intake of breath that scoured their scorched throat and sent them into a coughing fit.

Their vision slowly resolved, heartbeat loud in their ears.  They ran their hands over the rough floor of the crate until their fingertips found the deep erosions the acid left behind.  The second dose of sedative from the seed coursed through their body, threatening to take hold and drag them under.  Velim focused on the creaking pain in their shoulders and shifted their weight against the side of the crate until it tipped over and they crashed into the floor.

The other thing in the warehouse moaned again, morose at the sound of the padlock on the heavy door clicking open.  Velim’s arms buckled under their own weight as they tried to push themself out of the twisted position they’d fallen into.  The other thing cried out like an excited bird, it’s roar trilling strangely in response to approaching footsteps.  It clicked and howled in indignation as it was bypassed, drowning out the footsteps approaching their crate.

The storehouse was brick and boxy with ventilation windows set high and small beneath the overhangs of the sloped roof.  It sat in a row of other identical storehouses set back from the docks on the Sea Ward, invisible in the bustle of sailors and cargo.  The service door was small comparatively, but made of steel and locked with a padlock that whirred with magic Gale felt over the hot seething of the orb in his chest.  The guard, a gruff and broad man, grunted with the effort of turning the key.  A series of locks tripped inside it loudly clicking in the static silence of sleet pattering to the ground.

The broad man hauled the door open, putting his full weight against it to get it moving.  The swing of the door passed over four wards carved into the concrete floor, each glowing in turn as they activated.

“Quite the advanced security system you have there,” Gale commented in an effort to fill space, “the circuit goes all the way around the structure of the building?”

“Dunno,” the man grunted, holding the door open.

Gale peered down the long brick side of the building until the man started muttering impatiently and stepped inside.  The sleet on the roof filled the building with a soft beating static, quickly lost in the trilling of the Manticore caged on the far wall.  It paced, howling at them through the narrow slots between bars and working a single large claw through like a cat pawing at the crack beneath a door.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her,” the guard nodded his head at the manticore, “she’s secure.”

Gale lowered his voice.  “What a treasure trove this place must be, have you worked for Lonzok long?”

The man shook his head.  “I get a cut of the dragon, that’s how he’s payin’ me.  Hired four of us.”  He stopped at a wobbly wooden table and simple chair with a heavy leather coat draped over the back and picked up a prybar leaned against it.

Gale stared at the coat.  Even in the dimly lit warehouse, it seemed familiar.  The wear on the shoulders, the cuffed sleeves, nagged at his mind.  He looked at the coat, and at the broad man.  “Does that coat belong to one of the other guards, then?”

“That’s mine,” the broad man glared at him, “it killed the other three.”

“Well, it is a dragon regardless of appearances,” the coat still bothered him, and he stared at the oilcloth hood until his guts felt like they were going to drop into the void, “it’s a bit small for you.”

The broad man stood to his full height.  “I’m getting it taken out tomorrow, wizard.”

The orb spasmed in Gale’s chest and he doubled over with a wince.  The guard took it as surrender.  “Come on, ‘fore the thing wakes up.”

The broad guard approached a crate, askew from the others surrounding it as though something inside had struggled enough to knock it out of place.  As he wedged the prybar beneath the top, the crate exploded with a thunderous crack and sent the broad man flying into a wooden barrel that split open, spilling a viscous silvery black substance over him.  He reached up to claw at the viscid goo eating away at his face, the liquid rolling up over his skin and pulling away at the flesh.

Gale covered his face against the hail of splinters that rained from the shattered crate.  He blinked the dust out of his eyes and grabbed what he finally recognized as Velim’s coat from the chair, holding it up like a shield as the dust settled.

Velim toppled out of the crate on numb legs.  The concrete floor leached what remained of the warmth from their skin.  The sudden brightness radiating from the dropped lantern drove a blade of nausea into their stomach, and they hissed as they leaned heavily on a nail lodged in a shard of wood.  The point pierced their right palm, and they yanked it out as they forced themself to their knees.  The room spun and their hand throbbed dully, the sedatives blunting the pain.  They gripped the wood shard like an anchor, spine curling over and pressing their forehead to the cold concrete.

Velim braced their right arm against the floor.  Their vision resolved and they could see the disruption in their scales where the alchemist had injected the seed beneath them.  They drove the nail beneath the raised scales.  Blood welled up and obscured the site, but they continued levering the nail up until the scales flaked away and exposed the skin underneath.  It stung, the sedatives and cold numbing the pain as they clawed for the little metallic seed and ripped it from beneath the skin with frozen fingertips.  They shook it off their claw and it made a hard little splat on the floor in the moment before they finally doubled over and vomited stomach acid onto the concrete.

“Gods, Velim!” 

The sound of their name pierced through the nausea and they rose on their knees as footsteps approached them, meeting the voice with a clumsy lash and wordless snarl that connected weakly.  The familiar voice yelled as Velim doubled over again and a violet woolen coat dropped to the ground, an acid burn eating away at the fabric of the sleeve.  They blinked hard against the onslaught of the sedative, but their muscles went weak against the cold.  Heavy fabric settled over their bare back, pushing them further into the concrete.

Warm hands pushed them onto their knees and held them steady, their leaden head lolling back.  The hands pulled the coat around their shoulders.  Their coat, they knew it by the smell of the beeswax they polished the leather with, deadening the sharpness of the sweat clinging to their body.  The hands cradled their face, pushing mats of hair out of their eyes.

“Velim, can you hear me?” Gale asked, his voice low so as not to draw more attention than the thunderwave spell already had.  The manticore howled at the commotion, rattling its chains.

Velim grimaced at his question, their teeth jagged in their mouth.  Gale thought they might try to bite him, but they just lurched forward into his shoulder.  He cradled their head against his heart, their body shaking with the effort of fighting the sedatives.

“That’s alright, just listen to the sound of my voice,” Gale held Velim close, heart slamming against his chest.  The orb reached out for them, caressing their face with burning filaments of weave.  He could have them.  Right now, drain them away to nothing and feed the orb a piece of Tiamat so powerful the orb may devour itself outright.

The thought arrived so quickly and so selfishly that a knife twisting between his ribs may have been less painful.  He pulled Velim closer.

“I’ve got you,” Gale focused on remembering the number of steps he’d taken around the building, how many steps to the intersection closest to his mother’s house, “just hold on to me, I can get us out of here safely.”

“Please don’t…” Velim stammered, their voice giving out to ragged breathing.

“I won’t -- I-I’m --” Gale checked his calculations one more time, “you’re safe now.  Just hold on, I’m getting us out of here.” He adjusted his grip, hooking his arm around their waist and adjusting their arms over his shoulders.  They held onto his neck, the tips of their filed claws grazing his shoulders.

“Complicare viam,” he spoke, the words becoming truth in a gust of cold wind and sensation of vertigo.  

Sleet dripped down the back of his shirt and melted on Velim’s hair.  He held them until the dizzy sensation of traversing dimensions subsided, then hauled them to their feet.  They stumbled, knees buckling beneath the weight of their own body.  Gale propped them against the wall of the alley to button their coat and pulled up their hood.  He thanked the gods that the black scales on Velim’s legs and feet just looked like boots in the dark.

Velim blinked up at the cloudy sky, letting Gale ease their arms through the sleeves of their coat.  He took their weight again, stooping so Velim could rest his arm across his shoulders.  They struggled to lift their legs, each step half-dragging through the mud until they found a sort of stumbling rhythm with Gale pushing them forward.  

“Almost there,” Gale panted as they turned the corner into a sleepy neighborhood.  The gas streetlamps flickered eerily off the sleet melting into the gutters.

Velim’s knees buckled as they lost consciousness, and Gale nearly lost his grip on them.  They both knelt in the cold street, ice soaking into their skin.  Velim blinked back awake with a low groan.  Gale glanced down the street at his mother’s house, just a half block away now.  The orb throbbed in his chest, still reaching for the dragon struggling to remain conscious in his arms. 

“Not far now,” Gale pushed wet hair out of Velim’s eyes, “I’m going to carry you.”

Velim nodded and mouthed “okay”, letting Gale sweep his arm beneath their knees and stagger back to his feet.  He shifted their weight against his chest, each step falling forward harder than the last until he reached the short staircase leading to his mother’s stoop.  He braced himself for the final exertion, breath wheezing through his teeth, and surged to the top of the stairs where he let Velim down gently, holding them until they found their feet again.  Once he was sure they wouldn’t fall, he reached for the knocker and slammed it against the door until someone answered.

“What?” Charrel’s anger dropped away as she took in the scene on the front step.  Her dirty blonde hair fell in her face, long ears slack in surprise as the frustration that had rocketed her out of bed dissipated in a cloud of inert steam. “By the Gods, Mr. Dekarios,” was all she could manage in a small voice.

“Prepare a room and wake my mother, it’s an emergency.” Gale mustered his most authoritative voice, but Charrel was already in motion helping him drag Velim across the threshold and lower them down on a bench in the foyer.

Velim traced the designs carved in the velvet upholstery, watching Charrel and Gale bicker with one another.  Gale locked the front door, then warded it, and stormed up the stairs past Charrel yelling for his mother.  The commotion faded into footsteps on the floor above them.  Their chilled body slowly warmed, the feeling coming back to their toes with a prickling sensation.  Their arm and hand throbbed without pain, threatening a rude awakening come morning.

Gale and Charrel rushed back down the stairs, and Velim’s stomach churned as they were hoisted to their feet and carried up into a lit hallway.  The patterns in the wallpaper morphed in their vision, birds stretching their feathers and turning to watch Velim pass by.  They were carried into a bedroom lit with the low glow of an oil lamp on the desk.

“Get out,” Charrel demanded of Gale.

“Get out?  What do you mean ‘get out’?” Gale’s voice didn’t rise above a harsh whisper, but his grip on Velim tightened.

“I mean what I say, Mr. Dekarios, now get out and let your friend some modesty,” she hissed, but her hands were gentle prying Velim away.

Velim noticed the callouses on her fingertips as she eased them onto the bed, and thought dimly that she must play the lute.  Gale’s vigor dissipated as he released them, holding their hand.  They left a smudge of blood behind on his palm as they finally slipped free of his grasp.

“Gale,” Morena lingered in the door in her housecoat.  Beside her, Delores and Dorothea blinked sleepily through curtains of curly brown hair mussed from sleep.  

Gale hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him so Del and Dot couldn’t see inside.  

Dot blinked up at him, her stormy gray eyes narrowed suspiciously as she pulled her curls back into a messy bun.  “Who’s that?”

“Is that who the matchmaker set him up with?” Del asked through a yawn.  She wiped the tears out of her cloudy eyes.

“Go back to your rooms,” Morena said through her teeth.

Her daughters looked at her skeptically, but both turned back on Gale in their own time.

“Go back to bed, it’s none of your concern,” Gale snapped.

Del blinked, suddenly full awake.  She ran her hand through her hair, but it fell back into place.  “What’s none of my concern?  Don’t you have your own tower to bring your dates back to, or would you rather spend the night in your childhood bedroom?”

“Delores,” Morena snarled.

Del matched Gale’s confrontational stare.  Dot grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her back to her bedroom.  She waved to Gale as she slipped back into her own bedroom across the hall and closed the door.  Morena walked past Gale, gesturing him towards the living room.  She pinched the bridge of her nose.  Gale followed, shoulders slumping under the scrutiny of his mother.

Morena sat herself in her rocking chair and folded her hands in her lap.  Gale sat on the long sofa across from her, avoiding her stern gaze.

“Gale, would you like to tell me what happened?” She asked, her voice soft and measured.

Gale shrunk, his body responding to a tone of voice he had known before his feet reached the floor from the couch he was sitting on.  He gripped the brocade upholstery and blinked back the tears.  When the onslaught didn’t stop, he buried his eyes in his hands.  His mother waited.

When Gale looked back into his mother’s stone eyes, the words spilled from him in an unstoppable tide.  He stared at the blood smear on his hand as he told his mother what he had intended to do when he learned of the dragon.  He covered the aching black scars beside his eye when he explained why he thought he needed to take such drastic measures.  He sobbed outright when he begged her forgiveness for all the time he’d been gone.  He was still crying when Morena picked herself up and sat down beside her son.  She rubbed his back and leaned against his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby beside him until he stopped trembling.

The throbbing in Velim’s arm woke them.  They rolled over and covered it with their palm, pressing down on the flimsy bandage until the scab slipped beneath it.  Daylight streamed through the gaps in the curtains.  Velim squeezed their eyes shut against the light until the stinging pain in their arm and hand drove them out of bed.  They leaned on the wall, picking up their coat from the back of the desk chair on their way to the bathroom, and closed the door behind them.

The water inside the tub was still steaming, the basin full of clean water.  Some kind soul whose face they couldn’t recall had left fresh clothes and towels on the table beside the bathtub.  They dug for the bag of holding sewn into the lining of their coat and removed their surgery kit and a roll of gauze from the space, dropped it on the table, and peeled away the stained bandages.  They dunked their wounded hand and forearm into the clean water basin and scrubbed with soap until both injuries were red and raw, then studied them.

One all the way through puncture and one gash too open to stitch up.  They turned their hand over and flexed it where the nail had pierced their palm, matching the two red holes dorsal and palmar.  They tested the movement, touching each fingertip to their thumb in turn.  It ached when they moved, but not badly enough to matter.  When they turned their forearm over, some of the scales were set crooked and tugging on the skin beneath.  They opened their surgery kit on the table and picked out a set of forceps and one of the clean towels, then leaned their forearm on the table and plucked off the loose or damaged scales.  They blotted at the blood welling up from the base and imagined what the scar would look like once it scaled over again.

They stripped the night dress and clambered into the tub.  Their frozen legs ached in the hot water, and they dropped their head below and let the world go quiet and thick for as long as they could stand.  When they came back to the surface, their fingers were wrinkled.  They combed out their hair and washed the blood and sweat from it, soap clouding the water.  When the water cooled, they stepped out and scrubbed their skin until their scales shone with the towel they’d used to blot the blood away from their arm.

They reveled in the feel of clean clothes and properly tightened bandages, the shirt supple from years of wear but missing the tie so it sat wide over their collarbones and left the scars down their chest plainly visible.  They held the collar closed as they approached the bedroom door and paused to listen for strangers in the hallway.

“Oh, good!  You’re awake,” Tara exclaimed, emerging halfway through a small door above the wardrobe.

Velim startled back into the bed, knocking their already aching legs on the bedpost.

“Oh, my apologies,” Tara sat primly on top of the wardrobe, “I should have announced myself.  In any case, no need to listen for danger.  Morena sent the girls away this morning, and Gale received his scolding last night.  It’s only myself, Mrs. Dekarios, and Charrel.  Mrs. Dekarios sent me up to check on you.”

“Where is Gale?” Velim asked, rubbing their aching shin.

“Taking urgent meetings with old trade contacts,” Tara explained, “he’s been out making calls since before dawn, I expect he should return past lunchtime.”

“I see,” Velim fussed with the fresh bandages on their arm.

“Fear not, doctor, I’ve been keeping vigil since I heard.  No ruffian is getting through that window without a good deal of scorching,” she flicked her tail at the closed curtains, “Mrs. Dekarios is expecting breakfast downstairs.  I would appreciate it if you joined us.”

Tara disappeared back through the porthole and Velim heard her soft landing on the hallway carpet.  Velim followed Tara’s flagging tail down the hall until she vanished around the curve of the main staircase and left them alone on the landing.  Velim hesitated, tracing the carpet runner down the sun dappled stairway.  Much like the stairway in the Hazelight home, glass windows set into the eaves letting the sun in.  The stairs Everon had chased them up with a kitchen knife.  They were whipped for it when they got the knife from him and chased him back down and into the arms of his waiting mother, Ulana.  The chill of her hateful glare waited just around the corner.

Velim ignored the way their stomach clenched and took it one stair at a time until their hand passed into a sunbeam on the railing.  Their scales flashed a luminous green beneath the ink that drank away the light.  They pulled their hand away as though the gentle warmth burned and crossed their arms tight across their chest as they turned on their heel and walked quickly back to the bedroom.

The door clicked closed.  Velim sucked in deep, hungry breaths while their heart slammed against their ribcage.  They blinked back tears, and repeated against the tight wall of their throat, “I’m safe.  No one is going to hurt me here.  This is not Baldur’s Gate.”

The panicked animal at the back of their mind railed against them with worst-case scenarios.  They looked for a place to hide, some dark and tight corner of the room, and found the nook between the bed and the far wall.  Their head swam, body swamped by the hyperventilation and aching twitch in their fingers threatening to throw open the windows and jump out.  

Velim staggered into the corner and curled up, digging their claws into their knees and focusing on the pinpoint pressure on the joints.  Panic hammered at their defenses, tremors climbing up their spine.  Hot tears ran down their face, tracing odd patterns between the scales on their cheekbones.  They sucked in deliberately slow, stuttering breaths through their clenched teeth.

“Oh dear,” Tara mewed from her perch on the wardrobe.  She sighed and shook out her wings with a soft rustle, then left again.  She landed softly in the hallway.

Velim’s heart was just beginning to slow when Tara returned, gliding off the dresser and trotting up to rub against Velim’s knees.  Velim peeled their claws off their legs and scratched behind her ears.

“Doctor, I’ve arranged for breakfast to come to you,” she explained.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in, Mrs. Dekarios,” Tara called.

Velim’s hand stilled, their body freezing tight.  

Tara pushed her head up into their hand.  “You’re okay, Doctor.  Morena already knows, and I’m afraid this conversation must occur while Mr. Dekarios is still out making his calls.  And besides that, we really must get some food in you.”

Morena set the serving tray down on the desk, the smell of hot coffee mixing with her rose perfume.  She pulled out the chair and sat across from Velim, taking her own cup of tea from the tray and sipping it.

“Gale tells me you prefer coffee, Charrel brewed it with cloves and ginger for their warming properties,” Morena said, studying the tea leaves drifting to the bottom of her cup, “she insisted I tell you that.”

Velim pressed their thumb into their injured palm, still stiff and cold despite the hot bath and now clammy with panic.  They swallowed the fear in their throat.  “That’s kind of her.”

Morena waited.  Velim felt her eyes on them, studying their neatly plaited hair and the pattern of scales on their arms.  The scrutiny sent their heart hammering again.  The frigid hatred of Ulana Hazelight haunted the chair Morena currently occupied, as though she was hanging over Morena’s shoulder with her chestnut hair pulled back in a tight weave of braids and whispering all their horrid actions into her ear.

Tara leaned against their knees, but they made no move to pet her.  The shade of Ulana Hazelight froze them in place, but she dissipated as Morena got up from the chair and took a seat on the unmade bed beside Velim.  She leaned down and offered Velim a handkerchief.  

Velim flinched at the movement, but relaxed when they realized what was being offered.  They wiped their eyes and blew their nose, then balled the handkerchief up in their palm.  “Thank you.”

“No point in tears now.” Morena said gently, picking herself up off the bed and settling herself on the bench at the foot of the bed, adjusting her skirts and pulling her embroidery project from her pocket.  She hummed quietly as she worked the needle through.

Velim’s heart began to calm, and they unwound themself from the corner and raised themself from the ground on legs that felt more appropriate for a newborn fawn.  They leaned against the wall until they found their balance, then relocated to the desk chair and picked up the coffee, warming their hands on the mug.  The warm drink settled their stomach enough for them to realize how ravenous they were.  Morena continued her embroidery.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” Velim balanced the fork on the empty plate of pancakes.

Tara jumped into their lap with a huff and balanced herself in an indignant loaf on their knees.  “Far more trouble had you died, Doctor.  Do you have any idea what kind of state Gale was in when you didn’t arrive for dinner?”

“I’m sorry for that, too, then,” Velim sighed.

“Are you done?” Morena asked without looking up.

Velim watched out the crack between the curtains at the empty courtyard below.  “Yes.”

“Come sit, please.” Morena moved to one side of the bench and patted the empty seat beside her.

Velim sat, crossing their arms across their chest as though they would stop being a dragon if they just hid enough of the scales from sight.  Tara had enough of that, though, and followed them from the desk chair to the bench.  She settled in Velim’s lap, pushing under their folded arms until they reluctantly extracted a hand to pet her.

“Thank you for bringing Gale back,” Morena said, her stern face drawn, “last night I saw my son for the first time in more than a year.  I am grateful to you, and glad to finally meet you, although I wish the conditions were within your control.”

Velim began tracing back the timeline in their mind.  One year previous Gale had done something, crossed Mystra, caused his ailment, and then vanished from public life.  They wondered if his case was progressive, or if he’d had to take desperate measures to control the parasite from the beginning.  

When Morena noticed that Velim was too lost in thought to respond, she continued with a small smile, “Gale is working to secure your secret and another option for disguise.  Until then, we will keep the blinds drawn.  You may stay here for as long as you like, but I believe it would be best for both of you to leave the city while the investigation runs its course.”

“He hoped he would return in time for breakfast,” Tara sighed, “I always tell him that bureaucracy takes time.  When Mr. Dekarios hurried out the door this morning, he was so hopeful that he would return and prepare breakfast before you woke.”

Velim smiled at that.  “He knows he doesn’t owe me for dinner, doesn’t he?”

“Oh please,” Tara scoffed, “he talks about repaying the favor all the time.”

“Has Gale told you much about us?” Morena asked.

Velim began to relax, the tension easing out of their shoulders and leaving a throbbing ache in its place.  “Some, mostly stories from his sisters’ childhood.  I understand he’s much older than the three of them?”

Morena nodded, working her needle through the eye of the crane in her embroidery hoop.  “By ten years for Noelle and fourteen for Dorothea and Delores.  He helped raise them after his stepfather died.”

“Stepfather?” Velim echoed.

“Yes, stepfather,” Morena confirmed, “I met Gale’s father when I was still very young.  He fled his familial responsibilities in the Silver Marches, but when Gale was barely a year old he had to return,” Morena trailed off, studied the stitches of her embroidery, “ten years later, I received his will as the only surviving inheritor for the family, never having heard from him again.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Velim watched her work the thread back through, pulling a downy gray feather into the bird’s body, “he never mentioned that.”

“He was young when we lost his father, I don’t imagine he remembered much to tell you,” Morena pulled another feather into place, “I’m sure you’ve had more than your fair share of losses.”

“Yes, haven’t we all?” Velim tried to shake the oppressive memory of their years at the Hazelight home from their mind, a shadow cast over Ortheon Hazelight’s proud expression at their first amputation.  Instead, the hurt pinged against the memory of Luz’s body in the mass grave at Ulivin during an outbreak of smallpox five years ago.  They settled on the grief of that memory instead.

Morena waited for Velim to elaborate, but they stared down at the tortoiseshell patterns in Tara’s fur and said nothing.  She set her embroidery in her lap.  “I have a proposition for you, and I would like to put it to you before Gale returns so that when he brings it up to you, you already have your answer.”

Velim nodded at her to continue.

“I’ve staffed his father’s ancestral home in the Silver Marches with a skeleton crew for years to keep the place functional.  Willow Valley Manor, it’s been in the Devin family for ten generations, and Gale is the last of the line.  It rightfully belongs to him, but I’ve never extended it to him simply because of its remote location.  Now, it seems a blessing,” Morena laid a hand on Velim’s shoulder, “I would send you both out there while the ruckus dies down and rumors of Tiamat’s Spawn running rampant among the townsfolk dissipate.”

“Does anyone else know about Willow Valley?” Velim asked, anxiety churning in their chest.

“No, just myself and Gale, as the home is his birthright,” Morena assured them, “if you decide to go, we must make the arrangements quickly before the roads become impassable.”

Velim considered their options, glancing at the curtains and imagining the city beyond boiling with talk of another sacking on their doorstep at the hands of Tiamat’s own black dragon.  It wouldn’t be long until a mob with torches and pitchforks made their way to Morena’s door intent on tearing them limb from limb.  A desolate swamp sounded like paradise in comparison, but perhaps that was the dragon talking.

Morena gathered her embroidery and stood up to leave.  “Take your time and consider my offer,” then a small smile crossed her face, “Delores and Dorothea will not be held off for long, so while you may remain in here until supper, I must insist that you join us for the meal.  I would rather introduce you in a controlled environment than allow them to discover you on their own.”

“They sound like a handful,” Velim noted.

Morena rolled her eyes.  “They are grown women, but I suppose myself or Gale must have spoiled them.  They’re both very fond of their brother, I can’t keep them away from you for long.”

“Then I thank you for the warning,”  Velim smiled, and felt a buzz of warmth as Morena returned it on her way out the door, “Tara, would you be joining us at Willow Valley?”

Tara hopped off their lap.  “No, Doctor, someone must care for the tower while Mr. Dekarios is away.  I’ll keep an eye on your flat, as well, but it would just be the two of you.”

“And the staff,” Velim clarified.

“Yes, and the staff,” Tara echoed, flitting up to the top of the wardrobe, “get some rest, Doctor, I’ll send Gale up once he’s home.  Is there anything you’d like me to retrieve from your flat?”

“There’s a book and a journal on my desk, if you can carry those,” Velim requested, thinking of the magical circuits scratched into the paper, “do you know where it is?”

“I absolutely can, and I do,” Tara purred, then was gone through the porthole.

Velim wondered how long Tara had been watching and how much she had known.  They had never heard of a familiar keeping secrets from their wizard before, but as they sat in Gale’s childhood bedroom wearing his sister’s old clothes, they figured there was a first time for everything.

[rainee-da]

I'm not sure if you do these types of requests but if it's okay could I please ask for Carpaccio with Kianna komori

Like in this scenario he at school and ends up catching feelings for her but she constantly avoids him because she doesn't know what he wants from her

*side note she has feelings for him but she pushes them down*

By the way you can find her info on my page here on Tumblr

🍀 Love Observation

CHARACTER ❥ Carpaccio Luo Yang 🍥 X Kianna Komori (OC)

W A R N I N G ⚠️ R13 w/ tw for stalking / she/her pronouns / BIG SPOILER for anime watchers!!!! / might be too OOC for you.

It has been 1 month and 13 days of me observing her.

Yes, Carpaccio counted it all.

His eyes squinted, observing each movement made by the girl that is currently sitting at the front of the class. His notebook, currently lying on his desk, is filled with numerous notes dedicated to her, capturing every detail and observation he made about her. Her biodata, her schedule, the list of her friends and enemies, her common ticks, everything.

Unbeknownst that he was already in his last entry, due to how incessantly he was observing and documenting her every move.

He sighed, throwing his pen to the side and crossing his arms as he leaned back on his desk. His expression is pinched, annoyance and confusion are imminent on his face. His analysis made him sure he could read the girl's feelings just through her facial expressions, or so he believed.

However, there was one question he couldn't grasp from her actions. He had observed that when conversing with people she liked, her eyes would widen and her brow would raise, while when conversing with those she disliked, her brow would furrow and her eyes would slant.

And for some reason, her brow always furrows whenever his and her eyes are met.

Like right now.

Though Carpaccio considers this to be ample time to view her face better. After all, she always turned away her eyes and fled whenever these opportunities arose. The only instances he could find such a chance is only when the sky are as dark as an ink, up at the trees with subtle light magic in his wand casting the only brightness in the night, silently watching her slumbering form.

To him, she was a true work of art. He often pondered in his daydreams whether she got that from her dad or mom. Her eyes, yellow as an amber, never ceased to ensnare him, making him feel as if he were a bug caught in a spider’s web. The soft brown roots of her hair blending into red ombre at the ends created such a divine contrast that was simply otherworldly, in his opinion. Even the frown on her face tugged his heart in such a way that left him addicted for more.

For reasons and methods that were yet known to him, she crept into his heart and made herself his addiction. It's a cruel and fascinating experience for him. He wants to know how this girl managed to do that to him. Is this the doing of her personal magic? or he was simply entranced by her beauty, like the other common peers of his age? Or is it something else from you that rigged him into such a fool?

Anyhow, you're fascinating to him, and he wants to learn more about this girl, at all costs. Pondering such a thing has become his guilty pleasure, distracting him in such a way to the point where he failed to realize that you had marched to his desk.

"What do you want from me, exactly?"

Although the fruitiness of your voice is laced with such a brood that hints heavily at your annoyance, it's still music to his ear.

"Why are you asking?" he replied calmly, hands moving towards his chest to soothe the rumble in his heart.

"Isn't that normal for people to ask that kind of thing, especially to someone who had been tailing me for weeks?"

Well, she's not exactly wrong on that.

Leaning against his desk, he took a closer look at her face. The smirk on his face grew as he noticed a scowl she reserved for him. He admired every expression on her face, be it good or bad. All of them are fascinating and hold a special place in his heart. Yet, any gesture of attention from her is what he longs for, and he feels a surge of triumph at his success in securing her focus.

He composed his best retort to that statement, and replied calmly, "Well, you're the one who kept running away"

"You didn't answer my question!"

"Then how else am I supposed to get to know you, Kianna?"

Oh? Now that reaction is unusual. One he had never seen before.

Carpaccio’s reply, for some reason, elicited a shocked expression from her. She let out a quiet gasp, eyes flitting around in a weak attempt to evade his gaze. Yet what truly fascinated him was the rare pinkish tint that gradually colored her cheeks and connected to her nose.

'Can I make her do that again?' is what crosses his mind.

"You… want to get to know me?" Oh, that slight waver in her tone is so endearing to him.

"I thought it was obvious?"

"No, it's not. I thought you were gonna make me your next test subject!"

Again, she's not exactly wrong on that.

Carpaccio Luo-Yang, the stellar rookie of Easton Magic Academy, has earned his notoriety due to the number of students he crippled and hospitalized for his 'experiments'. And in some ways, In some ways, Kianna isn't exactly wrong either. He is indeed observing her like a test subject, even as they are speaking.

How could he not? After all, she is just that addicting. And he needs to know why.

"I just want to learn more about you, is all."

"And that's why you've been glaring at me the entire period?" is that how she sees him? glaring?

"… I didn't mean to glare."

"And that's also why you've been stalking me around the school grounds?"

"Yes."

"And watching me when I sleep?" so she did find that one out. Is that why she stopped facing the window when she slept?

"Yes, I'm interested in you after all."

Carpaccio observes as the girl in front of her exhales harshly and hangs her head low, thinking to himself. Carpaccio took this opportunity to glance at the class he's in right now. All the students had moved for the next period and he and Kianna were the only ones left in the room.

This intimacy… he quite likes it.

However, the silence that surrounds the both of them is starting to make him uncomfortable. It was made worse by Kianna's gaze being fixed on the floor, making it hard for him to read her emotions. He wasn't sure why, but his mind started to flood with thoughts of potential bad scenarios. It was overwhelming to him, creating a suffocating tightness in his chest.

He wondered if this was what people often referred to as 'anxiety'?

"Next time…"

That hanging phrase snapped him out of his trance, and now his gaze is fixated on her with anticipation churning his stomach.

"… Just approached me like normal, uh, person. Okay? No need to do all… that,"

The look she gave him after raising her head rendered him speechless. Her face, previously tinged with soft pink, had turned scarlet red which emphasized the amber of her eyes, causing them to glimmer beautifully in the sunlight beaming from the window.

Those shyness... suits her so much, it was simply breathtaking.

" -Did you hear me? Hello?"

The sound of her finger snapping in her face shatters him out of his mind.

"Sorry, what were you saying again?"

"Hahh… really," the way she mumbles under her breath is adorable, "What I'm saying is… you didn't need to stalk me just to get to know me. It was creepy, you know.."

Something instantly clicked in his mind as she said that. Is that why she always seems to dislike him? She finds him to be creepy?

That has to change, for sure.

"… I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry," he answered honestly, the sincerity was transparent in his tone, "It's just that… I never had an interest in people before. I didn't know what to do with this.. feelings, so I just did what I thought would satisfy my... itch," with that, he could only hope that it would be enough for Kianna to understand him, to forgive him.

But then, she gave him something he truly didn't expect.

She laughed.

Her laugh was simply dazzling.

He found himself unable to look away, adoration overflowing his senses as he stared at her joyous face. Her eyes crinkled in delight with radiant smile that brought glows to her face. Her hair bounced with every laugh and the red ombre hues shimmering in the sunlight. The sight was enchanting, and his heart was brimming with comfortable warmth that soothed his insecurity away.

He can't help but stare in adoration as her eyes crinkled, her mouth curled upwards and beaming with radiance. Her hair bounces as her whole body shakes in her laugh, making the red hues of her ombres glint under the sunshine.

Her laughter, melodious as a song, filled his ears as he glanced at the forgotten book on the desk. With only enough space left for a sentence or two, he realized he'd soon need a new one. But the thoughts in his mind brought a smile to his face, for he knew precisely what he would write to fill the remaining space.

I managed to talk to Kianna today, and now I know that I'm in love.

After this, he might not need another book after all.

Hello! I didn't really know how to go with this request so I decided to challenge myself and made a fanfiction from it. I tried to make the OC reference quite minor so hopefully, other people can enjoy it too.

I'm sorry if this isn't what you meant (//sobs)

I had so much fun writing this since this made me learn more about English phrases/vocabulary, but I didn't realize I ended up writing this one for almost an entire day lol. My brain really goes whoooosh when I'm hyperfixated lol

Anyhow, I hope everyone will enjoy this one too! 🍀 thank you for reading!

[colormepurplex2]

ColorMePurplex2's Jeon Jungkook Masterlist

RATING: (regardless, this space is not for minors) G - general audience | PG - strong, suggestive language | PG-13 - frequent use of strong language, grittier subject matter | R - large amounts of vulgar language and adult references | MA - strictly for adults 18+ WARNINGS: please do not take these lightly, if it’s listed that means you can expect to encounter it DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own any part of BTS. All members of BTS are faces and name claims for these stories. Every post is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in my works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

▻ Make You Mine ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Enemies to Lovers ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, mild fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [2/2] WC: 11,231 Summary: Alphas might rule the world, but Jungkook finds himself being ruled by the need to make you his. Omegas are rare, precious, and pliant. At least, most are. When you present late, well into your twenties, you’re already set in your headstrong ways; a challenge even for a commanding alpha like Jungkook. Add to that the centuries-long feud between your families and the last thing anyone expected was for him to claim you as his soulmate. ⚠️ Angst, shit-talking, praise kink, breed kink, knotting, creampie, marking/claiming Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻Chasing Shadows ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): Modern Day Sherlock Holmes, Best Friends Brother ⤜ Genre(s): fluff, smut, angst ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [4/4] WC: 21,511 Summary: Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on an assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around. With more at stake than ever before, what lengths will you go to in order to connect the dots and catch the bad guy? ⚠️ Death threats, breaking and entering, descriptions of violence, stalker behavior, talk of crime/criminals, oral f receiving, vaginal fingering, protected sex, nipple play, dirty talk, imagery that reflects choking but isn’t, guns, lots of foul language, scare tactics, talk of a car accident from drunk driving, minor injury, mention of blood/wound, an allusion to mild depression/self-reflection Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ On Wings of Mist & Memories ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): High Fantasy, Exiled Royalty, Enemies to Lovers ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [3/3] WC: 39,753 Summary: You’re a Psion—disguised Field Scribe—of the Golden Kingdom of Bolas, attached to the Front Wing Infantry. After an ambush from the sky rips down the safe walls around you, you find yourself at the mercy of a brutal man, his dragon, and his shadows. ⚠️ Crass language, combat/violence, minor character deaths, talk of war, brief nudity (nonsexual, mostly), sexual references and feelings, flashback minor character death, mild sexual tension, suggestive inner thoughts, lots of sexual tension, crude banter, fingering, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, shadow penetration/sex (it’s exactly what you’re probably thinking it is: fun af), lots of praise, sexual pleading/begging, endearingly awkward sexual tension, shameless flirting, oral m. receiving, shadow clit play, nipple pinching/teasing, v. sex, mild cum play & eating, multiple orgasms, sad feelings/thoughts of the future, fighting, mild violence, implied minor character death, minor character terminal sickness that leads to off-page death, talk of forced bonds, heartache, pregnancy, off-page childbirth Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Now I'm Yours (follow-up to Make You Mine) ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Established relationship, Soulmates ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [2/2] WC: 14,064 Summary: Jungkook is terrible at feelings. He’s possessive, reckless, and most definitely an Alphahole; you were once his sworn enemy for a reason. But, after he claimed you as his mate during your designation celebration, how do you even begin to navigate the dark waters of such a precarious relationship? Especially when there is darkness creeping over the horizon, threatening to blanket your world in permanent shadow. ⚠️Vulgar language, semi-hate sex, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, drinking, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Shatter With Me ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): Best Friend's Husband, Surrogacy AU ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [3/4] WC: ~46,420k (ongoing) Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure. ⚠️Crass language, talk of infertility, drinking, very mild bullying and references to cruel behavior/words, talk of surrogacy, at-home medical procedure, genital touching (non-sexual), planned pregnancy, talk of pregnancy termination/abortion, BIG hurt feelings, open palm slapping, accusations of infidelity, rejected/unwanted drunken kissing that could be viewed as dubious infidelity, lies/deceit about fertility, broken marriage, infidelity, talk of divorce/filing for divorce, legal separation, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, mild dirty talk, mild begging, sex while pregnant, creampie Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Best Friend's Fiancé, Soulmates AU ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [1/1] WC: 11,742 Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

WIPS: Smoke & Mirrors - mafia, single dad All Night Long - music festival turned fuckfest

◅ Back to MAIN Masterlist

Check out my other Masterlists: OT7 x Reader/OT7 Kim NamjoonKim SeokjinMin YoongiJung HoseokPark JiminKim TaehyungJeon JungkookMulti-Member x Reader/OCMember x Member

©️      2021-24    ColorMePurplex2  

[clanofjones]

Introduction!

HI!

I'm your resident ROTTMNT fan artist and fanfic writer!

You can call me Moth, Jones, or Crow, whatever floats your boat!

I'm agender, they/them pronouns!

I'm aroace and sapphic!

My fandoms are TMNT, (mostly Rise, 2012, and Mutant Mayhem) The Owl House, the Batfamily, Gravity Falls, Helluva Boss, and others!

MY CURRENT PROJECTS:

Of Mutants, Mystics, and Mayhem: A Rise of the TMNT and The Owl House crossover comic AU. Concepts by myself and my friend, @crowleytheguy, and comics drawn by yours truly. Master post is the pinned post on my sideblog for the AU, @of-mutants-mystics-and-magic. Still in progress.

Cardinal Rules: A Rise of the TMNT fanfic series done entirely by myself. Set post the Rise Movie, it deals with Casey Jones Jr. going through life, some of my personal ideas for Season 3 episodes, some scrapped Season 2 episodes but altered, and just some good clean fun with a pinch of angst! The masterpost can be found here! The first fic, which is completed, can be found here!

Ghosts of Our Days: A TMNT 2012 Rasey (Raph x Casey) fanfiction written by myself and my wonderful best friend, @theosb0rnway. It's angst heavy, and has a major character death in the first chapter, so this one might not be for everybody, but for those it is for, GO NUTS AND BEHOLD MY CO-BRAIN CHILD! The first chapter can be found here! Masterpost found here! Still in progress.

I draw, occasionally animate, and write! Asks are always open, so feel free to hop over with any requests, barring the following (unless certain circumstances change things, but you will need to give an explicit reason):

No incest or pedophilia. No exceptions.

No ships with a 'problematic' age gap. I have had personal struggles with this recently, so please refrain. If it's a matter of one party being of age (say, 18) and the other being just below age (say, 17) then this is usually fine. Case-by-case basis.

No abusive ships or relationships please! No exceptions.

Keep it PG-13. I'm fine with swearing, but no sexual content, if you don't mind. I'm just not comfortable drawing it. No exceptions.

Here is what I will do:

LGBTQ+

Gen/platonic relationships! We need more bromances imo

Violence, just not excessive gore, if you don't mind.

Requests for fully colored panels etc. from my fanfics/comics! Love that stuff!

OC's and OC x Canon, so long as it doesn't violate the no-no's listed above

Message me if you like, I love making friends! :)

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

Hallmark Ratings - 2023

So here's a look at the ratings for most of Hallmark's 2023 programing. No info on what the numbers were for stuff aired on Hallmark Movies Now of course, and I don't have the numbers for what the Love Club movies did when aired on the Hallmark Channel.

1 - A Merry Scottish Christmas (CTC) - 3.33 2 - A Biltmore Christmas (CTC) - 3.12 3 -Christmas Island (CTC) - 2.62 4 - The Wedding Veil Expectations (NYNM) - 2.48  5- Haul Out the Holly: Lit Up (CTC) - 2.38 6 - The Wedding Veil Journey (NYNM) - 2.29  7 - The Wedding Veil Inspiration (NYNM) - 2.28 8 - Holiday Hotline (CTC) - 2.27 9 - 3 Bed, 2 Bath, 1 Ghost (FIL) - 2.25 10 - A Heidelberg Holiday (CTC) - 2.18 11 - Holiday Road (CTC) - 2.13 12 - Sealed With a List (CTC) - 2.10 13 - Sweeter Than Chocolate (Loveuary) - 2.06  14 - Catch Me If You Claus (CTC) - 2.05 15 - My Norwegian Holiday (CTC) - 2.03 15 - Christmas on Cherry Lane (CTC) - 2.03 16 - A Not So Royal Christmas (CTC) - 2.02 17 - Love in Glacier National: A National Park Romance (NYNM) - 1.98  17 - The Wedding Cottage (SIL) - 1.98  18 - Navigating Christmas (CTC) - 1.97 19 - Christmas in Notting Hill (CTC) - 1.92 19 - The Secret Gift of Giving (CTC) - 1.92 20 - Everything Christmas (CTC) - 1.90 21 - A Paris Proposal (Loveuary) - 1.88  22 - Welcome to Valentine (Loveuary) - 1.85  22 - Magic in Mistletoe (CTC) - 1.85 23 - Never Been Chris'd (CTC) - 1.80 24 - Where Are You, Christmas? (CTC) - 1.78 25 - Flipping for Christmas (CTC) - 1.77 26 - Joyeux Noel (CTC) - 1.74 26 - Our Christmas Mural (CTC) - 1.74 27 - A Picture of Her (SIL) - 1.73 28 - Mystic Christmas (CTC) - 1.72 29 - The Santa Summit (CTC) - 1.70 30 - The Dog Lover’s Guide to Dating (NYNM) - 1.68  31 - Checkin' It Twice (CTC) - 1.68 32 - Made for Each Other (Loveuary) - 1.62  33 - A Pinch of Portugal (SIL) - 1.59  34 - Fourth Down and Love (FIL) - 1.58 35 - Love’s Greek to Me (JW) - 1.57  35 - Christmas With a Kiss (CTC) (Mahogany) - 1.57 36 - A Royal Christmas Crush (CIJ) - 1.56 37 - Hearts in the Game - 1.54  37 - Round and Round (CTC) - 1.54 38 - Field Day (FIL) - 1.53 38 - Under the Christmas Sky (CTC) - 1.53 39 - Love in Zion National: A National Park Romance - 1.51  40 - A Safari Romance (SN) - 1.50  41 - Love in the Great Smoky Mountains: A National Park Romance  (FIL) - 1.49  41 - Notes of Autumn (FIL) - 1.49 41 - Letters to Santa (CTC) - 1.49 42 - Game of Love - 1.47  43 - Aloha Heart (SN) - 1.46  44 - Making Waves (SN) - 1.45  45 - Retreat to You (FIL) - 1.43 46 - The Professional Bridesmaid (SIL) - 1.40  46 - The Wedding Contract (JW) - 1.40  47 - Take Me Back for Christmas (CIJ) - 1.39 48 - A Winning Team - 1.38  48 - Love in the Maldives (SIL) - 1.38  48 - When Love Springs (SIL) - 1.38  49 - Never Too Late to Celebrate (SN) - 1.37  50 - Wedding Season (JW) - 1.34  51 - Christmas by Design (CTC) - 1.31 52 - Friends & Family Christmas (CTC) - 1.30 53 - Make Me a Match (JW) - 1.23  53 - A Very Venice Romance (FIL) - 1.23 54 - Dream Moms - 1.18  55 - Napa Ever After (SN) (Mahogany) - 1.09

1 - Miracle in Bethlehem, PA (MOC) (DaySpring) - 1.91 2 - Heaven Down Here (MOC) - 1.38 3 - To All a Good Night (MOC) - 1.35 4 - Mystery on Mistletoe Lane (MOC) - 1.30 5 - A Season for Family (MOC) - 1.19 6 - Curious Caterer: Grilling Season - 1.18  7 - Time for Her to Come Home for Christmas (MOC) - 1.13 8 - My Christmas Guide (MOC) - 1.09 9 - A World Record Christmas (MOC) - 1.06 10 - Family History Mysteries: Buried Past - 1.01  10 - Ms. Christmas Comes to Town (MOC) - 1.01 11 - A Zest for Death: A Hannah Swensen Mystery - 0.99 12 - The Dancing Detective: A Deadly Tango - 0.87 13 - Curious Caterer: Fatal Vows - 0.86 14 - The Cases of Mystery Lane - 0.82  15 - Carrot Cake Murder: A Hannah Swensen Mystery - 0.79  15 - Haunted Harmony Mysteries: Murder in G Major - 0.79 16 - Aurora Teagarden Mysteries: Something New - 0.74  17 - Unexpected Grace - 0.69  18 - The Blessing Bracelet (DaySpring) - 0.66  19 - The More Love Grows - 0.63 20 - Mystery Island - 0.59 21 - Come Fly With Me - 0.58 22 - The Jane Mysteries: Inheritance Lost - 0.57  23 - Guiding Emily - 0.56 24 - Big Sky River: The Bridal Path - 0.52  25 - A Lifelong Love - 0.43 26 - Spring Breakthrough (Mahogany) - 0.38  27 - A Nashville Legacy (Mahogany) - 0.31

--- Season One --- Episode 1 - Mothers and Daughters - 1.44  Episode 2 - Scar Tissue - 1.54  Episode 3 - I Don’t Want to Moss a Thing - 1.39  Episode 4 - What’s My Age Again? - 1.56  Episode 5 - Don’t Dream It’s Over - 1.31  Episode 6 - Building a Mystery - 1.52  Episode 7 - The End of the World as We Know It - 1.57  Episode 8 - Lovefool - 1.43   Episode 9 - The Day the Music Died - 1.61  Episode 10 - Not All Who Wander Are Lost - 1.74

--- Season One --- Episode 1 - Legend of the Fall - 1.31  Episode 2 - Rodeo and Juliet - 1.04  Episode 3 - The McMurray Curse - 0.94  Episode 4 - Estella - 1.16  Episode 5 - When It Rains… - 0.94   Episode 6 - Your Cheatin’ Heart - 1.19  Episode 7 - Ride of Die - 0.90  Episode 8 - Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace - 1.04    Episode 9 - Truths Laid Bare - 0.84  Episode 10 - Andalusians - 1.02

--- Season Ten --- Episode 1 - Carpe Diem - 1.93  Episode 2 - Hope Springs Eternal - 1.72   Episode 3 - Oh, Baby - 1.69  Episode 4 - Great Expectations - 1.88   Episode 5 - Life is But a Dream - 1.95 Episode 6 - The Heart of the Problem - 1.81   Episode 7 - Best Laid Plans - 1.76  Episode 8 - What Is and What Never Should Be - 1.84 Episode 9 - Deep Water - 1.97  Episode 10 - All Dressed Up - 1.96  Episode 11 - Long Time Running - 1.98  Episode 12 - Starry Nights - 2.29

[herecomesjoon]

Return

Pairing Yoongi x Reader Rating 13+ Genre/Tropes Magic!au, angst if you squint Warnings Drinking, Min MF Yoongis hands WC 475 Crosspost AO3 - herecomessatvrn Summary One day, your home smelled like his magic again. AN A short drabble written during some sprint sessions. I was inspired by this prompt… "They lived alone, so they were alarmed to see flowers and a sweating glass of champagne on the table when they arrived home."

Thank you @sunshinerainbowsbts for just having a look at this for no other reason than I wanted you to read it first. And thank you @egocypher for the gorgeous moodboard banner for this. <3

Another day done, and it was the same as it had been the day before, and the one before that. Each sunrise melted into the same sunset on repeat, and the only joy in your life thus far had been the neighborhood stray that had claimed you as its own three years ago. As you climbed the stairs, the dusty gray tabby lifted her head, stretched and yawned as she left the last patch of quickly fading sunshine.

“Hey Holly. Anything to report for the day?” 

She yawned again, and meowed before pawing at the door. You smile and hold it open to let her sprint towards the kitchen ahead of you. Just as it had been for the past three years, you had a routine that the two of you had fallen into.

You set down your bag and emptied your pockets into the glass dish on top of the hall table. When you looked up, your cat had stopped short of the kitchen. She stared into the living room as if something else had taken up residence there. You saw the hair on her back bristle before she disappeared through the doorway. 

That's when you felt it. You could smell it too. Like static on a cold day, and that sharp ozone sort of smell after a summer rain. The smell of magic. 

The only magic that should have been in this house was your own. And it smelled of cinnamon and clove, and salty sea air. The further you went into your home, the magic revealed itself to you. One layer at a time. 

First cedar, and then burnt sugar and vanilla. Smoothed over with something sharp and metallic, icy almost. 

You froze in the doorway. This was not new and strange, butsomething familiar from your past. Something, no, someone that you had never thought you would see again. 

From the winged armchair appeared a hand. Long elegant fingers wrapped around a glass filled with amber liquid. On the table beside, a bouquet of flowers. A quick glance around and you saw the same coat he had put on the day he disappeared. It should have shown more age, but it still looked as new as the day you gave it to him. If he had been off in the world getting into trouble, you should have seen the wear and tear. 

Your coat fell to the floor, and in the silence of the house, it was loud enough to make him turn. You dreamed that one day, he would return to you. But yo it was only a dream. Just like you tried to convince yourself that this was. As his profile came into view, you went to pinch your arm, to try to wake yourself up. But not before seeing his face one more time. 

“Hi Love. Sorry I’m late.”

AN Thank you so much for reading! Comments and feedback mean the world to me! Come say hello to me, my ask box is always open! <3