#even better yet if one dog is silver and the other is black and they act like surrogates for obkk

[raikirikiri]

i like to imagine that one of the first things kakashi did as hokage was have a leslie knope moment and marry two dogs for the public’s entertainment. sure it was also selfish desire but who doesn’t love cutesy little shit like dog marriage? the villagers eat it up! how cute!! dogs married!! how jovial and preposterous! konoha’s finest couple!

but they were actually two boy dogs. so kakashi essentially comes out as a supporter of gay marriage by association and it causes a little uproar in some communities in the village. they demand the dogs be divorced and that they marry girl dogs like proper gentleman. some even say they should be prohibited from the village and returned to the wilds for such ‘treason’. but unlike leslie, kakashi doesn’t care and the dogs are fucking gay. get over it.

and wait till the villagers find out their hokage is gay too

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Surprise visit with needs

modern!Aemond x servant!reader

warning : +18, smut, mommy issues, breast play, thigh job (humping), implied age gap (Aemond is in his 20s and reader in her 30s), hurt/comfort, family problems, aemond needs reassurance, kissing, fluff, no use of y/n, nicknames : Ma'm/Mommy/Muse

Summary : Just because you're the second son of the rich Targaryen family doesn't mean you're automatically a somebody. Ignored by his father and mother, Aemond takes the path as a musician, but after a small concert but all the more the cries and accusations of his parents he comes back home exhausted, broken but above all looking for comfort a comfort that only one can give him…

info : OMG the pictures i mean all like how beautiful can someone be an angel, my muse he is so pretty and deserves only more photos thanks for the help in choosing the reader and i wish everyone a lot of fun reading ;)

masterlist

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The night was cool too late to even call it evening but still too early to herald the morning. A time when no one was on the streets anymore and no one wanted to be in King's Landing even though the city was large with many neighbourhoods and their histories it was still a city riddled with poverty, brutality and the power of the youth who held various parties and concerts every night in the pubs and various factory buildings.

A city that had stood for hundreds of years and had always belonged to them, the dragons as they were called because of the family crest that dated back to the Middle Ages when they conquered the city with fire and had ruled ever since.

The Targaryen family silver haired beauties with more money and influence than you could imagine whether it was the sea routes of trade through the Velaryons or the other influential families like the Baratheons or Arryns it was a family that had many members but above all the family had a black sheep, one member that stood out.

One son is good he is the heir but the second son he is like a shadow never really important always second and never the hope of the future no matter how well he learnt or trained with the sword no matter how many times Aemond met his older brother with the blade no matter how many tournaments and medals he brought back home it never seemed enough never even close.

So he withdrew, though still part of the time, when his father or mother, even his grandfather, or his teacher Criston demanded it, he was there like a ‘dog’, but each time it came back differently less gold more free dragon….at least that's what he thought.

A free dragon who did what he wanted to do, a guitar on his leg playing and his lips on the microphone he entertained the city that had given him more than once what the rich son needed and wanted, on his hands the silver rings and the dragon tattoo on his arm and yet at the end of the day.

When the moon was over the city and the dark alleys were only slightly illuminated, he was still dressed in gold when he went back through the high, thick iron gate and was always let in by the servants or sneaked in.

But then the fire of his parents' disappointment hardly hurt him anymore, it was more the threat that he would take away his guitar and send him away to his great cousin or whatever Rhaenys was related to in order to “get some fresh air” by the sea, as his father always glossed over it.

He sometimes avoided the older man's gaze, sometimes held his own, but all Aemond saw was a rich old man who had overreached himself and couldn't really see what his well-born family was really going through.

But the thing that hurt the most when he looked in his room helpless on the bed and the guitar next to him was hearing his mum's footsteps his mum standing in the open door her disappointment ,,I really thought you were better matured than Aegon I am disappointed Aemond everything is already complicated and you are making it worse" her words clearly audible in the room but he tried not to hear them.

The green and gold always showing the colours of her family, her blood that she always carried close to her and that he himself had worn most of the time but now everything just seemed so monotonous and overwhelming.

He just nodded slightly and looked down at the pain of his scar throbbing, stabbing, disturbing him saying that he was a bad prince a bad son a disappointment before the door closed and he was alone in the room alone with his feelings but most of all with no one to turn to.

I've given everything mother he thought he wanted to tell her but knew it wasn't enough and instead sighed trying to distract himself with his guitar and record collection but after the time of self-pity, hatred and insecurity his stomach grumbled.

He heard the confused growl of Vhagar lying on her dog basket, an old wolfhound that had belonged to his grandfather and just seemed to be going through the motions, a friend when he needed to get out of the castle and someone soft to cheer him up even if it was just rolling the ball back and forth, but when he was hungry Vhagar couldn't help much.

,,Umbās Vhagar I'll be right back’ he commanded the dog in the old language from the former land from which his ancestors supposedly came, but it had been lost for centuries and nothing more than ruins of Valyria remained, but even his ancestors would not help him.

Opening the door to the long hallway, he could hear his brother's snoring even through the door, but above all he could smell the odour of grass and beer, the typical smell of the heir to the throne, ,,How beguiling," he murmured cynically and turned his eyes to see the small ray of light under the room next to his and he calmed down slightly.

His dear sister Helaena was not awake, not a rarity as her interests, which were centred on insects and nature, only allowed few public appearances like his only when necessary.

He had no interest in her insects but he enjoyed her company when he wrote a book of new songs and listened to her thoughts that she spoke to him, some of which he turned into songs and gave her as a birthday present, a thing that always made her happy.

But ignoring his family, knowing that his father was asleep and his mother was probably on another floor for a ‘meeting’ with Criston Cole, he had a clear and safe route down to the first floor where the large open-plan kitchen and living room were located.

The walls honoured the family with old murals of legends and legends of dragons and the taking of King's Landing by his ancestor Aegon and his sisters' wives Visenya and Rhaenys, a legend and story with truth and fantasy that he could learn and interpret in contrast to Aegon whose face he had to see again as he looked at the large family picture but turned his image away from the black and white photograph.

Emotions welled up in him again and he twisted the silver rings on his fingers trying to turn away from the pain of his scar and his mind as he saw the moon shining into the kitchen, his only companion on the way back and oh now there was only one person who would see him.

Still and quiet it was in the house not loud and full of life like the old bar he had played in where people cheered and cheered and listened to him and he felt somehow loved as his body shook with his own voice and the vibration of his guitar.

It was freedom, a life he should have and actually was allowed to have because as a second son he was good for nothing but looking good when his parents needed him to, he was no hope and would never matter.

His emotions boiled inside him as he ripped open the door to the fridge and after grabbing the first best thing he could after what he wanted again he took out the bottle of milk and slammed the door shut again and turned to the pull out cupboard and just took the cereal and poured it into a bowl the little tinkling of the single oat flakes and other dried seeds were almost like music.

But the sounds drowned in the milk as the crunchy sound of chewing kept coming up in the silence and the rich prince sat down on the kitchen counter with the bowl in front of him and brought the spoon to his mouth again and again, savouring the taste of the ice-cold milk with the cereal it felt like the only thing he had eaten after breakfast in the morning before sneaking out again.

It was like this almost every day, sometimes only every other day when he was forced by his mum to join the family or even attend the visit of his half-sister and her family, a thing he hated and his tongue always made a cynical comment to his half-nephew Lucerys.

It may have all been an accident back then, playing around with the sharp letter opener and naive children but the damage was done and now he wore either the black eye patch or the dark blue sapphire prosthetic eye, his injury the only good thing was that his mum was with him again for a long time.

Her voice soft with a hint of worry but mostly love and apology when she held his hand, stroked his head and always gave him a gentle kiss on the head before falling asleep but most of all she was proud of him to get through this being as strong as a dragon for a small moment he had seen that she wished so much that he had become Aemond the firstborn and not his brother Aegon.

But that wish and that time had been over for more than a decade and so now he sat here almost laughing at the irony of it all and yet he seemed to feel the tingling on his skin where she had always touched him, given him comfort whether he was really hurting or lying it didn't matter as long as his mother loved him and wasn't disappointed it didn't seem to matter.

Lost in his thoughts about the time of comfort and love, he noticed too late the footsteps coming towards him from the dark of the house, the woman coming towards him, the high heels making a clacking sound and the dark uniform with white embroidery was an image he saw every day, but even so, when the older woman said ,,Good evening Aemond" he winced violently and dropped the spoon into the bowl, the milk splashing slightly and sticking to the ends of his hair.

His eyes went from the spilt milk to her and he saw that she was still wearing her uniform, she always wore it, there didn't seem to be a day or night when she didn't wear it.

The black dress that went up to her thighs, the dark nylon tights sometimes white or blending in with her skin and clinging to her legs, the black high heels she could run in and often did when his brother threatened to throw up on the carpet and she had to practically carry Aegon into the bathroom.

But the white embroidery on the edge of her dress and on her wrists bright white pure innocent fabric that never had a stain she always seemed to be the purest thing in the house, no the purest thing in his family.

,,Good evening…Miss" he replied and swallowed to moisten his drying throat which didn't quite work so he tried to take a spoonful of the milk which didn't quite work either as half of it was in his dark hair and on the kitchen counter.

As always, she smirked, her lips a slight smile and her voice revealing joy and slight infatuation when the prince addressed a simple servant as Miss, but he had been doing this too since she had been here for as long as he could remember, she was there for them all and especially for him, ,,I could have made you something proper" she said casually and came up to him he saw her casually drop a silver thimble into her dress pocket.

His mother had always insisted on having her clothes hand-tailored by her and it had to be extravagant but it took a bit of time she only had at night or in the morning.

,,No need I just wanted something small" he lied and he saw her briefly sceptical look as she looked at him and still turned away to grab a drying cloth and held it under the tap she wiped the milk off the kitchen counter and he only now realised how close she was to him.

He blocked the stains but she only briefly put a hand on his wrist and signalled him to stay seated but instead of continuing to eat his food he couldn't help but feel the warmth on his leg and side as she moved to clean him, her warm soft body pressing against him again and again.

Aemond almost flinched when she used the drying towel to lightly dry his hair and a few of the stains on his khaki trousers and the light-coloured helmet to make it easier to wash, ,,Don't-you don't have to do it," he tried to stop her but she put his hand aside and took the bowl from his hand.

He almost felt stupid just sitting here, being served everything like his brother and having everything given to him but…now just as she put the cloth aside and gave him an almost motherly look, ,,Don't you? Oh Aemond how many times has it happened now mhh?" she asked him alluding not only to their nightly meetings but also to the nights and mornings when he had to deal with his parents, his feelings were hurt and a broken boy who could never lie in his mother's arms again longed for exactly that.

A prince who wanted to be king in the shadow of his brother and would never be of the same value again, a maimed prince who deep inside longed for something he would never get again.

,,I-I wanted to apologise he threatened me again but mother her disappointment burned like a fire" he admitted slowly lowering his head he looked at the soiled clothes and he felt the lump in his throat as he thought of his mother's look again.

She only seemed to look at him like that for the last few months and weeks since the day he had dyed his light hair black and taken care of his business but since then Alicent hadn't even hugged or touched her second son. It was as if he didn't exist and he longed for more physical contact night after night.

No one appreciated him in what he did, no one appreciated her, it was she who had taught him to play the guitar, had practised with him, had given him a hug after his first concert instead of the shouting of his parents and the jokes of a brother that Aemond Taryren preferred to socialise with the common people rather than the big crowd.

But she like a ghost was always with him even when the tears rolled down his cheek when his mother hurt him like no one else could, ,,I'm sure she would have understood, I get it you were looking for fun, recognition and love is normal no shame" her voice replied softly.

Not a hint of reproach to be heard in it as her hand laid on his cheek her fingers caressed his skin and he slowly closed his eye and snuggled up to her hand. Warm and soft as everything of hers she always welcomed him into her arms as he leaned his head against the crook of her neck.

She always smelled of sweet biscuits and warm clothes, a smell that represented a mother to him, a sense of security that he so wanted to have again, ,,I was never good enough," she heard the words that had probably plagued him all evening as his fingers wrapped around her, he squeezed her and she held him, stroking his back and he slowly, slowly pressed himself closer to her, trying to push his neediness straight towards her.

,,Shhh don't say that for me you've always been more than enough Aemond,’ she made him hear what he needed, what he wanted before he lifted his head to look at her his eye dark in the night seemed to slowly replace itself with lust and desire before he came closer to her just waiting for her consent which she gave him with a nod before he pressed his lips to hers.

His fingers that were on her tightened not tearing at her fabric yet he seemed afraid she would leave him, let go like his mother that she would never hold him his sigh sent a shiver down her spine as his centre slowly pressed against her thigh as she stood practically between his legs.

The cold leather of his black jacket fell away from his shoulders as she slipped it off, ,,I'm only here for you," she told him again, slightly breathless as she ran her fingers over his lip and kissed his scar, noticing the twitching of his skin with excitement and arousal.

His reaction warmed his cheeks and he closed his eye enjoying this special kind of love on something grotesque like him and she almost thought she heard a whimper from him, ,,You love me" he said but she knew it was more of a question than a statement her fingers trying to reach his shirt were held by him almost shaking with ignorance.

,,Of course I love you like a mother loves her child, a dragon loves fire or humans love money…in the end I will be everything you want me to be Aemond," she reminded him, still reminding him of the reality he was in with her, where they were and what it would mean if they were discovered.

Their eyes met she almost thought she saw tears in his eyes until she saw a slight smile of satisfaction his lips kissed her hands and he nuzzled her lips again seeking another kiss to get close to her and savour her love.

Her fingers opened his shirt slightly and stroked his unblemished skin massaging his taut muscles slightly and a relieved moan came over his lips, ,,That's it, just relax my love," she whispered, her lips lightly kissing his neck and sometimes her fingernails leaving red streaks that seemed to burn like fire for a moment.

She noticed his own efforts at arousal as he slowly rubbed against her thigh while his hands pushed her dress up just a bit, he would never expose her the way Aegon had tried several times.

She was his muse, the substitute for a mother's comfort or simply a past of his own that he wished he could have had longer, ,,May I? " he asked as his fingers travelled up her dress, gently making small circles or scratches as he felt her underwear under the fabric but his fingers were on the top of her dress.

However, she realised herself that with his touches and kisses, her body was also reacting to him, the slight arousing throbbing in her middle, the tingling in her body that made her nipples slowly harden and she could see very well that even in the low light that his eye had fixed on her breasts, her nipples were pressing lightly against the fabric, even the bra couldn't hide it, ,,Of course you can," she gave Aemond permission and pulled back from him, giving him what he wanted as his skilful fingers pulled the fabric of her dress down slightly to rest against her bra.

She smirked as she saw his brief puzzlement in his eye her bra was the same dark sapphire colour as his eye but it seemed to please the prince for a moment creating a smirk, ,,A pretty colour" he murmured.

His fingers ran with a light pressure over the lacy bra feeling her goose bumps the warm soft skin but most of all he enjoyed her sigh and encouragement as he lightly massaged her breasts, these full-on encounters had happened too often for him not to know what she liked.

The prince had been too busy with her and what would have been a shame a hundred years ago seemed to be just another bad joke in his whole weird family, ,,Always so hasty," she murmured as he pulled down the lacy fabric covering her nipples faster than usual and looked at her nipples and he immediately let go of her apologetically, she saw how it unsettled him as it reminded him of the question of whether he had done something wrong.

But just as quickly a moan came from his lips and a closing of his eyes as her hand went to his bump and stroked his hardness, ,,But a good boy no matter if you hurry go ahead Aemond I'm not going anywhere" she assured him and her other hand twisted one of the silver rings on his before she picked it up and kissed it sucking lightly and seeing with satisfaction that his cheeks had darkened another shade.

The tightening of his groin replaced his mind of uncertainty with lust as she slowly let go of him and gave herself to him again she let him do it felt him turn to her breasts again for a moment before she let out a throaty moan as his lips came to her nipple almost cautiously knowing what he was doing was shameful like his brother had done in the past but her hand on his head playing with the dark hair assuring him it was okay he closed his eye.

His body relaxed, his breathing steady and the slight sucking sound could be heard as he sucked on her nipple, his fingers massaging the other and her hand caressing him as he rubbed against her thigh every now and then a stifled moan and grunt could be heard.

She knew he would love to have something, something she could not give him until her body was in a certain state but such a thing the dutiful Aemond would never do, Aegon yes but the shame he would bring would be impossible.

Instead he made do with what he had his change was clear to see the uncertainty and hatred and disappointment was gone a broken prince relaxed in the arms of a mother figure he loved in a way even though they were not related.

It was a different kind of affection yet it was an affection a feeling that went with lust ,,So good my muse" she heard his murmur as he looked up at her as she saw lust and gratitude in the dark eye a look of a rich man fallen deep from his dragon fallen.

Her hand brushed from his head over his scar again and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead as she stroked him a little faster, ,,Anything for a good boy," she replied and pressed him against her again, letting him take the pace of his arousal as he rubbed himself against her again and again, following the high as he almost rocked back and forth as if she were holding him properly in her arms.

But he didn't let go of her, he continued to give himself to her, to this secure hold, to the arousal, and she heard his lustful sounds more and more steamed as he rubbed himself against her faster and she kept whispering to him how good he was.

How good and a good boy he was for her, she knew that Aemond needed this and even if the limit of the one-time had long since been crossed, they both knew that it couldn't last forever.

No matter it didn't matter because in the lust her words were lost in his foggy mind where he was trembling with lust holding on to her ,,I-I gonna-ah please" she heard his ragged words barely intelligible in the noise of the large room and yet she knew he was close to his climax the heavy rushed breathing, the needy look in his eye when he looked up at her through his lashes the lust soaked gaze nothing but neediness could be seen.

Her hand played with the lengths of his hair knowing he would wait for her for the words she made him do the neediness before she murmured ,,Come for mummy" to him the whimper and groan he heard as he buried his head in the crook of her neck with a jerk and held on to her and for a moment seemed to forget everything around him.

A sight of shame, lust and embarrassment would see them both like this but it was egall it was egall that he needed her in a perverse way that was not lustful, it was egall that she was above him and could command him if she wanted to because as soon as he broke away from her he was Aemond Targaryen the second prince and millionaire again and she was nothing more than the nameless servant.

She took her hands from him after a few minutes and felt him almost grumble as he lost her warmth, lost her security and devotion, ,,Don't…don't leave me," she heard his voice softly, barely more than a whisper as he reached for her wrist but she pulled it away and adjusted her bra and dress before taking his face in her hands.

The brightness of his eyes returning as the night slowly threatened to end and the royal house of Targaryen would return to ‘normality’ she gently stroked his scar, ,,I am here Aemond call me and I am here ask for me and I am here I will always be here if you need me my prince" she replied and gave him one last kiss on his bruised skin before pulling away from him.

She took the drying towel and the leather jacket with her she would wash the rest of his clothes during the day she heard the clacking of her shoes as he scurried from the kitchen counter ,,Good night" he said after her again it seemed almost ironic to say it now when they had spent the last few hours together and yet he heard her laugh heard her amused laugh which pleased his own comfort.

,,Good night my Prince Aemond I am proud of you…and your last concert’ she said back to him as she gave him one last smile and the younger wondered if she had been in the crowd that liked him at all his concerts so far.

With the sun slowly rising, maybe it really did seem like she was always by his side when he needed her and she was there to rescue him from the ruthlessness of his family into her own dragon fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@vipervixxen , @thefangirlsblog , @rl-nancyholbrook , @reylatargaryen

[kitthepurplepotato]

Side note: I’m not back from my hiatus, I’m just giving you guys a treat to make the long waits a little bit better!

Chapter 7 - Something’s wrong with the puppy.

Summary: Eijirou comes into the coffee shop looking like the ghost of himself. Needless to say, you make sure he feels better as soon as possible.

Warnings: Swear words, reader has a few, tiny bit inappropriate thoughts here and there, sharing a bath (in underwear! Nothing cheeky!) a little bit angsty on Kirishima’s side, bless his broken little soul.

First Chapter Master List

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“Who made you frown like that, puppy dog?”

Eijirou is here for his usual morning beverage but he looks absolutely… done. He also looks like he just finished a shift instead of starting one but you decide not to comment on that for now; his mental health is much more important than the fact that he has soot all over his face and probably scares the customers with his disheveled look. His bright red hair is muted into a weird, dark grayish-crimson color and there are cracks in the metal parts of his costume.

It has been two weeks since your first kiss but Eijirou haven’t kissed you since. His work was hectic, your date on that Friday got canceled and you’ve only seen each other here, in the coffee shop and even that was only for a few minutes instead the usual half an hour. You miss him so much. “Why are so dirty, hun’?”

“I don’t want to go back. Too much. Tired. Don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

Yet here he is, in a busy coffee shop, just so he can see you. Fucking hell, you love him so much.

“Come.” You point towards the staff room at the back. Thankfully, the boss is here to support you today and she’s nice enough to not comment on the fact that you are supposed to serve customers and not to give mental support to your broken boyfriend. You make eye contact with her and she only rolls her eyes.

“Go home.” She mouths silently and you don’t need to be asked twice.

“Actually, change of plans, follow me.”

Eijirou doesn’t say a word through the whole journey home. You call a taxi and tell the guy your address; you don’t want anyone to see him like that and you are quite sure he wouldn’t want that either if he would be in the right state of mind.

You open your door but Ei doesn’t move so you pull him in with you and make your way towards the bathroom with him. He still haven’t said a single word since you’ve left the coffee shop but that’s okay. You start the water in the bath and pour your favorite lavender scented bubble bath into it; the water becomes purple with silver glitters swirling around happily, the scent calming you right away and you can only hope it does the same for your mopey companion.

“I’ll take your… this thing off. Is that okay?” You point at the two metal accessories on his torso and he only nods at that. You hate seeing him like this. Eijirou should always smile. He’s beautiful when he’s happy.

It takes you a few seconds to understand how those things work but after a while you find two clips on the back; you catch the gauntlets when they are about to fall down and you almost pull a muscle; they are so heavy you can’t believe he’s working in these every day. You wouldn’t be able to lift them if you wouldn’t have gone through your uncle’s training when you were a teen.

“Let’s clean you up a little bit before you sit in, okay?” You take a cloth from the cupboard and wet it, slowly stroking the hero’s upper body to rid him of the black soot. He doesn’t say anything but his frown deepens, like he’s ashamed of being in this state, which honestly, it’s quite understandable. As the soot disappears you find quite a lot of scars, they aren’t bleeding anymore but they definitely sting but he doesn’t even flinch when you touch them with the wet towel. You decide to leave then untreated for now and do that after the bath when hopefully, Eijirou will have more mental energy to actually communicate. They are really small compared to the usual hero injuries but for a normal person, these would be enough to end up in a hospital for at least a day. This is one of the things that makes you mad about the hero world… how they are treated differently even though they are just humans, like everyone else. All these old scars on his body wouldn’t be there if they would have been treated properly, but they weren’t; because it’s just a “scratch”, too small for the medic team to care about in the chaos but injuries like that still leave a scar afterwards but apparently that doesn’t matter because heroes aren’t supposed to be pretty, they are nothing but a living-breathing weapon, even in this day and age. It got a little bit better since pro hero Deku and his gang took over the top charts but there’s still a long way to go before the heroes can get the right treatment.

Eijirou’s muscles bounce under your hands, the skin alternating between soft and rough, depending on the area; for instance, the area where his gauntlets is full of callouses, angry and red, probably from the constant friction. You drop the wet towel into the sink to trace them with your fingers, but Eijirou catches your wrist after a few tentative strokes.

“Hurts.” He mumbles. “Ugly.”

It breaks your heart how he can’t even make a full sentence properly right now. He’s a shadow of himself, a dark blob in the well-lit bathroom.

“It’s not.” Is all you say and decide to approach the situation in a different way; you move into Eijirou’s space and start leaving tiny kisses around the area, slowly moving closer to the calluses and leaving feather light pecks all over the reddish area. “It’s beautiful because it’s you.”

Eijirou doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. He starts to sob loudly, pulling you closer by your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, body flush against yours. Your heart thrashes in your chest and you are quite sure he can feel the heavy bangs against his chest but instead of feeling ashamed you just feel… happy. Happy to be able to show him how much he means to you in ways he knows you can’t fake. “I really like you, Eijirou.”

“I love you. So much.” His hand grips your hair at your nape and you almost moan from the sudden pleasure. Your scalp was always really sensitive so you hated when people ruffled your hair in a friendly gesture but this… this is perfect. It’s more than perfect when it’s Eijirou who’s doing it.

“Let me take care of you, Ei.” He doesn’t say anything to that just lets you pull him towards the bath full of bubbles. “Can I get rid of your trousers? Underwear can stay.” He nods again and you get to work, trying not to think about about how suggestive this whole situation is. It’s not the right time for that. You already made the situation weird by enjoying the hair pulling a bit too much so it’s time for you take a deep breath and take your mind out of the gutter. He needs you.

Eijirou plops into the bath like a good boy after that but doesn’t do anything else; he just sits there with an empty gaze, staring at the shower gel bottle in the corner as though he’s having a silent conversation with it. And maybe he does. Who knows.

He doesn’t let your hand go, he holds it tight even as his body slowly relaxes; by the look of it, he won’t do anything for the next few minutes so you try to reach the shampoo bottle on the other end but Eijirou suddenly pulls your hand and you end up falling into the bath tub, your head thankfully landing on his chest and not somewhere dangerous. You look at your wet clothing and sigh, a tiny hint of a smile hiding in the corner of your mouth.

“Ei. If you wanted me to join you you should’ve just said so.” You giggle as you try to rid yourself from the disgustingly wet shirt and your trousers, probably hitting the poor guy with your elbows quite a few times but he doesn’t comment on it. You end up in your panties and your bra which is basically the same as wearing a swimsuit even though the padded bra feels really uncomfortable on your skin but there is no fucking way you’ll take that off right now for obvious reasons.

You really need to tell yourself AGAIN that this is NOT a romantic situation. Don’t think about what are you sitting on right now. Do not.

You wait a few seconds to give him time to answer but it doesn’t seem like he will so you finally take the shampoo in your hand and and give it to the redhead while you take the the shower head in your hand and start spraying his hair, straddling the guy’s hips while you do so. As the red gets brighter you can’t help but notice his roots; there is a tiny bit of black peeking out from his scalp, so tiny you wouldn’t even see it if you are not up close.

You are not surprised about it per se, you had a hunch his hair isn’t natural but it still baffles you a little bit.

“I can’t imagine you with black hair.” You mumble and the hero tenses under you. “Hey, it’s just hair. Don’t act like I just realized you are an alien.” You leave a tiny kiss on the top of his head to calm him down and thankfully, it works wonders; his body relaxes again, soft and pliant under your touch. “Mine is dyed too. I know, shocker.”

Eijirou looks up at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“And Uncle Riot?”

You can’t help but laugh loudly at that.

“Of course that’s your first question.” You mumble as you lather the shampoo into his hair. “His hair color is natural. He’s the only one in the family with that shade. Don’t ask, why, because we have no idea. My dad used to tease him about being adopted, they were terrible to each other. Typical brothers, really.”

“I don’t have any siblings.” Eijirou admits with a shy look on his pretty flushed face.

“Me neither. Thank god for that, I’m enough of a menace alone, we don’t need another one of me in the family.” You slowly wash the soap away, ready to put the conditioner on. He lets you do it in silence, he just closes his eyes and enjoys how your fingers scratch his scalp in the process. “You like this, Ei? Feeling better?” You scratch behind his ear like he’s a dog but by the look of it, Ei likes it so it doesn’t end up being as weird as you thought it would be.

“Uhum. I’m… I’m back. Kinda.” He admits sheepishly.

“Still okay with me being here with you? Do you want me to get out?” You ask, just in case; you don’t want him to be uncomfortable and you absolutely understand if he feels like it’s too much now.

“Can I wash your back?” Is the answer you get and your cheeks flush heavily from the words.

 You leave the conditioner on his head to do its thing and sit between his legs, ready to be washed. Now it’s really starting to sink in how… close you two are right now. It’s extremely intimate, way too intimate for two people who’s been dating for less than a month but somehow, it just feels… right. Perfect. Like it’s how it’s supposed to be.

Eijirou moves towards the shower gel, pumps the liquid into his hands and starts washing your back; his hands are so careful yet so deliberate, it almost feels like a massage and you can feel the goosebumps appearing on your skin from the pleasure. You sigh contentedly, feeling the urge to lay back on his chest and instead of pushing you back to your original position he lets you lean on him, his hands snaking around your waist to pull you close. His chin ends up on your shoulder then he takes a deep breath and finally, he starts talking.

“Katsuki and his fiancé are on a holiday. They went to see her family abroad so they’re not in town. Stupid fuckers realized the number two hero is away and started to do all kind of shit in our patrol area, hoping they can get away with it but needless to say, it’s all in vain but they don’t give up. It’s constant. They are easy jobs but… I’m tired. I haven’t slept for a week. Izuku and Shouto tries to help as much as they can but they have their own agency to run as well as helping ours and we are missing the two strongest heroes in our agency so… yeah.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You know you are strong enough, this is just way too much for a person fueled by coffee and energy drinks? You are just a human, Eijirou. Give yourself a break. I’m quite sure your friends can keep an eye on your agency for one day.” You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing the hand resting on your belly affectionately. “Stay with me today, Eijirou. Have a nap, then we can watch a movie in the afternoon and go to sleep early.”

“Is it a date?” Eijirou teases as he leaves a tiny kiss on the top of your head.

“It’s better than that. It’s our first day living together. It’s the practice round.”

“Stop teasing me.” Eijirou pouts and you can’t help but leave a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not. I promise.” You murmur as you turn back to him to continue cleaning him.

You could get used to this, it’s actually terrifying how normal it feels like to share a bath with this man you’ve only known for a few months. There’s no awkwardness the air and you don’t even feel shy for being almost naked, skin touching skin as you shimmy into him after the both of you are fresh and clean. It’s so easy to forget how young your relationship is as you cuddle in the hot bath tub, cheeks ruddy from the heat. He’s so beautiful with his wet hair framing his face, the locks soft and shiny for the conditioner.

You already see a future routine in front of you; sharing a coffee in the coffee shop in the morning then in the afternoon, cooking lunch, sharing a meal, enjoying each other’s company while lounging on the couch, cuddled close while a silly super hero movie with an unnecessary romantic plot plays in the background, having a bath together then sharing the bed and making love until it’s time to sleep. Maybe you two could train on your free days, spar until you both end up tangled on the mat, kissing the living shit out of the other. You could have dinners at your uncle’s house and just stare at your perfect fiancé fanboying over everything in the house like he’s not about to be a part of this family himself in a few months. Fuck, it would be perfect. So fucking perfect.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” Eijirou mutters into your ear, pulling you close.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. You need to rest and I just want you all to myself for a day. It’s a win-win.”

“… Always teasing me…” he says and you leave it to him; maybe it’s the best if he thinks it’s all just a joke for now. Your true feelings might suffocate him. It’s too much too soon, but it’s the truth. You already have your whole life planned out with him as weird as it sounds.

You can’t wait for all your dreams to become reality one day; but today, you need to take a deep breath - so you just do exactly that.

You can wait forever for him if that’s what he needs. It doesn’t matter because he’s worth it.

~•🪨•~

“What do I need to say for you to stay with me?” Eijirou mutters with a red face, staring out from your bedroom window, tucked in into your sheets like a little kid at bedtime. You are definitely going overboard with your actions right now, but you can’t help but worry about this silly little sensitive man in front of you.

He really reminds you of your uncle sometimes. You were way too young to understand his constant battle with mental health when he was still a hero but once you were eighteen your uncle started to open up about his old struggles and he had the same look on his face when he told you his stories as the one on Eijirou’s face right now and it breaks your heart. You don’t want to see him like this but it’s the part of the job as cruel as it sounds and you need to respect that; just because you were able to be selfish and leave all that behind, that doesn’t mean it was the right choice and you know that. Of course, it’s amazing to live carefree but the amount of people you couldn’t save because you’ve left the field haunts you to this day and sometimes it makes you wonder if all the pain is actually worth it for the lives you could save.

You thought that love is something unachievable when you are in this line of work and seeing Eijirou’s mopey little face clearly tells you that it’s not an easy task to be successful in love and at your job at the same time, and not everyone would have the patience to take care of you in time of need but… maybe, it’s all about surrounding yourself with the right people. You also have a feeling that you would’ve met Eijirou anyway, even if you’d never work in your uncle’s coffee shop because you two are connected by fate and no one can change your mind about that.

“This is my flat, silly, I’m not going anywhere.” You give the redhead a fond smile, but apparently, that’s not what the said redhead wanted to hear because he shakes his head vigorously, his face even more red than before. He takes your hand in his tentatively, stroking your knuckles with his thumb as he mumbles something inaudible. He pulls your hand closer and that’s when it clicks; he wants you to stay with him… in the bed. While he naps. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest from the sudden happiness that washes over you.

“You just need to say please. But before you do, I must warn you I might kiss you for real. I’m at my limits, puppy dog.”

You are quite sure you are as red as him by now but you try to keep your cheeky smile on, hoping it’s dark enough in the room for him to not see how flustered you are. It’s just not on brand, you know. You are the one teasing, not the other way around! Damn, the tables have turned.

“I… I can take that risk any day.” He mutters back; you make a silly noise in your throat, a high pitched little yelp you hope he can’t hear as you slowly let him pull you into the bed, cuddling you right away as you lay down next to him.

Okay, the tables DEFINITELY have turned. “Is this too much? I feel like your heart is yelling at me to go away.” He sighs with his face hidden in your chest. “So aggressive.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper into his ear while your arm snakes around his middle to initiate an actual cuddle. “It beats like that every time you come through the coffee shop door. It has been doing that for a while.”

“Am I scary?”

… This guy is an actual idiot. Do you really need to spell it out?

“Ei, look at me.” Slowly, Eijirou moves his head from your chest and he looks so terrified, you can’t stop yourself anymore; you stroke his chin while you look into his eyes fondly, moving closer and closer, giving him enough time to move away, but he… doesn’t. Finally, your lips collide in a warm, chaste kiss, one that’s barely there but it’s just enough to make a point. “Do I look scared of you, silly?”

Suddenly, Eijirou pushes himself up to his elbows and stares into your eyes. He’s still close, much closer than you’ve even been to him, his breath fans your lips and you feel goosebumps going down your spine from the thrill of it.

“If I say you do, will you do that again?” For the first time today, he almost looks like himself again; his eyes are full of wonder, he bites his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, he’s so fucking precious you want to put him in your pocket and keep him there for the hard days and for the good ones, just have him with you every day because fuck, you really do love this fucking himbo.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

But…

This is not what you were expecting.

Eijirou pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time, but then he moves to your cheeks and leaves tiny little kisses all over until he gets bored of the area and goes back to your lips, pecks them again, but even as you try to give him a proper kiss, he moves away and keeps peppering you with these small, almost friendly kisses and you are so fucking confused but also kinda excited for finally not being the one doing all the work.

You have no idea how to tell him you want… well.. more. You feel selfish for not appreciating this properly and you feel like this is not the time for you to speak up about if; maybe, this is what he needs now, just… love and affection but not in a suggestive way. You take a deep breath and try to do the same, just peppering kisses on his cheeks and lips, counting fucking sheep to calm yourself down before you devour the man on top of you. Small kisses. You can do this.

You gently change your positions to let Eijirou lay on the bed and rest. He makes a tiny yelp from the sudden change but he let’s you be in charge; you straddle his hips but you make sure you don’t touch in inappropriate places because while you would absolutely love to take this further, he’s clearly not in the mood for that yet. Maybe he’s the “no heavy making out” before marriage kinda guy. It would make a lot of sense to be fair, with the whole “proposal on the first date” thing he’d pulled.

You really need to sit down and talk, this is getting ridiculous. You haven’t even talked about being a couple properly. Obviously, you are not stupid, you know you are… well… something, maybe even more than just a couple at this point but it all happened so quickly it would be nice to know you two are on the same page about this.

You sweep this thought under the rug for a few more days; now you have a mission to finish, which is to make Eijirou happy enough to be able to take a proper nap. You leave tiny kisses on his cheeks, then one cheeky peck on his mouth, your thumb caressing his cheekbone soothingly as you keep kissing him, slow and careful until Eijirou looks like he’s ready to doze off; when the time is right, you lay down next to him, your fingers drawing circles into his naked chest until finally, his breathing evens out and he’s out like a light, a tiny smile ghosting his face as he sleeps peacefully, unconsciously cuddling into your side.

Needless to say, you can’t fall asleep. Your heart is thrashing in your chest, begging for attention, begging for that deep kiss you’ve been dreaming about for eternity.

“You’ll be the death of me, himbo.” You mumble silently as you close your eyes and pretend to sleep for the next couple of hours.

It’s fine. You have your whole life to take those steps forward. There is no need to rush this. Maybe, if you tell that to yourself a couple more times you’ll actually believe it.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Thank you very much for your kind words under my last personal update. I’m sorry for not replying. I read them all and they made me really happy I’m just… well… having troubles communicating with anyone right now. Thank you very much for being so kind and patient with me, I hope this surprise chapter makes your day a bit better 💜

- Tell me what you think of this chapter! Tell me what you think will happen in the next! I might not respond but I’ll definitely enjoy reading your conspiracies! 💜

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Epilogue

Pairing: Dean W. x Female Reader 

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

AN: Song inspo for this chapter is “Sweet Time” by REO Speedwagon! 

Word Count: 2,200 Warnings: Fluff overload!

Epilogue

Seven months later…

Dean settled his hands on your waist as he sidled up behind you in the kitchen, this time in the apartment you shared with him.

You jolted a bit in surprise, but your spine still tingled pleasantly when he enveloped you from behind.

You had gotten ready so quickly this morning that you hadn’t even greeted him yet. He was reminding you of it now as he pressed a kiss behind your ear. 

“Gooood morning, Vietnam!” he joked. 

He could call you and Sam nerds all he wanted, but Dean loved a classic movie reference.  

You smiled and grabbed one of his hands.

“Hey, baby. How do I look on my first day as Senior Library Curator?” You turned and showcased what you were wearing. 

Dean took in your long black pencil skirt, dark red blouse, and your “I mean serious business” heels with a low whistle, and he twirled you by the hand for effect. Dean himself was already dressed in his work uniform.

“I always like you in red,” he said, briefly focusing on the hint of cleavage, then down the curve of your waist before his gaze fell to your heels. His grin deepened. “I’ma need you to keep those on tonight.” 

You laughed and grabbed onto his arms. “I will cook for you in nothing but these heels, but I just need you to do one thing for me.”

Dean’s brows raised as his grin edged into a suspicious smirk.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“I need someone to come pick out the flowers with me this weekend,” you said. “And the plates at the dinnerware rental place.”

Dean tipped his head back and groaned. That was so not “just one thing.”

You rubbed his arms.

“Please?” you asked. “I’ve already got the silverware picked out. I just need some help deciding on a few things.”

“I’m really not the one you want to take. I’m good with anything, seriously.” 

You pouted at him. “You can’t be serious. You really don’t have any opinion on this stuff? This is our wedding, Dean.” 

He gave you a measured look. 

“Listen,” he said. “I don’t care if you want a Mariachi band with little sombreros on every drink. I just wanna get married.”

You laughed, but the sentiment behind his words made you smile. Your hands slid up to his shoulders as he pulled you in closer. A new silver ring, this time with a small shining stone, glinted on your left hand. 

One of the few things Bobby had saved of Aunt Karen’s had been her wedding bands. He’d seen no better use for her engagement ring than giving it to his almost-son, for his almost-daughter. Dean was grateful, and you were honored to wear it.

“Okay, how about this,” you said. “I’ll ask Ellen and Jo to come with me to pick the flowers and the plates. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is creating a music playlist for the DJ.”

Dean perked up at that. Since the Roadhouse burned down, Ellen and Jo had moved up to Sioux Falls. Last he’d heard (yesterday, from you), Ellen had all but moved in with Bobby. 

“But no ACDC,” you warned him. “And I’ll be approving the list when you’re done.”

Now it was his turn to pout. “Killjoy.”

At the puppy-dog downturn of his eyes, you rolled yours. You knew he was playing you, but somehow you were always weak for it. 

You made a sound of exasperation. 

“Okay, fine. One ACDC song.”

Dean flashed you a grin. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

“Mhmm.”

“And, just so I know, are we still on for the naked cooking?” he asked. 

You scoffed.

“Oh, no. That’s for men who obey me. You, sir, just welched out of every request I made.” You emphasized this with a finger pressing into his chest. Dean chuckled. 

“Touché,” he said. “Okay, here’s what I can do for you. I will…take you out for dinner on Friday.”

You crossed your arms, waiting expectantly. Knowing he hadn’t hooked you yet, he amended.

“Tomorrow?” he said. “We’ll get sushi. Come on, we never get sushi.”

Mostly because Dean didn’t trust raw fish. But if he must, he could get some fried breaded shrimp if it made you happy. Plus, there were all those dipping sauces.

Dean liked dipping sauces.

“Dancing,” you said. “Tonight. Sushi after. Tomorrow, I promise I’ll cook for you…with the heels, and very little but the heels.”

Dean thought about it with an undecided hum. He wasn’t working late tonight, so he supposed he could go out. He almost grimaced at “dancing,” but you were gentle in pushing him past his comfort zone with stuff like this (and teaching him how to dance, slowly but surely). 

Still, it was worth it to see you get all dressed up. Naked cooking was also very worth it.

“All right, I think I can make that work,” he said. 

You smiled brightly, and he realized it was already worth it.

“Okay, I just have a few minutes before I need to get out of here,” you said, taking a breath. 

You were a bit nervous about your first day in your new position. You had just been promoted after almost a year. While you were comfortable in your job at the museum, overseeing the rare books library, you’d never been a manager before. You would now have two new hires under you, and it was your responsibility to train them as well. 

Dean felt your nervousness. He rubbed your back. “Hey. You’re gonna be great, baby. You know what you’re doing.”

With a grateful look, you braced your hands on his chest and smoothed out his black Sioux Falls PD uniform. He filled it out well.

“Gotten used to having a real uniform yet?” you asked. “Hope my dad’s not driving you too crazy.”

Dean grinned. “Nah. I’ll admit, he kicked my ass a bit in the beginning, but he’s a lot like Bobby. Soft in the middle.”

In fact, Jack was the one who’d recommended that Dean try out the police academy to begin with. 

“You’ve got the instincts,” Jack had told him. It was their first time sharing a beer, about a month after Dean returned to South Dakota permanently. He’d been struggling to find a job that would fit him (and his lack of professional experience).

“What you lack in discipline now, you’ll make up for in knowin’ how to read people,” said Jack. “Being solid under pressure. Good at running down leads. And who knows. Maybe you’ll make detective one day.”

Dean smiled at the idea, but he still cocked his head uncertainly.

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly used to grabbing a warrant before I pick a lock, ya know?”

“Well, I know this.” Jack pointed at him. “You’re a shark, Dean. Sharks can’t stay still, they’ve gotta keep swimming.”

“Okay, meaning?”

“Doing construction, working on cars, fixing people’s houses…after a lifetime of being under fire, are you really gonna be content doing any of those?” Jack asked.

Dean was grateful for that conversation. While there were things he missed about his old life, he was able to build a new one. And he didn’t have to hang up his gun to do it.

Dean let go of you so he could twirl his keys around his finger and clip them to his belt in one smooth motion. “Just you wait. I’ll be runnin’ this town in no time.”

“That’s a scary thought.” You laughed. “Oh hey, has Sam called you? He’s supposed to tell me if he’s bringing a plus one to the wedding.”

Dean smiled, despite a rueful twinge. Sam was halfway through his first year in law school—over in New York. He came home for the weekend whenever he could, but if Dean was honest, it was hard letting Sam run back to school.

What made it easier was that Dean wasn’t alone this time. He had you. You were also understanding, and you insisted that Sam stay here at the apartment whenever he came home. 

“Yeah, he was gonna tell you in person this weekend, but…he found her,” Dean said. 

 You gasped. “No, he did?”

“Yeah, he really found his soulmate. On the subway of all places.”

You laughed. “That must’ve been a fun ride.”

You could only imagine the chaos of starting to hear your soulmate’s thoughts in a New York City subway. You were so happy for Sam. 

You clapped your hands. 

“Oh, I’m so excited to meet her! This is going to be so awesome! Is he bringing her this weekend? What’s her name? Is she going to school too?”

Dean laughed and calmed down your onslaught of questions. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

“Okay, come on. You’re going to be late for work,” he reminded you. “Your first day as head boss lady of dusty books.”

“Excuse me. Rare dusty books,” you corrected with a playful slap to his chest. “But this is too important! Ugh, I’m calling him right now.”

“No, you don’t. He’s in class, and now we both need to get to work. Come on, get those perky buns movin’.”

He ushered you out by lightly spanking your butt. You sighed, but you were still smiling as you grabbed your purse and let him guide you out the front door. You lived on the first floor, so it was a quick walk to where both your cars were parked: the sleek black Impala and a blue Camaro, side by side. 

Before you forgot, you reached out and grabbed Dean by the collar. 

“All right, Officer. Have a good day today,” you said.

Dean smirked and tucked a strand of your hair, freed from your clip, behind your ear. 

“See ya, beautiful. Don’t dust off any suspicious lamps.”

“I thought you said genies weren’t like that in real life,” you quipped. You leaned up on your toes, and he met you there with a kiss that was sweet at first, but then it lingered and deepened. He held you to him close. 

These were the small kinds of moments that he liked to savor with you. Because it reminded him of a time when he never thought he would have this—a life outside of hunting. A life after hunting. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a real life with you, where Sam was still an important part of it.

“I love you. You know that?” said Dean. 

And he meant that, deep in his bones. 

When he gave you that ring a few months ago, it finally hit him that what he felt wasn’t just part of the “cosmic bond,” as you’d once called it. The two of you had scraped and fought hard to find each other, and even harder to stay with each other. 

And he hadn’t protected you just because he felt responsible for your safety. He’d done it because the idea of losing you had scared him worse than dying himself. 

So when you smiled and kissed him again, Dean breathed in your perfume and reminded himself that those darker days were in the past. Your airy laugh reminded him.

“Yeah, I do know,” you replied with a wink. “I’ll see you later.”

He tugged you back by the hand. “Uh, uh. If I say it, you gotta say it.”

“Oooh, I see. My bad,” you nodded. You took his hand—the one that wore his mother’s ring—and you kissed his knuckles. “I love you. I love you, and I love you. Be safe out there.”

He grinned and finally released you. You got in your car and watched him leaning against Baby with his arms crossed and his sunglasses on. In his police uniform, he looked like a scene out of Bad Boys. 

You beeped the horn at him twice before you pulled out of the driveway. Dean watched you go with a smirk. When he realized he was pushing it for time himself, he climbed into the Impala. He stroked the leather steering wheel.

What do you know, Baby. We’re respectable.

Jack was definitely going to ride his ass for being late. Today, that was all right.

Dean never thought this would be his life, but he had a feeling that his dad would be proud.

He would be, he heard you say in his mind, through the soul bond. He is.

Dean smiled. 

Focus on the road, he reminded you. He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes. But a few minutes later, he heard you jamming out to REO Speedwagon. Another rock wannabe, in his opinion. Only you would listen to that crap.

Baby, we can take our own sweet tiiiime. And spend it when we want to ‘cause it’s yours and miiiine, you sang, and not always on key. 

Let our love come easy and we fiiiind…~

Dean shook his head, despite a fond smirk. 

…Well, he thought, maybe this one wasn’t that bad.

We can make it. And we’ll take our own sweet time. 

AN: *sniffs* Who's peeling onions?

But seriously, thank you so much to all of you who read and enjoyed this story! It's been one of my favorites to write in a long time.

And I will say, if I do get requests, I will return to this AU and dabble some more. I love early seasons Sam and Dean, and this world is a special one to me!

Read the Sequel:

Ready for some bonus chapters? Here's a three-part sequel:

Summary: You and Dean are just weeks away from getting married, but when you find a questionable book at work, it spirals into one last hunt for you all.

Keep Reading: Bonus Track #1

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445 @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1 @icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @pallographsunspot @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left @jassackles @hobby27 @ashbatz @zaratahir @lokisnumber1whore @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420

[f-oighear]

Fanfic writer interview!

tagged by @ashenaura. Merci bien ! ;)

How many works do you have on AO3?

145.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

I'll Follow

Where The Heart Is

Your World

Everything and More

Brittlest

(... yup, it's all SAU and those numbers will never not shock me)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Of course. It might take me forever (my inbox is staring at me dead in the eyes), but I will respond. It means the world to me and if anyone makes the effort, they deserve a response. Easy.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I need happy endings with my angst so... yeah. I think... Yesterday I died (tomorrow's bleeding) is quite sad.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I guess the SAU has the happiest ending. Everything And More's last chapter is literally sunshine and calmness which, yk, is needed after the whole thing.

Do you write crossovers?

I've just gotten into it! I didn't see the hype before but um that was because I never tried to mash together the right verses I think. The Arkham Horror x Black Clover crossover is very dear to me.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

*touching wood* Nope.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I've written steamy but never full smut. Well, I've written bits. But they're unpublished and I don't think I ever will publish them soooo yeah.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, no.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Someone translated Her Most Precious Memories in Russian (Её самые драгоценные воспоминания).

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Just like crossovers, I'm just getting into it. And just like crossovers, I'm absolutely loving it.

@kalolasfantasyworld knows. We've written that Olympics Swimming one, Silver Scorching Interdimensional Slash: the Magical Medley Relay of Doom, and we're writing the most wonderful Formula for a Crush.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

All time favorite... royai probably.

it's just the angst... it's just the sillies... it's just the war criminals... there's a dog... they're both so stupid... i love them...

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

fhjfhds all of them. If I start a wip it's that I want to see it finished (because I want to read it). Sadly, I often don't have the motivation to. The wip list is ever growing.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and internal monologues, I think.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Besides everything syntax and grammar-related because what even is English, I'd say description, especially of action scenes. It takes me forever to even dare put down a few words and I always feel like I'm describing like a 7yo would (no shade to 7yo but surely with 20 more years on this planet I should be able to do better).

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I did it in Formula for a Crush for Vanessa and Helena because Helena typically does it so it felt normal to As long as it's one word or one expression I don't really mind. (my Italian is non-existent and my Spanish is uhhh not good so, there's that.).

In my own work, I prefer to keep it in English and italicize. Less risk to completely fumble a whole language.

(I just realized that Zora doesn't even utter one word in French in FFAC and I'm French [I dare think I can speak and write the language relatively well]. so it's less down to messing up a language than personal preferences in writing ig..? I never really thought about it.)

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Nothing comes to mind. Rarepair Week was a great occasion to tick some of these boxes too.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I've had this question ten thousand times and I think I reply differently every time dhjfdjskj. It's a tough one.

Right now I'm having a lot of fun with Formula for a Crush (nah, you can't tell with how much I'm talking about it).

what even is football anyway will always be very dear to me and I'll probably say it's this one.

Blue Hours (and its sequel, I might even like the sequel more simply for the rant about the dishes) is special because I loved the concept and I experienced a bit with the narration.

Thicker Than Blood because it's a longer one and it was a really non-pressure kind of fic (I expected no one to read it so I really had fun)

Yesterday I died (tomorrow's bleeding) and posing questions to a silent universe (my very thoughts a curse) for some nice Mia angst.

Lost in a storm, It’s a big office, chief, for some nice Phoenix angst.

Tell Me About Cruelty means a lot to me.

(you might realize: I cannot choose. I'm looking at the 145 fics and I'm like. they're all special to me in some way. even those I wish I could erase from the face of the earth I'm like. I like that line, that scene, that hug. it's terrible and it's wonderful.)

--

tagging (no pressure, do it if you want) @kalolasfantasyworld (because ofc I'm tagging you), @wildflowerwoodsworld

[inthemytdl]

Teenage Dream

Summary: Jack prepares for his first date (with a girl)

Note: she/her pronouns

“Are you sure?” Jack brushed down the black shirt and army style jacket Dean gave him.

The sleeves went a couple inches past his hand, so he had to roll them up to fit properly. The shirt, on the other hand, fit well. 

“Trust me, chicks dig the bad boy look,” Dean said. “A little dirt, a little grime. Works every time.”

Jack had never been on a date before, but he imagined dressing nicer than this. Wearing his FBI suit, maybe. It was the nicest one he owned and the sleeves fit perfectly.

He turned to Sam. “Is that true?”

“Sometimes,” Sam said, without looking up from his computer.

But Jack had seen a good amount of romance films and couldn’t imagine Sam as the bad boy in any of them. In his mind, he was always the nice guy. The hero.

“Did you think you’d go in your FBI suit?” Dean laughed. “This is a date, kid, not a case.”

“I like that suit. Cass says blue is my color.”

Cass nodded. “It’s true. And that”—he pointed at Jack—“is horrible.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted. “That’s style. Army green, simple tees. That’s in right now. It’s all over the mags.”

“Mags?” Sam said.

“Magazines. God, you guys are old.”

Jack watched the scene unfold. Dean was doing that thing where he pretended to be young again while Sam groaned and Cass filed his nails against the wooden table. Usually, he’d let it go on, but there were just thirty minutes until his date with you and he still didn’t have an outfit.

“I don’t have time for this!” Jack shouted. His skin was hot like when he used his powers.

“Woah. Relax. It’s just a date,” Dean said.

“He’s never been on a date before, Dean,” Sam countered.

“So? Neither has Cass and he’s doing fine.”

“Dating, love, relationships. Those are human things,” Cass said. “Trivial.”

“Trivial?” Dean craned his neck toward him and the pair erupted into yet another argument as Sam approached Jack.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he said. “Just be yourself. Girls can tell when you’re faking.”

“They can?” Jack felt more nervous than before. It was all too human. And he was only half of that. He wasn’t used to having sweaty palms or a butterfly-filled stomach. He thought he was sick the first time he felt their flutter before Sam explained that it was normal.

“Uh, yeah. Sometimes,” Sam coughed. “But you’ll be fine.” He gave him those puppy dog eyes he gave families when working a case: his attempt to take half of their pain. It worked sometimes. Jack was grateful it worked now.

“Okay,” he said, leaving to change. 

He hurried to his room and put on a white button up paired with a brown suit. That blue tie he loved. He stopped for a moment to look in the mirror, did an awkward smile, then made his way back to the command center.

The chaos had died down by the time he arrived, and all three of the boys sat around the table listening to Sam. Jack overlooked the scene from the head of the table. This was one of the few times the bunker was quiet: when one of them was talking and the others listened. And that was rare. Most days, they talked over each other.

“Woah. Look at you.” Sam was first to notice him. His dimples pinched his cheeks as he smiled.

“Much better,” Cass rasped.

Dean scrunched his face and made his way over to him. Jack wiped sweaty palms down his blazer. Dean was never all that nice to him, but a couple months in the bunker and they had become somewhat of a family.

“You’ve got to learn how to properly tie a tie,” Dean said, and he adjusted it for him. “There. Not as good as before but… decent.” He nodded, then fished in his pocket and produced silver keys. “Here.”

“You’re letting me drive the impala?” Jack said.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam clapped. “Alright, go get ‘em, tiger.”

A rush of energy overcame Jack, though he couldn’t tell why. It might’ve been confidence or nerves or something entirely different—he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. He had grown accustomed to fear and adrenaline. Love, even. But never romantic, and never like this.

This would be the first time he went on a real date, and one where no one tried to kill him. He felt prepared; he knew what to do. Once he got to the restaurant, he would pull your chair out for you, you’d talk, and then you’d fall in love with him.

There was only one thing he was unsure about.

“What should I say when I get there?” he asked. 

“I read in a Teen Vogue magazine it’s custom to talk about your interests,” Cass said.

“Zombies?”

“No—no zombies!” Dean said. “For the love of god, no zombies.”

“Just follow her lead, okay?” Sam said.

Jack nodded, making a mental note of all the advice he’d be given. But if he wasn’t allowed to talk about zombies, what would he talk about? 

“Uh, kid.” Dean laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not moving.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” Cass said. “You’ve been standing in Dean’s beer puddle for thirty seconds now.” 

“Oh.” He felt the liquid squish below his feet.

“Here, I’ll walk you.” Sam placed a hand on his back and led him to the door.

“You’ll call me if you need help?”

Leaving during a case felt wrong—like when he finished a box of cereal and it didn’t have a toy in it or when he waved at someone and they didn’t wave back—but Sam insisted he go.

“Yeah,” Sam said, opening the door for him. 

Jack lifted a slow hand and waved goodbye. 

Sam smiled and waved back; gave him that look that took half his nerves, half his pain. Then the door shut and it was time for his date.

[giuliadesu]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | bang chan

kpop | giuliadesu

fem!reader ⍛ fluff ⍛ 1.4k

chasing that feeling by tomorrow x together

if it wasn’t for the giddiness you felt bubbling inside you, you wouldn’t have believed in the turn of events the last few days brought.

it was the last day before christmas holiday in the school where you taught english. the day was slowly moving towards a cool yet pleasant evening, with kids scurrying around to bid goodbye to teachers and friends before heading home, and faculty members stopping by a bit longer to chat before the long awaited break.

snow had started to coat the streets of seoul a couple of hours prior to your exit from the premise of the building. a smile crept over your face, as you enjoyed the feeling of the cold flakes gently landing on your skin, making your way to the metro station to head home.

after that, it was a flurry of events: chan had visited your apartment (thanks to the spare key you gave him) and left a small envelope on the console table near the door; it contained train tickets for a small skiing location in the gangwon-do prefecture, along with a tiny note handwritten by him.

“hey pookie! the guys and i have rented a cabin in this small village for the holidays, come join us! and no, we don’t accept a negative answer ♡ i’ll pick you up at the station”

you had just enough time to change into more comfortable clothes, pack a suitcase with warm clothes and your skiing gear, grab the presents for the boys and off you were towards the train station! 

you and chan had a bit of something going on, it was clear to everyone. the fine line between friendship and romance had started to get more and more blurred, with both of you making clear moves and statements that made it obvious you were in love with one another — despite not having confessed yet.

it was easy, considering you were both big on physical affection; hugs, naps together, holding hands whenever, soft kisses placed over cheeks or foreheads, tons and tons of cuddling… the kids were almost exhausted of hearing you say that you were just friends. friends didn’t behave like that and didn’t look at each other like that.

they were just hoping that the amounts of mistletoe hanging around the cabin and the festive atmosphere would give you the final push.

the 25th was a very sunny day, the majority of which was spent outside in the snow — whether skiing, snowboarding or simply chilling together.

then, after dinner, you all gathered on the carpet to exchange gifts, a warm glow coming from the lit fireplace. unsurprisingly, you and chan were sitting one next to the other, his arm lazily draped around your waist, while your hand would occasionally come to rest over his thigh.

while the other kids were busy opening the matching sweaters you’d gotten them (and throwing a tantrum over who wore it better), you took the chance to give chan his very own christmas present.

it was a small box, and just from the outside he realised it must have come from a very expensive jewellery brand. he sent you a glare, to which you replied by sticking out your tongue.

the black ribbon came off together with the lid, revealing the equally dark inside of the package. resting on a velvety cushion was a silver dog tag, engraved on both sides. the first thing chris noticed was how it perfectly matched the style of his chain bracelet. then, the quote on the front caught his attention: together forever, never apart; maybe in distance, but never at heart. the back also had something etched on it — the korean names of his friends.

his eyes shot up to meet yours, and you swore they were almost glossy.

“i don’t even know what to say… it’s just perfect.”

then he lifted you up from the floor and put you on his lap, hugging you tightly. you returned the hug immediately, your arms going around his neck.

“you don’t have to say anything. just know that the sentence speaks the truth and you are so, so loved.”

his grip tightened even more around your mid and you smiled in the crook of his neck, placing a gentle kiss there. he found himself willing to chase the feeling of your lips, although he knew it was not the moment.

“put it on for me, please?”

later that night (or was it the wee hours of the morning?), well past the time everyone had gone to bed, chan found himself in the kitchen, trying to make a hot chocolate. he regretted not wearing a shirt over the short, grey sweats he used to sleep the second some hot milk droplets landed on his chest.

“you should be more careful when cooking, mister bang.”

he jolted in surprise, and you couldn’t hide the giggles that left your mouth.

he was about to retort, but when he turned around and saw you wearing his very oversized hoodie over your definitely-not-wintery pyjamas, the words died in his throat.

“do you want some hot chocolate?”

the way your eyes lit up pulled a chuckle out of him, and he went to grab a second cup from the shelf. while he had his back turned to you, you went and hugged him from behind, your arms snaking around his waist and resting on his abs.

“thank you for inviting me here. i don’t think i’ve ever had this much fun over the holidays.”

one of his hands came over your own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“hey, don’t mention it! that’s what… friends are for, right?”

you felt a slight tinge of weariness in his voice, and you couldn’t help the small pang of disappointment in your chest.

“right, friends…”

a relatively comfortable silence fell over the small kitchen of the cabin. while chris finished preparing the beverage, you stayed glued to his back. you could feel his warm skin, the way his muscles moved with every action, the faint sound of a song he was humming.

chocolate now safely poured inside the mugs, the boy turned around.

“wait here a second for me, yeah?”

without even waiting for an answer, he lifted you up and sat you on the counter; then he disappeared in the living room, where faint lights from the christmas tree created shadows over the walls.

he came back a few moments later, a small box in his hand. it was very similar to the one you presented him a few hours earlier.

“i know i should’ve given this to you before, but i didn’t want the guys to make fun of me.”

he laughed while coming closer, and you instinctively parted your legs to allow him to stand right in front of you. the dog tag caught on the dim kitchen light. you smiled.

he started humming a tune again, probably to ease the nerves. you recognized it as chasing that feeling by txt.

you couldn’t contain the giddiness bubbling inside you while carefully unpacking the present. the white box contained a bracelet, whose very thin chain matched that of the necklace you’d gifted him, and the small charm dangling from it was of two hands making a pinky promise.

wordlessly, yet with a warm smile across your features, you moved your arm in front of chris, the bracelet in your other hand. while he was hard at work at unclasping it and wrapping it around your wrist, you caught a glimpse of the two words etched on the back.

“… is it a confession?”

“only if you want it to be.”

the smiles on both of your faces were already enough of an answer, yet the moment needed something more.

one of his hands cupped your cheek, while one of yours gently took a hold of the dog tag.

chris stopped one millimetre away from your lips, still giving you the chance to turn down both his confession and the kiss.

“na sungmyeonga, come and kiss me, i just keep on chasing that feeling.”

with a slight tug on the necklace his soft lips landed on yours.

it was a sweet kiss, all smiles and giggles. your hands came over his wrists while both of his were now holding your face.

and boy, did you both chase each other’s feelings with your mutual pining!

the next morning, no one was surprised to find the both of you sleeping on the couch, necklace and bracelet on full display. apparently, the smiles on your faces were enough for everyone to know that you finally belonged to one another.

© giuliadesu. please do not copy, translate, use in videos or reupload on other platforms and sites. it is strictly forbidden to feed any part of my content to ai.

[tewwor]

𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 .

haibara dies and he's had enough. the life of a jujutsu sorcerer is left at the medical examination room. at the foot of that awful steel table.

society welcomes yet another cog into the capitalism dictated machine. he works his nine to five, five to nine, nine to nine. it's nonstop. a vacation to malaysia, he often thought to himself on the cusp of sleep, i'll take time off at some point.

all kento thinks of is money.. more and more money. it becomes all consuming. robs him of desires outside of monetary value. shackles him to the same wooden desk and grey cubicle walls day in, day out. he chases a promotion that feels just short of death. he is working himself to death. longer hours, less time dedicated to health, even fewer for himself.

he still sees curses. still occasionally sees a glimpse of all too familiar school uniforms. both alike are integrated in society, forever stamped into his life no matter how far he tries to run.

soon enough, his stride breaks.

haibara died and he still sees him silhouetted with each jujutsu student. grinning. bloody. here. gone. it's sickening and he's at his breaking point. he's lived both lives. seen both sides of this awful, shitty world. both of which he hated. both of which costed him greatly.

so he chooses the one he deems himself better at.

TIMELINE .

— nanami did snap on the clock and left a bloodbath with little to no remorse. was fully aware that he was killing regular people, but didn't use any cursed techniques ( the one silver lining ? ). it was just brute force with his fists and whatever office supplies were around. somehow, it felt more real and entirely too human.

— he meets higu during the culling games. they do fight, but he's not put through deadly sentencing. something's different about him and they end up circling each other like half starved dogs. they take a few more bites out of each other and come to an impasse. start to talk and find that they have a lot more in common than expected. how they view society as a whole, what served as the last straw before snapping, what they aim to do now. all in all, they revolve around what higu stated. "have you ever killed someone who ticks you off? it feels better than I expected."

— since he’s absolutely enraged about wtf kenjaku’s done to geto’s body — there’s the option for him to side with the sorcerers mid-culling game. something was worked out where nanami’s not actively being hunted ( don’t think the higher ups would take kindly to his slaughtering of civilians ) just for the sake of helping with all the craziness going on — though he’s mainly focused on kenjaku. after that, though? who knows :-)

MISC . INFO .

— he doesn't align himself with kenjaku, sukuna, or the sorcerers. instead, he aligns with himself and stays true to his decisions.

— he did not know about geto's body being possessed by kenjaku until shibuya. only reason why he was there at that specific time was for another mission lead. once he learns about geto's body, he is gunning for kenjaku. this infuriates him to the core.

— he still fought mahito and jogo with the addition of naobito. he still lost his arm and his eye. he still barely survived.

— *** in this verse he can't bring himself to interact with his once peers. gojo, shoko, utahime, mei mei, etc. that being said, i want him to!! we'll just have to plot it out a little!

— he prefers to wear red and black instead of blue and cream. his tie is zebra print ( scary ). his blade is not wrapped.

— nanami never met or taught any of the new first year students.

[bbbirdie-writes]

someone to watch me die ( I bet on losing dogs )

I. Fortnight __________

Thought of calling you, but you won't pick up...

★

As cheers filled the auditorium, finally, the curtain fell with an elegant noise. 

The hall, decorated in gold and white, wouldn't quiet down or empty for some time after they did their bows.

Darkness draped over them like a blanket. A gust of wind from the curtain made their costumes flutter slightly, the air growing thick and warm shortly after. They had to get off stage.

He had to get off stage. He had to pry himself out of this costume—the black leotard stuck to him as sweat melted the makeup his sister had so gently helped him apply. A rhinestone had already fallen off as he danced.

From backstage, some cheering could still be heard from the auditorium, only muffled by the walls.

The changing rooms still smelled of expensive perfume. It was known for its notes of vanilla and raspberry, even when everyone used different fragrances.

He himself used 'Poison' by Dior. Sure, it was expensive, but it lasted long enough. He'd received a bottle of it on his 17th birthday and ever since the small, black vile rested on his bathroom counter, right by his mirror. The smell alone made him feel rich and dark. Though he had to admit, he was too lazy to find a different fragrance, so Dior it was.

As more dancers filled the room, the scent of perfume vanished, replaced by the smell of sweat and exhaustion. Some laid down on the sofas, some on the floor, and many immediately began ripping off their sparkling costumes. It was a crowd of white and black, shining under the weak light, all panting and huffing.

A trail of feathers that had fallen off in frenzy lead to a small group of dancers that consisted of maybe four queens. 

In the back corner, a group of younger girls celebrated by throwing themselves over each other in a huge pile. The exhausted screams that accompanied this act bounced off the walls.

The room emptied a little when a sizable group of dancers left, routinely heading to the shower rooms. At least for some, that meant not to actually shower, not at this time yet - he followed. The windows opened nicely there.

Almost immediately they were hit with the smell of cigarette smoke. Bottles of makeup remover, cotton swabs and hairspray spread out on bathroom counters, windowsills and the tiled floors. Free for everyone to use - it was an invitation, really, since nobody was sure what was theirs anymore.

Quaxo looked into the mirrors, proud, tired. It wasn't a lot of makeup, but it had been a lot of work. Lines of rhinestones decorated his eyes and cheeks, lids smoked out in black and silver.

His sister, pale as porcelain, had cheeks glowing red like she was an antique doll. Her curly ears pressed against the back of her head, limp.

"I can't breathe," she panted. "I don't even want to breathe. Just water."

The door opened.

"You're incredible," said Plato as he tried to hug her, only to let go a second later when she made a sound that hardly seemed healthy.

Multiple irritated glances were shot his way.

Quaxo leaned on him. 

"You better make yourself useful—this area is off-limits to viewers," he whispered in his ear. How had he even gotten back here so fast?

In any case, he needed a lighter - his was somewhere in his car, presumably stuck between the leather seats and driving to New York. Would be a long time until he saw that again.

He sneakily grabbed into the other's pocket to light himself a cigarette.

"I actually have a VIP-boyfriend-pass. It's a very real thing," Plato started putting makeup remover on some wipes, "but I'm happy to serve."

"You’ve got to stop hanging out with my boy so much," said the other, puffing, then grabbing his bottle to take a drink.

Victoria made another noise. "Water. Now," she pleaded, stretching out an open hand.

He handed her his bottle, which she nearly emptied in one breath, and sat down on the edge of a sink. A bag of makeup wipes sat next to his phone. Slowly, Quaxo began to clean his face.

The snowy queen swallowed hastily. Adding to her brother's previous statement: 

"You all have to stop hanging out with each other," to which Plato pouted.

"You're too nice," she stated. "It's the twins, I'm telling you. We shouldn't have let them into our group."

"They make some good background noise, though. Plus, you can just switch them whenever."

The tuxedo tom, still picking rhinestones off his face and carefully putting them away, let out a light chuckle: "You wouldn't even notice the difference. I mean, it's not like Jerrie's afraid of a little makeup."

"Or a skirt," Plato added.

From the mirror, Quaxo saw the group of girls from earlier enter, glance his way only to dart into a corner with the younger toms.

"That was Tugger's idea," Victoria replied, rubbing her temples as the other finished removing his makeup.

Truthfully, it was aunt Jenny's idea. She'd been desperate for them to find 'the right sort of friends' and hasn't complained yet, even after they joined a rock band. That should've given her the clue about how they all actually are, but she's still under the impression that they're a good influence on her lot.

And if they were being honest, they didn't mind the twins. In fact, they liked them. They weren't boring, and with Jennie being with this family for so long, they were practically related.

"Speaking of," started Plato, "where is he?"

"On tour." The other shrugged. In a way, he was proud, though he still felt sorrow. When they got the dates for the performances, he'd immediately shared them, full of joy and excitement—until news broke that the band would play at the exact same time. They had had a long talk right before the other entered the car, discussing whether Quaxo wanted to come along or not, which concluded with both agreeing to privately perform for each other once they were back.

The room filled again with the scent of expensive fragrances when a dancer sprayed herself with perfume, startling another that had just turned on her lighter beside her. 

He took a deep breath, then stubbed out his cigarette in the sink. He'd almost fully changed out of his costume while Victoria still struggled to calm down. Luckily, Plato sat with her, rubbing her shoulders lovingly. He gave her a kiss on the forehead. "You're all incredible."

"We love you too, honey," said Quaxo, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you," to which they both nodded.

When he reached the rack where his jacket was hung up, another dancer approached him. It was the girl that glanced at him earlier. He noticed how she was still in costume, sparkling leotard with tutu and all.

"Hey, Quaxo!" Her hair was red like embers. She grinned from ear to ear, making her freckles glow like the Milky Way. 

"So, um," she started, "I just wanted to tell you..."

She turned; behind her was the half-open door to the shower rooms where smoke emerged, a few little heads poking out. They quietly giggled.

Quaxo raised his brows. "I don't bite," he smiled, zipping up his jacket. He hated being cold.

The little dancer turned to him again, her face slightly matching her hair. She bounced up and down on her heels.

"You're really cool. We're throwing a little celebration party because, you know, today was basically our premiere dance. Over at my house. I'll give you my address. Can I have your number? I mean, please come. You're really cool." Tiny cheers could be heard from the shower rooms as she finished, now redder than ever. Her ears started flapping.

Quaxo smiled at her again. "Of course, I'll see what I can do."

Her face lit up and she quickly whipped around, showing two thumbs up to her friends. A white queen, fur covered with peachy and beige spots, blew her a kiss.

The group had actually expected to throw a party together, but the instructors didn't allow them. At least not inside of the dance school, they said. They all knew they just didn't want to worry about planning. And cleaning up. Nonetheless, it was nice to see the younger groups taking matters into their own hands.

The door to the shower rooms opened wider now, and a bunch of heads looked out—all girls. So curious. With it, the smell of smoke filled the hallway.

Quaxo glanced at them. Hand inside his pocket, he reached for his phone.

His face fell when he turned on his phone to discover a bunch of missed calls from...

_________________________________

work on ao3:

author:

og blog:

@beepbeepbirdie

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

hi its the ring for jeeves analysis anon sorry im so illusive can't help my mysterious nature its inexplicable, quick question: have you read any psmith??? if so thoughts on them do you hold any opinions, postulations, assumptions etc. in re: queercoding, possibly even queerer coded than jeeves series??

Mysterious Ring for Jeeves anon! Just when I thought you forever borne away on the four winds, you have returned again to the masked ball to drop your calling card (three black goose feathers and a shard of mother of pearl collected from the silver sands by the light of the season's first full moon) into the hollowed-out tree stump at the edge of the garden. I receive and understand your message, and shall await your signal directly the cock crows thrice.

Now, to answer your question, Psmith had been on my "should really get around to it" list for ages, but this ask prompted me to finally download the Psmith in the City audiobook and put it on while I was packing and now I DO have thoughts! My first thought was that I had no idea working in a bank was so much like working in hospitality, but that's a post for another day.

Short answer: yes, this is queer as hell. And it isn't even the first non-Jeeves Wodehouse book I've read that felt even more queer coded than Jeeves-- the first was Ukridge (aka It's Always Sunny in London), which I'm going to go ahead and compare and contrast with Psmith, because I feel like I'm starting to uncover a pattern in Wodehouse's POV characters that I think could lend support to queer readings of a lot of his works.

For those who aren't familiar, Ukridge is ALSO the tale of an extremely blatant self-insert character inescapably captivated by the magnetic personality of an old school friend. Corky, a starving writer who's always struggling to get his articles published in magazines and is totally not Wodehouse by a different name, is deeply irritated by the get-rich-quick schemes of his freeloader friend Ukridge. He knows Ukridge is taking advantage of him, and rarely has a positive thing to say about him, yet clearly finds something about his indefatigable spirit immensely compelling: "to me this tame subsidence into companionship with a rich aunt in Wimbledon seemed somehow an indecent, almost a tragic, end to a colourful career like that of S. F. Ukridge. [...] I should have had more faith. I should have known my Ukridge better. I should have realised that a London suburb could no more imprison that great man permanently than Elba did Napoleon."

This quotation is followed by Corky finding out that Ukridge has acquired six Pekinese dogs (which will turn out to have been pinched from his aunt) that he's planning to train for show biz, and would Corky like to invest. If you wanted to know.

The queerness is rather more unilateral in Ukridge than in Psmith, but no less glaring for that. Corky really doesn't seem to like it when Ukridge is interested in a woman, and shows little to no interest in women himself, iirc. I mean, the first time he sees Ukridge in the company of a woman he sounds almost betrayed: "Never in the course of a long and intimate acquaintance having been shown any evidence to the contrary, I had always looked on Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, my boyhood chum, as a man ruggedly indifferent to the appeal of the opposite sex. I had assumed that, like so many financial giants, he had no time for dalliance with women—other and deeper matters, I supposed, keeping that great brain permanently occupied." THIS is his reaction to Ukridge announcing that he wants to get engaged: "The thing was too cataclysmal for my mind. It overwhelmed me." GIRL.

If I had no prior familiarity with Wodehouse and I read this book, I would be asking which straight boy hurt him.

Finally, one of the Ukridge stories contains this exchange between Corky and a pugilist Ukridge has decided he's going to make a star, which I would like to present here without comment before moving on:

“You ever been in love, mister?” I was thrilled and flattered. Something in my appearance, I told myself, some nebulous something that showed me a man of sentiment and sympathy, had appealed to this man, and he was about to pour out his heart in intimate confession. I said yes, I had been in love many times. I went on to speak of love as a noble emotion of which no man need be ashamed. I spoke at length and with fervour.

Skipping merrily along, let us now come back around to Psmith in the City, starting with the primary POV character and then bringing in Psmith's relationship to him.

Mike is an even more blatant self-insert than Corky. This would have been obvious even if I didn't already know that in his young adulthood Wodehouse, owing to the fact that his father could no longer afford to send him to Oxford, had worked as a clerk at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. The jokes are too precise to not be from personal experience. As Mike is our audience avatar, he's naturally the more normal, less distinctive character. Despite his relative nondistinctness, though, he's written in such a way that it's clear Wodehouse deeply identified with him. The sections where he's feeling emotions like homesickness or out-of-placeness or sympathy, for instance, are very vivid and evocative. You really feel what Mike is feeling.

Then there's Psmith, manic pixie dream boy and destroyer of bad managers. He handles every situation with a debonair smile on his face and breezy condescension in his voice, completely unflappable... except with regards to Mike. His feelings typically aren't described in as much detail as Mike's are, but it's obvious he adores him, to the point of slight codependence. He needs Mike near him to hear his thoughts on life, and nobody else will do. As much as he tries to maintain his air of blithe nonchalance at all times, real emotion slips through whenever the situation involves separating him from Mike or Mike being in danger.

When Mike is moved to the Cash Department, Psmith is immediately desolate. I love the way he's like, "but- but if you relocate Mike, then WHO pray tell will PAY ATTENTION TO ME?" and this is a genuine crisis for him. He resents the new guy just for not being Mike. Local annoyingly imperturbable gadfly inconsolable due to boybestfriend going to work in a different department than him, more at eight. Then, when Mike gets into the fight at Clapham Common, Psmith feels genuine fear as he prepares to intervene in the fight and tell Mike to make a run for it.

Another factor I feel makes the queer coding stronger here is that unlike Bertie and Jeeves, there isn't an obvious plausibly deniable reason for Psmith and Mike to always be together. Jeeves is Bertie's employee. He's an unreasonably devoted and loyal employee, but you expect a gentleman to be accompanied by his valet about town, and for the gentleman and valet to share accommodation.

Psmith and Mike are just like that. They live together because they like each other and want to. Psmith spends the whole book essentially treating Mike like his boyfriend and sugar baby, again, simply because he wants to. I mean, the novel literally opens with Psmith bringing Mike home to meet his parents, and Psmith's father later refers to Mike as the "youngster [Psmith] brought home last summer." Psmith invites Mike to go out on an excursion with him "hand in hand" not once, but twice. The end goal of all his scheming is for him and Mike to be together at Cambridge.

'I need you, Comrade Jackson,' he said, when Mike lodged a protest on finding himself bound for the stalls for the second night in succession. 'We must stick together. As my confidential secretary and adviser, your place is by my side. Who knows but that between the acts tonight I may not be seized with some luminous thought? Could I utter this to my next-door neighbour or the programme-girl? Stand by me, Comrade Jackson, or we are undone.' So Mike stood by him.

I find it very notable that despite one of the big themes of the book being Mike and Psmith feeling uncertain about the future and trying to figure out what they want to do in life, neither of them ever mentions or thinks about marriage as something they might want someday. From what I've seen it looks like that might change in later books, but it stuck out in this one. And it's not like they couldn't have! Mr Waller's daughter and her on-again-off-again fiance were at that extremely awkward dinner, and that could have prompted a thought about whether or not the prospect of engagement sounded personally appealing to either of the boys.

This book feels like a wish fulfillment fantasy in much the same way the Jeeves books do. Imagine you have a fascinating friend who, using his money and/or resourcefulness, can rescue you from your terrible job and terrible shitty apartment (or other, richer varieties of soup, if you're Bertie Wooster), freeing you to pursue the life you truly want. He's clever, and quotes all your favorite Shakespeare lines, and is intensely devoted to you (he's also kind of a weird stickler about clothes but you can put up with that). And all he asks for it is that you look at him with awed wonder and gratitude and tell him he's a genius a few times a day.

So! In conclusion, I think you could read this as romantic or queerplatonic according to your fancy, but there's certainly nothing straight about it. And loath as I am to speculate about the personal lives of people who were alive in recent memory, I'm kind of starting to have some questions about P. G. Wodehouse. But that's neither here nor there. I'm going to go read some fanfic. Thank you so much for the question, Mysterious Ring for Jeeves Anon!

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 34

Cw: mentions of depression, racism(use of a slur), severed heads

Gif by @bonniebird

Taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @mercedesdecorazon @aemondx @watercolorskyy @sweethoneyblossom1 @ewanmitchellcrumbs

A day after Ser Otto’s demise, Aemma received a black brocade gown made to match the famous green dress Alicent wore at Aemma’s mother’s wedding feast.

I am your humble servant; the white silk ribbon had written in an elegant Valyrian script.

The handmaiden had been instructed to press her hair with a hot comb and arrange it exactly as Queen Alicent wore it that evening twenty years ago.

Her mysterious ally had gotten the matching jewelry done in silver and rubies that matched her crown.

The Beacon of the Hightower shone green when calling its banners and during wartime.

The symbolism of the queen’s gown had given name to their faction and become her signature color.

And tonight, Aemma rubs salt in the wound by taking her glorious moment and using it as weapon against her.

“Tell your mistress I will do all I possibly can to repay her kindness, May.” Aemma whispered as May, her handmaiden, dressed her.

It was an insult to House Hightower and the Queen Mother especially. And what better way than to wear it for tonight’s feast done in honor of Ser Otto’s memory and as a show of strength on Aegon’s part.

The entirety of Otto Hightower’s household ---including his longtime mistress--- is put to the sword for their negligence.

Their heads will be displayed at tonight’s feast just as Daemon allegedly displayed Ser Otto’s head at Harrenhal yesterday.

Aegon doesn’t care about people seeing him as weak as he is brought to court in his father’s own chair, after all, the heads will distract them all.

At dawn, Daeron Targaryen, Alicent and Alicent’s two brothers were to escort the bones to Oldtown along with most members of their house leaving court ripe for the taking.

Tomorrow Aemma and Jena will begin turning the court against Alicent and turn all those cloaks from green to black while she buried her loathed father.

It would not be easy, but the journey to and from Oldtown would take at least two or three moons given all the fighting still going on in the Reach. A shame Samantha had to go; she was quite fun even Baela liked her, but her husband demanded she go and her stepson/lover as well especially now that word has gotten around about little Ellyn’s toy dragon being the only thing left by his killers.

The most credible and circulated rumor was that Daemon had known who the true killer of the bastard girl was and did not like being framed for it.

There were others, but all of them fell apart when word came that Daemon had been presented Ser Otto’s head by a ratcatcher who claims he saw who killed the little girl.

The real killer is the blood of the king, he had allegedly said.

After that all ratcatchers were arrested and put to death. Cats were to replace them, and most households will have to kill their vermin themselves if they do not have a cat or a dog.

Some had wondered what would happen to all the rat poisons the rat catchers had.

The first toast is interrupted when the ballroom’s doors are opened to her.

No one knew she was coming, and it made it all the better.

“All rise, for Queen Aemma Targaryen.”

Whoever made that dress had a death wish.

Aemma had mentioned it earlier, but seeing how perfectly it was replicated in black, silver and rubies was an entirely different beast.

The feast had yet to begin and yet when Queen Alicent gave her thanks for their condolences, her speech was interrupted by the arrival of her rival.

“If my position were not on the line, I would be the first to compliment her on this.” Jasper tries not to look proud at this scene he thinks she helped orchestrate. “Who knew the two of you would pull it off so well, darling.”

“She looks like---” someone down the table said and Jena decided to let the court know where her loyalties now lied.

“She looks like a queen.” Jena smiled as her friend passed by them and Aemma nodded in return.

Jena cannot tell who is more spellbound by the sight of Aemma, both Targaryen men cannot seem to care how insulted their maternal family is about it.

Queen Alicent had been told her gooddaughter may be attending and wisely left the chair available. It would have been doubly humiliating to be asked to move.

“I am sorry for your loss, goodmother.” Aemma says the words genuinely which makes it all even worse.

It was common knowledge that the Queen Mother had yet to give her condolences to her gooddaughter.

Jena had been amongst the first to tell her, using her status as the Master of Laws’ wife and Aegon’s mistress to see her.

It had been a shocking sight, Aemma looking so dead inside as she sat by the window contemplating gravity.

I am sorry for your loss, your mother was a good woman, those words had made the young queen turn and give her a look that was in itself a loud cry for help.

Jena was relieved to see her return to life, even if the naïve girl was long gone.

And the woman born from her ashes had come with a vengeance.

“The law says a son comes before a daughter, “Jasper reminds her.

“The law went out the window when Aegon was put on the throne, dearest.”

Aemma’s confidence lasts up until Aegon speaks and announced he would kill Daemon and his men just as he had killed those who had turned a blind eye to his grandfather’s murder.

Aemond winced at the turn of phrase, but that had not been the source of their greater discomfort.

Every single head had been put on a platter and left at every table like a centerpiece.

Alicent gets the head of Ser Otto’s mistress, Victaria Bulwer, while Aemond got Hightower’s steward and Aegon the head of his grandfather’s sworn shield.

Aemma gets the head of his housekeeper.

It was disgusting to say the least.

“I thought you might like it, Goodwife Megga loved to call you a darkie behind your back.” Aegon said as if Aemma would appreciate it.

But Jena told her that to get Aegon out of the way the moment she is made co-ruler she must be the perfect wife.

“I can feel her prejudice from her stare, thank you.” Aemma swallows her disgust and finds herself losing her appetite.

“Your lady wife should not see such things lest the babe be born stillborn” his mother warned as she tried to drink her wine while Lady Victaria’s green eyes stared at her in horror.

Death before Disgrace.

The words of House Bulwer who hoped Ser Otto would wed the young widow and give her that sought after heir to keep her cousins from taking the keep and lands.

Now that will never happen.

The woman had been disgraced before her death and even after.

“I am sorry, I did not know.” Aegon apologized and had the heads taken away making all of them breathe easier. “Let us hope little Aenys was unaffected by that fuck up.”

Why was he being nice?

“You look beautiful.” Aegon adds with a genuine smile. Aemond narrowed his eyes and hid his irritation with a sip of wine. He will need the whole pitcher if Aegon keeps this show of gentlemanliness up.

What the fuck was going on with him?

Was he giving Aemond and Criston’s advice a try still?

“How did you get your hands on such a dress, your grace?” Alicent asked with a sharp edge to her style of address.

“A gift from a merchant guild to sweeten the pot, they seem to have had trouble getting their petitions acknowledged by the late hand. Something about children being sold to rat pits and brothels.” Aemma answered and set right to work.

With a few well-placed words and a caress ---as Jena taught her yesterday--- she could get Mysaria’s list done before the quickening occurs.

[junk-and-disorderly]

He Ain’t Heavy - 1981//15

They settled into a new normal.

Eddie went to school (with much protesting), and Wayne worked the third shift at the plant. It was a hard adjustment at first, but the pay bump certainly made things easier. Besides, he was never one for sleeping anyways. The change made it so he could be there to wake his nephew up, drag his ass to school, attend different CPS appointments, and if he was lucky, catch a few winks before picking Eddie up.

All in all, it made one thing certain: he’d be able to be there when Eddie needed him and keep food on the table.

At least he could say Eddie was coming into his own, like a stubborn root poking through a crack in the concrete. Not blossoming, but fighting tooth and nail to be there all the same. The kid seemed to split his time either holed up in his room, or holed up at the houses of some other misfits from school. It was good to see him around kids his own age, and they didn’t seem like bad apples either. Different, maybe, but not bad (Wayne remembered how he was at that age).

Despite their misaligned schedules, Eddie never seemed to stray far from the trailer on Wayne’s nights off. They found themselves on the porch on one of those rare evenings, soaking in the sounds of the trailer park in the chilly spring air. It was hardly ever quiet with life happening all around them. There was a soft melody drifting in from someone’s radio, dogs barking from somewhere off in the distance, a mother’s harried call for dinner, a child’s laugh.

Eddie hummed idly to himself, feet propped up on a spare lawn chair as he plucked the strings of his old guitar. It was an aimless sort of play, simply giving his restless fingers something to do versus plucking out a particular tune. They’d finally put in enough elbow grease to fix the black acoustic. She would never be without her bumps and bruises, but she was cherished all the same.

Wayne didn’t pay him much mind--his thoughts were elsewhere. It wasn’t often, but there were times when the past would reach up, sink its claws in, and unearth old memories. When those black moods would roll in, he felt every bit the sentimental old man he’d become.

Sometimes it was as simple as finding his old dog tags, plastic casings yellowed with age, that was enough to darken his thoughts. They reminded him of his father, how he died for his country not in a day, but little by little over the years. Other memories haunted him, too. Flashes of forgotten young men in the jungle, fighting a war that wasn’t theirs, uniforms forgotten in the dark as they cried for their mothers. Most days they were just a memento of years gone by, forgotten until the next spring cleaning.

Anniversaries and milestones didn’t bother him so much--he expected the despair to creep in on those sanctioned days. It was those little niggling thoughts that kept him up that were harder to contend with. Usually he’d shake it off best he could, but nights like tonight?

A glass of whiskey, a smoke, and time with his thoughts were the only reprieve.

“I won’t be much company tonight, I’m afraid.” Wayne puffed on his cigarette, eyes trained on the horizon. Dusk was falling, as were the temperatures.

“Not sure what you’re on about, I’m just here to play guitar, man.” Eddie wiggled his fingers as if to emphasize his point. The grin on his face though, gave away the fact he knew exactly what he was doing.

Wayne snorted, shaking his head. “If you want to keep an old man company, that’s your business.”

“Pshh. You’re not old, Wayne. You’re just entering your silver fox era. I’ve seen Ms. McCluskey eyeballing you--better be careful, old girl might hunt you down with her walker.”

He let out a startled laugh, which of course, earned him a toothy smile in response. Kid always had some smart-assed comment ready to go. Eddie was definitely a teenager, and his brain-to-mouth filter hadn’t developed yet. In truth, he wasn’t sure it was ever going to develop, and he would be stuck with a mouthy teenager who was too smart for his own good.

There were worse things in life.

Only problem about being clever is that it also attracted trouble, and Wayne knew a thing or two about trouble. Didn’t help that Eddie shared a name with it, either.

He managed to split his memories of his brother into two neat categories: before Eddie and after Eddie. Unfortunately, what he felt about said memories weren’t as cut and dry. There was just as much love wrapped up in his pain and the two were indistinguishable at this point.

That was just how things were for Munsons, though. Shit was never easy.

His thoughts drifted back to a one bedroom house in Kentucky that was often frigid in the winters, boiling in the summers, and claustrophobic year round: his childhood home. The bedroom was reserved for his parents, but also doubled as a nursery (and on one occasion a mausoleum for a baby girl. He’d never know who Wanita could have been). The pull out couch was reserved for him and Edward--his brother swore up and down that the springs in the mattress had caused his chronic back-problems. Somehow Wayne turned out fine.

“Whatcha readin’ there?” Wayne asked around a mouthful of pins. He knew keeping the sewing needles in his mouth was a bad habit, but swallowing them seemed a kinder alternative than accidentally dropping one. Edward slept on the pullout too; he’d rather not chance the boy getting stuck with one.

 The little boy across from him gave a dramatic sigh. “See Spot Run. At least, I’m trying. It’s boring as fuck.”

The pins were removed from his mouth solely so he could scold his brother. “Edward Munson, do not say ‘fuck’.” He stuck them in the pants he was mending--he could tell the kid was in the mood to talk.   

“You and dad say it all the time!” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s different--and keep it down, mom is trying to sleep.” The needle punched through the denim with familiar ease. He’d worn these pants when he was Edward’s age, and they were beginning to show their years. Hopefully the patch would help keep them long enough until he could grow into Wayne’s clothes. The patch he was sewing would at least add a little extra material--the denim was practically soft with how thin it had become.

“How?!” He sat up quickly, full on pouting with his arms crossed.

 “I’m older than you, that’s why.” Wayne tried to bite back a smile--it was hard to take the little boy seriously sometimes. Still, he shushed him again, “Seriously though, keep it down. Mom needs her rest--she had a bad spell.”

 The answer, as Wayne predicted, was unsatisfactory. “Not by that much…You’re…” He trailed up, bringing his fingers up to count. “You’re…thirteen, I’m six so that means…”

 This time, he didn’t try to hold his grin. Didn’t help him either though--kid had to learn.

 “Seven! Seven years older.” He returned Wayne’s toothy grin with his own gap toothed smile. His cheer didn’t last though. It never did. “Why is mom always sleeping?”  

“She’s really sick.” He tried to smile, but he knew it was hollow. Mom was sick--that’s the only explanation he ever got. Never why, or with what, just ‘mommy needs her rest’. Whatever it was, it made her sad--so sad she cried at night, and hardly left her room.

 “Is she gonna die?” Edward’s voice was small.

Wayne reached across, and pulled his brother into a tight hug. “Mom isn’t going to die. Don’t say shit like that.” He maneuvered the six year old into his lap, “Besides, who’d make you breakfast in the morning?”

 Edward pulled back, brow pinched in confusion. “But you do that.”

 He swallowed nervously. Their mom was never awake by the time they needed to walk to school, but he wanted to…wanted to do something to make it seem like she was more involved in their lives. He’d gotten her tired smiles growing up, and her bell-like laugh. His brother had gotten none of that, and he knew how important family was, and…

 “No. Mom does that. I just help her out sometimes.” It was a weak response, and they both knew it.

 That only seemed to confuse the younger boy more, and he opened his mouth to argue.

  “Hey, why don’t you read me your stupid book, huh? Mending your pants is a snooze-fest. At least this way we can be bored together.”

 A distraction always worked. Soon, Edward was all smiles again, and tucked his head into his brother's shoulder with the dog-eared book propped up on his knees. He cleared his throat, whispering the title with awe, like he was about to start an epic story. “See Spot Run.”

They ended up waking their mother up with their laughter, but it was worth it.

Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with regret and the thoughts of what could have been. He didn’t know when it started, the rift between him and Edward. Perhaps it was always there, just two boys destined to mirror one another in a pantomime of polarity. Hindsight always bore the gift of clarity.

The years went by and Wayne slipped away, little by little. It started with the odd jobs that became real jobs that kept him out too late, but the family wallet a little thicker. Then as he grew older, his seat in the classroom remained vacant, and somewhere in the shuffle his brother had gotten lost.

By the time Wayne was seventeen, the hubris of youth had taken root. The money he was making was good enough to buy his own set of wheels, and if he played his cards right, his ticket to freedom. He thought he was grown, and determined to put that little one bedroom house in his rearview mirror. No more playing parent, no more responsibility--just his own money and his own life.

Looking back, he understood that impulse to run, but he’d never regretted anything more in his life. Had he just been present and maybe a little less focused on girls and partying, he would have been a better role model.

A better brother.

They pulled up to the house, windows dark and shuttered. 

“You know, nobody’s home.” The words were pressed into his date’s cheek, the smell of her flowery perfume clouding his thoughts. Couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, but he didn’t need to. She wanted him, and he wanted her--what more did he need to know?

She giggled, pushing him away. “I can’t imagine what we’d get up to.” There was a smile hidden behind her hand, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” He grinned back at her--he’d been told his smile was charming. He was already turning off the ignition, and reaching across the console for another kiss.

The lights in the house flipped on.  

“I thought you said nobody would be home.” The honeyed tone was gone, replaced with wide eyes and trepidation.

  “There shouldn’t be.” His dad worked the night shift, and fuck knows where his mom was these days. Which only could only mean…

 He dropped his head against the steering wheel. “Shit. My kid brother.”

 Mirabelle--that was her name--had started to button up her blouse self-consciously. “O-Oh. Well. Maybe…Maybe we should call it a night then?”

 Wayne Munson was not about to be cock-blocked by a shitty ten year old. He covered her hand with his own, before reaching up and pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We can do that, if you want.” He wet his lips, eyes flicking down to meet hers. Do you want that?”

 She swallowed, and locked eyes with him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “No.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, pulling back with a smile. She returned it, and he ran a thumb along her lower lip. “Then keep that smile for me, sweetheart. I’ll be just a minute.”

He was a man on a mission now, leaving the car behind.

 Edward was opening the screen door, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the headlights. “Wayne? You were supposed to be home to cook me dinner…”

 Wayne knelt down in front of him, “I know--Listen, I have a pretty lady who wants to take a tour of the house. Think you can make yourself scarce for a bit?”

 Edward’s eyes darkened, “No! You’re never here anymore, and I’m not going to sit outside while you like, kiss or whatever!” His voice carried in the night air, and Wayne quickly threw a hand over his mouth to shush him.

 “This is so uncool, what the fuck, Edward?” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

 The kid threw his glare right back at him, and licked his palm.

Wayne’s hand flew back like he’d been burned. “Fine, I’ll make you some fucking dinner, Jesus Christ.” He stomped away from him, shoving his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket.

 He threw the car door open, and slammed it shut just as hard. “Change of plans. Brat still needs to be babysat, apparently.” He tried popping his neck from side to side, avoiding the small shadow sitting expectantly on the front porch steps.  

“Oh.” She gave a small frown, “Well that’s…sweet of you.” A new smile took residence on her face, but it wasn’t a flirtatious one: it was pitying. Yep, he was definitely not getting laid tonight, or ever, not by Mirabelle at least.  

“Yeah, that’s me, big ol’ sweetheart.” It came out flat, and he turned the key in the ignition, engine roaring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

Turns out his brother had learned a lot more from Wayne than he thought. Kids were spongey--they soaked up everything whether you wanted them to or not. It became less about the lessons on how to tie his shoes and make his own meals, and more about the unspoken rules of how to be a man and an adult. Between their father and Wayne’s absenteeism, Edward cobbled together how to sneak into bars, pick up chicks, and how to finish his own fights. By the time Edward’s own teenage years rolled around, he was on a first name basis with every authority figure in a five mile radius.

It’s funny how the more things changed, the more they remained the same: Wayne was still taking care of a kid that wasn’t his with one bedroom between the two (no little house in Kentucky this time, though).

Somehow he’d even managed to sleep on a pull out couch again.

This time though, things would be different. He wouldn’t let Eddie become another Munson fuckup.

Wayne cleared his throat, trying to grab his nephew’s attention. “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, why don’t you play us some Johnny Cash, hm?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Always the Man in Black.” Despite his grousing, it came with a playful smile. Before long the discordantly cheerful twang of ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ became the backdrop of Wayne’s musings.

He couldn’t help but shake his head and smile into his whiskey, though it was a sad and bitter one. Eddie had no idea how appropriate his song choice had been.

This time, he knew exactly what was to blame for his maudlin thoughts: a phone call.

 ‘Would you like to collect this call?’ The tinny voice crackled in his ears--he didn’t need to be told who was on the line; he already knew.

  Against his better judgment, he accepted the call.

 “Hey.”

 “How’d you get this number?”

 There was a resigned laugh on the other end. “Haven’t changed a bit…Kinda hopin’ you had.” A pause, “Social worker. You’re a hard man to find, Wayne.”

 Wayne hummed in understanding--it hard to get a guardianship without the parents involved somehow. “I like my solitude.” It was also intentional, but he didn’t feel the need to point that out.

 It had been years since he’d heard his brother’s voice, but he recognized it all the same. There were cracks in it, like asphalt on a hot summer day, tinged with the boyishness of a forgotten childhood. Bikes and skinned knees. It was like coming home to a vacant house.

 It hurt.  

“What do you want, Edward?” It came out softer than he’d wanted, but Wayne always had a soft spot for his little brother.  

“A lot of things.” A swallow, “Drugs. Money. Freedom. Forgiveness.” There was a longer pause, “My brother.”

 He noted the order of things and the glaring hole in the list. “But not your kid, huh?”  

“Junior’s better off without me.”

 He wasn’t about to fight him on that, not when it was true.  

“I was hopin’ he’d go to you, even if you did do a shit job with me. But you ain’t gotta raise him, just keep him clothed and fed.”

Wayne bit his tongue--he didn’t have to raise his kid-brother either, but he did. He still fucking did, because that’s just what you do.

But he didn’t have to rise to the bait, no matter how true it may have been.

“Eddie.” He cleared his throat, “He goes by Eddie. Not Edward. Not junior.”

“That so? Guess he didn’t want to be like his old man.”

 God, he hoped not. He was doing everything in his power to keep Eddie from that.

“Doesn’t matter, not why I called. Just…wanted to say thanks. For keepin’ my boy. You keep him in line, and don’t let him give you no lip.”

He thought back to their first days together--him and Eddie. Carefully orbiting one another, watching one another like fighters in the ring. Who’d take the first punch?

 In the end, neither of them had: it was a stupid coffee cup. Eddie had it in his hands, touches always feather light, like he was afraid he’d break it. Ironically, it was that carefulness that led to a broken mug on their floor. It was an accident--had slipped out of Eddie’s soapy grip. Just a shitty gas station mug. Nothing memorable.

 Nothing like the horror on his nephew’s face.

 “Wayne, it was an accident, you gotta believe me--you gotta---” His hands were fisted in his shirt, frozen, right before they flew to retrieve the broken ceramic pieces. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” Red dotted the shards as he tried to pick them up.

 Instincts and adrenaline took over, and he was across the room in seconds, grasping Eddie’s hands within his own. “You’re okay, Eddie.”

 The touch seemed to ground him, but his hands still shook. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne.”  

“I care a lot more about you gettin’ hurt than a mug I didn’t even like.” He lifted the boy to his feet, gesturing to the bathroom. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

 It was for that reason alone, Wayne felt himself grit out, “Don’t call back” before slamming the phone down on the receiver.

  He never did tell Eddie about the call. He wanted his nephew to feel safe where he was without the specter of his father lingering over them both.

A familiar tune tugged him back into consciousness and out of the recesses of his memory. He lifted his head up, “Since when did you learn to play the Hollies?”

Eddie’s playing halted as he shrugged his shoulders. “Just kinda picked it up. No biggie.” He flexed his fingers a moment--they were red from the cold. He insisted on wearing a pair of old gloves that he’d clipped the tips off of--said it was the closest thing to a compromise on keeping his hands warm, but still being able to pluck at the strings.

Wayne shook his head with a smile, running his thumbs along the mug in his hands. It was a replacement for the one he’d broken though much improved: the glaringly cheerful text of ‘WELCOME TO HAWKINS’ had been crossed out with a sloppy scrawl ‘WELCOME TO BUMFUCK NOWHERE’. He’d never felt particularly welcome in Hawkins to begin with.

“What about Dolly Parton? You pick any of her stuff up?”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, “I know not to take her man, if that’s what you mean.” Sure enough, ‘He Ain't Heavy’ melted into the heartbroken classic of ‘Jolene’.

Wayne couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that--kid was clever.

Eddie’s finger slipped, causing a screech of discordant strings.

Wayne whipped his head over at him, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘you good?’. His nephew was talented,  well on his way to being skilled, but it wasn’t normal for him to flub like that.

Eddie shrugged, ‘what can you do?’. He was back to playing, but his hands trembled and his smile was plastic. Then the music abruptly stopped. “Not that I’d…y’know, steal her man. I’m not...‘that way’. Obviously.”

That gave Wayne pause. “Didn’t think you were.” He cocked an eyebrow, watching his nephew fidget in his seat. Odd that he felt the need to clarify in the first place--was this another thing his brother hammered into him?

“Do…you remember when I first came here?” The music had stopped completely, Eddie resting his hands over the acoustic. Nervous fingers tapped a quiet rhythm along her black frame. “How I had that buzzcut?” As if on cue, he moved a hand to his hair. A year had prompted a lot of growth--the dark curls hovered just above his shoulders.

“Made your ears look like Dumbo, yep.” Wayne nodded along, setting the empty mug down on the porch (and a safe distance away from the two of them--he didn’t want a third replacement).

Eddie gave a bark of startled laughter, “I know, right? It was so bad.” The easy smile faded as quickly as it came. “It wasn’t my choice. My old man…”

Just the mere mention of him caused his shoulders to slump and his to dim. Eddie never called him ‘dad’--he hadn’t earned that title, in Wayne’s eyes.

“He cut it saying it would make me look less like a fag.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair again self-consciously.

An uncharacteristic lull fell between the two of them. There’s something big here, and he has a creeping suspicion he’s missed something important. The longer he takes to reply though, the more heavily Eddie’s gaze weighs on him.

He’d figure out where this piece of the puzzle went later. “My brother is a goddamn idiot. Keep the hair, kid.” To emphasize his point, he reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Eddie squawked at that, playfully shoving him away, but there was still a small unhappy twist to his expression.

It was quiet, a reflexive comment and less like actual conversation, but Wayne heard it all the same: “A goddamn perceptive idiot.” Did he hear that right? He knitted his brows together, “Come again, kid?”

“Just saying he didn’t like me looking like David Bowie or some shit. Don’t worry about it.” He gave a shrug, but his eyes were too sharp, too wary to sell the air of nonchalance he was going for.

“That a rock star you like or somethin’?”

A quiet laugh. “Something like that.” Another pause, “That’s…not going to be a problem, is it? Liking David Bowie or Robert Halford?”

“Considering I have no idea who those folks are? Not one bit. Just don’t hog the bathroom and we’re good.”

“I’ll leave you enough time to do your hair in the morning, scouts honor.” He batted his eyes for effect, which caused Eddie to laugh at his own antics. “Can’t have you looking all scruffy for McCluskey, after all.”

Whatever door of opportunity had opened had promptly hit his ass on his way out, because Eddie had already moved on. “I don’t know how you two can be related. You’re nothing like him.”

Now if that wasn’t the biggest kick in the teeth? “I wouldn’t say that. We both got our daddy’s temper. Mine just got tempered, and his didn’t.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was contemplative and heavy with bad memories.

“Sometimes I think I hate him.” Eddie took a shuddering breath, mouth set in firm line.

Wayne said nothing--couldn’t bring himself to. In his heart of hearts, he knew he did too.

“Is it weird if I love him too?” He had Eddie’s full attention now, dark eyes weighing heavily on him.

In truth, Wayne didn’t have the answers. He was doing good to put one foot in front of the other, every day. He didn’t know how to even begin untangling the massive ball of hurt knotted in his chest, much less help someone else with theirs.

Yet here they were. Two people haunted by the same person, this shared trauma that bonded them together. He wanted more for Eddie than whatever this was.

It was as good a time as any to start the healing process. So Wayne took a deep breath, buying himself a few crucial seconds before he spoke, “Sometimes love is so wrapped up with the hurt we can’t tell the difference.”

He pointed the stub of his cigarette at Eddie, “Let me be clear about this though: my brother is an asshole.”

The declaration made Eddie’s eyes as round as saucers, but Wayne kept going. He had more to say, and he was going to make it count.

They hadn’t talked about it, what Eddie’s life was like before. Hadn’t been a real reason to, in Wayne’s mind. He was able to pick up enough--something would happen, and he would adjust accordingly. The social workers had told him not to pry and not to push, but maybe it would do the boy some good to talk. If not to him, at least to someone.

Maybe they could start here.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on the neck of his guitar, stone still for the first time in his life.

“You got the Munson gene, but you ain’t your daddy. You ain't me either, thank God. You go be yourself, Eddie.”

“...I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in one sitting, Wayne.” His lips were bitten into the ghost of a smile, his voice tinged with humor and emotion.

Of course that’s what he’d take away from it. Wayne snorted, shaking his head with terrible fondness. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to get a word in.”

“Hey, someone has to carry the conversation.”

He chuckled to himself, “More like a monologue.”

Eddie almost threw himself out of the chair, clutching at his heart dramatically. “You wound me, good sir!” He hopped up to his feet with a newfound energy. “Want me to take your cup to the kitchen?”

He didn’t wait for Wayne’s response before dipping down and snatching it. He quickly wrinkled his face, “...Were you drinking whiskey out of a coffee cup?”

Wayne shrugged. “A cup’s a cup.”

“And I’m the freak.” Eddie snorted, shaking his head fondly. “Want me to grab anything else?”

“I’m good. When you come back, let me hear what you’ve been workin’ on.” Call him sentimental, but he wanted to keep the moment as long as he could. Kids grow up so fast.

His jaw dropped, “You want to hear a Scorpion’s song? You hear that shit all the time though.”

“S’not so bad at this volume.”

“If you can’t feel it in your teeth, you aren’t doing the music justice.” Eddie shuffled in the doorway a moment, “Besides, it’d sound better on an electric. Not that there’s anything wrong with my girl, here.” He motioned to the guitar now strapped along his back.

“That so?” Wayne cocked an eyebrow up at him. It certainly hadn’t stopped him from playing all hours of the night before. “Sounds just fine to me.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Prepare for the most tame concert ever.” There was pure glee in his voice as he skittered away back into the trailer with newfound enthusiasm.

The future was a fragile, tentative thing, but he wanted one for Eddie. That’s all he ever wanted for his family, and if it took a few extra shifts, and some sleepless nights to ensure that? He’d do it again and again.

The rickety lawn chair scraped across the porch as Eddie scooted in closer. “You ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, kid.”

[sasha-chambers]

Short Horror Stories: The Primordial

In times long past, there sat a small farming village, sat on the edge of a large ravine in the land with a forest on their left and a rushing river off to their right and wide rolling fields in front of them on which they made their fields and pastures. The people of this village made as well a living as simple farmers could in these times, carrying their goods to market in the local town and bringing home gold and other such necessities for their families. One day, their quiet lives were disrupted for the briefest and yet most violent of moments as the ground began to shake and crumble as if the fist of an angry god had struck the earth.

The moment passed as quickly as it came with only minor damage to the village and the surroundings, but the real change was to be found where few would ever see it, deep in the ravine to their back, the ground had been torn even further apart, forming a wound deep in the earth that led down into an all swallowing oblivion. For the inhabitants of the village such a change made no difference to their lives, at least at first, it was what would emerge from this dark abyss that would truly change how they lived their lives for ever more.

A few days later, deep within the night with the full moon casting its cold, silver light down on the land, that a dark, ancient creature finally managed to climb its way to the very edge of the ravine, cautiously and carefully creeping off into the nearby forest as it absorbed the strange sights and smells of this new world that it had never before laid eyes upon. It was not until the following morning that the village became even slightly aware of the presence of the creature as the local hunters came across numerous corpses of animals within the woods, all stripped to the bone of flesh and gore as if something had been desperate to sate an age old hunger.

For some time talk spread throughout the village of some rabid animal or even a monster roaming the forest and it was deemed safest for no one to enter for the time being, though even in the following days no harm came to the village's denizens. There was, however, a curious gaze watching them from the shadows and the dark of night, learning from these strange new beings where it had previously been wholly alone. One such thing it learned was a local custom where boys would wade into the nearby river and retrieve brilliant stones that dotted it's bed, presenting them to the girls they fancied as a manner of courtship.

The creature also took note of one girl who received no such gift from anyone, a girl with a face half scarred by fire that she carefully covered with black, silky hair. She spent most of her time alone, isolated, much like the creature and as a result it grew curious of her and, when the shadows of a night sky filled with thin clouds provided the most cover, it ventured to the river and spent hours obsessively searching until it found the most brilliant of stones in its own eyes, a smooth, jet black stone that reflected only the most miniscule glints of light like a star trapped within a black ocean.

The creature gathered its courage and entered the sleeping village, finding the house of the girl and peering in through her window to find her sleeping in bed. For a moment it looked on at her, curious and confused as to why it found her so fascinating until it was spooked by a local hound and it quickly placed the stone on the windowsill and retreated with haste back into the night and it's home within the forest. The barking of the dog had also woken the girl, however, and she quickly took note of the stone and moved to the window, only catching the briefest of glimpses, but no doubt spying the strange being as it fled.

The following day, the girls own curiosity got the better of her and she ventured into the forest, stone clutched in hand in search of her admirer. Even as she stepped food between the first trees, the eyes of the creature were on her, though it was once more apprehensive about presenting itself in any way, watching her as she wandered aimlessly through the trees. It was only when the girl made the mistake of stumbling upon a hungry wolf in her search that the creature was forced to show itself, quickly and efficiently leaping from hiding and wrestling the wolf to the ground, snapping its neck before it even had time to howl.

For a moment the air was quiet and tense, the girl had her back pressed up against a nearby tree, her body frozen in shock and fear as she looked upon the strange entity that had saved her life. It was tall, standing a head above the tallest man and possessed a relatively human appearance. It's skin was covered with a natural armor like an exoskeleton and was grey as ash. It had hair very similar to the girls, raven black and cascading down over it's shoulders and equally black, inky eyes that reflected it's surroundings almost perfectly. It's face was like that of a man, fair and without blemish, though the fangs within it's mouth betrayed its inhuman nature.

The creature crouched down to be smaller than the girl, reassuring her slightly as she took a tentative step forward away from the tree and held out her hand, showing the stone that resembled one of the creatures eyes almost perfectly. The creature shuffled forward slowly and carefully, reaching out a large, long fingered hand and closing her hand around the stone, raising its other hand and gently moving her hair aside to see the entirety of her face, to which she shyly turned her head away, though only for a moment as the creature continued to gaze at her with a gentle look in its eye.

Their attention was stolen as the voice of one of the villagers came echoing through the trees, searching for the girl. Before the could even turn to look back at the creature, it had vanished without a trace and she quickly hid the stone it had gifted her before she was found, providing a quick story as to why she was in the forest before being led away back home. But this was not the last time she would venture into the woods. Whenever she could steal away she visited the creature, bringing food and various things to show it, finding a strange companionship with it despite the inability to communicate.

Unfortunately, as careful as she was, there were others in the village who became suspicious of her absence and on one fateful day, she was followed into the woods by another of the villages younger members and was spied with the creature. Even as she gently pressed her lips to the creatures, her fellow villager rushed back to the others to tell them of what they saw, a girl claimed by what looked to them to be a demon. The girl was labeled as a witch by the rest of her people and they wished to be rid of her, but it was this choice that brought a new emotion to the creature and spurred it to reveal itself to them all, rage.

Charging forth from the forest like deaths very own shadow, the creature tore through any who stood in it's way to reach the girl, blood and terror flooding the village until the girl was free and she threw herself in front of the creature to stop it's rampage. Once calmed she led the creature back into the woods and the two disappeared, becoming little more than a bad memory or nightmare to most who had survived the night. It was only years later when war had broken out across the lands and bandits ran rampant that the village was reminded of the creature that lurked in their shadow.

As bandits stormed the village and made to take all they had from them, a pack of creatures that closely resembled the one that had taken the girl emerged from the forest, cutting down every single bandits and leaving the villagers unharmed. The creature itself and the girl it had taken followed soon after the final screams had faded from the air, the girl introducing the new beasts as her children and assured those of the village that so long as the forest was their domain they would protect their home. It was from that day forward that the creature was no longer a demon to them, but a god, a protector.

Though much like a god time had no hold on the creature, since given the name Charnak and his rage was once again awakened when his bride passed. In response, not wishing to be swallowed by the rage of their god and his children, a new tradition was born within the village, when the creatures bride passed the girls of the village would venture into the woods and Charnak would choose, forming a new bond that bound him to the village, though that was not to say his rage would not ever be turned on them, as nothing could replace his first bride and some day blood might flow again with the wrath of a dark god.

[rominadrawsart]

Johnny Test: Ultimate Showdown, Meet the Main Cast!

After seeing @mrultra100 post about his own JT PE cast, I decided to make my own main cast. I've already explained characters new and old about them but after going back 3 posts later, I've changed my mind about some of them. Get ready cut it might be a long one.

Johnny Test (VA James Arnold Taylor) A topical 15 year old but still a bit mischievous. He was an lab rat for his twin sisters for some years now, but retired after few months. His own kind of lighting can fully paralize anyone hit by it. Because of his lighting and fire manipulation, there are a few volcanoes around the town who are inactive, however Johnny has the ability to summon thunderstorms and make volcanos erupt. Over the past 2 years (because it takes place after Revival) Johnny slightly matured, however he can easily become angry. Just try to insult him and the whole place will go KABOOM.

Dukey (VA Trevor Devall) A voice of reason and a brother figure to Johnny and a coffee lover too. A dog that used to be like any other but got mutant thanks to Susan and Mary. Before meeting Johnny, he was trained of becoming someone's bodyguard, which let him get a few scars here and there from other dogs he fought with. Ever since Johnny got him, he never let his side and was pretty much involved into any scenario.

Susan Test (VA Maryke Hendrikse) An older twin sister to Johnny yet younger than Mary. She is still an scientists, but when she's not working she often wear infeminine outfits as she is tomboyish. She has short temper which she can get mad easily if anything goes not according to plan or in her way. She is still in deep love with Gil.

Mary Test (VA Emilie Claire) A open minded and nicer than her younger sister Susan. Mary is more in better terms with Johnny because of her higher empathy than Susan. She is capable of sympathy and concer towards others no matter what situation might be. But even Mrs Nice can be Mrs Mean if she desires to.

Devil (VA none) A cunning yet smart Carnoraptor. A hybrid made from lab by Susan and Mary respectively, who afterwards escaped and now roams freely in the wild. Because of his horns which he got his name from, he can easily impale them on his prey with ease. He is mostly neutral at times with Johnny and the others but can be territorial. He appears to be a major threat towards the locals but hasn't been a report about him attacking anyone yet. With his long and slender legs he's very much capable of running really fast without getting tired.

Silver (VA none) A tall female Spinoraptor with her silver coloring and some bit of black on her head, spine, hands and legs. She was the first Spinoraptor to be created and released, since her previous aggressive nature she was capable of taking down creatures who are more taller than her but it wasn't till she got easily beaten by a large carnivore to which her ego and her pride had been shattered completely. After the incident she was badly mistreated by scientists until the rescue team freed her. Her appearance maybe creepy with her blind eye, a missing part of her spine and a few scars on her body but deep down she I just a poor unfortunate soul who has been hunting and left traumatized forever. Seriously give her a hug.

Mr Mittens (VA James Arnold Taylor) A literal talking cat who was mutanted in the same formula as Dukey. A fancy, skinny and posh cat but with lack of niceness. Often involves his butler in his schemes. Mittens is great friends with Brain Freezer and likes to hang out with him.

Albert (VA Lee Tockar) A tall male butler who works for Mr Mittens. Despite Mittens getting him involved into his schemes, he's never had a haterd towards anyone especially Johnny and considers quiting his job.

Bling Bling Bling "Eugene" (VA Lee Tockar) A chubby scientists mostly at Johnny's age who is in deep love with Susan. Despite Johnny being his nemesis, he often he's himself in Johnny and likes to hang out with him. Likewise Eugene spends almost all the time trying to win Susan's heart

Sissy (VA Ashleigh Ball) Johnny's love interest but also a rival. The two of them like to complete with each other with Sissy being too confident about being better than him. She is highly extroverted and still has her sissy aditute.

Gil Nextdoor (VA Andrew Francis) A tall 15 year old boy who finally gained his smarts. Likes surfing, summer and hanging out with both boys and girls. Yes Susan is jealous because of it.

Mr Black and White (VA Bill Mondy and Deven Mack) A pair of two tall and buff government agents who work for The General. While they can decently handle they're jobs, they are most likely to fail every time. What can I say? They just suck at they're jobs.

The General (VA Lee Tockar) A boss of Mr Black and White and a leader of Porkbelly's Area 1.0. That's all I can say.

Dark Vegan (VA James Arnold Taylor) A former leader of his home planet Vegandon (if that's how it's called) and has been stuck on Earth for a while. He'll do anything for a toast. Because of his schemes abd what he has done to other planets just to keep Vegandon stable, he's pretty much a bigger threat.

Brain Freezer (VA Bill Mondy) A tall teen boy genius that goes to Susan and Mary's highschool, Susan and Mary share some history with him. While still older than both Susan and Mary but could have same IQ level of both of them. In his past he was experimented on which caused him to be stuck with his ice powers and abilities forever. While can be cocky at times, sometimes he has a hard time trusting anyone he comes across. Because of his ice powers, he can control ice and snow. If he were to make a snowstorm, then he'll most likely try to use all of his powers to make it appear, or alternatively could create a snow canon or any kind of weapon to make his job easier. His powers have some reaction to his emotions. There is a lot about his character but it is more tragic. No he isn't a softie, he WOULD freeze you for a cookie.

Zizrar (VA Scott McNeil) A small mole creature who happens to be the king of his kind underground. He is heavily flamboyant and isn't afraid to admit it or come out.

By the way, the characters who aren't mentioned in here are considered to be Supporting characters. Man this took a while to wrote.

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

— in which Vlad Dracula and a childhood acquaintance reunite after years, and both assess one another anew through the perspective of adulthood.

word count: 5,252 words

warnings: implications of a love triangle, mentions of concubinage and extramarital relationships, (very) mild suggestive language and innuendos

a/n: Somehow, I have always felt in my writing bones that the beginnings of Vlad’s story with Cătălina should begin in Moldavia. I see Vlad’s years at the Moldavian court as one of his happiest moments in Voievod. Is it 100% plausible? Maaaybe not completely but it could not be any other way. Cătălina has a crucial place in his life… and here is how it all begins. I hope you enjoy the ride together with them! ❤️️

➨ also available on AO3

next chapter →

January 1950, Curtea Domnească, Suceava, Moldavia

The sheep wool draped over his shoulders offers warmth but no relief. Beneath him, the stone steps bite with cold — they had to sweep away the thick layer of snow so they could sit on them. The tension in his muscles comes from elsewhere. Rest has become foreign to him, though his body pleads for it. Dark shadows have settled beneath his eyes, almost black now, sharp against his pale, bone-white face. Exhaustion weighs heavy, and still, he cannot let go.

Though his uncle became voivode in autumn, they arrived at the court only two weeks ago — messages between Suceava and the Porte crawl at a torturous pace. When the messenger delivered Bogdan’s offer to him which stated that he was welcome to live at the Moldavian court if he pleased, Vlad had little time to drag his feet. But to go to Moldavia seemed a great risk. His uncle turned away from the Poles and now leaned on Hungarian support. Hunyadi might be eager to assist him for now, but his tune could change the moment he learned that the Moldavian voivode gave shelter to the young man whose head he wanted on a silver platter. To come here could have meant an instant execution. Family ties? They rarely matter, even less in royal families. Family is always the first scapegoat sacrificed on the path to power. His nephew’s death could help Bogdan secure a comfortable future.

But to come here seemed a better choice than staying in Edirne, even despite the risks. To move forward is to push through. And so he gathered the few belongings he had and set off for Suceava with his companion. The thick December snow turned the typically month-long journey into a much longer toil; having to bypass Wallachia entirely stretched the odyssey even further. Long days in the saddle or rough nights in shoddy inns in Dobruja nonetheless seemed a more preferable option than ending up dragged to Târgovişte and butchered on the doorstep of the palace like a stray dog.

Both men were received with warmth Vlad had not experienced in years. Bogdan has repeatedly reassured him that he will see to it that no harm comes to them, yet Vlad cannot shake off the state of alarm. One can feign affection with ease, perhaps even better than other emotions. And so instead of letting sleep overpower him in the comfort of the warm bed, his body stays alert. Every sound beyond the bolted door jolts him awake at night. He keeps a dagger beneath the pillow, ready, as if sleep itself is a danger he cannot afford to trust.

The same cannot be said of his companion. After that tumultuous year, Dracea has found Suceava to be the ideal place for repose. As Vlad walks past his chamber at the first light of dawn every morning, the heavy snores rumble from behind the closed door, deep and unbroken.

And, of course, there is that woman.

She is the reason why they are freezing on the stone steps instead of lounging by the fire in the hall. The cook gave them both this year’s walnuts wrapped in two cloth bundles, and Vlad was already turning towards the grand entrance that would take him to the hall when Dracea heard her voice — just a faint sound from outside — and bolted out of the gate. He has been mesmerised by her since the first moment he was introduced to her, longing to spend every second near her presence. Dracea’s eyes have been searching for her everywhere.

Vlad followed his footsteps without hesitation, watching his friend’s obsession with amused detachment. He could not help himself. Curiosity pulls him in like a moth to a flame and demands satisfaction. He has been observing this infatuation with fascination that has little to do with her and more with the simple notion of what a woman’s allure can turn a man into. There is certain bemusement in it, he thinks, that a single glance — barely a tilt of her chin, the flicker of a smile — can unravel a man so completely. She has reduced Dracea to a trembling boy and hypnotised him into thinking he is the one in control.

Dracea fights this battle with honour. His gaze never falters, never hesitates, never gives the poor soul rest — there is no respite in love, no pause for the weary. She moves and he follows, without question, without breath. If she graces him with a smile, his becomes all the wider. If she seems to be in need of a helping hand, he is ready to move the mountains for her. During a shared meal in the hall, amidst the murmur of voices and the clink of metal against wood, he leans back with satisfaction whenever her eyes find him. In that glance, the world collapses and folds inwards, existing only in the space of their unspoken words. An unabashed, mischievous wink earns him her laughter — soft, fleeting yet eternal. That is how wars are won.

He does not give her rest even now. His eyes anchor themselves to her form as her fingers caress the fabric the merchant displays to her. The delicate touch of wool against the soft skin he longs to touch, the whispered shift of fibres between her hands, hold his attention in a grip stronger than any grasp could. She pulls her woollen cloak tighter around her shoulders, and when she laughs, her cheeks flushed from the cold tighten in amusement. She is hardly the only living being standing in the courtyard — Ștefan’s elder sister Maria might be older than them but is enchanting nonetheless — but none of that matters to Dracea. The world around him dissolves, vanishes, and all that remains is her, untouchable yet infinitely near, caught in the invisible tether of his focus.

Cătălina. The name rolls around in his mind like a secret meant to be whispered in the darkness of a night. Sharp yet soft, delicate but never fragile. Că-tă-li-na. Că-tă-li-na. He says it in his mind, again and again, testing its weight as if by repeating it he might unravel the mystery of her, might understand how the smoothness of the syllables could match the depth in her eyes, the curve of her smile. It does not belong to her but becomes her, and with each thought of it, he is more certain that no other name would ever do.

How can something so simple hold so much power over him?

The sound of a rasping breath pulls him out of his reverie. A sweetness still lingers on his tongue when he recognises that sound — laughter, choked and restrained, desperately held in the throat. He turns to Vlad and lets the world of whiteness and empty walnut shells come into focus. The man sits there, his mouth stuffed with the nuts and cheeks puffed out in unspoken jest. He tips the cloth, and the walnuts tumble free and fall into the folds of the sheep skin laid across his knees. Then he dangles the cloth before Dracea’s face.

“A kerchief, my lord?”

“Wha— Why?”

“You are starting to slobber all over your knees.”

The laughter intensifies and swells around him, but Dracea pays it no mind. He flicks his wrist in a dismissal, and the cloth slips through Vlad’s fingers as he yanks it out of his hand. His eyes settle once more on that divine thing before him.

“You must be the only man alive immune to her charms,” Dracea shakes his head in disappointment, then points at her with an arm outstretched in indignation. “Take a good, long look at her and tell me it stirs nothing within you!”

“I am aware of her looks. You forget that I have known her since childhood.”

“I hardly doubt she looked like this. So ripe, so…”

Vlad wants to argue that countless other girls are ready to catch the wandering gaze of their starving eyes. He holds his tongue instead and looks at her, feeling a flicker of memory appear in front of him like the dust of a long-gone afternoon. She is not a girl anymore. The childish softness in her face is gone, stripped away by time. She is a woman now, not very tall but with a graceful posture befitting her class, hardly waifish, instead well-built — slim, with strength in her body indicating that she remains physically active. He recalls that she is a decent rider, at least from what he noticed during the sparse and short moments when their paths crossed in childhood. His eyes sweep over her features. Dark eyes, neither too large nor too small, a narrow nose, full lips. Her hair flows down her back in a river of dark chestnut waves, surprisingly not tamed in a braid, and the cool winter sun paints the tresses with a faint reddish tinge characteristic of her family. It almost reaches her waist, almost touches, but does not quite.

“There is more to life than beautiful women,” Vlad says at last, palms open in front of him.

“That is not what you said last night in the arms of the carpenter’s daughter.”

A walnut shell strikes Dracea’s temple with a thud, then clatters down the steps and rolls away. “At the very least, I keep my dalliances far from our host’s threshold.”

“As do I! Yet this one… this one may well be worth a sin or two.”

Dracea lets the words fall, expecting the familiar grin, the quick flash of approval in Vlad’s eyes — a sign of shared understanding, the unspoken camaraderie of men who dance on the edge of fate. Fortune favours the bold, he thinks to himself, and the Dragon’s son is never one to leave boldness unanswered, always quick to recognise it and enjoy it in others as if it were his own. But now, the silence stretches. Instead, there is only the crunch, soft but decisive, of the walnut splitting under Vlad’s thumbs. Not a word. Not a glance.

Dracea’s tongue curls, his remark now a hollow thing. Fortune favours the bold, yes — but it has its moods, and today, it is nowhere to be found.

The walnut shell drops to the ground.

“Exile need not mean we live as monks,” he tries again, and that is when the shadow of a grin pulls at Vlad’s lips.

“I would be the last man to pretend otherwise.”

“So?”

Vlad inhales, the crisp air sharp in his chest, while moss-green eyes trace the skies that sag under the weight of impending snow. Dracea can warm his bed with whomever he pleases. That much does not stir him. But that Muntenian woman, sharp-eyed and unbending, is not some tavern girl. Ruining a lady-in-waiting’s reputation is a game only fools play, and a single indiscretion could snap the trust their uncle has placed in them like a brittle twig. There is a reason why any non-committal adventures are kept strictly outside the palace’s gates. And then, there is always the chance of the unexpected, and to tether oneself to anything more than a fleeting passion when tomorrow, they might not even be in the same land… He knows better than to believe in anything as fragile as permanence in a place where nothing is ever promised, least of all tomorrow. Serious commitments are a luxury, and luxuries require stability. Vlad smirks at the thought — stability is the one thing they lack.

This might grow into a distraction that could taint all of his obligations.

But then again, he is not in a place to forbid such private matters. When Vlad had to flee, he did tell Dracea that he could not demand his companion as his ruler but could only ask it of him as his friend. Dracea is risking his life, not for the country or the crown but for the man — not out of obligation, but of his own volition. Besides, the lady-in-waiting hardly seems like a fragile damsel, and if she is anything like his sister to whom she once used to be close… God help the man foolish enough to think her weak.

A touch of something — is it concession? — graces Vlad’s lips as his fingers gather the last of the scattered nuts. He takes the white cloth from Dracea’s outstretched hand and wraps them into it again. Who is he to guard another man’s life when it is only his to live? To each man his own.

“So… Be discreet. Do nothing reckless. Beyond that, I care not for the rest. That is all I ask of you, Dracea.”

Lost in thought, he does not realise that his eyes stray from his friend and, as if pulled by an invisible thread, land upon her. It is fleeting, a moment that could dissolve in the air, but Dracea notices. He sees the pause, the way Vlad’s gaze betrays him just enough. A small victory, perhaps, but one that sparks a knowing smirk on his lips.

And so he presses further. “Like a rose in full bloom, is she not?”

He rises swiftly, fingers brushing the dust from the wool that clings to his legs. His hand, deliberate and firm, falls on Dracea’s shoulder.

“Mind the thorns. Roses are laced with them,” he says at last and disappears through the gate and into the palace’s corridors.

Dracea glances at her once more, the sharp pull of longing rising from his chest as if it could lacerate the air between them. He has already already made his choice, perhaps long before he knew.

This one might be worth piercing his fingers for.

three days later, Curtea Domnească, Suceava, Moldavia

Cătălina can recall the first sentiment she has ever felt for Dracul’s son with striking clarity — a creeping, uneasy shadow of envy. More than a decade ago, she was an observer in her own quiet solitude. She remembers looking at him in the same manner as she is now, through the grand window of the Voivodal Palace in deep contemplation, back hunched forward, chin cradled in the hollow of her small palms, dark eyes burning through his figure. Her body repeats the posture as if it were branded into her bones.

They were only children then, and she envied the lightness with which he sprinted through the path among his mother’s beloved rose bushes, cheeks puffed out and red with exertion. She always saw him in a frantic blur of motion, never still enough for her to catch more than a glimpse, a mass of black curls bobbing around his face. Cătălina was granted this freedom only within the sanctity of her own home. Beyond its confines, it was forbidden. She would swiftly face chastisement otherwise, made to remember who she was — or rather, what she could never be. A flicker of her tongue, a pink dart that vanished as quickly as it appeared, was a secret rebellion she allowed herself when no one was watching. Such a fate would never befall him. What was deemed naughtiness in her was celebrated in him. He could run as swiftly as he wished to, climb cherry trees as high as the boughs would permit, spit the crimson-stained pits upon the earth. It appeared as if the world had already bent its knee to him, a six-year-old boy.

The circumstances have changed significantly since then.

The world shifted and slipped into new hands. She now resides in a different Voivodal Palace — amidst a different court, under the rule of a different voivode, in a different land. The girl of six is long gone and left behind, buried beneath whatever remains of her childhood home, replaced by a woman on the cusp of eighteen. The sting of envy has disappeared together with that small girl.

She feels something different now. Curiosity, perhaps. Certainly sorrow — for what is lost, for what was taken from them, for those who would never return.

She has barely seen him since he arrived at Voivode Bogdan’s gates, but from the little she has noticed, she can already sense it. Life has hardened him and shifted something in him. He had to bury that boy who once scrambled up cherry trees as if he owned the sky, too.

“There you are, Cătălina!” she hears a voice behind her back and, as if by command, she snaps upright, her back straight and body rigid with that automatic obedience. Her hands, so quick to gesture, to grasp, now hang by her sides. “I have searched for you everywhere! Mother speaks of nothing but the engagement, I could bear it no—”

Maria stops mid-sentence, her voice swallowed by the quiet tension as she comes to stand beside Cătălina. Her gaze drifts to the window, large blue eyes settling not on the blond-haired youth outside, her brother Ștefan — shirt loose and sword in hands, all sinew and readiness — but on the unspoken subject of Cătălina’s attention.

Ștefan, for all his taut energy, could not be the man she was watching.

The man’s raven curls glisten with sweat, and the linen of his shirt clings to his back, every contour alive, the tension radiating from his form. But it is not infatuation that crosses her companion’s face. Cătălina’s gaze is not soft, nor does it linger with that longing Maria has come to recognise in so many women in his presence.

“Bogdan has instantly warmed up to him. He says he reminds him of his sister very much,” Maria’s voice softens, almost slipping into a whisper as if the words could barely hold themselves together.

She watches Cătălina’s lips curve into a smile filled with fondness. “Doamna Vasilisa was indeed a force to be reckoned with.”

Her mind floods with memories of the Moldavian princess, her hair the colour of honey sculpted into a tight bun atop her head. The strands, thick with waves, were always held by dozens of thin, gleaming pins and tucked beneath a veil of lace so delicate it looked like air. To the outside world, she was elegance incarnate, poised, a devoted wife to their beloved voivode, a loving mother to their children. She was the figure whispered about with admiration in the corners of markets, the dream mothers harboured for their daughters. A model of grace and temperance. The wife every man envied. But Cătălina remembered a different version of the graceful noblewoman, too. Behind the closed doors of the palace, Vasilisa unravelled into a sprightly soul full of vigour, always so quick with her wit, her words slicing through the air with the sharpness of steel. Vlad and his sister Alexandra bear their father’s face most strongly, but it is their mother’s fire that dances behind their eyes, her resilience burning beneath the surface.

The tender smile freezes on her lips in further remembrance. Life was rarely kind to Vasilisa.

She wrestles with her past like a ghost clinging to her skin, heavier than it should be, more real than she can bear. The memory resists her, coiled around her thoughts, but Cătălina forces her focus forward, settling her eyes on Maria. A deep silence blankets them both, a quiet that only makes the young woman’s nerves more visible. There’s a tremor in her stance, a subtle bow to her shoulders as if the weight of invisible hands presses down, bending her towards some unnamed fear. The crease between her pale brows is faint, but Cătălina catches the restless twisting of the rings, the way Maria’s fingers worry at her wrists, pale against the dim light.

She may be here to play the part of distraction, to ease the tension with soft laughter and lighter airs, but fondness, in its delicate intimacy, makes pretences an unbearable weight. She would rather silence the empty gestures of her role than betray this quiet bond. Damn him. The thought flares, sharp and brief, as her back turns to the window. The two figures outside, blurred by the clash of swords and steel ringing against steel, become distant, irrelevant. She loops her arm around Maria’s and pulls her away, guiding her through the winding corridors, where the dimness stretches over them like shadows.

“Have you had the chance to see him yet?” Cătălina speaks softly through the strain, drawing Maria out of her nervous daze.

Maria’s eyes flash with surprise, startled by the directness. She hesitates, then shakes her head, a sigh escaping like a confession. “No. I tried to catch a glimpse, but Mother would have none of it. I was left with Bogdan while she was giving her approval to this… man.”

“So you will have to wait until the engagement festivities begin?”

“Yes.” The word lands heavy, dragging Maria’s gaze to the ground. “What a surprise that shall be,” she teeters on the edge of bitter resignation. “Yet, I cannot say whether it will be a welcome one.”

Cătălina’s hand rests gently over Maria’s trembling fingers in a gesture meant to console, but even she knows — deep down — that any attempts come thin. Hollow. “He might be a good man,” she offers and flinches at the sound of her own voice, at the smallness of that desperate hope.

As if that could mean much in a woman’s world…

“He might be…” Maria repeats, the words dissolving as her hands fly up full of frustration. “I know— I know that Sorea endured her own engagement two years ago. And Isaia is a kind husband to her, and a generous brother-in-law to me. Mother’s judgment was right then, so why should I question her now? But, Cătălina, I do not even know this man’s face! His name, his family — that is all I have. What if I do not like him, what if—”

Her words falter as she falls into Cătălina’s arms, seeking refuge from the storm of doubt swirling inside her.

“I am certain that you will find many opportunities to spend time at court, with your family,” Cătălina says, threading the tension with care. “The voivode is fond of you all, and your husband… well, he can hardly refuse when the voivode asks for your presence, can he?”

But the answer comes not in words — just the muffled sound of stifled tears, breath trapped in the tight press of Maria’s body against hers. Then the break, the sudden release. Maria pulls away, her hand brushing at eyes that are too red, too swollen to hide the tremor in her laughter. It breaks, like glass splitting.

“Bogdan has always treated us like his own children. Sometimes more kindly than our own father ever did.” The acknowledgement feels sharp and bitter, and she regrets saying it even as it leaves her mouth. She bites down on her lip, stifling the slip of honesty — but she has no reason to with Cătălina. Never with her. She pushes forward instead. “I sometimes wonder if Mother truly sees the privilege she holds. How many women can say that? That a man had to ask her permission — her permission, not the father’s — to marry her daughter. Șendrea went to her. Bogdan did not interfere, not once. What woman here can claim such freedom?”

Cătălina reflects on her words in silence. Being a royal concubine carries its own weight of trials and tribulations. Power and autonomy can be such fragile things, gone as quickly as they appear, and at times, they cut deeper than they shine. The comfortable existence hangs by a thread, liable to disappear at a moment’s notice. So much depends on the will of the voivode, and not all treat their mistresses with Bogdan’s love and generosity. Some consider their concubines true partners — confidants in life and governance, a voice of conscience, a source of laughter and comfort. For others, a mistress is nothing more than a body to conquer and discard at whim.

Men are takers, always. The difference lies not in the taking but in the subtlety or brutality with which they claim what they believe is theirs. This insight, however, Cătălina chooses to keep to herself for now.

Her role, after all, is to entertain. And entertain she shall. As they descend the stone steps and traverse the courtyard — snow crunching underfoot, whispers of their skirts tracing the path behind them — the sound of steel and grunts drifts towards them. Her eyes fall upon the scene unfolding in the distance, and the two men still locked in combat momentarily seize her attention. A sharp and reckless thought sparks in her mind. She chews the inside of her lip. The risk of overstepping and offending the young woman beside her briefly lingers. She weighs Maria, her delicate posture concealing an appetite for audacity, the woman’s fingers twitching with the restrained energy of a bird too long in a cage. If there is one thing she has learned in this household, it is that Maria thrives on the whispered words that slip between the cracks of propriety that Cătălina dares to share, lips brushing an ear in youthful conspiracy.

And so, she takes the risk.

“Well…” she murmurs. “Should the engagement fail for any reason…”

She lets the words trail, her eyes gliding to the dark-haired man who flings Ștefan to the ground with a practised sweep. A sly grin tugs at her lips as she nudges Maria’s hip. Instead of speaking further, Cătălina jerks her head towards the laughing Wallachian who is now helping Maria’s brother to his feet. For a second, the fair-haired woman feigns indignation and even places a jewelled hand to her lips, but the twinkle in her blue eyes betrays her. Soon enough, bright and carefree laughter escapes her. It hangs in the air around them, vibrant as a ripple on the surface of still water.

“He is Ștefan’s cousin!”

“But not yours.”

“And much younger than me.”

“Four years. Just like the voivode and your mother.”

Maria brushes the idea aside with a flick of her wrist. “That man undoubtedly finds his thrills elsewhere. Besides… No man of sound mind would wish to face Bogdan’s anger. Neither would I.”

The two women exchange soft, knowing laughter, but Maria slows her pace, eventually stopping by one of the stone pillars. She leans against it, careful to keep them hidden from the view of the cousins. She takes the opportunity to look more closely at the foreigner Bogdan has taken under his wing, at the ripple of vitality coursing through his every movement. There is an energy in him that, though contained after the exercise, still threatens to spill out at any moment.

“He is quite an enigmatic man. So… I struggle to find the word—”

“Exotic?” Cătălina offers, and Maria nods her head with quiet satisfaction.

“Yes. Very. Certainly not like a Turk, yet quite different from other Muntenians.” She leans closer to her companion and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as though the young man donning his doublet might somehow overhear the exchange. “Some of the ladies say he seems foreign enough to keep you guessing but familiar enough to keep you comfortable.”

Cătălina raises an eyebrow, but the curve of her lips betrays her mischief. “Is that what those God-fearing women whisper about into their goblets at dinner?”

“Oh, hush, you! Allow those poor souls a bit of innocent amusement.”

She cannot help the soft scoff that rises at the thought of innocence, but she swallows it down, biting her tongue with practised precision. Maria, mistaking the silence for uncertainty, presses on, her curiosity already pulling her past the point of no return. The next question spills from her lips before she can reconsider.

“Then how do you perceive him? What was he like?”

At the question, Cătălina pauses. No answer rises easily to her lips. Her childhood, after all, was a small world, one of girls from noble families and of walking hand-in-hand with his sister, Alexandra. They would spend hours together, secluded from the bustle of boys and their pursuits. His world was different, tethered to the saddle, to the hunt, to the future that awaited him in the court’s halls, whether as a voivode or a voice of reason to his elder brother, Mircea, the designated heir to their father’s throne. She doubts he even remembered her name when their paths crossed once more here, at the Moldavian court. His attention was on Dumitru, her elder brother, who used to be Mircea’s closest friend. They embraced immediately, the weight of years dissolving in the clasp of their arms around each other’s shoulders. Reintroducing her, she recalls, was an afterthought to Dumitru — just another formality.

Yet one thing stirs now, vivid in her memory.

Etiquette. Presentation. He has always been impeccable in those, of course — none of the siblings could ever escape their mother’s iron-handed teachings. But beneath it all, he was the rebel. Always the rebel. He was never one to bend to the weight of other people’s judgment; he relied on his own reason to guide him. While Alexandra was always the one to ask many questions, he was the one who questioned everything. If he disliked someone, it was not necessarily cruelty that came through, but a relentless defiance. He could become a particularly painful splinter beneath their nail. He never bullied or lowered himself to pettiness; he was raised with too much pride for that. But when he felt strongly about something, he would never bite his tongue or hold back his aggravation.

A rebel, yes. But always with reason. She doubts that much has changed since then.

She hums in contemplation before deciding on her next remark. “Individualistic.”

“Come now, Cătălina. You are choosing your words too carefully!”

She throws her hands in the air. “But I hardly know him! We were both children when I last saw him. All that time can change a person beyond recognition. He is a grown man now.”

Time — and years spent as a hostage among the Turks, she thinks to herself, burying the thought deep. No one but he knows what that life cost him, what it shaped. He might flaunt his knowledge of their arts, language, and customs like a polished shield, but he keeps any personal accounts closely guarded. And that is not her story to tell.

“A handsome grown man, might I add.”

She does not rise to the bait. Her eyes dart back to him again instead. Without meaning to, she wrinkles her nose. “He is a pretender to the throne.”

“Well? That is not a physical impairment.”

A voice pierces the air, calling Cătălina’s name. It shatters the fragile bubble of carelessness that envelops them. Lifting her gaze, she spots Oltea leaning out of one of the grand windows, her hand beckoning her to join her upstairs.

In a fleeting moment, she manages to whisper a hasty farewell to her companion, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before turning toward the staircase and finding Maria’s mother. “No, but it is best to steer away from him. A lot of trouble.”

“Oh, but you have just proposed him to me!”

She swivels her head to meet Maria's gaze again, laughter bubbling up from her core, rising in intensity. It dances in the air and rings out across the courtyard, drawing the attention of every soul present — including Vlad. His eyes flicker with both intrigue and surprise at such unrestrained mirth, so delightfully undignified for a lady.

“Haven’t you learned by now that you should never take my advice lightly, my lady?”

My journey with Voievod delves deep into the borders of historical fiction that tend to blur and overlap. As with many such stories, some moments draw closer to what we can trust from the past, others are swept into the currents of imagination and reshape reality to craft a captivating narrative. This series leans heavily on the latter. We know little of Vlad’s time in Moldavia and, besides that, many of the characters I introduce through this series are mentioned in Vlad’s life as traces only, as scattered names and fleeting roles that barely hint at the lives behind them. These are the fragments I have chosen to piece and tie together so that I could breathe life into forgotten figures and stitch together these whispers of history into a life-like and rich world. Do not take this series as a dependable biography because it is purely a work of imagination of yours truly — nonetheless, I do hope you will enjoy this journey and see how, where, and why an important part of Vlad’s life begins.

I am also beyond thrilled to finally introduce Cătălina, a character who has grown incredibly dear and significant to me over time. Her story began with two simple mentions in Vlad’s biography: Dracula’s concubine. The mother of his son. A short while ago, I learned her real name (long after I settled on Cătălina, and her name has not yet been officially revealed to the wider public, hence why I have chosen to keep the fictional name). Still, we do not know anything about her. We do not know what she was like, where she came from, how her paths with Vlad crossed. The lack of information made me think about what kind of story it could be. Who is this woman the Dragon’s son loves so dearly? I initially started to build a character that would have natural chemistry with this man — I dissected his personality and shaped another being that would match it. His conscience, his anchor, his sanctuary. Eventually, Cătălina has decided to free herself from any mould I put her in and become her own person. She has become a woman of flesh and bones, with her own dreams and aspirations, with her own fears and battles. She has become the main protagonist of her own story which does not always remain stuck to Vlad’s but stands meaningful on its own — and I cannot wait to delve deeper into it in the future.

That she has become her own person feels very fitting. What other woman could become Vlad’s love of his life than a woman who hungers for freedom with the same intensity he does? He will fall madly in love with her. I already have. I hope you do, too.

This chapter of the series also keeps referencing the Moldavian royal family, particularly the parents and half-siblings of Ștefan cel Mare, Vlad’s cousin and the future voivode of Moldavia. The family dynamics are very intriguing and reveal more about Moldavian (but also Wallachian) society as it was — while showing that not every European region lived in such a stifled and constricted environment as people always believe when they hear about the Middle Ages.

The information we have about Ștefan’s mother Oltea (or Maria Oltea) is quite insufficient. Some sources indicate that she was born around 1405 into a Moldavian noble family and that her family might have come from the region of Țara de Jos (literally “Lower Country”) of Moldavia, specifically the village of Borzeşti (which is also mentioned in Ștefan cel Mare’s biography as his place of birth). It is also speculated that Bogdan met Oltea during a diplomatic trip to Wallachia, but I have decided to work with the first version as it makes more sense in the context of the story and generally seems like a more plausible version given that Ștefan’s ties to Borzeşti are historically documented. After Bogdan’s death, she became a nun and adopted the name Maria. She died on November 4, 1464, and was buried at the Probota Monastery in Dolhasca (near Suceava).

Before Oltea met Bogdan, she was married, probably to a boyar from the Bacău area. From this marriage came five children, all Ștefan’s half-siblings — brothers Ioachim, Ion, and Cârstea, and sisters Maria and Sorea. It seems that her five children remained on her family’s estates in Borzeşti even during her relationship with Bogdan. I have decided to twist this fact a little so that I could make the plot for Cătălina’s story work better, nonetheless, even in my version, the family goes through its trials and tribulations. More about that will be revealed in future chapters.

We know that Oltea was Bogdan’s concubine because she never used the title Doamna which could only be used when the woman was the Voivode’s (i.e. Domn’s) lawful spouse. The title does not even appear on her tombstone which simply states “the servant of God, Oltea, the mother of Io Ştefan Voievod”. The most interesting fact about their relationship is that this article mentions that “they planned their marriage, which should have taken place around 1440” and that “their marriage was not formalised, or at least not recognised”. What caught my attention is the explicit use of the word “căsătoria” which, in Romanian, does not mean any abstract union but actual matrimony. This could mean that Bogdan actively tried to marry Oltea despite her social background — the formalisation of their matrimony either could not be carried out or they just went ahead and did it for themselves to simply feel more united as a couple. Either way, it provides an interesting perspective on Bogdan’s character, one that I look forward to exploring a little more in future. It also creates a nice parallel for Vlad and Cătălina’s relationship. :)

Ștefan was a child born out of (official) wedlock. We do not know the exact date of his birth — estimations vary between the years 1433 and 1437. I have decided to choose the middle ground and settle on the year 1435 which still makes sense for the timeline of Oltea’s life while making him a bit older and closer to his cousin’s age when Vlad comes to Moldavia. Ștefan was the only child Oltea had with Bogdan. He spent his childhood growing up at his mother’s family estate in Borzeşti, then moved with his father to the capital of Suceava when Bogdan became the voivode in 1449. There, Ștefan instantly assumed the role of co-ruler alongside his father.

[warlockwriting]

BATTLECREEK: Chapter One

My fingers fly across the phone screen, furiously typing out a message to August: ru guys here yet?

My twin, Jesse, with her black backpack around her shoulders, frantically looks around. "I promised Dad I'd look after you, but as long as you're with your friends, I'm sure he won't mind if I go play with the band."

Suddenly everything feels a little claustrophobic, with the echoing music too loud in the air and the sweating, heaving mass of bodies too much to breathe in. "No. Please stay."

"But if you're with August, and the others, then you'll be fine, won't you?"

My eyes widen and I shake my head slowly. "What if Darren is here?"

Jesse sighs and pulls out her phone. "Fine."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Out of nowhere, I hear a voice: "Felix!"

I turn around and spot the source: my best friend August. He opens his arms wide, and I do the same, falling into his chest as we hug.

"It's been awhile," August says into my ear. "How are things?"

"Fine," I say as we pull apart. "Other than.. You know.."

"If you like, if we find him, I can punch him in the face."

I laugh. "Thanks."

Jesse clears her throat. "Well, it seems like you have August, so do you mind now if I go play with the band?"

"She'll be fine with me," August assures her, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

I nod in agreement.

"Call me if you need me, okay?"

I nod again.

"I love you," she says. Then she's gone.

I turn back to August, taking in his familiar black wolf cut and green catlike eyes. He's wearing a black hoodie, despite it being at least seventy-five degrees out, along with a necklace that has a silver skull on it.

"Where are Zuri and Chains at?"

"They went to the sushi truck. We could go get some lunch, if you'd like? Do you have money?"

I nod. Dad had given me at least a hundred dollars to spend at the festival. "I'm saving it for souvenirs, though."

"Fair enough. I can pay for you."

"Thanks."

But the truth is, I'm not hungry. I need to save my calories for when I'm really craving something. A hot dog is just way too out of my calorie budget right now.

So when I get the hot dog, I take a few bites, disguising it with chatting and exploring with August. He doesn't even question anything when I offer to take his waste to the nearest trash can.

The others catch up to us outside a stall that's selling stuffed animals, and when I see a black stuffed dragon that I like, I give the vendor some money and then continue chatting with my friends. The dragon is pressed up against my chest.

"What should we do first?" Zuri asks, running his fingers across his blond buzzcut. The sun shining on his peachy skin makes his freckles and navy blue eyes stand out.

"Lizzie is in the drag show, remember?"

"Right. But she's not on until one."

"That's in ten minutes."

"Shit, already?" Zuri seems surprised as he checks his watch. "I guess we'd better go watch her, then?"

I haven't seen Darren yet, which I assume is a good thing. But as my eyes search the crowd around us, I realize he's who I'm looking for. A piece of my heart yearns to see him outside of our bedrooms for once. And even if he makes me feel funny, like I'm being slightly choked by his presence, that's nothing, right?

It's just a crush. It's fine.

Everything will be absolutely fine.

+ + +

The crowd roars with applause as Mr. Peterson walks onto the stage with the microphone.

"Hello, good afternoon, my people! Are we having a good time?"

Another cheer from the crowd.

"When will she be onstage?" August whispers to me.

"Shortly."

"Today," Mr. Peterson's voice booms into the crowd, "we have contestants from all over the county, and one even came all the way from California.."

Chuckles arise from the crowd.

"Incoming," Zuri whispers in my ear.

I turn my head and see the very last person I would want to see ever again.