#gas fireplace inspection

[firstdeepclean]

How Routine Maintenance and Residential Carpet Cleaning Extend Your Carpet’s Lifespan

1. The Connection Between Routine Maintenance and Carpet Longevity

Your carpets are a significant part of your home’s interior, but daily use takes its toll. From foot traffic to accidental spills, carpets endure constant wear and tear. Routine maintenance, including regular residential carpet cleaning, plays a crucial role in preserving their condition and extending their lifespan. With consistent care, your carpets can remain vibrant, soft, and durable for years.

2. How Residential Carpet Cleaning Reduces Wear and Tear

Dirt and debris embedded in carpet fibers act like abrasive materials, causing fibers to fray and deteriorate over time. Vacuuming helps with surface dirt, but residential carpet cleaning goes deeper, removing harmful particles that shorten the life of your carpets. By reducing this daily wear, professional cleaning helps maintain the carpet’s structural integrity.

3. The Impact of Regular Cleaning on High-Traffic Areas

Spaces like hallways, living rooms, and entryways experience the most traffic, making them more prone to matting and discoloration. Routine residential carpet cleaning addresses the dirt and grime that accumulates in these areas, restoring the carpet’s texture and preventing permanent damage.

4. How Stain Prevention Supports Carpet Longevity

Spills are inevitable, but untreated stains can become permanent, ruining the look and feel of your carpets. Professional residential carpet cleaning not only removes existing stains but also applies protective treatments that make future cleaning easier. This proactive approach preserves your carpets and prevents long-term damage.

5. The Role of Residential Carpet Cleaning in Fiber Preservation

Carpet fibers are delicate and require proper care to stay intact. Without routine maintenance, dirt particles grind against fibers, causing them to weaken and break. Residential carpet cleaning restores these fibers by removing the abrasive elements that lead to fraying and thinning, ensuring your carpets stay plush and resilient.

6. Improving Home Hygiene Through Regular Carpet Cleaning

Clean carpets contribute to a healthier home environment by reducing allergens, dust mites, and bacteria. Neglected carpets can harbor pollutants that affect indoor air quality and overall health. Routine residential carpet cleaning eliminates these contaminants, benefiting both your carpets and your family’s well-being.

7. Why Professional Residential Carpet Cleaning is Essential

While routine vacuuming is important, it’s not enough to protect your carpets from long-term damage. Professional residential carpet cleaning uses advanced techniques like steam cleaning or eco-friendly solutions to deliver a deep clean that household tools can’t achieve. These methods ensure your carpets are thoroughly cleaned, extending their lifespan.

Conclusion: A Simple Routine, Big Benefits

Investing in routine maintenance and residential carpet cleaning is a smart way to protect your carpets and ensure they last for years. Regular care reduces wear, prevents stains, and maintains the fibers’ quality, saving you money on replacements. Prioritize professional cleaning as part of your maintenance routine to keep your carpets looking and feeling their best.

[cchimneyexpert]

The Fire Hazards of Soot and Debris Build-Up: Why Chimney Cleaning Matters

A fireplace can be a cozy addition to your home, but without proper maintenance, it can also become a fire hazard. Over time, soot and debris accumulate in your chimney, increasing the risk of dangerous chimney fires. Regular chimney cleaning is essential to reduce these risks and ensure your fireplace operates safely. This article explores how soot and debris build-up can lead to fires and why professional chimney cleaning is a must for every homeowner.

How Soot Contributes to Fire Risks

Soot is a byproduct of burning wood or fossil fuels. As smoke rises through the chimney, particles from the combustion process settle on the chimney walls, forming layers of soot. While soot itself is less flammable than creosote, its accumulation can narrow the chimney’s flue, restricting airflow. This creates an environment where heat and gases can become trapped, increasing the likelihood of a fire.

Routine chimney cleaning removes this build-up, ensuring proper ventilation and reducing fire risks.

The Dangers of Debris in Your Chimney

In addition to soot, chimneys often collect debris like leaves, bird nests, and twigs. This is especially common in chimneys without caps. These materials are highly flammable and can ignite if exposed to sparks or intense heat from your fireplace.

A thorough chimney cleaning clears out these obstructions, preventing blockages and ensuring your chimney is free of combustible materials.

How Blockages Lead to Dangerous Conditions

When soot and debris build up in a chimney, they can create blockages that hinder the flow of smoke and gases. This not only increases fire risks but can also cause harmful substances like carbon monoxide to enter your home. Blockages also trap heat, which can ignite any flammable material in the chimney.

Professional chimney cleaning ensures that your flue is clear and your chimney functions as it should, protecting your home and family.

Signs That Your Chimney Needs Cleaning

It’s important to recognize the signs of excessive soot and debris build-up before they become a problem. Look for:

A strong, smoky odor coming from the fireplace

Reduced airflow or smoke backing up into your living space

Visible soot or debris falling into the fireplace

Strange noises, which may indicate animals or blockages

If you notice any of these issues, schedule a chimney cleaning immediately to address the risks.

Why Professional Chimney Cleaning is Essential

While some homeowners attempt to clean their chimneys themselves, professional chimney cleaning is more thorough and effective. Certified chimney sweeps use specialized tools to remove soot and debris, inspect for hidden damage, and ensure your chimney is safe for use. Regular cleaning not only reduces fire hazards but also improves the efficiency of your fireplace.

Conclusion

Soot and debris build-up in your chimney can create significant fire risks if left unchecked. Regular chimney cleaning removes these hazards, improves airflow, and ensures your fireplace operates safely and efficiently. Don’t wait for a problem to arise—schedule a professional chimney cleaning today and enjoy the peace of mind that comes with a clean and safe chimney.

[apluschimneysweeprepair]

Website : http://apluschimneysweepfireplacerepair.com/

Address : 8535 Morrison Creek Dr, Sacramento, CA 95828

Phone : +1 916-713-0253

Welcome to A+ Chimney Sweep Fireplace Repair, where our commitment to excellence and your home's safety take center stage. Based in Elk Grove, we invite you to get to know us as your trusted partner in all things chimney-related. Our dedicated team of professionals brings a wealth of experience and expertise to every project, ensuring meticulous chimney sweeps, precise fireplace repairs, and comprehensive maintenance services. What sets us apart is our unwavering commitment to delivering top-notch craftsmanship while prioritizing the safety and efficiency of your heating systems. At A+ Chimney Sweep Fireplace Repair, we believe in the power of a well-maintained chimney to create a safer and cozier home environment. Choose us for reliability, professionalism, and a level of service that goes above and beyond. We're not just servicing chimneys; we're building lasting relationships based on trust and quality.

Business mail : info@Chimneysweepguyscleaningandrepair.com

[mister-chimney]

Signs That Chimney Inspection in San Mateo and Hayward, CA is Required : How to Identify Potential Issues and Prevent Costly Repairs

Click here to edit.A chimney is a crucial component of a home's heating system. It helps to remove smoke and dangerous gases from home, keeping the air safe for occupants. Over time, chimneys can develop issues that can lead to costly repairs or even cause a fire hazard. A regular chimney inspection can help identify potential problems and prevent expensive repairs. It is important to note the signs that the chimney needs assessment and how to identify potential issues. Creosote Buildup Creosote is a highly flammable substance that can build up inside the chimney over time. This substance is formed from the buildup of smoke and soot and can ignite and cause a chimney fire. Signs of creosote buildup include a strong odor from the chimney, smoke backing up into the home, and visible buildup on the chimney's interior.   Damaged Flue Liner The flue liner is an important part of the chimney that helps to protect the chimney walls from heat and smoke damage. Over time, the flue liner can become damaged or cracked, which can cause heat and smoke to escape into the home. Signs of a damaged flue liner include visible cracks or holes in the liner, a strong odor from the chimney, and smoke backing up into the home. A damaged flue liner should be inspected and repaired immediately to prevent further damage. Crumbling Masonry A chimney's masonry can deteriorate over time due to exposure to the elements. Crumbling masonry can cause structural issues and bricks to fall off the chimney. Signs of crumbling masonry include visible cracks or holes in the bricks, loose bricks, and pieces of brick or mortar falling off the chimney. If one notices any of these signs, it's essential to opt for chimney inspection in San Mateo and Hayward, CA. Blocked Chimney A blocked chimney can prevent smoke and dangerous gases from escaping the home, creating a potential fire hazard. Signs of a blocked chimney include smoke backing up into the home, a strong odor coming from the chimney, and a visible blockage in the chimney. A blocked chimney should be inspected and cleared as soon as possible to prevent potential fire hazards. Water Damage Water damage can cause significant damage to a chimney, including rusted chimney caps and dampers, deteriorated masonry, and damaged flue liners. Signs of water damage include visible water stains on the ceiling or walls near the chimney, a musty odor from the chimney, and visible rust or corrosion on the chimney cap or damper.   Regular inspection of gas fireplaces in Mountain View and San Francisco, CA and chimney are essential to identify potential issues and prevent costly repairs. Signs of creosote buildup, damaged flue liner, crumbling masonry, blocked chimney, and water damage should not be ignored and should be inspected by a professional.  

[falling-endlessly]

Try Me

Vox x Female!Reader

Summary: You still have a few lessons to learn when it comes to teasing your boss.

Warnings: NSFW (18+), dub-con (kind of) INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Vox deserved a pat on the back for his patience. Truly.

You were relentless, hovering in his periphery, making him tense in anticipation for the next bullshit you were about to pull. First it was lingering touches on his hand when you brought him his coffee. Then it was bending over right in front of him in the conference room, enough for him to glimpse the pretty red and blue thong you were wearing underneath. But really, the cherry on top was the way you "accidentally" tripped on your heels, conveniently falling into him. One manicured hand dragged down his chest, the other down his thigh, right beside his straining cock as profuse, insincere apologies spilled from your lips.

Suffice to say, he was at his fucking limit. His self restraint was impressive, but not infinite.

"Mister Vox, where are we going?" You frowned questioningly as you scurried to keep up with his fast paces.

"A new office just opened up on the next floor," he hummed. "I figured you'd like to take a look at it before deciding if you want it."

"Oh, really? That's great!" You grinned, before it faded into a puzzled look. "But, why didn't you just tell me the room number? Not to pry, but you seem busy today, and I'd hate to distract you from your work."

Vox's smile strained, a low electric buzz emanating from his speakers. "Not to worry, my dear. I'd really rather show you myself."

You blinked innocently. "Well, if you insist."

He sent you a promising grin, but otherwise remained silent.

The walk to the "empty office" dragged on excruciatingly. Even if the whole floor was actually empty, he wanted to keep up with the facade you both were playing at, and not shove you into the first room with a door that he saw (even if he really, really wanted to) .

"Here we are," he announced cheerfully. The room was actually the most expansive one on the floor, completely furnished with a modern work station, a built in gas fireplace, and plush velvet couches. You barely took a step inside, eyes wide with awe, before he grabbed your neck, slamming you against the wall as he kicked the door closed with his foot. It locked automatically.

"Tell me, did you have fun?" He sneered, tightening his grip when you didn't respond immediately.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't—" you winced when he pressed closer, before choking out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really?" He smirked dangerously, eyes wide and unhinged, before a clawed hand travelled down your waist. The tearing sound of your clothes made you gasp, your torn skirt falling uselessly to the ground as he greedily inspected your underwear. A slender finger hooked under the waistband, before letting it snap back against your skin.

"Red and blue stripes," he snorted. "A coincidence?"

"Fuck you," you spat, but there was an excited glint in your eyes.

"Oh, you will," he chuckled darkly, before grabbing you and roughly forcing you to kneel beside the desk. He took a seat on the office chair, grinning wickedly as he spread his legs leisurely. "But you're going to have to earn it first, doll."

Your mouth watered, hands grasping greedily at his knees, before sliding up to his crotch. Vox groaned when you slid your fingers over the edges of his cock, just barely missing where he really wanted them. You repeated this action a few more times, watching with satisfaction as his brow twitched in mounting frustration, before he finally snapped, grabbing your chin harshly and forcing you to look up at him.

"Fuckin' tease," he growled, baring his teeth. "You're going to regret that." His voice took on a deeper, more electronic tone at the end of his sentence.

"Will I?" You smiled coyly, making his grin widen. Challenge accepted.

In one smooth motion, he unzipped his pants and dragged down his underwear, making his pulsing cock spring up from its confines. Vox grit his teeth when the open air hit it, overly sensitive from your constant teasing.

You stared at it with wide eyes, mouth open as you took in the electric blue lines running up his shaft in a technological design, all leading to the weeping blue tip. Your warm breath puffed on the feverish skin, making him close his eyes in concentration, regulating his breathing.

"Something wrong, sir?" You asked innocently, and he almost busted on the spot from just that title alone. Here you were on your knees for him, and yet he was the one under your control. Oh, the irony.

"Not at all," he growled, fisting a handful of your hair at the back of your head, before shoving you forward onto his cock.

And holy fuck, the way you opened your mouth so obligingly, like you were waiting for this moment—like you'd practiced for it. He had to stab his own leg with his claws to control himself. Coppery blood ran down his skin in small rivulets.

You moaned deeply around his cock, the vibrations making him throw his head back with a gasp. "F-Fuck."

You glanced up at him knowingly, your pretty eyes batting at him as your lips slid up and down his dick. Then you swirled your tongue under his shaft, and wasn't that something. Vox let out a guttural sound that he didn't even know he was capable of, barely able to keep eye contact with you as he guided your head on his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he panted, legs trembling with the effort not to cum. He needed to teach you a lesson, after all, and he couldn't do that with a limp dick.

Then, you did something that made his vision fucking white out. You started to swallow—and good god, he couldn't keep this up anymore.

He shoved you harshly off of his dick, your mouth leaving with a loud pop.

"Brat," he bared his teeth, before clawing violently at your shirt. The thin material didn't stand a chance, fluttering off in shredded ribbons. Then he ripped apart your bra, making your round tits bounce out. His jaw dropped a little as he stared at them, his cock twitching in longing. Fuck, was any part of you not perfect?

"Hey," you protested, glaring at him indignantly. "Those were expensive."

"I'll buy you ten more," he said distractedly, before pulling you up to stand. Your hands gripped the edges of his backrest, tits hovering inches from his face.

"I think it's time we give these," his hands came up to grip them, squeezing them playfully. "A little love, hm?"

To your amazement, a glowing blue tongue poked out of his mouth, curling around a pebbled bud. Your jaw dropped in ecstasy, unable to take your eyes off of the surreal view of Vox licking at your tits, red eyes flickering up to meet your half-lidded ones. You pushed closer in a silent plea for more.

"Ah, ah," Vox retracted his tongue, making you whimper from the loss. "Behave, or this stops now."

You nodded quickly, staring down at him pleadingly.

He let go of your tits, unsatisfied. "What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, I'll behave," you whispered desperately.

"Yes, what?" He sneered.

"Yes sir," you cried, moaning loudly when he grabbed a hold of your tits again, tugging you closer.

"Good girl," he grinned wickedly, before his tongue was generously laving over your tits, swirling attentively over your nipples.

"A-Ahhh," you sobbed, struggling to stay still as his hand squeezed and massaged your mounds.

"Thought you could tease me and get away with it? You fucking slut," he growled, harshly sucking a nipple into his mouth. He released it after a few moments, digging his claws into your flesh. "Or maybe, you wanted this to happen," he grinned knowingly, making you shiver. "Oh you did, didn't you?"

He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear, "Sweetheart, if you wanted me to split you open on my cock, all you had to do was ask."

Your breath hitched as he grabbed your hips, turning you around and shoving you onto the desk. "Hands above your head." He ordered firmly.

You obediently laid your palms flat on the surface, above your head. Your breath quickened in excitement as you felt his hands grab your ass, squeezing tightly and spreading your cheeks.

"Fuck," you heard him curse, before slender fingers crept between your thighs, rubbing gently. Your legs trembled as he easily slipped in a finger, pumping it a few times before slipping it out again.

Unable to hold back your curiosity, you turned back to look at him, only for your breath to stutter at the sight.

Vox had his eyes closed, long tongue swirling around his middle and index fingers like a lollipop. Your unmistakable slick dripped onto his tongue, and he greedily swallowed it with a contented sigh.

"Fucking delicious," he grinned, leering at your trembling form. "What, too much for you to handle?"

"Try me," you gasped, making his eye widen, electricity sparking from it.

"I'll make you beg for my cock," he laughed dangerously, before disappearing between your legs.

You barely had the chance to process what just happened, before a strangled scream left your lips, your hips shoving further into his mouth.

"Shhh babygirl," he pulled back, squeezing your ass gently. "Wouldn't want someone to hear, now would you?"

"No sir," you bit your lip, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

"See? This is why you're my favorite," he chuckled, giving your pussy a rough pat. Then he replaced it with his warm tongue, and your eyes rolled back in your head.

He flicked it gently over your clit, pulling back to lather over your dripping hole, before circling back teasingly. You shuddered, tears freely streaming down your face as you moaned softly. A tight pressure was building in your stomach, growing closer and closer to snapping the more attention he showered you in.

"V-Vox," you gasped out. "I—I'm gonna—"

He pulled away abruptly, making you whimper pitifully. Your hips canted towards him desperately, trying to chase your high, but he only moved back.

"What, did you think I was going to let you cum on my face?" He laughed mockingly, digging his claws into your ass. "After what you did today? Not a chance."

He pressed you further into the desk, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Nah, a bitch like you needs to be taught a lesson."

Your mouth fell open as he pushed into you in one smooth motion, the ridges of his cock stretching you out painfully as he settled in deep.

"You're going to learn what happens when you misbehave," he punctuated his sentence with a hard thrust, making you choke. "You should be happy I have so much patience, or I would have fucked you right there on the conference table in front of everyone."

The mental image of him fucking you shamelessly in public made you moan, your hips wiggling further onto his cock. He growled, hands sliding up to hold your wrists down.

And then he started pounding into you. And you screamed.

"What's wrong? That pretty little mouth got nothing to say now?" He panted, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. "Where did all of that fight go, hm?"

"F-Fu—ahn—you!"

"Sweetheart, I'm balls deep inside of you right now," he rolled his hips to prove his statement.  "Try again."

"V-Vox, please!" You sobbed, cheek pressing into the surface of the desk.

"Tell me what you need, babygirl," he grinned.

"I-I want to cum," you hiccuped, vision blurring from pleasure.

"Aw, do you? I don't know about that," his grin widened, claws tightening on your wrists. "Do you really deserve it?"

"Please sir," you begged, turning around to look at him tearfully. "Please let me cum on your cock."

His grin faltered at the pleading look in your eyes, his screen tinting red as his teeth clenched. "Fucking brat," he gritted out, before his pace sped up, a clawed hand reaching down to rub tight circles over your clit.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan as your eyes crossed, his dick splitting you open just like he promised. The coil in your stomach built up once more, stretching tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, your vision going white as you shook uncontrollably.

"Vox!" You cried, waves of pleasure cresting in your stomach, intensified by the fact that he was still harshly pounding into you.

Vox's breath hitched at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, screen glitching in euphoria. His thrusts lost their steady rhythm, instead hammering into you erratically as he chased his own orgasm.

Vox's claws dug gouges into the desk as he groaned your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside of you. You shivered weakly at the feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up.

When he'd finally spent everything he had, Vox pulled out of you gently, making you both gasp at the feeling. You heard the sound of a nearby drawer opening, before a wad of Kleenex gently wiped you dry. When both of you were adequately cleaned, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a comforting chest. He sat you both down in the office chair, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head.

"So? Mister Vox," you glanced up at him teasingly. "How was that?"

"Pretty fucking hot, babe," he laughed, squeezing you tightly. "Seriously, great idea. But I'm picking the next one."

"Yeah, yeah," you snuggled deeper into his chest, yawning tiredly. "Do you want to watch a movie when we get back home? I saw this really cool thriller trailer yesterday and I think you'll like it."

Vox smiled gently at you, closing his eyes as he pulled you closer. "Sure doll, anything you want."

[1stchoiceresidential]

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[juuuulez]

📰 | prologue, part two: capulet.

info: No Carl Grimes (sorry!), takes place after farm/before prison era, awkward father Negan my love!, reader is 13 in this.

summary: Both you and Negan struggle to navigate your new relationship.

HELLO!! thank you all for the nice messages about Capulet! this is another backstory chapter, but is actually soooooooo cute :,) it’ll provide more context for the readers choices in the next chapter, so don’t skip it!

next chapter will focus around the narrow end of the war, and what this means for the carl/reader relationship……aka shit is going down!

-> masterlist <-

It had been a few weeks since Lucille died.

Now it was just you, and Negan. For the small while you’d stayed at their house, you cherished the feminine presence, something you’ve never experienced in your own household. Your mother had died when you were little, delivering your sister, who passed weeks later an infant.

But Lucille was nice to you. Even if you were skittish, and spoke back whenever Negan tried to make you read a textbook, and took any chance to go outside and playfully harass the undead.

She had a lot of books, you originally noted. One night, upon noticing your attention towards them, she’d offered to read to you. So you picked one out, and nestled in the chair beside her bed, allowing Lucille to read you to sleep.

Romeo and Juliet.

You thought the dialect was beautiful, and held such a tragic story, one moreso than your own. It was comforting, in a way. That, and the Shakespearean language flowed from Lucille’s tongue so easily, it was mesmerising.

Not that it mattered anymore.

You stood outside while Negan crowbarred the door open, snow falling at your feet. It was an early winter morning, and Negan had insisted you find a new place to stay, somewhere with thicker walls and better heating. A fireplace was your top priority, right now.

The door finally creaks open, but you stay put obediently as Negan goes to inspect it for any dead. You’d found the routine stupid at first, but now knew better than to aggravate him about these things.

He was hanging by a thread as it is, and if something were to happen to you? There’d be no recovering.

Finally, he gave you permission to enter, trudging into the house quickly to escape the biting winds. In your hand was that metal baseball bat, clutched tightly. You’d been taking it everywhere. Every time you looked at it, you remembered what you’d done to your father.

It made you feel powerful.

Which was probably concerning for many reasons, but you didn’t care.

Negan searches the house for any supplies, noting the two bedroom layout. The living room, surprisingly, contains a small fireplace, and a kitchen attached. You scour the cupboards, finding not much else than a few cans of soup, pulling them down for later.

Curiously, you turn to the gas stovetop, pushing the knob down as it clicks. One, two, three, and suddenly it starts hissing. The revelation overshadows the potent smell reaching your nostrils.

“It’s got gas!” You yell out, a victorious little grin on your face as you turn it off. At least tonight you’d eat hot food, which was a relief in itself.

Negan comes into view, finally resting your bags down on the floor. This means you’ll stay here tonight. Thank god, you mentally sigh.

“Gas line must still be connected. Probably got heating, too.” He comments, searching through the cupboards once more as you pull yourself to sit on the counter. “Front door was barred, so they probably left out the back. Hoard must’ve come through the town.”

Your legs swing slightly, clad in denim jeans, though they don’t exactly do much to combat the cold.

“It’s a nice neighbourhood. We should go raid the other houses.” You suggest, mind already working at a fast pace, despite having just found somewhere to settle down.

Negan picks up on this, his brows furrowed, head shaking dismissively. “Hold your horses, kid. One step at a time.”

It makes you frown, knowing that he doesn’t take you seriously enough, like an equal. Though, you suppose that’s fair, given you’re a child. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of keeping your shit together.

Fortunately enough, this souring mood is disturbed as Negan abruptly turns around, a small purple tin in hand, and a stupid grin on his face. “How ‘bout this?” He holds it out, towards you.

You take it tentatively, a small smile coming to your lips. It’s powdered hot chocolate. Not something you’ve had during the apocalypse… or much before it, either.

“Pretty cool, I guess.” You admit, and despite any attempts to seem less enticed by the childish find, your expression gives it away. Definitely more than pretty cool.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Negan tries to find little things for you to be happy about. Things kids like. It seems, most of the time, that your attitude is anything but childish. He’d like to try and preserve that for as long as possible.

That, and it was a good distraction from the grief. Gave him something to pour his energy into, lest it fade completely.

So, the pair of you shared a dinner of canned soup, warmed up, and in actual bowls with cutlery. The nearby fire illuminated the area, warming the small kitchen whilst winter raged on outside. Snow had begun falling, and you internally wondered how the dead would hold up against the cold. Did it affect them? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn’t for you to know.

After dinner, Negan boiled some water over the stovetop, pouring it into two mugs with a healthy scoop of the chocolate powder. Milk was a luxury, now. Even if you somehow found some on the shelves, specifically the long-life kind, there was nowhere to keep it cooled.

But this tasted perfect as was. You sat on a stool at the kitchen bench, feet unable to touch the ground. All that walking was beginning to take its toll on your feet, so you were grateful for the break. Yet, that wasn’t an excuse to slow down.

“I really think we should check those other houses.” You prompt once more, trying to steer back into the conversation that had been shut down an hour ago.

Negan appears curious to your insistence, but not in the mood to entertain it. “Not we. I’ll go out in the morning, poke around. You can sleep in.”

Your brow furrows, a look of irritation filling your features despite the kind offer. “I’m not a toddler. I don’t need to lounge around while you’re collecting shit for us. I can pull my weight.”

“No, but you’re thirteen. You don’t need to pull your weight,” He explains sternly, “Just stay here, be a kid. Go play ball, or something.”

This irritates you to no end. However, Negan doesn’t know how sensitive you really are. Your whole life, you’d been forced to grow up, and now those tools were beginning to come in handy. Yet you were forced to act an age you outgrew years ago.

You huffed, slipping from the stool and padding down the hallway, refusing to entertain this conversation. Okay, maybe that was a little childish, to storm off. But you couldn’t help it.

So far, Negan had been nice to you, and you didn’t want him to realise how bringing you along was a mistake. That you couldn’t get along with adults, because it always felt like they were out to get you. You didn’t want to repeat this cycle with him. So, you shut him out for the night.

You even left your half-drunk hot chocolate on the bench. It was only after you’d firmly shut the bedroom door, that you realised, and were too prideful to go back and retrieve it.

“What the fuck..” Negan mumbled to himself, not understanding what he’d said wrong. He knew better than to chase after you for answers, instead letting it simmer, hoping you’d sleep it off.

Since leaving the house, you’d slept in all sorts of makeshift shelters. So having your own bedroom was weird. The wind was audible from inside, trees scraping against the windows, their branches whipping back and forth. You tried to block it out, but found that to be difficult.

You’d like to read your book.

But it was still out there, in your bag of supplies, which was left on the living room floor. Maybe this was the consequences of leaving in a huff. You told yourself that you didn’t need it: you weren’t a child, you didn’t need a bedtime story. Besides, you’d already read the play thousands of times.

It reminded you of that short period you’d been happy. Sure, the dead rising was pretty rough, but you had a safe place to stay, companionship, and were treated with a motherly kindness, something you’ve never experienced. It was more than just a book, for it reminded you of Lucille, when she’d read to you.

This room was the opposite of that memory. It was cold, it was dark, and it was lonely. What if something were to happen, and you were cooped up in here?

What if Negan decided you weren’t worth the trouble? An ungrateful brat that couldn’t communicate, couldn’t regulate her feelings, and thought everyone was against her.

Suddenly struck with the image of him leaving, of taking the chance to continue on his own, you rose from bed. Fuck that. You weren’t being left behind.

You pushed the door open, peeking into the hallway. It was dark in the house, but much warmer out there, the sensation growing the closer you got to the lounge, where the fire was still going.

The two mugs still sat on the kitchen bench, causing some guilt to ebb in your stomach, feeling bad for being so childish.

The other door, opposite yours, was still open. The room was dark, the bed empty. So you passed it, continuing into the living room, where you suspected Negan was.

You were right.

“What’re you still doing up?” He asked, having heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. It irritates you that he was so perceptive, but knew lashing out again would be unfair.

So, you shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” It’s a mumbled answer, still mentally distancing yourself, yet you come over to sit on the couch.

He’s seated on the floor, near the fire, trying to stoke it back to life. With no response, you feel antsy, like you should be explaining yourself, like you owe him an answer. A reason for everything. That no movement, no word, no action is allowed without justification.

“It’s just, that, bein’ down there feels weird,” You whisper, sounding unsure of yourself, “Like, in the back of the house… thought I’d sleep out here, instead.”

Negan gives a small nod, acknowledging your words, yet provides no argument against it. You wished he would argue.

To cement your point, you shift so you’re lying on the couch, knees brought up to your chest. In truth, it is much warmer out here, and significantly less closed off than the bedroom. It will work as an adequate resting space.

Then, Negan stands, moving out of your line of sight. You frown, wondering if you’ve done it, pushed him away. Some evil, dirty voice in the back of your head applauded you: yes, you don’t need him.

You weren’t awarded too much time to wallow, as soon the footsteps are returning, and a thick blanket from one of the bedrooms is placed over you. A frown fills your features, but nonetheless accept it, finding it much warmer.

The couch dips at your feet, Negan sitting down, remaining silent for the time being.

Truth is, he was still trying to figure you out. It was hard. He knew that you weren’t right, that he couldn’t handle you like any other child, but was determined to figure out what made you tick.

He tried to think about those few moments you had been happy. When your soured mood faded, and you actually smiled, not worrying about the undead.

“Want me to read to you?” Negan asked, sounding nervous. It was almost amusing. Almost.

You rolled your eyes, burrowing further into the blanket. “I know how to read.”

It was a snappy reply, laced with irritation. But Negan knew not to stop there. So he leaned down, fishing through the small bag on the floor, until he found it. A hardcover copy of Romeo and Juliet. It was Lucille’s, though he never remembered getting it for her, and assumed she must have bought it herself.

Flicking the pages open, he found where you’d tabbed the worn paper. He’d never read a script before, hesitating for a moment before reading aloud, sounding equally confused and awkward.

“I am.. a-weary, give me leave awhile,” He read in a monotone voice, “Fie.. how my bones ache. What a.. what a jaunt have I had..”

“You’re doing it wrong,” You immediately correct him, sitting up on the couch to deliver an unamused glare. “It’s not supposed to sound like that.”

“Who talks like this?” Negan rolls his eyes, but nonetheless continues reading. “I would.. thou hadst my bones, and I thy… c’mon, these aren’t even words.”

You try not to smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but it proves increasingly difficult. You lean over, taking the book from his hands, biting back a grin as you position it in your lap.

“Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.” You read off the page, in a much softer voice, trying to mimic the tone of the conversation.

Negan looks over your shoulder, visibly confused. You tilt it towards him slightly, pointing at the next line.

“Here, you can read for the nurse.” You suggest, only half serious.

That much is obvious, as Negan rolls his eyes, “Y’know what, you’re right, you do know how to read.” He scoffs, though he feints annoyance, he tries not to make the subtle victory known. That he managed to cheer you up.

You smile, laying back down on the couch, book propped up in front of your face. You resume a less tense position, letting your legs stretch a little, to which Negan manoeuvres your ankles so they rest over his lap.

He knows there will be many more days in the future where this happens. When something sets you off, or you get snappy, or you act out. But it’s not a terrible thing, as it means you’re alive and well. He’d like to keep it that way.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, anyway. Negan decides not to disrupt you, letting you stay on the couch, but he does carefully take the book and close it.

The next morning, you’d scavenge the remaining houses together. You’d continue your travels, together, until inevitably, your little group of two would grow into an army of many.

Even then, you were still a pair.

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone Ch. 7 | Where the Shadows Are 🔥

Silence did not seem to be what he sought. His voice was low. Eager. Hungry. “Would you—”

“If you start talking to me instead of touching me, I will muster whatever strength the Valar have left me with and scream.”

He blinked in momentary surprise, the second-guesses seeming to die on his tongue. But his eyes narrowed as he hiked one of her legs to his side, her skirt falling into a pool against her waist.

Rating: Explicit for smutty smut; canon-typical angst.

Notes: Gil-galad lives. Fluff and happy ending. Sort of a slow burn, but we'll get there. Gil-galad deserves a little smooch. He's going to get a lot more than a smooch. Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. No beta, we die like Mirdania.

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

Like this work? Check out the 🔥 practice smut 🔥 for upcoming chapters with Gil-ga-daddy here: "Simple Release."

Explicit content under the cut. We made it, team!

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥

NEW>> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

//

The glow of the hearth was subdued, the flicker of firelight barely reaching the tall shelves and scrolls that lined the walls of Gil-galad’s study. Elaniel stepped inside, her footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath her boots. Gil-galad looked up from his desk, his expression softening as his gaze met hers.

“Elaniel, you did not need to visit so late,” he said, rising. His voice carried a weariness that he could not hide. He was still in his formal robes, draped in layers of gold brocade, crown still pinned into place but slightly askew. 

Eyes flicking over him quickly, she noticed several things at once: 

He’s still wearing full robes, so he has been in council with ambassadors all day. And likely has not ceased working since morning. That is a tall stack of paperwork. If war is so messy, why is there so much documentation? I doubt he’s had water, much less eaten. He’s broken, mmm, looks like two quills. How long has that crown been digging into his head? It is smaller than what he used to wear, yes, but it still must hurt. 

Valar, he is tired. 

Elaniel voiced none of these thoughts and instead simply said, “You sent a note for me. I assumed it was important.” Moving toward him, she unpinned her cloak and placed it over the chair that had become hers in front of the fireplace. 

“It is important,” he admitted. “But it is not urgent. I didn’t mean to take your time tonight. I’ve heard you’ve been on worksite inspections all day.” He was clasping his hands in front of him, the fingers of one hand flexing tightly around his other hand. A tell of his, she had learned. Something he only did when he was anxious or uncertain. 

“And you’ve been here,” she countered gently. “Shall we both agree to share the blame for overworking?” 

Gil-galad crossed the room to join her, wrapping his arms gently around her in welcome. She popped up on her toes to kiss him hello, before walking toward the sideboard to pour two glasses of water. 

Handing one to Gil-galad to drink, she surveyed the room. 

“How has your week been,” she asked cautiously, taking in the scattered scrolls and books on every surface and chair. 

Her drafting table seemed to be the only surface he had left untouched, which warmed her heart but did nothing to stop the alarm bells ringing in her mind. Typically, the clutter in their shared space was not his but hers; he was not a messy person by nature. 

The study looked like a windstorm had passed through. 

An almost embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he allowed his shoulders to slump. “It has been…difficult.”

“Ah, is your crown part of the important-but-not-urgent conversation you’d like to have?” she asked innocently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair over his ear. “Or can we proceed this evening without it? I find you are tall enough without the enchantment...”

Gil-galad’s brow furrowed and he looked up as though he could see the crown through his forehead. “I didn’t realize I was still wearing it,” he murmured. 

“Mmm,” she hummed in reply, moving his shoulders to spin him around. He obeyed and tilted his head back so she could remove the crown and the two golden pins that held it in place. Setting it carefully on the desk, she reached up again to rake her fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp as she worked through a few small tangles. He sighed in gratitude before turning to face her again. 

“Thank you,” he said with a smile — a spark of light through the weariness he showed. 

“Of course,” she smiled in return. “I doubt it’s the most comfortable thing to wear.” He shook his head gently, looking over his shoulder toward the desk where the crown now sat. And his paperwork. He started to open his mouth, but she had learned his timing by now. 

“The robe and cloak combination has to be heavy, too, certainly,” she prompted, tapping her nails against the intricate chest piece he wore. “How does this work? I can secure anything you’d like to stone or iron but this is witchcraft to me.”

Gil-galad’s focus shifted back and he paused from the change in topic. “Oh,” he murmured, lifting up a heavy clasp over his shoulder to show her. “It fastens here—“

“Ah!” She said in delight as she mimicked the motion over his other shoulder. The neck piece and cape fell to the floor in a heap behind him. The thud they made indicated the weight was not insignificant.

A small laugh as Gil-galad looked down at the velvet puddled at his feet. “It is more comfortable without it.” 

Murmuring in agreement, Elaniel moved closer. “What about this?” she asked innocently, fingers skimming the edge of an elaborate wrapped belt around his waist. “I am uncomfortable just looking at it. This is why your posture is so straight, you could not bend if you wished.” 

Can he even take this off without help?

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow as his hands settled around her hips, but he did nothing to stop her. She dug at the wrap around his waist. His face showed nothing of his thoughts, but something familiar glinted in his warm brown eyes. “One might think you are attempting to undress me, Elaniel.” 

“One might be right,” she replied with a laugh and another playful tug at the intricately wrapped belt, pulling him so close their bodies aligned. “But not for the reason you hope. This is a ridiculous amount of clothing to drag around at moonrise. Ready yourself for sleep. Go,” Elaniel pushed again at his chest, moving him toward the door to his chambers. 

He sighed and stood still, rendering her efforts to push him useless. 

It’s like shoving a wall. I am not weak. Why is he so solid? 

She didn’t stop trying, though, kneading her hands against him and muttering “go, go,” over and over. Rich laughter echoed through the room, and Gil-galad’s face finally blossomed with the joy she had worked so hard for. 

“I have many more responsibilities to see to tonight before I prepare for sleep. Sit with me for a moment, instead?” he offered as a compromise. Gil-galad moved toward a low couch across from the hearth, gesturing for her to join him. 

She pretended to consider, waving her hand at him. “Belt…wrap…painful thing off.” 

A heavy sigh. “Belt off,” he agreed, deftly — and she could not for the life of her see how he did it so quickly — unwrapping the intricate belt to let it fall to the floor. He now remained in a much lighter outfit; a simple embroidered robe. He gave a muted sigh of relief and she wondered if he realized how much his crown and robes weighed him down.

They sat in silence, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as the crackle of the fire filled the room. 

“I’ve thought about your recommendations for the latest worksite placement,” Gil-galad murmured after a long pause, his voice still laced with exhaustion.

Elaniel reached out, her hand resting on his leg. “There is nothing you could suggest tonight that I can change by morning. The work will wait.” She gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. “Also, I do not allow meddlers to comment on my worksites.”

He leaned back against the cushions, fatigue etched into his features despite the smile on his face. “I am a meddler, now? Quite the downgrade.”

“Either take up your apprentice seat on the stonemasons council or stay off my worksites. If you can’t shape stone, wood or iron, you’re a meddler,” she ended, her tone light.  

Shifting slowly, he laid his head in her lap with a sigh, his long legs dangling off the other end of the sofa in an undignified — but endearing — way. Eyes slipping closed, he breathed out a laugh. “I could fare decently as a mason, given the education you’ve provided. Then again, I have heard the pay is terrible.”

Playing with the collar of his robe, she let her fingers graze his jaw. “Ah, but fear not! For I would not hire you. You don’t really have a craftsman’s build…”

Gil-galad opened one eye to peer up from her lap, a frown on his face. 

Her voice turned to honey, a tone she only used for him. “You have the build of a warrior-king, morconinya. Much different, of course,” she smiled. “Masonry would be a complete waste of your strength. And your wardrobe.”

He gave an exaggerated nod, satisfied with her answer. 

Elaniel threaded her fingers through his hair. The silky strands caught the firelight. “You should rest,” she said eventually, her voice barely a whisper.

“I am resting,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. He rolled his shoulders, settling against her. “You are far more comfortable than my chair.”

She laid a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat through her fingers, watching the rise and fall of his breathing. Slowly, she stopped running her fingers through his hair, instead contenting herself with smoothing a few dark strands across her lap, mindful not to jostle him. He shifted slightly, his head falling towards her as sleep claimed him. 

As she sat there, watching over him, she knew this was what she wanted for the rest of her long life — this quiet companionship, this space to be vulnerable. To lay down their burdens. The world outside might become darker, but here, in this room, none of it mattered. She would do everything she could to protect this future, for both of them. 

She would sit up all night, watching over him, if it meant he could rest for one moment longer. 

//

The council chamber hummed with anticipation as Elaniel took her seat at the large stone table, its surface strewn with maps and sketches. The air carried the familiar tang of ink and parchment, mingling with the crispness of Lindon’s sea breeze filtering through high windows. At the head of the table sat Gil-galad, his gaze steady.

Elrond sat to his right, his composed demeanor tinged with curiosity. Halion and Arminas were already discussing…well, who knows what, but there was a lot of gesturing involved. Ristarion leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, radiating barely concealed disapproval.

Gil-galad’s voice broke the murmur of conversation. “We are here to determine the leadership and allocation of resources for the White Towers at Emyn Beraid and Amon Sûl’s fortifications. Both locations, each housing a palantír, will serve as guardians of communication across Middle-earth and a symbol of unity between Elves and Men.”

Elaniel studied the intricate map before her, noting the placement of the towers along the Gulf of Lhûn. Her focus sharpened as she imagined the soaring spires overlooking the sea. Beautiful. Majestic. 

Elrond nodded thoughtfully. “Amon Sûl is strategically vital. But its current structure is vulnerable. It was built centuries ago for signaling, not to withstand a siege.”

“Elendil suggests repurposing it entirely,” Gil-galad continued. “Reinforced walls, stone foundations, a keep at its heart. He even proposes diverting masons from Annúminas.”

Elaniel tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “The stones of Amon Sûl are sturdy but uneven. If we begin reinforcing without understanding their weaknesses, the weight of additional structures could cause fractures.”

Gil-galad glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “You’ve studied its foundation?”

She nodded. “When I first arrived in Lindon to determine fortification sites. Amon Sûl’s base is old—crafted by those who prioritized speed over longevity. It has weathered.”

“We just carved Imladris from bare rock,” Halion added thoughtfully. “We can build Amon Sûl. Clear lines of sight, an opportunity to show strength. The fortifications are the kind of work my team is best equipped for. Master Elaniel, do you object?”

Elaniel nodded in agreement. “I agree. My team is more accustomed to watchtower construction than open fortification. With your leave, Master Halion, my teams will develop plans for the White Towers.”

“Aye,” Halion nodded and they both turned to Gil-galad, who inclined his head in approval. Halion continued, “we could map for structural weaknesses and propose solutions for Amon Sûl within the week. It would delay our start, but we will save resources.”

Gil-galad’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Elendil will not like delays, but he is pragmatic. We will begin immediately.”

As the meeting wore on, Elrond brought up logistical concerns. “If we divert masons from Annúminas, what is to become of their fortification projects?”

Gil-galad nodded, his fingers tracing the map. “We cannot strip one city to bolster another. I will write to Elendil to suggest using local labor where possible. Arnor has skilled workers, even if they lack the training of our craftsmen.”

Elaniel leaned forward. “With respect, local workers could learn from Lindon’s masons. It could strengthen ties between Arnor and Lindon.”

Elrond glanced at her and nodded quickly. “An exchange of skills and culture is also a gesture of trust.”

Gil-galad considered this, his expression thoughtful. “Elendil often speaks of fostering bonds between his people and ours, to correct the rift between us. Master Halion, your thoughts?”

Halion held back a sigh – he does not like visitors on his worksites, either – but nodded. “It would be valuable to train them, for us both.”

Ristarion leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “A moment, please,“ he called out, his tone sharp. 

The room fell silent, save for the faint creak of Halion shifting his stance. Elaniel fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

Yes, heconna? We are all eager to hear your uninformed opinion on the matter. 

Ristarion leaned forward, his voice gaining a pointed edge. “So I am sure I understand: we are discussing how to best divide our precious resources to create two new fortifications — Emyn Beriad and Amon Sûl — to help this…Man and his sons house their palantirí?” 

Has he been asleep or….

“Yes,” Gil-galad replied evenly.

“And these seven palantirí, powerful artifacts vital to communication during this time of war, are all to remain entrusted to Men?”

Gil-galad stared at Ristarion. “The seeing-stones belong to these Men. They are not ours to distribute.”

“The seeing-stones were made by the Eldar. These Men use our wisdom to protect their people when no Sindar are afforded such trust. Or power.” His eyes flicked to Elaniel. “Well. Most Sindar are not given such power. Some have sway.”

She could hear the voices of all her foremothers, back to Enelyë herself, telling her to punch the man in the face. 

Elves may be immortal, but their noses broke just as easily as Men’s.

Gil-galad pulled Ristarion’s focus back. “If you have a concern to share, I would ask that you speak plainly, Lord Ristarion.”

Ristarion spread his hands in mock surrender. “I only raise concerns that others share but lack the courage to voice. Surely, transparency is what we all value, High King?”

“We do,” Gil-galad said gently. Dangerously so. “Please, share what you have heard. I would have no secrets between any of us tasked with the safety of our people.” 

“I dare not, High King,” Ristation continued in an innocent tone, as though being asked to break an Oath. “Many speak to me, and I am known for highlighting their concerns with discretion. I bring these concerns to this council – to you, High King – as I have done in the past, because there are those around this table with the same questions who fear to name them.”

“And those questions are?” Gil-galad prompted again, like an elder speaking to a particularly unruly child. 

“We seem to be giving much to Men — our craftsmanship, our resources, our wisdom, our power — to help them flourish. What do they offer in return?”

Elrond tried to interject. Elaniel almost smiled at the effort. The younger elf had truly tried. 

Valar, bless him. 

“Bodies,” Gil-galad replied loudly, throwing down the scroll in his hands, all restraint gone, his volume rising with each sentence. “They offer us bodies, Ristarion. If every elf in every realm in Middle Earth picked up a sword tomorrow, we would yet fall far short of the numbers needed to defeat Sauron. The Men offer us soldiers to wield swords against orcs. They offer to risk their brief lives to stand with us, despite not knowing their fates after death. For that offered sacrifice alone, I will build as many towers and fortifications as they ask of me.” 

Gil-galad’s sharp gaze flicked over the council and he took a steadying breath. Elaniel could see a muscle working in his jaw, open anger on his face. The most expressive she had ever seen him in public. And he was known for being very expressive in public. 

At least, when it comes to frustration. 

“My decision is final and I will not repeat it. Council dismissed. Ristarion, you will stay to discuss this matter with me.”

Noldor anger, indeed. Are you sure you’re a descendent of Finarfin and not Fëanor, morconinya?

Elaniel stood, gathering her papers. As she moved toward the door, Ristarion stepped into her path, his smirk firmly in place. She met his gaze evenly and spoke quietly, for his ears alone, in accented Sindarin. 

I bear ill news, ‘friend.’ He will win. 

Ristarion’s expression darkened, but she didn’t wait for a response. The hallway beyond the chamber was filled with light, and as she walked into it, she felt her resolve burn brighter.

And then she felt Elrond yank her by the arm through the doorway to Gil-galad’s study.

//

Elrond shut the study door behind them with deliberate care, turning to face Elaniel with a measured expression.

Elaniel stood near the desk, her hand idly brushing against the edge as she gathered her thoughts. “He’s trying to make me a weapon against him,” she began, her voice low but firm. “Ristarion wants to use me to weaken Gil-galad's authority. To sow doubt���not just about me, but about his leadership.”

Elrond crossed the room, leaning casually against a shelf but watching her intently. “You are correct. Ristarion is not merely targeting you; he has now moved to dividing fragile relationships between the Sindarin and Noldor realms. if he can frame his arguments in a way that appears to question your suitability, particularly as a Sindarin woman, he believes it will resonate with those who are uncertain. And by provoking him…”

Elaniel exhaled sharply, her fingers curling against the polished wood. “And by provoking him, I risk proving him right.”

Which is why he wrangled me in here.

She turned back to Elrond, a flicker of resolve returning to her eyes. “But we must find ways to shield Gil-galad from Ristarion’s attacks, certainly? He cannot spend all his energy countering political intrigue when there are greater battles to fight.”

Elrond’s expression grew thoughtful, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the shelf. “Perhaps we can divert Ristarion’s attention. Give him something else to focus on, something that feels like a victory to him but ultimately serves our purposes.”

Before Elaniel could respond, the door to the study opened, and Gil-galad entered. He carried a scroll in one hand, which he smacked down on the table with a decisive gesture. 

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “Predictably, that conversation was unnecessarily difficult and accomplished nothing.”  

Elaniel rose from her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What did he say?”  

“He insists that Oropher and Amdir demand a palantír each to formally join the alliance and promise their warriors,” Gil-galad said, dropping into a chair with a sigh. “He paints it as a non-negotiable point.”

“A palantír!” Elaniel and Elrond exclaimed in near-unison, both shocked at the request.

Gil-galad nodded in quiet agreement, holding up his fingers. “Two.”

“It is odd that such a significant demand would come solely through Ristarion.” Elrond leaned forward, his tone thoughtful but unconvinced. “If the demand is genuine — and the probability is high it is not — Ristarion’s interference might be undermining direct communication.”

“I am surprised to hear Sindar lords are interested in any object made by Fëanor, to be blunt.” Elaniel folded her arms, staring into the flames. “Seven stones,” she murmured. “And none for any elven realms? It’s not difficult to see why that would breed resentment.”

Gil-galad turned thoughtful. “On its face, I agree. But we do not own the stones to sway how they are used. While Elendil’s stewardship of seven is…surprising, to share them with any other realms would be his choice alone. I suspect he will not agree lightly.”   

“And seeing-stones can be dangerous,” Elrond admitted, his tone grave. “They reveal truths and can be used for communication, yes. But they also show half-truths, shadows. A mind untrained can be misled—or worse, fully manipulated by a powerful mind using a paired stone. It is not something every lord with a realm should have access to.”  

Elaniel’s thoughts churned. “And yet you trust Elendil with this power?”  

“Implicitly,” Gil-galad said without hesitation. “Elendil is wise and unambitious. He seeks no dominion, only unity and safety for his people.”  

The room fell silent for a moment, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Elaniel spoke carefully, her gaze steady on Gil-galad. “What if you were to meet Oropher head on? Travel to Greenwood and speak with him face-to-face.”

Elrond shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing. “Direct confrontation might backfire. Oropher is known for his pride. An uninvited visit could be seen as an affront, as though we doubt their intentions and wish to watch them.”  

Elaniel felt a surge of conviction. “The stakes are too high for miscommunication or formal dinners or emissaries. If Oropher and Amdír truly demand palantirí to join the alliance, you deserve to hear it from them directly, king to king. And if they do not, they should be told their names were used to demand them, king to king.”  

Elrond looked between them, giving a small shrug. “It is a calculated risk. If nothing else, it would demonstrate your commitment to hearing their concerns.”  

Gil-galad met her gaze, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Indeed. I will make plans to go to Greenwood and speak with Oropher directly.”

//

Elaniel shielded her eyes from the setting sun as she gazed up at the towering structure. The stones gleamed, freshly cut and fit together with the precision her teams had worked hard to master.

“They are well on their way,” Alenya said, her voice laced with admiration. She stood beside Elaniel, her posture relaxed but her sharp gaze flicking to every corner of the tower and its surroundings. “The walls look strong enough to withstand a ravisher. Though I wouldn’t bet on those gates around the village yet.”

Elaniel followed her gaze and frowned. The wooden gates hung slightly off-center, the metal hinges not yet properly secured. “We’ll need to reinforce those hinges,” she murmured. “I can speak with the blacksmith before we head back to Lindon.”

Alenya smirked, leaning on her spear. “You’ll have to hurry. I hear the blacksmith is the kind to vanish into the pub after midday and refuse to come out.”

Elaniel laughed. “Understood.” She turned back to the village, watching as children darted between cottages and smoke curled lazily from chimneys. The scene was peaceful. 

As new construction sites were built — far away from the walls of Lindon and Imladris — it made sense to plan villages nearby for the workers and their families. These villages often merged with the fortifications once they were finalized, becoming centers of trade on oft-traveled routes with stationed soldiers for protection. 

“I think it’s beautiful here,” Elaniel said with a sigh. The sight made her miss worksites from long ago, friends made during a few weeks of hard work building something sturdy. “Almost enough to tempt a woman to give up soldiering, eh?”

Before Alenya could reply, a faint sound reached their ears—a distant rumble. Both women turned toward the forest.

“Did you hear that?” Elaniel asked, her voice tight.

Alenya’s expression darkened. “Yes. And I don’t think it’s thunder.”

The rumble grew louder, accompanied by the faint sound of guttural cries. The villagers began to notice, their movements slowing as they turned toward the treeline.

“Elaniel, get back to the village,” Alenya ordered, her spear already in hand.

Elaniel’s heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed the hilt of her sword, her grip tightening as the first orc ran out of the tree line, weapon raised. By her count, eight - maybe ten - orcs. A raiding band. 

“I will not leave you,” Elaniel said firmly, unsheathing the short sword she carried.

“I did not. ask.” Alenya’s tone was sharp, but there was no time for argument. “Get the villagers inside!”

Elaniel turned to the nearest group of villagers, herding them toward the gates. “To the walls! Go, now!” she called, her voice cutting through the rising panic. They obeyed, scrambling toward the gates as Alenya held her ground. 

A few scattered orcs came closer toward them, their cries echoing through the air.

Elaniel’s sword clashed against the first orc’s blade, the force of the blow reverberating up her arm. She grit her teeth and pushed back, trying desperately to remember the techniques she had practiced but never had to use in earnest. The creature’s twisted sword sliced her left bicep and she winced in pain. Blood flooded through her sleeve, drenching her in a warmth that cooled quickly in the twilight air. She could taste a metallic tang in her mouth as she managed to bring her sword around to strike the orc, sending him stumbling back. 

Alenya fought beside her, her movements swift and precise. Her spear darted like a snake, finding gaps in the orcs’ armor. “Keep moving back!” she shouted.

Elaniel barely had time to process the chaos around her — the blood dripping down her fingers to leave splatters on the stone, the screaming as people headed for the gates, the grunts as orcs began slaughtering livestock — when a scream pierced the air. She turned to see a child hiding underneath a heavy cart near one of the cottages.

Her heart clenched. Without thinking, she broke away.

The cart was heavy, its edges splintered, and it was clear it had rested with its load for many weeks through rain. The child, still a youngling, was sobbing, his hands clutching at the dirt. He was begging for his ada.

“It’s okay,” Elaniel said, kneeling beside him. “I’ll get you out.” 

She tried reaching for him first, encouraging him to come toward her, but the fear in his eyes told her she would lose that fight. She wedged her shoulder beneath the edge of the cart, straining against its weight. Pain shot through her as she pushed, but the cart barely budged.

“Elaniel, go!” Alenya shouted, her tone desperate.

“I can’t leave him!” Elaniel yelled back, her voice breaking.

The cart shifted slightly, but not enough. The child’s cries grew louder as the clash of metal drew nearer. A shadow loomed over her, and Elaniel looked up to see an orc raising its blade. Her heart stopped, eyes flicking to the hilt of the sword she dropped. 

She would never reach it in time. 

The orc’s blade never fell.

Alenya’s spear struck true, and the creature collapsed with a guttural cry, falling forward next to her. Alenya stumbled near, her breathing ragged as she grabbed the haft of her spear to pull it from the orc’s back. “Get the boy,” she said, her voice tight with pain. Blood dripped from a slash on her cheek, and her left arm hung at an odd angle. “Go,” she said, her voice softer now. “Please. I’ll hold them off.”

It felt like time slowed. For an eternity, all Elaniel could see was the determination on every line of Alenya’s face. 

They did not speak, but both understood.

Elaniel braced herself against the cart again, making it move back just enough for her to reach the terrified child. She cradled him against her chest, her arm screaming in protest. “It’s okay,” she whispered as she ran toward the village gates, willing herself not to look back. The gates were closing, but she slipped inside just in time. 

She turned to see Alenya retreating, her movements slower now but still determined. Two large orcs pressed closer, but her spear had a long reach.  A volley of arrows from the village guards rained down, driving them back and felling at least one. Alenya stumbled through the gates, and they slammed shut behind her.

Elaniel ran to her in time to see Alenya give her a weak smile. “Told you,” she said, breathing raggedly. “Told you I’d hold them off.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” Alenya interrupted, her voice hardened. “You did what you had to do. So did I. That is the way of things for us, ohtarwen.” She reached out, grabbing Elaniel’s uninjured forearm in a tight grip – a warrior’s grip.

Elaniel nodded, tears pricking at her eyes, her throat growing tight. 

And tighter. 

And tighter. 

And as she fell to the dirt, all she could think was: 

Am I fainting?

Fuck. 

//

Gil-galad paused in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light from the hall. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his voice low but warm as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was dimly lit, a small lantern on the table next to her.

“I am resting,” Elaniel replied softly. “Mostly. Why are you here?” 

His gaze softened as he crossed the room, pulling a stool close to the bed. “Because you are next door to my rooms and I heard you stir. The healers brought you to the palace from the village,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You were unconscious.”

“Ah, so my wound is that dire, hm? Not the most unfortunate place to die, really,” she laughed, glancing exaggeratedly around the room.  

He did not laugh in return. If anything, his frown deepened. 

Not in the mood for humor, it would seem. 

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “A scratch, truly.” Elaniel lifted her arm to show him the bandage, her wound already nearly healed. Elves were hardy beings. 

Gil-galad arched a brow, his face leaving no room for argument. “I spoke with the healers. The term they prefer to use is gash. Acquired at the same time as your dislocated shoulder. They said you were quite fortunate the blade did not strike an artery. Particularly because the blade was poisoned.” 

“Yet now I am —“

“Again, to your great fortune, a healer nearby was aware of the signs and provided you and Alenya care until you could be brought here.” His voice rose, frustration blossoming across his face. He seemed to have barely – barely – restrained himself from raising his finger or his voice at her. She saw his hands twitch and he clasped them in his lap, one clenching the other. 

Ah. 

He is afraid. 

“I am tempted to shutter the entire project and bring the workers and their families back to Lindon immediately. Clearly there are too many hazards in the area and no gift for Men is worth the risk to my people.” The anger drained from his voice quickly, leaving weariness in its place. “Or you.”

She wanted to tease him, to tell him that his phrasing made it sound as though she was not one of his people. Or to take the tone of a master stonemason and explain why one orc encounter is not nearly enough of a threat to pause a project of this import. Or to offer some of the many ways the worksites could be made safer. 

But he was not speaking to her as a king. 

So instead, she sighed, her smile fading. “I am safe now. I did not mean to worry you.”

“I know you did not,” he replied. He took her hand in his, careful not to disturb her arm. “Unfortunately, your intent does not make much difference. I will worry regardless.”

For a long time, they sat in silence. She could feel the anger fade from him. The concern was there, still; she could feel it in his hands after he unclenched his own to hold hers. But the intensity of his feelings shifted from bright flames to warm embers. He calmed as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. 

Elaniel found herself leaning up to meet him, their faces close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. She raised her hand to his cheek, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“I am likely to do it again,” she warned, mischief in her eyes. 

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but he softened almost immediately, his hand coming up to cover hers, pressing it gently to his cheek. “I am high king, despite how infrequently you remember,” he murmured. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I could command it.”

She smiled in return. “I’m likely to ignore your command, as well.” A pause before her voice turned teasing. “And on either account, you are the high king of the Noldor, where as I, a Sindar woman, may not recognize your claim–”

He laughed loudly, his mood lifted. “We will argue later, and I will win. Until then – ”

A knock at the door interrupted them, and a healer stepped in to check Elaniel’s bandages. Gil-galad stood and moved aside respectfully, his hands clasped as he watched the healer work.

After a few moments, a few “yes or no” inquiries, the header stepped back. She seemed satisfied. “Your wounds are well on their way to healing. I foresee no problems, and I intend to release you tomorrow morning. However,” she added, giving Gil-galad a pointed look, “you need to keep your weight off your arm and rest.”

Elaniel murmured her thanks as the healer left, stifling a laugh. Once they were alone again, Gil-galad closed the door and flipped the lock — she noticed that specifically and raised an eyebrow. He crossed the room and sat back down, regarding Elaniel with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You heard the healer,” he said. “One more night of rest.”

“I am not tired and I feel well enough,” she protested, worried the weariness in her voice would betray her. 

Stay. 

Gil-galad smiled and shook his head. Without a word, he kicked off his boots and removed his cloak. He slid onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle her.

He settled against the pillows and gently pulled her toward his chest. Elaniel relaxed against him, her head resting just beneath his chin. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed her. 

“This is hardly appropriate behavior,” she murmured as she shimmied into place against him, sighing contentedly. “Improper. Unethical. Disgraceful. Rumors everywhere in your court.” 

“I will risk the scandal,” he said lightly, his hand tracing soothing circles on her back. “I may as well live the life I’m accused of having. Sleep, Elaniel.”

“I’m not sure I can go back to sleep, now that you are here…” she trailed off, biting her lip in what she hoped was a subtle play at being coy.

Stay.

Stay stay stay with me. 

Gil-galad tilted his head down to look at her. She saw amusement play across his features. Mild annoyance that she was not going to simply listen to him and fall asleep as she should. And something else. 

She saw the moment she won. 

“I wonder…” Slowly, he leaned forward and pulled her into a deep kiss. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as warmth spread low in her belly. A broad hand settled on the curve of her waist; his thumb lazily moved in circles over her hip. 

“Would you like help falling asleep?” he asked softly, something low and smoky in his voice. Heat lanced through her. She could smell the salt air on his skin. She wanted to taste him, to lick where his neck met his shoulder and work her way to his ear and back down his chest…

“Ereinion...” Her voice was pleading, but far off, as though she didn’t know what she was asking for. 

A lie. We both know exactly what I want.

Gil-Galad kissed her again, his fingers skimming down the side of her body, drawing small sounds of pleasure from the back of her throat as she began to thrum for him. She had learned she was, well, noisy when they kissed, to her false shame and to his thorough delight. 

Moaning softly, she stretched into the growing warmth she felt between her legs, her hips rolling of their own accord as she flattened her body against his. She resisted the urge to hook her leg over his waist and pull him closer. But only just.

“Ereinion,” she murmured more insistently, moving against him more purposefully now. 

Slowly, Gil-Galad walked his fingers against her thigh, inch by inch, pulling the hem of her dress toward her waist, fingertips brushing softly against her skin. His hand came to rest on her waist once again, her skirt hiked up, legs mostly exposed. His head tilted, eyes firmly fixed on hers as he waited patiently. 

For her approval, for her blessing, for her command…

The heat in her core grew. She stretched into him again, rolling against the hardness she could feel growing against her thigh. A silent invitation. 

Silence did not seem to be what he sought. 

His voice was low. Eager. Hungry. “Would you—”

“If you start talking to me instead of touching me, I will muster whatever strength the Valar have left me with and scream.” 

He blinked in momentary surprise, the second-guesses seeming to die on his tongue. But his eyes narrowed as he hiked one of her legs to his side, her skirt falling into a pool against her waist. She gasped at the sudden movement, at the vulnerability of being so exposed against him. At the friction against her core. 

“But what if my goal is to make you scream? Surely you would not let me win so easily.” Her cheeks flushed red and he laughed, soft and low. 

“Efficient,” he murmured at her lack of underwear, fingers trailing down the crease of her thigh. She broke out in goosebumps at the sensation, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Lust thrummed through her.

Effortlessly, he rolled, placing her gently on her back under him, planting a well-muscled thigh between her legs. He hovered over her on his forearms, and she craned up to kiss him again. Long brown hair fell in curtains around their faces, blocking out the rest of the world.

Elaniel bucked, his thigh providing the pressure she desperately sought. She wasn’t fully in control of the motion and that fact clearly thrilled him. She started panting softly as her body found a rhythm against him. Her hands snaked down his stomach to palm the length of him as he rutted against her hand, kissing her frantically. She sat up, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder to wrap her arms around his neck, but he groaned and pulled back.

Her eyes fluttered open, confusion on her brow, as she dropped her hands. 

“You are supposed to be resting your arm, not leaning on it. And…” A faint blush rose to his cheeks, his voice so low she could barely hear him despite the keenness of elven ears. “I wish to learn which sensations you find pleasurable.”

Her eyes glinted. “If helpful, I know which sensations I will enjoy.”

All of them. Any of them. Pick. Just touch me. 

He gently guided her back down to the bed and began kissing her again. Down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, earning more noises from her as he did so. 

“Mm, indeed,“ he nodded, pretending to look thoughtful, his brow furrowing as he kissed his way softly down her body, hands roving anywhere his lips did not. “You would know. Therefore, it would seem I need to learn. Hands-on experience. You’ve always been a patient and thorough instructor.” 

He tugged at the neckline of her dress, gently freeing her breasts as he murmured appreciatively, fingers trailing across her exposed skin. She broke out in goosebumps again at the sensation, whimpering for him as he took one of her nipples in his mouth. 

Still, despite the ache building between her legs — and the fact that she would beg for him, right now, in any way he asked her to — she managed to tease him. “If this is how you would like to spend your evening, I am happy to indulge you.” 

“Thank you for the learning opportunity,” he replied innocently, stilling for a moment above her. She flushed again, suddenly shy – and keenly aware she was bared to him while he was fully dressed. She gazed up at him, biting her lip, and tugged at the hem of his tunic. 

Too much clothing. Let me see you.

Seeming to understand, he straightened above her to undo his belt and tunic, ripping the tunic over his head in one smooth motion to drop it to the floor. His skin almost glowed in the firelight and she drank in the sight of him, broad shoulders, firm muscles, and gods, his arms. 

He stared at her with the same appreciation, hungry brown eyes seeming to memorize every line and curve of her. Finally, he leaned down and shifted her legs above his shoulders gently, a hand wrapping around her thigh to hold her in place. Kissing his way down her legs, his head dipped between her knees. He nuzzled deeper, opening her legs more until his nose was almost buried in her curls. Her body writhed slowly, straining to reach him, desperate for contact. 

She was already aching for him, wetness running down her leg. She whimpered again — a last resort. Cheating, and she knew it.

Gil-Galad laughed and his hot breath fanned against her, causing another spike of desire. She almost glared at him for it. He paused to press more kisses into her skin, so close to her. So close…Elaniel swallowed, holding her breath, waiting to feel him, to feel anything. Every muscle was taut, straining for his touch. She thought she would shatter. 

This time, her whimper turned icy, frustrated, and she tilted her hips up to chase him. 

“Stubborn,” Gil-Galad chided teasingly. His warm tongue suddenly found her, swirling softly against her clit. He brought her body closer, dragging her hips up and burying his face against her to lick her open. Giving her the friction she desperately craved. 

Elaniel inhaled sharply, her hand flying to his hair. She forced herself to hold back the wild feeling thrumming through her, to not grab him, ride against him, pull him up…

He hummed against her as her hips jutted again, her body begging for more, faster, harder. 

He lifted his head — she huffed at the loss of his tongue —  and brought up his hand, locking eyes with her. He put two of his fingers in his mouth, wetting them without looking away from her, the thumb of his other hand still swirling lazily around her clit. He paused, waiting again for her approval. 

Her eyes closed again and she murmured “yes, yes, yes,” like a melody. 

He glowed under her praise, his own eyes closing as he slid a broad finger into her— oh. so. slowly. Achingly slow. She had to stop herself from chasing his hand, to let him take his time. 

He added another finger, teasing her again slowly, his knuckles brushing against the inside of her thighs as he sank into her, She stifled a moan and clenched around his fingers, the aching growing deeper within her. 

Softly, he started murmuring praises as he maintained a steady rhythm into her, pressing kisses inside her thighs. His voice was hoarse with want as he told her how wet and warm she was, how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he thinks of her — only her — when he touches himself, how he always finished with her name on his lips, how she tasted like honey and he had known she would. 

Another white-hot flash bolted through her as he found some…hidden…spot…. inside her with his fingertips and firmly stroked it. She inhaled sharply, seeing white, clawing at the bedsheets. Her thighs almost snapped shut against his arm, and he used his free hand to gently tap her hip, asking her to spread legs apart again. 

As soon as she did for him, his head dipped, tongue twisting into her again, wet and hot and silky. His hand joined his tongue again and mercifully he kept a steady pace this time, fingers curling upward again as his mouth moved over her. Soft hair brushed against her legs, adding to the ocean of sensations she was drowning in.

She clawed at his forearms, his shoulders, clinging to him, holding him in place as she finally came, heat cresting over her. She sang for him without thought to how loud she was — shuddering as the hot, swollen ache inside her turned into silken relief around his fingers, coaxing her through each wave until she lay panting. Her muscles trembled from the strain and release, heart hammering in her chest. 

Her mind slowly floated back into her body, a tingle coursing through her, every nerve overstimulated and simmering and satisfied. 

Gil-galad reverently moved her legs to rest on the bed, arranging her limbs with a very self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. She felt him crawl up next to her, his weight shifting her slightly. He faced her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to his chest, still mindful of her wrapped arm. He sighed as she sank against him. “And now, perhaps you will sleep.”

Even in her blissful, half-asleep state, she could not stop herself. “High King, I urgently request your counsel. I have been lied to.”

Gil-galad chuckled as he arranged the blankets around them both, ensuring she was covered and warm. “Your king is at your command. What manner of lie have you been told, my Lady?”

She nuzzled into his chest, her eyes drifting closed as she took in the scent of him, his heartbeat still thudding. “That was not the work of an unlearned elf,” she teased. “Far too good. Experienced,” she mumbled in an accusatory tone, gently poking a finger into his shoulder.

A small, light laugh. “No, not experienced. But…perhaps I learned from a book, mmm?” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, drawing a sleepy laugh from her. 

“If that was the attempt of a novice, then I am most eager to help you master your craft…”

He shushed her gently. “Sleep. Tell me when you wake.”

As she drifted off, his hand lingering on hers, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She knew he would stay by her side. 

They will face tomorrow together. 

//

Author’s Notes:

Regarding the laws and customs of the Eldar: How I am skirting it. 

A.K.A How Elves Get Down 

Many a writer out there *waves arms broadly* working with elves in Tolkien’s universe may feel the need to write them as a pretty straight-laced race of beings: no open lust, no sex outside marriage, unbreakable oaths. These are aspects aligned with the way Tolkien portrays elves, and so many fics featuring some of our faves will pair elves with OCs who are their betrothed or intended or spouse – a relationship that fits within the provided framework of elven marriages. Sometimes writers will make some complex (and cool!) rationales to allow this character to enter a relationship that way with x character despite abc reason.

Love these fics. LOVE THEM. Give me all the betrothal and intended and sneakylink hijinks you can.  ….but don’t keep these lovely people sexually repressed unless you want to.

I will have a separate post on this that I'll come back and link, but my big work-around is "The document says bodily union. Define that for me."

//

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥

NEW>> Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

[maculategiraffe]

have to share with y'all my Good News

when we moved into the new house in the spring it had a lovely fireplace but there were gas logs in it and also the gas logs were broken. and I was like no biggie we'll just get the gas logs taken out eventually so we can have a real fireplace. but then it's like okay we have to find someone to cap the gas line and patch the hole and inspect the chimney and sweep the chimney and it's a whole extra big expense we have to save up for plus involves strangers up in my house and as you can imagine it kept getting postponed

well it has finally happened as our christmas present to each other and I have a real fireplace in my house and it's the most primal joy imaginable

[odetolithium]

I fucking love describing Severus's quarters at Hogwarts 🖤🐍

Breathing in deeply, the smell of worn leather wrapped its arms around Harry and invited him further into the room. It hurt to twist his neck around to see every inch of the living space. A tall bookcase, the width of a long wall, stretched beyond Harry’s gaze and he felt drawn to study the titles across each spine. Books along the top row were behind a glass cabinet, a heavy lock joined the sliding panes. Gas lamps littered the stone walls, casting warmth to the darkest corners. They varied in styles and sizes, reminding Harry of an antique shop he once visited with Mrs Figg as a child. It was full of wonder and intrigue. He never expected Snape to be a curator of the eclectic. He had expected something reminiscent of the dingy classrooms, furniture serving functional purposes, a lack of character, curiously tempered.     Opulent, hand-woven rugs complemented the darkness in their muted green patterns. A dark, mahogany wood table faced the bookcase, it was set to seat two and the chairs pulled underneath where delicately carved in an antique fashion. Harry noticed each leg had a small wooden snake coiled around it. He could appreciate the details from the careful carving of each scale on its tightly wound body to its forked tongue at the mouth. Beyond the dining table, was the fireplace and a three-piece leather set. The familiar emerald-green wingback armchair faced its smaller counterpart and between the pair, was a long low-back leather couch. Harry was in the snake pit, and it was weirdly homely. The deeper he ventured; the more familiar things felt.   “Once you are finished inspecting my residence, you may take a seat.”   Harry realised he’d been running his fingers over the green leather on the armchair. This must be Snape’s seat as he was indicating Harry take the chair across from the coffee table. Harry slowly lowered himself on the edge of the chair, pressing his hands between his knees. Snape sat himself down, crossing his legs and extending his arms to rest beside him. His fingers tapped gently against the worn leather.  

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 41)

Tw: not that i know of

Part 42

Vote below pls i will only consider first 21 votes

Yves effortlessly carried you out of the back seat and placed you onto the wheelchair.

You gaped at everything while Yves closed his car door.

It's a stylish and minimalistic house with two floors. You like its modern architecture with sharp edges and boxy shapes, the walls and roofs are painted with black or various shades of grey.

It's much smaller than his neighbors who boast their colossal mansions and manors. Even if each owned land is similar in size, Yves's vicinity appears larger by tenfold due to how little he built. You saw some lawns even have a helipad, all other houses had a swimming pool of some sort and a garage that was as big as a shopping mall's parking lot.

Yves had none of that. It was just a relatively boring, regular sized luxury house. And with a small garden and a garage that fits a maximum of two cars.

You think he wanted you to look around, that is why he parked outside instead. His home looked... out of place. Not because he appears poor due to his lack of excessiveness, but it almost seems like he's hiding something from his equally wealthy neighbors.

Because how else is he able to secure housing in a neighbourhood that appears to accommodate multi billionaires? Yves has to be rich, but he refuses to show it, going against the norm. Is that not social suicide for the wealthy?

He lifts the brakes off your chair and pushes you towards the entrance. It's just a plain, singular door with no grand carvings. There is a metal gate that he had to unlock before accessing the next barrier, though. But it felt bizarre how there isn't some complex security system. Just a surveillance camera and two keyholes.

"Welcome to the place I call home, my love." Said Yves as he wheeled you inside.

His home is breathtaking. A dramatic, gothic interior design complete with a giant chandelier emitting soft, golden light. Black, greys, burgundy, ecru and browns were all you could see. It is exactly like the ones you would see in high end magazines, the epitome of opulence.

He has a brick fireplace that isn't lit, but upon further inspection, it's more of a glass box- an electronic fireplace that replaced the need for gas, wood or an actual fire. It's obviously not lit at the moment due to the scorching weather.

The lighting is nothing like you imagined, illuminance came from slender, golden lamps that glowed pleasantly. It's never too bright or dim, it felt perfect.

The windows quadruple your height and the blinds block natural outside light so much that you thought they were part of the walls, it's ridiculously spacious for its exterior. It was as if Yves managed to stuff an entire plane hangar into a little room.

It's cool inside, but not freezing. You couldn't find the air conditioner anywhere, you wonder where the cold air is coming from. No visible vents nor openings in the walls.

You picked up a nice, citrusy and vaguely floral smell with a clear note of sandalwood. It's very mild, almost unnoticeable if one were to be absentminded. But the general fragrance of his home fits the theme, sophisticated and seductive, yet enigmatic. You have no idea where the smell is coming from, seeing that there isn't an air freshener nearby.

It's so surreal to exist in such magnificence, you're afraid to touch anything else because whatever your eyes landed on, you knew that it cost way more than your life.

You told Yves that his design is beautiful. He smiled at your compliment.

"I'm happy that you like my sense of style. As you will be living with me for a while."

You asked if the bedrooms are upstairs. To that, he said yes. Scratching the back of your head nervously, you asked if you could stay downstairs until your leg is healed instead. It would be tedious going up and down with a pair of crutches.

Yves pauses for a bit. He had to hold his tongue as he would have told you to rely on him completely for mobility. That wouldn't have sat well with you as someone who values their autonomy to a certain degree. However, he would have gladly carried you wherever and whenever you wanted.

"I do have a guest bedroom downstairs." Yves appeared disappointed. You ignored that and told him you would take that instead.

"Very well then." He uttered, moving you towards your new bedroom.

__

You're surprised to know Yves has already moved all your belongings into his home. So setting up your new bedroom only took an hour. It seems like he was under the assumption that you will be staying upstairs, as he had to bring boxes upon boxes down by himself.

You grinned and leaned back against your comfortable office chair, your wheels resting close by. The room is almost five times as large as your previous one, everything is new and maintained. The aesthetic is similar to that outside, but it's more impersonal and plain. You assume that Yves would want his guests to customize their temporary living space to an extent.

The bed is fluffy and king-sized and there is an ensuite bathroom.

Yves hung up the last of your posters before bringing his attention back to you.

"Use this if you need me." He handed you a key fob with one button. It's safe to assume that you simply press it to alert Yves.

"I have duties to attend to." He bent down and gave you a kiss on the forehead. "I will be in my office, is there anything else you would like me to do, before I leave?"

You shook your head.

"Then, I will meet you later, my dear." He caressed your cheek before giving you privacy.

As soon as the door closes, you open your laptop and turn it on. The sound of your dusty fans whirring filled the space, it was loud and unnerving. But what could you do, you're too stingy to use the $5000 allowance from Yves to buy a new one since it's still working. You're not going to ask Yves to get another laptop for you either.

You clicked a few icons and began typing.

Yves frowned at his screen that's mirroring yours. His emerald eyes watched you type "Room rentals for university students" in the search bar of your browser.

He adjusted his reading glasses as he flitted his eyes between what is shown on his monitor and the conditions in your room. It's slightly colder than what you're comfortable with, so he adjusted the thermostat in your room.

After a few minutes of scrolling through the listings, once the temperature hits a specific figure, down to the decimals, you immediately close the window just to open up your favourite computer game. Seemingly losing interest in putting your life back together and wanting to distract yourself instead.

Meanwhile, you thought about what you wanted to do as you level your character up. There is no doubt that living with others is much cheaper, but you really wanted to try living on your own. Especially when you probably have the means to pay two months of rent in advance already.

Living with Yves is great, but you noted the lack of bus stops around. The rich wouldn't need public transportation, they have their own private vehicles and maybe their own hidden highways. That means you couldn't move around as freely and you would have to rely on Yves to give you a ride.

You didn't feel comfortable with being that needy with your boyfriend yet. Fearing that he might grow tired and annoyed with your constant requests. He has work and other obligations, he couldn't be on your beck and call 24/7.

Unless he hires a chauffeur, which from your past experiences, it wasn't all that nice.

You remember seeing an opening for a studio apartment on that website. The price seems reasonable and it's a 25-minute walk to your university, so you could save on bus fares.

You wouldn't need to ask permission from anybody, well maybe your parents who are funding your education and living expenses. Maybe even Yves to supplement more money. But in the end, you're an adult that has the right to make their own decisions.

Then again... money. Well, you'll burn that bridge when you get there.

You thought about it, pondering what your next step should be.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

GANG. THIS HOME INSPECTION WAS SUCH A SHITSHOW THAT THE SELLER PANICKED AND BARRICADED THE FIREPLACE WITH A FUCKING CHAIR ALSO THERE IS PROBABLY ASBESTOS AND SEWAGE GAS BUILDUP IN THE BASEMENT AMONG A LITANY OF OTHER THINGS

BUT LOOK AT THIS FUCKING CHAIR

OH HO HO, WHAT A CLEVER RUSE

[smurphyse]

Somebody to Love | Eddie Munson

Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist

Warnings: dream walking, bed sharing, mentions of past abuse, so many 80s song lyrics

Summary: You and Eddie make up after your fight. Later, he convinces you to share the bed with him, leading to a revelation

Eddie struggles to get anything done with this damned cane. The pain is unlike anything he's ever felt, and Zero still won't tell him where her grow patch is, so not even weed is going to help him. It’s gotten worse since she stomped off to the woods, and after finding out she was controlling it for him, he was hoping she'd come back sooner than later.

He felt bad for upsetting her earlier, though he still wasn’t sure what he did. Screech refuses to talk to him any more, so here he is stumbling around the kitchen trying to make her something to eat. The lights still haven't turned back on, but luckily he still has his lighter and the gas stove.

She's been gone for hours, but for some reason Clem has decided to keep him company. Or maybe she was keeping an eye on him, he wasn't entirely sure. 

Eddie found some of the same ingredients she'd been using for breakfast in the fridge, so he decided to save them since the power still wasn't on. Igniting the gas, he lit the flame and started cooking potatoes and peppers with some olive oil and spices he hoped would taste good together. 

Since Eddie lived mostly on Honey Combs and Spaghettios, he didn't know anything about cooking. Hopefully this was at least palatable or Zero would take some pity on him. 

Clem's tail thumps on the floor as he pushes the food around on the skillet. Eddie makes a face at her, "So, do you talk or nah?"

More tail wagging. No reply. 

"Am I even making this right?" 

She shakes her head this time. It's… weird, talking to this thing that looks so much like the monsters that ate his insides. After a bit of her following him around, Eddie was getting used to this shadow. She was even kinda cute, even though sitting her head came up to his shoulders. 

"Will she at least appreciate the effort?"

Now she nods. Eddie chuckles a bit, "Thanks, Clem. That makes me feel better."

The fairy lights suddenly come to life and the radio starts to play. Clem lets out a happy yelp just before the door opens and Zero walks through. Scratches litter her legs and arms, stray branches stuck in her messy ponytail. She looks exhausted.

"Oh my god," she groans, pinching her nose tightly between her fingers. "What is that smell?"

Eddie sheepishly picks up the pan and shakes it, "I was making dinner."

Zero scoffs and pads over to him. The pan jerks out of his hand and into hers. With a frown, she inspects it, then angles it toward Clem. "Would you eat this?"

Clem shakes her head, so Zero makes her way to the trash can and dumps his badly made food inside. 

“So, where’d you go?” Eddie asks, his hands buzzing with anxiety. 

“I was in a tree.”

Huh. Okay, then. "Explains the sticks in your hair." This weird girl gets weirder every day.

"I, uh, I thought I'd try to make what you did for breakfast this morning. I thought you'd be hungry when you came back."

Zero set the pan in the sink before leaning on her hip and cocking her brow at him, "Why didn't you just heat up what I made?"

"Oh, I ate that." Eddie stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs, "I'm sorry. I was starving and I didn't know when you were coming back."

"Did you throw it up?"

Now it was Eddie's turn to frown, "Uhm, no?"

"Good," Zero decides. Her gaze flicks down to his belly. "It means you're healing. That's good."

She trails off, biting her lip. Eddie squints as she tugs at the sleeves of her shirt. The lights flicker a bit as she frowns, but soon enough she steps forward, her fingertips reaching out to brush against his stomach. 

"Can I?"

Eddie nods, "Yeah, go ahead."

Zero leads him by his shirt to one of the armchairs she has set up in front of the fireplace, her free hand waving to produce a flame inside. She leans it back so his belly stretches for her inspection, then pushes up his shirt and Clem immediately bounds over to put her head in his lap. Her fingers are warm, making his stomach quiver with her light touch. Rough calloused fingertips graze the angry looking stitches and scars, but the pain eases as they pass.

"How am I lookin', doc?" Eddie asks nervously. He's starting to sweat from the tension in his shoulders, but he likes the feel of Zero's hands on him. It's comforting. She feels safe. 

"Like you're healing," she murmurs, but it has an edge to it, like she's not telling him everything. 

"You don't sound so sure."

Zero looks up at him with wide eyes, but quickly glances back down at his stitches. They're jagged and long, hurriedly put together as she pieced his body back into place. She smooths her palm until it's flat across him. 

"This is going to take time…" she says slowly, like she's scared of his reaction. "Longer than I think you want it to."

Eddie's heart drops, and he sits up on his elbows to watch her closely. "How long?"

"Months," she whispers. Her voice is wracked with pain. "There's a lot of damage. I'm doing what I can to manage your pain, but honestly if I wasn't here I think you'd die from the shock."

His lips part as his breath begins to pick up. It's like he's trying to breathe through a straw suddenly, his vision tunneling into a pinpoint until he can barely see. 

Warmth floods his cheeks, and when Eddie manages to blink he's staring into Zero's dark syrupy eyes. 

"But my friends…" he whispers tearfully, "my uncle Wayne. They think I’m dead. I can’t let them forget me."

"I'm sorry. The human body wasn't meant to survive things like this."

"Why can't you just come with me?" Eddie asks sharply, a strange anger taking over him. "Why won't you leave here?"

“You ask too many questions, Eddie,” Zero sighs. The bags under her eyes seem to darken with a weight he can’t see. “It frustrates me.”

Zero's hands fall from his face, and Eddie wishes he was brave enough to pull them back. She takes a deep breath, "I want to tell you something."

"What is it?"

Zero sighs and points to his forehead, "I can't… I'm not good at talking about this stuff. I haven't talked this much in years. I have to show you."

Eddie squints suspiciously at her, "Show me?"

"You don't like it when I go inside your head, but…" Zero taps his temple lightly, “It’s a memory.”

Eddie has to think about it for a moment. As much as he wants to learn more about Zero and her powers, she frightens him. She’s likely stronger than he can even imagine. After seeing what she showed him last time even with him fighting her, what would happen if he willingly gave his mind over to her?

Biting the inside of his cheek, he watches the exhausted look on her face. Her gaze is almost pleading, tired beyond belief. Finally, he opens his mouth and asks, “Are you this tired because you’re healing me or because of something else?”

Her jaw opens slightly in shock, lips stammering silently as she thinks of how to answer. Zero shrugs, “It’s complicated.”

“Will it hurt?”

“The memory?” He nods. Zero shrugs again, “You’ll feel what I felt.”

“And how did it feel?”

She swallows thickly but never looks away, “It was excruciating, but I survived. So will you.”

Eddie groans, "Fuck, fine. Excruciate me."

"Quit whining," she scoffs, but before Eddie can give a snappy reply everything goes black. 

The warmth from the Haven disappears in one fell swoop, replaced by a bitter cutting chill. The wind whips his hair, jerking at the scalp with its power. The world comes slowly into focus, and Eddie realizes he's on his knees. 

In the Upside Down. 

Before him stands a creature he'd only seen in drawings that Dustin showed him. Ones the Byers kid drew. With a massive angular head and six legs, Eddie trembles in terror as the sky booms and shatters around him. It's the Mind Flayer, and it's every bit as horrifying in person. 

"Mara!" he calls, a pleading scream. Only it's not Eddie's voice, it's Zero's coming from his own mouth. "Do it now!"

This is her memory, and he's living it as her. 

I'm sorry, a voice molds through his mind. 

The skyscraper of a monster lashes out, and Zero does nothing to stop it. No surprise flows through her as a vicious vine impales her stomach. She doesn't even look down, just keeps her eyes trained on the Mind Flayer.

Blinding pain like he felt when the first demabat began eating into his belly bursts through his veins. Heat flashes through him, so hot his limbs go cold. It's as though he's being ripped in two, but Zero doesn’t even flinch. Her body jerks forward as the vine rips itself from her middle, and Zero collapses onto the ground. 

Sticky wet blood pools into the ground beneath him in waves. His face presses into the dirt while the life drains from him. He knew from experience that Zero could have healed herself, but she refuses now. She was dying and it was her choice. 

A cold hand grips his shoulder, turning him achingly onto his back. Eddie finds himself staring into the eyes of Vecna, the ice blue eyes of Henry Creel himself. 

"Not so fast, little sister," that rumbling horrible voice boomed. His claws reached to grab his hair to hold him up, "I can't have you dying on me."

"Henry, please," Zero's voice pleads from his - her - lips. Blood spurts from his mouth as he coughs wetly. "I can't live like this anymore. I can't keep fighting you…"

Henry's face morphs from Vecna to who he was before, and Zero groans in fear. He smiles down at him, soft and sweet as he brushes back Eddie's hair. He can feel Zero's pain, both physical and emotional. She was right. 

It's excruciating. 

"You can't leave me, Zero. You're all I have left," he whispers, and somehow this monster's voice is laced with pain. "Big brothers protect their sisters. I won't let anyone hurt you, not even yourself."

Henry presses his palm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Zero's voice screams out in agony. It's a horrible sound, one he'll never forget, accompanied by tears and the sticky sound of gurgling blood. 

"Start healing," he commands softly. "Now."

Eddie's head shakes, "No. Just let me go. Please, Henry."

Henry sighs, and in a flash he reaches out toward the Mind Flayer. A biting scream rips its way through his mind, and Zero's voice calls out in return. 

"Stop! You're hurting her!" 

"Heal yourself!" he snarls back, his face angling with rage. The creature screeches once more, its giant body trembling to the ground. "I'll keep hurting her, and I'll keep hurting you."

Something ignites inside his chest, and Eddie feels the blood flow begin to staunch. Like his own wounds, it'll take time, but she begins the process anyway. 

"There you go, don’t be afraid," Henry coos. The Mind Flayer goes quiet in his head, and Henry pulls his claws from the wound. "Try and stay very still. It will all be over soon."

He drops Eddie to the ground, and the screeching of the Mind Flayer stops. Henry gazes down at him with what at first glance seems like sympathy, but he knows better even though in that moment Zero didn't. 

"I can't lose you, Zero. You can't leave me," he says softly, his voice full of pleading hope. "I need you, sister."

"I just… I just want to rest," Zero spits out, her lips soaked with blood. "I'm so tired, Henry, please."

"And you can, so long as you do what I say," Henry tells her. It sends a shiver up her spine, watching him kneel beside her broken body once more. 

Hope flickers in her chest, a sliver of a spark that could easily die with the rush of the wind. Henry cups her cheeks in his hands, his thumbs brushing her temples in an attempt to soothe. 

"Promise you won't leave me," he whispers, and Eddie can feel the moment Zero's love for this man morphs with her fear. It's…traumatic, two people bonded through violence. "And I'll give you whatever you want. You can make your home here, make another Haven in my Darkness…

"You can go to the real world when you need, but you have to come back. Live out your days growing plants and vegetables, reading your books." Henry smiles, and Eddie feels as Zero smiles shakily back at the thought. "I'll keep you safe, just don't leave me, sister."

"You'll keep me safe…" 

"Nobody will ever hurt you here. I won't let them."

Eddie's chin wobbles as Zero gathers the courage to say this out loud, "Papa?"

"Never. If he opens a gate, I'll make him wish he hadn't," Henry tells her, his voice going hard and deadly. "I'll punish anyone who comes inside, anyone who threatens my sweet sister."

Eddie’s head nods, but this is wrong. It's so fucked up and Henry is lying to Zero in a way she doesn't know. His hands come up to cover Henry's on her face as she tearfully squeaks out. 

"I won't leave you, Henry. I promise."

Suddenly Eddie is looking back into the eyes of Zero herself, gasping as her hold on his mind loosened until it was gone. He stares wild eyed at her as he catches his breath, but hers are dead, haunted. 

“I can’t leave because I promised not to,” Zero whispers, looking somehow empty and full at the same time. “I’m safe here. He’s the only one who ever protected me, even when he hurt me. He makes sure I’m safe here.”

"He…he lied to you," Eddie pants incredulously, "Not everyone who he hurt came through the gates. I didn't come here to hurt you, Zero. I came here to kill Henry."

Zero turns away and stands, heading into the kitchen. Her shoulders hang, her jaw tight. The lights flicker as she starts cooking dinner to replace the one he'd tried to make. 

"I appreciate you trying to cook," she says, pulling out some veggies to chop. "Next time just let me do it."

"Zero-," he begins, struggling to get out of the chair, but she holds out a hand to stop him. 

"I don't want to talk about this any more. Can we just…eat dinner and go to bed?"

Eddie wants nothing more than to tell her everything he knows, but so much of it is second hand… He's more than likely going to have to wait until she takes him home. Maybe he can get her to at least meet Eleven again. But to do that he needs to be on her good side…and alive. 

He taps the cane on the hardwood, nodding to himself, "I have a condition."

Zero scoffs and leans on one hip while she glares at him. It seems to be her go-to move. "What?"

"You have to sleep. In the bed." Eddie waves the cane toward the bedroom. "I'll take the couch."

"The last thing you need with internal injuries is back pain from that piece of shit," she tells him. "I'll be fine."

Eddie looks back toward the bed, then at the couch. It's a queen, and it belongs to her after all, but his mouth opens before he can think better of it. 

"Sleep with me."

Zero's eyebrows almost hit her hairline, but a coy smile plays at her lips as she watches him struggle to backpedal. 

"I just- I meant," Eddie stutters. His face flushes deep and hot, and he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and points to the bed again with the cane. "I meant… share the bed. A compromise, right? It's yours after all, you should sleep in it."

Zero eyes him for a second, and the amusement is clear as he stands there embarrassed. 

"Fine, but I sleep closest to the door," she decides. Zero turns back to the stove and waves a spatula over her shoulder. "And I don't want your morning wood pressing into my back tomorrow, either."

"Yeah, fair."

They eat on the porch, watching the sun go down. Clem seems to have become attached to Eddie, sitting next to his chair and resting her head on his foot while he's eating. Screech stays at a distance, but his eyeless gaze never leaves Eddie.

 Zero's cooking is amazing, mouth watering even though he finally realizes she doesn't eat any meat. When he asks her about it she chalks it up to it being a difficult supply to keep fresh here. What she's built here… it is amazing. The massive garden alone is impressive, but the remodel to the cabin and the pond make this her home. Eddie sees why this is her Haven, her place filled with books and puzzles and small things to keep Zero happy in a prison of her own making. If only she would listen to him. She could be happy somewhere else in the real world.

He decided to stop asking her questions. The lights were flickering too much for his liking. 

After working on the puzzle late into the night, Zero took Eddie's hand and led him back to the bedroom, careful to slow down for him and his cane trailing behind her. 

Eddie goes to sit down and slide into his side, but Zero points at his jeans, "Don't you sleep in your underwear?"

"Well, yeah," he stammers, frowning to himself. Eddie motions toward her, "I didn't wanna assume you'd… be okay with that."

"Eddie, how many times do I have to tell you that I've seen you naked?" Zero smirks, standing before him looking much too hot in her panties and flannel combo. "It literally doesn't matter."

"Fine," he snaps back, working at his fly. Eddie toes off his boots and pushes down his pants, waving his arms at her like an asshole as he steps out of them. For good measure he even takes his shirt off and tosses it at her, and Zero just catches it with a small smile as he clambers onto the bed. 

Her warmth bleeds into his side under the covers, their hips pressed together. The back of her hand is just out of reach from his, and if he twitches he'll be touching that too. It's a strange urge, to intertwine his fingers with hers. 

Settling into the pillows, he finds himself looking up at the stained glass she has dangling from the window. The plant doesn't reflect much now, just a glint of moonlight from the Haven, and Eddie points up at it. 

"Where'd you get this from?" He knows she hates his questions, but she's much more amenable if they're not about her powers or past. 

Zero smiles softly, her fingers reaching up even though she won't touch it. "A swap meet."

Eddie turns his head on the pillow to grin at her, "You go to swap meets? No kidding."

"You've been to one?"

"Oh, yeah," Eddie drawls with a chuckle. "My mom, she, uh, she loved ‘em. She used to make necklaces and we'd sell them out of the back of our van. She took me to them all the time. I think she'd like you."

Zero's knuckle bumps the back of his hand as her voice softens to a whisper, "Why's that?"

"She was a weirdo too."

"Was?"

The smile quickly fades from his cheeks with her question. Now he knows how she feels when he does this. His chest is suddenly quite hollow and too full all at the same time. 

Eddie licks his lips and forces his voice not to shake as he replies, "I don't remember much. She died when I was pretty young, but she was a hippie chick. Long curly hair, feathers everywhere… just trying to find a place she fit. We lived in the van, in communes, and in shelters sometimes."

"She didn't really know who she was, but," he trails off, staring up at the ceiling with faraway eyes. "She was always my mom. She always took care of me."

She says nothing for a moment, chewing on his words as he avoids her gaze. Zero nods out of the corner of his eye and decides to look at the ceiling too. 

"My mom liked swap meets, too. We found a lot of plants there. She was a botanist."

Eddie squints, "A… what?"

"She studied plants," Zero laughs lightly, "She taught me all about them. What they need, how they grow…"

Zero bumps his hand again, "She'd like you, too."

Eddie's smile creeps its way back across his face, "Why's that?"

"She always asked me questions. All the time like it was her job. I don't remember much about her. She died when I was young, too."

Eddie finds himself nudging her back, "What do you remember?"

"Well," she says quietly, with a soft grin playing along her lips. "I remember that she was so smart, and she was always teaching me something… she liked to dance in the kitchen…"

Zero waves a hand as a laugh bubbles from her chest, "She liked to make fun of my Papa and how buttoned up he always was. She loved music… all sorts, and…"

She took a deep breath, seemingly lost in a pool of her memory. Zero's voice trembled with painful longing as she said barely above a whisper, "The day she died was the last time anyone called me by my real name."

If Eddie's attention wasn't caught before it surely was now. He gets up on his elbows to gaze at her in the moonlight. Tears glisten over her eyes as they trail the slats of wood above them. Eddie had never thought of that before…that she had a life before the lab… and a name that was hers and not a number. 

"What is your name?" he asks softly, but Zero chuckles bitterly. 

"It doesn't matter. She died a long time ago." She swallows thickly and does that shrug that always accompanies her pain. "I haven’t been that me in a long time."

"Zero-."

"Goodnight, Eddie," she says firmly, turning on her side and away from him. 

Eddie watches her back, the way her shoulders tremble ever so slightly. It's all he can do not to wrap his arms around her so she doesn't feel so alone, but Zero seems to like being alone.

"Goodnight, Zero."

I wake the next morning to hazy sunlight pouring through the windows. It's a strange weighty feeling. I haven't slept deeply in a long time, and for the first time in years I find myself rested. 

Eddie's snoring softly in my ear, his nose pressed against my neck. I stiffen as I notice him, but his embrace melts me. It's like a cocoon, safe and warm. His hair tickles where it's tangled into my collar, his arms wrapped tightly around me. 

I eye his rings, revel in the rare feeling of another body pressed against my own. His hug the other day was the first real human touch I've had in so long, and a shock of fear runs through my belly as I realize that I don't want to get out of this bed when every day for the last eleven years I've gotten up without a backward glance. 

It's later than I normally wake. I can tell by the way the sun is hitting the walls, probably six in the morning. The music is even silent, and still the Haven stands. I'm safe even without the constant noise and lights. It doesn't even feel as dark without the fairy lights. I keep them on all the time so I don't feel like I'm back out in the Darkness, so I don’t have to think of my life before I created the Haven.

Sure enough, his morning wood presses insistently against my backside. His attraction to me is obvious, and if I let myself I'd admit I like the look of Eddie Munson too. It's just because I've never been this close to a man for this long…and I haven't had sex in some time as well. 

That's gotta be it, right?

Eddie squeezes me tightly, nuzzling behind my ear. I find myself holding my breath, fearful of breaking this spell, ruining the moment. His thumb rubs circles into my forearm, a soft groan escaping his lips and landing hotly on my neck. 

His eyelashes flutter against my skin, and my eyes clamp shut as he begins to stir. I don't know why I'm pretending to still be asleep, but something just feels wrong about being the first to let go. 

"Oh, shit," he murmurs, his hips immediately pulling away. Eddie slowly untangles himself from me, sweetly careful not to jostle the bed. 

He scoots to the end, clattering a bit for his cane before getting a good grip on it. His hand lands on my bare ankle, wide palm giving me a soft squeeze. He makes a small hmm before he lets go and stands. I hear him pick up his clothes, grunting with some pain, then letting out a deep breath. My eyes don’t open again until I hear the bathroom door shut, and I’m alone again. 

Sitting up slowly, the bed has no allure for me anymore. It left the same moment Eddie’s arms did. The chill that surrounds me seems colder somehow than normal, like the warmth of the covers clung to his shoulders and followed him out of the room.

I decide to get started on breakfast instead, padding quietly in the kitchen. The lights flip on as I enter, the radio picking up music so I don’t feel quite so alone and empty by myself. 

Can anybody find me somebody to love? Pours through the speakers. I turn to glare at the damned thing, cursing my own brain for pulling this song from the ether. Each morning I get up I die a little. Can barely stand on my feet.

“As much as I hate most of your music,” Eddie’s voice pops up behind me, making me jump. The dishes in the cabinets clatter and shake with my surprise, dying down as I turn to spot him lingering in the doorway. “This is a great song.”

“You should,” I reply, hastily plastering a smile on my face to cover up my embarrassment. “Queen rocks.”

Eddie scoffs, “You keep telling yourself that.”

Eddie sidles up beside me, leaning against the counter with a queer look on his face. His eyes are playful as he watches me, but by now I know Eddie's 'question time' look. 

"So," he begins. He crosses his arms over his chest, flicking one of his hands out. "Your name… we gonna talk about that?"

"I told you last night I didn't want to talk about it," I tell him, pushing the food around the pan. The peppers sizzle throughout my small cabin, filling up with the scent of breakfast. 

Ooh, somebody, please. Can anybody find me somebody to love?

"Uh, no. You rolled over and said, 'Goodnight, Eddie,' and went to sleep," he snarks back at me. A playful smile breaks out across his cheeks as he shrugs. "Which would be fine if we'd just had sex, but we didn't."

I open my mouth to make a joke about his boner, but he cuts me off, "Anyway, I've made an executive decision that you don't have to tell me your name."

My mouth snaps shut and I squint as Eddie chuckles, "I'm gonna guess it. I’m gonna be spending a few months here. Might as well have some fun with it, right?"

"Oh for the love of-."

"Betsy? No, Buela." Eddie's eyebrows raise as I shake my head. "It's Buela, isn't it?"

I can't help the laugh that bubbles from my chest, "No, it's not Buela."

“Irene? Mmm, too seductive,” he frowns. Eddie rubs his jaw with his knuckles before throwing up his hands, “I’ll get it, just you wait and see.”

“Are you done?” 

Eddie taps the counter, watching me for a moment. I watch back, unyielding as ever. He’ll cave, and soon enough he does. “Yeah, I’m done… Katrine.”

“Wrong again,” I tell him. I focus back on the food, using my powers to pour us both coffee from the carafe. Eddie toasts the air when he grabs his cup, but I decide to ignore that odd mannerism. 

“What’s the plan for today, Nina?” he asks, wiggling his brows again with the hope that he’s correct. He’s not. 

“First, breakfast. Then, I’ll check your stitches and we’ll do some physical therapy again,” I decide. It’s the regimen I’ve come up with for now. It’ll change depending on Eddie’s progress. He already looks bored, his eyes glazing over. “How’s that sound?” “Yeah, sweetheart, that’s fine,” he mutters into his coffee cup. He doesn’t seem to notice the pet name he threw out into the ocean between us, but I did. 

Sweetheart. He said it without much thought, like he said it all the time. Maybe he does to his girls in the real world. The tightness in my cheeks turns hot as I focus on cooking instead of looking at his big doe eyes.

I just gotta get out of this prison cell. Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord

“You wanna do a new puzzle tonight?” he asks, and it’s so domestic it constricts my chest. I haven’t done puzzles this much with anyone since my mother died. I forgot how much it meant to me.

“Do you like doing puzzles? We don’t have to.”

“Oh, I love ‘em,” Eddie smirks. “Wayne and I do them all the time. It’s fun.”

“Okay,” I say shyly, biting my lip harshly. I don’t like the way I’m feeling right now. If I get used to him here, it’ll be that much harder to give him to Henry.

“Hey, Kitty?” 

I glare up at him, smiling just enough to let him know I wasn’t getting irritated. This was actually kind of fun. “Yes, Edward?”

“Uh, it’s Eddie,” he glares back, just as playful. I laugh and he does too, but then Eddie points at the peppers in the pan. “I think those are cooked.”

“Shit,” I snap, pulling it off the burner. Sure enough, they’re burned beyond rescue. I angle it toward him. “I’m… showing you what not to do.”

Can anybody…

Eddie chuckles, “Sure thing, Clea.”

Find me…

“Fuck off, Munson.” 

Somebody to love.

Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist

Notes: *Sigh* I love bed sharing... I'd really appreciate your comments on this story! I have been feeling pretty self conscious about this one lately and it would mean a lot if you let me know your thoughts on it.

@tlclick73 @theloser007 @sadbitchfangirl @chaoticcancer  @harrys-tittie @assassinsasha23 @spacedoutdaydreamer @legendarytrashcopeclipse @notahappystan @kbakery

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Affordable BBQ Grill Repair Services in Fort Worth - 1st Choice Residential

Are you looking for affordable BBQ grill repair services in Fort Worth? 1st Choice Residential is your best option! We provide quality repair services for all types of BBQ grills, including gas, charcoal, and electric grills. We also offer a wide range of other services, such as grill cleaning, parts replacement, and more. Our team of experienced professionals is dedicated to providing the best possible service to our customers. Contact us today to schedule a free consultation at (817) 791-4606

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Plumber in Lichfield: Your Trusted Plumbing Service for All Needs

If you're looking for a reliable plumber in Lichfield, you've come to the right place. Whether you need a quick repair, a major installation, or emergency plumbing services, having a professional plumber you can trust is essential. In this blog, we’ll explore the key services offered by plumbers in Lichfield, what to look for when hiring one, and how to ensure your plumbing system stays in top shape year-round.

Why Choose a Professional Plumber in Lichfield?

Lichfield, known for its rich history and stunning architecture, is a vibrant city located in Staffordshire, UK. With a growing population and increasing demand for plumbing services, it’s important to have a local expert you can rely on for all your plumbing needs. Hiring a qualified and experienced plumber ensures that any plumbing issues are handled swiftly and efficiently, preventing further damage or costly repairs.

A professional plumber in Lichfield brings several benefits to the table:

Expert Knowledge and Experience: A well-trained plumber has the experience to identify and fix issues correctly the first time. From leaky taps to complicated drainage problems, professional plumbers in Lichfield have the know-how to get the job done right.

Emergency Services: Plumbing emergencies can happen at any time—burst pipes, blocked toilets, or faulty water heaters. A local plumber in Lichfield can respond quickly to emergencies, minimizing the damage and restoring functionality to your home.

Quality Workmanship: Hiring a professional guarantees high-quality workmanship. Whether it’s a new bathroom installation or a simple repair, you can trust that the job will be completed to the highest standards.

Licensing and Insurance: Reputable plumbers are licensed and insured, providing you with peace of mind. This ensures that any work done complies with local regulations and that you're protected in case of unexpected issues during the job.

Common Plumbing Services in Lichfield

Plumbers in Lichfield offer a wide range of services to cater to both residential and commercial needs. Below are some of the most common plumbing services you can expect:

1. Plumbing Repairs

Plumbing systems are complex, and issues can arise unexpectedly. From leaking pipes to faulty faucets, prompt repairs are essential to avoid further damage. A skilled plumber in Lichfield will diagnose the problem quickly and provide effective solutions, ensuring that your plumbing system functions smoothly.

2. Drainage Solutions

Blocked drains are a common issue that many homeowners face. If left untreated, clogged drains can cause unpleasant odors, slow drainage, or even flooding. Professional plumbers use advanced tools like high-pressure water jets and CCTV inspections to clear blockages and ensure your drainage system works efficiently.

3. Bathroom Installations

If you’re planning a bathroom renovation, hiring a professional plumber is crucial. They can assist with the installation of sinks, showers, bathtubs, toilets, and plumbing systems, ensuring everything is connected properly and meets local building codes. A licensed plumber will also ensure your new fixtures are installed correctly, preventing future leaks or malfunctions.

4. Water Heater Services

Hot water is a necessity in most homes, and when your water heater stops working, it can cause a major inconvenience. Plumbers in Lichfield offer water heater installation, repair, and maintenance services to ensure you never have to go without hot water. Whether it's a traditional boiler or an energy-efficient tankless system, a plumber can handle the installation and repair.

5. Gas Plumbing

If you have gas appliances such as a gas boiler, stove, or fireplace, it’s essential to hire a qualified gas plumber. Gas plumbing is highly specialized and requires knowledge of safety standards and regulations. A licensed gas plumber can install, repair, and maintain gas systems, ensuring your home is safe and functional.

6. Emergency Plumbing Services

Plumbing issues don’t always happen during regular business hours. When emergencies strike, you need a plumber who can respond quickly and effectively. Whether it’s a burst pipe or a leaking toilet, an emergency plumber in Lichfield is available to provide immediate assistance, helping to prevent significant damage to your property.

Tips for Hiring a Reliable Plumber in Lichfield

Choosing the right plumber can be a daunting task, but it’s crucial to ensure that the job is done properly. Here are some tips to help you find a trustworthy plumber in Lichfield:

1. Check Qualifications and Experience

Ensure that the plumber you choose is licensed and qualified. Check if they have relevant certifications and years of experience in the plumbing industry. Experienced plumbers are more likely to provide reliable and efficient services.

2. Read Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Word-of-mouth recommendations can be invaluable when choosing a plumber. Look for online reviews and testimonials from previous customers to gauge the quality of service and customer satisfaction. Positive reviews are often a good indicator that the plumber provides excellent service.

3. Get Multiple Quotes

Before hiring a plumber, it's wise to obtain several quotes from different service providers. This allows you to compare prices and choose a plumber that offers competitive rates without compromising on quality.

4. Ask About Insurance

Plumbing work can sometimes involve risks, especially when working with gas or water systems. Make sure your plumber has the necessary insurance coverage to protect both you and their team in case of accidents or damage during the job.

5. Look for Transparency

Choose a plumber who is transparent about their services, pricing, and timelines. Avoid plumbers who hesitate to provide written estimates or fail to explain the work they plan to do. A professional plumber will always be upfront about costs and the work involved.

How to Maintain Your Plumbing System

Preventing plumbing problems is much easier and more cost-effective than dealing with repairs later on. Here are some simple maintenance tips to keep your plumbing system in top condition:

Regularly Check for Leaks: Inspect pipes, faucets, and appliances for signs of leaks. Addressing leaks early can prevent costly water damage.

Clean Drains and Pipes: Use natural drain cleaners or call a plumber to perform a professional drain cleaning to prevent blockages.

Maintain Water Heater: Have your water heater serviced regularly to ensure it’s running efficiently and prevent breakdowns.

Flush Toilets Properly: Avoid flushing anything other than toilet paper to prevent clogs.

Conclusion

A trustworthy and skilled plumber in Lichfield can make all the difference when it comes to keeping your home or business running smoothly. From emergency repairs to major installations, a professional plumber ensures that your plumbing systems work efficiently and safely. By choosing a licensed plumber with experience, good reviews, and competitive pricing, you can rest assured that your plumbing needs will be met with professionalism and expertise.

Remember to prioritize regular maintenance to avoid costly repairs and ensure the longevity of your plumbing system. Whether it’s a leaking tap or a major plumbing project, a reliable plumber in Lichfield is always just a phone call away to help you keep your plumbing running smoothly year-round.