#i hope the future offers him only the nicest of things

[radio-4-is-static]

Happy Birthday Alex Kapranos 🎉🎂

+ bonus

[cowboygenesis]

1/2 fatum invenit | gale x reader

part 1 of the "fatum" mini-series.

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and Gods, do they cut deep.

pairing: gale dekarios x sorceress!durge!reader tags: fluff, angst, tons of cursing, mutual pining, forced proximity, enemies/rivals to lovers. word count: 5.3k notes: whew, here we are at last. if you've read "knuckle up" you might find the ending a little similar but... what can i say, im a softie. also, the durge aspect of the reader is truly very minimal, i just added it for the sake of flavor, whatevah... oh, and reader is super cheeky and generally curses a lot, im case that's something that bothers you. i want this to be a two-parter eventually, so expect some smut in the future chapter. as always, let me know what you think! enjoy! masterlist.

You… you fucking knew it. The one time in your life you decide to give a wizard the benefit of the doubt he… he screws you the fuck over.

It was supposed to be an easy job: infiltrate Kereska’s chapel, retrieve the relic Raphael demanded, and slip away unnoticed. Hey, no big deal— you’ve handled worse without breaking a sweat.

Most of your companions weren’t so eager to take on the devil’s dirty work after a night of drinking, so, you figured you’d tackle it solo. No problem. After all, you’d just returned home to Baldur’s Gate. The evening was warm, the streets thrummed with energy, and after a night of revelry, you were in a damn good mood.

So when Gale, with his calm, holier-than-thou attitude, offered to “assist,” you’d thought sure, why the Hells not?

And what a mistake that would turn out to be for you. Just as your gut had warned you, things ended up going sideways. All because of him.

You both had made it past the wards, the traps, and even those fucked up, undead necromancers that you hated dealing with—no thanks to Gale’s constant commentary on your spellcasting techniques. It was always some remark about how your magic was “undisciplined,” how you were “too reckless to be at your best.” Fuck, like you hadn’t been doing this shit for years, now.

Warranted, you weren’t exactly the nicest person, either. Meals at your camp were a battlefield of their own, filled with biting comments and passive-aggressive stares, often over trivial matters that had nothing to do with magic.

Plus, combat was no different. It rarely took more than a few minutes before you and Gale were mired in a heated debate over the “best course of action for the situation”. Naturally, these debates only added to the tension, making every encounter feel like a personal clash as opposed to a friendly discussion over technique.

You two were polar opposites, discordant, incompatible.

But you were an idiot, then. A dumb, tender-hearted idiot in a great mood who had hoped you two could eventually get along if the stars aligned just right. But that’s all hindsight.

After all the hard work, you had almost had it— your hand was just within reach of that damned necklace, caution thrown to the wind, when Gale decided to get fancy. A small “adjustment” to the magical aura surrounding the relic, he’d explained— something about minimizing risk and stabilizing the flow of the Weave so you could extract it safely.

You discarded the idea, of course; “fuck your tricks,” you had said (your actual words), rolled your eyes at him, and said goodbye to the remnants of your good mood as he reprimanded you like a teacher would a novice— and that, naturally, you weren’t.

Unlike him, you didn’t need a stack of tomes to inspectthis kind of arcane energy. It felt powerful and intricate, yes— but beneath it all, it was just a trick of the eye. The glowing, golden-tinged sphere wasn’t malevolent whatsoever, and instead served as a cheap ploy to repel those tempted by the artifact.

So, knowing what you knew, you reached for the relic despite his suggestion.

But, just as you were to lay a finger on it, he… he cast his fucking “safety” spell. And everything went to hell.

The forcefield around the necklace reacted— wildly. The air rippled in waves, the ground shifting beneath you, and suddenly, you were trapped in some kind of collapsed chamber beneath the chapel— cut off from the rest of the world, with no way out.

Worst of all, you were in heartbreaking proximity. The dugout was deep, but narrow, allowing you maybe a centimeter of privacy before your chest collided with his. And Gods, did that happen often. Any movement you made, your bodies would collide in one way or another, be it feeling his thigh rub against yours, grazing fingers, or smacking his chin— the last one being a complete accident on your part, of course.

And yes, as two magic-wielders would, you tried your luck. As it turned out, the stone binding your bodies together seemed to have a sort of Weave-repellent property that rendered your only functional skills worthless.

So, here you were, stuck with your arch-rival, and with every passing second, your frustration grew. It must have been half an hour since the disaster struck when you finally felt your head pound with frustration.

“Gale,” you sigh for the millionth time, “Are you even listening?”

He’s been doing a great job ignoring your commentary by seemingly occupying himself with analyzing your surroundings. Smart, sure, if it wasn’t for the simple fact he refused to collaborate with you whatsoever. After your initial scream-off, he seemed reluctant to give you the time of day again.

He finally clears his throat to speak, and you shoot him a glare in the dim light.

"You just had to do your thing, didn’t you?" he sighs.

“And you just had to show off,” you retort through a bitter snark.

Gale glances at you with narrowed eyes, yet his expression remains infuriatingly contained. “I was trying to prevent a catastrophe. If I hadn’t intervened, the entire chapel may have collapsed.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap, “It collapsed on us instead. I’m so glad we avoided a disaster, Gale.”

He exhales slowly, then gives you a haphazard eye-roll. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rushed things—”

“Rushed things?” Your chest flares, making it collide with his. “I didn’t touch a damned thing. You’re the one who decided the Weave needed tuning or whatever other bullshit.”

Gale’s eyes narrow, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “You think I did this on purpose? I made the right choice. But you—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” You cut him off, “Honestly, fuck you, man. If you were half as concerned with doing a good job as you are with peacocking we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

He looks away, his jaw tightening. “Peacocking?”

“Yeah. Peacocking, showing off—Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.” You shrug in mock nonchalance, rolling your eyes as if the circumstances weren’t already driving you up the wall.

You feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with a steadying breath, the sort one might take when trying to stop themselves from saying something they’ll inevitably regret. When it came to containing his bubbling rage, he beat you to it every time.

His casual lilt, when it comes, makes your teeth grit. “Obviously.”

You groan loudly, letting the back of your head thud against the stone wall behind you. A tense silence falls between you, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing, a sound that seems to grow louder in the small space whenever conversation dies down.

“You would’ve been buried stone-cold dead under the rubble if I hadn’t cast that spell,” he mutters, and just like that, your patience snaps.

“I— I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” Your words are sharp as daggers, eyes burning into his as you twist your body just enough to face him head-on. “The barrier was a ruse, Gale. A fake. I told you not to cast that damn spell—”

“And I suppose explanations are beneath someone of your obvious talents,” he snaps back, his words dripping with venom.

You glare at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re a scholar— Gods, don’t you know this kind of illusory magic is Kereska’s whole thing?” you spit, watching his face aptly in hopes of catching a glimpse of something; remorse, sympathy, fuck, even just a bit of pity would satiate you.

But it never comes. His eyes bore into you with practiced reprimanding, and because he must see you on the precipice of breaking down, he continues to poke the metaphorical bear. “You should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you became the authority on everything. In case you somehow overlooked it, I’ve been doing this for years without your lectures.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you,” he retorts, his voice low, treacherous. There’s a mocking smile imbued on his face, and you quickly realize it makes you want to tackle him to the ground and claw it out yourself. If it wasn’t for the minimal space, you probably would’ve even attempted it. “This wasn’t some petty street magic. That relic was infused with layers of defense—complex protections you clearly didn’t even account for—”

“I knew what I was dealing with!” you hiss, pushing against the wall for leverage. You brush against his chest again, sending an electric jolt of tension through the confined space. “I didn’t need your over-calculated, pompous meddling. I had it under control until you—”

“Under control?” Gale’s voice rises, his frustration finally splintering through his quiet facade as he emits a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Your recklessness nearly got us killed!”

You scoff, pushing back even harder. “You’re so damn smug— acting like the world will end if you don’t micromanage every little detail, but guess what? You don’t always have the answer. And right now, we’re stuck— all because of your fucking arrogance.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it, jaw tight, eyes blazing as he holds your gaze. For a second, you think he’s about to let loose another lecture, but instead, there’s silence—a strange, electricity-charged stillness that envelops you like a cold breeze.

You can’t speak. It crackles between you with a strain, thick enough to feel suffocating. Every breath you take only draws you closer to him, and somehow, it almost feels like the walls enveloping you have only grown thicker throughout your argument.

The closeness, the heat, the sheer intensity of the argument—it’s all too much, and yet, neither of you looks away once your gazes inevitably connect.

The wizard licks his bottom lip languidly, lips smacking as he seems to be taking you all in. His eyes scan over you, and somehow the fact makes you feel vulnerable.

Finally, he breaks the peace.

“If I’m so arrogant, why did you let me join you?”

His eyes are dark, but not just with frustration; they’re searching, questioning, as though he’s daring you to give an honest answer, knowing it’s something you can’t afford yourself right now.

“You asked me to let you come,” you bark out, pushing his chest with the heel of your hand, the contact sending a spark of heat through your outstretched arm. “I didn’t want you here. I figured we’d get through this, grab the necklace, and go our separate ways again. But no—you wanted to come. Play the hero, do all the dirty work, whatever your reasoning was.”

Gale doesn’t flinch at your words, but his eyes narrow slightly— they flicker to the space your bodies connect at, then back to your tautened face.

His gaze lingers on where your hand presses against his chest, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might back down. But instead, his jaw clenches, and when his eyes snap back to yours, there’s a fire behind them that ignites something deep in your gut.

“And you agreed,” he counters mockingly, the smile adorning his face making your head spin. “Why?”

The question hangs between you for a beat. You falter, mouth opening and closing without a reply.

He’s right. He’s fucking correct, and you hate it.

Why did you agree? You could’ve said no, barked back at him, insulted his stupid wizard frock— pushed him away with one of the countless options you had at your disposal.

But you didn’t. You let him come with you, willingly.

You clench your fists, pushing against the surge of discomfort bubbling in your belly. “Well, forgive me for being an optimist,” you mutter, voice tight. “I thought, for once, that maybe— Fuck. Maybe we could get through one fucking mission without trying to jump at each others’ throats.”

He exhales at your explanation, tilting his head to glance through the top of the crevasse and toward the chapel ceiling. You follow suit, albeit subtly, noticing the intricate engravings lining the skylight; in the dim light of the afternoon sun, they look elegant, beautiful, even. How didn’t you notice that when you first walked in?

“And how’s that going for us?” he asks suddenly, the smile curling at the edges of his mouth turning bitter.

You huff, running a hand through your hair. The condensation sticks to your fingers, and you can’t help the joyless chuckle that escapes your lips when you look at him again.

“Well, I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders lazily. Your cynical laughter shifts into the shadow of a smile. Somehow, as he glances down at you, you find yourself with a pang in your chest that overshadows the frustration you’ve been drowning in— it’s deep, and resonant, and feels like it’s swallowing your heart whole when his dark eyes meet yours. “We still hate each other.”

The wizard exhales sharply through his nose, and strangely, you can’t seem to read his expression even as your eyes squint.

His gaze is fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken; you feel it best when his hot breath hits the sweat-slicked skin of your face as he leans in. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, yet just enough to make your breath hitch with… rage, aversion— or perhaps, most frighteningly, something else you’ve been pushing down for months since your first quarrel.

You’re forcefully dragged out of your stupor when the pad of his thumb grazes your palm— the touch sends a sharp, almost uncomfortable jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving you speechless as you chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. Nothing more, it couldn’t be.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and though his tone is stiff, the words cut through your pause like a skilled blade.

It couldn’t be.

Your breath catches in your parched throat, heart pounding with a force that would surely reverberate through his body hadn’t his robe been so thick.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, each shallow breath you take only drawing you closer— or, at least, that’s exactly how it feels in the tiny space you’re being forced to share.

His thumb is still brushing your palm, slowly, gently, and deliberately enough that you cannot ascribe it to a simple accident anymore. For a second, your eyebrows arch and there’s this urge to pull away, something thrumming in your head and telling you to hold to principle.

But you don’t… you— you physically can’t. Not when he’s gazing down at you with… with patience. Understanding, maybe. But why?

A beat passes, then another. The tension coils so tight you almost want to scream to break it, and his gaze remains locked on yours, his palm grazing yours.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper.

“You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours. "You’re fucking with me. I… you hate me, Gale, I can’t—"

He glances down at you with a strange glint in his eyes, then exhales loudly again. Did you strike a nerve?

“Why do you always do this?” he questions with exasperation tugging at his tone. You feel his touch momentarily drop from yours, and in the heat of the moment, you find yourself missing it.

“What?” you blink, eyebrows furrowed.

“This,” He gestures between the two of you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re— you’re always picking fights with me. Always pushing, always assuming the worst—”

“I’m picking fights?” Your eyes narrow, the sneer coming back to your lips like armor. “You’ve been criticizing every godsdamn thing I’ve done since day one, making me feel inferior, questioning my skill— and now I’m the one picking fights?”

He shakes his head sharply, then sighs in frustration. When you look up, his eyes are locked on yours—deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracked skylight. You could drown in them, given the chance.

“No, that’s not— That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “You don’t— you just refuse to listen to me. When we fight, in camp— even now. The relic, that barrier, you— Gods, you always act instead of—”

“Don’t you dare paint me as the villain now,” you snap, bumping his chest with the pad of your palm again.

“You almost got us killed!” he bites back, “I don’t care for your talents if it means you don’t utilize them properly. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, raw talent doesn’t equal capability?”

Right.

Your lips purse, the pit in your stomach suddenly overpowering your ability to retort. It was a mistake— you should have known the niceties were a convenient gimmick to ascertain his position over you, and not an actual instance of humanity, for once.

But somehow, your false hopes only drive the wrath within you. You let the nausea overcome you and have it fuel your bitter tone as you finally find the power to speak up again.

“All you care about is being right— about having the last word against anyone who dares question your abilities,” you mutter, challenging his stern gaze with your own, “And the rest of us? We’re just supposed to sit by and watch, grateful to be in the presence of Gale Dekarios, the great, tragic wizard who thought his tricks could satiate a fucking Goddess!”

You’re fuming. The words that come out of your throat are only half-baked as you shrill at him, but… but at the moment, it feels right— warranted, somehow.

So when you catch him give you the space to continue, you take it.

“…But the truth is, you need to feel superior. You need everyone to see you as the sleekest in the room because deep down, you’re still clinging to the ghost of a woman who abandoned you. And that’s why you’ve been picking me apart since day one—because I’m not afraid to tell you how full of shit you are.”

Suddenly, you feel his hand catch your wrist, his grip firm as he holds you still. His thumb presses lightly against your pulse, sending a sharp, unwanted jolt of awareness through your body as your arm tries to jerk away.

“You don’t know the first godsdamn thing about me,” Gale growls, his breath fanning your face as the words spill out, thick with venom. “You’re so wrapped up in your own insolence, so blinded by your stubborn pride, that all you can see in others is a reflection of yourself. And trust me when I say that it’s an ugly one.”

You laugh, a bitter, angry sound, but your heart is hammering now. “Oh, so you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

His jaw clenches, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I know enough. I know that your actions speak louder than words. I know that you’re reckless, impulsive, and too damned proud to admit when you need help—”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the heat between you scorching as your breaths mingle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re the one who’s blinded by your own self-importance— always thinking you’re the wisest, savviest person in the room, like the rest of us are just pawns in your little fucking game.”

Gale’s eyes flash with something wild and uninhibited, and you watch his sneer shift into a bitter smile again.

“You— You really think that?” he questions through a chuckle, voice gravelly and low. “Do you really think I’m just using you for some game?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. You sneer at him, and the outrage bubbles out again.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. This was never about helping me—it was… it was about proving something. To me, to yourself, to fucking Mystra,” you trail.

The moment the words leave your lips, the air shifts between you like a storm about to unravel. His grip on your wrist tightens, not painfully, but with a deliberate firmness that forces you to stop and feel the tension between you. His face is suddenly too close, and for the most succinct moment, you catch something flickering in his eyes—something dim, and dark—but not the rage you were expecting.

He should be angry with you— Hells, he should be furious. You just tore into every insecurity you knew he had, ripped open wounds that never quite healed, and worst of all, dragged his old lover into it all.

And yet… his gaze isn’t burning with the fever you’ve grown used to seeing from him in every argument, every fight.

Why the fuck isn’t he furious?

“Gods, I actually— I used to admire you. You know that? Before all this, I thought you were someone I could… I don’t know, respect. You were this brilliant, woeful man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought, ‘Maybe there’s something more underneath all that.’ I thought we could, I don’t know, actually be something—friends, allies, whatever the fuck. I wanted us to trust each other. But… but you…" your voice lowers to a near whisper, and somehow, unbeknownst to you, your eyes go glassy with hot tears.

You’re left reeling, heart hammering in your chest as your mind races along with your bitter confession. The air around you feels viscous, mucous-like, but when your throat goes dry with impending tears you look up to see something that makes your breath hitch.

He’s listening.

Not just waiting for his turn to speak as he usually does around you, not calculating his next clever retort, but listening— really, truly listening.

His gaze, once so sharp with ire, has softened. His dark eyes are fixed on yours with a vigor that nearly undoes you, and there’s no anger in them now, no resentment.

Your breath catches.

“You never gave me a chance, Gale. Not once. It was always about you, your guilt, your past, your Mystra— Fuck!” you cough out and rub your eyes with the pads of your palms, massaging your vulnerability away. “I tried. I really, really tried. But none of this seemed to reach you, not through that… that mental barrier you’ve created around yourself. I think that since the very beginning, everything else was just noise to you. I was just noise to you,” your voice dies down to a mutter, and you inhale sharply to fight the sorrow back into your grieving heart.

You withdraw your hands and finally feel brazen enough to face him.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that your nose is red from the tears you tried so hard to hold back, that your eyelids are probably puffy and swollen, and you’re a fucking mess.

But it doesn’t matter now. You’ve come undone, and now, nothing mattered to you anymore; not the anger, not the sorrow, and especially not the way his kind, gentle touch seemed to soothe your aching heart when his palm met yours.

You scan his face, but there’s nothing— or at least, you can’t seem to read it through the coating of tears obscuring your eyes. The light above has shifted to cast his face in a warm, velvety light. You catch the subtle lines etched into his forehead, the faint silver threads streaking through his hair, and his lips curling into… a smile.

Despite your desperation, despite your pain, he was smiling.

Your chest tightens, fists clenching at your sides, and before you can stop them, a stream of hot tears finally spills down your cheeks.

This was it. You braced for impact.

“…So do whatever the fuck you need to fill that void in your heart, but don’t involve me in any of it. And— for fuck’s sake, Gale, don’t act like you give a shit about me because you—”

But you never get to finish.

Before you can witness the gentle glint in his eyes as he leans into you, before you can even register it, his lips crash onto yours.

Your gasp is muted against the softness of his mouth. When he moves, it’s not gentle, not soft, but raw in its intensity and so, so desperate.

His grip on your wrist tightens briefly before finally releasing, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his hand is a pleasant change to the cold, hard stone you’ve been leaning against, and suddenly, just as your mind threatens to flood you with dopamine, it all dawns on you.

You’ve been here before—no, not here, but in moments that feel eerily alike.

You recall the edge in his voice during arguments, the way he’d insist on ‘rectifying’ you at every turn, the blunt critiques you assumed were borne from pure vanity. But now… now there’s a clarity to it all. Worry. Fear. A softness, a hesitation. Like when he would offer his hand to you after a fight, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as they brushed over yours.

You loathed him… Hells, you detested him.

But how deep were you willing to draw the line between hate and devotion?

Against all your instincts, against the sharp, burning ache in your chest—you drink him in. His warmth, his touch, the power behind it all.

You know you should push him away, shove him off, scream, but instead, you find yourself frozen— trapped in the certainty of this moment. And despite every ounce of fury burning inside you, you can’t deny the spark it ignites in your indigent heart as he caresses you so tenderly.

And with that, you seal your fate with his.

Your lips press against his, head tilting until you feel you’re melting into him. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound makes your chest thrum with a melody you’re afraid to place.

Your hands, trembling, inch towards his chest, but this time they aren’t formed into spiteful fists or an accusatory point— your palms lay lax against him, resting at the junction of his ribs and pushing, pushing… just in hopes of catching the steady thrum of his heart against your fingertips. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it’s all still there, but in this moment, none of it matters.

Just him. Just this.

For all the times you’ve misread him, all the moments you thought his criticisms were barbs, meant to wound—now you wonder. You had mistaken his care for contempt, his frustration for hatred. But now, as his lips part slightly against yours, the world narrows down to just the two of you. No damned relic, no mission, no war; only the benign sensation of his hand cradling the back of your neck, the warmth of his mouth on yours, and the undeniable truth of it all:

You’ve never hated him. Not once in your rotten life.

And when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, you want to come undone. You’re tired, hot, melting into this fiery, passionate kiss that has slowly turned languid and gentle.

So despite the zeal enveloping your body, you’re finally forced to part.

When your eyes open, you find him already watching you. A shiver runs down your spine as you drink him in; tousled hair, half-lidded eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his plush lips as the both of you pant in tandem with each other.

He looks wrecked. But then again, you’re certain you do too.

Your face feels flushed, still burning with aftershock and when you bite your bottom lip, you find it swollen. Raw. The taste of him lingers there too, sweet like bourbon and sharp like anise.

You stare at each other. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, really seeing him, and it softens your heart as much as it terrifies your lust-addled mind.

The silence stretches between you, so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin. It pulls taut with every second, coiling tighter, and you can’t stand how fragile it makes your heart feel.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper. “You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky— you’ve never found that aspect of it attractive until now.

You open your mouth, but the words—whatever they are—die in your throat. Instead, all you can do is look at him and fall deeper into his embrace.

There are questions that swirl in the back of your mind, ones you know you should ask, but they slip away the moment his thumb brushes your cheek again. Why did he kiss you? Why did you let him? And why, despite the chaos and pain that’s passed through your mind, did this—he—feel like the only thing that has made sense since you forgot all else?

“I never hated you,” he murmurs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to cup your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

“I didn’t want to hate you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought it’s what we were meant to be. Enemies.”

“We aren’t,” The corner of his mouth twitches. “We never were.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and just like that, the fragile walls around your heart crumble. Gale Dekarios, the man you had sworn to hate, has somehow intertwined himself into your very existence in a way you suddenly think might last centuries.

—

As it turns out, the solution to your predicament was surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly straightforward. The anti-magic barrier encircling the sunken crypt could be dispelled by reciting the incantation inscribed on the rock walls— and with Gale’s surprising proficiency in Draconic, it proved quite an easy feat.

After that, it was just a matter of a few rudimentary spells. Naturally, the task took longer than anticipated, thanks to the lingering, newfound tension between you and the wizard— fleeting glances, soft touches, and even an occasional, stolen kiss as you recited your magic; things you surprisingly found yourself quite fond of.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you inhale deeply, savoring the crisp, refreshing breeze. The sunset paints the world in a warm, golden hue, casting long, soft shadows across the cobbled streets as you pass by groups of chattering townsfolk.

“I’ve been thinking,” you hear your companion muse through a playful smile. “After all of this, do you think we could avoid arguments for a little while?”

You meet his gaze with a puckish eye roll, a smile tugging at your still-swollen lips. The warm glow of the streetlights casts his face in a soft, intimate glow, and your smile widens into a grin when you catch his lips bearing that same sign of your carnal affection.

“It depends,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug, pushing against him playfully.

“Mhm, and on what exactly?” he hums, his hand squeezing tighter around yours. When his thumb caresses your palm, you feel your heart thrum with something you can’t quite describe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, glancing up at him with a grin. He returns it within a beat, and now it’s your turn to knit your fingers tighter. “How much longer are you planning on nagging me?”

He chuckles from the belly, and the coil in your chest that you’ve long expected to be spite emerges as something much larger, softer, and most unexpected. You fear to name it out loud.

You smile when your gaze meets his, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the softness of your own. He leans in, and the world narrows to the touch of his lips against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that seems to linger in the evening light. In that fleeting moment, all the doubts and anxieties are swept away with his voice calling your name.

“For as long as I live,” he retorts softly, his voice laced with tenderness as the air between you, once again, fills with his laughter.

[semischarmed]

Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.  

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker  permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it. 

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out. 

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast. 

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me. 

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides. 

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching. 

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent. 

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible. 

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning. 

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand. 

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it. 

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around. 

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world. 

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.  

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

[hannie-dul-set]

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. when you’re nearly run over by a car, and said car happens to be a porsche 918 spyder, your broke ass knows better than to let this one in a million miracle slip by. 

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. emotionally-stunted idiots to lovers, implied college! au, rich boy x not-so-rich girl trope but neither of them are normal! they’re both not well adjusted! mc is an actual scammer and ricky’s love language is throwing out exorbitant amounts of cash, romance, humor, angst if you squint but i prefer it when things are stupid, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearing, probably a number of illegal things, dubious medical practices, scamming, gold-digging, mild manipulation, a not very healthy dynamic at first but we’ll get there, more tba. WORD COUNT. teaser: 915 | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. within january, maybe. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. hello riyangi nation i have another insanity-driven wip to offer. hopefully i go crazy again and write 4-5k a day like my last ricky longfic HAHAHHAHAH. this one has a bit more plot, a bit more seriousness, but still on the spectrum of unhinged!!! hope u enjoy.

preview under the cut.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD OUT THERE. You’ve learned this lesson time and time again, ever since the early age of six— when your father got kicked out from his own start-up thanks to his greedy cousins, when you got in trouble for punching a classmate in first grade because he lifted up your skirt but the fucker was the grandson of your primary school’s dead, and when your high school scholarship got screwed over because “your parents unfortunately don’t support the school enough,” and you flipped off your home teacher all while calling him an ass-kissing, money-grabbing piece of shit.

Well, you were forced to transfer after that.

At least your new school didn’t base their scholarship grants on fucking PTA donations instead of grades.

From then on, you’ve learned that the only way to survive is to screw people over before getting screwed over yourself. There’s no point being nice. You can’t bother being a doormat to people who don’t even contribute a cent to your rent. You’re not wasting your smiles for people you can’t use.

Maybe it’s how you’ve grown to be so opportunistic, because the moment you and a friend were told that only one of you could get a full ride to Yonsei University— you didn’t think twice to cut him off. You stopped sharing your notes. You stopped studying together because why should you be nice to your competition? He was more well off than you anyway. His future doesn’t rely on handouts like it yours does. 

Bottomline, yes, you’re not the nicest person in the world. Sure, you screwed over some strangers opting to go to the same job interview as you by giving them the wrong directions. Maybe you cut yourself off from your parents the moment you turned legal when their debt started getting to them and they started relying on you to get out of the pitfall instead of pulling their own fucking weigh. Yes, you’re not a good person. You’re fully aware of that.

Which is why you can’t exactly say fuck you to god when karma comes to bite you in the ass via a car accident on your way to your weekend work shift.

The dead and quiet road you usually cross is now filled with noises of panic.

“Oh my god— dude! Call an ambulance!”

Your lungs hit asphalt and your head starts ringing. A pained hiss slips through gritted teeth. Something’s broken, you grunt, or at the very least not how it should be based on the sharp pain you’re feeling on the arm wedged between your body and the rough and dusty road. “Are they dead?!” you hear someone yell, followed by a car door swinging and footsteps running closer, yet your eyes remain squeezed shut from the blinding headlights and the aching of your entire body.

But it’s not the pain you’re dwelling on. No. It’s the hospital bills and the inevitable days off you’d have to take thanks to your god forsaken fucking luck.

The car should’ve just killed you on the spot.

“Are you okay?!”

However when you finally open your eyes and recognize the embodiment of your karma body slamming you into the ground in the form of a freaking Porsche, your worries suddenly get washed away into oblivion.

Holy shit, you’re fully conscious now. You’ve just hit the jackpot.

“O—oh, she’s awake, she’s awake! Gyuvin—”

Whoa.

There’s a person hovering above you. Rather, the person’s gold gilded necklace is dangling in front of your face. This is more than a jackpot. This is better that the fucking lottery.

“What—what do I do?”

“Is she responsive?!”

“U—uhm— are you okay?” Pretty boy that you assume is the one who nearly killed you is flitting his eyes in panic and is unsure with what to do with his hands. His face aside, the guy is decked out in designer clothing. You don’t miss the engravings on his jacket, the shiny glints of gold coiled around his panicked fingers. You’re not letting his chance slip away. You let out a grunt of pain and start folding into yourself. “Ahh, I don’t think she’s okay! What’s the number for 119?!”

Half acting. Half actually fucking hurting because ow. Maybe you did break something.

“I don’t know! Taerae, what’s the number for—”

“Are you two stupid?!”

Well shit. The pain stops paining because if they bring you to a hospital different from the one you have in mind, it’d be a loss for you. So you play it up even more. “A—ah, I think something’s broken,” you wince. Pretty boy drops his phone and tries helping you prop yourself up. 

“Crap. I think it’ll take too long if we call an ambulance,” says one of his companions behind him. “H—hey, do you mind if we just take you to the hospital right now?”

Now, this doesn’t sound safe. Around three men in their early twenties with very evidently no first aid experience delivering an injured woman to the hospital with what you think is a two-seater car is a recipe for disaster. You’re still on the dirty ground, arm definitely broken, with a rich guy looking like he’s about to start crying at any moment very hesitantly trying his best to help you sit up.

They’re waiting for your answer. And the answer is pretty obvious.

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

Because if you get even more injured along the way, that’ll simply be an extra bonus for you.

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[bettyfrommars]

The Nightmare Factory: Origins

nightmare!eddie x Reader

Masterlist

a little peek into how Eddie got the job

Sigh, yet another blurb that turned into 2k. There is mention of Reader in this, but no actual interaction. We get to meet the notorious Kevin and get a glimpse at the inside of the building where nightmare!eddie works, as well as run into a few of his future co-workers. I love those of you who have shown interest in this; let me know if there are certain things/events you'd like to see. wc: 2.2k

18+ONLY, mature themes, horror, nothing bad happens but there will be mention of gore and scary things. Nightmare!eddie, Gareth, a ventriloquist doll, liminal spaces, mention of spiders and creepy dolls. A severed foot. I write these like a fever dream and then post them, so I hope it makes a decent amount of sense.

---------

When Wayne told Eddie that there were positions open at the Nightmare Factory, it just so happened that he was tired of slaving over a grill every day and ready for something new.  But he wasn't interested in working at a desk or on the janitorial team—he wanted to travel and scare the shit out of a few people.

From the trailer park, he could see the tall stacks in the distance, jutting up into the sky, pumping out industrial black smoke from somewhere inside the factory. He never realized how much elbow grease went into producing nightmares.  

The Nightmare Factory had not always been there.  One day, it just appeared, as it was prone to do in various locations all over the world.  Months ago, he was having a smoke out behind the diner where he worked the kitchen, when a creepy doll head fell from the sky and bounced to the ground.  It rolled to the edge of the nearby dumpster and wedged there.

He yelled for Gareth to come out so he could tell him what just happened.

“It’s raining heads,” Eddie blew a raspberry laugh after he said it, and the two of them bent to get a closer look.

The plastic doll head had long, patchy, auburn hair that fell over its face, and it was missing a glass eyeball.  Eddie picked it up and stood to full height, turning it around to give it a look.  A thick, slimy centipede slithered out of the empty eye socket and crawled over Eddie’s finger, making him yelp and throw the thing.

He shook his hand out, making sure the centipede was not still on him.  Not too far away on the pavement, the head now looked molded and rotten, as if it had been made of living tissue.

“It’s that fucking Nightmare Factory, I’m telling you,” Gareth insisted, wiping his hands on his apron. “It just showed up a couple days ago, and yesterday I saw a frog walking on its hind legs with a mouth full of vampire teeth.”

Eddie licked his lips, thoughtfully.  

Soon enough, he was driving to the factory in question with his resume next to him in the seat, wearing the nicest shirt and pair of jeans he owned, and he even had his hair tied back—at Wayne’s urging.  “You’re not a drug dealer anymore, son, you need to look presentable.”

Upon arrival, an ornate, iron gate opened at the entrance, and he followed in what appeared to have once been a car.  The metal was dented all over like a piece of balled-up paper, and the blue paint chipped in areas to expose the dull yellow underneath.  The passenger window was nothing but saran wrap secured with duct tape, and there were a few aluminum cans tied to the bumper with string.  The cans were pock-marked and rusted, and the vehicle drove at a tilt as if the tires on one side were too small. 

On the back window, there was white writing, scrawled as if with a non-dominant hand.  Eddie squinted at the lettering, saying it out loud as he read: JUST DEAD.

He parked the van in front of one of the visitor placards right next to a wood-paneled station wagon.

On the outside, the factory looked like an old, abandoned steel mill you might see from the freeway as you passed, but inside—it offered the aesthetic of a pristine, marble floor museum.  A museum without any artifacts or art—just bare, cream walls, one long hallway of doors, low, fluorescent lighting, a reception desk, and a pair of mysterious double doors to the right.

Eddie’s footsteps echoed in the empty hall as he made his way over to the reception desk.

The secretary was bent over behind the desk, possibly jotting down a note, when Eddie cleared his throat to get her attention.  She had on a light blue, pillbox hat from the 60’s with a matching suit, and wore her hair in a short, platinum blonde bob.  

When she looked up at him, he realized her face was made of fiberglass—her pink lips and wide, a tiny, sharp nose, and blue eyes frozen in time.  There was a lightning-shaped crack down her cheek that feathered out down her neck, and he realized then, with one glance down at her stiff hands, that she was a broken mannequin.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked without moving her mouth; lips slightly parted and turned up at one corner.

“Um, yeah, no,” Eddie stammered, taken aback when a few small spiders crawled out of the crack on her face.  “I’m here about the job opening.”

“Ah, well then you’ll need to meet with Kevin,” she confirmed, running her beige, plastic hand down some scribbles on a big appointment book.  “He is the only door on the 3rd floor.  I’ll let him know you are on your way.”

“Oh great, thanks,” Eddie moved his hand to flash her the devil horns, but then he realized that might not be appropriate, faltered a bit, and then chose a thumbs up instead.  “I like that color blue on you, it matches your eyes.”

The receptionist couldn’t blush, but she did give a high-pitched giggle at the compliment.  

There were two sets of elevator doors, and while he waited in front of one for it to open, the one next to it dinged, and a group of tall, thin men in black coats with no faces and hooks for hands stepped out. They seemed to glide on the air more than walk, and he wondered if they had any feet.  One gave a wave of his hook to Eddie and mumbled, “morning,” as they moved to enter one of the doors across the way.  

The hallway to Kevin’s office had a clear, aquarium floor with colorful fish fluttering around in Eddie’s path, and he stopped to admire them for a minute as a smile stretched around his face.  There was mellow jazz playing from a speaker somewhere overhead it reminded him of the waiting room at the dentist office. It wasn’t long before a severed foot that looked like it had been sawed or bitten off at the ankle floated through the aquarium beneath him, and Eddie’s smile dropped.  The toe was nearly bitten off by little fish nibbles.  

“This fucking place,” he whispered to himself, one fist in the pocket of his leather jacket, as he took note of the portrait painting on the wall from the early 1900’s of a woman in a dress sitting in a chair, and it looked like her eyes had been cut out, offering two perfect ovals for another pair of eyes to peep out.  

The door to Kevin’s office was open, so Eddie rapped his knuckle on the wall and stuck his head in. “Hello? Kevin? I’m here about the job?”

When he didn’t get a response, he pushed in a bit further, with caution.

The inside looked like the library of some distinguished gentleman; a big oak desk backed by floor to ceiling rows of books; a globe on a brass stand; oil paintings with ornate frames; a cigar smoldering in a glass ashtray near the cream-colored phone with the blinking red light on it.  

Eddie made one last attempt: “Hello?”

“I’m right here, you knob,” a tiny, irritated voice said.

Eddie turned to follow the sound, and the chair behind the desk spun around to reveal what appeared to be a ventriloquist doll in a blue and white sailor suit, sitting atop a few thick encyclopedias so that he could reach the top of the desk.  It had a big, abnormal grin on its face that hinged at the chin, and eyebrows too high on the head, as if he were eternally shocked, framed in a swirl of brown, plastic hair.  

“That's me. I am Kevin. Go ahead, sit,” the doll extended his arm, motioning to one of the two chairs in front of his desk.  They were both small, plastic chairs meant for children, and Eddie eyed them with trepidation.  Before he could sit, he had to move a thick book titled “Ruling the World for Dummies” and set it on the desk.  His hips barely fit as he shoved down into the seat, angling his head all the way back to look up at Kevin.

He slid his resume forward on the wood as if he were a middle school kid handing in his homework.

Kevin hopped from the stack of books onto the desk in his shiny black shoes and looked over the piece of paper—his featureless fingers flexing.

“A mechanic and a line cook,” Kevin’s eyes clicked as he looked at the typed out words, and then found Eddie’s eager gaze over the top of the page.  “So, no nightmare experience?”

Eddie’s brain scurried for the correct answer. “Well, not professionally, no. But I’m a quick study, and my life is kind of one big nightmare, if you know what I mean,” he rubbed his sweaty palms up and down on the knees of his jeans while Kevin returned a blank—albeit perpetually alarmed—expression.  

“Can you work weekends?”

“Yes.”

“Evenings?”

“Sure. Well, except some Fridays and Tuesdays.  My band, we—” 

“What about portals? Do you experience motion sickness during interdimensional travel?” Kevin interrupted.

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” Eddie moved his eyes around the room, keeping his head still.  

“Are you willing to sign an NDA in regards to this facility, and any activities that take place herein?”

Eddie considered that for a second, wondering how strictly they enforced the non-disclosure agreement.  At the end of the day, he really didn’t talk to many people, but it was hard for him to keep his mouth shut around those he did interact with.

“Sure,” Eddie shrugged.

“Great. Swell.” Kevin dropped the resume, letting it slip off the desk and flutter to the ground without a second thought. He bent down to pick up the cigar that was still smoldering and stuffed the fat end in between his grinning lips.  The smoke he inhaled came out his ears.  “You’re hired.  Benefits start after 30 days. Come back tomorrow around the same time and someone will give you a tour and set you up with a locker.”

Eddie moved to stand up and thank him, but his ass was stuck in the chair, so he sat back down for the time being.

“Do you know what type of nightmares you want to specialize in?” Kevin asked.

Eddie hadn’t considered any of that.  “Um, what are my options?”

Kevin rolled his eyes and put his cigar back down.  “Do you even have any idea what we do here?”

“I’ll be honest, man,” Eddie raised an eyebrow, offering a bit of a smirk. “I'm just looking for a paycheck. But I’m a hard worker, I’ll take anything you throw at me.”

What Kevin didn’t tell him was that Eddie was the only applicant they’d had all week.  Work conditions were rather dismal at the factory as of late, and the turn-over rate was astronomical; there were Nightmare Scholars with several degrees still slumming it as closet monsters and ghosts that tapped on windows pretending to be a branch.

But, Eddie was fine with it.  He wasn’t interested in a career in nightmares—his music was all that mattered to him back then.

Back before your nightmares were all he cared about.  

“At the end of the hall on the first floor, there’s a bulletin board with the positions that are available.  You’ll need to pick one, and then Walter will get you enrolled in whatever classes you need.”

“Walter?” Eddie asked, looking around, as if the Walter in question might appear at any second from out of the bookshelf.  

“You’ll meet him tomorrow,” Kevin’s head turned to the side, but his body stayed facing forward.  “He’s a swamp monster; big guy.  He’s in charge of all the new trainees. Man’s got a particular foul odor about him, but damn his wife is a great cook.”

Eddie’s wallet chain clinked against the plastic chair as he forced it off his hips like popping out a cork, and he thanked Kevin with a wave.  

Little did he know then what a pain in his ass Kevin would be.

Little did he know that, some 2 years later, he’d be so dedicated to the work that they’d be offering him a promotion.  

They offered to put him in a training position, or behind a desk sorting dream journal entries, but he had no interest in such things.  They could keep their promotions.

He needed to stay on the ground, in the trenches.

Until he could find a way out of your dreams and into your arms.   --------

-------

[alexanderlightweight]

I don’t even know if you like Taylor Swift but something based on Mastermind, only it’s Alec whose the mastermind. Like as the future HotI Alec has studied all NYC down world leaders and has always had a ‘celeb’ crush on Magnus so when they have to meet, he makes sure he’s where he can get face time with Magnus. I guess this works best for the Show. So the meet cute is the same its just that Alec purposely found Magnus in the loft when it was being attacked.

Hey! So I don’t have any particular feelings about Taylor Swift, so I was happy to go listen to the song (I hadn’t heard it) and look up the lyrics. Hope you enjoy:

—

Alec stares at his tablet and licks his lips as he studies diligently.

It’s long past dawn. He knows he should be asleep but he’s been planning this meeting for years.

It was nearly ruined earlier —by Jace and Izzy’s stupid little girl— but Alec can salvage this.

He knows that.

“If we’d been parabatai we could have used tracking to find his lair, since you won’t let us go to rave.” Jace had grumbled earlier and Alec sighs at the memory.

Alec fell in love while preparing for his parabatai bond, but surprisingly and despite where he first thought he was headed, not with Jace.

In fact, Alec fell in love with someone so outside the realm of possibilities that he’s spent nearly five years since then building plans.

Because Alec has been learning tactics and strategies since he could breathe and when he was a desperate, self-loathing, angry seventeen year old learning about Shadowworld Leaders, he found and picked the future he wanted.

And he hasn’t strayed from it yet.

Jace is still a little sore from Alec deciding against becoming parabatai, but he’s Alec’s brother and his subordinate.

Parabatai are supposed to be equal in rank, but Jace has never studied and has never been interested in command.

Jace is a fighter. An incredible fighter who wields a sword like it’s another limb, but he never thinks.

Jace will already create a mess and expect someone else to clean it up.

And Alec has too many important things resting on a very delicate balance to risk that kind of personality tied to his own soul.

Because Alec knows that at the end of the day Jace wouldn’t think about any consequences of their bond, he would take and take until Alec couldn’t give anymore and then and only then, would Jace mourn his own actions.

When Alec thought he was in love with Jace, he would have accepted it.

But he’s not, so Alec denied them a parabatai bond to protect them both, and to protect his personal plans.

Jace will never understand strategic protection and planning. But then again, he’s never had to.

So Alec taps his tablet off and sends a fire message.

He has a plan to implement.

—

Alec shows up at the rave alone. With his siblings and Clary thinking he’s in a Clave meeting.

He dresses as casual as he can, taking care to wear his nicest clothes.

He’s not sure what will appeal to Magnus Bane, but he’s hoping to find out

—

Magnus isn't there to enjoy the rave, he’s here as bait, to see what shows up. To get a better understanding of what he’s protecting his people from.

And then his personal wards warn him of an approaching nephilim and he turns, only to see divinity turned flesh approaching him.

He straightens, gives a dark smirk and offers a hand, daring the gorgeous shadowhunter to take it.

Magnus is surprised when he does.

—

Alec has plans, so many plans and all he can do when faced with the reality of Magnus Bane is blink and a hand is reached out to him.

He takes it. And then instead of shaking it. He tangles his fingers with it like an idiot. Marveling at the callouses and the thick bands of metal that press against his own.

“I’m Alec.” Is all he manages to get

“Magnus Bane, pretty boy.”

And it takes every ounce of self-control for Alec to not blurt out, ‘I know’. Magnus calling him pretty is not good for his composure.

“Hi.”

Alec finally says, not realizing that they’ve gained quite a few looks. He’s too mesmerized by the delighted and quickly growing smile on Magnus’ face.

“Won’t you sit?” Magnus asks and Alec very carefully does not climb into his lap.

Maybe next time, but he has to wait, he reminds himself.

Magnus hasn’t had a chance to get to know him, so Alec will wait.

So he sits, pressed too close to Magnus on a sofa not meant for two men their size and Magnus’ smile grows.

Alec doesn’t notice, too busy breathing slowly when Magnus’ firm, muscular thigh presses against his own.

“Oh, this. Payment since this is an informal request for a formal job.”

“This is worth a little more than a meeting to discuss a job.” Magnus tells him, reaching out with his free hand to take the necklace.

“Hazard pay.” Alec murmurs quietly as he releases the necklace. “I was hoping to set up a meeting to discuss a ritual the institute needs done.”

“And the head of the Institute is allowing such spending? In my rather long memory, they are rather frugal with their pockets.”

Alec blinks in surprise and hopes what he says next doesn’t make Magnus pull away.

“Oh, no I’m the head. I mean, I only officially took over about two months ago. But I was interim head before that.” Alec pauses, brow furrowing as he tries to figure out how to explain, “and it’s hazard pay. Because times are hazardous.”

“I thought the New York Institute had been given to the Lightwood line?”

Alec tilts his head in confusion, wondering just what he’s missing.

“Yes? I’m a Lightwood? Alec Lightwood? My parents used to be the Heads. But they retired—“ a forced retirement that no one talks about, “and they reside permanently in Idris now.” Actually, they weren’t allowed back in New York. “I’ve been taking control over the Institute gradually.”

Magnus’ hand tightens around Alec’s own and his eyes flicker gold and Alec can’t help the fact that he licks his own lips. And he doesn’t notice when Magnus’ gaze lingers on his mouth.

“Is that bad?” Alec finds himself asking, mentally wondering if he should figure out a disownment spell. The Trueblood family magic likes him well enough, he could probably take on that name.

“No, I’m actually incredibly pleased.” Magnus tells him, dousing his plans for disownment, and he’s pressing closer. “So why are you here, Alexander?”

Alec’s pretty sure he introduced himself as Alec but he’s also certain he’s not going to say anything, because the sound of his full name on Magnus’ tongue is exquisite.

Alec mentally recalibrates. This wasn’t his original plan, nor even in the first dozen. But Alec has a small half-shadowhunter problem and he will use it to his advantage.

“Clary Fray recently found her way to the Institute. Apparently she has some memory issues, as you are the High Warlock of Brooklyn, I’d like to request a ritual to get them back for her.”

“Oh, no mention of who took them?” Magnus asks, eyelashes fluttering and smoky with a dark shadow.

“Uhm-“ Alec takes a deep breath, he cannot be distracted. “She was a minor when they were taken and whoever was involved had a contract with her mother. I’m not going to try to break a confidential agreement that might have magical consequences.”

Magnus seems delighted by the answer and Alec gives a tiny sigh of relief. He knows it was Magnus and Magnus will understand what Alec isn’t saying.

He knows of Magnus, but he doesn’t know him, and he's risking so much but for what he wants, it’s worth it.

“Well then, why don’t we—“ and Magnus pauses, a dark look flickering over his face. “My presence is required. Immediately. Will you come with me, Alexander? To finalize the details?”

It might be a test but Alec says yes immediately. Magnus needs to leave and Alec has to go with him. Has to make sure Magnus doesn’t think Alec is part of a trap, is trying to distract him. Alec can’t let Magnus go into possible danger when they’ve finally just met.

“Okay.” Is all he says and he stands first, still holding Magnus’ hand and pulling him up. “I’ll follow where you go.”

Magnus gives him a deep, searching look and then summons a portal. Alec steps through it with him and when they come out in a fighting zone, he reacts instinctively.

An arrow is in a body before he even realizes he’s let go of Magnus’ hand. Alec doesn’t have time to mourn the loss as he throws himself forward because there is a child and a parent and the adult can’t protect both of them.

So Alec does what he’s trained for, he brings death from the shadows.

At one point Magnus is pressed up against his back and it’s such a euphoric feeling that Alec stays in step with him. When Magnus moves, he moves, using every sense he has to keep Magnus as close as possible.

And when Magnus gives an angry snarl and curses out, “my wards were tampered with. I don’t have the strength to protect everyone and raise them.”

And Alec doesn’t think, he just wraps his arms around Magnus' waist, creating a shield with his body and murmurs, “then take my strength.”

And Magnus, after a soft, surprised gasp, does.

Alec gives until his eyes are heavy and his vision dark, but he can feel the intimate press of layer after layer of magic around and against him. And as he falls into unconsciousness, he only barely manages to register Magnus catching him and he smiles.

Alec was raised to be a mastermind and while he didn’t know it would happen like this, his goal has always been to get where he is.

In Magnus’ arms.

[katyspersonal]

What do you think of Gascoigne and Viola?

Sorry for falling out on the cute ships headcanons asks, I am not used to receiving many;; But it is one of my favourite ships, actually! Not only because I am a huge sucker for ships that are actually established in canon, but also because they are just so... committed? Two children, in the middle of all this chaos?

🪓 Viola's dress is very similar to that of black Church saints/doctors, and I felt like it was an implication rather than devs being 'lazy', since not only there was an effort put into altering, but also Viola's model is unique so it is not like they reused a corpse. Whatever it is, but I think that both her and Gascoigne ditched the Healing Church - whereas still wearing the evidence of former affiliation to it. Gascoigne wears the holy shawl disrespectfully, like a shawl, and Viola cropped the dress for her convenience x) They are a sassy couple!

🎶 I like to think Viola copes with reality through raw hope, more often than not vocal about her plans about 'what we do when nights of the hunt are over' and 'where will the girls go when they grow up'. Sometimes it makes Gascoigne angry as he doesn't believe in future anymore and he has to hold back from snapping at her, other times it is the only thing that can cheer him up. He struggles to form bonds as 'everyone will become beast anyways' but Viola prefers to cherish these bonds while they last! Whatever he struggles with, if she can tone it down that's what matters. This attitude calms him often, he wishes he met more genuinely good and hopeful people like her back when he was a Father back in his home place! Inside he's troubled that in his eyes he cannot offer enough in return besides protecting her at all cost since she is not quite a hunter herself lol. As result, he constantly does nice things to her, gifts and more chores help than required and getting her whatever she as much as casually mentions, not realizing that the nicest thing he could do for her is to 'slack' on the hunt at least sometimes...

🪓 The name for the younger daughter is Dorothy, and the older Sally! Suggested by @val-of-the-north, I liked the names!

🎶 Viola kinda pouts at Gascoigne (and Henryk, who I believe is the 'grandpa' that Dorothy mentioned) for bringing his friends (the League) over, because thanks to Valtr Sally fucking wants to become a cop now -_-" Whereas Dorothy is scared of him. Viola and Valtr are having sass battle about his "bad influence" on the kids, and Gascoigne really loves seeing Viola passionate and strict like this. He thinks she is the most adorable when she is protective of her children, in big things or small.

🪓 The couple is always welcoming other people who got disillusioned about Healing Church and ready to give them advice and assistance (or even temporary shelter and social resources, depending on how much remaining Church people were pissed at the "traitor"). Henriett is one of such people, actually! I also have this awkward headcanon that both Gascoigne and Viola had the complicated period of finding her rather attractive and wrestling with themselves to not invite her in their.... ....activities uhhh. They had Guilt TM about simping for someone while being married, it is all that darn Catholic past, man. The crisis kinda subdued though and for now Henriett is just a good friend of the family! She is even a lot like an auntie for the daughters, too!

🎶 I am not downvoting the interpretation that Gascoigne killed Viola - it still has a powerful gut-punch about what that darn blood and hunt does! And it would work with importance of Viola forgetting the Music Box that tends to calm Gascoigne. But in my headcanons, Gascoigne did not do that. @heraldofcrow quite sold me on the version that murdering Viola was all part of Bloody Crow's twisted plan to drive Gascoigne, Henryk and Eileen mad (in this order)! But even if that is not included, I think it'd be huntsmen that attacked her. In either case, in my thing, Gascoigne broke because Viola was murdered, rather than murdering Viola because he broke. I am allowed one 'forgetting Music Box was just a gameplay thing and some things are so nice that blood and hunt can't ruin them' ticket!!!!

🪓 Gascoigne was actually very much distressed when his body started to show signs of beasthood. Body fur, eyes irises going white in color and vision worsening, nails becoming claws, ears sharpening... He even wanted to leave the family and go die somewhere far away, for their own safety. But Viola, knowing his habits very well, was able to identify something wrong and managed to pull the truth out of him.. She reassured him it was going to be fine, optimistic person that she is, was very loving and accepting about his metamorphoses after getting him to show her what changed, kissed him where body went 'beastly', all that. Her love and optimism actually did win him some time before going more insane.

🎶 The Music Box is actually a wedding gift from Henryk! Playing Mergo's Lullaby, it was his link to his mysterious heritage, and the reason he sought Byrgenwerth's help back then. Henryk liked Gascoigne, but never thought to confess him and Gascoigne already turned out to be in love with his adopted daughter, which of course ruined his chances and he just kept the secret between himself and Valtr. However, when Sally was born, Henryk was so happy that his broken heart got mended. They are still on very good terms, though!

🪓 Gascoigne and Viola really love doing things together, and moreover, to teach each other what they're good at! Like how Gascoigne could teach Viola to chop the wood and Viola could teach him to do knitting and embroidery. As a result, they share skills, just that one is a bit better at a skill than the other. Their daughters actually copied the dynamic of their parents here - having mostly different hobbies and vibes, they also teach one another! It is about a good example.

🎶 This dress Gascoigne did make for Viola by himself:

If it looks like it was created mostly from the curtains... well, it is because it WAS. Still, not bad for a guy who is supposedly only skilled at swinging his axe, is it? x)

🪓 They actually at times could spend hours simply chilling with each other, idly talking about good memories they shared or complimenting one another. In some days, Gascoigne will be aloof and irritable, too occupied with the thoughts of incoming night of the hunt, but even then he will be able to say a lot of nice things about how much he cares about the safety of her and the girls. They just do not get bored about ruminating on their relationship and how good their dynamics can be despite some conflicts. A type that would still have romantic dates even years into marriage in a happier setting. Again, because they just do not get 'bored'!

🎶 They both love books (Gascoigne even wrote some in his past, as a Father!), but at the same time enjoy different genres. What Gascoigne likes and wrote is more along Russian classic novels (Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, all that). You know, the Depressing Literature TM about society, war, politics, and singular people it effected. But what Viola likes is epic novels and often containing rather satirical, ruthless commentaries. However, in general Viola is about 'saying a lot with a few words' in a book, whereas Gascoigne adores the usage of full language's potential in detailed descriptions. They like discussing the books they like with one another, and sometimes their opinions on what makes a good book get so different that it becomes a passionate debate.

🪓 Viola is a type of a mom that would like her children to have hobbies and excell at something - music, art, sport, anything. And Gascoigne is a type of a dad that is concerned about his children, first of all, being street-smart and having practical skills in life. The daughters are growing up to be both resourceful and rich with interests! Lol don't you just LOVE the fact that the only way they could survive is if the Hunter doesn't even try to help? :')

________________

Thank you for the ask! I like this ship a whole bunch.

[erigold13261]

How did Neonova get together in the FRAU?

Both Neon and Nova are underappreciated in this AU, and I can somehow see the two ending up in a bar together to drink or literally Neon offers Nova to come over for a drink since Nova is one of the nicer NSRtists to him (which is saying something considering DJ is still not the nicest guy in the AU).

Somehow the two end up together and just talk. They talk about music and tech at first, mainly sticking to safe topics while also getting pretty drunk. Neon always makes sure DJ gets home safely and that they never have an event the next day, so DJ gets really attached to this new outlet in life.

Both of them figure out they enjoy each other's company and continue to see each other. Again they mainly talk about work-related things, until one day Tatiana came up in the conversation and both released their frustration of her never listening to either of them. They then ripped into a bunch of the other artists for their own faults, and even Neon complained about 1010 and how sick he is of them always being like little puppies following him around.

Which led into conversations about why Neon couldn't get attached to them. Talking about his ex-wife and his children, his home and marriage falling apart. It would be one of the first times Neon truly opened up to DJ because before it was all DJ doing most of the talking (which Neon preferred because he wanted to actually listen to someone talk since 1010 doesn't really talk to him).

The two were just becoming better and better friends, even allowing Neon to lessen his drinking a bit as he wanted to enjoy DJ's company more while sober. And DJ also ended up drinking less until the two would end up having some hang out sessions without drinks involved at all, letting them just fully enjoy each other's company and minds without any kind of interference.

After the failed revolution though, Neon became more reclusive. But instead of letting the friendship die like DJ usually would, they instead put in effort to find out what was wrong with Neon. And they found out what truly happened the night the revolution failed (no one had really told him when he got back from space) and how everyone was treating 1010 and Neon. Reminding Nova of their childhood being tormented just because he wasn't fully human.

So Nova decided to help Neon make a new contract that would get 1010 out of NSR. The two started spending more time with each other than they did before the revolution. Talking more about the future instead of the past. They started making plans to visit each other often, then turned that into moving in together, which then turned into promises of moving away and starting a new life.

As this was happening Nova wasn't making much good music or performing much, which they were supposed to do to make up for Sayu and 1010 being put on restrictive schedules. This would wind up in Nova quitting or getting fired.

I don't know which, but either way he had some pretty nasty things to say to everyone when he left. And they made sure to say some stuff about Neon and 1010 so the 6 wouldn't get outed if he just left them out of his burst of anger, which he did apologize for when he went over to Barraca Mansion later.

Neon offered DJ to stay at Barraca Mansion more often to help with the contract but also to support DJ since they didn't have a job anymore and to just stay close to them. Which Nova did end up rejecting at the time only because it would look suspicious if he just moved in immediately, but over the course of a year DJ did end up moving in to Barraca Mansion as they continued to find some kind of loophole or exploit in the NSR contract that will guarantee 1010's safe release.

Nova and Neon found hope in each other. They were both in shitty positions hoping for someone to listen to them and found that in one another. They grew closer until they finally realized that they had both fallen in love, and by that point both were ready to give up the lives they have now to start over as a family.

[oceanlue]

Is it ok if I can have some comfort HCs with Auron? I’m having a bit of a bad mental health moment rn and just need some reassurance

Thank you <3

(Aww dude I got you)

The moment you walked in the building two people noticed something wrong

Well Trish also noticed that you were also feeling down (cuz we all love trish)

So Trish and also auron tagged teamed and now are trying to find out what's bothering you

Of course Trish being the nicest person there is offered you a cup of coffee when she came by you said thanks but only in a gloomy way

Auron came by to check on your work but to also Pat you on the head of it to see if that did anything it didn't

After while it was the end of the day at work and auron called you in his office

you were not ready to face him you are mentally drained feeling unworthy, unloved, uncared for the list can go on

( (and whoever has any of that tell me and I will come over there and give you the biggest hug you can never take I will not let you people be sad))

After you came in the door he asked what was going on cuz you're not usually like this

You told him that it was just some problems that you were having with yourself and it can be fixed immediately

But he wasn't taking that for an answer

So he came up and told you close to him and started whispering Praises in your ear Whispering how he loved you or how he liked you so you know how he is he said "that sometimes you need rest, and to calm down and think before you do drastic things even before work and it's good to take time off when you need it"

As you heard these things you can help but break down knowing it got you of how exhausted you were you told him everything how you were having mental health issues how you were feeling each day and an honesty you are all tired

He did nothing but just held you he did not move he just held you like you were the last thing on this planet and he was afraid to let it go afraid of losing you

And safe to say that if any of you two had problems you would go for each other's help knowing that it will make you feel better

-------------

@world-future-star thanks again for requesting I hope this brings up your spirits

Peace out dudes

💙💙💙

[mousedetective]

Disabled Queer Woman Needs Help...Please Don’t Delete?

Okay. So I’m putting everything in one post so I don’t have to reblog a bunch of them.

I am in serious need of help. I had to take out over $1000 in payday loans to cover various things this month, and then when I took out a $700 loan to help pay those down at an exorbitant rate (when I’m done paying the loan back in a year, I’ll have paid over $3,000 because of the interest) I had to pay off three bills instead. So while I have no regular bills to pay, I still owe the loans.

I also lost my food stamps last month, and it was used to feed myself, my mother and my teenage son. I got $138 a month plus an extra $99 for the pandemic, but that still isn’t enough to feed my son, even though I only have him on weekends. My mother has broken teeth which makes chewing hard, my son is autistic so he has food favorites which are all he wants to eat, and I just want to have a pantry where I can make a meal.

Speaking of my mother, she has to travel all over San Diego to get her broken teeth taken care of. She has four root canals coming up in three separate appointments, plus she has to have an oral surgeon remove the broken teeth/dead roots, and then, eventually, she’ll hopefully get bridges for her missing teeth. She’s also a breast cancer survivor who didn’t get breast reconstruction at the time of her double mastectomy, so she’s getting it now and running into problems with the expander she had put in (one side of her chest inflates, but the side that was radiated isn’t inflating more than what it already has no matter what they do so she has to have a flap surgery, which means she stays overnight for that appointment). We have to go to Solana Beach from Fallbrook every week for them to expand her other side so we need gas money/gas cards for that, and I need to get Uber gift cards to get her to and from the hospital for the surgery/surgeries since I don’t drive.

And regarding my son, his adoptive family is...not the nicest (his adoptive mother is looking into putting my son in a group home, even though he’s 18). They make us travel from Fallbrook to Old Town Transit Center twice a week to pick my son up for weekend visits and then drop him off. It takes us half a tank of gas each trip, so that’s $40 (not counting food) to have him for the weekend. And he’s so miserable at home (his highlight is three group therapy/day trip with other people like him vists a week) and he begs to come stay with us every week. L, his adoptive mother, offers no help with gas, food or clothes (he comes in one outfit and is expected to go home in a clean one that he didn’t come to my home in). So I need at least $40 a week for that, like I said, not counting food and clothes.

I am drowning in debt and stress. I need so much help and I don’t know what to do. I beg for help and sometimes I get lucky but most often I don’t and friends need to step in, but they can’t always help. I can’t keep doing payday loans and I need to get rid of that $700 as swiftly as possible, which if I can pay it in full on the 3rd will be $1,000 with fees.

These are the ways I can accept monetary payments:

PayPal - afteriwake23@gmail.com

Cashapp - $afteriwake23

Venmo - @penaltywaltz

I also have an Amazon Wishlist to help with things we need now, things we need when my mom goes to surgery and other things we need in the future. I need one box of cat litter and some of the jasmine tea now (I can’t drink soda, it makes me sick, so I drink a lot of tea), and anything else anyone can help with. It’s located at https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2IYLMSXNYF5HY?ref_=wl_share.

Please help if you can, or reblog if you can’t. I don’t know what else to do. I reblog posts for anyone in need and I hope people will return the favor and reblog this while I’m in need. Thank you and may you be blessed today.

[yoonoclock]

all the glory | pjm

❝he wasn’t supposed to fall in love…but he did. all he wanted was to make you smile, even if only for a moment.❞

• pairing: guardian angel jimin x reader

• genre: fluff, slight angst, angel au

• warnings: none

• word count: 738

• note: angel jimin is my soft spot…i think i may do a lil series out of this where jimin does different things for reader!!! lmk what you think!!

You were incredibly frustrated. Actually, you were so over the top angry that tears were streaming down your face. This is what happened whenever you were anything but sad. At this exact moment you were attempting to finish an important paper for class when the professor decided to change the requirements last minute. As an overworked and stressed college student, you needed very little to push you over the edge. Everything appeared to work against you. 

“This is so stupid,” you clenched your fists at your side. “I hate this.” 

That’s the nicest way you could have put it. In reality, you had plenty of horrible words to express the reality of this situation. 

You sighed, “I guess happiness isn’t in my future.” 

Maybe you could go for a nice walk outside to release some steam. However, once you pulled the curtains back you noticed the dark, gloomy clouds in the sky. Terrific. 

There really isn’t a break in sight. 

“Hey,” you turned around in your chair to scan the room. “If I somehow have a guardian angel…can you do your job please?” 

There was no expectation that something marvelous would unfold like a scene from a superhero movie. Although a piece of you wished there would be a glimpse of hope in the midst of all his misery…perhaps that was too much to ask. 

What you never realized was that your guardian angel was, in fact, real. Park Jimin has protected many people over the course of his existence. It has been a fairly easy experience until it came to being assigned to you. The reason for that? Well….it’s complicated. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Taehyung appeared behind Jimin’s shoulder. “You can’t reveal yourself to them.” 

“I never said I was,” Jimin rolled his eyes. “They….are hurting. I want to help.” 

Taehyung stared blankly at the side of his head, “In other words, you want to act on your feelings.” 

Jimin was silent. 

“You know we are not allowed to fall in love with our assignments,” Taehyung moved aside to fully face him. “Y/N is not meant to know you are here, least of all that you love them.” 

In the corner of Jimin’s eye he saw your shoulders fall in defeat. This load of school and life truly impacted you beyond words could express. Angels are supposed to protect their people from harm, but what if that harm isn’t always physical? Jimin tried to fight his growing feelings…except it couldn’t be overcome. The more he grew to know you the more he noticed love opening his heart. 

“Our ‘assignments’ are people,” Jimin corrected. “I think it’s only fair we give peace when we can.” 

Taehyung isn’t here to silence Jimin or to change his mind. He simply is trying to offer words of caution for situations like this. When love steps into the picture…it means that Jimin could lose his angelic state. He will become human. In the end, Taehyung wants the best for his friend. It’s easy to be somewhat selfish when you have worked alongside him for centuries. 

“If you go for it…” Taehyung places a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t be stupid so I have to come protect you.” 

Jimin smiles, “I can’t make such a promise.” 

Once Taehyung parted ways, Jimin contemplated on how he could start the process of revealing himself to you. It’s a difficult thing that he couldn’t just suddenly pop out of nowhere. How creepy is that? 

Instead, he came up with the best solution. Without a second to lose he rushed outside of your window where he took the opportunity to part the clouds. This allowed sunbeams to reach only through your window. Broken particles danced through the sky in vibrant colors that began to shine through your fabric curtains. Confused at the sudden shift in light, you pulled them away to be met with warmth on your skin. 

“How on earth?” You whispered under your breath. 

You were in shock of how it appeared to only be touching your place, nowhere else. There was no need to question it because you were soaking up whatever you could at this moment. A smile broke out onto your face. For a moment all worries vanished. 

Jimin observed your response with a glow in his eyes. 

You are worth it all. One day, he will show himself in the right way. Today is about you. 

[6mommymilkers9]

hope requests are still open and would like to request some Moreau comforting a gender neutral reader with hugs and becoming more and more confident around them once he realizes " oh wow. They actually really LIKE me hugging them" (because I took one look at this character and not only decided he was my favorite but also went "This guy gives the best hugs in the world once he gets over his awkwardness ")and if not,I apologize and take this ask to praise your writing anyways, you are quickly becoming one of my fav people who write stuff for those four Chucklefucks. I hope you have a great day and keep on rocking 🎸

Oh god, thank you!!! This meant a lot to read that! I'll do some headcannons and a mini story with this request! Take care and rock on 🤙

Moreau Comforting Headcannons/Mini Story

° Moreau is a very gentle hugger, knowing how much strength he held, and he really didn't want to break you. Though, you always love his hugs, this always made a bad day turn for the best.

° In the beginning of your friendship/relationship, he refused to touch you, except when helping you get up or stop you from doing a mistake. It was nothing against you, but himself.

° Even since the Cadou, he wasn't the same man he was, and that destroyed his confidence, hense why there was never a mirror in sight. The closest thing being a crystal. Slowly, as you started to make more physical contact with him, it gave him a sense of warmth and closure.

° His confidence grew when he saw how you actually liked hugging him or holding his hands. That's when he started to initiate contact with you. When he had first done it, you were so proud of him.

° From then on, he you hold your hand a lot, but hugs were still a little iffy. You suspected they always would be. At least he was trying.

° His hugs were always best when you were feeling down, and it so happened to be a bad day. As soon as you were telling him of your troubles, he would talk it out with you, offering you a few words of encouragement.

° He was always easy to talk with, as well as he is best at turning a frown upset down. Especially after talking, he would hobble over, pulling you into his large hugs, offering you all his love. They had always been your favorite, very warm and homey.

Sighing, you tossed your coat, which so happened to be one of Moreau's spares, onto the table, now searching the mines for your beloved.

You hadn't been living together for a long time, so your sense of direction was still a little iffy in the dark coves.

"Moreau! You home?" You called out, dropping your hands to your sides, after making a shape across your mouth to expand your vocals.

You hadn't heard anything, but insisted on a continued search. Not long after, you had found your aquatic miscreant in his laboratory, tending to the Cadou fetus.

"Moreau?" You asked, though it really wasn't a question. "Oh! Y-yes darlingggg?" He sputtered out, his attention now fully on you.

He didn't need an answer as he saw your expression, taking ahold of your hand, ushering you to the tainted green and tan table, speaking once more.

"Arrre you o-okay?" He asked, coughing for a moment. You shook your head, keeping your head down as you started to speak about the things racing throughout your head.

Being in the village was tough, people not being the nicest, nor the sour look of the village itself, bringing up a drowned mood. Moreau started to speak, uttering words of how things cannot be erased but changed and used as future lessons.

"It's allrright darlingg. I'm alwayss here for you." He spoke, giving you a soft squeeze to your hand. Looking up at h, you couldn't help but smile at him, getting up from the table and smothering him into a hug, which he happily accepted.

"Thank you Moreau, you're the best."

[snootsnoot-fiction]

Your Gentleman

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None really

A/n: My first marvel fic yay!!! I love that it’s Bucky as well☺️ This is a birthday gift for my dear friend who I love @inthatmomentwewereinfinite 🎉🎉🎉 you’re honestly one of the nicest people on the planet, I hope you have the best day you can ❤️

Summary: You haven’t seen Bucky in years…

The life of one James Buchanan Barnes was quite the tragedy. At least for the most part.It was a long, involuntary life, but to say he wouldn’t be the least bit grateful for the majority time skip would be a lie. Oh, there were things “Bucky” Barnes missed of course, but there was plenty to make up for it.

The man thought he would lead a simple life; serve in the war, get married with Steve as his best man, maybe even die of old age. A far cry from the fate that really awaited him, for he found himself being part of the Red Skull’s experiment. An experiment that began his journey as who would infamously be known as The Winter Soldier. 

~~~~~

You were quite the artist to say the least. You lived and enjoyed a fairly quiet life as well. That’s not to say your talents weren’t sought out, for you were also quite the fashion designer. Sometimes you would simply consult. Create and draw up a design for someone else to make. Occasionally you would make the pieces yourself. It was an interesting way of making money, and you were happy to keep living your quiet life - your involvement usually kept secret in some way at your request.

Needless to say, one of the biggest things you ever worked on was the new suit for Captain America. You found his tale fascinating. You knew of the man, but it wasn’t until you heard he was back that you looked into him a little more. Strange things seemed to be happening more often.

The detail of his best friend’s supposed ‘death’ was another thing that interested you, but all anyone could assume was he actually was dead now. It didn’t stop you from wondering though.

You did work on occasion for people such as The Avengers, but aside from that, you were a normal citizen. So to say you were surprised when you caught the eye of Mr Barnes in modern day was an understatement.

Recognising him immediately, you weren’t sure what to do. He looked beyond exhausted, and it was clear to you he was trying to keep his head down. The man carried on, and despite thinking you probably shouldn’t, you followed. The next thing you knew, a cold arm was pinning you against a wall as the one and only James Barnes stared at you. Up close, his eyes looked even tireder, and you could see just how rough a state he was in.

“Why are you following me?” He huffed out. Anyone could see how tense he was. Almost afraid.

“I’m no-one I swear! I just recognised you and got curious… you’re Bucky?” He slowly let you go, but remained tense. “I don’t even know what happened… you look awful…” you frowned slightly as you gave him a proper look. You really had no idea what was going on, but you felt bad for him. Whatever happened to this man, you were glad to not know right now. 

~~ a few months later ~~

You wondered how people would react to finding out about you helping ‘The Winter Soldier’. The thought made you nervous sometimes, but you knew what you were doing to be right. Something in you from the moment you met him told you he himself was at no fault, but of course, not everyone would see it that way.

The day you met him, you had ended up giving him a fresh change of clothes that would help him to blend in more. You had offered more, even a meal, but trust would take time to build, and he didn’t want to stick around you too long. 

‘Too many innocent people…’ was all he muttered before giving thanks and leaving without a word.

‘I’m happy to help…’ you hadn’t been sure if he even heard you, but surprisingly it wasn't long before you saw him again; with time, the two of you built a sense of trust. Bucky would never stay too long, but when he did you would allow him to use your own facilities if he needed, You would make him a warm meal almost every time, and give him another fresh change of clothes if he needed them.

Trust takes time though, and you didn’t know much of the story of why he was even here. You didn’t want to push or pry, but you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes. 

Today was the day you’d learn.

The old soldier hesitantly stepped into your home. It always made you frown a little to see just how hesitant he was; whatever it was he was hiding from, you wish he didn’t have to.

“I know you don’t like to, but I made my sofa up for you just in case-”

“Sofa? The couch?” You went a little red and chuckled nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I didn’t grow up here..” and for the first time, you saw him smile. It was little, but it was there. It made your heart flutter just a bit, causing you to smile.

“I might take you up on that.” His words were quiet as he walked in to see the couch. You had set a single, plump pillow on one end, and laid your biggest blanket over the piece of furniture. Bucky had been so hesitant to talk even one word to anyone, nevermind taking refuge from someone, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a nice place or spot to sleep. Not only that, but you seemed genuine to him. Deep down he knew he could trust you. Your smile widened.

“Are you hungry?” At your question, he looked back at you with a small nod. The tired look in his eyes made you want to really look after him, but there was only so much you could do and you didn’t want to startle him.

That night, you sat on opposite ends of the couch as you ate a freshly cooked meal, some sitcom on the TV. Eventually you decided to ask him what had happened to land him here. There was no pressure to answer of course, and you were more than willing to forget you asked if he didn’t yet feel comfortable to tell his story… but he did. You listened patiently and quietly as Bucky talked about The Winter Soldier.

Little did you know just how far you had already fallen for this man.

~~ Avengers Civil War ~~

After hiding for so long, Bucky had to admit there was something refreshing about now being out in the open.Of course, the circumstances were most unfortunate, but whatever happened, he would no longer be in hiding. Therefore he wouldn’t be putting you in any more potential danger. The two of you had grown quite close, and if anything happened to you because of him, well.. he didn’t like to think about it.

People like himself existed and had been used to assassinate King T’Chaka, and now the group his best friend Steve had put together were trying to get to the guy behind all of this. Unfortunately Tony Stark had created an obstacle for them. The old soldier could see that both men were somewhat regretful, but firm in their beliefs. Before he knew it, the fighting had begun.

Bucky and Sam Wilson had hidden in the airport terminal to start when this kid in a red and blue costume came at them. Sam knocked the kid away, so Bucky ran after them, and when he reached them, he saw an opening and threw a chunk of metal at the weirdly flexible kid. Naturally this kid was able to throw it right on back before being tackled by Wilson again.

Reaching the both of them just in time, Bucky ran between them as the spider kid flung himself at Sam, landing both the men in the floor below and his metal arm in some sort of.. webbing. The old soldier hated the fact they ended up in this position because of a child who didn’t even sound as though he had hit puberty yet. That’s when the kid was thrown out the window by the little robot bird.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he growled at Sam, genuinely annoyed with the guy.

“I hate you.” Bucky merely scoffed at the response. They were in the middle of something big, but for a brief moment he found it funny that Steve’s new friend was this guy of all people.

Despite all this, you were still there. In his mind. With everything now in the open, he hoped your part in all of this was still in the dark. He just wanted you safe. To live your life.

~~ present time ~~

To Bucky, it almost felt like his past had repeated somewhat; to skip from one time to the other was confusing and frustrating. At least this time around it wasn’t as far into the future as the last time.

For you, however, it was a lonely experience. With The Snap, you had stayed behind. You lived out those five years. You had found a connection with this older guy you absolutely adored, and then you find out he was snapped out of existence along with half the planet. Lonely was an understatement, especially at the start.

At least he didn’t physically die - a fact you turned out to be grateful for when suddenly all those who had been Snapped were back. Of course, you knew the type of life Bucky led beforehand, so you were still worried, but you hoped with time he would contact you again. That hopefully things had finally calmed down at least somewhat in the world now. 

Meanwhile, in the last five years you had moved to New York. With half the world gone, work had been a difficult adjustment for everyone, and you decided to start your own little business in The Big Apple; a prime area for you. It was just a little fashion/clothing business, but it turned out well enough to keep you afloat. Business got quite busy when everyone reappeared. It was stressful at first, but you managed to hire a few other people that helped. You were even able to start taking a little time to yourself occasionally in all due time. Eventually it became the norm.

With business and the world calming down, Bucky Barnes had been on your mind recently. You wondered where he was, if he was alright.

You were in your store. It was a weirdly calm day today, so you sat on a chair behind the main cash register. You heard the door open, but by the time you looked up, the person had disappeared behind one of the clothing racks. You thought about keeping an eye on them, ready to get up if it looked like they needed assistance.

“I got ‘im.” One of your workers said from behind you, offering a smile as she walked past you.

“Thanks.” You smiled back, watching her hover near whoever the customer was before looking back down at the book in your hands. You seemed to get quite into the book, because before you knew  it, a shadow stood over you, but you didn’t notice until he spoke.

“Hey..” the voice caused your heart to stop as your ears perked and a weird yet pleasant shiver flew down your spine. You knew that voice. You knew eventually you would see him again, but it was still a surprise.

Slowly, you closed the book, and your eyes dragged up until they were on that same face you had last seen way over five years ago now. His hair was short now, but it was him alright. It was Bucky.

The man offered a small smile and wave as you stared at him. You had no idea what to do.

“Uh.. this your place?”

“Yeah…”

“You’ve done well.”

“I’ve had a lot of time.” Your responses were automatic. Your mind was blank.

“Uuhh..”

“Bucky?” You stared at him with wide eyes, your voice triggered a slightly wider smile on his lips as he nodded.

“It’s been a while.” His words made you scoff loudly.

“You’re telling me!” The both of you chuckled. The last five years had felt so long for you, but the two of you were already falling back into your old dynamic.

“... Listen Y/N.. all that old stuff.. The Winter Soldier stuff… it’s gone now.” His words made you smile for him. You knew how much his past had troubled him. You doubted it was completely out of the way, but you knew what he meant.

“No more hiding?”

“No more hiding.” Bucky smiled, a look of genuine relief on his face.

Just then, a group of teen girls walked in and your smile disappeared for a moment.

“I’m at work. I’m the boss but I still gotta work, we can’t..”

“I know a place we can go to later if you want? Catch up?”

“I’d love to! I close up around six today, we can go after then.”

“Perfect! I’ll come back and we can walk there together.” You smiled and nodded, too shy to say anything else right now. Bucky smiled before turning around, looking back at you as he opened the door to leave. You gave him a little shy wave.

You spent the next few hours constantly thinking about Bucky and finally being able to see and talk to him again. Excited was an understatement. You were happy. Bucky was back. You were always too shy to say anything about what you felt, but absolute adoration was another understatement when it came to that man.

The clock had finally struck six. Your employees were now leaving, and you decided to check the store, make sure everything was alright before closing up. The same employee that had helped out earlier that day came up to you as you picked up your things.

“Your gentleman caller is waiting outside.” She had a knowing smile on her face. She even seemed kind of excited and she stood there and waited as you blushed.

“Thank you..” you attempted to avoid her gaze as you packed the rest of your things in your bag.

“I’ll tell him you won’t be long.” At that, you offered her a smile before she left and you took a moment to relax before following.

Bucky wasn’t right there as you left through the front, but when you turned back around after shutting and locking the place, there he was just a couple feet away from you. A small flower bouquet in his hand. Your heart melted at the sight.

“I know you’re not much of a flower person, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.. You know… with the time gap and all.. But these are your favourites.” Bucky looked almost nervous. You shyly stuck your hand out to take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his as you did.

“They’re perfect, thank you.” A small smile tugged at your lips again as you looked at them before looking back to the man in front of you.

“I’ve missed you Y/N.”

“Me too.. You that is! I’ve missed you, not myself.” You blushed as Bucky chuckled at your flustered self. He then held out an arm.

“Shall we?” You hesitated before taking hold of his arm with your free hand, a feeling of happy warmth washing over you.

“We shall.”

Tagging; @blondekel77 @book-hoardingdragon @mandosmimi

[monoxiid]

can you do headcanons for gojo falling in love with a childhood friend and she’s like very kind 😌 and sweet (maybe like smol too) please 🏃🏻‍♀️

hey! I would be happy to make your request! thanks for your ask ❤️

❛ 𝘎𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 ! . . . ꒱

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

┃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : none, only fluff

┃𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i didnt know if you wanted him to fall in love with s / o as a kid or seeing her again when they are adults sooo let's just say he loves her since he was a kid-

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

⌇𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔❜

as a child, the one considered today to be the strongest shaman on Earth was just a daring little boy. he was pretty, of course. a little glance was enough for the ladies to come and pull his cheeks, for the boys to want to invite him to play football with them, for the girls to dream of being his lover.

but he chose you. and there was nothing surprising about it. anyone seeing you would want to be your hero. and he, like a fly tangling in a spider's web, did the same. I mean ... you were so nice, so charming, so sweet! he often imagined himself flying through Tokyo with you in his arms, clutching at him -with a cape, because he saw that on TV. yeah... Gojo Satoru definitely wanted to be your hero.

every time you walked into the room he was in, the little boy would feel his heart float, and at the height of his seven years, he never gave someone such an intense gaze before you. his eyes reflected a mixture of admiration, desire to protect, hope and of course love as pure as a kid could give. you never looked at it, so you didn't see the hint of desperation that was there too.

but all he had to do was hear your crystalline laughter, see your sweet smile or just your presence for his day to be remade. Satoru knew he couldn't let go of his feelings. He also knew that even as an adult, he will always love you - if not, you might as well slap his future self.

but, it would be sad to say he fell for you just because he found you amazing beautiful, wouldn't it?

and because on top of that, you were the nicest girl in the world ?? how could he consider letting you go if you became the woman of his life?

you didn't judge anyone, you were calm, patient and attentive to everyone, no matter who you spoke to. you had this facility to make people feel loved and important. besides him, of course. because he never knew how to approach you in a cool way, until that day.

it was cold, he had this scarf encumbering him and you, you only had your light coat to cover yourself. why not jump at the chance?

❛❛ Hey, I don't need it. Take it. ❜❜

❛❛ Eh, no! I would feel guilty if you caught a cold because of me! ❜❜

his eyes softened. you were so cute.

❛❛ But, I said I really don't need it! ❜❜

Seeing yourself torn by the idea of ​​having to so firmly refuse help from someone so caring, or having to accept the offer at the expense of their health, has made it over to one thing. you were really adorable.

with a small chuckle, he wrapped the piece of wool around your neck.

❛❛ Just take it already, you moron. ❜❜

愛┊𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁𝘀. . .

❛❛ Ne, don't you think Gojo-sensei is in the clouds today? ❜❜

❛❛ I know how to recognize a man in love when I see one! And believe me, I am sure it is! ❜❜

❛❛ What do you even know about men, Kugisaki ?! He's got a hangover, that's obvious! ❜❜

❛❛ Huh? Gojo Satoru, drunk ?! Ahah, I would like to see that! ❜❜

All day long, it seemed their teacher I was never going to give them his full attention. And that worried his students. The little one with the orange hair thought hard as iron that he thought of the chosen one of his heart, who must be a woman surely as annoying as him. The one-head taller boy thought he'd abused the bottle the night before and was recovering from that drinking session. The more mature one simply believed that the other two were idiots who meddled in anything that didn't concern them, that fact annoyed these comrades.

How do you feel about knowing the truth?

well actually the three were right. on the one hand, it didn't include them at all. on the other hand, something happened yesterday!

As rarely, a few healers sent to other areas, and coming from high families, were repatriated to lend a hand to the school infirmary in order to organize more precise auscultations.

And you were of them. A young doctor. It wasn't that shocking. You were at fault for taking care of others, after all. And this afternoon in September, a little cold before the next arrival of autumn, Gojo Satoru fell in love with you for the umpteenth time.

you don't grow up too much -boi is 190-, but you were always so beautiful.

Nobara was right, he was very much in love.

[𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱]

[sariahsue]

Footsteps

Marinette’s about to get married to her soulmate, a man she’s never met before. Too bad she meets that cute groomsman in the hallway first. Rated G. 4,000 words.

***

Marinette bunched the white lace of her train into her fists and walked faster, eyes searching the empty marble hallway. Just keep walking. She could get through today. One foot in front of the other.

All she needed was some fresh air. She thought a building as enormous as this one would have at least one window that she could open. Instead, sunlight streamed through vaulted arches taller than the bakery she'd lived in her whole life, mocking her.

Marinette poked her head around a corner into a side hallway, saw nothing but closed doors, expensive paintings (that couldn't be an actual van Gogh, right?), and a plush white rug, and walked past.

All she needed was a few quick breaths, a little bit of air to cool off her flushed face, and a few minutes away from her hovering family and bridesmaids so she could pull herself together. And then she would get right back.

How big was this building? Each hallway she looked down offered a new way to get lost, with smaller hallways coming off of the side hallways and as many doors as there had been guests and staff just an hour ago. She gripped her train harder. Staff that had disappeared to the banquet hall to set up for the reception. Guests that were nowhere in sight because they were being seated in the chapel right now.

A door snapped shut somewhere behind her, and she whirled around, her heart in her mouth at having been caught, but no one was there. Her eyes traced crystal vases on marble tables only put there to break up the vast space the building contained. Nothing moved. And nothing looked familiar.

Can I even find my way back now? 

It was a problem she would have to deal with later. She didn't have the capacity for one more thing to go wrong right now, so she marched forward to continue her quest.

Her heels click-clicked as she walked across the polished floor, and she could have sworn she heard the door closing once again.

The shoes were going to give her away. With shaking fingers, she reached down and unstrapped them. They swung from her hands as she kept going.

Just a few days ago, Marinette had been so excited to finally meet her soulmate and get married. Why had the feeling deserted her today?

She knew the answer. All week it had been building, but now that the day was here, the swirling anxiety that had been simmering below the surface of her joy just couldn't be ignored any longer.

Most people gave themselves a few weeks or at least a few days after meeting their soulmate to get married, but her husband-to-be, Adrien, had insisted on being "traditional." No seeing each other until the wedding. She hadn't even talked to him on the phone yet. They would fall in love at first sight, as she walked down the aisle. If she'd met him before, maybe right now she wouldn't be so-

Marinette bumped into a glass-topped side table, sending the empty crystal vase on top tilting dangerously. Dropping her train, she managed to grab it before anything smashed. She stood there, frozen, listening, waiting to see if anyone would scold her, but no one was around. With a whispered "Sorry!" at the vase, she put it back in its place and kept searching through the maze of hallways.

It must have cost a fortune to rent this humongous mansion for the day. A new worry stuck in her throat. I'm not going to be able to fit in with my husband's family, am I?  Adrien would love her completely. That's just how it worked. But what if her in-laws hated her because her parents weren't rich too?

Her panic spiral was halted by the sight of a familiar blue rug pattern in one of the side hallways. Marinette made her way over, window quest forgotten, and she tripped over her dress the whole way there.

The long, white walls were filled with paintings of fruit and flowers, like the ones she used to make in art class (but with lighting skills so good it made her want to cry), and no… she hadn't been down this way before. Even as upset as she was, the artist in her would have remembered.

Marinette took a few seconds too long to glare at an apple, and by the time she heard the whispering, it was far too late for her to hide.

"Sneaking," a male voice whispered.

Marinette turned toward the voice. Had someone seen her? Did someone know she was roaming the building alone? She saw no one. And she saw nowhere she could quickly hide.

A few feet in front of her, the hallway turned a corner and continued out of sight. Some of the hallways had been like that, leading to more corridors and rooms that she hadn't bothered to explore. The footsteps came closer.

"Sneaking around the corner."

If she held very still, maybe he wouldn't notice? She walked backwards and pressed into the white wall, the fabric of her dress rustling loudly with every step, every breath she took.

His shoes squeaked as a hunched figure came into view.

"I'm not sneaking!" Marinette blurted out as soon as she saw him.

He jerked up straight.

She noticed three things instantly. He was blond. He was holding his hands around his eyes, like binoculars or a mask, and he was in the nicest tuxedo she had ever seen.

The man was also quite a bit taller than her, but he still jumped back in alarm when he saw her, and finally lowered his hands. Brilliant green eyes went from shocked to soft and warm and inviting.

"S-sorry," he finally said. "I was the one sneaking around. No worries."

"Oh," Marinette said, heart beating in her throat. "Right. I wasn't sneaking."

He smiled, and Marinette was glad she was already leaning against a wall. He had to be the single most beautiful human being she'd ever met her in life.

"Um, nice to meet you?" he said. When he held out a hand to shake, she quickly took it. His hand was soft and gentle and warm. No ring on either hand that she could see. Gorgeous and single!

Guilt swept through her, making her drop his hand. Here she was, getting married in literally a few minutes and ogling someone else. But he was still smiling at her. No, she had to stop thinking like a single woman. But he was so pretty.

"Of course. So, uh," He looked down at her dress. "You must be the bride, huh? Marinette? Nice to meet you."

Sweat prickled on the back of her neck. Judging by his outfit, she'd just been caught by a member of the groom's wedding party, a groomsman or a family member. Would he tell her future husband that she was out here getting cold feet? Not that it wasn't true, but she didn't want her soulmate to know about it.

"And you are?" she asked, hoping to divert attention away from herself. "One of the wedding party, right?"

"Yeah," he whispered and reached for her hand again. "I am. I was out here looking for you. I'm A-"

She shrank back. No matter how much she wanted to, she shouldn't be thinking about him this way. She was getting married to someone else.

The man dropped his hand quickly, eyes roaming her face, like he was looking for what he had done wrong. When he couldn't find anything, he ran his fingers through his hair and stammered out an apology. Marinette watched each lock fall back into place, the light catching each strand and making him glow.

"I'm-" he tried again, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Ni- W-winston."

"Winston?" Marinette couldn't help but laugh a little. That was the least French-sounding name she'd ever heard.

"Winston the groomsman," he said, not looking at her. "Yes, old family name. My father's name, and his father's name, and I think I have an old uncle. Because we're British way back there somewhere on my mother's side-"

"Nice to meet you, 'Winston.'" It was apparent he was nervous, and she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable, so she changed the subject. "What are you doing out here? You were looking for me?"

"Um." He looked around the hallway for inspiration, and Marinette immediately regretted her question as she watched his discomfort grow.

"I- He- The groom wanted to meet you before the wedding," Winston confessed.

"He did?"

"Yeah, he wanted to break tradition and see you, but Fa- his father is stifling stick in the mud."

"Yeah?" The knowledge was somehow both comforting and unsettling. She and her future husband had both wanted to meet first, but her father-in-law… she wasn't going to fit in.

"Yeah," he breathed. "He can't wait to meet you. But he couldn't get away, so I thought I'd come out here. And, wow, he's going to love you. You're amazing."

Marinette flushed at the compliment. "Isn't that how it's supposed to work? Love and first sight and everything?"

"Sure," Winston said, "but you know what I mean."

In the distance, an organ started playing softly, but Marinette barely heard it. This man would go through all that trouble for a friend of his? He was so kind, and she was going gooey under his intense gaze.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked quietly.

Just like that, the glow was gone. Would he believe the truth, that she was just hoping for some fresh air? He might be sympathetic. But he might not be. Who would feel sorry for a bride on her wedding day?

"I was… looking for the bathroom and got super lost." She adjusted her skirt with one hand to give herself something to do and then laughed nervously. "This place is such a maze."

Winston didn't answer right away. He studied the train of her dress, mouth a thin line of disappointment. Her shoes dangled from her loose fingers as she waited, and she adjusted her grip.

"You don't have to get married today, you know," he said. "You can call it off."

Marinette squirmed at how perceptive he was - or maybe she was just obvious - and pushed her hair out of her eyes. When it fell back into place, Winston reached out to tuck it behind her ear but stopped himself. His hand hung there awkwardly between them until he let it slowly fall.

"It's okay to be nervous," he said. "I know lots of people who didn't go through with their weddings. Loads."

Marinette smiled at the lie, grateful he was trying in spite of everything, though she was still a little worried he was going to tell Adrien about this conversation, or that word would somehow get to her future in-laws. She wasn't sure which would have been worse, giving her in-laws ammunition or disappointing Adrien.

"No, I really did get lost," she said. "I didn't mean to get all the way over here." And to make it sound convincing, she added, "Do you know the way back?"

"I can walk you." Adrien stood up straight, his smile returning.

"Oh, you don't have to," Marinette said quickly. There might still be a chance for her to find a window and that breath of fresh air she'd been hoping for.

"I insist." Winston held out an arm for her, and like the idiot she was, she eagerly took it. His free hand settled over hers, and they began to walk.

Her heels swung from her other hand, and without their added inches, the difference in their height was ludicrous. But Winston didn't comment on it, just matched her pace without making her feel rushed.

Together, they left the small hallway and stepped back into the still deserted main hallway. Sunlight poured through the windows, reflecting off the gleaming floors and sparkling crystal chandeliers high above. Winston's hand on hers was comforting, and he was so sweet to help her, but now there was no chance for her to get away.

Feebly, she said, "I think I recognize this part now. You can get back."

"Oh, they won't miss me," Winston said. "I'll make sure you get back safe. Is there anything else you need?"

Marinette sighed. As kind as he was handsome, and she hoped he never removed his hand from hers. Why did he have to be so nice and gentle?

After several more turns, she really did start to recognize things. How had she wandered so far? Her family must have been worried by now.

Marinette didn't bother to escape from him again, and Winston didn't let go of her, even when they stopped in front of the bride's room with its white and blank, gleaming, bronze plaque.

"I can't wait to see you coming down the aisle in a few minutes," Winston said. He lowered his arm, and her hand slipped away from his sleeve. She felt the loss of his touch immediately. "I mean, if you still want to," he added quickly.

"I'll be fine," she squeaked. "Thanks."

"Okay," he said, waving goodbye without moving away. "Great. See you."

Yup. He was definitely the most adorable, sweet, and beautiful man she'd ever met. "Why couldn't I be marrying this guy?"

Winston took a step back. "What?"

Huh? She'd said that out loud? She'd said that out loud! 

Fumbling for the handle behind her, Marinette said a hasty goodbye and launched herself through the door and slammed it shut without looking at his expression. What was she supposed to do now?

"Girl, where have you been?"

In seconds, Alya, Sabine, and Tom were gathered around her. Marinette leaned her back against the cool door, wondering if Winston was still staring at the spot where she'd been standing.

"Are you all right?" her father asked.

"Just needed some fresh air," Marinette said, staring at their shoes. "Then I got lost. Have you seen this place?"

"Marinette," Sabine said, lifting her daughter's chin with one soft hand. "You can tell us the truth."

The tension in Marinette's body all came out in a rush. Her shoulders slumped, and she slid down the door two inches.

Tom brought over a chair, and Marinette tried to sit down, only to find that her dress was caught in the door. What else could go wrong today? Without peeking into the hallway, she opened the door and removed her train - to her relief, it didn't look like she'd ripped it - and then collapsed into the chair.

"It's okay to be nervous," Sabine said.

Marinette nodded, though that wasn't the entire problem anymore. She was supposed to be marrying a friend of "Winston's" in a few minutes, maybe his best friend or even his brother. He would be standing there, witnessing her marriage, knowing what she'd just said. How was she supposed to show her face out there now?

Her parents and Alya doted on her, trying to put her fears at ease, but it was only making everything worse. She couldn't ignore her anxiety while everyone was talking about it. They flitted around the small room, fetching her water, guiding her to sit down in front of the triple mirror vanity, offering to brush her hair out. "That always calmed you down when you were little," Sabine said.

Marinette nodded.

"If it makes you feel better," Tom said, "I'm sure he's just as nervous as you are. I was nervous, too."

"Everyone expects you to be a little anxious." Sabine picked up the bristle brush while Marinette avoided looking at herself in the mirror. "You're marrying someone without ever having met him. That's terrifying. But you're going to be okay."

Marinette nodded again, dumbly. They waited for her to say something, respond with her usual cheerful attitude, and when she didn't, Alya jumped in.

"Sabine, didn't you get married and move to France at the same time?"

All four of them knew the story. Marinette had grown up hearing it, had loved hearing her parents' own love story.

"I found out my soulmate's name two days after my twenty second birthday," she said. Marinette could almost mouth the words along with her mother, they were so familiar. "I couldn't believe he was so far away. I started teaching myself French almost immediately, but the first time we got on the phone to speak to each other, all I could say was hello!"

A tug on Marinette's scalp told her that Sabine had found a small knot. She set the brush down and started to pick at it with her fingers.

"I moved away from home to a strange country, and was learning a new language, and was nervous about meeting my soulmate, but as soon as I saw him, it didn't matter," Sabine said. "You're going to be fine. As soon as you see him, you'll love him, and everything will be okay."

"I know all that," Marinette said. "But I'm scared now!" Not to mention distracted by "Winston," and the crushing guilt that reminded her she shouldn't be.

"Well," her father cut in. "What do you want to do about it, Marinette? Do you feel like we should wait a little bit?"

"Yeah," Alya added. "We can tell them there's something wrong with your dress or whatever if you need a few more minutes."

"I'm sure Adrien would understand," Sabine said. "He seemed very kind when we talked to him."

A few more minutes sounded wonderful, a chance to collect herself, do delay the inevitable. Or a chance for her anxiety to get worse. She took a deep breath. "No, let's just get this over with."

"Very convincing." Alya picked her clutch up off the vanity and started fishing around inside it. "You sound so pumped. Let me just text Adrien." Alya pulled out her phone.

"No," Marinette said, covering the phone with one hand. Her fake nails clicked on the screen.

"Waiting's not going to make it easier. I don't need any more time to worry. It's like you said, when I see him, everything will be fine. So let's just so see him. I want to see him."

"All right." Alya dropped her phone onto the table and grabbed the eye shadow. "Come here, then."

Marinette sat as still as she could while Sabine finished her hair and Alya did her makeup and Tom hovered around, asking what he should do to make her feel more comfortable. When they didn't give him any ideas, he started telling funny stories from Marinette's baby days.

Marinette only half listened, making sure to smile when someone else laughed. Maybe Winston had asked "What?" because he hadn't heard what she'd said. She had said it quietly, after all. That was logical.

Eventually, Tom had to leave the room to check on how things were progressing. Marinette missed his voice and his stories. The silence was too easy for her anxious mind to fill.

If she could just make it a few more minutes, if she could just make it to the altar, then she'd fall in love with her soulmate at first sight and everything would be great. No more worrying. No more wondering.

The final piece of her outfit, her veil, was laid out neatly on the flower-print sofa, waiting for her. When Alya declared her face perfect and Sabine could find no hair out of place, Marinette strapped her heels back on and stood, knees shaking, and retrieved her veil. She seemed like another woman in the mirror as she watched herself put it on.

Marinette did want to meet Adrien. She did. A few days ago, she'd felt excited. Just his name was enough to put a smile on her face. Her parents had met him, and she'd devoured every detail of him they could give her. Elation had bubbled through her chest as she had designed her wedding dress. It had taken weeks to finish simply because she was having so much fun designing it that she hadn't wanted to stop. If she could remember what it had felt like then, maybe she could recreate the feelings now.

The door creaked as it opened, and Tom walked back in. "It's time," he said, extending his arm for her.

Marinette plastered a smile onto her trembling lips and leaned on his arm to compensate for the weakness in her knees. No one else needed to know about her struggle, least of all Adrien.

The walk down the hallway to the chapel didn't take as long as Marinette thought that it should have. The organ music was too loud, but still not loud enough to drown out the breathing and whispers of a room full of hundreds of people, everyone who was ever important to her, and more that she would get to know well in her lifetime as Adrien's wife.

The processional song began to play, and Marinette walked in, staring at the pink petals on the carpet in front of her. Pews creaked and fabric rustled as everyone stood for her. And she kept her face down.

Don't make eye contact with the groomsmen. You're getting married to Adrien, so don't look for adorable "Winston."

Marinette forced her face up, searching out the people she knew. For her bridesmaids and Alya, her mother in the front row. Her school friends throughout the year, aunts and uncles who had flown from all over the world. A few held tissues, some waved at her. They were all smiling.

Everyone was smiling except for her.

She should be looking at her new husband - her soulmate - for the first time. He was probably looking at her. Had he already fallen for her? Was he wondering why she wasn't looking at him?

That curiosity was nothing compared to how much she wanted to look for the man she'd met in the hallway. There was something seriously wrong about that. It went beyond the guilt that she felt. It was a strangeness in the situation that she didn't have time to think about.

The line of petals thinned and disappeared halfway to the altar, and the organ music swelled.

The temptation was too great. Marinette raised her eyes, looking at the groomsmen first, looking for the friend that shouldn't have liked as much as she did. Because she was marrying someone else, she reminded herself as she quickly scanned their faces. And because she had only known him for about two minutes. What was wrong with her?

Her gaze skimmed them all twice, three times, but Winston wasn't there. Her footsteps stuttered to a halt before taking a big step to match her father's long stride. The hand holding her bouquet started to sweat.

Could he not bear to watch her marrying someone else? No, that was ridiculous. He didn't feel the same way. He wasn't feeling torn like she was.

He had definitely been part of the wedding party. He'd said so. So who was he?

The carpet ended, and Marinette heels clicked on marble as realization clicked into place. He was part of the wedding party, but not one of the groomsmen, so that must have meant…

For the first time that day, her heart pounded from something other than anxiety.

Marinette held her head high and looked for him. And she found him. "Winston." It had been a ridiculous name anyway. Adrien suited him much better.

Adrien smiled broadly at her. That wonderful smile she first saw out in the hallway was now a hundred times brighter, focused solely on her. He had snuck out to see her, had so gently guided her back when she was lost, had made sure she was comfortable, and offered to call off the wedding.

No wonder she had liked him so much. Love at first sight, just like everyone said.

He reached out a hand for her as she took the last few steps to the altar. Marinette slid her fingers into his, and they fit perfectly.

"Hi, Winston," Marinette whispered as she nestled herself into his side. "Could the groom not get away again? Are you getting married for him too?"

"I said the groom was going to love you," he said. "And I was right."

The last notes of the organ faded away, and a hush settled over their friends and family. This was it. They stepped together up to the altar. The first step of their lives together.

***

Author's note: Merry Christmas! You're getting something completely un-Christmasy. Huge thank you to @ours-polaires, @khanofallorcs, @vivalasaturn, and @noirshitsuji for reading over my outline of this and making sure everything made sense!

[secretobsessionstuff]

New Characters: Intro Fic!

Ahhh yes it's true! I'm introducing two new characters! Their names are Jory and Dev. They have some connections to Shawn so he's in this fic too.

I really hope people like them! Ahh I'll put out character descriptions later.

Read the A/N

Read the A/N

**Author's Note** Dev is genderqueer. Their pronouns are they/them. I will use she/her only in this fic because it's important to me right now to be able to write this transition phase. It'll be like my readers are getting used to their pronouns at the same time as everyone else in these stories, including Dev. I will add warnings to all future fics that have misgendering, etc. Please don't get attached to the she/her pronouns and use Dev to satisfy your female sickee needs. Thank you for reading this. **End of Author's Note**

Read the A/N

Read the A/N

--------------------

Shawn didn’t wake up that morning with the intent to get a baby dragon tattooed on his arm. He also didn’t plan for that baby dragon to have scales that resembled a literal dragon fruit.

Regardless of what he planned, he was currently sat in a chair as Jory drew the creature with green-tipped floppy scales and a red body. The only reason Shawn was getting this tattoo was because Jory had been his artist for a few years now and Shawn wanted to see what would happen if he offered up his skin as a free canvas.

The red of the dragon helped disguise the blood that inevitably bloomed from his skin. Shawn tried not to look at his arm while Jory worked because he knew from past experience that things would turn sour if he saw the blood mingled with the ink. Still, it was a good feeling—an empowering feeling—to know that there was blood on his arm at that very moment and that he was totally fine. He was more than fine; he was getting a baby dragon tattooed on his body for heaven’s sake!

It helped too that Shawn liked and admired Jory.

The man that was currently stabbing needles into Shawn’s body was the nicest guy that Shawn knew. And he was genuine to the point of being weird. Shawn loved that about him. The dude never swore, insisting on changing cuss words to the most ridiculous things that Shawn ever heard. He stuck his tongue out a lot when he smiled or joked or laughed. He even had his tongue hanging out of his mouth just then as he concentrated on the dragon’s tail.

Jory’s mop of red-dyed hair would sometimes hang in front of his face, but not while tattooing. While he worked, he always wore some sort of bandana. Today it was a black one with white mushrooms on it. It looked like it had been a few weeks since he last dyed his hair because it wasn’t so vibrant anymore. Shawn still thought it was cool.

And it was cool the way he just said whatever came to his mind. Usually, the things that came to Jory's mind only made sense to him. He never lasts very long before saying something that was chugging along in his chaotic train of thought.

“I’m making it canon that this little guy is gay as fudge,” Jory announced, referring to the fruit-like dragon.

“Why do you say that?” Shawn asked, grateful for the new conversation. Talking always helped distract him from the anxiety of getting a tattoo. By this point in their friendship, Shawn was pretty good at jumping onto Jory’s train of thought. “Is it because he’s fruity?”

“You got it.” Jory said while sticking out his tongue. “Also, I’m just thinking about that boyfriend of yours who I haven’t even met yet. When are you going to bring him here so I can tattoo him?”

“I’ve been trying to convince him,” Shawn said while examining the little mushrooms on Jory’s bandana. It gave his eyes something to look at other than his arm. “But Mateo thinks his first tattoo needs to have some deep meaning.”

“Aw bless him. Maybe one day he’ll learn.”

Shawn really had been trying to convince Mateo to get a tattoo because he personally loved the look of them. His mum had a whole jumpsuit—forget sleeve—of artwork. So, he always associated the look to something comforting and strong. When he was a kid, he used to think that she had to get the colour touched up every few months just like haircuts. Naturally he grew to understand the process and it wasn’t long before he was thinking about what he wanted on his body.

And then he learned that there was blood involved. But it was too late; he already wanted to look just like his mum, maybe because the kids at school convinced him that one of his moms couldn’t be his real mom. Like his desire for a tattoo, his dislike for blood followed him into adulthood but that wasn’t going to stop him from doing what he wanted.

As Shawn sat with his arm extended toward Jory, he drummed his fingers (of his unoccupied hand) on the armrest. His stomach was unsettled with all the water he drank but Jory never shut up about being hydrated. Despite all his efforts to avoid blood, he still felt nauseous as the tattoo machine buzzed away. To distract himself, he started to hum the first song that came to his mind: Let It Go from Frozen.

To no one’s surprise, Jory chimed in with vocals. “Turn away and slam the—Hold up, that’s your go-to distraction song. Do you need a break?”

“No, no I’m good,” Shawn insisted, trying to convince himself. “As long as I keep looking away, I’m fine.”

Jory shook his head. “You really are an anomaly, babes. Who ever heard of a tatted guy that’s scared of blood? I mean you do all this just to pass out when you start to leak.”

“It’s called making sacrifices and overcoming your fears,” Shawn said. “And you’re one to talk. Who ever heard of a tattoo artist who doesn’t like to swear? Or who goes around calling everyone babe?”

“Hey it’s always platonic. And there’s nothing wrong with choosing not to swear.”

Shawn conceded. People could be more than one thing. Take the half-dragon, half-fruit on his arm. He was excited and terrified for the white ink that would bring the creature’s tongue to life. Like the inside of the actual fruit, the tongue was going to be dotted with black. “You’re right obviously. It’s just that most people would expect you to call them fucker or something.”

“I’ve never met another artist who casually says that to people.”

“Hey, fucker,” another artist called out to Jory as they walked by. “Give Shawn a break for fuck’s sake. He looks like moldy cheese.”

Shawn laughed. “See, Dev, embraces the stereotypes.”

Jory lifted the machine from Shawn’s skin and his foot from the pedal while he watched his co-worker walk by with a grin. “That’s because Dev was born with ink in her veins and coil around her bones.”

“Wow you should be a poet.”

Jory didn’t acknowledge Shawn’s sarcastic remark as he held his gaze on the empty space where Dev had been. He didn’t turn back to Shawn for a hot second, but when he did Shawn looked at him with a shit-eating grin.

“I see the crush is still alive and well.” Shawn said with less shit-eating qualities to his voice than he was going for. It was hard to be smug when his stomach was roiling. The numbing cream helped a little, but he could still feel the blood on his skin. Still, he had to commit to the teasing. “How sweet. The angel is in love with the devil.”

“Shut up or I’ll give this dragon a tongue piercing.”

Jory tried to supress the goofiest smile on his face. Shawn’s teasing reminded him of how Dev got her name in the first place. Dev’s given name was something absurdly flowery. It was actually Jory who first started calling her Dev and it was only because the studio was called Neon Devil.

That and because Dev was more than a little scary. Jory did his apprenticeship with Dev, and she was a hell of a mentor. In a good way.

There was some sort of electromagnetic force that pulled Jory towards this person. Dev was addictive like tattoos. And Jory couldn’t get her out of his mind for as much as he tried. Her sharp jawline matched her personality, but her delicate nose did not. Dev had choppy brown hair that went down to her chest and soft eyes that didn’t communicate very well with the scowl.

Jory’s entire apprenticeship had been filled with blunt lessons and piercing praise when he earned it—piercing as in something that could not be ignored. Dev was like that. Direct and honest. Unignorable.

Shawn thought it was funny, watching Jory convince himself that he wasn’t exactly like Dev only in a softer shade. They were both their honest selves. Dev was slightly rougher around the edges. But obviously Jory didn’t have a problem with sharp things.

Still, Jory thought that Dev wouldn’t go for a guy like him because he was a chaotic jumble of a person. He was anxious and chatty, and awkward and dramatic. Like too many colours all trying to work together on one canvas. But obviously Dev didn’t have a problem with colourful things.

Jory looked at the colour in Shawn’s face and started to take off his gloves. “Dev’s right, though. You look rather pale. And my butt is numb, so let’s take a break.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Shawn said, grateful that they were stopping. “I don’t understand why you don’t ask Dev out.”

“Alright let me explain it to you, love.” Jory sighed exaggeratedly. “It’s because I’m a coward.”

“Fine, I’ll do it for you.”

And before Jory could say anything, Shawn was calling out in the studio. “Hey, Dev!”

Jory waved his hands in the air as if he were drowning. When Dev appeared, he had to stop floundering and just drown in silence. His cheeks were quickly taking on the colour of his hair.

“What’s up? Did you puke on the floor again?”

Shawn looked momentarily embarrassed. “No. It’s Jory.”

Dev’s eyes did a quick flick over to Jory whose heart was beating in his ears. “Did he puke? That would be a crazy plot twist that I will definitely not be cleaning up.”

Jory felt like puking.

Shawn carried on with his torture. “Actually, Jory has something to tell you when you both get off work.”

Jory’s lunch settled back into his stomach and his cheeks relaxed to a nice pink. Except now the torture was only delayed.

Dev seemed pleased with this info. She said something which Jory was not expecting. “Oh good, because I have something to tell him.”

With the appropriate amount of shit-eating undertones, Shawn grinned at Jory and relaxed back in his chair.

A deep part of Jory’s soul wanted to say all the swear words, but instead, he just thought: Oh, frickin’ chicken.

• • •

It was dark out when Jory’s and Dev’s last appointments ended.

Jory sat on the sidewalk outside the studio. The fluorescent lights of the Neon Devil illuminated the area somewhat. The red glow made him feel as if he were in some dystopian version of this world.

Jory didn’t wake up that morning with the intent to confess his feeling to his friend, mentor, and co-worker. He really did feel nauseous at the prospect of divulging this long-held secret. The studio was already weird enough with him in it; he could only imagine how weird it would get if Dev rejected him.

Without saying anything, Dev sat down next to Jory, hugging her arms together to keep warm. She exhaled and it sounded almost shaky…almost exactly like Jory’s nervous breathing. It gave Jory some confidence.

“What did you want to tell me?” Dev asked.

“Um, I think you should go first.” Okay he didn’t have that much confidence.

Dev nodded like she expected him to say that. So, she went first. “I figured out why I hate everybody.”

Jory did not expect that opening line. But he went along with it because he was a curious to know the answer. “And why’s that?”

“Because they don’t see me like I see myself.”

“And how do you see yourself?”

Dev took a long breath, closing her eyes on the exhale. “Like a fucking abstract concept.”

Jory floundered like a fish on a sidewalk. “Um…I know I’m usually the one who doesn’t make sense, but what on earth and heaven does that mean?

Dev stood up suddenly and started to pace in front of Jory. “I don’t know, dude. I just see myself as me. I’m not a woman. I’m not a man. I’m not anything. I’m just this blob.”

Jory, being used to chaotic trains of thoughts, jumped on this one, prepared to go to whatever destination that Dev had in mind. “What a profound self-discovery. So, you’re non-binary?”

Dev’s nose crinkled up in thought, “Mm, that feels too…smack-dab in the middle. Which I’m not.”

“Okay so…agender?”

Dev groaned out of frustration, making Jory scared that she was going to kick him or something. “I don’t know. Why does everything need a goddamn nametag?”

“Alright,” Jory said with his hands in the air as if to protect himself. He lowered his hands slowly as his brain managed to form a helpful thought. “You’re right. Not all wines need labels.”

Dev let out a huff and plopped back on the ground next to Jory. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my sister had the exact same reaction. She tried to put me in a box that she could understand. And then she went and told our fucking parents when I specifically told her not to.”

“I’m sorry.” Jory said simply. He didn’t know what else to say. It was a good thing his mouth kept on forming words because somehow, they were the right ones even if they only made sense to him. “Well, you can trust me. I’m a Surreptivault.”

Dev put her head in her hands and laughed. “I think your brain might be infected with an alien virus.” She lifted her head and looked at Jory. “What the hell is a Surreptivault?”

“Well, you see, I just invented it.” Jory kept on rambling even though he thought he should probably shut up. “It’s from the word surreptitious meaning secret, and vault meaning vault.” And then he got a bit quieter because the next part sounded too cheesy for Dev’s liking. “I’ll keep your secret until the day I die, or until you’re ready to tell people.”

Dev looked at him as if there were an alien tumour attached to his head. Well at least that’s how Jory interpreted the look. Dev actually looked at him with a mix of wonder and gratitude. “You’re so weird.” And then Dev hugged him because she couldn’t say what she really wanted to.

The hug ended. Dev sniffled in the cold night air. “Anyway, your turn. What were you going to say?”

Jory froze. He scratched the back of his head. “Um, it was really more of a question, I think.”

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not because he was a coward but because Dev was in an emotionally vulnerable state. Like a tattoo that needed time to heal, Dev expressed herself and now needed the proper aftercare. Jory wasn’t about to infect the wound with something that might hurt.

“Uh…” He stammered searching for something to say. Then he realized that there was an important question to ask. “What are your pronouns?”

Dev narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief. “That’s not what you were going to ask me.”

“It is now. Shawn was just being a doodlefloop.”

“I see.” Dev said, very familiar with Jory’s regular vernacular. “They, them.”

Jory nodded.

“Oh, one more thing,” Dev added casually, “I’m your new roommate because there’s no fucking way that I’m living with my sister anymore.”

Jory just gaped at his friend. “I’m sorry what?”

“You said you were looking for a roommate, right? Well surprise, you found one!”

In Jory's messy-room of a brain he only had one thought: Fuck