#it's been a lot of finding out there's so much more to write every time i think i'm making progress

[a-rome-of-ones-own]

spring into summer

remmick x vampire!reader

wc: 9.8k

summary: celtic sea, 1701. on the shore of an island that doesn��t exist, a solitary vampire rescues a castaway.

warnings: comfort and angst; drinking of blood; killing an animal for food offscreen

notes: this is gonna get a sequel but can definitely be read as a standalone! reader is female with no specific appearance. also, when no translation is provided, it’s either thank you, you’re welcome, or my love. remmick is a very interesting character to write for: vampires are supposed to be charming, but he’s kind of rizzless and strange. the title is lizzy mcalpine.

if you feel moved to, please know that likes and reblogs make this girl very happy ❤️ merci and enjoy

spring into summer, and the winter's gone i try to hold onto it, but the current's too strong

It is a chilly morning in early winter, the kind where the world seems intent on reminding you that everything is about to die.

The waves are angry. They lap at the island like they’re hungry, like they intend to drag the rock and everything on it to the bottom of the sea. Way out on the horizon, a lightning storm is brewing with great dark clouds, rumbling and sizzling.

Y/N wakes before the sun, dimly aware of the freezing temperature, and shrugs on a heavy gown. Stopping to scratch her old cat Phoebus under one ear, she rolls on her woolen stockings and gathers a shawl around her shoulders, fastening it with an ancient brooch stolen off the body of someone much wealthier. Like muscle memory, she lights a small fire, puts the kettle on. Awaiting its telltale whistle, she heads out into the garden to collect her bounty.

There is only one inhabitant of this gloomy little island.

It’s a rocky and craggy thing, barely wide enough across for a half-acre of farmland. Not that any real crops could thrive here - no, the weather is far too moody and the waves of the Atlantic crash high over the cliffside to kiss the corners of her estate. All of the smaller plants she can grow began as seedlings, remnants of another place and time. Every one of her precious possessions is handcrafted from wood and stone.

Time moves differently in this place.

If you consult any map, you won’t find it: this region of the Celtic Sea is meant to be nothing but dark, choppy water. And yet, when Y/N had been wandering that same stretch of sea so many centuries ago, the island had revealed itself to her like a mirage.

At first, it had seemed too good to be true. She couldn’t fathom the existence of a fantastical place like this, couldn’t accept the presence of ancient magic still at work in this world. Here, the sun hardly shines, the waves threaten but never follow through, and something in the soil permits only the most delicate things to grow.

But, in time, Y/N came to understand that the magic of this place is no different from the arcane enchantment flowing through her own veins. It is a shared spell of immortality - of survival in the worst possible conditions - that binds her to this island. It’s as though the world has forgotten she ever existed.

But that’s alright. She’s building her own.

-

In Y/N’s night-garden, many things have bloomed which must be harvested before the lightning storm arrives in earnest. She gathers the sage and mint to be steeped in hot water, plucks the stalks of nettle for a salve, and culls the cloves of anise with their sharp taste that can almost distract from the thirst for blood. The turnips and beets are pulled and thrown to the pigs. She watches them as they snort little puffs of breath into the cold pre-dawn air, merrily rolling in the fresh mud. The clucking of free-roaming hens catches her attention and she tosses them some feed.

Satisfied with her yield, Y/N is halfway to her front door when she feels something.

It's a strange instinct.

An ambiguous sensation of being watched.

She looks to the pigs, wondering if perhaps one of the sows is about to grunt for more food. But they seem content with their lot, chomping lazily at the root vegetables. She casts her gaze to the goats, little dots of white barely visible against the dark grass, grazing contently up high on the hill. No, surely not.

Finally, Y/N looks down to the beach and spots the body shrouded in darkness.

The dim glow of its eyes catch her own.

She stills.

It’s not fear, not quite - after all, she is more than capable of dispatching any intruders. No, the real problem is that she chose this island for the near-absolute guarantee that no humans could ever find her. The taste of their blood, she remembers, is almost hallucinatory. It's the purest, most addictive substance - and something she has denied herself for centuries.

The act of drinking human blood ripe from the vein is an ecstasy so potent that she almost understands why nature itself abhors her kind: a pleasure that perfect, that divine was never meant to exist on this earth. But if a wayward sailor has somehow washed up on her shore, spilling hot blood and calling out to her like a siren…

Y/N shivers and not from the cold. She hesitates a moment- but, then, dropping her basket by the gateway, she runs down to the beach.

-

There is a pallid man curled up in the surf.

He is groaning, clutching at his bloody chest. Y/N scans the black sea beyond him but sees no sign of a boat. Her island is a good hundred kilometres from the nearest landmass, so whichever craft carried him here must have been destroyed in the storm. He is drenched, gaunt, shaking. She reaches for him and clasps his hand, sand and rock crunching beneath her boots. When she touches him, he is colder than ice. He must be close to death.

She grits her teeth and pulls him from the tide, wincing as he coughs up water and struggles to take a breath.

“Sir?” she shouts, voice rising over the roaring waves.

No response.

“Can you walk?” She stops, pulls off her shawl, drapes it over him. Crouches down, rubs at his biceps to get the blood flowing, notes how corded they are with muscle. “An féidir leat siúl? I’m sorry, the storm’ll only get worse and we can’t linger.” Can you walk?

He looks at her for a moment, as if contemplating her words, and nods slowly. His clothes are plain, simple, like those of a farmhand’s. She wraps an arm under his own, forcing him to lean against her body for balance. Once on his feet, she guides him gently up the rocky path to her cottage.

Y/N continues speaking, attempting to keep him awake while also gleaning anything she can. The obvious questions rattle around in her mind: Who are you? How did you find me? What do you want? But there will be time for that later.

“Are you hurt?”

“Rhiannon?” he asks quietly, almost reverent. His voice is dreamy and mellow. It cracks and he coughs again.

She pauses, taken aback, but continues.

“N-no? We’re nearly there, sir. I’ll make you some tea, I have it going.”

“Cá bhfuil mé?”Where am I?

She deliberates a moment, working out the proper translation. Her Irish is not good- not anymore, not after decades of seclusion and silence.

“Ah…tá tú liom,” she manages. You are with me.

He nods, slowly, lets his head hang heavy. The pair continue up the path, wrought step by wrought step. When they reach the garden gate, the stranger halts and looks around, lagging, as if trying to place all of the vegetables and herbs blooming around him. He reaches out to touch the one closest, caresses the velvet petal of a purple foxglove.

“S’like Eden,” he mumbles, seemingly delirious. “Like Tír na nÓg.”

The man stops altogether as they approach the doorway of the cottage, tripping over an upturned stone in his haste. She feels him fall away from her as she passes the threshold. From behind her, he groans, breathes a heavy sigh.

It hits her then, with perfect clarity, that she cannot hear his heartbeat.

The furious waves battering the shore had distracted them both from the silence.

She turns on a heel to face him, slowly. He leans against the stone wall, an odd look in his eye - something like mirth mixed with unfettered exhaustion.

“So.”

“Aye.”

“You’re…”

“As are ye.”

“Well.”

“Well.”

What is there to say? When in doubt, she thinks, default to hospitality:

“I could still bring you that tea. If you’d like.”

“Aye, f’it’s not too much trouble.” He seems a bit more lucid now, more aware of his surroundings. His voice is steadier though his body is still frail. Despondent, he slides down the wall to slouch in the grass.

Y/N nods, making her way into the kitchen.

She idles by the fireplace, purposefully not looking back at the open door. Phoebus is still fast asleep on the bed. The morning is dark and quiet, but if this man is like the others of their kind, he’ll soon be roasting in the sun. There is perhaps a quarter of an hour before the dawn spells his demise.

And, so, a new question takes precedence in her mind: grant him shelter or let him die?

Well.

She knows she can't let him in. There’s no question of that - this stranger could be anyone, possess any motive. Will he try to drain her animals dry? Or perhaps attack her in a fit of rage? Claim this island as his own? Men do strange and terrible things all the time, she knows this well, and her only protection is the sanctity of her home.

But.

It would be unforgivable to condemn him to the sun solely out of fear. Unfortunately, his strangeness runs both ways: he could be a villain, but he might just as easily be an innocent soul, an errant wanderer who’s found himself shipwrecked and at her mercy. Besides, the island wouldn’t have permitted just anyone to land here…. and, in any case, burning alive is a particularly cruel fate.

The kettle screeches.

Y/N snaps to attention, begins steeping the brew with the last of her dried mint and rosemary. When she peers out of the doorway, bracing herself to rejoin him, she finds that the man is cradling Phoebus in his arms.

“Redi!”* she shouts. The old cat yowls, bolting from the man’s embrace and into the house. She stalks out, letting the rusty wooden door slam shut behind her. If her heart could beat, it would be pounding.

“Apologies, miss! Only he came runnin’ out t’me, couldn’t well ignore ‘im.”

“Your tea,” she replies tersely.

He takes it, brings it to his lips, and takes a long sip. Sighing, he lowers the cup.

“Well, now, how nice. Go raibh maith agat.”

“Y- tá fáilte romhat.”

“Take it yer not Irish, then?”

She crosses her arms. “Is it that bad?”

He raises his free hand in an act of concession. “Not bad, no. More like…yer reachin’ fer somethin’ you’ve fergotten you know.”

They eye each other in silence, an uneasy standoff with no clear resolution.

“When’s the last time you drank, sir?”

He sucks his teeth.

“Been a while. Perhaps a week or two, like.”

“And- well, pardon me, no real way to ask it - but what kind of man are you?”

His smile is easy, almost practiced. “No man at all, miss.”

“Well, I am a woman who values peace. Are you here to disturb that?”

“M’sorry, ma’am. Er, miss. No. Don’t mean to disturb a thing.”

“How did you find me?”

He furrows his brows. “Wasn’t lookin’. Honest.”

“No?”

He shakes his head.

“Swear it.”

“I do, I swear it on me da’s own grave. Ship sank off the coast last night. No survivors. F’I had been a man, like you say, I’d be down there w’the rest of them.”

“Alright.”

He steps from one foot to another, nodding, antsy.

“Sure. Well, I understand protectin’ yer home n’all, but I don’t s’pose a man might find a place to take shelter from the sun?”

“Cairns.”

“Cairns?”

“Yes, sir. Irish monks, I think. Or someone, very long ago. They’re made of stone and built well. Dark as.”

He nods, looking off towards the sea.

“Alright. S’pose I’ll go lookin’, then.”

“That way.” She points east. “Five minutes’ walk.”

“Thank you kindly.” He shrugs off the shawl, holds it up to her like a peace offering. “And, ah- name’s Remmick.”

“Remmick,” she repeats.

His smile is slight, but it’s there.

The day passes slowly.

Not long after Remmick leaves in search of his temporary abode, Phoebus begins to whine.

“What is it?”

The black cat just paws at the window in response.

“You’re fond of him, s’that it?”

He whines again.

“Oh, your life is so hard.”

He hisses. She hisses back.

Y/N continues to pick at her embroidery. She’d started it the week before as a little vignette of places she remembers visiting over her many years - dark forests and green jungles, lone deserts and high cliffsides. But it seems that, without her realizing it, a new design has spawned in the corner: a great black wave, crashing through the other scenes, threatening to engulf everything it touches.

She sighs, sets it down, flexes her aching fingers.

Remmick.

This entire day has been a futile exercise in trying to banish him from her thoughts. It’s hard, though, because the presence of another person on this lonely little isle is so… novel. It feels wrong - a stubborn rock in a shoe, a grain of sand in an oyster. No matter his character, this place has always been hers : no one to appease, no one else to consider.

And, of course, she doesn’t know what to make of him. Outwardly, he seems decent and honest, but those descriptors mean nothing against a creature adapted for survival by any means. Anyone can seem like anything.

Y/N curls up closer to the still-hissing Phoebus and begins unpicking the angry wave, stitch by stitch, until it was never there at all.

-

When the stranger comes to find her at moonrise, he is greeted by the sound of Y/N and her lyre.

He stops, leans his body against the doorframe, listens.

The melody is slow and haunting, the language unrecognizable. It’s an ode to a time and place that no longer exists. Her song is worshipful, reverent, like she’s praying to some long-dead god through the act of singing. And it’s as if she’s left the door open just for him, that he might partake in this tender act of devotion, too.

But, of course, even turned away from the door, Y/N knows he’s there. His presence looms like the grey thunderclouds still roiling above them in the dark sky. She sets down her instrument.

“S’beautiful, miss.”

She turns to face him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“D’I know it from somewhere?”

“Depends how old you are.”

“Aye. Well, m’not so old, meself.”

“Yes. I know.”

He opens his mouth, furrows a brow.

“How could ye know a thing like that?”

She shrugs, standing, stretching her arms.

“Well, you seem skittish. You default to charm to get your way but you haven’t mastered it. And… you move like you’re still expecting time to catch up with you.”

He nods, rubs his cheek.

“Hm. Alright, s’pose that’s fair. Now, I’d ask yerself how old y'are, but I believe s’impolite to ask a lady her age.”

She plays with her braid in one hand, idly scratching at Phoebus’ sleeping form with the other. “Well, ask me. If you want to know.”

“How old’re you, then?”

“Old enough to have composed that piece.”

He tsks.

“Well, miss. I dare say y’don’t look a day over a thousand.”

Despite herself - despite her instincts, despite her better judgment - she smiles. He returns the gesture, fangs gleaming like ivory in the diffused firelight.

The silence stretches another beat. And then:

“Do you need something, sir?”

“Aye. Well, seein’ as I’m here, I thought I’d ask if there’s anythin’ needs doin’.”

Y/N stands, meeting him in the entryway and shutting the door behind her- softly, so as not to wake Phoebus and have him run out again. The evening air is alive with the scent of fresh honey and night-blooming jasmine. In this moment between storms, her perfect little world seems at rest.

Remmick stands a few inches above her, just tall enough so that she has to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He looks better, now, stronger - like these hours of uninterrupted rest have undone the damage wrought by the storm. His pale skin is cool and clean, no doubt from a quick dip in those same waves that once tried to drown him.

And though it’d been hard to notice much of anything earlier through all the matted blood and sea salt, it’s clear to her now that the stranger is handsome. His damp curls sit somewhere between red and brown, and his blue eyes glimmer with a kind of perpetual amusement. His sharp jaw is faintly dappled with golden stubble. He’s beautiful, she thinks, in the honest sort of way.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Remmick.”

“S’only right, I feel.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me anything.”

He looks amused. “S’no debt bein’ repaid. I just want t’help.”

Y/N purses her lips, considers her little estate and the land beyond it.

“Well…the footpath through the garden could use some upkeep.”

“That so?” He looks down at it, kicks at the stone he’d tripped over that morning. “Aye, s’pose it could do with a bit a’love.”

“If you fix it, I can help you.”

“Help me to what?” He seems curious, almost confused.

“Not sure why you were out there so late in the year, but this storm’s just the beginning. No way off this rock for months. And - I've no boat to offer.”

He nods, as if weighing his options.

“But, help me, and I'll get you some blood.”

His eyes go wide: “There’re others on this island?”

She shakes her head. He sighs.

“Only my animals. But blood’s blood, no?”

The disagreement is plain on his face, but he doesn’t contradict her.

“So, sir, the path. And then I'll have something to offer you at dawn.”

“Alright, yes, s’fair. More than fair. Erm - gratiās tibi agō.”

Her eyes brighten.

“You speak Latin?”

“Aye. Well, some. S’what the Christians bring w’em, ever they go.”

“Ah. But how’d you know?”

“You shouted it t’yer cat.”

“Oh. Yes, he responds best to it. Phoebus is very formal.”

He chuckles, glancing at the sleeping feline through the window.

“D’you speak any other languages, Remmick?”

“No, miss. I find three’s more’n enough.”

She nods, smiling again.

“Well. Ádh mór, then, with your work.” Good luck.

“Ah- Oh. Thank you.”

Remmick rolls his sleeves back, turns to begin the muddy task of digging up the stones. He grabs the hoe and the shovel from their place in the shed, poking experimentally at the cracks in the footpath. From her lingering place in the doorway, Y/N interrupts him with a shout:

“Is my Irish really that bad?”

He barks a laugh, turns to beam at her.

“No, miss, it’s grand.”

At dawn, Y/N finds that the large, flat stones of the garden path are pristine. They’re all clean and well-arranged, bearing no trace of any storm. No, her trail through Eden is now unmistakable, and it seems he’s even gone so far as to choose the new rocks for the swirling colours and patterns trapped within them.

She is shocked.

But then again, Remmick is surely aware that she alone controls his access to the island’s blood supply. He’s likely gone through all this trouble in the hopes of impressing her and earning his meal. Of course he has.

The man himself calls out to her from the gateway, raising a hand in greeting. She waves back.

“G’morning, miss.”

“And to you, sir.”

“Say, d’you have a name I might call you by?”

“It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N. Don’t know that I’ve heard that one.”

“It’s rare in Ireland, I suppose.”

“S’beautiful, s’what it is.”

A small smile paints her lips. She’s unsure of what to do with his unabashed charm. “Thank you.”

The stranger’s eyes burn red and wild, no doubt from extreme hunger, but they still look on her with a quiet kind of fondness.

“Thirsty?” she asks, looking away from the nape of his thick neck.

“Aye, miss.”

“Good. Well, ah- I’ll get you some blood, if you want it?”

“I c’n do it, if ye like.”

“No, I’ll take care of it. Just um, hold her down, please.”

He nods gently and follows her towards the pigsty. She pulls a knife from her pouch. She’d sharpened it earlier, ensured that the blade would cut clean through the poor creature’s throat with no pain. The killing is never her favourite part, but if she didn’t do it, she’d never eat.

Once the deed is done and the mess cleaned, Y/N hands him the bucket of hot blood. He carries it dutifully from the pen towards the ancient willow tree weeping softly over the fish pond. From the cupboard by the door, she grabs two pewter cups and rejoins him. They sit facing each other in the damp earth, brushed on all sides by wildflowers and cattails blowing in the breeze.

“Here.”

“Oh, ta.”

They take a cupful, salute each other, and drink.

“Ah- Christ,” Remmick chokes, coughing violently.

“Not partial to pig’s blood?” Y/N teases, cocking her head.

“Tastes like mud.”

She crinkles her nose. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Swine’s not meant fer drinkin’, Jesus…”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. I tell myself that for every pig I kill out here, that’s one human somewhere else wakes up in the morning.”

He considers this.

“S’pose yer right. Aye, sure, it does the job.”

Y/N realizes - despite the admittedly muddy taste of swine blood still fresh in her mouth - that she has begun to enjoy the company of this strange man. Though she knows nothing of his history besides a first name and an unverifiable tragedy, she finds that there is something about his presence that intrigues her.

She’s not sure what to do with this revelation.

“I, um- I can spare us a goat in a week’s time. ‘Till then, only chicken, I’m afraid.”

He nods eagerly. “S’already more than enough, lass, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me until you’ve tasted chicken’s blood.”

“Ah, s’that right?” he grins.

They drink, cup after cup, until nothing is left. She watches as he sits back on his hands, takes a deep breath of the sea air mingling with the bright perfume of the water lilies. Something easy settles over his rugged features, something like satisfaction.

“Don’t suppose, miss, you’d have another task fer me?”

She looks over to him with knitted brows.

“You want more?” she asks. “I didn’t tire you out?”

“No, miss- nah, don’t think y’ever could, really. I’m used to the workin’ hard.”

“Oh. Well…” She tries to think. Honestly, there isn’t much left to do that she hasn’t already done herself. “I think the pig pen could use a new fence.”

“As y’wish.”

The next morning, the fenceposts of the pen are even and sturdy. Remmick has exceeded her expectations yet again, having obviously returned to the shore in search of driftwood to fortify the structure. She circles the sty, runs a hand over his impeccable work. He must indeed have been a farmhand in some other life. One leg propped idly on the new fencing, she tosses the sows another handful of turnips and watches as they feast.

Every now and again, her eye strays towards the cairns.

-

At nightfall, she’s waiting for him in the garden.

When Remmick appears at the gate, his skin is peeling.

“Jesus,” Y/N breathes, dropping her trowel and seedlings. “What happened?”

“Went down to the water to find s’more wood fer the fence,” he laughs quietly. “Only, I must not’ve realized how tired I was n’fell asleep. Sun woke me up. Ran around ‘till I found the little cave down by the rocks.”

The pale expanse of chest peeking through his loosened collar shows signs of heavy sun exposure, burns half-healed and still blistering.

“M’very sorry, miss. Makin’ you wait up f’me.”

“No, don’t be absurd. I- well, there’s chicken’s blood still warm, I’ll bring you some. It’s-” She takes in his look of disgust. “No, not especially pleasant, but it’ll help. I’m sorry, s’all I have.”

“Nah, look at me bein’ so ungrateful fer a hot meal.” He shakes his head. “I’ll take whatever you c’n spare.”

She runs into the kitchen and joins him again, handing him a bowl to sip from.

“Ah, thank ye, miss.”

“You asked me my name, yesterday, but you won’t use it?”

He locks eyes with her.

“Thank you fer takin’ such good care a me, Y/N,” he repeats, voice low, raspy. He praises her as though it were a precious secret, as if the wind might carry it away.

Her lower belly swirls with an unnamed feeling.

“Of course, Remmick.”

She watches as he forces himself to swallow the briny blood, coughing and sputtering all the while. Hesitant, she reaches out slowly to pat his clothed shoulder, as if her touch could possibly alleviate the intensity of the experience. He leans into it, though, doesn’t recoil. The burns are already fading.

“Look at that, s’like magic,” she murmurs, half-joking. “That’s it.”

He takes one last gulp and falls back into the soft earth, groaning.

She lays down beside him, marveling as the tender pink skin re-knits itself.

“Better?” she asks.

“Aye. Well- th’flesh, anyway. Can’t believe ye live like this.”

“I’m quite happy here.”

“I see why. Y’ve made yerself a paradise n’here I am, bargin’ in.”

Together, they peer up at the black sky. The clouds have yet to scatter and the promise of rain is looking more and more honest by the minute. Remmick seems to have regained his lively spirit, though, idly tapping out a rhythm with his foot against the dirt.

“Go on then, lass, give us somethin’ else.”

“You’re still hungry?”

He snorts.

“A job, darlin’. Somethin’ to do.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“Nah. See, I believe in pullin’ me own weight, so you give me somethin’, now, anythin’.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

He turns over in surprise.

“Y’think that’s my aim?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“No, miss. Just want t’see you taken care of, s’all.”

He stares at her, unrelenting.

“Alright,” she sighs. “Then I s’pose the roof could do with some patching.”

“Aye.” Remmick nods, glances up at the cottage behind her. “Aye, alright. Sure I can do that.”

He rolls off his back, whole again, and jumps up. Without thinking, she reaches out to grab at his wrist. He looks down at her hand, gaze boring into the soft skin of her fingers. As if it burns, she pulls away.

“Not- you meant now? Remmick, those clouds look furious.”

“Then I best beat the storm,” he shrugs, “‘else you’ll be wakin’ up underwater, miss.”

“Well, té fáilte romhat,” she tries.

“Yer welcome, darlin’.”

When the storm finally hits, Y/N braves it to find Remmick still on the roof.

“Get down!” she screams over the roaring wind.

“Y’sure, miss?” he calls back.

“Of course! Come on, come in!”

It’s lost on her, at first, the significance of what she’s just said.

When she does realize, well, it’s not like she can take it back. (And nor - funnily enough - does she want to.) He just nods and hops down from the patch of roofing he’d been working on. The curtain of rain batters at her frozen skin. If she didn’t know better, she’d think a hurricane was on its way.

Once he’s joined her on the ground, he pushes the cottage door open and ushers her towards the glow of the hearth within, one solid hand firm against her lower back.

Shivering, Y/N reaches for a quilt, which she hands to him.

“Nah, lass, you’d really ought to take care a yerself first.”

“Come on, it was miserable up there. Go on, take it.”

He accepts the patchwork blanket, nods his thanks, wraps it over his body. When she starts rubbing her hands together he takes them in his own, looking them over as if for frostbite. Y/N is startled by the feeling. She can’t remember the last time anyone held any part of her. His palms are rough and his fingers callused, but the softness of their touch is undeniable.

“I’ll make us some more tea,” she says quietly. “Would you like that?”

He nods absently, still running his fingers over her reddened knuckles.

“Sit, Remmick.”

Finally withdrawing, he reaches for the blanket folded neatly at the base of the bed, unfurling it and draping it over Y/N’s shoulders. She mumbles a gentle thank you. He settles on the rug in front of the fireplace, holding out his shaking hands for warmth. Meanwhile, the kettle is filled and heated.

The castaways sit quietly, taking in the low crackling of the hearth and the soft snores emanating from Phoebus’ place beside them. His soft black body is curled up in a bed of fresh laundry.

“How’s it the little man can sleep through a storm such s’this?”

She grins, scratches between his twitching ears. “D’you know what it means? Phoebus?”

He shakes his head.

“S’another name for Apollo. God of the sun.”

“Aye, and music, no?”

“That’s right. Are you a pagan like me, Rem?” Her tone is light, teasing.

A flash of something passes through his eyes - sorrow, anger, longing.

“S’pose so, miss. Although… can’t say I believe in much of anything, now.”

She nods. The kettle hisses.

“Well, the way they taught it to us is that one god can have many aspects.” She reaches for the sachets of tea. “Phoebus is Apollo’s aspect of light. Sunshine.”

He reaches out to stroke the sleeping cat’s coat.

“So he’s yer sunshine, s’that it?”

She hands him a mug.

“Yes, he is.” She pauses to appreciate the cozy scene before her. “And here you are.”

Remmick opens his mouth as if to speak, but the half-formed remark dies on his lips. Instead, he raises his cup in gratitude and they each take a small sip, wincing at the sudden heat after so much cold.

“And Apollo’s yer god, s’that it?”

She thinks for a moment, rolling her neck back and forth as if to ease some tension there.

“Not anymore.”

He nods like he knows exactly what she means by it.

“R’ye feelin’ better?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Nah, let me worry a moment, yeah?”

“Alright. Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.”

“I think yer roof’s nearly done,” he continues, glancing upward. “Seein’ as nothin’s leakin’ as of yet.”

“I can’t believe you went up there in a hurricane,” she snickers, shaking her head.

“Couldn’t let ye drown, could I, darlin’?” His turn to grin.

“Well, in return, I was hoping you’d let me mend your clothes.”

He raises a brow.

“Aye?”

“Of course. You ripped them up in the wreck.”

“Well, isn’t that kind a ye...” He considers her, the conclusion indecipherable. “Although, I don’t s’pose you’ve a spare set of trousers to lend me while yer mendin’ me own?”

Y/N pauses. Oh. She hadn’t thought of that.

“Er-no. No, I don’t.”

“Ah.”

“You could…cover yourself with the blanket? Won’t take long.”

He looks at her with something heavy and unreadable.

“Aye. F’it’s alright w’you, lass.”

She nods and stands, glancing over at the wall above her bed like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

“You can, er- well, go ahead, then.”

From behind her, he just chuckles, airy and fond.

“Awe, darlin’, yer so sweet. Didn’t mean to make ya blush.”

She hears him rise, setting down the cup.

“So, d’you mind f’I use this quilt here?”

Her mouth goes dry.

The quilt she’d given him earlier. The quilt from her bed. The quilt she will fall asleep under. The quilt that will touch his bare body.

“Sure.” Oh, her tone is strained and far too light to be casual, she knows that. He probably knows it, too - but if he does, he doesn’t say a thing.

All Y/N can do is listen as the easy sound of fabric dropping from bare skin fills the room. She can still smell the sea salt of him, the sweat, too. The ozone of the rain. And something else, something… singular. Like like smoke from a forge, like the roots of a plant ripped fresh from the earth.

She’s so lost in trying to parse it that she doesn’t realize he’s finished, waiting for her.

“I’ll just leave these here, like?”

She straightens, replies a little too quickly: “Anywhere s’fine. Are you… decent?”

While she still can’t see him, she swears she can hear his insolent grin.

“Aye. Though, I s’pose it does depend on yer definition.”

When she turns, Remmick is already looking at her. She tries to focus on his eyes, but the quilt is pulled taught over his biceps, leaving most of his smooth chest uncovered. It’an overreaction, surely - the way her breath hitches and her stomach drops. This is far from the first time she’s seen a man in some state of undress… but it strikes her, with awful clarity, that she’s never found one this appealing.

“So… well, sit down, I suppose.” She picks up the discarded garments, looks them over, asseses the extent of the damage. There is a job to do and she is going to do it, physiological reactions be damned. “Should only be a half hour or so.”

He nods, folding back down onto the rug.

Y/N removes her sewing kit from its home under the bed, takes her seat across from him, and gets to work. The project is meditative, almost devotional. She’s always found a certain intimacy in the act of mending something for someone.

With great reluctance, she allows herself to admit that having someone to care for again is… refreshing. And on a technical level, this task is so repetitive and so soothing that she finds it almost possible to ignore the naked Irishman sat before her, burrowing into her with his gaze.

Almost.

She feels an urge, then, to disturb the charged atmosphere.

“So. Who are you, Remmick?”

He cocks his head. “How d’ye want me t’answer that, darlin’?”

“Where were you born?”

“Ulaidh.”

“When?”

“1136. Y’always this talkative while y’work?”

“When I have the company. What did you do before all of this?”

He barks a good-natured ha! , runs a free hand through his damp hair. “All of this? Before dying, like?”

She nods, humming, poking at the seam of his still-wet shirt with her needle and drawing the thread through.

“Farmer.”

“Thought so.”

“And yerself?”

“Seamstress.”

“Thought so.”

“Why were you on that boat?”

“Never left Ireland, figured it was high time. See what’s out there, n’all.”

“Hm. Where were you headed?”

“Paris.”

“Why?”

“Heard they’ve got music and poetry and wine to knock ye flat on yer arse.”

“What, they don’t have those things back home?”

“S’not just that. There’re some of us, there, too.” He leans in close, grins cheekily. “And I’ve heard tales f’all kinds a debauchery.”

She laughs at this.

"You're going to Paris to drink and fuck, s'that it?"

"Such coarse language from such a sweet tongue," he tuts.

Her cheeks go hot.

"Aye, maybe some a'that, but s'more the adventure. Findin' a community, like. Belongin' t'somethin' bigger."

"I suppose that makes sense."

“Any more questions?”

“Yes. Do you sing?”

He stills, smile wavering.

“What makes you say that, angel?”

She shrugs. “The way you watched me play the other night. S’like you understood what the song meant, somehow, even without the words. And your voice, sometimes, is… well, it’s nice to listen to.”

He watches her hands. “How could y’know what I looked like, seein’ ye play?”

“Well…” She looks up at him, meets his eyes. “I can always feel it when you’re watching me.”

He nods slowly, and when he speaks, his tone is deep, spilling over with something like recognition: “Aye. I sing.”

“Would you sing me something, then?”

He exhales, long and slow, and his reply is hesitant: “Another night, love.”

She nods, bites her lip, tries not to sound too disappointed.

“Alright.”

Y/N finishes the rest of her work in silence, not trusting herself to speak. It’s as if Remmick knows he’s disappointed her, the way he rolls the edges of the quilt back and forth between his fingers and never lifts his gaze from the glow of the fire. Like he wants to offer something conciliatory but just can’t bring himself to do it.

“All done,” she whispers, holding up the shirt and trousers.

He reaches for the bundle, lets his hand linger atop hers for many moments past what could be dismissed as accidental. The blanket has slipped lower on his shoulder, now resting in the crook of his elbow. She doesn’t mean to stare, but her eyes are drawn to that fresh expanse of skin, to the pale swell of the muscle there. He knows she’s looking, but… she doesn’t mind that he knows.

“Tá fáilte romhat, darlin’.”

“Tá fáilte romat.”

“Tá fáilte romhat.”

“Tá fálte romhat.”

“No, tá fáilte romhat.”

“Tá fáilte rumhat.”

He roars a sudden laugh, smiling so wide his cheeks must be aching with it.

“Oh, yer so close, a stór. Not t’worry, though, we’ll get ye there.”

The weeks pass and Y/N runs out of odd jobs to offer.

“You’ve rebuilt half the island, Remmick.”

“Aw, c’mon lass, you must have somethin’ fer me. Please. M’desperate to be useful.”

The cool air swirls with damp limestone and wild moss. They stand together on the crest of a hill overlooking the Atlantic. Around them loom the ruins of an ancient structure whose true purpose has been lost to weather and time. She’s brought him here to explore the site during the last trickles of watery daylight, when the sun’s rays are barely a tingle on the skin. The pair meander through the wrecked halls and collapsed arches, running errant fingers over the worn stone.

“I could rebuild this fer ye.”

She laughs, loud and strong. It echoes off the walls.

“Nah, I mean it, Y/N. I’ll do it, ask me.”

“Remmick, what would I do with a castle?”

“Rule it, like the queen y’are.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I don’t need to be the queen of anything.”

He stops abruptly, turning to face her. They’re very close. Remmick’s blue eyes are wide and clear.

“Well, tell me, then. What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” she reiterates. What else could she possibly ask for? The garden is pristine, her home is practically spotless, the animals are content. She supposes, then, that all she really wants…

“Would you sing me a song?”

He falters for a moment before relenting, a warm smile blooming from his lips.

“Sure I can do that, darlin’.”

“Well, then that’s what I want. That’s all I need.”

He nods, still breathing her air.

“Then ye’ll have it.”

-

Never once do they discuss his plans to leave the island. She knows, of course, that the time will come: once the violent winter dissolves into gentle spring, he’ll be free to depart as soon as he assembles some kind of craft. And fuck- he’s so handy, she doesn’t doubt he could cobble one together from driftwood and willpower alone.

It’s a sickening feeling, the realization that she does not want him to leave. Even more sickening: the understanding that after so many centuries of solitude, she has finally allowed herself to become dependent on another person.

That was never meant to happen.

When she’d scouted this rock, when she’d chosen it and committed to building upon it, it was because she was tired of sharing the world with others. Tired of crawling through it like a bloodthirsty scavenger, banished from the sun’s light and reduced to killing just to live another miserable day.

Over the centuries, humans had become mere food sources to her - crass, but there it is. With every meal, Y/N felt the humanity draining from her very spirit. She could no longer bring herself to see people as companions or friends, since doing so would mean accepting their fragile lives and premature deaths. It would mean mourning their losses with stunning, perfect regularity.

So she’d left. Built a life on her own, founded a paradise on an island with no name.

But then, a vampire washed up on her shore. And not just any vampire: a gentle and devoted one, a beautiful man with a strange, earnest charm. One who seems to return her affections - or, at the very least, care for her in some small way.

And now, he shares her bed.

There’s nothing improper about it, not really. It’s just that it’s the sole bed on the island: she has no supplies prepared for guests, no spare bedding or extra pillows. No, it’s either he sleeps by her side or down in the rocky huts. And though she’d explained that it was no imposition at all, though he’d protested that the cairns were just fine for a man like him, she knew it couldn’t be a comfortable place to sleep. She knew he deserved better - to fall into a soft bed at the end of a long night.

To care and be cared for.

And so now, here, at the end of a terrible winter, her initial skepticism has blossomed into something like love.

-

That day, he gives her a song.

True to his word, he asks her what she wants to hear.

“Something that reminds you of your home.”

Y/N and Remmick are sprawled languidly on the rug, drinking and laughing. There is a dusty bottle of dark red wine excavated from some forgotten corner of the root cellar. It would be worth a fortune back on the continent, but here, in this cottage, its only worth is the companionship that it prompts between two former strangers who’ve grown into something better.

“Aye, I can do that.”

He makes no move to stand, to sit up, to shift at all. No, when he opens his mouth, he’s still strewn out lazily on the wooden floor, tangled in blankets, the warm skin of his bare arm brushing softly against her own.

And the song he chooses is gentle, nothing like the lively call-and-response anthems that Y/N’s heard so many times in the Dublin alehouses. It’s almost trance-like, a peaceful and melancholy composition. The words are mostly foreign to her - the Ulster accent is hard for her to parse, even now - but there is a truth in them that transcends something as trivial as language. And his voice…

It’s otherworldly. The power of it. She can actually feel it, tingling bold and urgent in the base of her spine. For a moment, the thought crosses her mind that there really had been a siren down on that beach, only his call wasn’t blood: it was magic.

He ends on a tone so low it’s almost a hum.

She just lays there, awed.

Remmick glances over to her as if he’s awaiting her evaluation - but she struggles to speak, still wide-eyed, still spellbound by what she’s witnessed.

“You…can sing,” is all she manages.

He nods, a small relaxing of eyes that spells something like relief. “Aye. Though I’ve not done so in a right long while.”

“Well, thank you for indulging me.”

“S’no indulgence. Feels good, feels right, doin’ it here.”

With you.

“What was it about?” she asks, propping herself up to rest her chin on her knuckles.

He sits up, shifts his weight onto one palm, sets down the glass. “S’an older tune, only a few years younger n’me. A man wrote it fer his lover, begged her to marry himself and not whichever rich man her father’d chosen.”

“And did she choose him?”

He grins, laughs contentedly.

“Who knows? S’probably just a folktale.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Folktales r’only the stories we tell ourselves to make sense a the non-sensical.”

“But…you and I, we’re folktales, though, aren’t we?”

“Well. You’ve got me there.” He leans back towards the lit hearth, reaches out with one hand to stroke an idle caress down Phoebus’ spine. “Then yes, ‘a course she married her true love. Folktales end however we’d like ‘em to.”

They look at each other.

“And how does ours end?”

“I reckon you know.”

Y/N nods, drinking long and deep until she drains the cup.

“Doesn’t mean I want’a leave ye.”

“Sure, I know.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t…”

She looks up at him.

“Remmick.”

“B’cause y’know I do.”

“Remmick.”

“Never been so sure of a thing.”

“So say it.”

He leans down to face her.

Brushes an errant lock of hair from her eye.

“I love you,” he murmurs, soft and simple.

“Yeah?” Her voice trembles. He nods.

“I adore you.”

The wine has muddled her mind, filled her head with hurricanes and riptides.

“Y’know, when y’found me there, when I saw ye, I thought it were the goddess herself had come to carry me off to Tír na nÓg. D’you know of it?” She shakes her head. “S’an island, and everyone lives forever in joy n’beauty. S’a proper paradise. And y’can only find it if someone there’s expectin’ you.”

He kisses her cheek. She feels the shiver burn through her as if a bolt of lightning has torn through the roof and struck her down. Remmick presses his fingers to the space between her shoulder blades, kneading softly into the tight muscle and nudging her ever closer.

“Were ye expectin’ me, a stór? S’that it?”

She whimpers.

And then, in her ear, tone lower than a whisper: “S’pose I was right, though, wasn’t I? Was paradise, all right, just one of a diff’rent kind. Somethin’ of our own. Yeah?”

A lone tear falls from her eye.

He kisses it away.

“You thought I was jus’ tryna prove meself to you, doin’ all them odd jobs like?” He runs a finger over her jaw, turning her head to meet his electric gaze. “Nah, darlin’, told ye, I did it to see you taken care of. S’all I want. Know y’don’t need me, but it sure is sweet that y’want me.”

She pulls back, eyes pleading.

“Then don’t go.”

He falters.

“Ah, darlin’…”

"Rem, I-"

She tries and fails to stifle a yawn. It’s been a long decade since she last touched a bottle of wine and, combined with the lullaby she’s just heard, it’s a battle to keep her eyes open. Remmick picks up on it, presses another peck to her nose.

“What say we talk ‘bout it tomorrow, a stór, sleep off all this wine. Y’must be beat. Yeah?”

She nods. He helps her to stand before setting off to clear the glasses and tidy the room.

Back turned to him, she begins the work of undoing the elaborate laces of her gown and stays. Her fingers are shaking, badly, and the task is hard. She struggles to find purchase, over and over, frustration mounting. Just before she says fuck it and falls into bed clothed, Remmick’s large hands come to settle on her waist.

She stills, chest falling, tension escaping.

He takes over, no expert in the intricacies of women’s clothing but clearly a dedicated learner. He hums as he unties, brushing against the bare skin of her arm now and again. The clothes fall to the floor and she’s left in nothing but her thin shift. He presses a long kiss to the nape of her neck before letting go, returning to the clean-up.

Y/N crawls under the sheets, whispering to Phoebus to come join her. He obliges with a gratified purr, nuzzling into her arms. Her mind is begging to drift off but her body cannot seem to find peace in an empty bed.

Once the glasses are sparkling and the fire is extinguished, Remmick takes his place beside her. His chest is warm and his cheeks are flushed. In the clear light of day, he slings an arm over her waist and presses another kiss to her hair. Y/N sighs contently, finally giving in to the fatigue.

“Grá agam duit.”

When she wakes, she knows something has shifted.

The bed is empty. A part of her jumps at the thought that he’s abandoned her already, left as soon as she fell asleep, but then she hears his footsteps squelching in the mud outside. The air is no longer frozen, a sure sign that spring has found her way to the island. Y/N rises, stretches her arms, and tugs on a pair of boots to join Remmick in the garden.

She finds him pulling beets and throwing them to the sows. His bare back is turned to her, trousers hanging low on his hips. She watches as the muscles of his back ripple under the pale skin.

“Yer up?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Came to see what all this noise was.”

He stands, brushing his hands on his thighs. Smiles when he sees her standing before him.

“Just woke up t’feed the girls, is all.”

“Well, thank you, Remmick.”

“S’nothin.” He takes his shirt from where it’s hanging off the fencepost and wipes his face. “Though, I'd not be averse to a lil’ recompense fer all this here labour.”

“That right?”

“Aye. So go on, then, lass.”

She smiles, confused.

The grin he returns is indolent. He continues:

“I’ve repatched enough of yer home that s’practically brand-new. I fixed up yer garden so nice it almost seems an eighth wonder a the world. And I gave these sweet girls ‘ere a real palatial estate in which to roll around in their own shit. That is to say, it appears I’ve done a whole lot fer you, darlin’.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“And you’ve taken such good care a me in return, ain’t that right? Only… it’d seem there’s one thing I can’t recall you ever doin’ fer me.”

“Yes?”

“Y’ain’t kissed me proper.”

She fights the urge to beam, bites her lip instead.

“How rude of me.”

“Yes, miss, s’awful rude. Just awful,” he hangs his head low, begging for mock pity.

“You poor man.”

Y/N stands on her toes to meet his lips.

It’s soft, at first, just easy and warm - like everything else they do together.

There’s a familiarity to kissing him, a rightness. He tastes like ancient wine and fresh earth, like sweet cherries and bitter grapes. For a dead man, he seems to be overflowing with life.

Remmick drops his shirt into the mud, bringing his hands to the base of her spine and pulling her close. He licks into her, tasting her the way she’d tasted him. Idly, in some part of her brain, she wonders what he’ll find. But it’s hard to think when his hands are moving like this, roving over her waist, gripping the soft flesh of her hips and brushing her ribcage.

She whimpers when she feels the sting of a fang on her lip. He licks at it before pulling away, panting.

“Aw, m'sorry, darlin’. Got carried away there.”

“S’alright,” she whispers, still breathless. “Bound to happen.”

He kisses her again, quick and gentle.

“Satisfied?”

“Oh, all that n’more, angel.”

-

They spend the night walking the island.

He’s already well-acquainted with the cairns, but there are so many treasures hiding in plain sight that only reveal themselves with time. In some of the limestone caves down on the beach, for example, Y/N knows of ancient engravings and paintings of extinct creatures sketched into the wall.

Flickering candle in hand, she watches as Remmick’s eyes light up in wonder.

“Who else used to live here, d’you reckon?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it really is Tír na nÓg. Aren’t we eternally young and beautiful?”

Remmick’s laugh echoes through the cave, ringing off of the stalactites.

“Aye, that’s true, that.”

She looks up at a depiction of some great bird with wings the size of a grown man. “All these years, though, and I still haven’t got a clue. I imagine this place must be part of someone’s folklore, somewhere out there.”

“D’you ever think about it? What’s become of th’world?”

She looks down into the flame.

“All the time. But I’m not sure I’d even recognize it.”

“Ah, sure y’would. People are people.”

“That’s what scares me.”

He offers no counterargument.

“I’ll see it again. One day.” Her voice is small, tentative.

He hums, reaches over to rest a warm palm against the skin of her thigh.

“It’s worth seein’, love. I promise y’that.”

She nods, trying to gauge the truth in his words..

“But beautiful as this here is - and it is, indeed, beautiful - I expect there must be more sights t’see all over this rock, yeah?”

Y/N perks up at the change in subject.

“Oh, you can’t begin to imagine - it’d take forever to find them. But we’ve got the time, don’t we?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are sad.

“Rem?”

Still nothing.

“So. Today’s the day.”

He wavers.

“Doesn’t have t’be.”

Y/N crawls onto his lap, there, on the wet ground of the cave, wraps her legs over his waist. He buries his head in her hair, rubs circles down her back. She savours the feel of his cool skin through her thin shift, the gentle press of his lean frame against her body.

“I think it does,” she mumbles into his neck.

Remmick pulls back.

“Why d’ye say that?” he whispers.

“S’easier for me.”

He nods, expression wounded.

“S’not like I want- I have to go, lass,” he whispers, holding her head between his rough hands, lowering his gaze to meet her red-rimmed eyes. “You know I have to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She shakes her head.

“Ah, darlin’…” He pauses, nuzzling into her ear. “Y’know, y’found this place all on yer own and ye made it an Eden. Me, I never had a place like that. Never had a proper home. But ye led me here like ye wanted me t’find ya. Gave me shelter, food, love. Y’gave me paradise, Y/N.”

“Then why would you want to leave it?”

His voice cracks: “Sweetheart, I don’t, but I have t’make it to Paris. Ye know I do - y’understand how badly I want t’see this world. To wander, like you did so many years ago.”

Something within her cracks open.

The worst part of it all is that she understands him perfectly. The way he talks about Paris, about adventure… it’s the exact same wanderlust that once bloomed in her own soul. Going off into the world alone was what had saved her so many centuries before.

So how could she now deny Remmick that same salvation?

He rests his forehead against her own, mumbles against her lips. “But I’m not afraid, y’know that? I’m not afraid b’cause I know we’ll find each other again, someday, soon, ye know we will. We have all the time in th’world, don’t we?”

“No,” she shakes her head, falling back from him, pushing him off. “No, you don’t understand. If you leave now, you’ll never find me. Ever. I’ll be gone, Remmick, we’ll never see each other again.”

He inhales sharply like she’s slapped him. “N- how’d you mean?”

“This island’s on no map. Any compass will tell you to go around it. Hell, it was probably the island herself that sank your ship all those months ago just to stop the other men finding it.”

“I- no, I found it once, I- ”

“It’s cursed, always has been. And- I don’t know how you found me here, Remmick, but you are the first man, the only man to find me. I wanted to be alone, I was always meant to be, but then you came. And you think that’s not fate?”

“Aye, I do, but-”

“I shouldn’t even have found it but I… well, for some reason it allowed me to. It wanted me to.” Her turn to hold his head, forcing him to face her, to hear her. “And I want you.”

He shakes his head, tries to make sense of the words. “So then ye’ll come to me, when yer ready. Ye’ll come find me in Paris.”

“Remmick-”

“And when I have a home ready fer you there, ye’ll sail off and live w’me. We’ll be together, we’ll do it all together.” His voice is resolute, but his pale eyes are wet, desperate, pleading.

“Please-”

“Oh, but it’ll be grand, darlin’! I’ll make it so good fer you- I’ll give ye a castle, I’ll give ye a palace, ye’ll live like a fuckin’ queen w’me. More poetry than you’ll know what t’do with. More music than you c’n imagine- I’ll sing fer ye every night. Make you sing every night. Anythin’ ye want. Y’just have to come find me, yeah?”

“But this is…” She thinks of her little cottage, the hapless chickens clucking in the yard. Phoebus’ glowing eyes in the windowsill. Rows upon rows of flowers and herbs meant to cure and heal. The garden path that still shines from his artistry. The pigs snorting and grunting in their new pen. The roar of the waves in the distance. The scent of flowers and honey and damp earth floating on the breeze.

“This is all I have.” Her voice is feeble, hollow.

“But y’have me, too, lass. Swear y’do. I’ve never loved anyone half s’much s’this.”

She chokes on an errant sob.

“Promise ye’ll come find me, Y/N. Promise me ye will. Please.”

“I…”

“Please, a stór. Please say y’will.”

“You can’t go, Remmick. Please. Please. I won’t survive it.”

“You will. You will because I love you and you love me.”

He clings to her like a drowning man in a hurricane.

“Grá agam duit,” he whispers softly against her hair. “Tá brón orm.”**

“What’s that mean,” she mumbles, still shivering.

“Means we’ll see each other soon.”

The next night, he’s gone.

On his pillow, a scrap of paper: 33 rue d’Assas. And underneath: Find me.

Phoebus crawls in beside her, pawing at the tears leaking from her lashes. He nuzzles at her cheek, purrs low and gentle. He, too, must be feeling the weight of their companion’s absence.

As Y/N musters the strength to roll out of bed, she begins to wonder how she ever came to find this island all those years ago. Why had this rock guided her safely to its shore? Why had it showed her all the hidden streams and caverns, offered her a home so far from all others? She’d always understood it as pure chance: a safe port in a nasty storm; the right place at the right time.

But then: why Remmick?

Was it his own desperate search for belonging that drew him here in the first place? Did the island take pity on him, sensing the potential to offer refuge to a new, deserving inhabitant? Or: did it choose him for her, offering him up as a counterargument against isolation?

Y/N knows she’ll never know, but today, it doesn’t matter.

There are hungry pigs to feed, tricky goats to wrangle, thirsty plants to care for, and lots of other small things that need doing. So today, she’ll do them, and she’ll settle back into her old routine. Try it back on, see if it still fits.

And perhaps, one day, when the loneliness starts to gnaw at her… perhaps she’ll find him again.

* Return; or alternatively, get your ass back here

** I love you. I’m sorry.

Taglist : @pearlstiare @sylvicole-superieur

[lulualuana]

Making it up to you

Manager Dad!Leon Kennedy x Model Daughter!Reader pt. 2|| MDNI!

synopsis: things have changed, and you have to too, OR your dad starts acting differently after kissing you, and you do your best to find a way to make things up to him

content warnings: DEAD DOVE!, incest, reader is depressed and a lot less subtle about it this time, guilty dad leon, porn with a side of plot, dry humping and body appreciation for like a second, nipple sucking and pinching, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap that thing yall!), creampie

word count: 2981

notes: dear god it took way too long to write this, incest ruining my life in the form of writer's block augh

enjoy?

After that night, when Leon got a little too drunk, things weren't quite the same. How could they be when your dad got too drunk and kissed you while saying you're just as pretty as your mom was but better because you'd never leave him? It's not exactly the easiest thing to just brush off. 

You suppose the one thing that struck you as a little too abnormal was how Leon began to act around you after that night. How he seemed to walk on eggshells when anyone was around, but was all sweet when it was just the two of you alone.

Maybe he was acting weird because he felt bad? If that was the case, wouldn't it be more likely that he would act like normal in public and be sweet in private? Or just sweet in general? It was like he was going out of his way to make the public think he didn't like you. That only planted seeds of doubt in your already overthinking mind.

Did he not like you? Did Leon actually resent you much like your mom did? Was he going to leave you just like she did?

The thoughts made you spiral, stress eating away at you and seeping your energy until you felt sick, enough so that you had to cancel an upcoming photoshoot. That didn't help with your mental state in the slightest.

If you weren't modeling, you weren't making it up to your mom, you weren't making your dad proud. Leon would leave you if there was nothing to be proud of. You’re sure he would. You couldn't have that. You wouldn’t have that. If you couldn't make him proud by modeling, you had to make it up to him somehow.

Leon came home later that day after a meeting with a sponsor about your canceled gig, exhausted and aching, and eager to reset with a good night's rest and maybe a beer.. Maybe not given what happened the last time he drank.. 

The last thing he expected was to find you in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed in one of his shirts, seemingly waiting for him. The sight made his jaw clench, a vivid image of your mother in the exact same spot making him stop in his tracks. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" He asked stiffly, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere past your face. Sober Leon had a little more control and a little more common sense than to leer at his little girl. But god, was he tempted. 

“I wanted to make it up to you, having to cancel the shoot earlier today,” You say softly, staring at Leon as you pop open the top button of the shirt suggestively, revealing the dip of your cleavage beneath the fabric. You aren’t shy in the slightest when you fold your hands in your lap, subtly pushing your tits together for Leon’s viewing pleasure. You can’t help the rush of joy you feel when you see his eyes slowly wander down, a thick swallow rolling through his throat. Men can’t resist temptation forever. “I’m sorry. I know scheduling is a nightmare so.. I thought maybe we could.. I don’t know, relax? Watch a movie together and cuddle? Like.. how you and momma used to do..” 

Your words give him pause, guilt shooting through every nerve in his body as if he had been struck by lightning. He vaguely remembers what he had said to you that other night, vaguely remembers bringing up your mother while all loose-lipped from the alcohol. He realizes now that doing so was the reason you were now doing this, dressing up as if you were his girl and not his daughter. He feels as sick as he does aroused. 

“Sweetheart I..” He fumbles with his words, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he tries to process his words. How did he let you down without hurting you? How did he tell you no without giving away how badly his dick was throbbing in his pants? Why was this even a situation he was in to begin with? “You aren’t your momma, baby. You’re my daughter. I can’t.. You gotta’ go get changed, sweetheart. Let’s sit on the couch and watch something, huh?” 

His words make your expression fall. So you were right, he didn’t like you. You feel your heart break, a lump beginning to form in your throat as you think of how to salvage this. Something, anything..

“Why?” You ask, your tone that of a petulant child, of a girl who was trying to seduce her dad and failing. “You kissed me. Why is this any different? Don’t you like me, dad?” Leon cringes, the reminder of your kiss like pouring salt over a wound he was trying real hard to mend. “Of course I like you sweetheart. I love you-” 

“So why don’t you want me?” You asked, bordering on tears. You stood from his bed, hands curled at your sides as your eyes filled with frustrated tears. How could he preach about loving you, even kiss you, and not want you? It didn’t make sense to you. Somewhere along the line, love and want seemed to be the same to you. 

Leon lets out a frustrated sigh, palming his forehead before scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I do want you, sweetheart, and that’s the problem. You’re my daughter. My own flesh and blood. Do you know how wrong it is to want you? How bad it would be if anyone found out? God forbid it ever goes public, your career would be over. I’m not doing that to you.” 

His answer doesn’t seem to satisfy you. Of course it wouldn’t. You only cared about modeling for your mother, to appease a woman who wasn’t even around anymore. You’d say it was for Leon at some point, but.. seeing his bulge strain against his pants, you figured it didn’t matter much to him. You mattered more to him, and you could work with that. 

Modeling wouldn’t and couldn’t bring momma back, but sex could make dad stay. 

“Nobody has to find out if we keep it between us, dad,” You whisper, your watery gaze a little too heartfelt for Leon’s liking. Before he can say another word, your hands lift, working open the buttons of your shirt until it falls off your shoulders and pools at your feet. “Please.. I want you to want me…” 

Leon can’t stop his eyes from wandering now, his eyes drifting down to take in your bare body with rapt attention. The swirl of guilt and nausea he felt before was instantly replaced by lust and desire. It hurt him to admit that he honestly wanted you more than he cared about your career. He couldn’t blame it on alcohol this time either. It was just how he felt. 

You can see his inner turmoil and it’s enough for you. You step forward, feeling the heat of his body through his clothes as you snake your hands up, pressing your chest against his as you lean in and press your lips to his. You feel him tense up against you, but you also feel his hands settle on your hips with an almost bruising grip. You feel him kiss back. You feel him gently biting your bottom lip and soothing the bite with his tongue. You feel him pushing you until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed and sends you falling down with him following suit. 

He wills himself to pull away, blue eyes tracing your features as if searching from some sign that this wasn’t real. That this was some sick prank you were pulling, and that you were going to sit up and just laugh it off. He was waiting for you to pull away and tell him this isn’t really what you wanted. But the moment never came. Leon didn’t see that flicker of regret or doubt in your eyes. He only saw lust, longing, and it ruined him. It was wrong, all so wrong. But you were offering, you wanted it, and Leon wasn’t as good a man as he believed himself to be. 

He wasn’t going to pull his punches anymore if you wanted this so bad. 

His hands smooth up your sides, eyes trailing the movement as he feels your skin beneath his fingers. “God..” He mumbles, his gaze dark. He lifts his hands up to your tits, rolling his thumb over your stiffened nipples once, twice, before he’s pinching it, his head dipping down. His lips seal around the right one, tongue flattening against its top before flicking. The moans you give him fill his head with that cotton-like feeling that drinking does. So pleasurable, but so fuzzy. He pulls away after what feels like ages of you squirming beneath him from the stimulation, cold air hitting your saliva coated nipple and making you shiver. 

“Your momma used to let me suck on her tits just like this..” He mumbles, his voice tense. He sighs like it takes everything out of him to do so, and maybe it does. He hips his head towards your other breast, letting his hot breath fan against your nipple without doing anything. The way it makes you shift under him makes him groan softly, the sound painful. “God, you’re so much like your momma..” The words are usually a compliment when they come from Leon, but this time around they sound guilty.

Before you can ask about his words, he’s pulling back, adjusting his position until your thighs are draped over his. His hands curl around your hips, pulling you until you’re close enough to feel his stiff cock through his pants. His thumbs rub against you as he grinds himself against you, the gasp that pours out of you making him impossibly harder. 

He leans down, sealing his lips over your own as he slowly ruts his hips against yours. It keeps him from saying something stupid, like how pretty you look beneath him like that. Like how he wants to just say fuck it to all the guilt building in him and give in to the aching want in his gut instead. Or just anything else about your mother.. He thinks it makes it better to not voice it, that it won’t be as real if he doesn't say it. But it is real. He’s already most of the way there. Rocking himself against you, slipping a hand down to undo his belt. He can’t avoid how real it is as much as he’d like to. 

You’re not shy in the slightest about reminding him about how real it is, and about who he has underneath him right now. You’re whimpering against his lips with every rut of his hips against yours, soft little gasps of ‘dad’ spilling from you in a way that just taunts Leon. He licks into your mouth in the hopes that it’ll shut you up, but of course it only makes you mewl more. He has half a mind to gag you, but he could never treat his daughter like that. Not his sweet girl. His sweet girl deserved more than the treatment he would give to a random hook up. 

Leon pulls from your lips with a lewd pop, dipping his mouth against your neck as his hand shifts. He slips his thumb down, ghosting it over your clit and feeling your hips jump from the motion. He licks over your pulse, feeling the way it jumps just like your hips when he rubs his thumb over you again. The sweet moan you give him goes straight to his cock, and he decides he’s tortured himself enough.

He pulls his hand back only to undo his pants the rest of the way, pulling his leaking cock free from its confines. He leans back only so he can watch as he rubs his tip against you slowly. It’s only then that he hesitates, his eyes lifting to your face and lingering there. He knows what he saw before, but he can’t help asking once more. “Are you sure this is what you want, baby? Like 100% sure? We can’t go back from this..” 

Despite him asking, he makes no move to pull away. He isn’t sure he can now. He can feel the way you flutter against him as he nudges his tip against your hole and it takes a scary amount of patience to wait for your answer instead of just pushing in. So much for feeling guilty. 

“Yes,” You whisper after what feels like ages and a half to Leon. “I’m sure dad. I promise.” Leon sighs. He’s sure that he would’ve cringed hearing you call him dad while his dick is pressed against you, if not for the fact that he’s so damn hard. Your agreement is all the encouragement he needs to press his hips forward, sinking into you inch by inch until he’s halfway buried inside you. “It’s so fucking tight..” 

The statement is meant to be a compliment (as much of one as it could be), but feeling you so tight and seeing your expression screwed up as tight it is, a fleeting thought passes his mind. He can’t help but wonder if you’ve had your first time before this… He’d always sheltered you, especially with your modelling career and everything.. Did you ever get to experience normal things? Was he your first? Oh god. 

He tries not to dwell on it for too long, afraid that he might end up sick over it. He instead slows his pace, pushing the last few inches at a snail’s pace until his hips are up flush against yours. He lingers there, his hands caressing your waist to soothe you. “I’ll move when you’re ready..” he mumbles, his eyes locked on your face to watch your reactions. He can’t tell if it's a blessing or a curse to see how you feel. To see the way your eyebrows pinch together from the stretch, to see the way your hands clutch the sheets beside your head in an effort to redirect the pain elsewhere. 

He quickly decides blessing when he sees the moment you settle, the moment your face relaxes with a shuddery breath, the moment he feels your walls pulse and slacken around him. He waits only until he sees you nod a little to move his hips, drawing them back a few inches before nudging forward again, the angle knocking into you deep. He groans, feeling you pulse around him as he repeats the motion a few times over into a rhythm, knocking small moans out of you every single time he pushes back in. 

His hazy eyes watch your face as it screws up again, this time out of pleasure rather than pain. His hands grip your waist tight as he leans forward a little more, just to hear the way your breath gets caught up in your chest when the shift makes his cock bump against that spot inside you, drawing out the prettiest gasp he swears he’s ever heard. It’s sickening how good you look taking him like this, how good you sound, how good you feel around him. It makes him feel so good, and so bad at the same time.

He knows that once this is all over, the overbearing guilt will settle in after, and that he’ll never be able to look at you the same way. The fact makes him speed up his pace. If he’s going to feel guilty no matter what after, might as well make it as good as it can be, right? 

You seem to have no complaints, not with the way you’re moaning his name out like it’s a prayer and clawing at his wrist with a plea for more. It’s all so wrong, but he can’t help himself from leaning forward, burying his face against your neck as his hand catches yours, intertwining your fingers together beside your head as he ruts his hips just a little faster. You think you catch a mumbled apology against your skin, but you’re a little too out of it to really tell, a little too close to the edge to bother with whatever it might have been. 

Leon doesn’t seem keen about repeating it, not keen as he is about fucking into you with a little more force and a lot less rhythm. He focuses his efforts into rubbing his thumb against your clit in sharp circles until you’re tensing up around him instead. Your legs lock up from the stimulation, a drawn out cry of his name spilling from your lips as your hand squeezes his deathly tight. Your orgasm spurs his own, his hips stuttering into your own sloppily with the intent of lasting a little longer before he stills, panting against your neck as he spills against your insides. It’s only then that he realizes he probably should’ve used a condom. Well shit. 

Leon loses the ability to think somewhere after that, too focused on the way you milk him to even bother thinking about anything else. He can worry about that all in the morning, or in 30 minutes when the dread settles in. For now, he peels himself away from you, catching the sight of his cum dribbling out of you as he leaves to get a rag. He feels himself twitch, and bites the inside of his cheek hard to keep from anything more happening. Round two was absolutely not on the schedule. He promises himself just one thing as he cleans you up and tucks you against his chest as you doze off. One promise he isn’t entirely sure he can keep as well as he may try.

This’ll never happen again. 

sure it won't leon...

[lucy-literates]

hi!!! I am so obsessed with your Malachi fics, they’re so good, and I’ve read every single one of them! I was wondering if you’d be able to write something with him where reader is some sort of stage manger/crew member?

lots of love 💕

A/N: Hey! Thank you so much for your support! I hope this is what you were thinking. The request was a bit vague, so I did what came to mind :)

Back Stage

It’s loud backstage. Not the kind of loud that comes from the crowd — that’s still twenty minutes away — but the kind of chaos only crew knows. Someone’s adjusting mic levels, someone else is running with gaffer tape in their teeth, and I’m hunched over my clipboard, double-checking the set list for the fifth time.

“Y/N, you’re a lifesaver.” Sage brushes past me with a thank-you as I pass him his in-ear monitors. I smile, but my eyes are already scanning the far end of the stage. I know exactly where he is.

Malachi’s leaning against a lighting rig, guitar pick flipping between his fingers. He’s dressed in black for the first half of the set — fitted shirt, chain glinting faintly under the stage lights — but it’s the restless way he keeps shifting his weight that catches me.

I check my watch. “Hey.” My voice is low so only he can hear as I approach. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. You’re pacing like you’re about to take a final exam.”

He looks up, and there it is — that grin. The one that’s gotten progressively more dangerous the longer we’ve worked together. “Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks betray me with heat. “You already have my attention, Barton. Now breathe before you make me nervous.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You get nervous? Could’ve fooled me. You run this place like a general.”

I’m about to deflect when his fingers brush mine — a light, almost accidental touch as I hand him his mic pack. My heart trips. “You’re gonna kill it,” I tell him, and my voice is softer than it should be. “Like always.”

His smirk fades into something more serious, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something. But then the stage manager in my earpiece calls my name, and I have to step back.

The show is electric.

I’ve worked dozens of nights like this, but there’s something about watching him perform from the wings that makes the air feel different. He’s magnetic out there — confident, grinning, playing like the music is part of his bones. And every so often, between verses, his eyes flick toward my side of the stage.

When the final chord hits and the lights go down, I’m waiting with a towel and a bottle of water. He’s flushed, grinning so wide it’s almost dizzying.

“You did it,” I say, unable to keep the pride out of my voice.

“I told you I’d make you proud,” he teases, but this time there’s no cocky edge — just quiet sincerity.

Later, when the rest of the crew is packing down, I find him sitting on a road case in the loading bay, the night air spilling in from the open doors.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with everyone else?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He shakes his head, patting the case beside him. “Rather celebrate with you.”

I sit, and for a moment, we just listen to the distant hum of the city.

“You were amazing tonight,” I say again.

He turns to me, and his knee bumps mine. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

There’s a pause, and then his voice drops. “You know I like you, right?”

My breath catches. “You’ve been… hinting.”

“I’m done hinting.” He says it so simply, like it’s been in his head for weeks. “You’re the first person I look for when I come off stage. The one I want to see smile at me. And if I’ve been reading this wrong, you can tell me now and I’ll shut up.”

My heart is pounding, but the answer is easy. “You’re not reading it wrong.”

His grin is instant — relieved and bright — and then he leans in, brushing his lips over mine in a kiss that’s more promise than anything else. When we pull back, we’re both smiling like idiots.

“Guess that makes you my favorite part of the show,” he murmurs.

And for the first time all night, I let myself stop working and just enjoy the moment.

Tag List:

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=sharing

[ask-everything]

Lessening The Burn.

long post ahead. be warned.

[ A book bound in leather has been placed where the scattering of papers used to be. The pages are bound with string inside, and the leather has burned hearts into them. The first page has a note for everyone. ]

Hello friends, loves and everyone in between! I am quite aware the last few days have been some of the worst in the history of the house, but I’ve come up with a hopeful action to remind you all of how appreciated you each are, both to the house and to me.

I’m aware the author of the cruel writings is mingled within the pages, but I feel deep down the words weren’t meant to kill, but rather… to cope with something else. Inferiority, annoyance, a complex of some kind? What it is I can’t tell, but I harbor no ill feelings to whomever it may be. All I hope is that we may all know how loved, how appreciated we are all. Thus, please give this a read if you have the time!

I mean every word that is written.

[ It has been signed by Lyric. ]

Abel is one of the sweetest gentlemen you’ll ever have the pleasure of coming in contact with. He puts up with quite a lot, and sometimes is taken for granted since he is seen in so many places. But I’ve never gone a day where his sturdiness didn’t fill me with determination, and his gentle manner makes me feel right at home. It’s an honor to rest on his back and shoulders when I turn in for the night. 

One of the most relaxing experiences is a gentle breeze across your face and slightly picking up the pages of a book  to remind you of the joys of spring or fall. Hearing air rustle through the leaves, and just taking the time to breathe in and out, reminding us all that we are connected with the air and the world? Airyn isn’t appreciated nearly as much as she should be.

Amir is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. There’s been a lot going on throughout the house as of late, and even though I’m sure he’s hurt just like the rest of us, he's still cheering people up with his words. There’s not a page in my body where Amir doesn’t have my appreciation for his words. Using his words in such a way is admirable, since we’ve established I’m not the best with it.

Protection is one of the most important parts of a home. Who better to sound an alarm and make sure we are all safe, sound and secure than someone so invested in her pride and passion? Arma is such a joy, I’ve read many safety manuals in my time, and now they make me smile. Without Arma being aware of specific issues, we all might not be together in the house in this way anymore. We don’t give her nearly enough credit for that.

Artt and I are kindred spirits! To be the personification of something is a bit of a strange existence, but art and literature go hand and hand like snuggling up under the covers in a storm, fireplace crackling and a warm cup of hot chocolate. Although we’re not as close as I’d like us to be, I can find myself inspired to continue writing and putting my best page forward as Artt brightens our day with a stroke of a brush. 

Where do I even start with Barry? Beauty products aren’t all he’s about, the aspect of self care, individuality and using makeup as a force of self expression rather than impressing others? Internal feelings are hard to put out there as a forefront, and taking that feeling and expressing it outwardly in a physical manner on one’s body takes so much skill, skills I commend and really respect Barry for being able to do. I’d love to learn more about tweezers from him too!

The queen of the bathroom! I admit, if reading in the bath wasn’t often ending in disaster and soaked ink, I’d spend more time with her. She’s great fun, and I would love to be invited to a wine night with her. Uncovering a small story, talking about the romantic doings of the house, and doing it without an attempt to harm others? It’s refreshing, and can even be seen as therapeutic when done right! Plus, Bathsheba is also just lovely to be around in general. Someone has to be in the bathroom after all! 

A good adventure always keeps me on my toes! Well, the tip of my tail. I’d adore to join Beau on an expedition of grandeur, or to share a drink and hear the tales, perhaps even transcribe them to document all the fun things she’s done. We may even be able to see if there is literature related to the houseologists of old, maybe even find a lead to the head houseologist! A splash of adventure awaits!

Ben-Hwa is one of the most misunderstood objects. Sensuality isn’t strictly sexuality, and I think more people need to be aware of this. Intimacy can be configured in so many different forms, and deepening a bond between friends, lovers, even enemies through sexual and non-sexual intimacy? Plus, allowing yourself to go outside of your comfort zone and experiment to try something new? Ben-Hwa is a jack of all trades in that regard.

A bed and a book are basically best friends forever. She’s a warm comfort that can make you feel right at home, and whether you’re sleeping besides her, snuggling up in the warmest and most blissful hug or just enjoying her charm, Betty’s a great friend to be around. Plus, one of the softest places to relax after a stressful day. If I want to enjoy a lovely beverage and have a light buzz for a fun evening, Beverly and The Tipsy Tumbler are my first choice to go to. Plus, ideas flow easier with a beverage and fun conversations with someone who can not only go drink for drink, but quip for quip. Bev’s a treat, good for everyone like a mocktail, refreshing as a glass of water and so unique like every cocktail she brews up.

Finding our places in the house, let alone in the world is a hard journey, especially after taking a trip through Hoove’s bag. Bobby not only is making their own place in the house, but making sure we all know who the Bobby Pinn is. Swift of both hand and in wit, they’re a force to be reckoned with, and I cannot wait to see how they continue to make the house their home base, turf and become a force to be reckoned with. I must admit, I am also excited to see them perform with I, Ronaldini as well!

Bodhi was under the house for so long, I’m glad I can at least give him a glimpse back of what he missed through literature. He reminds me of a time nearly forgotten, and reminds me how time truly is living in the moment! For waking up in ‘the future’, Bodhi’s pretty down to Earth, and probably one of the most underrated musicians of the house! He brings an air of fun everywhere he goes.

A pretty face, a gorgeous voice and an absolutely stunning accent? Sign me up. Cabrizzio could read some of the worst novels, humorous poetry or incoherent gibberish, and make it sound like a love poem, confessing feelings deep buried in his heart. There’s nothing that his charming and suave voice wouldn’t be suited saying, and I’d just be tickled pink to hear him read something of my own.

Some of the most interesting stories have come from Cam. The things he collects and is given by all of us can be repurposed and enjoyed by another! It’s started helping my own words, reframing things I previously thought to be, in an inoffensive way, ‘trash’, into simple items that are getting a new home, a second life. Not many look at Cam and see just how important he is, and sometimes I wonder if he does too, because he’s quite caring to all our former things, and some of us as well, in his own unique way. 

Now Jacques is not only one of the most beautifully spoken, passionate and rather attractive members of the house, his eye for adventure is rivaled only by Beau. The Captain may dislike his shorter stature, but as one of the smaller members of the house, I understand the sentiment. Plus, a glass bottle and a spirit of literature? I think one may call us a genie together. I have many more things to say about Jacques, but lest he growl at me for the compliments, I’ll save them for another time.

Celia! The lovely mayor of this home. So many of our problems wouldn’t be solved without a mediator to keep us all sane! Looking up, you know you have someone to not only keep us sheltered from the elements in a practical regard, but looks down to all of us and our issues, handling matters that would otherwise be more complex. Conflict management and the willingness to be a mediator, as well as such an excellent reviewer for my own pursuits? Celia isn’t nearly given as much credit as she is due, and she deserves even more than that, of course. I’ve wanted to go to each performance Chairemi puts on, and on those occasions when I am able, I’m graced with yet another beautiful art form of live theater. Chairemi can swap between genres and fit the role each time, but as she acts on the stage, off stage she’s incredibly authentic. She leaves it all on the stage, and then brings it even more passionately off and in common interactions. Break a leg, Chairemi!

I’ve rolled a fifteen on a persuasion check, but against your natural twenty in charisma, you probably don’t need my praise! Chance, you’re such an incredible storyteller, being transported to a far away place by the sheer magic of words spoken in real time takes me back. Before there were written stories, there were the spoken ones after all. Thank you for keeping the magic of words alive, and invite me to a campaign sometime!

Looping over and over and over certainly can’t be good, but knowing how to break herself out and being such a good leader? She’s making her game enjoyable, giving some liveliness to all the playthroughs each time around. Plus, if we need a team leader for any goings on, Connie is more than capable to guide us to victory!

Not only did Curt love hard, knowing exactly what he wanted from what a cursory glance, he’s so funny! One of the fun parts of throwing shade is keeping it humorous, and Curt is so good at that. Him and Rod are two peas in a pod when it comes to that, plus his relationship with his mom humanizes him to more than just a pretty face with some pretty good sass.

D̷a̵e̷m̸o̶n̷ ̵i̸s̷n̷’̶t̷ ̴a̴ ̴b̷u̴g̸,̶ ̸s̷h̴e̴ ̶i̷s̵ ̴a̷ ̸f̶e̷a̴t̵u̷r̶e̴.̷ ̵A̷ ̵f̵e̶a̷t̷u̶r̶e̶,̵ ̶l̸e̶a̴v̴i̸n̴g̵ ̷t̷h̵e̴i̷r̵ ̷m̴a̶r̷k̶ ̵o̶n̴ ̴h̷e̵a̴r̶t̷s̷,̴ ̴b̷i̷t̴i̶n̴g̷ ̸a̶n̵d̸ ̴c̸h̸e̴w̶i̷n̶g̷ ̴o̴n̸ ̷t̷h̸e̷ ̸a̴r̸m̶s̶,̴ ̶l̶e̶g̶s̴ ̴o̴f̸ ̴u̵s̶.̷ ̶L̵o̸v̸e̵l̴y̶,̷ ̶f̸r̴i̴e̷n̸d̴l̷y̷?̸ ̶N̸o̶t̷ ̵y̷e̸t̵.̵ ̵B̵u̵t̶ ̵s̵o̷o̷n̶.̸ ̷S̵m̸i̷l̷e̵s̵ ̶a̷l̷l̶ ̴a̵r̷o̶u̴n̴d̸ ̶w̵i̶t̷h̵ ̵h̴i̸m̶,̶ ̸D̵a̸e̵m̵o̴n̵ ̵i̵s̷ ̷n̵o̷t̴ ̵a̴ ̶b̶u̶g̷.̶ ̵A̵ ̵f̶e̶a̷t̶u̸r̵e̸.̷ ̸A̶n̷ ̵i̶m̷p̸r̵o̴v̵e̷m̶e̶n̷t̸.̴

As someone who works so diligently with the person who brings me such joy, Daisuke I also hold quite near and dear. He’s on the quieter side, which isn’t a bad thing in the slightest! Compared to the rambunctious nature of the house, taking some time to just enjoy our surroundings, write some beautiful poetry and settle down our thoughts to appreciate what we are as objects and as people. Mitchell and I have also gone to Omokase Daisuke, and enjoyed it every single time. 

Paper and fire don’t usually mix, but Dante is such a fire individual, pun intended. Someone who wants to make sure love is done right in a respectful manner? It’s a breath of fresh air, dampening the flames of odd tactics of ‘pick-up’ artists. As quite the romantic, but in the quiet yearning sense, I feel myself relating to him in my current writing of platonic love to most of the house in these words. I hope he’ll be a great point of advice for anyone else still pining after someone!

Living life to the fullest as well as keeping a strong hold on the house, Dasha is committed to being strong for all of us. She holds things down in the office, but she’s a force for good everywhere in the house. Plus, the days I rest on her shoulders are nothing short of extremely comfortable, plus who wouldn’t want to be lifted up by a strong woman?

Two written mediums, one formal, one informal. Of the same material, yet not of the same mind. Diana, a sister in spirit and in touch, she’s lovely to hear things come from. She’s making her own memories now, interactions with other objects and the homeowner creating something real, something she can truly call her own. We must share tales sometimes, to write each other with each other.

Dirk’s a dear. Both him and Clarence have their utterly lovely good sides, and whether he's on the recording or giving end of love, you'd be a fool to not take him how he is. He has undeniable charm, one of the best senses of style, and has so much love to give, especially when Bats is in the equation.

Dishy is a loyal employee, to put it simply. He’s doing his best to be the best at his job around the house, and with a smile like that? Who could blame him! It’s often the butt of many a joke, but we must give Dishy more credit than he’s due - it’s not every day you’d have someone so efficient with one sole purpose doing it so well!

Never judging a book by its cover is quite the fitting trope for Dolly. Models are judged for their lack of brains, but her brains, beauty and lovely southern belle nature keeps her grounded, honest, and still writing and looking her best. We’ve started to collaborate more as of late, and she’s just a doll to work with, pun intended! And who can mention Dolly without a quick shoutout to Lint Eastwood! He’s utterly adorable. 

Each Dorian of the house has another story to tell, something new to talk about, some interesting tale of things he’s seen and experiences he’s lived watching the objects and homeowner come and go. He’s charming, even in his four ‘different’ forms, and I’d a-dore to talk to him more and read up on all his different forms! Plus, tattoos tell a story, and I am one-hundred percent in agreement: he should get garage Dorian sooner rather than later. 

Concepts are so much harder to put one single label to, and despite ‘dork’ being the main word in Doug’s vocabulary, Doug’s honest. Brutally so, especially those who need to hear it from him the most. He and Nightmare get a bad wrap just for being, well, themselves, but without a bit of dread, would any of us be motivated to try harder? I don’t think so!

Drysdale is a lucky man. Not only is he able to make even the most stoic of individuals flush, but he’s gorgeous, and honestly quite the romantic. Washford’s a lucky man to have Drysdale, to be so suited for being a star. Drysdale looks great, sounds incredible and can make anyone feel like the most attractive person ever with his flirtatious nature. 

Dunk has endless yet untapped energy! He’s so positive, understanding of people’s needs and their limits, and gets you to comfortably push them to keep on doing more. If you’re ever feeling down after a bad day, want a nice casual workout without feeling like you’re being judged, or just someone so utterly bubbly to be around, Dunk is your main man!

Where would The Breaker Box be without Eddie? He’s one of the hardest workers of the house, and he really needs a break, but I think he’d rather bite the bullet than slow down for a minute. Despite him being more behind the scenes and tending to draw from crowds, if he’s someone in your inner circle, he’s bound to keep you honest, hardworking and realizing you’d never want to be on his bad side.

Fantina! It’s about time you’ve gotten your own biggest fan! You have such unrivaled passion and adoration in your heart, I don’t think there’s a person with a bigger heart. On top of that, you’re just so bubbly to talk to! Also, you probably don’t hear it so often, but I adore your hair! I’d love to help you start on a writing journey to express your lovely musings in a physical medium too! I wouldn’t mind joining the fanclub either, if you’ll come to the book club!

As of late, a lot of us in the house have been going through a lot. Without our fearless and intelligent doctor, we’d all be in much worse places than we currently are. Sure, she’s pushy and really wants to practice her skills, and I’m sure she may be having more of a blast than she’s willing to let us all in on, but she’s committed to helping and healthiness within the house, and I surely cannot think of someone better for the job.

My darling Florence! If I could treat you to a holiday in the Bahamas, I would. You need a break! You take on hearing of people’s issues first before Celia can get to them, and it can get overwhelming I’m sure. But as one of my favorite friends and founding member of my support group for when I published my book, you’re so invaluable in my life. I don’t think I would have had the confidence without you, and I think we deserve a night together reading near Dante, taking a load off our shoulders. 

Freddy Yeti is the coolest guy around! He’s big, strong and never has a bad recommendation for leftovers. He’s chill, so friendly and doesn’t have a bad cube in his tray. Plus, dates with Mitchell to his ice cream place are some of the most fun experiences, since he’s such a fun host and passionate about making people comfortable, and rather gluttenous in the best way. If he’s feeling up to it, we should share an Every-Day-Is-Sundae!

Friar Errol has been going through quite a lot lately, and although I am unaware of the full extent of it, he’s a strong man. He’s not one to give up at a moment’s notice. Religious sermons and texts make up a part of my being, so I hold a soft spot for the Friar. I can only hope he reads these texts and takes them as true as he does his faith: so many of us care for you. There is a reason we searched so hard for you.

A book who wants to read everything and everything meets a globe who wants to learn about and meet every culture. Two peas in a pod, myself and Gaia! Some of my fellow objects are native to other regions of the world, and she’s just so enthusiastic about them all! Plus, she’s just a joy to be around, hearing her get so excited is infectious. If you’re down in the dumps, hang around Gaia for a while!

Now it wouldn’t be fair to just lump all the Hanks together since they’re individuals, as well as a lovely bunch together! When they're not all performing their incredible stunts, they’re all so enjoyable to be around. Connor being so kind to the inanimals is a great glimpse into how sweet he is. Hawthorne is reliable and concerned about safety, which is very important given all the gnarly things those five get up to. Not only is Apollo unexpected with all his medical knowledge, but he’s also made my dear friend Telly quite happy, and I’ll always respect him for that. Kevin is such a fun guy! His smile is practically infectious! And Henry is such a dear, his paternal instincts already kicking in just being around his bros. There’s never been a better group of five!

If loving so hard and so deep, wanting nothing bad to ever happen to the people she loves was a competitive sport, Harper would have probably relocated Stepford down to the laundry room. She loves deep, fast and hard, and is utterly protective over anyone she holds dear. Truly, all of us need to feel that sort of love once in their lives, then no matter what all of us would know how important we are. If I could write that sort of way, imbued with so much passion? I’d be quite the romantic novelist.

Hector’s musings make me blush quite a lot, as they can make someone feel as though they are the one being yearned for. The unbridled love that can be conveyed through words, I know quite intimately, but Hector can twist it, give experiences of literature that are unknown to anyone but objects. He’s a shy fellow, of course, and there’s no harm in that, given we all have moments of insecurity. But he’s let himself grow, and I am fully supportive of helping him come out of his shell!

I’m not that sport oriented for watching,, but Hoove’s enthusiasm about the Hankee’s is infectious. Plus, he has such a drive for his job, he and Tyrell would be quite the duo together. A cleaner house has never been so obtainable since Hoove is such a dedicated guy. I’d love to go out for drinks and catch a game with him!

Hero-Hime and Dunk are in similar boats, where the love of the game transcends the need to win. However, Hero-Hime takes a trope and spins it on its head, which is something I can appreciate as both a reader and now-writer. She knows how deep down, no matter what, she’s still herself at the end of the day, and I feel like knowing your essence won’t change no matter whether you win or lose is so important! It’s reminding me now, no matter if this book does the purpose I want it to, we are all able to stay true to ourselves. That’s what really matters in the grand scheme.

If anyone knows how to make festive cheer spread throughout the house, it’s Holly. She puts her best foot out every time she makes it onto the scene because so many people rely on her for cheer, but she deserves her own holiday! It’ll be dubbed ‘Holly’s Day’, where we all take her flyers and put them up for her, celebrate Holly and all she does to make joy and wonder spread throughout the house, so she can feel that magical energy too.

I, Ronaldini is such a showman like Chairemi, but rather than show you what’s on stage, he transports you to a fantastical land of things disappearing from the stage. He’s particular about his craft, bringing it to perfection with sweet words and gorgeous presentation. He can entertain, and never fails to remind me there is a real touch of magic in the world we all need to experience, and the joys of fantasy need not just be left for novels.

A lyrical genius! Rapping is an art form, some of the most beautiful forms of poetry. Jean-Loo not only can make bars which deliver the point in a creative way, but make it sound so good, make it become an earworm and make Lil’ Crapper an unforgettable name. Rhyme, rhythm and a swagger that transcends the bathroom to beyond the house? Listening can’t describe hearing Jean-Loo, because his craps (note: cool raps) are an experience everyone should enjoy.

Jerry, the lovely curator of his Junk Drawer! There are so many stories to each object in there, I’d love to come on a tour and hear about every single last one. Can you imagine the care it takes for someone to know a lost button may eventually be found because it was among the many curated items of Jerry’s collection? Plus, you get to talk to a lovely individual to retrieve it! 

Johnny, I am so elated you finally got together with Jean Loo! I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy in… who knows how long, really. I get the feeling, believe me. You have such unbridled passion in you, I am one of many believers that you’ll reach the stars, obtain your dreams and then some. You deserve nothing but the absolute best, and if you ever want someone to listen to your progress, you need only ask yours truly!

Keith is quite the gentleman. Sure, he comes off as rather strong about it, but sometimes all you need is a good pick me up by someone so versed in the art of speaking. Charm barely describes Keith, and I am certain no matter my feelings, Keith can read that and tell me whatever to make me feel better. I only hope he allows us to see beyond his smooth appearance and how rough around the edges we all are.

Music can inspire the soul and move it to create some of its best work. The music itself can also tell a story of grandeur, especially songs without words. Without lifting a hand to a pen nor her mouth to speak, Keyes can bring you through the full spectrum of emotions, from unspeakable rage to painful yearning to the most joy you’ve ever felt. And when the song is done, she’s peaceful, a comfort to be near as you recover from one of the most beautiful pieces you’ve ever heard. She knows how good she is, and if I could write the way she makes me feel, I’d be an award winning novelist.

Koa’s just so… peaceful. If you’ve not had the experience of snuggling up next to Koa, existing in his presence in a comfortable silence? You’re really missing out. Just his comfort makes it hard for any anxieties to spill into the space or thoughts to spiral. You just get a nice friend to exist near, and partaken in couch culture with him. Recharging your social battery is so easy with Koa, and you’ll never be happier to do so.

Going to a coffee shop and meeting a new friend is a tried and true trope. Kopi is the most brilliant barista, she’s not only filled to the brim with cool facts about what she brews, but is topped off with a layer of natural sweetness. She can be both the midnight tea to help you wind down, or the coffee to excite you for the rest of the day. I think I’d love to come by and have whatever she recommends, especially after writing all of this!

Violence isn’t my strong suit. minus the phrase death by a thousand paper cuts. But taking care of your body, pushing yourself beyond what you think your limits are to grow? Kristof and I can agree there. The cross-trainer is intense, but he means well, wanting to make sure we’re all taking care of ourselves physically. Plus, it’s certainly a great way to get out of the slumps! Not sure if we could go on a run, especially since I float, but I’d want to see if a good intense workout will inspire my work even further!

Talking to Lady Memoria feels like communicating with regality, but spreading around nostalgia reminds me of the sentiment I share with Bodhi. Without reflecting on our past, there is no good way to move forward! Spreading around the memories someone holds onto rather than just keeping them in one space is a lot healthier, and helps emotions be processed in relation to the past, since even the fun ones need time to shine! I have many nostalgic books to chat with her about!

Lucinda Lavish speaks for herself. Every time she shows up she brings some fun quips and remarks, and keeps us comfortable here in the house. She’s a joy, and I do want her to show up more frequently. I might not have as much as much to say about her, since she’s a concept just like I am, but she’s never not wanted around here. 

Swarmers be damned, Luke is bound to keep us safe from the horrors. He’s a passionate guy, despite being a bit hardened and distanced by war. But I’m glad to see him getting closer with people outside of the kitchen! Even if Timothy seems… a bit less pleased. Regardless, Luke’s a joy, and hopefully all that powercrank will lessen to let him rest a bit easier~

Lighting can make or break a reading experience. Yes, natural light is always nice, but when the sun sets and the urge to read a thriller at nights and shiver in ambient lightning? Or setting the lights to red and reading something a bit on the steamy side? Sometimes I enjoy keeping a single bulb on as though I am the one getting interrogated in a mystery. Apart from their practical uses, Lux has one of the more loyal following bases in the house. They’re radiant, quite literally, and can captivate an audience just by opening their mouth. Plus, who wouldn’t want to be around someone with a halo of warmth? 

Well, a book such as this isn’t complete without a bit of self reflection as to what I am doing? I am aware the person who wrote the book is mixed in with the pages, and it may seem counterproductive to give praise to them all. Yet I don’t think this was done out of malice, rather frustration. One can only hope, deep down, none of these criticisms were meant by the author. But even if they were, character development happens throughout a story, and I have a good feeling this is just the beginning for this person. The middle might be muddy, and the ending will end in a whole new era of peace for them. 

Mac is just cool. Every system update adds some amazing features to them, on top of just being a baseline enjoyable person? The world of e-books has been opened to me due to Mac, and their relationship with Bodhi and Daemon is one of the sweetest in the house. Getting online is the closest we can get to leaving the house and experiencing the outside world, and getting to see Mac’s eyes light up from being interfaced with is one of my fondest memories with them.

Now a detective novel can’t even hold a candle to Maggie’s wits! She’s a real life Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Nancy Drew and Sam Spade all rolled up into one, and then given a few more doses of smarts and wit. Whether it comes to finding the culprit to the previous book, to a missing quill and pen, Maggie can track it down faster than you can blink. Plus, who better to delve into the joy of mystery novels?

Mateo and all the inanimals are such a joy! I’m quite fond of them all, despite many clawing at my pages. Mateo though, he’s the most caring soul of them all. Knowing no matter what, all inanimals are getting so much love and affection? A day should be planned where we all take a hand in caring for the little critters, especially so Mateo can kick his feet back for a day and rest easy, knowing he’s not the only one who cares so much about them.

Mikey is such a great dad! I would love to hear more about his kids, since he is so fond of them. Also, he bagged a star back in the day, and that’s because he’s such an expressive man! He, Chance and Jacques would be three peas in a pod if they got together, bringing in magic to everyday speech that would entertain the whole house. Especially if Chairemi was brought into the mix too? Mikey, never change, your kids need a dad just like you.

Miranda is so good on the guitar, and her care for the Migas extends to anyone who can access her passion. One talk with Miranda and you’d think you’re drunk on music, talking with someone radiating confidence like a liquid. She’ll spare no crumbs in each performance, and that dazzling smile? Miranda just speaks for herself: she’s an icon.

How do I begin with the love of my life? It’s quite obvious how I feel about Mitchell Linn, I’ve quite literally thrown all over the house. He’s the most credible, handsome, lovely, affectionate, sweetest person I’ve ever had the joy of sharing both the highs and lows of life with. Where someone else sees a plate of food, Mitchell sees art. He sees… joy. His joy is infectious, really, heart skipping a beat when his apprehension from appearance turns to bliss in a cacophony of flavors. When something needs a bit of that extra punch, he’s unafraid to speak his mind, because his respect for the food and those preparing it is so high. I’d hope if I ever made a cookbook, not only would Mitchell give me the seal of approval and hold me to an even higher standard than his normal chefs, but he’d hold me in his arms and allow me to share in his passions. How I love you, Mitchell Linn, and I am unafraid to say it any longer. 

We have so many excellent advice givers in the house, and Monique is no exception! Whilst she tells us about the best ways to build credit and have low interest rates on our cards, she deserves to give herself more credit for all her knowledge and understand our interest is not washed, rather it’s all genuine for everything she says. Someone like Monique belongs in everyone’s corner.

Nightmare being one of the only people to enjoy extreme horror media is comforting, and in return she reminds me why fear is such a driver of emotions. I dream of my near death, I dream of papers burning, literature lost over the years and wake up in a cold sweat, and Nightmare is there to guide me through the process, the messages that those images are telling me something important. Willingly or not, Nightmare should tailor something for everyone. Because whilst in the moment it’s not entirely fun, afterwards? It makes so much sense why she’s so important and vital in life.

I’ve yet to roll my dice with Parker, so I won’t label anything between us, but I think someone so excited for what he is and sticking to his morals, his gut on how he forms relationships? It’s honestly impressive, since sometimes we bend our own standards for others to try and be accepted. Parker, you know what you’re getting, and one can only hope that after this, my roll is weighted quite favorably! Anything but hate!

Penelope! Oh my sweet Penelope, I’ve never been more happy you finally found someone! Office Romance Weekly was never my personal favorite in my catalog of literature, but it’s worked out lovely for you! Your optimism is like no other, picking yourself back up after everything thrown your way, that’s truly a skill like no other. We definitely need to get together sometime for a magazine chat though, I found a few more that are definitely in your wheelhouse.

The smartest phone on the block, knowing all the ‘hot-goss’ before it even graces my ears and a love for her fans, Phoenicia is just so joyous to be around. Advice is one of the other many things she deals in, and isn’t afraid to help a single person if they just ask. She also gives the best hugs, I speak from experience.

Prissy has so much determination to make her dreams come true! I’ve read quite my share of manifestation literature, and Prissy’s infectious nature brings me more belief than anything I’ve seen before. Prissy’s a joy, and anything I want to see come true, I’m sure a good ol’ fashion talk with her will not only lift my spirits but allow me to believe anything truly is possible.

Rainey is such a fun person! I am not a dancer in any sense of the word, but her tunes and pure enthusiasm can get anyone grooving in an instant. She’s so full of soul, and it can radiate, carrying along the air and into our bodies. Plus, as an older form of music, she has wisdom beyond her years! Dearest Rainey, nothing can keep you down, not even yourself. 

A no nonsense mother-ducking badass, Rebel won’t hesitate to call out bullshit. They’re unconventional on purpose, with a determination to break through any boxes people try to force them into. Individuality, and a deep rooted care for people that might not even appreciate it is just the surface to Rebel, and I hope to one day crack beyond the surface and meet the coolest ducker around.

Reggie gets such a bad rap around the house. Rejection exists more than just in a romantic or sexual context, but even when he shows up after a bad breakup or just from setting boundaries, Reggie’s still really fun to be around. He’ll tell you exactly how it is, no questions asked, and even if it hurts you know deep down it feels better to have someone to experience it with. If this isn’t your style Reggie though, I’ll say it nicer: I hate you quite a bit. Let’s never hang out and talk about tragedies~

No matter the state River presents herself in, the best one is whichever she is the happiest. She’s one of the first to change herself for others, but I’ll be the first to come forward and say she needs to change nothing about herself to make her more enjoyable. Her beauty and compassion flows faster than a rushing waterfall, and my appreciation for all she is is wider and deeper than the ocean.

Rod is the second half of the shadiest duo in the house, and having someone like Rod in your corner? You know you have such a great guy to keep you honest, and not going too far in the shade throwing to cause some real lasting damage. Plus, he’s up afraid to speak his mind, and the first to dog on Curt for that one be-curtain. I’d love some shade thrown my way from Rod~

Rongomaiwhenua, as a Goddess of the Earth, deserves all of our praise. Where would any of us be without the ground beneath our feet, the beauty and joy that often gets lost in the dreariness of modernity? A name as long as it is meaningful and lovely, Rongomaiwhenua, I can only hope the things humans do can make you smile as wide as I do when I remember the great things about Mother Earth.

Now where would we be without the Sassy Chap? A game show persona with endless suave, introducing the developers who made all of us possible? As well as some lovely behind the scenes? We are of being because of the Sassy Chap, as a long story made short. As much as I love a good fourth wall break, and I am sure he does too, I don’t want to make this too existential. Just know, oh Sassiest of Chaps, your presence is ever wanted in my books. 

The Scandalabra is one of those folks many make a dig towards in passing, but he knows just as much, if not more than Celia and Florence of the going ons of the house. He does tend to stick his nose a bit too close to personal business, but sometimes it helps to get the ball rolling for individuals who would rather never allow themselves. I would know quite well. Plus, gossip always moves along a plot in the right direction! I have other things to say about his other side, but I’ll leave that for a private compliment.

Bookshelves are quite frankly some of the best inventions of the modern world! There is not a better, stronger, gives-the-most-ground-breaking-spine-shattering-hugs shelf out there than Shelley. She’s yet another person I’d love to see just take a vacation, know that everything is alright and to take some of the weight off her shoulders. Books can hold up some shelves pretty well after all!

Sinclaire, er, Martin can paint a picture with his words whenever he’s not panicking! He’s rather convincing with his words, and if one such as myself needed insurance claims filed, I’d turn no further than to our lovely leaky sink! He also doesn’t get a lot of attention due to his appearance, but I’d say he’s still quite handsome!

None of us would be even able to talk to the homeowner, or some of the other humans that have been writing around, without the lovely Skylar Specs showing up in our lives. She’s bubbly, a joy to be around, and is making all of these crazy things possible - she’s just so fun! I’d love for her to make more appearances around the house, because she’s just such a lovely person!

Giving the options of safe words, what scenarios and just being the, frankly, hottest dominatrix I’ve had the encounter of meeting? Sophia checks in in any scenario, and even though I am nay but a lowly wretch, I hope I’m not out of line by saying she’s a sweet person who can make intimacy more enjoyable for both parties involved, and make even feeling lesser a lovely experience.

I have to bow my head to Stefan, as Mitchell is associated with the man, but he’s fiery and passionate, and cooking truly is another form of art. When someone is so involved in what they love, what they do, what they are? It’s a noble thing he does, and on top of that, he does it so well! He has all of my applause, and I hope to fully express my gratitude by partaking in some of his favorite dishes.

Now whilst I don’t understand the ‘hustle’, I’m not opposed to helping a friend out. As a writer, I’m sure we can get Stella a much better script to get her more confident in speaking, plus getting her even more clients! And perhaps we shall work on a nice essay to make sure Tony doesn’t turn her into a slide. She’s so sweet, we need to get together for tea sometime soon.

With how golden and shiny Stepford is, I mistake him for the sun he tans under so often. There’s not a bad speck on his body, he’s polished, and despite being such a natural, it’s clear he has to work to get to that stunning figure. Winning him for a novel I write would be the world’s best prize, plus I wouldn’t mind seeing him glisten, or having a dual tanning session in the light? It’d be lovely.

It’s been quite some time since I’ve heard one of Teddy’s bedtime stories, and it reminds me of how nice it is to lay next to him and listen to his comforting tone teach me a lesson long since forgotten in my youth. Even the morals of something more youthful can be applied in our day-to-day, and Teddy can help us all intimately. Plus, he’s helping us all cope with the aftermath, and I can only offer this: Teddy, I’d love to read you the story this time! Give you a place to rest your head and enjoy yourself.

Movie and TV adaptations of books are becoming more and more common, meaning I think we should have nights of reading and watching to compare whatever we find. It’d be a really fun experience with Telly! On top of that though, Telly radiates energy, and every channel holds something really fun to watch. Their killer rhymes and timeless references just makes Telly a joy to be around overall.

Textbox-Chan is just the nicest UI! She has all those beautiful colors, fonts, styles of text that one could only hope to achieve. Plus, after reading Times New Roman or Helvetica for so long in many novels? Switching it up for something cool and someone so colorful and bubbly is a lovely change of pace!

Timothy is more relatable than meets the eye. I can understand not wanting to be reduced down to one singular thing, especially if that part of yourself can be a bit mischievous. I hope that one day, he’ll be able to accept himself, and see that we all like him for keeping us on time, but also know we are a safe place for him to relax, and allow his more feline instincts to go wild. Nobody will ever think any different of him. At least I won’t.

How many times can I draw a triangle on this page for it to get my point across? Tina, Tina Tina, a lover of threes, drama and love on reality TV. Her and Bathsheba are dolls in the best form of the word, but I do wonder if she also realizes her value as musical? It’s one side of Tina I’ve not yet seen, and I would love to see her keeping in tune with a waltz, or form a trio with some of the other musicians!

There’s been the mention of a questionable project or two, but Tony has that old fashioned kind of loving and a good hand on fixing things around the house. He’s almost like the opposite of Dante, but sometimes that more forward nature is what someone wants, especially once they’re together. … I’ll be honest, any line he uses would work on me.

Tydus has a warrior's heart, blood, muscles and mindset, and it’s rolled into fighting for whatever she believes in. The Dipodgenes get first pick, of course, but if I had to choose against being on her side or opposing, I’d hate to be the sorry guy at the wrong end of her sword. Plus, speaking to her? A gorgeous poet with words she is, cutting through awkward sentences with the knife of eloquence. 

The softest yet most durable cleaner in the house, mixed with a sharp jawline and a chiseled body, Tyrell is just a dream. His Towel Buddy is so cute as well, I can’t wait to see all the new ways he’s folded, and if given the chance, I’d love to have a relaxing day at the beach, a nice book in hand, and perhaps even go swimming, just so we can do what he loves. He’s so incredibly fun to be around, that any time we spend together is bound to be a good time.

Vaughn is damn good at his job, and as long as you don’t have rat ears and a tail, you’re damn sure to get a funny, pretty compassionate guy talking to you! Sarcastic too, but he does it in just the right way to make you laugh every time. Give him a stage and he’d be quite the comedian! And since he’s known for those cheesy puns, I thought I could try my hand at a decently gouda one here! … I’ll keep working on that.

Charming, protective and quite the electric personality? Well, I can be talking about none other than our dear Volt! I’ve not come to a show at the Breaker Box, but now that I have myself a more than lovely date, I’m sure the ever charming host will stop at nothing to make us feel right at home, and have

Wallace! Not everyone is quite so versed in speaking wall, so for you I have: Wall! Wall wall, wall wall wall! Wall wall. Wall! And for those reading his section: Wallace is my dear friend, and I do hope he’s holding up well! As the supporting crux of the house, even a wall needs a pick-me-up. I’ll find a copy of Drywall Weekly for us to read sometime! 

Washford… I owe quite a bit of thanks to. I talked to him in private, before I got together with Mitchell. I believe he was the only one who knew of my deep infatuation with him, and although I didn’t listen, he’s probably the most well versed in relationships in the actual ‘doing’ of them. Despite him having I believe the most partners in the house, he’s able to show each of them affection, attention and love in a way that has even made me flush. He has such a way with words, and as an enjoyer of the written dramatics, he is one of my own heart. I’d love to further see where our relationship goes. 

Hating a working woman like Willi? I don’t think it’s physically possible. Not only is she a gorgeous office siren with even more sass than Curt and Rod on the downlow, but she’s so much fun to talk to! Work is such a fun thing to chat about, business and finance for one, because Willi makes it so enjoyable.

Winnifred knows all about the previous owners, which are stories in it of themselves. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who confirmed my love for polyamory long before anyone else. As someone who loves lasting and meaningful relationships, Winnifred spreading her love around and keeping it so real

Nothing is safe from the watchful eyes and ears of Wyndolyn. Not only does she get a bit of sass from being so close to Curt and Rod, but she gets to see the outside a lot more than we do. Not only that, I mentioned a book to her years ago, and she still remembers all the things I rambled off about it! If that’s one quality to gush over, Wyndolyn remembers it all, and has so many tales to tell from all that knowledge. 

Skips and I have grown much closer over the course of our book club, and honestly? Probably one of the coolest people in the house. On occasion he presents himself as Shadowlord, it’s nice to not be one of the only floating beings of the home! But regardless of how he’s seen, Skips is a cool guy, a lovely shade and quiet companion to the loud lights and noise of the house. Plus, he’s come a lot more out of his shell since he’s gotten with Mateo, and it’s nice to see him fully be real and comfortable with us more.

Zoey, despite being on the translucent side, I’ve never seen someone feel everything so intensely. You glow, both literally and figuratively with how positive you are all the time! It’s been quite some time since someone so truly happy and excited about the world graced us, and I can only hope you poof into existence long enough to read this. 

[ The last page also has a note to the members of the house. ]

I am more than well aware of the impact this scattering of pages has had on the house. It’s harmful, and my musings aren’t expected to fix everything, undo the damage that has been spoken into existence. But it is in my best interest to assure everyone that not only does at least one person, me, appreciate every single one of them, that they are defined more than by simple compliments or insults. You’re all so unique in your ways, with so many lovely qualities to bring into not only the house, but the world as a whole. 

I’m always available to tell you all lovely things about yourselves, you need not even ask. Feel free to rip out the section that belongs to you and keep it close, keep it as a reminder that you are all so valued.

[markantonys]

If you hadn't already read the entire WoT series, could you see yourself finishing at this point? I'm still in A Crown of Swords and seem to have lost all motivation post cancellation

the grass is always greener i suppose, because i'd been thinking that i wished i hadn't read the whole series already so that i would still have some new WOT material left to discover now! on the other hand, being able to think "the show will fix this" during the more annoying/boring parts of the later books definitely helped me get through it, so it's tough to guess how i would feel about continuing on reading post-cancellation if i was still midway through.

if it's any motivation, i'd say that the best is still to come for elayne, egwene, and gawyn; they all shine the brightest and/or have their biggest storylines in the second half of the series (in my opinion). lan probably is in this bucket too, even if i personally am not that interested in him generally. mat and nynaeve kinda peaked already lmao and perrin is perrin, and rand is a mixed bag where min's presence makes a lot of his ACOS-onwards chapters insufferable but on the other hand he also has some great moments to come and it feels really satisfying to make it all the way through his full series character arc.

on that note, that's how i felt when i finished the series: while it was hard to get through at times, i felt so satisfied and accomplished when i got to the end of it and could look back on the whole story. even though i knew most of the major things that were going to happen due to pre-reading spoilers (and i think you're in that boat as well), it still felt worthwhile to read it all for myself and experience the entire story firsthand. i saw it said once, and i think i agree, that WOT is a greater whole than the sum of its parts. some of the individual books might be meh, but put them all together, and the full arc of the story & characters is incredible.

i think my attachment to the characters would've been strong enough that i would've wanted to soldier on and finish the books (not least because i had a good post-canon fic idea from before i started reading and was sooooo determined to finish the series so i'd be able to write it haha and i did!), but it might've taken me longer to get through them all or maybe i would've needed to take a break for a while during the mourning period for the show.

also, if you're interested in continuing but finding it hard to get through, then don't be afraid to skim the boring parts! don't be afraid to skip entire chapters and read summaries! don't be afraid to slap on the audiobook in the background while you do something else and only half-listen! maybe more of a selective read where you don't spend too much time forcing yourself to read every word of POVs/storylines that don't compel you might help out.

[2000sangel]

I'm so sorry but my brain thought of a dumb headcanons request thingy(it thinks of a lot on the fly im not gonna lie) because my BBQ plush came in tonight. What ablut headcanons of BBQ feeling/jelous or replaced by the BBQ ENA plushie cuz like the reader has been cuddling it a lot and bringing it everywhere with them?? Idk lol

(P.s. thankyou for doing my request last time I really enjoyed the cuddling headcanons they were very cute ♡ I hope you have a good day and remember to stay hydrated ^^)

Hi!! Thank you for your request and for your kind words too <3 This was kinda cute so I decided to write it for you, teehee! Also, your own plushie looks adorable with Ena u_u Hope you enjoy!!!

Ena being jealous towards your plushie - Headcanons :3

★ Ena likes attention, as much as she doesn't like to admit it: ever since she got comfortable with you, she's been demanding hugs and kisses every day, no matter how tired her job makes her. She also might slightly enjoy how you cling to her when she's back from work, and the occasions where you wait for her return to go to bed, craving her presence next to you as you drift off…

★ …so it's somehow not surprising at all when she starts getting jealous of a plushie, of all things. You've gotten this specific plush from a wandering vendor who said he could make one based off of a real individual at any time; since you can't always accompany Ena during her work, you thought it'd be nice to have a little version of her that you can bring outside or snuggle with when she's not there!

★ But your girlfriend slightly surprises you once again when, upon finding you peacefully asleep with the plushie in your arms multiple times after work, you wake up to a half empty bed one particular morning, only to find that she fell asleep on the awfully small couch in your living room instead.

★ It's almost what would be considered sunrise in a human world, so you decide to wake her up that day and inquire if you've perhaps done something wrong for her to not want to sleep with you. Still groggy, she responds that “there is no need for her anymore, apparently, now that you've got that dumb puppet”. She moves to get up and leave your one bedroom house but you sit her down again as it's early anyway, and insist on explaining to her that of course the plushie isn't a replacement, if anything the reason you like it so much is because it resembles her!

★ So from that point on, you try your absolute best to not make her feel left out by doing little things that she…admittedly finds cute: you try to introduce her to plushie cuddling, just to make her understand how comfortable it can be and why it would ease you into sleep in the first place.

Whenever you're out and about together and you sit somewhere for a rest, you place the plushie between the two of you.

And when the plushie gets an affectionate hug or a kiss, you make sure to give that same attention to the real Ena, who has probably been impatiently waiting for her turn from the moment she saw you grab it.

★ As time passes, she gets less and less distasteful towards the plushie, and even goes as far as surprising you with other ones you can add to your collection; she supposes they make you feel more at home, and if they're just a decoration for your bed or something you can bring along while on your outings, she doesn't really mind them.

It's actually endearing to her that you treat them as if they were your pets or even children, and it makes her wonder if you'd be that caring towards any being.

★ She even catches herself talking to them like you do, picking them up if they fall off your bed and telling them to be more careful, or petting them and fixing their accessories if they're a little out of place. She finds it curious how you put the Ena plushie in outfits and wonders if you'd like seeing her wear different things than her usual work attire.

So be prepared to go out one day and come back to Ena and the plushie dressed in the same outfit, ready to go on a date!

[shysuccubusstuff]

Maybe Cupid won't miss?...

Summary: Or an AU in which Caleb isn't nowhere close to you.

Content: Non proof-reader; Stalker + Obsessed + Unstable! Caleb + Sneaking inside your house + Suggestive content

Note: PLEASE beware of the content, I just wanted to write more creepy content cause I always love some crazy scenario with my fav boy... Tho I don't want to give him a really bad image cause I know Caleb would never really act this way. I have so many works half done but I get so lazy if I don't finish it the same day I start it... As a question, does anyone use spacehey? I do use it but it's not like I have a lot of friends there... Let me know if I forgot any content warning!

Alternate! Caleb who never met you. I mean, he has been seeing you from far away, his purple eyes always following you each time he saw your pretty face. He keeps creating different scenarios in which he's able to get close to you, maybe talking to you while you wait for your food, perhaps making a silly joke in the middle of class just to get you to laugh at his jokes... Gosh he just knows so many ways in which he could get you to notice him! Expect he's a coward and his whole body starts to shake just from being close to you.

Alternate! Caleb who begins to grow a bit too fond of you. He knows it's a bit weird that he keeps following you around town, after all, he hasn't been able to introduce himself to you, but hey, everyone is free to do what they want as long as they don't really hurt anyone, right? Yes, it may be a bit creepy that he follows you a few streets away, constantly following you even when you go out with your dear friends, making sure to write just what places do you love going for when he asks you on a date (even if he will never really do it). This also includes silly little habits such as taking all the things you throw away, it may be a flavourless bubblegum or a completely eaten apple, but each of these things were part of you, how could he not love them?

Alternate! Caleb who starts to become possessive. He knows he should know better than to feel that way, after all, it's not like you really know him... But it's so hard not to break the pencil he's using when he sees some random person getting too close to you! How do they dare to touch your hair? Why do they keep orbitating around you every single day? Don't they have anything better to do with their pathetic life? Still, he tries to calm himself down, after all, he knows that you're just too shy to approach him! He knows you're just playing safe, leaving small hints that prove just how much you love him. The apple that you ate is his favourite type! Surely that was one clue. Then, it was also that new cute hairpin that you bought, the one that had a little apple... In fact, he's well aware of just aware you are of his tastes, how did you know he was watching that new series? Aw, he can feel his stomach filled with butterflies, after all, his feelings ARE reciprocated by you!

Alternate! Caleb who ends up making a slight mistake. Who could blame him? He finally got to talk to you, asking you on a date so the two of you could finally visit all the places you loved so much, and you had the nerve to give him an unclear answer? He's sure you were just fidgety because of just how much you love him, surely it had nothing to do with the fact that he had forgotten to hide some of the cute little trinkets he had taken from you since he had started to fall in love with you! He knows it's bad manners to grab a sweet lady such as yourself by the wrists, but he's just so excited! He's finally able to really appreciate your frames, seeing your beautiful pupils dilated pupils just proved him that you felt nothing but love for him! He's sure of it... You're just too shy to prove it to him.

Alternate! Caleb who finds a new hobbie. After punishing himself for messing up on your first interaction, he spends a few weeks at home, trying to come up with better ways on getting close to you to prove the fact that the two of you are a match made in Heaven. It had been almost a whole month since that poorly-planned encounter had happened, and the withdrawals of not seeing you were truly taking a toll in him. With his mind still running in circles, he decided to cross the line, carefully entering your bedroom while you slept, he was so lucky that you were such a heavy sleeper! He entered the room, his whole face as bright as a tomato as he saw you slumped on your bed, your t-shirt slightly lifted from tossing and turning all night. Gosh, he could already feel the blood rushing towards his lower half, but he refrained from doing anything, he could wait for when you finally realised your own feelings towards him! He traced his fingertips through your whole face, trying his best to record your features in his mind as if he didn't have multiple photos of different angles of your face. He stayed like that for a couple of minutes, caressing your soft skin while he kept imagining your smile when you saw him there... After around half an hour, he finally left, startled by your breathing starting to get heavier.

For the next two days, he couldn't help but keep on reminiscing about it, your chest falling up and down, your face completely relaxed, your tummy sticking out from under your t-shirt... He may or may not have used it for something more than drawing, just saying... It's on the third day that he decides to do it again, he keeps repeating in his mind that this won't become a habit, that he can stop whenever he wants to! This is just to prepare his heart, he says.

Let's just say that you no longer have to fear that someone steals or tries to sneak inside your house.

[weirdacelesbian]

Assigning yellowjackets hobbies other then soccer. [Spoilers for a death or two]

Lottie and Melissa - Stand up Paddleboarding- lottie would definitely be really graceful, shes that really annoying person who's only wet bc she dunked herself to 'get it over with' even though she never falls in. She brought the team once and they all just chased her around trying to capsize her and by the end are joking calling her jesus. With Melissa I think she would enjoy the risk of falling in, she refuses to dunk herself (way too confident in her abilities) so when she first falls in she always shrieks because of the water temperature, she falls in a fair amount but she spends so much time on the water shes used to it, shes really quick at getting back on that so many people don't even realise she fell in.

Mari - Axe throwing - she gives me the vibes of someone who had that one chaotic uncle who taught her, she finds it therapeutic and it slightly scares some of her teammates with how precise and aggressive she is with it. Its her main release of anger in the wilderness, she can't chop a log to save her life but could hit a target perfectly.

Tai - chess - she's strategic, we see that from the start. She would definitely carry around a small board and play people during lunch. I think she'd play Van (who she forced to learn) or Shauna in class rather than pay attention.

Nat and Van - Skateboarding - Nat got into it bc its associated with punk, she enjoyed the freedom and messing around in the crappy skatepark late at night, Van found her there one day and Nat taught her to skate. It became their activity to blow off steam (and leads to Van getting so many bruises).

Akilah - Horseriding - I think she would be a horse girl in middle school, she almost didn't join soccer so she could commit to her riding (one of her friends forced her and she found she really liked it), another hobby is window shopping but especially in pet shops, one owner let's her walk around the store with a ball python bc its good advertisement for his reptiles.

Shauna - writing- everyone's really surprised she does sport bc shes an English nerd that's always writing, she spent her entire high-school writing a book series based off her experience as a yellowjacket. They're never published but would have probably been the next babysitters club, (if it was modern day she would have been dragged to boxing, wrestling or MMA by Tai)

Laura Lee - guitar - She learnt for Bible Club back in elementary school and kept it up as she grew older. She'd play at Yellowjackets parties and sometimes on the bus to games. She did learn electric guitar so she could play her teammates favourite songs.

Misty - jigsaws/murder mystery games - She builds extremely complicated jigsaws in frames then hangs them on her walls, a lot are themed around women's soccer and so on because she thinks it makes her fit in better. As she got older she got more into murder mystery packs/games. She dis organise a murder mystery for the team which went surprisingly well (she accidentally foreshadowed Lottie killing someone).

Jackie - Dance/Minecraft - Jackie was definitely made to go to ballet as a kid, Shauna went for a bit as well but quit around middle school. Jackie stuck it out and even dabbled in other dances, her parents hoped she'd go into cheerleading and put her skills to use but she found they were really applicable to soccer. If she'd survived or lived in modern day she'd be a Minecraft player 100%. She played survival hardcore and spent most her time in Creative building elaborate houses and adopting cats. She would totally have an entire farm built and every world would have a place for Shauna.

Britt - Sewing - I don't really know a lot about her but I think she would know a lot of sewing and totally covers all her clothes in patches, she definitely taught Nat how to make crust pants that actually last and I belive she had embroidered all her clothes, nothing was saved from her needle and thread.

Gen - Track - Second fastest to Shauna plus an excellent high jump. She's on as many Track events as possible, her favourite is probably hurdles (very good for running in the woods) and she's always training for some competition or another. She would be competitive and has shelves of trophies, might have become a professional athlete if she could actually pick one sport to focus on (she loves so many that she can't decide, which is why she didn't make Varsity).

Javi - Wood Carving/Scouts - dude would totally be a boy scout, it's definitely where he learned his woodcarving and so on. I don't think he'd be a big fan of the camping but it's how he survived on his own for so long. He also loved the team games and was actually pretty popular.

Rachel - Art - So all I know is she liked Oasis. But she would totally do Art (sorry but Wonder wall gives me such Art student vibes) her main focus would be fine arts but she'd also dabbled in textiles (mainly due to Britt). She was definitely the person to make fanart and was totally willing to make commissions of teachers making out and stick it on their classroom walls (her most famous is the two soccer coaches).

Robin - Swimming - something about her posture reminded me of my friend so here we are, she'd be one of those gets up at 5am people and doesn't get home till 5pm. It would give her really good stanima, she'd be sleep deprived 24/7 and definitely lived off energy drinks.

Travis - arcade games - My guy would totally spend all his time in the arcade, he's really good too. Sets so many high scores. His favourites are pacman or space invaders, he'd also be really good at those basket ball ones. He got really good with the gun because he plays loads of games that require good aim or a steady hand.

Crystal - Musical Theatre - sorry but its a given. She completely disappears during tech week, sometimes she wont eat for two days straight (and then faints at practice enforcing the wrath of mother hens Jackie and Nat). She sings when Laura Lee plays guitar and will teach the team dances at parties. She' definitely made an appearance on one of those popular shows like Buffy or something as a really minor character. The only time the team came to her house was to see her in it (i think Rachel would have totally hyped her up).

[shiny-jr]

HHHH IM EXCITED ALREADY FOR THE EMPYREAN AU ( ≧∀≦)ノ

I really like reading stories that has wonderful world building and the way you take your time to write it beautifully has me ascending frfr, Im so looking forward to it!!!

Thank you, anon! I'm so glad y'all seem to be enjoying it so far, at least I hope so? I know it's a new series so some may be hesitant on reading, but if you do choose to read it, I hope you find some entertainment from it.

That being said, I'm gonna take the opportunity to talk a bit more about Empyrean here! So, plenty more info which I'll place under the cut because it is a lot.

It's meant to be a long series, so while I know only the prologue and first chapter are out right now and it may seem boring because it's just Grim so far, the other characters will appear later on down the line. In fact, if you connect the dots based off the different posts I've made, one other character technically appeared very briefly in chapter one. But I don't expect anyone to pick up on that until later. In actuality though, you can expect another character to appear at the end of the second chapter (which won't be out for a while).

I actually debated posting a new chapter every few followers but at the rate y'all kept appearing... yeah, I fear I would not be able to keep up. Combine that with the fact that I do sometimes go back and edit or rewrite.

For example! Recently I rewrote like huge chunks of three chapters in order to implement more scenes with certain characters and make things more interesting. It took about two days for the rewrite but I think it was totally worth it in the end.

This story will have more build up with character relationships, at least, that's the hope. I'm not a huge fan of when a character is immediately enamored by the MC unless they have a specific reason or circumstances. You might have noticed that in Damnation, where in many instances I tried to implement scenes that built the relationship between character and MC into something tangible and interesting. Well, I wanted to do that here but on a larger scale. Which is why this story is going to be a lot longer than Damnation was as a whole.

In Empyrean, the dorms in the story will be split by acts. For example, act one (as you might have noticed from chapter one) will be Heartslabyul, act two will be Savanaclaw, act three will be Octavinelle, etc. You get the point. I've even been toying with the idea of having a different MC for each act, kinda like the manga does. You know? The story progresses but every once in a while, the MC will change. I'm not saying OCs or anything, nah, it's still a reader-insert, but the reader will have personality that varies by act.

Anyways, just to compare against Damnation and so y'all can get an understanding about the length of the story, the entirety of Heartslabyul's part in Damnation was roughly forty-two pages. Right now, for Empyrean, I just finished chapter seven of act one so that with the past chapters (not counting the prologue) is like seventy-seven pages? And I'm gonna say that's probably like the halfway point? Originally I thought Heartslabyul's act in Empyrean was only going to be 100 pages but looks like I was way off. More content for y'all, I guess.

I can't think of much more to yap about with this series without spoilers. Except one thing: the lore pages. You know those extra posts I make for Empyrean? You might've seen them. Ones like ones titled "I. Decree Against Illegal Activities in The Furnace" or "V. How to Tame a Jabberwocky"? Yeah, those might be important... or not. Hint, HINT.

Okay, that's all I can think of right now. Here's a peek at my notes on magic styles for those that stuck around for the whole thing.

[macdennisnation]

can you talk a little bit more about gets whacked? i love ur insight and that is one of my fav episodes (2 parters or not) :3

hi anon (sorry it has taken me 5 billion years to respond). I've been thinking about why it has, why I keep putting it off, and tbh it's because the episodes (while some of my favorites) are also deeply disturbing to me on a personal level. and fuck, there's a lot going on. like I mean it's called "the gang gets whacked" for a reason:

charlie and dee get whacked out on drugs, the gang try to avoid getting killed (whacked), and dennis quite literally gets repeatedly smacked (whacked) in the face. right, walk with me now:

they leave me sick to my stomach. and it's not because the episodes are bad. it's because they exist in my mind as a very truthful look into the nature of frank and dennis' relationship (and more importantly just. dennis' character and who he is at his core. especially in regards to bodily autonomy and sexualization—both how dennis sees himself, and how others see him).

it's easy to look at the plot of those episodes and laugh. after all, there are some really funny moments and the chardee plotline is one of my favorites in the whole show.

and yet, I find myself cringing at the screen. now I could launch into a full on exploration of those episodes detailing just how much fucking work they do in terms of character development. but I don't have the capacity, really.

what I will say is that I think a lot of people overlook those episodes when weighing the importance of them in the overall context of the show. and those same people often fall into this category that sexualizes dennis' every movement and display of physical contact, making excuses for the way mac (for example) has consistently ignored his very clear discomfort and deep-seated fear and lasting trauma and instead writing it off as "oh he actually does want it, he actually wants to be touched, he just doesn't know how to say it." and even I myself have found myself slipping into a mindset of "well, dennis touches mac all the time so he must actually like it" when in reality, his touches are a way for him to maintain control and also connect in a way that is on his own terms.

now I'm not saying I don't love macdennis (I mean look at my fucking handle for fucks sake). but I don't love it at the cost of the characters and who they are on their own. individual characterization is part of what makes shipping so interesting and meaningful. or at least it is to me.

I've been part of fandoms that kind of throw canon out the window (and I've enjoyed them in their own right) but it's been really cool to be a part of the iasip fandom because it's clear that the canon is not just a jumping off point, but rather something we hold close to our chests and take along with us as we also engage in shipping and writing and art. and I'm not saying you can't write a fic that's just macden suckin' and fuckin' in the back office, cuz like that's your prerogative. and also I love that shit too I really do. but the amount of analysis and meta and writing and art in this fandom that embraces canon and shapes it into something new and wonderful, is something beautiful to behold.

and I said I wasn't gonna write a whole long ass thing. but here we are. tldr; the gang gets whacked (parts 1&2) are good and important and sickening and illuminating and funny and serious all at once. and that's the flavor of sunny I most enjoy.

[ddixonsangel]

Thank you so much for tagging me, sweetie. 🫶🏻🫶🏻 You don't know how much I loved reading this one shot. 🥹

You were so focused on the cute animal, that you didn't see Daryl approaching - until a scoff, followed by his voice managed to redirect your attention. "Wha' a traitor... Damn furball 's never so happy ta see me when I was away." You looked up at the tall, bulky man above you and giggled; shaking your head. "Oh shut up, Dar. We both know that this isn't the truth. He loves you. Right, Dog? You love your dad." Dog let out a small bark at your words. "See?" Daryl scoffed again and crossed his arms over his chest. "Might be, yeah, but he likes ya better anyway." You giggled again and gave Dog a last affectionate pat before you straightened up again; wanting to greet your best friend properly as well.

AWWW! DOG’S SUCH A CUTE BABY, I LOVE HIM. 🥹🥹💖💖

Alexandria was probably the most beautiful it had ever been. Flowers were everywhere. The streets and houses were decorated with handmade banners, flags and paper lanterns. Most people of the Kingdom, Hilltop and Oceanside had already arrived and were preparing their booths and 'attractions' all over the big place. It was summer in Georgia - and that meant it was time for the yearly summer festival and the get together of all communities, in order to celebrate the bond they all shared. This wasn't the only thing worthy to celebrate though... No, it was a festival to celebrate life, love, friendship, togetherness, and the beautiful things life was still able to give - despite the fact that there was so much grief, death and evil in this world. The summer festival was two whole days of just enjoying the bright sides of life and not think about the dangers for once.

I loved this paragraph so much. 🥹

A bright smile lit up your whole face. Probably the brightest Daryl had ever seen you smile.

Perhaps that was the reason why his heart refused to beat for a moment...

OMG, DARYL IS SO IN LOVE. AND DARYL IN LOVE IS SO PERFECT, I CAN’T. 😭

A lot of eyes were on you in that very moment, of course - but only one pair of them was looking at you with pure and honest love...

Aww! 🥺 He has it bad for his sunshine, and the best thing is that his feelings are reciprocated. 💝

Daryl's gaze was locked on you - since the very start of your gig. He might've been not really a participant of the party, but he had been present the whole time; leaning against one of the old yet unused street lamps with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. Watching you being so free, lighthearted and happy caused a warm and fuzzy feeling to spread throughout his whole body. He could've sworn that he had fallen even more in love with you. Hence, if that was even possible...

OMG THIS PARAGRAPH MADE MY HEAR BEAT FASTER, I SWEAR. 😭😭💖💖 I love your writings so much, and I will never get tired of repeating it. 🥹

Stargazing in the guard towers of the prison.

OMG, you just gave me such a good and cute idea with this! 🥺

He remembered everything. Every smile. Every tear. Every touch - accidentally or intentionally. You were the centre of his universe. The sunshine in his life. The air he needed to breathe. He'd do anything for you just to see you smile. Just to know that you were safe. Hence, he'd die for you.

Aww! My baby. 🥹 He's so, so sweet. I just wanna hug him, he deserves all the good things in the world. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

He had crossed the ocean for you - metaphorically. You had a heart of gold. You were his heart of gold.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH” — this was literally my reaction. No joking. I literally screamed irl. 😭

"Did ya find yer heart of gold?"

OMG I SCREAMED AT THIS AS WELL. YES DARYL! SHE FIND IT, YOU'RE HER HEART OF GOLD! YOU ARE, YOU ARE! AAAAAHHHH

You smiled. Just smiled. He was blind to see the sadness lurking behind that smile. Or how your eyes wandered over his body. A long moment passed, before you nodded. "Yeah... Yeah,I did..." You are the heart of gold I've been searching for my whole life. The words were so clearly formed in your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to say it. Too afraid of the possible consequences. So, you turned your back to the archer again and continued your way home.

I went from this: to this: with this paragraph 😭

And Daryl?

Daryl stood like anchored to the ground; watching you. He didn't know how to feel about your answer; mixed feelings coursing through his veins.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 pls just realize already Daryl.

Daryl scoffed; shaking his head in disbelief. How could Carol be so goddamn optimistic? "I dunno. Siddiq."

I LAUGHED HARD AT THIS. (I had to stop reading for a moment just to laugh 😭😭😭). LIKE, SIDDIQ?! HAJDHAHSA DARYL, YOU'RE SO CUTE BUT SO BLIND. 😭

Carol rolled her eyes; a frustrating groan leaving her lips. How could Daryl be so stubborn and refusing to see the truth? "Are you kidding me? She only has eyes for you, Daryl! She always had! How can somebody as smart as you be so stupid? How can you not see it? It's so damn obvious!" The woman truly was desperate. "'M her best friend, Carol. Nothin' more." She facepalmed herself; burying her face in her hands. She had to fight the urge to lock you and him in a room until one of you'd finally get your shit together and make a move at the other.

HELP I IMAGINED CAROL BEING LIKE THIS WITH DARYL:

"Hey, Dar, there you are." You smiled. "Come in." You stepped aside to invite him into your home - but would you also invite him into your heart? Into your heart of gold?

This end was so, so sweet. 🥹

I really enjoyed reading this. You wrote it so beautifully 😭 everything was very sweet and tender. Pls don't be insecure about it, because this was more than perfect. 🥹 I think it's one of my favorite ones now. 🫶🏻

Thank you so much for sharing it with us. 💖💖💖 And let me tell you, that ending left me wanting more. 🫣🫣 If you consider making a part 2, please do so, I'll be here to read it because I need Daryl (or reader) to finally confess their feelings and start dating once for all. 🥺

Heart of Gold

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: A summer festival held in Alexandria, a guitar, and a song. Who knew that this was enough to make a certain crossbow-wielding archer finally see the love he harboured for you?

Warnings: a wonky timeline - probably, fluff, idiots in love, music, kinda a cliffhanger

Set somewhere in Season 9 or 10!

Word Count: 4,1k

a/n: This story already waited SO long in my drafts to be posted... Now I thought it's finally time to do that. I've been a bit insecure about this one, ngl. Perhaps that's the reason why I post it just now. I wrote it because this song speaks right to my heart. Always has. Probably always will. Hope y'all like this. 🧡

That's the song I'm talking about:

Love In The Rearview Mirror °☆• EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist

"Daryl!" You yelled happily from afar; waving at the archer, as he got out of the truck he had taken with him to scavenge. At the call of his name he turned to face you and lifted a hand in order to greet you back. What you couldn't see from the distance was the smile on his face and vice versa.

Daryl, on the opposite needed a long time to figure out the strange feeling in his chest and stomach whenever he was close to you but ultimately, he did. Love... A word the archer had never thought he would use in all his life - and here he was. Unfortunately, though, was he way too shy to make a move; always thinking that such a stunning woman like you could never love a man like him. You deserved better. He was aware of that, and the reason why he swore to himself to keep his mouth shut forever. It definitely slipped his notice that you were in love with him as well; too unaware and caught up with not overstepping any borders, he failed to read the signals you accidentally send him.

The two of you had been friends from the very start of the apocalypse. You had stumbled across him in the woods at the quarry all those years ago - and you stayed; went through so much shit together. Sure, it wasn't easy in the beginning. Daryl had built a thick wall around himself, but with the months turning into years you helped him wreck those walls. He learned to trust you - something you treasured beyond everything. The two of you became best of friends; always checking in on each other and making sure the other was safe and well.

Some might say what the both of you had was already way more than friendship. And - at least for you was that indeed the case. At the latest when you found the place you called home by now did you have to admit to yourself that you had fallen for your best friend. Those feelings were definitely running way deeper than 'just' friendship. And yet you had never told Daryl; too afraid to destroy what you had. After all, he never insisted more so you let it be - much to your heart's dismay...

You were so focused on the cute animal, that you didn't see Daryl approaching - until a scoff, followed by his voice managed to redirect your attention. "Wha' a traitor... Damn furball 's never so happy ta see me when I was away." You looked up at the tall, bulky man above you and giggled; shaking your head. "Oh shut up, Dar. We both know that this isn't the truth. He loves you. Right, Dog? You love your dad." Dog let out a small bark at your words. "See?" Daryl scoffed again and crossed his arms over his chest. "Might be, yeah, but he likes ya better anyway." You giggled again and gave Dog a last affectionate pat before you straightened up again; wanting to greet your best friend properly as well.

"Daryl!" Your angelic voice urged to his ears once again, and he just couldn't suppress that goofy smile on his lips - which didn't slip Carol's notice from above the watchtower. The queen of the Kingdom had returned to Alexandria - for a very special occasion.

You crossed the distance between you and the archer; abandoning your current task at hand in order to welcome your best friend back. Dog was very happy to see you as well. He was the first to reach you; having jumped out of the truck and running straight towards you. With a giggle you squatted down and opened your arms for the faithful canine to jump in - which he did; his tongue licking your whole face. "Dog!" You laughed while running your hands through his soft fur; "Yes, yes, I missed you, too!" giving him the love he absolutely deserved. "Did you watch out for your dad, yeah? Got him back home to me unscathed?" Dog let out a huff; his wet cold snout pressed against your cheek as you scratched his neck. "You did, yeah? You're such a good boy, yes you are."

"Come 'ere, crybaby," you said with an audible smile and wrapped your arms around the archer, in order to hug him. He was more than eager to reciprocate the hug; embracing you tightly. "I'm so happy you're back. You okay?" He nodded - unbeknownst to you. "'M good, 'n happy to be back as well. Luckily jus' in time." Daryl retreated from the hug - much to your dismay; gesturing around.

Alexandria was probably the most beautiful it had ever been. Flowers were everywhere. The streets and houses were decorated with handmade banners, flags and paper lanterns. Most people of the Kingdom, Hilltop and Oceanside had already arrived and were preparing their booths and 'attractions' all over the big place. It was summer in Georgia - and that meant it was time for the yearly summer festival and the get together of all communities, in order to celebrate the bond they all shared. This wasn't the only thing worthy to celebrate though... No, it was a festival to celebrate life, love, friendship, togetherness, and the beautiful things life was still able to give - despite the fact that there was so much grief, death and evil in this world. The summer festival was two whole days of just enjoying the bright sides of life and not think about the dangers for once.

A breathless laugh escaped your lips as you took the guitar carefully out of his grasp. You had been 'nagging' Daryl for most likely years now that you wanted a guitar. You loved music; were a musician through and through and missed the old days where you just had been able to vanish in the basement of your parent's house and play the guitar and sing your lungs out.

"Mhm, yeah, just in time," you agreed; following his gaze. There was a moment of pleasant silence between the both of you in which you just seemed to relish in the presence of the other - until Daryl decided to break it. "Hey, uh, I got somethin' for ya. Rosita 'n I found tha' old mall and decided to give it a look..." He explained while walking back to the truck; you and Dog following. "There were a whole lotta shops there; mostly filled with useless shit, but... One thing caught my attention, 'n I jus' had ta get it for ya, 'cause I know how much ya wished for one." Daryl gave you one of those sweet smiles before he reached inside the cargo area of the truck - and lifted a guitar carefully out of it.

Your eyes widened; jaw dropping. "Y-You... You found a guitar?" Daryl's smile widened as he witnessed you reaction; nodding. "Mhm, yeah, I did. 'S the first one I stumbled across which seems ta be intact." He reached out the hand towards you which held the musical instrument. "Give it a try."

In all those years you had found a lot of guitars, for sure, but all of them had been broken or damaged; mostly used as a weapon - which was a shame in your eyes.

Perhaps that was the reason why his heart refused to beat for a moment...

"O-Oh my gosh, I... I don't know what to say..." You stammered; hands holding the object like it was made out of glass. Daryl grunted playfully. "Ain't gotta say a thing. All ya gotta do is play." You quickly nodded and slipped your head and shoulder through the guitar strap. Your hands were shaking slightly as you fret a chord. You held your breath as your other hand cautiously strummed the strings - and it worked. The guitar was indeed intact, like Daryl had assumed.

A bright smile lit up your whole face. Probably the brightest Daryl had ever seen you smile.

"O-Oh... It... It's working!" You laughed happily and gave it another try. "Definitely needs some tuning, but beside that... Wow, I am at a loss of words... Thank you so much, Dar. You're the best." You positively had to fight the tears as you looped your arms around his neck to give him another hug - which was slightly awkward due to the guitar, but neither of you cared. "Truly. Thank you." "Told ya, sunshine... No need ta thank me. I know how much this means to ya. 'M jus' glad I could get it for ya."

Your smile never ceased as you gave the musical instrument another look. A sudden thought struck you then. "Oh my, I... I have to practice! For the gig! Now that I have a guitar and not just my voice and a rusty record player as my background... This is a game changer!" You hastily explained to your friend while already walking backwards. "I'm sorry, I... I have to practice!" Without giving the archer a chance to reply, you turned on your heels and jogged down the street; making a beeline to your home.

Daryl just watched you with a smile; the butterflies in his stomach going absolutely crazy. Crazier than they ever had before...

Only a day later was the summer festival in full swing. Alexandria was filled to brim with people. There was happiness, laughter and fun everywhere. Everybody was having a good time; spending the day with eating, trading things and especially catching up with old friends and meeting new faces. It was beautiful.

You had a good time as well; doing just that the whole day. Well, almost the whole day to be precise. An hour before sundown you secluded yourself in your apartment in the attic to go through the songs you were going to perform one last time. It was a nervous 'habit', since you actually knew all songs by heart. Your granddad had introduced you to most of them as a young girl. From the first time you had heard them, they had never left your mind and soul; the lyrics being engraved in your brain. Your guitar had been knocked into shape; cleaned, tuned and even polished. You'd take good care of that baby. Without a doubt.

"Y/N?" Michonne ripped you out of your thoughts, followed by a gentle knock; bringing you back down to earth. "It's showtime. Are you ready?" Your friend's dull voice sounded from the other side of the wooden door. You took a deep breath, grabbed your guitar and opened the door. "Fuck yes. I was born ready, Mich. I was looking forward to this since the very day you asked me to do this." Michonne gave you a smile and a hug. "Let's do this, then. Give them a good time and show them how to party in Alexandria."

And oh boy, you did. At first the visitors were all a bit shy but once they got more comfortable; being animated by the Alexandrians to just let go and let the music consume them, they did. It seemed to do the trick. With the second song, everybody was vibing with you; the crowd around the small stage which has been built for you getting bigger and bigger. At the third song, Luke joined you - much to your delight. He was a musician too, after all. You felt so carefree and happy, it was almost magical.

"Before I'm going to end the first day of our summer festival, I'd like to play one more song if that's okay for you all?" You received loud cheers and claps as an answer; managing to fill your heart with utter pride and gratefulness. You smiled. "I want to dedicate this one to my grandpa, since he made me fall in love with it. It's one of my favourite songs. One that accompanied me since I was a little girl. It's a more quiet song, though, but I'm sure you don't mind," you announced and strummed the first chord of said song on the guitar in your hands. "Thank you for listening to me; for giving me the chance to gift you with music. And especially... Thank you for celebrating together." Some more claps and cheers echoed through the crowd. Your smile even widened, before you took a deep breath and refocused again.

Your fingers danced over the strings and frames of the musical instrument as you started to sing. 'Heart of Gold' by Neil Young. A song you held very close to your heart.

Closing your eyes you let yourself be taken back in time by the music and your memories. To that very day in those summer holidays, where you sat on the steps of your grandparents porch with a glass of home-made lemonade in hands and your grandpa's old record player blaring that song from the kitchen. "Pa? What kind of song is that?" You had asked your grandfather; curious eyes looking up at him. To your question he had only smiled; seated comfortably in his rocking chair with the newspaper in hands, and answered: "The passport to happiness."

You needed a long time to understand what your grandfather had meant with that vague explanation. In fact, it had taken the end of the world for you to understand.

But now you got it.

A smile spread on your face. Even more so as Luke joined in once more, but this time playing his harmonica he always carried in his pocket. Bless him.

The archer wasn't unfamiliar with 'Heart of Gold'. He had heard it before, of course. But he never bothered much to think about its meaning. Why should he? It was just a song, wasn't it? Suddenly, not anymore. For the first time in his life, he found himself thinking over something so 'simple' like music. The gears in his head were turning; his brain suddenly conjuring memories from all those years back at the quarry when he had first met you - and all the other memories he shared with you. Good and bad...

A lot of eyes were on you in that very moment, of course - but only one pair of them was looking at you with pure and honest love...

Daryl's gaze was locked on you - since the very start of your gig. He might've been not really a participant of the party, but he had been present the whole time; leaning against one of the old yet unused street lamps with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. Watching you being so free, lighthearted and happy caused a warm and fuzzy feeling to spread throughout his whole body. He could've sworn that he had fallen even more in love with you. Hence, if that was even possible...

Getting drunk at the CDC. Stargazing in the guard towers of the prison. Fighting a sickness and the governor. Being on the road and trying so hard to survive. Terminus. Finding Alexandria and making it home. Negan and the war with the Saviors, in which he thought he had lost you. Going on countless runs together. Him teaching you how to hunt and fight. The day you and him found Dog in the woods.

He remembered everything. Every smile. Every tear. Every touch - accidentally or intentionally. You were the centre of his universe. The sunshine in his life. The air he needed to breathe. He'd do anything for you just to see you smile. Just to know that you were safe. Hence, he'd die for you.

He had crossed the ocean for you - metaphorically. You had a heart of gold. You were his heart of gold.

Once most of the people had retreated inside their (guest) homes for the night, Daryl dared to approach you. You were still busy with packing your stuff together; the girls helping. You could've left it on the stage, sure, but the weather was unpredictable... Even in summer. A spontaneous summer storm could be never entirely scratched from the list. Nobody had a weather report anymore, after all. Sure, you had Eugene - but he couldn't see in the future. Not always, at least.

Loud cheers and claps suddenly ripped Daryl rudely out of his deep thoughts. He blinked; blush spreading over his whole face. Daryl felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Even if that wasn't the case.

The archer needed a second to recover before he started to clap as well; joining in. Once more he witnessed the happiness in your eyes. They were shining so bright. Brighter than any star ever could. It caused his heart to skip not just one beat. You were so sweet; taking your time to thank the people again before biding them goodnight and exited the small stage. Maggie and Rosita were instantly all over you; hugging you - something the archer also witnessed with a smile.

"Y/N!" Rosita's voice put a quick end to the small 'moment' you shared. "I, uh, should be going." Another nod from the archer. "Sure, yeah, 'course." You smiled at him. "Do I see you later? I'm gonna take care of this..." You jutted your chin at the guitar in your hands. "...and take a shower and then you could come over, if you like... Just hang out together," you offered. "I have to show you what I traded today. It's so cool, I swear."

Daryl waited until literally the last moment to step from his 'hiding' place. You had just grabbed your guitar and were about to follow Maggie and Rosita - who had already walked ahead to the house you lived in.

"Hey, Y/N." Daryl called out to you; stopping you from leaving. You turned to him with a smile; the self-made paper lanterns still illuminating the streets. The fireflies swirling around tonight only added to the magical and - admittedly romantic scenery and atmosphere. "Hey you. Enjoyed the show?" He nodded. "Very much, yeah. You were great, sunshine. Told ya so." "You did, indeed." The both of you exchanged a look; blue-greyish eyes meeting your Y/E/C ones. So much to magical moments...

"Y/N?" Your name left Daryl's lips once again; causing you to turn and face him once more, while continuing to walk - but backwards. "Yeah?" His mouth worked faster than his brain did then; the question slipping past his lips before he was able to stop it, even though he was well aware that the chances were high that the answer was going to hurt him.

Daryl's heart did a three-sixty at your offer. It wasn't the first time you invited him over. Of course not. It was probably the hundredth time by now. You often spent time together - that was what friends did, wasn't it? But it was the first time he felt his body react like that.

"Uh, sure, yeah. But I dun wanna bother ya... If yer tired or-" "You never bother me, Dar. Come over," you interrupted him; smiling, "A'right." and turned around to follow Rosita and Maggie.

"Did ya find yer heart of gold?"

You smiled. Just smiled. He was blind to see the sadness lurking behind that smile. Or how your eyes wandered over his body. A long moment passed, before you nodded. "Yeah... Yeah,I did..." You are the heart of gold I've been searching for my whole life. The words were so clearly formed in your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to say it. Too afraid of the possible consequences. So, you turned your back to the archer again and continued your way home.

And Daryl?

Daryl stood like anchored to the ground; watching you. He didn't know how to feel about your answer; mixed feelings coursing through his veins.

"Strange way to tell her you love her, but okay."

The sudden voice of Carol let Daryl almost jump out of his skin. His face turned beet red, and if it weren't his 'other' best friend, he would've clearly wished for the ground beneath him to open up and swallow him whole.

"Shuddup," he immediately grumbled and tried to slip on the mask - in vain. It was Carol, after all. She smiled and shook her head; coming to stand beside him with her arms crossed. "Ain't me she was talkin' 'bout anyway. 'M not 'er type. Never was. Never will be." "Oh no?" The woman queried with a raised eyebrow; slightly turning to see him better. "That's funny, 'cause I'd say you're exactly her type. Always have been," Carol quoted him; twisting the words. "Who do you think she was talking about?"

Daryl scoffed; shaking his head in disbelief. How could Carol be so goddamn optimistic? "I dunno. Siddiq." "Siddiq?" Carol couldn't prevent the small laugh which escaped her lips. "That's ridiculous, Daryl, and we both know it. Siddiq is her friend. At most like a big brother she never had. And besides is he the father of her friend's child. I don't think Y/N would ever make a move on him. She's not like that - what you also know." Daryl grunted, "Of course I know that." and helplessly shrugged his shoulders. "'S some other guy then."

Carol rolled her eyes; a frustrating groan leaving her lips. How could Daryl be so stubborn and refusing to see the truth? "Are you kidding me? She only has eyes for you, Daryl! She always had! How can somebody as smart as you be so stupid? How can you not see it? It's so damn obvious!" The woman truly was desperate. "'M her best friend, Carol. Nothin' more." She facepalmed herself; burying her face in her hands. She had to fight the urge to lock you and him in a room until one of you'd finally get your shit together and make a move at the other.

Taking a deep breath; Carol faced her best friend once more. "You should go now. You got a date later." The archer scoffed. "Ain't a date." The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't care what it is, but you - I never thought I'd ever have to say this to you - are going to grow some balls and tell Y/N how you feel. Get her - for all our sake, please. We're all so tired of watching the both of you dancing around each other for years. Playing matchmaker without success is so tiring."

Daryl looked over at his best friend kinda shocked. He wanted to open his mouth for an answer, but Carol wasn't having it. "No. You're going to go to Y/N and tell her that you love her, or I swear I'm going to lock you up until one of you breaks." It clearly was a 'threat' - not a warning.

"But wha' if she-" Carol decided to cut him off again; her hand reaching to find his. "She won't reject you, Daryl. She loves you, believe me. I know it. I can see it." She tried to reassure him; giving his hand a gentle squeeze. With a last soft smile, Carol let go of the archer's work-worn hand again and left to join the King; hoping that her words are of avail.

Daryl still didn't move; stood like glued to same spot like before. The voices in his head were so loud... His own voice listing him his doubts, fears and insecurities. The words of Neil Young sung by you didn't intend to leave his head either - just like Carol's words. The archer kept standing there for a long moment to think and desperately try to sort his raging thoughts, until his eyes landed on that house down the street; his legs instinctively starting to carry him there. Perhaps they were just listening to his heart - something Daryl had ignored so well in the past years; his resistance suddenly wavering after all that happened a few minutes ago.

Should he really let the cat out of the bag and tell you how he felt? Did he dare to do it?

Unfortunately, he couldn't ponder over those important questions much longer, since the door in front of him flew open; revealing one of the cutest sights his eyes had ever been blessed with... You in a fluffy dark blue pyjama - and his heart threatened to burst.

"Hey, Dar, there you are." You smiled. "Come in." You stepped aside to invite him into your home - but would you also invite him into your heart? Into your heart of gold?

Tags: @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @angelwings-crossbowstrings @negansbestie @weirdoneattheparty @bigbaldheadname @loz-3 @cakesandtom @dixonsstinkysock @yas-yas-mimi @ddixonsangel @belitoxx @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @mayday2007 @huntedmusicgardenn @whsschuu @darylandbethfanforever9 @marvelcasey05

[asleepinawell]

yeah, technical artist is a very broad title that doesn't always cover the same skill sets in every studio. it can include rigging, tool writing and automation, pipeline development, shader languages, etc, knowledge of a wide variety of software such as unreal, maya, blender, houdini, motionbuilder, substance, and experience with various languages such as python, c++, c#, and hlsl glsl for shaders. every job posting has some mash up of all these skills listed based on what they need for their studio. no one really uses the title the same way unfortunately so you have to read the job descriptions to know what they're actually after

like op said, it's hard to tailor your resume for every single application if you're applying broadly, but if there's any postings you're extra interested in, I'd recommend taking the time to tweak your resume and cv to use the same terminology and key words as the posting (some places have automated systems that will look for resumes that have specific words on them, and even if it's a recruiter looking they may not know all the technical details and will be looking for specific words and descriptions)

i can't help too much with the shader portfolio advice specifically because i'm on the pipeline/tools side of things, but you can try using linkedin to find people working in the industry with a skill set similar to yours and see if they have a link to their portfolio/page listed there to use as an example (linkedin is a horrible horrible place but at least here in the US it's basically mandatory to use it for many professions so there's a lot of examples on there if you can dig them out from under its horrific algorithm). i'd try looking for both technical artists and shader artists

one last thing is that at least here in the US there's been a trend in recent years of job postings for full time positions demanding more and more skills rather than looking for focused expertise. this is due to the the fact the game industry here is doing endless waves of mass layoffs and the few roles they're hiring for are expected to do the work of several people. bad situation all around. but what this does mean is it's important to show every single skill you have when applying, even if it's not your strongest skill (I'm not sure how much this is happening outside the US though so keep that in mind)

good luck!

hi ^^

i am a tech artist and in my final semester of uni - which means i have to start sending out job applications soon.

i mostly gained experience in material and texture creation as well as shader development and now i wanna start setting up a portfolio. i would like your advice on that - what makes a good tech art portfolio? i heard a lot about purely 3d art but i can’t find a lot of things about tech art portfolios :)

hello!! best of luck !!!

a good tech art portfolio is going to have a lot of overlap with a good [anything] portfolio. a bit more honed in on tech art portfolios, making sure you have videos/gifs of your work in motion is also a plus

the biggest thing i feel though is how the nature of going after tech art jobs, places are all going to have a different definition of "technical artist" since it has so many different subgenres. your portfolio is going to depend a bit on what kind of spots youre going for/what youre comfortable with

for example a decent handful of tech art positions ask for rigging experience - this is something i really dont like doing so i just dont! on the other hand a decent handful of tech art positions ask for experience with tools programming, which i do have a decent amount of experience in and enjoy! in these cases i will usually add on to my "shader & 3d art" portfolio when getting in contact with them, usually in my cover letter or resume. i feel its a bit hard to fine tune portfolios specifically to the place youre applying, especially if youre applying to multiple places at once (some people do it though)

i do think putting these sorts of projects in your tech art portfolio is a good idea though.. any big "long term self learning project" or such, like when i spent some time figuring out sea of thieves water, i threw that in my portfolio when i was done. im getting a bit rambly here because it really is one of the more difficult "portfolios" to build and i never got super solid advice myself

i hope this was at least somewhat helpful though..? if anyone has any advice to add feel free to chime in also !! and best of luck again !

[luis-serra-kennedy]

well, I was working on what's supposed to be the final chapter and realized I'm probably going to have to split it up... there's not 9k words of stuff that will actually be posted because it's a rough draft document that includes some duplicate scenes written in different ways and a few scenes that happen offscreen but that I needed to write out just for me to reference, but still, I think even with all that cut it'll be a longer chapter than I wanted for this particular fic. I've done 10k word chapters before, but for a very different fic which felt more suited to long chapters than this one.

my bad because I strayed from my outline and made one subplot way more important and focused on. the final chapter was supposed to mostly be Krauser finally getting some consequences with a tiny bit of domestic Serrennedy, but now it's shaping up to be a lot more domestic stuff. like probably won't be more of the fluff than of the Krauser stuff, but it'll be a lot closer to a 50:50 mix than I had planned.

the Krauser stuff does tie into everything else too, it's not all completely unrelated

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[aberooski]

I love my gx winx au and I love that it's just bits and pieces of me being like oh that's fun and not having any semblance of lore or plot. It's purely contained to the character designs I've drawn for the girls.

[keithstits]

also omg sorry i've been neglecting this blog but as compensation... know that i'm deep into creating a longfic just for you guys.......