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my-my-my · 24 days ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 10 - Face Sitting: Shunsui Kyoraku x Female Reader

This is a slight continuation from Day 1 (grooming). Requested by @milapurr.

Summary: All work and no play make Shunsui... something something. Nanao kicks him out of the Seretei for 10 days and 10 nights, and what is poor Shunsui to do?

TW: MDNI! Alcohol consumption mention, exhausted Shunsui, face sitting (fem receiving), sixty-nine.

Word count: 2703

Read on AO3 here.

“How was your vacation, Nanao-chan?” Head Captain Kyoraku asked, a lazy smile on his face as he lounged in his seat, “you certainly look a bit different.” Kyoraku chuckled at Nanao’s growing red face.

“It was fine!” Nanao huffed, “Lieutenant Matsumoto chose a particularly warm place.” Nanao grumbled, as she slammed her gift bag on Kyoraku’s desk. Kyoraku peeped into the bag and saw some novelty items, and a particularly large bottle of alcohol.

“What’s this?” Kyoraku said, inspecting the bottle.

“Rum.” Nanao said, confidently. “It’s a specialty of the region we went to.”

Kyoraku hummed as he opened the bottle and took in the alcohol’s scent. “Maybe I should visit this place too.” He grinned, earning a glare from Nanao.

“No you don’t, sir! You need to finish all these documents before you even think about taking a vacation.” She said in a pointed tone, leaving no room for argument.

Sighing into his seat, Kyoraku grumbled and put the bottle of rum away. Page after page, Kyoraku distracted himself by dreaming of sunny skies and warm breezes.

Kyoraku poured himself the remaining drops of the rum Nanao had bought him months ago, sitting next to Ukitake’s gravestone. He sighed as he stared into the now empty bottle, it’s sweet, yet alcoholic scent lingering in the air.

“You would’ve liked this drink, Jushiro.” Kyoraku said, sighing again. He stared at the sky, there was a slight chill in the air, and the crisp breeze didn’t help but add to the forlorn mood Kyoraku was in. He drank his glass of rum, savouring its taste.

“Maybe I should go on vacation…” he muttered, staring wistfully into the sky. He was Head Commander after all, wasn’t he allowed to have a break too?

He headed back to his office, where Nanao and Okikiba were handling paperwork and other bureaucratic nonsense Kyoraku avoided to do. He looked at the stack of paper on his desk, his eyes glazing over as he skimmed through the inane notes left by Central 46.

Without even realizing, Kyoraku let out another loud sigh, surprising Nanao. It was rare for her to see her captain in a despondent mood like this. She took a hard look at him. He looked… exhausted. There was a slight dark circle and bag under his eye, and his facial hair was beginning to look unkept.

“Captain,” Nanao asked, looking at him directly in the face, “are you alright?”

Kyoraku was startled by the question, but gave a half smile, “it could be worse.” Then went back to skimming documents.

“When was the last time you went on vacation?”

Kyoraku stopped and leaned into his seat. He thought deeply but couldn’t recall an immediate answer. Since the defeat of Yhwach, the shuffling of captains and lieutenants in the Gotei 13, as well as tracking Yhwach’s residual reiatsu…

He hadn’t taken a break since more than a century ago, he realized.

Nanao gave him a sad smile, “sir, let’s finish up for today. I think we can continue these documents tomorrow.” She said, taking his completed documents off his desk. “Also, I think you need a bit of a shave.” She commented, scrutinizing his face.

Kyoraku gave her a blank stare then let out a laugh, shocking Nanao and Okikiba. Maybe he’s alright after all Nanao thought, as she continued to stare at Kyoraku. As everything was put away, Kyoraku bid his two lieutenants good night and walked to his private quarters.

Kyoraku’s alcohol collection was substantial. Sake, upon sake, wine, after wine. He had a drink for every occasion, but… nothing called to him other than the rum from Nanao. His personal servants had prepared him a meal, which was delicious, but it wasn’t fulfilling his craving. He stared at the empty bottle on his shelf as he pondered about what to do.

What Kyoraku didn’t expect the next day was Nanao pushing him out of the office and into a Senkaimon she had created. What Kyoraku also didn’t expect, was a calm sea breeze, sunny skies and Nanao casting a clothing spell on him. Instead of his Shinigami attire, Nanao had swapped his straw hat for a sun hat, and his robes for a loose-fitting button-up shirt and floral swim trunks reminiscent of his robe.

Kyoraku hummed as he inspected his surroundings, adjusting his hat to get a better view of the landscape. White sand meeting the aqua-hued ocean, with sea gulls soaring high in the sky. He wasn’t completely alone though, as he saw a few people lounging on the beach. He turned around and saw the resort in full view.

As he walked through the entrance, concierge immediately greeted him, “thank you for staying at the Grand Wailea, Mr. Kyoraku! Your assistant, Ms. Ise, had requested us to give you this.” The clerk handed Kyoraku a bottle of the rum he had been thinking about.

“My, my, she’s full of surprises, isn’t she.” He laughed, thanking them. Another staff attendant escorted Kyoraku to his suite, that had an immaculate view of the ocean, and his own private infinity pool. As if on cue, his phone linking to Soul Society, rang.

“Hello” Kyoraku answered in a chipper tone.

“Captain, I’m assuming you made it to your suite without any problems?” Nanao asked.

“Yes, yes, Nanao-chan. I—”

But before he could get a word in, Nanao interjected, “I booked your suite for 10 days and 10 nights. Please enjoy yourself sir. Also, the suite I booked you in has spa and massage services. I request you use them.” She said in a pointed tone.

Kyoraku let out a sheepish chuckle, “of course, Nanao-chan. But thank you for preparing this.”

Nanao was silent on the other end, “… you’re welcome. Enjoy your trip, sir.” And she disconnected the call.

Throwing his phone on the bed, Kyoraku looked around his suite and noticed that there was a suitcase in the corner already. Knowing Nanao, she had packed away suitable attire for him, enough for his entire stay and then some. He walked over to window in the bedroom and opened, the sea breeze filling the room.

A loud yawn escaped Kyoraku, as he plopped himself on his bed, letting the breeze and ocean waves lull him to sleep.

Kyoraku was thoroughly enjoying his stay at the resort. Nanao had booked him a rum-tasting tour, suggest a visit to the nearby casino, and other activities to fill his time. But currently, as he lounged under his umbrella on the beach, he was appreciating the view.

But not of the beautiful beach and ocean, but one that called to his baser instincts, the beautiful women in swimsuits. His eyes peered over everyone, before placing his hat on his face. With the heat of the sun, the lulling sound of the ocean waves and the sea breeze, Kyoraku fell asleep on his towel.

Until he heard a familiar laugh. His face twitched at the sound, then he heard familiar voice. He lifted his hat and looked around the beach, where he saw you.

You were with your friends, laughing, smiling and enjoying yourselves at the beach. Kyoraku smiled to himself as he looked over your swimsuit, it complimented your body beautifully. You wore a wide-brim sun hat and sunglasses as you and your friends chatted away. Your smile was as radiant as ever, Kyoraku couldn’t help but smile when he saw it.

But he didn’t want to intrude on your own vacation, so he fell back asleep.

Kyoraku jolted up, unsure of how long he napped for. Was it for a few hours? A few minutes? He couldn’t tell, the sun was still shining as bright as ever, but he looked around and saw you alone, reading something.

Kyoraku cranked out the kinks in his neck and back as he walked over to you. You didn’t notice him at all.

“What are you reading, dear?” Kyoraku inquired, smiling as he saw you jump at his voice.

“Oh Shunsui! You scared me!” You looked at him in surprise. “Come, sit with me! My friends went back to their rooms.” You smiled at him, patting down a spot next to you. Shunsui lowered himself and you gave a slight blush, remembering how much larger he was compared to you. “What brings you here?” You inquire, hoping to distract yourself.

Shunsui gave you a lazy smile, “my assistants thought I needed a vacation, so to my surprise, they booked me here.”

“That’s very kind of them to do that! It’s not easy to book a room here.” You said, a pout forming on your lips.

“Is that envy I hear in your voice, my dove.” Shunsui teased. He snickered as he brought his face close to yours.

You huffed, “no! I’m just saying, you have kind assistants, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Shunsui laughed, kissing you on the lips.

You kissed him back, much to your surprise. It had been months since you last saw each other, and as frustrating as it was for you, you were relieved to see him. You felt the familiar ache growing between your thighs as Shunsui pulled away.

“How long are staying for?” Shunsui asked, brushing his lips on your forehead. He pulled you closer to his side.

“I leave in 2 days.” You sigh, looking back to the ocean. “How about you?”

“Another week.”

You frowned again, “that must be nice.” You huffed again.

“How long were you on vacation for?” Shunsui asked, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I’m only here for four days…” you sigh, leaning into his body.

“Then why don’t you stay with me?” He asked, grinning as he saw your face drop with shock.

“Oh, I couldn’t!” You gasped, “I’d have to rebook my flight and everything, and I wouldn’t be able to cover my share of your room.”

“It’s on me, petal.” Shunsui said, cupping your chin, forcing you to look at him as he gave you a lazy smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while, and my suite is too big for just one person,” he chuckled. “And I’ll cover your flight. It’s the least I can do.”

You bit your cheek, he has a whole suite? You thought to yourself. Now you were trying to find a reason to say no. It’s not like you and your friends were flying out together… they were leaving tomorrow anyways.

“I also have a few tours and sight-seeing activities planned. But I do better with some company.” Shunsui teased, as if to sway you to stay. “Well… in that case, I guess it can’t be helped!” You said sarcastically, “someone has to make sure you attend your tours” you said, before kissing him again.

You fell on to Shunsui’s, well now your, bed, letting out a loud sigh after a busy day. You and Shunsui had swam and enjoyed the ocean waves, before you invited him to dinner with your friends. Your friends took him in stride, as you introduced him as a client, and surprisingly, Shunsui toned down his flirting in front of them. Your friends didn’t question anything, and as a token of his gratitude, Shunsui paid for the entire group’s meal.

But once dinner was over, you pretended to say goodbye to him and head back to your room… then sneaked away and move some of your things into Shunsui’s suite.

“I’m jealous, Shunsui! This suite is beautiful.” You said out loud, staring out the window. The moon was full and bright, shining into his infinity pool.

“Thank you,” Shunsui laughed, unbuttoning his dress shirt, “but that goes to my assistant. She planned my entire trip.”

“I see, she knows you very well.” You said, curiosity filling your voice.

“I suppose she does, she’s known me for most of her life.” Shunsui said calmly, entering the bedroom. “She is my niece after all. But enough about her, what have you been up to, petal? Did you miss me?” Shunsui said, standing over you.

Your heart skipped a beat as he stared down at you. His hair was down, covering the faded scar of his mysterious injury. His eyepatch was also gone, as his one eye leered at you. His muscular chest, covered with the familiar thatch of chest hair trailing down to his unfastened pants, his belt gone. Without realizing, you licked your lips as you saw a faint hint of a bulge under his trousers.

You looked at his face, lifting the skirt of your dress up. Shunsui’s eye widened at the sight. You weren’t wearing anything under your skirt. “Naughty girl, where are your manners?” Shunsui teased, as he nestled himself between your legs.

You stuck out your tongue and made a face, “I was hoping me and you could sneak out during dinner.” You teased, rubbing your already wet pussy.

Shunsui clicked his tongue, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, petal. I have something to make up for it.” He answered, giving you a devious smirk. He laid down next to you, “take off your dress and come here.” He said, pointing to his face. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t hesitate at all.

Your thighs straddled the sides of Shunsui’s head as he grabbed on to your hips. He lifted you with easy as you felt his nose brush against your clit, earning a loud moan from you. Then you felt his expert tongue swipe at your folds, lapping up your juices from your dripping cunt.

You didn’t hide your voice, letting your moans and cries out freely as Shunsui continued his feast on you. You were grateful for his strength; his hands were a vice grip on your hips as you thrashed above him.

“Shunsui, I’m- I’m” you shrieked, as your hips bucked above him. Your legs tensed up and you let out the loudest scream you could recall, your vision turning white from the pleasure Shunsui had given you. Your body then slumped in his hands, before you were pulled away from Shunsui’s face.

“My, my,” Shunsui drawled. You whined from the sudden loss, before staring at his face, clear liquid covering him.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Shunsui!” You yelped.

Shunsui laughed, “oh no apologies, kitten. Is this the first time you’ve squirted?”

You felt your face grow hot, but you nodded your head.

Shunsui gave a lazy smirk, before kissing your inner thighs, “it’s better than any dessert I could ask for.”

“Do you want seconds?” You teased, as you snuck your hand between your thighs, feeling how wet you were. You trembled at the sensation, but Shunsui was staring at you intensely.

“I’d love seconds, but face the other way this time, dear.” Shunsui asked, as you maneuvered yourself in the opposite side.

You were facing his legs, and saw his erection under his pants. But before you could grab his cock, you felt Shunsui slip his tongue between your folds again, wrapping his lips on your clit. You arched your back from the feeling, but were determined to make him feel good too.

Without hesitation, you pulled out his thick shaft, dribbling with precum. Shunsui repositioned himself to make it easier for you to swallow his cock. You groaned at the sensation of having your pussy licked, with your mouth stuffed with his cock. Shunsui’s hand left your hip and threaded itself in your hair, as he guided you against him.

The two of you were ravenous for each other, as if trying to see who would cum first. You moaned around his cock as Shunsui’s nose bumped into your clit, his tongue greedily licking the juices off your lips.

You pulled your mouth off his cock and turned your head. Shunsui pulled himself away from you and slapped your ass, “good girl.” He smiled as you ran your tongue over his cock, wanting more of him. He watched you bob your head up and down his shaft, your moans sending wonderful sensations to his cock. He then buried his face back into your pussy. This was the vacation I needed, he thought, smiling into you, thinking of all the ways he would find himself between your legs for the rest of the trip. Maybe she should try some of that rum... he thought, as you twitched above him, another orgasm rolling through your body.

The title of this on AO3 is "The Slang Word P(*)ssy Rolls Off The Tongue With Far Better Ease Than The Proper Word Vagina. Do You Agree?" by André 3000. I felt it was super fitting for Shunsui and this theme haha! I'll admit, this was a bit of a struggle to write (I didn't have an idea of where I wanted to go with this one), but I ended up finding something to work with. I hope you guys enjoy it, thanks for reading! :)

#bleach #kyoraku shunsui #kyouraku shunsui #kyouraku shuunsui #kyoraku shuunsui #bleach smut #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach fanfiction #shunsui x reader #shunsui smut #shunsui kyoraku #shunsui kyoraku x reader #shunsui kyouraku #bleach shunsui #a writes #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

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BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can.

Or you wish you were as stony as them.

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle.

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning.

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon.

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them.

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind.

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined.

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up.

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to.

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time.

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too.

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you.

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?”

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did.

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with.

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.”

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor.

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens.

This is good.

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well.

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.”

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you.

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve.

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep.

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.”

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart.

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in.

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you.

Hoseok, the prince of peace.

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him.

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.”

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere.

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.”

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well.

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it.

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall.

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you.

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips.

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.”

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him.

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly.

“You want it from the back?”

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more.

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin.

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit.

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you.

“Yes, sir.”

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant.

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later.

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint.

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?”

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum.

“Thank you, sir.”

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.”

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for.

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know.

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised.

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him.

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp.

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did.

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole.

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare.

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks.

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red.

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger.

A breath of fresh air, he is.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you.

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok.

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed.

What would the angels do in your place?

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms.

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead.

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared.

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time. “Go, I’ll get the car ready.”

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you.

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you.

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him.

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand.

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.”

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time.

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service.

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness.

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight.

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do.

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor.

Doesn’t say anything.

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?”

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.”

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe.

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.”

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.”

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.”

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly.

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being.

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go.

Three weeks ago.

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck.

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love.

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness.

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat.

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard.

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?”

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?”

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.”

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.”

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat.

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them.

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust.

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest.

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?”

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?”

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care.

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together.

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to.

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him.

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi.

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency.

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it.

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up.

You don’t really think that’s a good idea.

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.”

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook.

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more.

But he surprises you with the words he says next.

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.”

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

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yuki2sksksk · 2 months ago

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[ Trollhunter Guardian (Y/n) ]

Centuries ago

(interpret this however you want (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠))

A few notes of you living with Angor Rot:

TW: slight suggestive

You first didn't stay directly in his living space, being given a small spot on your own when you were allowed to live with the trolls.

But you often go over to his place and one sleepover after late night talk leads to numerous visits that often have some belongings of yours in his place.

The other trolls talked amongst them of how close you and Angor Rot were.

You helped them a lot with your magic and pretty much got along with most of the residents so they had no problem with you.

So when everyone finally found out about your relationship with Angor Rot, they were mostly baffled by the idea of their warrior being in a relationship.

Angor Rot didn't always stay in his quarter, often going around to patrol and help any trolls in need.

But ever since you came, he found himself coming 'home' more than often.

His living space now had some soft texture objects like mattress and curtains because of your influence

It also smells like herbs and you. He liked that a lot more than he thought he would.

So. Did the two of you ever sleep together?

More than laying on each other's side?

Yeah, but that stage took around a year and a half after you two were official.

It had been in your mind for sometime, mostly in a curiosity of how compatible your bodies might work despite the differences

Then it just happened one early morning.

You and Angor Rot came back from some hunting together, drenching from the sudden heavy pouring rain.

Clothes sticking to your skin, you had trouble getting off your gears and he offered to help.

Close proximity contact + shown body curves + had been thinking about it.

And that happened.

There was a lot of discovery happening.

#I cannot write anything more suggestive than this #i get bashful easily #angor rot x you #angor rot x reader #trollhunters angor rot #angor rot #trollhunters draal #trollhunters x reader #trollhunters tales of arcadia #tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #drawing #digital art #suggestive theme

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obsessivevoidkitten · 1 year ago

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I don't bring up politics and world events up on here very much, that isn't what this blog is about. This blog is for escapism from reality, but those who are not willing to speak out against brutality are complicit. And this is my largest platform.

Don't continue reading if you don't want to read about war and violence.

Regarding Israel and Palestine I have seen many inaccurate assumptions and outright lies.

1ST CLAIM: One claim I hear ad nauseum is that Gaza elected Hamas and therefore they deserve punishment.

Let's break this down.

A. Hamas was elected around 2006. 17 years ago. They have not allowed elections since.

B. Roughly half of the Gazan population are under 18. This means half the population wasn't born during the last election. This means that of the Gazans who were alive many were too young to vote.

C. Hamas won by a 45 percent plurality, not a majority. This means that less than half of the Gazan who did vote did so for Hamas.

So taking these facts together we can conclude that only a fraction of a fraction of Gazans alive today elected Hamas.

In fact Netanyahu was happy to fund and prop up Hamas because doing so meant dividing Palestinians between the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and Hamas in Gaza. So Netanyahu is more to blame for Hamas than Palestinians are.

2ND CLAIM: Another thing I hear a lot is that this conflict and all of the casualties are the fault of Hamas. Let me be clear, I do not support Hamas or the October 7th attack that ended up with a civilian casualty rate of around 50 percent, but that one attack doesn't exist alone or without context and nuance as many on the pro-Israel side would have people believe.

No, that attack was one incident in a line of many. Starting with the brutal apartheid, displacement, and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by Israel.

A slow motion genocide taking place over the course of many decades.

Let's look at some events leading up to and then following Oct. 7th.

It starts with the beginning of Israel. Even the often recited phrase "a land without people for a people without land" erases the existence of native people who had lived there for centuries.

In 1948 you have The Nakba. A mass displacement of Palestinians as Israel took their land. This flew in the face of the UN partition plan, after The Nakba Israel controlled 78 percent of the land, 25 percent more than the UN plan.

This trend of land theft has only continued.

Let's fast forward to more recent events.

2018-2019 The Great March of Return: For over a year there were peaceful marches protesting the Gaza border, this resulted in Israeli forces killing over 220 peaceful Palestinian protesters.

In 2019 Netanyahu admitted support for Hamas to prevent a 2 state solution.

In 2022 journalist Shireen Abu Akleh was targeted and killed by Israeli forces. Israeli forces also attacked her funeral.

Note that during this entire time Palestinians are arrested, even children, and kept in indefinite detention without trial.

In 2023 we then have the October 7th attack. But as you are now aware this isn't where the conflict started.

And clearly not where it has ended.

3RD CLAIM: And that brings us to the 3rd and most blatantly bullshit lie you will here on repeat. The notion that Israel only targets Hamas.

More UN workers have been killed in a 2 month period than have died in any other war since the UN's formation. Over 130.

If they were targeting Hamas then why have so many UN buildings, refugee camps, and hospitals been bombed?

If there goal wasn't civilians then why do civilians make up the majority of the casualities?

Why the medieval style siege/blockade that has caused hospitals to lose fuel and medicine and civilians to go hungry and thirsty?

Why parade civilians around in their underwear? Why laugh and cheer as a UN school is exploded?

Why leave babies in the NICU and force the hospital staff to leave with the promise an ambulance would be provided for the babies only for people to return once the IDF left and find the baby corpses rotting because the ambulance was never provided?

We can even leave Gaza to prove this is not about Hamas. Hamas does not lead the West Bank. And yet Palestinians there are being murdered and arrested at increased rates, their homes stolen by illegal settlers.

Israel officials have called this the Gaza Nakba, they have claimed they will make Gaza inhospitable, they have claimed there are no civilians in Gaza.

Netanyahu has said to remember Amalek.

What is Amalek? Amalek refers to Israels enemy in the bible. This phrase specifically, "Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys"

Israel wants to steal the little land the Palestinians have left. Even now they are herded and concentrated into ever smaller camps with no resources.

Idk what we can do about the situation. This post seems silly for all the good it will do. But maybe it will open the eyes of a couple people. I think that would make it worth it.

#free palestine #free gaza

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valkyyriia · 5 months ago

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A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look.

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.”

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?”

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.”

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside.

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature.

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation.

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer.

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter.

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.”

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.”

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.”

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!”

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs.

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically.

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips.

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.”

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse.

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss.

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it.

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest.

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs.

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.”

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving - you were the very image of debauchery.

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you.

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?”

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?”

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?”

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.”

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.”

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked.

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless.

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.”

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.”

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.”

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?”

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head.

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face.

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.”

Taglist: @natimiles

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7-wonders · 1 year ago

Text

To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)

Calliope & Reader, Morpheus/Dream of the Endless & Reader

Summary: Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.

Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: A couple of months ago, I received an ask, seen below, and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. After a lot of brainstorming with the wonderful sender of the ask (not sure if they want to be named!), I finally sat down to write it.

So, here we are! This story took on a mind of its own the longer I wrote (perhaps the Muse Calliope paid me a visit haha), and it's genuinely something that I'm so proud to have produced. It's not necessarily an x reader fic—right now, though depending on reader reaction there may be future parts (including a Calliope/Morpheus POV of these events)—so I absolutely understand if you choose not to read, but I hope that you do. In the end, this is truly Calliope's story.

A story of empowerment, friendship, freedom, and self-discovery.

Content warnings for this work include allusions to sexual assault, general trauma, Richard Madoc, vomiting, kidnapping, realizations of inadvertent kidnapping, mentions of death, and Nightmare!Morpheus. Reader discretion is advised.

The man standing at the front of the room taps his fingers along the edge of his lectern, savoring the enraptured faces that stare back at him. For those in his class, this is expected of him—he always gets a dramatic air about him when he’s on the verge of making the point that he had been working towards for the entire lecture and looping it back to the thesis statement from the beginning of the hour. Though it was routine by now, practically tradition, the students still ate it up every time.

“The theme between all of these authors–the Fitzgeralds and the Hemingways, the Tolkeins and the Orwells–is that their words carry power and strength. While they may look like mere letters strung together on a sheet of paper, when read together, these words have a weight behind them. They can conjure up worlds, inspire the masses, make readers think critically; it’s a type of magic when you really think about it.”

He checks his watch before clapping his hands together in finality and smiling out at the room.

“Well, my friends, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you very much for joining me, and please make sure that you have your essays on the influences of World War One and its aftermath on the literature of the time ready for our next class. See you then!”

When your university announced that world-renowned author Ric Madoc would be a visiting professor for the semester, you immediately jumped on the long list of students interested in taking one of the three classes that were going to be taught by him. You had absolutely no hope that you would get into the class, not when it seemed like half the student body was also signed up, but you had to at least try. The Spirit Who Had Half of Everything was one of your favorite books of all time, and you’d be remiss not to attempt to learn from the master himself.

Somehow, much to your surprise, you had received an email informing you that you earned a spot in Madoc’s “Great Works of the 20th Century” class. The class had lived up to the hype so far and you were thoroughly enjoying it, even though it wasn’t exactly related to your field of study. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you normally stayed behind with a group of students to continue having a discussion with Madoc about the aforementioned great works. Today, unfortunately, you couldn’t, having to rush out immediately after class was over to make it to your group project meeting in the library on time.

Of course, it’s difficult to get any sort of work done when one happens to be randomly paired with their best friend, but you’re trying your hardest.

“Psst.” You don’t look up, choosing instead to try and finish the sentence you’re writing, but a balled-up gum wrapper hits you smack in the center of the forehead. “Hey!”

After you’ve finished typing, you look across the table at Evie, your best friend. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“Do you wanna come out with me and a couple of others tonight?”

“It’s Thursday.”

She shrugs. “So?”

Points were made, and who are you to resist a good argument? “Convincing. I’m in! I just have to run home real quick and get changed.”

As you search through your bag, you start to feel your heart plummeting in your chest as you realize that you can’t find your keys. Digging through the contents furiously in the hopes that they’ll turn up yields no results, and neither does patting at the pockets you know are empty. With horror in your eyes and fear in your heart, you look back up at her.

“Fuck, I lost my keys.”

“Shit, dude. Do you remember where you last had them?”

“Um.”

You have to think for a moment, mentally retracing your steps until you can definitively pinpoint the last time you saw your keys. They were with you in the parking lot, because you remember locking your car twice just to be sure that you did. From there, you would have been holding them in your hand as you walked to Madoc’s class. Considering you went straight from class to the library, there are limited options for where they could be. Either you left them in the lecture hall or you dropped them somewhere on campus. For your sake, you hope it’s the former.

On the syllabus, Madoc had given the class his work cell phone number in case of emergencies like being unable to make it to class or an act of God destroying your homework. Though you doubted you would need it at the time, you still saved it in your phone to be on the safe side. Now, as you pull up his contact and start a new conversation, you thank past-you for having such good foresight.

You: Hey, great class today! Did you happen to find a set of keys left behind in the lecture hall? I’m missing mine.

After a second of contemplation, you send another text with your first and last name when you realize he probably doesn’t know who it is texting him. It only takes a couple of anxious minutes before your phone chimes.

Richard Madoc: Hello! Would these happen to be the keys in question?

Richard Madoc: Attachment

The keys are immediately recognizable as yours, thanks to the keychain of a possum wearing a cowboy hat that’s attached to them. You sigh in immense relief before glancing up at Evie, who’s been watching with bated breath the entire time. “I left them in Madoc’s class.”

“Oh thank god!”

You: They are! Any chance you’re still on campus so I can swing by and grab them?

Richard Madoc: I’m afraid I’ve already left for the day, but I live pretty close to the uni if you’d be willing to pick them up from my flat.

He sends an address in the following text, which you promptly input in your maps app so you can see where said address is located. It’s maybe a five-minute drive from campus and conveniently located in the direction of your apartment.

You: Will be there in a bit! Thank you :)

“He already left, I’d have to pick them up from his place,” you explain.

Evie immediately fixes you with a look, one that says she’s seen this particular move before (and she didn’t like the ending). “Do you want me to come with you?”

The unspoken words hang in the air between you: Do you feel safe going to an unfamiliar man’s house alone? Should I come to make sure nothing bad happens? It’s very thoughtful of her, and you consider saying yes for a moment.

But Evie lives in the opposite direction of you, and she doesn’t have a car. While you don’t know Madoc well, you’re also not expecting him to try anything on you, especially when it’s still light out.

“I should be okay,” you say.

“You’re sure?” Evie double-checks, and you nod. “Call me before you get there, okay? Just…have me on the line, in your back pocket. It’d make me feel better about letting you go on your own.”

How did you get so lucky to have such a great friend like Evie? Of course, you would do the same for Evie in a heartbeat, but it’s so nice to have found a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands you and all your little quirks, so early in your adulthood.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you tease. “But yeah, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, sliding her papers and her laptop into her backpack. “Now let’s go. The sooner you get your keys, the sooner we can go and get drunk.”

It feels a little dumb to be driving such a short distance, from the campus to the address that Madoc had given you. You’re exactly the type of person that’s killing the planet with unnecessary carbon emissions when you could just as easily walk, you chastise yourself on the way over.

But you had driven to class this morning, that being a distance actually too far to walk, and it would be stupid to walk to Madoc’s, get your keys, walk back to campus, and then drive home. So here you are, beating yourself up over something stupid and inconsequential while you try your best to parallel park in a respectable manner in front of Madoc’s little townhouse.

It’s exactly the type of lodgings you’d expect a university professor to have, yet almost the opposite of what you envisioned as a successful author’s home; a small, yet stately, townhouse with a little fenced-in front yard. Plants try their hardest to survive in the patch of dirt that’s probably supposed to be a garden, and there’s a small chair and table perfect for Sunday mornings sitting on the front stoop.

The gate creaks when you open it, and even more when you close it behind you. At the last second, you remember that you promised to call Evie, so you pull out your phone and do just that.

“Hey, you there?” Evie answers her phone.

“Yeah, just got here. Putting you in my pocket now.”

Even though the idea felt a little like an overreaction, you can’t deny that you feel safer now knowing that Evie’s listening on the phone.

You knock on the dark blue front door once, twice, three times before taking a step back and waiting patiently. After about thirty seconds, you start to worry that Madoc’s not home. But no, that wouldn’t make sense; you talked to him maybe half an hour ago, and he knew that you were on your way to pick up your keys. Frowning, you knock again, followed by holding your ear to the door to see if you can hear anything.

He’s definitely inside. Though the sound is muffled, you can hear what sounds like him yelling at somebody through the door. Who the source of his ire is, you can’t say, because there’s nobody saying anything back to him. Maybe he’s having a really heated conversation on the phone? If that’s the case, it’s a pretty inconvenient time to launch into a virtual argument.

You don’t want to be rude and knock for a third separate time, but you really do need your keys, and you’d prefer to not be kept standing out here waiting. Begrudgingly, you knock yet again, putting a considerable amount of force behind it this time.

“Mr. Madoc?” you call through the door, raising your voice enough that you’re sure he’s heard you. By the way that he suddenly falls silent, you’re assuming that you’ve been successful. Pulling back from your position right up against the door, you wait for him to appear.

When the door is yanked open, you’re shocked at what you see. Gone is the confident lecturer who stood at the front of your class this afternoon. The man in front of you looks positively haggard. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his bottom lip quivers almost as furiously as his hands shake. His hair is a mess, as though he’s been pulling at it, and his shirt is weirdly rumpled like he fell asleep in it.

You take a big step back when his eyes land wildly on you without really seeing you. Your hand goes to your back pocket, hovering just above your phone in case this encounter goes south and you need to have Evie do…something. Call the cops? Yell at Madoc through the phone? Scream? Whatever it is, though, she’ll do it for you.

“Hi. Um, you–”

Madoc shakes his head back and forth and begins to mumble something, completely ignoring you and your presence. He reaches one of his hands further inside the house, grabbing at something unseen. Your body tenses, preparing to fight this man that, up until two minutes ago, you had believed to be completely sane and rational.

His hand comes back into view, tightly gripping a woman’s upper arm. She’s barefoot and clad only in a thin silk nightgown, and you can see the goosebumps already appearing on her skin.

“A city in which the streets are paved with time,” he mumbles a little louder, allowing you to hear what he’s rambling about. “A train full of silent women, plowing forever through the twilight. Heads made of light. A small piece of blue cardboard. A plum, sweet and tart and cold.”

“Mr. Madoc, are you alright?”

Instead of answering you, Madoc throws the woman across the threshold and towards you. You catch her in your arms, both of you stumbling backward, but you let go when you notice how she immediately tenses at your touch.

“She’s your problem now, I can’t do this anymore!” Madoc begins to pull at his hair, so hard that you think he might end up pulling it out of his head. “I refuse to be tortured any longer!”

“What are you talking about?”

He’s lost his damn mind, you think to yourself as he continues to spout the most random of ideas. You thought that you had properly calculated the risks of coming over here on your own, but apparently, you’re bad at math.

“A were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon. Griffins shouldn’t marry. Vampires don’t dance.” Madoc shakes and smacks himself multiple times as if to try and snap himself out of whatever he’s gotten into. “A man who inherits a library card to the library in Alexandria. A rose bush, a nightingale, and a black rubber dog collar!”

You’re so thrown off by what you’re witnessing that you don’t even realize he’s closing the door until the sound of it hitting the doorframe reminds you why you’re here. You bang your fist against the door and yell at him, “Hey! Give me my fucking keys!”

Madoc opens the door just enough to throw your keys at you, which you fumble and nearly drop until catching them by the stupid cowboy possum keychain, before slamming it shut again. From within, you can hear several locks clicking shut loudly in quick succession.

The speed with which this entire interaction has occurred leaves your head spinning, and you have to take a moment to realize that yes, what you just experienced was real. Even then, you stare at the door bemusedly. “What the fuck?”

“I do not believe he will be coming back,” an accented voice says from behind you.

You can’t stop the little scream of surprise that leaves you when you whip around to face the woman who, until this moment, you forgot had been kicked out of Madoc’s house. She stares at you, just as warily as you’re probably staring at her.

She’s otherworldly beautiful, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. But what stands out the most is just how visibly scared she is. She watches you like you’re a predator readying to attack. You hate it because you’d never do anything like that to anybody, but especially her. What had Madoc done to cause her to have this reaction to a stranger?

Evie’s voice rises tinnily from the phone in your back pocket, loud and panicked, and you remember that she’s been on the phone this whole time. You pull your phone out and hold it up to your ear, having to put a little distance between it due to how she’s yelling.

“—I swear, I’m two seconds away from calling the cops! Please just let me know you’re okay!”

“Evie, hey, I’m here,” you say, making her cry out in relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I was scared when I heard yelling!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Pretty sure I just watched Madoc have a mental breakdown?” Is that what that was? You can’t say for certain, considering this is your first such occasion.

“Seriously? Well, did you get your keys, at least?”

“After he finished rambling about were-goldfish and plums.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you going to call somebody?”

“Who would I call? And anyway, maybe this is normal for him.”

“If that’s normal, I’d hate to see what abnormal is.” She sighs. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Um,” you trail off, looking at the woman. “Y’know, I might take a rain check, if that’s okay. I’m a little shaken up by everything that just happened.”

“I bet, that sounds like it was really scary. We’ll miss you, but take care of yourself. If you do decide to come out, just text me and I’ll tell you where we’re at.”

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

You hang up the phone, and now you and the woman are left awkwardly staring at each other. How are you supposed to approach a situation like this? Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you hold your hands with the palms facing out so that she can see you’re not holding any weapons and decide to just start from the beginning.

“Hi.”

She nods back in greeting, trying to hold herself with as much dignity as she can in this situation. The chill of the night and her lack of proper clothing leave her trembling in front of you, though some of that is likely from fear too, and you can see bruises in various shades of healing up and down her arms. Worse, there are visible fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing her neck. Though you’ve never been particularly violent, you’re tempted to break down Madoc’s door and do unto him what he’s obviously done to this woman.

“Are you cold? I have a spare jacket if you want it.” You point the hundred or so feet to where your car sits. “Here, let’s go over to my car, I’m just parked on the street right there.”

The woman attempts to gauge you and, presumably, your intentions. Though this is her decision to make, you give her a friendly smile in the hopes of convincing her that you have no ill will toward her. After a moment, she nods hesitantly.

You take the lead as you walk down the front path to your car, mainly to show that she holds the power here. There will be nobody sneaking up on this woman or trying anything, and she’s free to run far away from you if that’s what she chooses.

Still, she follows you, and waits patiently while you dig around in your back seat until you finally come up with the light jacket that you had tossed back there after an outdoor movie night. You hand it to her and she shrugs it on, holding it tightly around her and trying to hide within the cotton fabric.

You don’t want to ask the question that’s on your mind, but you know that you have to. You need some sort of context for the situation. “Was…Madoc keeping you locked up in there?” She nods, and you feel your stomach roil with sick nausea. “Okay. We need to call the cops, so they can come and arrest him.”

“No!” she says firmly, a departure from how soft-spoken she previously was. “Please, I beg you, no authorities.”

“But…”

Maybe he hadn’t kidnapped her like you found yourself assuming at first. Perhaps this is a severe case of domestic violence? Regardless, she looks like the poster child for abused women, and you’re not about to disrespect her wishes when this is probably the first choice she’s been able to make for herself in a long time.

“Okay,” you agree. “No cops.”

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved that it makes you want to cry.

An idea begins to form in your head, but one that you’re not sure how to begin to broach. After all, the woman in front of you has absolutely no reason to trust you. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “No, I have…nowhere, and nobody.”

That settles it. You’re not about to leave a battered, formerly-trapped woman to fend for herself on the streets. “So listen. I have a spare room at my place, and you’re completely welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“Oh, I could not impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” you assure her. “Please, it’s the least I can do. At least until you get back on your feet.”

She studies you again. Though you don’t know what she’s looking for, you can tell that she’s the kind of intuitive person that sees beyond that which is only skin-deep. Finally, she says, “Alright.”

You grin and open the passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Alright.”

After getting the car started and the heat turned up all the way, you watch as the woman fiddles with the airflow of the heater until it’s blowing directly on her delicate hands, which she holds in front of her to warm up. She looks at you as if realizing for the first time that you could betray her trust much in the same way as Ric Madoc had. To prove to her that you won’t, you unlock the doors when they try to lock automatically in response to you putting the car in ‘drive’.

You tell her your name, and for the first time, she smiles. It’s a small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it’s there. “I am Calliope.”

“Oh cool, like the Muse!” Her smile widens until she’s actually smiling, leaving you delighted. “Your parents were into Greek mythology, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

As you drive to your apartment, Calliope turns in her seat and watches as Madoc’s apartment grows smaller and smaller behind your car. Even after it’s disappeared behind turns and other buildings, she still watches, perhaps waiting for him to come back to his senses and come after her. But there will be none of that tonight, or ever again. Not as long as you have anything to do about it.

When you get home, you continue the routine of taking the lead and allowing Calliope to decide whether or not she wants to follow you. Calliope lingers in the entryway of your apartment, taking her time carefully cataloging everything that she can see as you work at getting the lights turned on and trying to clean up a little bit—after all, you hadn’t exactly expected a houseguest when you left for class this morning.

She runs her fingers along the walls and the frames of artwork that you’ve acquired at festivals and flea markets. She feels the coats on your coat rack, and her dark, inquisitive eyes scan over the battered toaster and soft fruit in your kitchen. As she walks further into your home, she takes care to take up as little space as possible until she reaches where you stand in front of a closed door.

“My old roommate moved in with their girlfriend a couple of months ago, and they don’t know what they want to do with her furniture, so they’re just storing it here until they can figure it out,” you explain as you open the door and flick on the light switch to reveal a bare bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a full bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk and chair. “Now, it’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“For as long as you need it,” you repeat.

Hesitantly stepping inside, Calliope looks over the room before nodding in satisfaction. You can only hope that she had a space of her own in Madoc’s house, but by the way that she looks around like she’s never seen something so wonderful as an empty bedroom before, you’re left with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the case.

“So! I’ll grab some sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and get the bed made up for you. Um, all of the doors lock on the inside, so feel free to keep yourself and your space private. Do you want to take a shower? Because you definitely can. Avery—that’s my old roommate—left some of the clothes they didn’t want behind, and they’re about your size, I think.” You’re rambling, but you just want to make her feel as welcome as possible.

“A shower would be…nice,” Calliope decides.

“Awesome! The bathroom’s right through here, c’mon.”

In the bathroom, Calliope watches as you grab a couple of towels from the closet, along with the sheets and blanket you mentioned earlier. You set the towels down on the closed toilet lid next to the shower.

“Feel free to use any of my stuff here, it’s totally fine,” you explain, pulling back the shower curtain so Calliope can see your haircare products and body wash.

Instead of looking over that array, she simply stares at the chrome of the shower faucet in confusion.

“Oh yeah, the shower’s a little weird here. All you have to do is turn the handle, and then pull the plug on the faucet for the shower.” You show her as you explain it. “Turn the handle left for hot water, and right for cold. Got it?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just yell if you need anything from me.”

You close the bathroom door behind you and after a long moment, you finally hear the lock turn.

Good. In the meantime, you’ll make a quick meal for her, in case she’s hungry. Plus, you need to keep your hands busy. It will help take your mind off of the horrors you’re trying desperately to forget that you witnessed.

•••

Four days later, Evie runs up to you on campus when she sees you and wraps both of her hands around your upper arm before pulling you towards her. “Did you hear?”

“What?” You’re more focused on not falling over your feet at the sudden change of pace you’ve been forced into than you are wondering what you did or didn’t hear.

“You were right. Mr. Madoc had a complete mental breakdown! Somebody called in a welfare check on him, and the cops found him curled up in a ball mumbling gibberish. He hadn’t moved for days. You know the worst part, though?”

You shake your head.

“He covered every single wall of his house with the most random words and phrases, and they were all written in his own blood.”

You reel back. “Jesus!”

“I know, totally gory.” By her laugh, you can tell that she enjoys the gore.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you haven’t told Evie anything about what happened after you hung up with her that night. It certainly wasn’t deliberate; you’ve just been so caught up in the sudden change in your living arrangements that you haven’t had the time to text or call her about what you went through.

With that in mind, you say, “I have something to tell you.”

Evie’s eyes immediately light up at the prospect of gossip. “You do?”

You nod. “That night, when I went to his house? He grabbed this woman from inside his house and just threw her at me, saying that she was my problem now. She was all bruised and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he treated her like she was his property. Evie, she said he kept her trapped there.”

“What the fuck.” Evie stares at you in horror. “Is she okay now?”

“Physically, yeah. She’s staying with me.”

“At your apartment?”

“Where else? Her name’s Calliope. I’m letting her stay in Avery’s old room until she gets back on her feet again.”

Evie whistles lowly. “I can’t tell if that’s kind of you or stupid of you.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah, probably.”

As you walk, an astute observation comes to your mind. “Y’know, it makes sense that he’s such a piece of shit. Now that I think about it, the only authors we ever discussed in class were white guys.”

“Hmm, typical white man.” Evie rolls her eyes before she grins. “Hey, can I meet her?”

“Calliope?”

“Who else?”

You have to think about that for a minute. Would she be comfortable with meeting new people and putting herself out there? While you think that your friends are great, especially Evie, you just don’t want to force her into anything before she’s ready.

Evie seems to sense this hesitation, and explains, “She just seems like she needs some friends. A support system might be good for her while she tries to get her life back!”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll ask her if she wants to do something like that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Evie says. “In the meantime, is there anything that I can do to help? Like, does she need clothes? Kiara’s aunt owns that boutique, and she would probably be willing to help out.”

That’s a good idea and one that you hadn’t even considered. Obviously, Calliope’s going to want some clothes of her own instead of Avery’s hand-me-downs. It’ll probably help her to feel more like a human being, one with choice and agency over herself.

“Oh, would you ask her to talk to her aunt?” you ask. “That’d be great.”

Evie nods. “Definitely. I feel like that’s, like, the least I can do.”

“I wish there was more that I could do,” you admit.

“You’re doing what you can, and that’s what matters. Hell, most people wouldn’t have even offered to let a woman in Calliope’s situation stay with them. You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“Eh, what are friends for, if not to reassure you that taking in a random woman on a whim is the right idea?” You huff in mock anger, and Evie laughs. “Anyways, you’ll never guess what the university is trying to do about the whole Madoc situation now…”

•••

Calliope doesn’t come out of her room when you’re around, not that you blame her. If you had gone through even an ounce of what you suspect she had, you’d want to be safe and alone for a long time, no matter how nice your new roommate is (and you like to think you’re pretty nice). You hear her sneak around when she knows that you’re in your own bedroom, as quiet as a mouse, and every night without fail, she takes a long shower. Other than that, it feels like you’re still living alone.

Since you don’t know how often she’s eating, and she doesn’t leave dishes or any sort of indication that she’s getting food for herself, you leave meals out in front of her door for her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sticky notes accompany them, because you have things that you want her to know and this is the only way to communicate with her right now.

“Feel free to grab food from the kitchen whenever you want!”

“I have great books, and you’re more than welcome to them.”

“If you find yourself wanting to watch TV, the remote is on the coffee table!”

Each message is signed with a smiley face, and each one is gone when the empty tray is returned outside her door.

The empty trays and, eventually, the books that go missing from your bookshelf are the only signs of life that you receive from Calliope.

When Calliope finally emerges while you’re home and not in your room, it’s six days after Ric Madoc threw her into your arms. You’re sitting on your couch reading fanfiction, a random YouTube video playing in the background when Calliope’s door creaks open and she peeks her head out hesitantly. Immediately you pause the video, smiling brightly when she notices you looking at her.

“Hi!” you greet.

“Hello.” She slowly exits her room clutching the book she’s been reading, as skittish as a feral kitten, and you slide over on the couch before patting the now-empty other side in invitation.

“You can come sit if you want. I’m just reading.”

“What are you reading?” Calliope asks, perching on the edge of the cushion as though she’s preparing for escape at any moment.

The smile freezes on your face. Just because you’re happy your new roommate is here doesn’t mean you’re about to out yourself as a fanfiction reader. “Oh, just a fantasy book.”

“Why do you have that…television on, then?” Calliope says this as though she’s still unfamiliar with the concept of television.

“I like the background noise of putting on shows that I’ve already seen. Helps me focus.”

She looks at you like that’s one of the oddest things she’s ever heard. Maybe it is, but it’s your little habit, and it has been for so long that it’s normal now. You hit play again, and Calliope starts a bit as sound comes through the speakers on the TV. Funnily, even though she seems to not understand your reasoning, the sound itself helps her to relax enough that she’s sitting on the couch with you instead of hovering like she’s preparing to bolt at any moment.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to make her think that you’re dictating what she can and cannot do. Eventually, Calliope decides to follow your lead and open her book, though she keeps getting distracted by the TV and eventually forgoes the book entirely in favor of watching the show.

“The tall one does not believe in ghosts, but the little one does?” Calliope asks out of the blue. You swallow down your laugh at her description of the hosts and nod.

“Mhm, and that’s what makes the show so good, is that dichotomy between the two hosts. One is so serious about everything they do, every noise that they hear, and the other is just dancing around and begging the demons to possess him or whatever because he thinks they’re not real and so saying this stuff can’t hurt him.”

She watches silently for another few minutes before asking, “Why are they searching for ghosts in the first place?”

“Well, because people love trying to solve the unsolved. And I think ghosts and the question of their existence is one of the ultimate unsolved mysteries.” She nods in satisfaction and turns back to the show, and you decide to turn off your phone and join her.

Calliope, as it turns out, enjoys television, if only for the strange concepts of some of the shows. You’re more than happy to show her all of the strangest and best shows, with the bonus of getting to see them anew through her eyes, which seem to be watching everything for the very first time.

•••

It’s mid-afternoon, and instead of being outside on what’s turning out to be a beautiful day, you’re stuck doing homework.

Everybody had assumed that Ric Madoc’s classes would be canceled after his abrupt admission into the Saint Dymphna Mental Health Hospital. The university, however, not wanting to just give out automatic passing grades without merit, had scrambled to try and find professors to teach Madoc’s classes. Somehow, they had succeeded, and you were now once again immersed in the world of 20th-century authors. Though your new professor didn’t have the ability to truly capture a room in the same way Madoc had, she was a fine replacement, and she devoted a good chunk of class time to women authors.

It’s too nice of a day to not take advantage of, though. That first true spring day after a long, harsh winter has finally arrived, and you won’t let it pass you by. All of the windows are open to allow the stale air of the apartment to dissipate, and as you write, you listen to the birds chirping and people doing yard work. Maybe, if you finish quickly enough, you’ll be able to take a walk yourself.

Calliope would probably enjoy that as well, you think.

The woman in question knocks on your open bedroom door, and you look up at her with a smile from your desk. She clocks the computer and the notes spread around you and grows sheepish.

“I’m sorry, you are busy. I’ll–”

“No, don’t worry! Just finishing up an essay for a class. Got a crazy burst of motivation for it, and ended up knocking it out in a couple of hours. It’ll be good to look away from the screen.”

Calliope gets that funny little smile on her face, the one that says that she has found something amusing but is going to keep it to herself. She waits patiently as you stretch, wincing when she hears the way that your shoulders pop and crack after hours of stagnancy.

“What’s up?” you ask. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

Calliope points out of your bedroom. “What is out there?”

You stand so that you can see what it is she’s referencing, and find that she’s pointing to your sliding door.

“Oh, it’s a little balcony. I don’t go out there much right now, still a little too chilly, but it’ll be nice to sit out there once summer comes. Here, I’ll show you.”

It’s the first time this season that it’s been nice enough to have the door open, which is probably why she’s only just now realized it’s there. You open the screen door and lead her out onto your balcony. It’s small, but you spent last summer adding to it and making it a comforting place to relax. Now, there are lights strung up above your heads, and there are two chairs with a table in between them. Planters sit lined up along the iron of the balcony railing, ready to be filled when planting season comes around.

Calliope gasps, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong (part of you is worried that a snake managed to find its way up to the third floor), when she tilts her face up to the sun, leaning over the railing to try and get as much of the light on her as possible. She looks like a painting come to life, probably with a name like “Muse Bathed in the Sun”, because truly, Calliope seems like the type of person to inspire every person lucky enough to make her acquaintance.

“Helios,” you hear Calliope whisper reverently.

It’s obvious that she isn’t aware that she said that out loud, and you start to feel embarrassed before she turns back to you with a true smile and tears running down her face.

“I have not been outside in the sun in so long.”

She explains this simply and factually, as if she’s talking about why the sun is where it is and not about all that she was deprived of during her captivity. Madoc didn’t even let her go outside. It’s a good thing that he’s under secure watch 24/7, because there have been many times over the almost-three weeks that Calliope has lived with you that you have wished to be able to go and inflict upon him a modicum of that which he did to Calliope.

Now tears are running down your face too, and you wipe at them harshly with the backs of your hands. This is Calliope’s moment, Calliope’s joy, and you won’t have her feeling sorry for making you experience such happiness and broken-heartedness by watching her.

“It’s here no matter what. Even if it’s a little cold, bring a blanket out and sit whenever you want. Soon, we’ll be able to plant some stuff. You can help me if you want!”

Calliope’s back to facing the sun directly, but she still nods to let you know that it’s a good idea. Quietly, you back up into the apartment and close the screen door behind you, letting her have this time of reconnection to herself.

Most mornings after this rediscovery, you find Calliope already sitting on the balcony by the time you wake up, a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of something hot in her hands, a book on her lap, and the sun bathing her skin.

•••

“Y’know what, I’m gonna give that one a three.”

“A three?” Calliope tuts. “That is cruel. His performance was at least a six.”

“C’mon Cal, you’re just saying that because you see the best in everybody! The rest of us saw a douchey frat bro drunkenly singing ‘SexyBack,’ which earned him a three. And that’s me being generous.”

Calliope and your friend Ethan are, of course, judging the karaoke performances of the bar patrons brave (or stupid) enough to sing in front of others. They, along with your friend Kiara, take this tradition very seriously. For every performance, the three of them have detailed notes and a rating out of ten to go along with it.

You had finally given in to Evie’s pleadings and decided to broach the subject of going out in public to Calliope. Much to your surprise, she accepted when you first invited her to karaoke night with your friends at the group’s favorite bar. She accepted when you offered to bring her to trivia, and she accepted when your friends finally got around to doing a book club meeting—which was mainly just drinking and eating appetizers while you talked about the books you’d read, but it still counted.

(Taking Calliope to her first drag show quickly became one of your favorite and most cherished memories)

She took to your friend group like a duck to water, and in return, they embraced her wholeheartedly. Now, none of you could imagine a life without her in it.

And slowly, it seemed as though Calliope began to start to heal. With every bar meetup, movie night, or random coffee date, you saw a bit more light return back to Calliope. Flashes of the woman that she once was, vibrant and funny and elegant and wise, begin to become more frequent as the days pass. Every time she allows for a hug or every time she smirks into her glass after saying something that has the group erupting in laughter, she becomes more and more herself.

“Oh my god, it’s our turn!” Ethan yells suddenly after the karaoke emcee calls his and Evie’s names. He stands and holds his hand out to Evie, who happily takes it and jumps up with him. “Let’s go knock some socks off.”

This will either go one of two ways. They’ll either perform their serious song, “Bennie and the Jets,” which they’re surprisingly good at, or they’ll go funny and perform the Sharpay and Ryan version of “What I’ve Been Lookin’ For” from High School Musical, which they’re also really good at. By their tipsy giggles, you’re guessing it’s the latter.

The second they both start doing the Sharpay and Ryan hype-up routine, Kiara sighs and grabs her drink and phone.

“I promised these dumbasses I’d film them the next time they performed this,” she explains before going to work as an unpaid videographer.

Throughout their entire routine, Calliope’s enthralled, as she should be. It’s a good performance, of course, but Evie and Ethan together are a true comedic duo. The matching jazz squares during the instrumentals truly bring the whole piece together, and you’re in tears from laughter by the end of their routine. When they return to the table after a rousing standing ovation from the patrons of the bar, Calliope gives them her own round of applause and beams.

Naturally, she bestows upon them the highest ranking one can receive during karaoke nights. “Now that was a ten.”

Ethan bows as Evie kisses Calliope’s cheek. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says proudly.

“When do you get the time to practice this?”

“Nights like this, usually,” Evie explains before Ethan interrupts.

“Though we have been known to skip a class or two when we were trying to work out the kinks in our performance.” Ethan picks up his drink before frowning when he sees there’s nothing but melting ice cubes in the glass. “Well, apparently I need another drink. Anybody else?”

Everyone at the table shakes their head, but Kiara reaches into her jacket. “No, but I am gonna go hit my pen.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with you,” Evie volunteers cheerfully.

“Weed thief,” Kiara teases.

“Are you telling me no?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no!”

Your friends go their separate ways, leaving you and Calliope to sit alone at the table. The next singer has already started, and you grin when you hear what it is.

“Oh, I love this song,” you tell Calliope before singing along. “‘Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight, ‘til tomorrow I’ll be holding you tight!”

Beside you, Calliope grows a little gloomy. She’s frowning a bit; even if it’s barely there, you can always tell because it completely transforms her beautiful face into something so sad. You stop humming and look over at her, watching as she slowly swirls her straw in her drink repeatedly to give her something to do.

“Having fun?” you ask, slightly worried at the sudden melancholy that seems to have draped over her like a shroud.

“Yes,” she tries to assure you, but it sounds clipped, like she’s holding back.

“You know you don’t have to come just because I invited you, right? You can do whatever you want.” You never want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to do anything, and even though she’s been having fun up until now, there’s still that anxiety that tells you that she’s just going along with it because she feels like she owes you.

“I know,” Calliope assures. “But I enjoy you and your group of friends. You make me feel…welcomed, and accepted, in a way that I have not felt in a long time.”

“They’re your friends now too. Pretty sure they decided that the second they met you.”

“I consider them friends as well. I consider you a friend as well, though I hope you know that by now.” She smiles down at her drink. “Besides, I quite like the karaoke nights.”

“I can tell. You never sing with us, though.”

“I don’t need to, I just enjoy listening. The people singing, and enjoying themselves, it reminds me of my son. He, too, loved to sing, and he was gifted with such a beautiful voice.”

“You have a son?” This takes you by surprise. Though Calliope seems to be very maternal, she’s never mentioned anything about a child until now. The fact that she talks about him in the past tense has your heart sinking into your stomach from the implications.

Calliope nods. “My sweet boy, my Orpheus. He was beautiful, and heartbreakingly sweet. He had a voice that could bring even the gods themselves to tears. He was taken from me…far too soon, and I miss him every day, with every fiber of my being. Being here, among so many people happy and making music—I see his face in all of theirs, and it brings me some sense of peace, to know that I can find pieces of him here, in the most unlikely of places..”

It’s sweet that she kept the Greek mythology theme going with her own son, you think, though it’s tragic that he suffered the same fate as his namesake.

“He was so lucky to have a mom like you, Calliope. Any child would be.” You lick your lips and taste the sweetness of alcohol on them as you ponder what to say next. “His life might have ended too soon, but he knew that he was completely and truly loved until the very end, which is such a gift.”

Tears well up in Calliope’s eyes, and she dabs at them with a napkin grabbed hastily from the table. “Thank you,” she chokes out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Ah, now you’re gonna go and make me cry too. Can I hug you?”

You always, always ask for permission before hugging her or touching her. She doesn’t seem to mind anymore when friends do it without asking, but you can’t break yourself of the habit.

Not after seeing what you saw the night that you met her.

She doesn’t give you an answer in the form of words. Instead, she simply falls into your arms, both of you clinging to the other.

From behind you, Ethan whispers, “Uh, are we interrupting something?”

•••

Evie has a date tonight and is naturally freaking out about it. She doesn’t know what to wear, she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, she doesn’t know if she’s even going to like the girl. Though you can provide her with all of the moral support in the world, there’s only one problem that you can currently help her with, which is how she ends up rifling furiously through your closet on a random Wednesday night.

You and Calliope sit on your bed, watching as Evie grabs different outfits and either critiques them herself or holds them up for you to do so. This is a tried-and-true routine for you, but Calliope’s experiencing the joys of helping a friend in need pick out a first date outfit for the first time. As a result, she puts far more thought into her responses when Evie asks for an opinion.

“You know, I believe I may have just the shirt for you in my room,” Calliope says after the outfit rejections have reached double digits. “Come.”

Calliope has truly made her room her own in the almost two months that she’s lived here, which makes you so happy to see. She’s decorated with items found antiquing (Calliope always manages to come out of an antique store with a haul—you think it's her superpower), and her room has an actual personality now.

She goes to her closet and begins searching through it before finding what she’s looking for; a white blouse with bell sleeves and delicate embroidering along the cuffs and collar. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Evie was looking for. Her attention, however, is drawn to something else in the closet, and she grabs at one of the hangers after approving Calliope’s choice. To your surprise, Evie comes up holding a cream-colored, silk nightgown.

“Wait, Cal, you still have the nightgown you were wearing the night you got away?” you ask.

It would be cruel to say anything more than the most vague descriptions regarding Calliope’s imprisonment. Nobody particularly wanted to remind her of that dark time in her life, so great care was taken to make it the least bit triggering as possible when it needed to be brought up.

She nods.

“Why?”

Calliope thinks about that for a moment. “I am not sure, to be honest. I certainly do not want to keep a relic of such a terrible time, but throwing it away does not feel…right.”

Evie perks up. “Ooh, y’know what we should do? We should burn that bitch!”

Calliope looks perturbed. “I thought you said that he is still in a mental hospital? Besides, I believe that immolation is still a crime.”

You and Evie both laugh when you realize that Calliope thought she was talking about Madoc.

“Not that bitch, though you’re giving me great ideas. I meant that we should burn the dress. I saw it on TikTok; these friends did a ‘burn and release’ ritual. They had a fire going in their backyard, and they all wrote down and talked about things that they wanted to release before burning it and physically releasing themselves of that. It looks like it’s super empowering, and it might give you the closure that it seems like you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s intrigued.

“We’d participate, too,” you chime in, Evie nodding along with you. “I think we all have things we want to burn so that we can give ourselves permission to move on.”

“I would like that, I think.”

Evie smiles. “Perfect. Leave it to me.”

It only takes Evie a couple of days to coordinate everything. Her parents live just outside of town, and they happily offer up their backyard to their daughter and her group of friends. When you and Calliope arrive, there’s already a fire pit set up with a ring of camping chairs surrounding it. Kiara waves from one of the chairs, a bag of marshmallows sitting in her lap, as Evie works at getting the fire going.

“Yay, you made it!” she says when she can finally trust the fire to not go out the moment she looks away from it.

Calliope nods graciously. “Thank you for hosting us this evening.”

“You’re so formal sometimes! If anything, I should be the one thanking you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“I do not think it is crazy at all,” Calliope assures.

“We’ll see, won’t we? Anyways, pens and paper are over in the empty chair next to Kiara, and there will be drinks and snacks momentarily.” Evie turns to you. “Wanna help me grab said drinks and snacks? I need an extra set of hands.”

After helping Evie with procuring and setting out a few bottles of wine, plastic cups, and a bunch of different snacks, the four of you each pick up a pen and paper and begin to write. Calliope writes furiously, her pen seeming to fly over the paper as she jots down her thoughts, and is done first as a result. The rest of you take a bit longer to write, needing to stop and think about what you want to put down before you do so.

In a group chat, you, Kiara, and Evie had decided that one of you would automatically go first, to make Calliope feel comfortable about participating. When you’ve all finished writing, Kiara stands and clears her throat.

“Well, guess I’m first up,” she says.

In hindsight, you should have guessed how emotional a night of talking about things that you need to release and then burning them as a physical manifestation would be. Still, the teary eyes from everybody when Kiara finishes reading her letter to her ex-best friend and tosses it, along with a small box of mementos, into the fire catch you off-guard. Though you said that everybody had things that they needed to release the night that Evie first brought this up, you just didn’t realize that everyone was carrying their own burdens that, to them, are just as heavy as Calliope’s is to her.

You volunteer to go next, reading about how you release all of the expectations that you’ve had about your life and where it’s meant to go. Even before Calliope arrived in your life, you struggled with the idea that your life was not going according to the plan that you had in mind. You weren’t hitting milestones that you had plotted out, and your life “schedule” kept imploding time and time again. Now, you hope to be rid of that, and the constant feeling that you’re failing yourself and your life.

As you watch the paper burn in the flames, you try to convince yourself that all of those feelings are burning along with it.

Evie follows, with a big “fuck you” to her biological dad, who she recently found out only tried to form a relationship with her so that he could get money from her. It’s such a terrible situation, and though she’s handled it with her classic brand of humor, you can all see the hurt that she carries with her. Her letter is funny and biting and makes you all laugh, but she’s openly crying by the time she tosses it into the fire, and she gets a long hug from each of you after.

Finally, it’s Calliope’s turn, and she takes a long moment to stand. She’s been holding your hand since you finished reading her letter, and you give her a comforting squeeze before letting go so she can properly hold the letter. After taking a deep breath, she looks around the fire at the encouraging faces before her before she begins.

“I have often lived my life in the service of others, though most of the time, it was something that I willingly and happily did. That choice was removed from me when I was stolen from my home and bound to a truly vile and horrid man. He took everything from me. My thoughts, my inspiration, my—” Calliope’s voice breaks. “My body. Nothing was mine anymore, and I was told that that was how it should be, that it was the natural order of the world. He beat me down, physically and emotionally, to the point where I started to believe it.

“Though I had long since lost hope, I prayed for some sort of salvation, and I prayed to whomever I could think of. Nobody answered, either because they could not or would not, and I believed myself truly alone. Eventually, my former lover, Morpheus, was the only one who could, or would, help me, and even then, there was only so much that he could do. I do not fault him for that, because he did the most that was possible for him to do.

“And then one day, somebody knocked on the door of my prison and demanded their keys back.” She looks at you with a wobbly smile, and you sniffle in an attempt to hold back tears. “I know not why that was the tipping point for my captor, and frankly, nor do I care. He threw me out like trash, but I was not really in a place to question a gift such as this. And it truly has been a gift for me. In the two months since I escaped captivity, I have been able to heal, slowly but surely, even though I did not think such a thing was possible. I have found my laugh once more. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To sit in the sun, or read a book, or be with my friends.”

Calliope picks up the nightgown from where it sat next to her chair. “With this, I release every last hold that my captivity has had on me. From now on, when I think about that time, I shall think about survival, and how I refused to be kept down. I am free, and I shall remain forever free.”

She tosses the dress and the letter into the fire, watching intently as the flames catch the fabric and begin to work through it. Then, she laughs. Her laugh is beautiful and like the peals of bells, and it’s infectious too. Soon you’re all laughing, and you all have the same idea to hug Calliope. It turns into a group hug, the four of you laughing and hugging and watching as the smoke of the fire carries away that which you do not want to carry with you any longer.

•••

Calliope takes her time getting out of the car when you arrive back home, still basking in the euphoria of emotional release. When she turns to look at you, you already know what she’s going to say.

“Go in without me.” She sighs happily and looks up at the moon. “I wish to remain outside for a moment longer.”

You squeeze her shoulder before letting go. “Alright. The door’ll be unlocked whenever you decide you’re finished.”

You hum while unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off and hearing them thump against the wall of the entryway. Fumbling, you curse under your breath as you try to find the light switch—really, you’d think that after living here for almost a year, you’d be able to turn the lights on on the first try.

Light finally floods the room, and your humming resumes as you head into the kitchen to grab a drink. There’s a chill in the air, more figurative than literal, that causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you remove a glass from the cabinet, like your reflexes are trying to warn you of some unseen danger. Nervously, you hum a little louder while filling your glass up in the hopes that you’ll feel better.

You don’t. How could you, when you look over the kitchen island into the living room and see a figure standing silhouetted against the back door? In fact, you feel much worse than nervous; now, you’re scared out of your wits, enough so that you scream upon realizing that there’s actually a man in your home, a man who is most definitely not supposed to be here.

You scream.

“Hello.”

The man’s voice is deep, deeper than you think you’ve ever heard before. If he wasn’t currently in the act of breaking into your home, you’d think about how nice of a voice it is. Right now, it’s simply disturbing.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness before he takes a step toward you, thus putting himself in the light. He’s paler than any living being you’ve ever seen, with long, unkempt black hair and cold blue eyes that seem like they can tell everything about you just from looking at you. He’s dressed in all black, with a long black coat completing his ensemble.

He’s not human, that much you’re sure of. You’ve spent enough time around Calliope in the past couple of months to guess that she is something more, and this stranger is the same. Power radiates off of him in waves, the same as it does with Calliope. Both are ethereally, sharply beautiful, in a way that lets lesser beings know that these are the true apex predators.

Even though it probably won’t help (now that you have the barest idea of what you’re dealing with), you pick up a kitchen knife from the dish rack and brandish it in front of you, thankful that you had cut up an apple last night and thus had needed your largest knife to do so.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

He doesn’t move, choosing instead to just keep staring at you with those piercing eyes. You come out from behind the island, still holding the knife towards him.

“Seriously, leave or I’m calling the cops,” you threaten, pulling your phone out of your pocket with your free hand.

This decision quickly has the situation going from bad to worse. The man seems to cross the entire room in a single step before slamming you against the wall, one hand wrapped dangerously tight around your throat. You gasp at the sudden violence, as well as the strength that he possesses under his lean figure, and both the knife and the phone fall from your hands as you try to figure out what to do.

“Be quiet, mortal,” he spits venomously, his hand flexing around your throat. You attempt to grab at his hand to get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. When you try to kick at him, he just leans more of his weight against you and renders you virtually immobile. “You are keeping a woman here, against her will. You will release her immediately, or suffer the most dire of consequences.”

“What? No, I’m not!” you argue.

Is he talking about Calliope? If so, he’s about two months too late in coming to her rescue. The only one that was holding her against her will was Ric Madoc, and he’s facing his own set of consequences for what he did.

Speak of the devil. Calliope chooses this moment to come in from her nighttime sojourn. You and your attacker both stare at the door as Calliope enters the apartment. She’s humming, much as you had when you first came in, completely in her own little world.

“Cal!” you cry out helplessly in an attempt to warn her, the only sound you can make before the man’s hand tightens again and cuts off all but a bit of your air supply. If given the chance, you’re not sure if you would tell her to run or ask for her help.

She takes stock of the situation before her with calculated eyes. Instead of surprise, shock, or fear, Calliope just looks…angry. Her bag drops to the floor next to her feet, and she makes sure to shut and lock the door behind her.

“Let them go, Oneiros,” Calliope commands, her hand landing on his shoulder.

Wait, Calliope knows him? Internally, you chastise yourself; obviously, she knows him, she called him by name! Still, you find yourself confused. She hasn’t mentioned having any contacts in the area. In fact, you distinctly remember her saying that she had “nobody” that first night you met her.

The intruder—Oneiros, apparently—does as Calliope asks, and you slide to the floor without his interference keeping you upright. Calliope slides down with you, landing on her knees in front of you as she looks you over with her big, brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, using her thumbs to wipe away your tears, tears that you weren’t aware you were shedding.

You nod. “I–I think so.”

Despite your reassurance, your hand goes to your throat, and you try to rub away the soreness that’s already settling beneath the skin. When she begins to rub her hands up and down your arms, you realize that you’re shaking violently. Calliope stands and briefly leaves the room, leaving you and Oneiros in awkward silence until she returns with a blanket, which she gently wraps around you.

After she’s completed this task, Calliope wheels around to point accusingly at the man. “You are a fool, and you allow yourself to act without first thinking far too often.”

“Calliope–” he tries to interrupt, but Calliope shakes her head.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

He scowls. “You called for me again, did you not?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “You did not write my name down prior to burning it?”

Calliope falls silent, because apparently that’s exactly what she did.

“I thought that what I had done to Richard Madoc worked, Calliope. Why did you not come to me sooner to tell me that he had sold you off instead?”

“Nothing of the sort has happened!”

“Then how did you end up bound to yet another mortal?”

“It is not what it looks like, Morpheus.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he pleads.

As the two continue to bicker above you, you feel increasingly like you’re interrupting in your own home. You shift uncomfortably, and Oneiros—Morpheus? Seriously, how many names does this guy have?—turns his sharp gaze upon you.

“You. How did you come to bind the Muse Calliope? What spell have you used to bewitch her?” He demands answers that you don’t have, and your shaking becomes worse under the full brunt of his stare.

“What?” You scramble to your feet so that you can at least pretend to be on the same ground as the two others here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, let us sit down and discuss this civilly,” Calliope interrupts, gesturing both of you towards the living room.

After a moment of consideration, Oneiros/Morpheus nods tersely and walks in the direction that Calliope had pointed as though this is his home and not yours. You try to get your legs to move, but they steadfastly remain stuck to the spot you’re standing in. Calliope notices this and loops her arm through yours before gently guiding you into the living room.

“Why did he call you a Muse?” you whisper to her.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I will give you answers, I promise. It is…complicated.”

Though you’re not exactly satisfied by this answer, you trust Calliope, so you nod and silently agree to wait.

You don’t have to wait for long. Once everybody is seated (you in the chair perpendicular to the couch, with Oneiros/Morpheus on the couch and Calliope sitting next to him while simultaneously acting as a buffer between you), Calliope takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. About who, and what, she is, how she came to be bound by a writer named Erasmus Fry, and how she was basically bartered for by Ric Madoc. She explains what they wanted from her, and she explains, unflinchingly, what they did to her to get it. Though it’s horrific, you listen to all of it. After all, if she’s willing to give, it’s only fair that you be open to receiving.

Calliope’s words seem to hang in the air long after she’s finished. The three of you sit in silence; Oneiros/Morpheus with a stony expression, you crying (you think you’ve cried more today than you’ve cried in a long, long time), and Calliope waiting calmly for you both to digest what she’s said.

In the end, it’s you who speaks first. “So you’re a goddess?” you ask.

“A Muse, yes,” she says.

“Like, of the Greek variety.” You need to confirm this for some reason, even though you already know the answer.

She laughs. “Yes.”

“A literal Muse is my best friend and roommate?”

You think that you might be going into shock right now

Oneiros/Morpheus scoffs, and you glare at him. “You have something to say?”

“You say that Calliope is your best friend. Then why do you not set her free?”

“Set her free? She’s a person, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“No, she is not. Calliope is bound to you, by the old laws.”

“Morpheus,” Calliope says sharply, a warning, but the man continues.

“You are enslaving a goddess and calling it friendship.” The disgust is clear on his face. “How can there be any sort of friendship when she is unable to leave, to do anything, without your say? You have complete and utter control over her, and you force her to pretend that it isn’t so. This farce that you’ve concocted must end now. I implore you to free her before I am left with no choice but to take further action against you.”

The room begins to tilt, and you shake your head in disbelief. “No…”

“They don’t know, Morpheus!” Calliope snaps.

“Cal, you—”

You feel sick, and you genuinely think that you’re about to throw up. All this time, you thought you had helped to free her from her prison. Instead, she’s remained trapped, bound to you just like she was bound to Madoc and, as you’ve now learned, Erasmus Fry. These men took everything from an unwilling goddess, a Muse, and you’re basically no better than them.

Swallowing down the bile that rises in your throat does nothing, so you close your eyes to take a couple of deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down. That doesn’t work either, and you rise shakily to your feet before rushing over to the trash can in the kitchen and throwing up the wine and snacks that you had eagerly partaken in at Evie’s.

It’s humiliating, doing something as base and human as retching in the presence of two godly creatures. Everything about this situation is humiliating, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve unknowingly extended Calliope’s incarceration and deluded both of you into believing that it was friendship. How could you be a part of such a heinous act? Truly, are you no better than Madoc?

When you’ve finally thrown up everything in your stomach and then some, you’re full-on sobbing as you clutch at the trash can. Your knees give out, but Calliope catches you as you fall to the ground and wraps you in her embrace. She soothes you and murmurs words of comfort as she runs a hand through your hair, letting you cry in her arms when it should be the other way around. You don’t deserve her comfort, you think to yourself.

Once you finally have enough breath in your lungs to be able to talk, you gasp out between hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry. I–I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have never–”

“Shh,” she hushes you, grabbing your hands in hers. “My sweet friend, you have done nothing wrong.”

“But I–”

“I am the one who chose not to tell you. I trusted you in the beginning, and I trust you now. You have not failed me or abused me, or been a captor to me. Do you hear me?” She holds your face in her hands to make you look at her, and she waits until you nod to hug you once more.

“How do I free you?” you ask her. “Please, let me free you.”

“You must say that she is free,” your uninvited guest speaks up, making you remember that there’s a whole other person here. “And mean it.”

“Calliope, you’re free. You’ve always been free,” you say immediately, looking at her earnestly and hoping that she can see in your eyes how sorry you are.

Nothing physically changes. No burst of light envelops her, and she doesn’t undergo any sort of transformation. Yet, something in the air changes and becomes lighter. That inner glow that Calliope’s always carried seems to beam brighter now. Her shoulders look less weighed down now, no longer burdened by her forced captivity.

“Thank you,” Calliope says profusely.

“Don’t do that,” you say, feeling sick all over again. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done the second that Madoc threw you at me. I should have been smarter, more observant than I was. God, you deserve so much more than anything I can ever begin to give you.”

She’s not happy about your self-deprecation, but you will not be the source of her rage tonight. No, as she helps you once more to stand, her anger lands squarely on the man who barged in here and turned everything on its head.

“Apologize. Now,” Calliope demands. “What you have done here tonight is completely unacceptable and a new low, even for you.”

After thinking for a moment, perhaps to consider if he did transgress against you, he nods and stands like some sort of gentleman to properly address you. “The lady Calliope is right. I have acted deplorably towards you this evening, when you have done nothing but offer shelter and companionship to one needing it. I sincerely apologize for the pain and anguish that I have caused you.”

You nod warily, still tucked into Calliope’s side. “Thank you,” you say quietly.

Truthfully, you do appreciate the apology. If he’s as powerful as you think he is, then he could have just as easily decided that you weren’t worth the breath it would take to form words, and that would be well within his right.

“Well, now that we’re all close to being on the same page here.” Calliope gestures to the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re a god too?” you ask.

“Not a god. I am Endless, one of seven anthropomorphic personifications of natural forces. I am far older, and far more powerful, than any god, and will remain long after all of your gods are dead and gone,” Morpheus explains.

You try to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful beings in the universe is currently sitting in your living room, lest you start to have an existential crisis in front of him. Now that Calliope’s told you his name, it rings a bell. “Wait, is he your ex?”

Morpheus looks at you both in surprise. “You have spoken of me?”

“Only tonight,” Calliope assures him. “When I…accidentally summoned you.”

The longer that you can think clearly without the threat of bodily harm, the more the puzzle pieces keep clicking into place for you. “He’s Orpheus’s dad, isn’t he?”

Calliope nods, and so does Morpheus, though he’s far more reluctant than she is. You don’t notice that, though, too caught up in your thoughts.

“Ha, Morpheus and Orpheus.” Maybe all of the crying has made you dehydrated, which in turn has left you a little delirious. That’s the only reason why you say this train of thought out loud. “What, if you had a daughter were you going to name her Alliope?”

Calliope snickers at that, though Morpheus doesn’t share her amusement. “His name fit him perfectly, even though it was quite the coincidence that it was one letter off from that of his father’s.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you bemoan. “How did I not know you were a goddess? I literally said, ‘Oh cool, like the muse’ when you introduced yourself! You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“It is difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend that which it believes to be fake. To you, that was the only connection that you subconsciously deemed possible,” Morpheus explains. Though he does it to make you feel better, it feels a little patronizing when it comes from someone as powerful as him.

“I wish you would have told me. Did you think that I wouldn’t have freed you? Because I would have!”

“I know that,” Calliope says. “Truthfully, I…forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot?” Morpheus says in disbelief.

At the same time, you ask, “How the fuck do you forget to tell someone that you’re accidentally bound to them?”

“At first, I was scared. That it was a trap, that you would be worse than Madoc. Of course, that lasted about twenty minutes.”

“What made you realize I was different?”

She smiles. “When you told me that the doors only locked from the inside. You cared about my privacy and that I was feeling safe, and I figured that you had no clue about anything that had happened, or about who I was. From there, it just wasn’t something that I thought to bring up. I was too frightened to leave the apartment, and I had been cut off from the world for over sixty years. Frankly, the idea of going out without you terrified me. As I began to regain control of my life and heal, it just became something that I thought about less and less. You are my best and dearest friend, and we do everything together, so why would I think about a bond other than the one that formed naturally?”

It’s very sweet of her to say, but you still have questions. “So you were just going to continue to live like this?”

“I did not have a plan, but I suppose so. I was happy here, with you.”

“Okay, but what happened if I got married one day, or like, had kids?”

“I would just be the fun aunt that lived with you and your family?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan before sitting up suddenly. “Wait, is Jesus Christ real too?”

Calliope and Morpheus share a look, and you’re suddenly frightened of the answer.

“No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

You really, really don’t want to have an existential crisis until you can be alone in the comfort of your room.

Thankfully, Calliope and Morpheus take over the conversation from there, because you don’t think you have the mental capacity to try and further any conversation right now. They obviously have a lot to catch up on, since it seems like the last time they saw each other was when Calliope broke down and asked him for help escaping Madoc.

Instead, while they converse, you take a moment to zone out and try to process just what has happened in the past hour. The stranger that broke into your apartment turned out to be the powerful, eldritch nightmare king ex-husband to your roommate, who’s actually a goddess that was unintentionally bound to you. For reasons beyond your comprehension, he thought that she needed rescuing, and that you were the one that she needed rescuing from.

Your thoughts chase each other like a cyclone, and you try not to panic as you think about all of this. God, you need a drink right now.

When Morpheus and Calliope both rise, with Morpheus saying that he really must return to his kingdom, you rise with them. After all, how will you ever feel at ease if you don’t ask him what’s on your mind?

“Are we good now?” you ask. “Like, you’re not gonna hurt me or curse me? I promise I had no idea about any of this.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Morpheus says. “I will not harm you. If anything, I should be offering you a boon, for being such an immense help to one such as Calliope.”

“You owe me nothing. Neither of you do.”

Calliope leans in and kisses Morpheus on the cheek, so gently that you wonder if she even made contact. “Fare you well, Morpheus.”

He bows his head. “Goodbye.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone as though he was never here at all.

•••

That night, you dream, and for the first time, you’re aware of the fact that you’re dreaming.

You don’t know where you are, but it’s the greenest, lushest meadow you’ve ever seen. Wildflowers dance lazily in the breeze, and you can hear the low rush of a river behind the treeline. You’re tempted to lie down in the impossibly soft-looking grass and watch the clouds drift overhead, but before you can, you see them standing next to you.

Morpheus looks just as he did when you saw him in your apartment, only a lot less like he’s ready to murder you. The main difference is that he now sports robes fit for a king instead of his coat. His eyes, you also notice, are black pools of stars.

On the other hand, the Calliope you see before you is a complete departure from the Calliope you know and love. She’s wearing a white chiton that’s belted at the waist and her hair, which normally falls in curly waves, is braided back intricately. She shines, in a way that you’ve never seen, looking every bit the goddess that she is.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Dreams are real,” Morpheus says with the slightest of smiles.

“Of course, my bad.”

Though it’s a picturesque dream, it’s stained with strokes of melancholy. On some level, you know what’s going to happen, and what Morpheus has brought you here for.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” you ask Calliope.

Selfishly, you’re hoping that she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you that your home is her home and where she’s meant to be. Yet even as you foolishly hope, you know that your ordinary apartment, your ordinary life, is no place for a goddess. No, she deserves far greater than that.

She smiles sadly, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “I think I must, at least temporarily. There is…much for me to do, back home on Olympus. I wish to reconnect with my sisters, for one. And though it is lofty of me, I wish to change the old laws so that we may never be enslaved on the whims of mortals ever again.”

“If anyone can change laws that are thousands of years old, it’s you.”

“Thank you…for everything these past two months. Truly, I do not know how I can ever properly thank you for what you have done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything; just knowing that you’re safe and happy is enough for me. I’m so proud of you for taking your life back after everything you went through. You deserve all of the happiness and goodness that the world has to offer you.”

“I would not have been able to do it without you, you know. No matter how we came to know each other, I am glad that we did. You saved me.” She says it so earnestly, needing you to truly understand your impact on her recovery.

“You did that yourself, Cal. I was just along for the ride.”

“You have my utmost respect,” Morpheus says. “Not many would have taken in a stranger needing help from off the streets with nothing but the purest of intentions, and fewer still would have offered them friendship. Your bravery and kind heart shall not be forgotten.”

“You have my respect too, for what it’s worth.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Calliope told me that you didn’t end things on the best of terms. But still, when she called for help, you answered with barely a second thought, and did all you could to help.”

He stares for a moment before nodding and turning to gaze out across the meadow. To your unabashed delight, his cheeks tint a light lavender in embarrassment, unsure of how to take your compliment. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh and decide to not tease the King of Dreams…for now.

Though you’ve been putting it off, some sixth sense tells you that your time here is nearing an end. You turn to Calliope again, who already is trying desperately to keep her tears unshed. When you meet her eyes, she holds out her arms to hug you, and you gladly accept.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble.

Calliope kisses your forehead before pressing hers to yours affectionately. “I shall miss you as well, more than you can even imagine.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? If–if your sisters are ganging up on you, or if you need someone to watch the best movies of the two-thousands with you, or if you’re missing going to karaoke with the gang. I’ll drop everything and go to Greece, just say the word.”

She laughs, the sound uninhibited and joyful. “I know you will.”

“Goodbye, Calliope." You have no choice but to finally, reluctantly say the words you've been dreading to say. If you weren't to do it now, you know you'd never let go of her.

Calliope pulls away just enough so that she can look you in the eye. “May fortune go with you, my sweetest friend.”

•••

Calliope’s gone when you wake up, her belongings the only sign that she even existed here in the first place. Though you cry, they’re not tears of sadness; rather, they’re happy tears, because how could you not be happy for Calliope? She’s found her freedom and the strength to return home, to try and make a better world for herself and her fellow gods and goddesses. Truly, this is all that you ever wanted for her.

On her nightstand sits a folded-up note, your name written on the front in Calliope’s ornate script. You open it up to read it, and when you finish, you hold it to your heart.

I will always be close by in your heart, as you will always be in mine. No distance can change that. Should you need me, you need only pray to me, and I shall hear you. Continue to make the world as bright as you.

-Calliope

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #the sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus #calliope the sandman #calliope the sandman imagine

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daevastanner · 9 months ago

Text

Halfbreeds - Chapter 2

r h y s a n d

two and a half years later

The doors to Rhysand’s study in the river house flew open and Gwyneth Berdara came staggering in.

He sat up in his high back chair, immediately taking note of her frantic eyes and ragged breaths.

“Gwyn?” Rhys said, rising from his seat.

She strode across the carpet, rounding his desk to come stand before him.

Gripping the High Lord by his shoulders, Gwyn breathed, “He knows.”

Rhysand blinked once before the sentence registered, before he understood her mortified expression. Azriel knew. He knew Gwyn was his mate.

“How?” he asked, bending his head to better meet Gwyn’s eyes.

“We were on our date at Rita’s,” she began, hands falling slack at her sides, “and he left to get us m-more drinks. Then this man came over and he asked if I was lonely.”

Rhys felt his lips pull down in a frown.

“I told him I was waiting on my date, b-but then he reached for my hand on the table and-and said that he would have me back before my date noticed I was gone.” Her breath hitched again. “He tried to pull me out of my chair, but Azriel came over in a flash and just-just started b-beating him. He wouldn’t stop and-and Rita had to get security to pull him off the male.”

Swearing under his breath, Rhys made a mental note to check with Rita and try and identify whatever male had attempted to ruin his brother and Gwyn’s first date. Rhys had never seen the shadowsinger more nervous than when he’d planned to ask the Valkyrie out. It had taken an impressive amount of self-control for the High Lord not to confess to the former-priestess that she would soon be on the receiving end of Azriel’s full romantic attention.

“They took him out and I followed but… but when I met Azriel on the street he just started staring at me,” Gwyn continued. Her throat slid. “And then… then he just said it. He said I was his mate.”

Mother… The bond had finally snapped for his brother. It had been two and a half years since Sangravah, six months since Azriel had begun to know Gwyn more intimately, going so far as to dance with her at Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony just three months ago. And now he finally knew that they were mates.

“What’d you say?” Rhys asked gently.

“I couldn’t lie.” Tears spilled from Gwyn’s eyes. “I said… that I knew.”

“And?”

Gwyn’s lower lip wobbled. “He-he asked if I was waiting until I thought he was worthy to know the truth. If I didn’t see him as a suitable mate. I–I ran. Evaded him in the crowd and–and came here. He’s… Rhysand, he was wild.” A hopeless sniffle. “He said he didn’t care about bonds anymore. I thought he–”

“He’s not thinking straight,” Rhys said, trying to keep his voice even for her sake. “He meant what he said to you about the bond not making a difference, alright? I know because he’s said as much to me and Feyre as well.”

“Then why were the first words out of his mouth–”

“Because he’s overwhelmed. You may not remember because of everything else that happened that night, but the bond snapping is overwhelming. Especially for males.” He lowered his voice, “Especially for a male who has spent five centuries convinced he would never have one because he was unworthy.”

Gwyn’s gaze darted about the room uncertainly before landing on Rhys once more. “I’m not ready, Rhys. I wanted to court him before we discussed the bond.”

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, thumb stroking a soothing circle on her bicep as he grimaced. “In my experience the bond has little regard for your plans. You’re going to have to adapt.”

Her stare was pleading. “I need time, Rhys. And I need him to calm down before I can even begin to consider–”

Rhys pulled her to his chest, enfolding her in an embrace. She accepted immediately, face buried in the dark material of his jacket, fingers bunching in the fabric beneath his shoulder-blades.

The High Lord rested his chin atop her head. “Leave it to me.”

“What?” she asked, voice muffled by his chest.

Feyre, Rhys shut his eyes and reached out to his mate’s mind. If you look out the parlor window is there a very determined looking shadowsinger stalking across the grounds?

A pause.

It would appear so, Feyre whispered into his mind, shall I stall him?

Read the rest on Ao3

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #gwyn and azriel #gwynriel supremacy #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #ao3 #gwynriel weeks 2024

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fatuismooches · 2 years ago

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synopsis: The first to betray him was his creator, his mother. The second was his family, his friend. The third was a child similar to him. Would you, his lover, be the fourth?

includes: scaramouche w/ gn! reader

notes: An uncompleted fic I wrote in October before Scaramouche's release. Therefore it is not very accurate, especially the part where he likes sweets. I don't think I'll finish it, so I decided to post my ramblings here for your entertainment. (Some places won't make sense... I jumped around a lot, by the way.)

Imagine being eternal lovers with Scaramouche.

You can’t remember the exact date when you first encountered the man, who was the definition of beauty. How many centuries ago was that again? Two? Three? Nevermind that. After all, the one thing you’d never forget was the first memory you made with him.

You placed the sweet treats on your table, ready for your delicious snack. But you know what? You needed something to drink too. Perhaps you’d try some of that Dango Milk you saw, from that guy whose stall never got any business since everyone was so skeptical of it. Dango with dango would surely be an interesting combination. And so you set out to quickly purchase some, not bothering to lock your doors. You would only be gone for five to ten minutes, after all.

What you did not expect, however, was that when you returned, your front door was wide open. Hesitantly climbing up the steps very slowly, you were greeted by an unknown man’s presence inside your house, munching away at your damn dango. It took a few seconds to process - someone went broke into your house to eat your food. And it occurred to you - out of anything he could steal, he chose to steal sweets. Not the stash of Mora you had hidden away, or some vases, or anything that actually had monetary value. He chose the Tricolor Dango lying on your kitchen table, half of it already eaten. If you weren’t so scared of some guy breaking into your house, you would have thought it was cute. (Little did he know, his own tastes reflected that of his creator.)

Wait, you shouldn’t be trying to analyze him, he was literally in your house uninvited! You needed to get the Tenryou Commission or something! And so you stepped back, but of course, the dreaded very loud creak of that one particular floorboard echoed throughout the house, and the man immediately noticed you. You were busted. (Or was he? Later you would learn this was far more embarrassing for him than for you.)

Gorgeous, long indigo hair flowed down, coupled with matching eyes and porcelain skin. Up close, he looked so beautiful that it almost didn’t feel humanly possible.

“Don’t even think of saying a word of this to anyone,” he hissed out threateningly, “or else.” You let out a muffled “okay” and furiously nodded your head, not wanting to know what the ‘or else’ entailed. Then he released his hand from your mouth, quickly slammed the door shut, and left. By the time you could regain your composure and look out the window, the doll-like man was already gone.

All that remained of the encounter were the empty sticks that held dango before on your table.

—

A good amount of time had passed since that situation. You went about your life, working, eating, sleeping, shopping. But for some reason, you could not get the intruder out of your mind. You had so many questions about him. Maybe it was because your life was too boring and although he had scared you, you were quite interested in him. How’d he know your door was unlocked? Maybe he was following you? What kind of financial situation did he have if he had to steal dango from you?! And for his stunning looks, his mouth was quite… foul. As these thoughts continued to plague your mind, there was only one thing to do.

Attempt to make him come back, of course. Now, you did not have the means to just go out and look for him, nor could you ask around for information about him. So you did the only thing you could do was lure him out. With dango, of course, since that was the only piece of information you had about him.

Every evening, you would wait on the porch with a plate of various types of dango on it next to you. Of course, he didn’t show up, but you didn’t have anything better to do. And so, your nightly activities quickly changed to drinking a cup of tea while reading on your porch, as you awaited the mysterious man’s presence.

Unfortunately, after a week or two, the only thing you were successful in was gaining weight from all of the sweets you had to eat after he didn’t show up, your wallet consequently being drained, and powering through the strange but appreciative looks the vendor gave you when you came back every day to purchase new sweets.

It was another day of executing your very poorly thought-out plan, and you began to grow rather sleepy. You were practically messing up your sleep schedule for some random guy. That was just… embarrassing, you thought, but you couldn’t help it. Leaning your body against a pillar of the porch, you closed your eyes, allowing your mind to go wild with fantasies. Perhaps you could experience one of those forbidden romance novel plots like from Yae Publishing House with this stranger… ah, how marvelous that would be…

Your breathing began to slow, and your thoughts became less coherent. You were on the verge of falling asleep, but you could hear some noise, even though it was fuzzy in your current state. But no matter, it was probably just some squirrels. But then you heard it much louder, coming much closer to you by the second. It was the familiar crunch of the leaves that had fallen around your house that had made you jump back to life.

And there he was, long silky hair flowing behind him, unscarred skin, soft lips, and pretty eyes, though his resemblance of eternal beauty disappeared when he noticed you were not sleeping, wide awake in fact.

Of course, you sprang to your feet almost immediately, not about to let this opportunity after weeks of waiting slip away.

“Hey! Don’t go this time! I have… more dango! For you!” You must have looked pretty pathetic to be convincing a criminal to stay with sweets of all things, but you gave up your dignity when you started with this plan.

“… Were you trying to make me come back with this simple-minded idea? Idiot.” It seemed like he only liked to open his mouth when he was able to insult you. (But you also thought that he was trying to play off his embarrassment.)

“Well, it worked, did it not? Seems like you’re the idiot because you actually came again, and had to wait until I was asleep. Were you scared of me?” you sassed back. By the look on his face, it seemed like you annoyed him.

“Watch it,” he snapped. “I could make you very scared of me right now.”

You didn’t doubt that so you quickly shut your mouth and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “W-well, you should come get what you came for,” gesturing towards the dango. But he didn’t move, to your displeasure. Was it too close to you, perhaps? And so you pushed the plate as far away to the other side as possible, and at last, he walked forward to grab it. He picked up a stick of dango and scrutinized it, as if it was possible you poisoned him or something. But it appeared to pass his inspection test, as he began to munch on it.

“I was hoping you’d give up soon.” You perked up at his words. Finally an opportunity for conversation.

“After everything I’ve invested into this, I couldn’t,” you sighed. “And this means you were watching me, weren’t you?!”

His hair bounced as he shrugged his shoulders, taking a bite of the dango. “I had to make sure you didn’t tell anyone about me,” he said nonchalantly as if watching someone’s every move was normal. You decided to hold your tongue - you and your wallet worked hard for this after all. Some time passed, and you licked your lips, preparing yourself to ask your first question.

“So… what is your name, wanderer?”

The man merely shrugged as he continued to eat the dango. You began to wonder if that was the only thing he consumed. What kind of diet did he have, and how did he only survive on dango? But anyways, you weren’t sure if he didn’t want to tell you his name (which was highly likely) or rather there was another circumstance preventing him from doing so.

“Do you have a name?”

The eccentric individual paused for a brief moment, but that was all you needed to know. “Wait here,” you said, getting up to enter your house. You entered your room and looked under your bed, reaching for a huge encyclopedia. You cursed as you heaved it up, it was quite long. You shoved some other books inside that might be helpful, and carried them outside to the stranger.

“Shit,” you mumbled, practically dropping the books down on the porch. You were an average citizen, well, probably frailer than a normal person so carrying all these books felt like too big of a strain. At this point, the man was eyeing you suspiciously (and almost in annoyance?) but you pushed the books over to his side anyway.

“These,” you panted, “could help you find a name. Any name. Anything you like. You should choose it yourself,” you reasoned. “I can’t keep calling you stranger, you know” you tried to make a joke but immediately regretted it at his flat and almost unamused expression. You don’t think he is very friendly. But nonetheless, his eyes flickered down to the various assortment of books, and you could see a brief glimpse of… sadness? It disappeared as quickly as it came, but he very hesitantly sat down, reached for the pile, and began flipping through the pages. You let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding.

You didn’t know how much time passed, as the golden and orange hues of the sunset gradually vanished, replaced with the glow of the moon and stars. You were worried about if he could still see the text, but he was going through it with ease. He must have good eyesight. You didn’t want him to snap at you for staring at him again, so you looked up and counted the stars instead.

“Kunikuzushi.”

It took you a second to realize that he finally spoke. All of your energy returned as you sat up straight. “What?”

“Kunikuzushi. That is my name,” he repeated.

“Kunikuzushi…” you repeated. If you weren’t mistaken, that meant something along the lines of “country destroyer.” It certainly wasn’t a common name, and you were slightly worried about what country he wanted to destroy, but it was unique. It suited this eccentric stranger.

“Alright,” you smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Kunikuzushi.”

—

Ever since you helped him choose his name, you made it a habit to continue to leave a plate of dango outside your house. Sometimes he would appear and eat with you, sitting all the way on the other edge of the porch. Other times, he wouldn’t show up while you were outside, but when you woke up in the morning, the dango was gone. Although you were still failing to make good conversation with him, his repeated visits satisfied you for now. It felt nice to have a new person in your life. Until one day, he came to you during the night, right before you were about to retire to your bed for the day.

“Where is it?”

You sighed. “Good night to you too, Kuni. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes and scowled. “It’s Kunikuzushi,” he emphasized. “Not that… nonsense.”

“Mhm, totally understand. I’ll stop calling you that, Ku,” you teased.

“You're an exasperating human,” he glared. “Anyway, where is my plate?” His plate? Oh, he was talking about how you didn’t leave out any dango tonight.

“Well, I got out late from work and by the time I went to the stall, it was already closed for the day. So, you’ll just have to survive without any today. Sorry, Kuni.” You were tempted to make fun of him but the look on his face made you feel kind of bad. He sucked his teeth and actually looked kind of annoyed, and was positioned to leave. And then you came up with a solution.

“Hey, don’t go. Come inside, I have an idea,” you said, opening your door wider.

Kunikuzushi squinted his eyes suspiciously at you. “Why?”

“Oh, stop acting as if I’m gonna kill you or something. Just get in here!” You turned your back and headed towards your kitchen, and a few seconds later you heard your door slam shut. You were delighted to have Kuni back in your house.

You retrieved a cookbook and looked over the ingredients for Tri-Color Dango. Glutinous rice flour, tofu, sugar, milk… sakura blooms, and snapdragons for the coloring. And some green tea would go well with it. Good thing you had all of the essential ingredients.

“I’m just going to make you the dango from scratch, so you can sit down and wait.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “Buying it is just more convenient and less work for me. Would you like to watch me, Kunikuzushi?”

He couldn’t deny that he was interested, and so he silently pulled a chair and sat at your kitchen table, earning a cheeky grin from you.

You smiled, (insert process on making dango)

“You can’t eat it yet!” you said, quickly stopping him from biting it. “We need to cook it first!” He looked disappointed.

“Just follow me,” you hummed as you began sticking the dango through the bamboo skewer. He looked over and started doing the same with ease. Huh. He was pretty good at it.

“Of course. Most foods taste better homemade.”

You don’t know why, but after that experience, Kunikuzushi started to knock on your door a lot more often, to the point you saw him almost every day. His time of arrival varied, but nonetheless, he became a familiar face you welcomed. To be honest, you had no idea what to do with him at first. He still did not divulge anything about himself, and rather looked at you expectantly. So you decided to teach him things, as you had a feeling he wasn’t good at traditional basic tasks.

You tried to teach him how to sew and crochet. Kunikuzushi ended up pricking his finger multiple times and the string of curses that followed was endless. When he joined you to plant flowers and vegetables, he grew frustrated when the things he planted didn’t grow, when he accidentally placed too much pressure on the seeds, and kept messing up the correct amount of water. Anything that required great care and gentleness, he did not succeed in.

So you told him about the ancient Irodori Festival, about beloved Inazuman folklore, about your favorite childhood stories, to which he scoffed and rolled his eyes, calling out some of the dumb choices by the protagonists, but always listening to you with full attention. Admittedly, you were guilty of accidentally teaching him some of your favorite combinations of curses.

You introduced him to more of your favorite sweets (with him sitting at the table watching you, it was the best option.) Despite his clear fondness for sweets, he vehemently denied it and didn’t have an aptitude for making them at all. Every time Kuni tried to bake something with you, he poured the incorrect amount causing the excess to slip, or turned the heat up too high or too low, scowling at every failure. He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite for other meals, which confused you. Didn’t he have to eat something else to survive? But he always seemed perfectly fine, in better health than you. You decided not to question it further.

But when Kuni followed you around while shopping, if any of the sellers tried to scam you or raise the price a little too high, he would quickly lash out a string of things you’d rather not repeat. And while you profusely apologized for his behavior, you were secretly grateful because it helped you out a lot. When you struggled to hold the grocery bags, he would snatch them from you, complaints following but none had any real bite to them when compared to his actions. Despite his lean stature, he was surprisingly strong.

The more time you spent with him, the more you grew to like him. You had realized that since your first encounter, Kuni had started to show more emotion, as if he was repressing it in the beginning. You had no idea why he hung around you of all people; Kunikuzushi had no obligation to, much less help you with random tasks. It was as if he had nowhere else to go, to return to. But you didn’t want to question him, in fear he’d leave you for prying.

—

Your new pastime with Kunikuzushi involved explaining and taking him around Inazuma to partake in “useless human frivolities.” (You were confused as to though he referred to things as if they didn’t include him, but whenever you brought this up, he just scoffed and ignored you.) But one place he vehemently refused to go was the shrine.

“I don’t want to go there.” The firmness of his statement caught you off guard.

“To the shrine? Is there any particular reason why?”

You could already tell by the look on his face that he would not be responding. Perhaps he did not like the Gods. “Well, that’s okay. It’s not my favorite place either.” And that was the end of it. It was the same thing when you went anywhere near the Electro Archon’s Tenshukaku. He would tense up, grit his teeth, and drag you to the other direction. You wished to know why he loathed the Gods, but you still did not know anything about his past. Maybe one day he’ll open up.

Whenever you ushered Kunikuzushi into your house when it was raining, in fear that he’d get sick, he always replied that he wouldn’t, and he didn’t. He defeated hilichurls and monsters easily with electro powers, despite not having a Vision. How he frequently referred to you as human. It was all starting to make a lot more sense.

(I was going to write a scene about you two falling in love here.)

When Scaramouche was on the other side of the nation, the recipes you gave to him of the meals you made before for him gave him some peace. It didn’t taste nearly as good as when you made it. He wondered if it was due to his skills, or rather because he didn’t have you to share it with.

(I had planned that after Scara left to go to the Fatui, he comes back to find you missing. Later he finds you but you were experimented on in a hidden lab, somehow causing your lifespan to increase, hence the eternal lovers part. The experimentation left you really weak which is why he was scared you were going to die and leave him.)

He placed his hat to the side and sat down next to your bed, gazing at your sleeping figure. You were so frail and powerless, like a typical human. Yet he found himself coming back every time. But now as he looks at you, a familiar, disgusting feeling forms in the pit of his stomach again.

The first to betray him was his creator, his mother. The second was his family, his friend. The third was a child similar to him. Would you, his lover, be the fourth?

You couldn’t leave him. You just can’t. Without you, the fury he desperately tries to quell will surely swallow him whole. You had to come and weasel your way into his life despite his persistence in hating humans. If he never saw your eyes peer at him curiously when he told stories of the outside world, if you never laughed again while he insulted his co-workers, he would… he would never forgive you.

Or rather, Scaramouche suddenly thought, had he betrayed you instead? He had promised himself many years ago, to always protect you. Yet he failed. And now you were in this state because of his weakness.

The Harbinger balled his hands into fists so tightly, he threatened to draw blood. And he would have, if he didn’t notice you twitch and sleepily mumble. He drew his attention to you and unballed his hands to gently hold yours.

Scaramouche, or rather Kunikuzushi, rested his head on the soft sheets, squeezing your hand. You would wake up, he knew you would… you never let him down, unlike anyone else… This was a moment that no one else would ever know about.

But the moment of eternity peace was broken by a knock on her door. Immediately, Scaramouche shot up and put his hat back on, needing to get back into character.

“Come in.”

One of the agents appeared, looking terrified for his life as usual. He licked his lips, trying to find the words to talk, but failed.

“Spit it out already,” Scaramouche scowled, annoyed at the intrusion.

“Lord Harbinger I- well, I t-think it would be easier for you to read this yourself. It was found in the lab."

(This was supposed to be the ending of the fic...)

You were there for him. When he was just Kunikuzushi, when he was Scaramouche. When he was a Harbinger, when he wasn’t. When he tried to find a heart with the Electro Archon’s gnosis, and the aftermath of his tears, reassuring him that he was more than enough for you, that your heart was his.

You would belong to each other for eternity.

(The way Scaramouche canonically hates sweets singlehandedly ruined the plot of this fic💀)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fanfic #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #scaramouche drabble #genshin impact scaramouche

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senkusphone · 11 months ago

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Happy Stone Day, everyone!

On this day, when celebrating the onion man is what most people indulge on, let's also turn our eyes to the fascinating civilization that is Ishigami village, in this mini post (compared to what I usually do anyway).

Starting with the reason I am doing this in the first place, Stone Day. It is a celebration from Ishigami Village that takes place in January 4th, which happens to be Senku's birthday, likely an easter egg left by Byakuya in the hundred tales. Unfortunately we weren't shown anything regarding what this celebration involves.

As the manga itself points out, Stone day is significant in several ways, for one, 1/4 is i-shi in japanese, which also means Stone. It is Senku's birthday (and if you've been following me you'll know that the day Senku was born in, January 4th 2004, was the day that Nasa's Spirit rover landed on Mars).

Another tradition is of course the grand bout, which there isn't much left to say about since it was explained in detail in the series, even down to its specific rules

Rule 6 is the only one that wasn't relevant in the series as far as I can tell.

It's been also vaguely implied that there are other fighting tournaments that take place in the village, which makes sense, since why would you keep an open arena just to use it once very 20 years or so?

(Sideways to save vertical space, Suika will pray for your neck)

However it's never explained how this tradition started to begin with; did it exist in treasure island and disappeared after the Ishigami branched off, or did it start with them in the mainland?

The society structure of contemporary treasure island is substantially different, with a number of small villages that are all (at least in theory) managed by a centralized government composed of the master (or "head" much to our amusement) and the prime minister, where most power is held by the master, who also serves as the main religious figure, being the one who largely keeps the hundred tales, which are passed from generation to generation along his lineage.

In Ishigami village things kinda flipped and thus spawned a system that is at least half matriarchal so to speak. Now political power is split between the chief and the priestess, where the chief holds most executive authority while the priestess holds most of the religious power, and it is the lineage of the priestess that keeps the tales and that power in-family, with the chief being some allegedly suited rando from the village.

Even though it's the obligation of the priestess to marry the chief, she is rarely if ever shown as a subordinate to him and both can be seen directing the village, which I think it's very interesting. The anime went as far as expanding on this, by implying that it was Ruri who told Kokuyo to abdicate his position to Senku.

Sneakily she gets to keep being the priestess without having to be engaged, and we see her taking leading roles from then on.

Now I've talked about religious figures but what is their religion to begin with? Hard to tell, we know that they believe in multiple gods who control the forces of nature such as lightning. Similarly it's also been shown that prior to Senku's arrival, they believed themselves to be the only humans on earth, at least some of them believed the earth was flat, and most bizarrely, they believed the moon was something akin to a floating lake, owning to its small apparent size, however that works.

Perhaps they took note of how water tends to form spheres due to surface tension? This reminds me of how some scientist a few centuries ago (but idr who at this moment) believed the moon to be a solid mass of congealed air.

The last thing I want to bring up is the Ishigami village rope, reportedly made with a special technique that's unique to them.

It is also said that the rope reflects rank and profession somehow, but this is not reflected in any noticeable way on the series itself. Boichi probably hadn't been told about this when he designed all 40 known villagers in the span of one week.

The rope is worn somewhere around the body, and it contains a single red thread spun into it, serving as a symbol of kinship among them.

For now I'll leave it at that, as it's getting pretty late in the day, and pretty much all of this is written on the wiki article to begin with. Hope you enjoyed it, I'll see you all some other day.

#dr. stone trivia #dcst stone day #dr stone #dr. stone #dcst #dcst senku #drstone #dcst kohaku #kohaku dr stone #dr stone kohaku #senku ishigami #dcst ruri #dr stone ruri #ruri dr stone #dcst suika #dr stone suika #suika dr stone

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bonefall · 2 years ago

Note

Nature spirit Star flower? Bleeding Clear Sky dry eight times over? I am curious please explain more

Here's the general idea of it, this would all come after the end of BB!DOTC, which closes out with the aftermath of the First Battle and the naming of Windstar, Riverstar, Thunderstar, Shadowstar, and Skystar.

NOTE: You're basically about to read notes. This is not solidified yet. I have "Moments" I want to build towards, but they're loosely strung together. Fragments.

First off, Hollyleaf's Century gave us the intro to the Four Gods of this region.

They go by many names, but each is connected to a season. Sol, Midnight, Rock, and the man of the hour himself, One Eye, God of Summer.

One Eye was last seen possessing Lion's Roar. It's established that you need a certain number of violent, blood-based sacrifices to invoke him.

And, of course, he is drawn to the smell of death, the reek of rot in the summer's sun. The First Battle called him here, investigating the wonderful scent.

Star Flower is his 'daughter'. Natural objects of great value can manifest into beings of their own once destroyed, and Star Flower was an extinct, localized species of forest flower back at the Lake.

Still working out the exact rules of that, but it seems like nature spirits do have to be born somehow (like Broken to Yellow). One Eye found her in his travels and took her under his wing.

So anyway back to the arrival of One Eye in the Clans

(WIP STUFF, basically put a bunch of ???s past this point, this is plotting stuff.)

He is currently still possessing the body of Lion's Roar, an old and ragged thing. He's not fancy like Sol, who likes to travel around through time with its change powers.

One Eye took a shine to Clear Sky and his warmongering, infiltrating his group, and eventually making his nature known by eating Tom

He has a palette for violent people and accumulated evil. He will promise you 'revenge' to get at your enemy and make you into a delicious meal as well.

Skystar is NEVER getting a redemption arc in BB!DOTC, but he's not a moron either. He realizes that Sharptooth is practically trying to season him, and the horrifying death of Tom is what makes him work with the other Clans

to save his own giblets

Thunderstar Did Not Like That, but there's a bigger fish to fry

(Side note: One Eye was probably deified long ago for being the inventor of fire... vague cooking motif, perhaps?)

The Clans worked together to get rid of One Eye. It's important that the person who landed the final blow was a Tribe-born cat-- probably Sun Shadow.

One Eye vows revenge on his killer's homeland as he dies... not realizing that Sun Shadow was not born here, he was born at the tribe.

(May shuffle this moment to later, you'll see why in a moment)

Star Flower at this moment begins her own work, buddying up close to Skystar, getting close to him so she can stab him in the back

And she does! She drags him to the place where One Eye was buried, and bleeds him slowly, exploiting his 9 lives with a horrible magic loophole;

If he dies of blood loss, StarClan heals THAT, not any of the tiny injuries she's put on his body.

So he's letting out 8x the blood of a normal cat.

But before he can die for the last time, she is interrupted, probably by Thunderstar

She offers him this; "Go on! Take the last sacrifice! One Eye will be grateful to you. You'll get what you want, have your revenge, and Skystar will never threaten you or your family ever again."

Seeing Skystar, pitiful, bloody, and helpless, he refuses this. This wouldn't be honorable. To kill to win his feud is not justice; it's revenge.

(Here's when I was thinking of shuffling that earlier Sun Shadow moment to, have the resurrection be incomplete and have a final fight of partially-summoned One Eye. Angrily lays that curse for having his plan thwarted. Boss fight against half-fossilized cave lion.)

After this, I'm not sure what to do with Star Flower. She just killed Skystar 8 times, so, SkyClan isn't going to take her back.

I could have her be wandering, a loner or rogue who is just part of the background now. Maybe I don't need to wrap it all up here just yet.

So, there you have it! This is pretty rough but it's where I'm at with her.

Since this is post-main arc DOTC, it may make for a very good redux of Thunderstar's Echo. Maybe Thunderstar's Justice? Something like that. Make the central conceit be Thunderstar vs Skystar, wrapping up their arc from the main series.

#I'll tag as Thunderstar's Justice until I decide on a name #Thunderstar's Summoning or Ritual could be a good one too though and a unique title #BB!DOTC #Better Bones au

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jaggedjot · 8 months ago

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“A month from my wedding day, and what do I dream about? Dancing in my husband's arms? Children running in the yard? No, I dream of what a quiet breakfast might look like.”

Upon first appearance, Grace’s waspish remark provides us with a vital bit of establishing information about the timeframe (approximately three to seven weeks) that the events of the first episode takes place in. Context like this is important for an audience to have as it provides pacing to the plot and grounds the characters’ actions and thought processes. As the episode progresses though, the characters become increasingly unmoored as more and more contradictory information is revealed to the audience.

Louis begins his story in the autumn (“The year was 1910, the fall of the fifth year of my father’s passing”), and later states that his relationship with Lestat deepens over the winter (“It was a cold winter that year, and Lestat was my coal fire.”), which heavily suggests that several months are passing. Enough people see Louis and Lestat out together that gossip filters back to Grace (“Out cattin' with some white man, I hear.”). It is confirmed by Miss Carol that there are at least two weeks (“Miss Lily died, Mr du Lac. Two weeks ago.”) between Lestat and Louis’ night of passion and Paul’s funeral. Then there is Grace’s wedding itself, which goes on throughout the night and takes place entirely outdoors; contrasting his earlier statements about the season, Louis does not recall there being any marquees or braziers to protect the guests from potential cold or rain, and both Paul and Louis stop wearing their suit jackets after the ceremony.

Despite the numerous pieces of evidence that more than “a month” passes in the episode, this information was still accepted as accurate due to the placement of the line within the narrative. That was until an unseen image (the relevant shot in the fifth episode has Paul’s inscription out of frame) of the de Pointe du Lac family tomb was shared by the Anne Rice’s Immortal Universe Twitter account, clearly showing that Paul died on the 3rd May, 1911. Theorising subsequently began about an alternative timeline for the events of the first episode, with many using Louis’ opening of “1910, the fall” as the starting point and the revealed tomb inscription as the ending point. This new timeframe proposes that the events of the first episode occur over approximately six to eight months; critically, this is compatible with every other marker of time in the episode except for Grace’s comment. While it is important to note that Paul’s inscription has not been officially confirmed by the show, all the aforementioned time markers means that its exclusion cannot be easily dismissed as covering over a mistake made by the production team. A more productive question to ask is what is the significance of a deliberately confusing and likely misremembered timeframe to the story.

Firstly, it suggests that Louis’ recollections can be more emblematic than literal. Mealtimes and conversation among Louis’ family are noted in his narration (“Mornings with my family followed a pattern that year.”) to have been familiar and repetitive. It is this comfortable mundanity that Louis likely took for granted at the time, and, based on the warmth in which he describes his siblings in the present day, has deeply missed. It would make sense therefore that Louis would try and recount these scenes, but end up with something cobbled together from several half remembered conversations.

Secondly, this ambiguity does speak to how Louis’ relationship to time has changed over the years, something openly acknowledged by Louis in his letter to Daniel (“The passage of time and the frailties that accompany it have provided me perspective.”). The difference between a few weeks and several months must feel increasingly insignificant when you have already lived for more than a century. And to Louis, who has long since regretted becoming a vampire and gained awareness of the ways he was unable to make an informed decision about that, neither period is long enough to justify his loss of humanity. From this angle then, the shorter timespan would feel true to Louis, even if it is not literally so. Louis may be unaware of the discrepancies, or, relating back to the previous point, may be deliberately muddying the waters for the sake of more expressive and emotive storytelling.

Thirdly, it betrays the deep-rooted issues Louis has with agency and shame. Throughout the season, Louis often depicts his relationship with Lestat as though Louis were a passive subject, someone who was completely overwhelmed by foreign emotions (e.g. “My body was seized with weakness. His gaze tied a string around my lungs, and I found myself immobilized.”) and who took no purposeful action to continue that relationship (e.g. “You started hanging out?” “He was in love with my city and wanted to know everything he could about it.”). A similar plea to inevitability occurs when Louis describes why he became and tried to embrace being a vampire (“It is difficult to explain how his words disarmed me, how efficiently succinct and impenetrable his argument was. […] I completely forgot myself”). There is undeniably a lot of truth to Louis’ assertions that Lestat’s willpower was relentless and uncompromising, as well as how disorienting feelings of extreme grief and love can be to a person. It is also quite apparent that Louis played a more active role in his relationship with Lestat and engaged more deliberately with his own vampire nature than Louis’ narration wants to acknowledge; that Louis had some awareness of what was happening (e.g. Lestat’s romantic interest in him, Lestat having powers no ordinary human could), sufficient agency and power to have some other options available to him, and chose the paths he did anyhow. By remembering the period between meeting Lestat and becoming a vampire as significantly shorter than it was, Louis can try to convince himself that his greatest regrets in life are not due to any major fault of his own.

#I have been working on this since the weekend #so over double digit hours of writing #and I managed to get it down to just over a thousand words #I am now forcibly tearing this meta out of my hands #Louis de Pointe du Lac #Grace du Pointe du Lac #Vampterview #Interview with the Vampire #Jagged Jottings

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goodfish-bowl · 1 year ago

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Until Dawn Breaks

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 20: Danse Macabre

AO3 Link

Summary: "La danse macabre" by Camille Saint Saens was written in 1874, and depicts a legend where on Halloween at midnight, Death would play the fiddle, summoning the dead from their graves to dance with him until the rooster crows at dawn.

There’s someone playing the violin in the cemetery, and despite the six feet of earth separating Danny from the surface, he can hear them clearly.

Warnings: angst

Words: 2612

Danny awoke to the sound of the soft cries of a violin. The melody was winding and minor, clamoring up and down the scales, clearly audible despite the six feet of earth that separated his resting place from the surface. He wondered who the hell was playing the violin in a cemetery in the middle of the night. It was a bit of a stupid idea, but… they at least played quite well. You could win consolation prizes for that sort of skill. Danny slipped from his resting place, phasing through the earth and maintaining his invisibility. He didn’t want to scare the player off after all.

Rising from the surface, the first thing Danny did was note the location and shift of the stars from the last time he had been awake. It was autumn now, and at least 20 years since the last time he had woken up, and the arc of the moon put it just around midnight... That trio of ghost hunters must be adults now.

Danny found the player not too far from his grave, dressed darkly, in fashion that wouldn’t look out of place a century and a half ago if not for the spiders decorating the lace in her dress, and the careful, complex addition of layers. It looked heavy, but not nearly as heavy as clothing from that time period actually was. Despite the darkness of the night, she had a hat on her head, decorated with a matching spider-lace veil and rhinestone that glistened like raindrops caught in a web, carefully tucked away so as to not get in the way of the violin that was tucked gently under her chin. Danny thought she was lovely and matched quite nicely with the scenery she surrounded herself with.

On a small device Danny couldn’t name, a tinney replication of a piano played under her solo, adding chords and texture to the piece. He would’ve loved to hear it with an actual piano instead of a recording. He sat himself upon his own headstone, resting weightlessly on his knees as he watched her sway to her own song.

She finished on a chord that didn’t quite leave the piece feeling completed, but was satisfying all the same. Danny clapped without much thought to the action. The player startled nearly immediately, eyes wide as they snapped to him as he flickered into visibility. She took a quick step back, tripping over the hem of her dress. Danny was quick enough to catch both the violin that flew from her hands, and her own hand, stopping her from hitting the ground.

“Y-you! You’re… you’re-!” She stuttered, frozen in shock as Danny pulled her to her feet.

“A ghost, yes,” Danny smiled, handing her the instrument back.

She finally looked sheepish at her actions, glancing between her hand and his own, completely confused and unbearably nervous. “I’m… sorry if I… bothered you.”

Danny let out a light laugh, “Not at all, you play quite nicely.”

Her face flushed at the compliment.

“If anything, I’m glad I woke up to a violin this time. Last time someone woke me up, it was with the intent of actually bothering a ghost. I definitely prefer the music,” Danny joked. “I’m Danny by the way, but you might also know me as Phantom,” he said, gesturing to his own grave.

The girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “You’re a local myth, a legend even. I never thought they were real.”

“They’re a lot more merits to legends than you might think. After all, you’re the one playing a violin at midnight so close to Halloween.”

She flushed. “My name’s Sam, by the way. And I’m hardly fit for the role of Death in that legend.”

Danny took her hand and placed a soft kiss upon it through the smile on his lips. “You’re right, Miss Sam, you’re far lovelier.”

Sam clearly wasn’t used to compliments, the way she sputtered and her face flushed so deeply like she had eaten something spicy. Danny couldn’t help but laugh.

“What are you laughing at?!” Sam exclaimed, failing to puff up under the tension of her corset. Danny laughed harder.

Danny laughed long enough that he felt out of breath, despite not needing to breathe and his diaphragm hurt, and Sam had begun to pout.

“I’m sorry, you’re just tomato-colored. Clashes horribly with the rest of your outfit,” Danny apologized insincerely. Danny glanced around the cemetery, noticing the lack of a trail, animal or otherwise. “I can’t imagine it was easy to get to this overgrown spot in that dress.

Sam huffed. “I got here just fine,” and hiked up her dress just far enough to show off her combat boots.

“Hmm, practical,” Danny acknowledged. “Say, would you mind telling me about the current era? I don’t get out much,” Danny asked, sitting down on an old log.

Sam joined him after testing her weight, crossing her legs under her dress after setting the violin down in its case sitting just under another tree.

“Not exactly sure what you want to hear about. I’m sure you’ve probably seen more interesting things,” Sam dismissed.

“I wouldn't say that,” Danny countered. “For example, what’s that device you were using as an accompaniment?”

Sam held up the small, rectangular device. Its screen lit up brightly in the night. “Oh, this is a cell phone. Mostly just used to make and receive calls, but there are a whole bunch of other functions it can do too. Here.” Sam leaned in, and tapped on the small device's glass screen, interacting with it.

Sam went through the different “apps” on the phone, explaining them to him in general terms, then going on a tangent about something called “video games”, then around to a show she enjoyed, then back to games. Danny paid attention for the most part, listening to her voice even if he wasn’t always hearing the words. He was mostly enjoying the closeness of a living person, the warmth she radiated in the night, despite the layers of clothing. He felt it every time she shifted, throwing her arms about in passion, and in the heat of her breath. While he had been awake 20 years ago, it had been long since someone had allowed him to get this close. It reminded him of something long ago…

In the distance, an old church bell chimed five times, and the dawn tinted the horizon. Sam was startled at the sudden noise, and Danny let out a soft sigh of disappointment. He guessed it was about time. He got up from the log, and Sam followed his actions, stretching out her stiff limbs and brushing the forest litter off her clothes.

“Oh wow, it’s morning already,” Sam gasped, watching the colors of dawn slowly begin to bleed into the sky.

“Yeah… it is,” Danny added absently. “Sam, you should come play for me again.”

Sam looked back at him, and Danny glanced at his own translucent hands, knowing he was getting paler by the minute.

“You’ll still be here?” She asked.

“Danny laughed, “It’s the living that changes, not the dead. I’ll probably still be here for another century at this point.”

Sam smiled sadly. “Then sure. I’ll come play for you again.”

“Thank you,” Danny said honestly.

“Anyways, I’ve got to go before someone notices I’ve been gone all night. See you later, ghost boy.” Sam gave a light wave, picked up her case, and pushed her way through the undergrowth.

He waved back. “Bye, Sam.”

Danny floated back to his grave, and let his boot actually touch the earth. He could feel the cold ground calling to him, and his own sense of self fading as the sun rose higher. He thought about the warmth that Sam had emitted, feeling it through himself as their shoulders had brushed, despite hers passing clearly through his. It had been so nice.

With the break of dawn, Danny felt himself fade, and be pulled back into a deep slumber in his grave. Time passed quickly while asleep, and he quickly found himself waking to the sound of a violin once more. This tune was different, softer and kinder than the previous song had been. Lyrical and elegant, beckoning him from his sleep, Danny obliged.

Out of habit, Danny checked the sky to see how long it had been. Only a few days at most, the moon hadn’t even had time to move on from its current phase. Sam had come back much sooner than he would’ve expected.

Danny didn’t wait invisibly this time and caught Sam’s eyes as he passed through the earth, watching her play. She gave a small curtsey when she finished playing, and he politely clapped. She was dressed much more practically than last time, in black jeans with a collared shirt and a long coat covered in various patches and metal studs.

“Good evening, Miss Sam, nice of you to come to charm the dead once more,” Danny greeted.

“Hello again to you too, Mr. Ghost. I brought you something.” Sam reached into a bag she had brought with her this time and pulled out a bouquet of white lilies.

Danny watched in stunned awe as Sam gently placed the flowers on top of his grave. It… had been a long time since anyone had left him flowers and it honestly left him choked up.

“Thank you,” Danny just barely managed to get out.

“Of course,” Sam smiled back and then took her place on the log from the time before.

From her bag, Sam pulled out more new things to show him. Danny relished each one, both because of his curiosity and her passion for each thing. He asked her to explain each of the numerous patches on her jacket, and it ended in long rants about conservation and dietary topics that Danny had to admit he didn’t understand. He had known about space exploration before, but Sam had indulged him by reciprocating his question about his own passions and then using her cell phone to look up all of the new discoveries about space. He was stuck in wonder, and the topic didn’t stray away from the stars for the rest of the night. Sam left at dawn once more with a promise to come back and play for him again.

On the third night, Danny awoke to a quick and delightful dance, he couldn’t help but fly from his grave and spin around Sam in a mockery of the dances that nobles of long ago had once relished in. It had only been one night since she had visited him. She finished the song, and he dragged her into the dance with him, humming a complimentary melody of his own. It had been a song someone close to him had once loved, and he was filled with the desire to share it.

Sam was lost in her laughter, and once they finished with the dance, went through her bag, and showed him new things once more. She told him all about her current education, how irritating the people there were, and about her struggles with her parents, who she felt could never understand her. Danny ended up sharing bits and pieces of his own past and family, none of which he could linger on for long, both due to them being long since buried in the past, and his own memory blurring.

Sam couldn’t stay until dawn this time, she apparently had a test tomorrow morning and wanted to get a good night’s rest before it. Danny wished her luck, and yet again, she promised to come back. He was looking forward to it once more.

Since dawn was still a ways off, Danny let his feet leave the ground to go meet the stars. Amity was much larger and brighter than it used to be, nearly double the size of the small town he once knew. He remembered when it barely used to give off any light at all, and the stars once shone a lot brighter than they currently did.

It all hit Danny with the sudden force of a freight engine, now that he was both alone and awake. He could fall back into a deep sleep any day now, or Sam could simply not return. Time would continue to pass without him and he would be forgotten once more. With the way Amity Park kept expanding, they might as well demolish the park where the cemetery lay, and bury him even deeper beneath the earth than he already was, beneath concrete and buildings. If he was only a legend now, how much longer would it be before he wasn’t even that?

Danny let himself drift back down to the earth, lying on his back on the overgrown surface of his grave, right next to the flowers Sam had gifted him. He let out a humorless laugh and picked up the wilted bouquet and held it over his chest. He wondered how long Sam would remember him. He wondered if she would get tired of him, and forget to come back, and he would fade from her mind like he did from the rest of Amity Park. It filled him with dread.

It was getting harder to wake up too, and Danny hadn’t had the time to think about that in a long time either. It was a wonder Sam’s playing had been able to consistently wake him up, intentional or not. It likely had more to do with the timing and season than not. It had taken that trio of ghost hunters 20 minutes of “summonings”, loud rituals, and burning weird things before he groggily managed to climb out of his grave. Halloween was due to pass in a week, and Danny wondered if even Sam’s playing would be able to wake him after that. Her forgetting him was one thing, but Danny didn’t want to be the one to leave her behind. She was lovely, and kind, and told him about all sorts of things, and about her life, and how she wished she could live it. Danny wanted to be there to see it.

The dawn had begun to creep up on him, and he felt the flowers slowly drift through him from their place on his chest back to the surface of his resting place. It might become a more permanent rest soon, and Danny hated that more than anything. The thought of not waking up scared him more than anything. He could see clearly through his hands, and a panic he hadn’t felt in the time he had come to accept his nocturnal existence set in.

Danny recklessly dug deep within himself in a fit of passion, trying to find even a hint of that warmth he had come to associate with the living. The warmth he associated with Sam, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and holding her hand while they spun around the abandoned cemetery that lay beneath her skin and in her breath. He yearned desperately to feel it from himself once more. Danny yearned for life in a way he wasn’t sure he ever had.

Then Danny found it, deeply sleeping just at the base of his core, hidden by the familiar chill of death. He latched onto it, clinging to it in a desperate, silly hope fueled by an instinctual fear.

There was a burst of light as the sun finally broke over the horizon and painted the sky gold, and an equally bright burst of light within the cemetery. And for the first time in centuries, Danny felt the warmth of dawn hit his skin.

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Master Post

#ectoberhaunt23 #Day 20 #danse macabre #goodfish writes #danny phantom #immortal danny au #sam manson #amethyst ocean #me?? writing romance?? not without at lease SOME angst #all this because I couldn't draw a saxophone... damn

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canonicallyobserving911 · 1 year ago

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9-1-1 Season 6 - Constructive Criticisms #6

Season Six or Season of Sex

Season Six or the Season of Sex is being included in these “constructive criticisms” posts because there were a lot of implications and references to it over the season’s 18 episodes and it all started before the season even began. During a pre-season interview, OS and PK were preparing to discuss expectations for the upcoming season when OS mistakenly said, “Season Sex” instead of “Season Six”. Even though he quickly corrected himself, based on all the emergencies and implications that involved sex throughout the season, it’s possible his comment may not have been a mistake at all but the audience will never know.

Sex was a recurring theme and it was referenced in at least 9 of the season’s 18 episodes. Three emergencies included couples who sustained injuries prior to or during the act and there was an abundance of implications made about Buck’s sexual prowess or his lack thereof in at least two episodes. While there were references made to both Bathena’s and Henren’s active sex lives, they were completely overshadowed with topics that included cheating spouses, masturbation jokes, sex thrill seekers, unsatisfied partners and several references to all the “unsatisfying sex” Buck had during his Buck 1.0 phase.

It’s the 21st century, TV shows have progressed far beyond their predecessors from 10, 20, 30, 40 and 50 years ago and even though the topic is being discussed more openly in network TV programs, it appears whatever 9-1-1 attempted to accomplish with all the implications and references to sex made during season 6, they completely missed the mark since the reasons for it were never revealed. Was the show trying to make a point? Who knows but after analyzing the season in its entirety and comparing it with other things that took place in 6A and 6B, it appears whatever the initial point was supposed to be, it got lost in translation and it didn’t land properly. Even after the season ended, the reason was still unclear and for Buck, 6x18 ended with a conflict to something they implied and referenced about him in 6x13.

Disclaimer: This post is not about the right or wrong ways to have sex or whether it should happen before or after marriage. The point of it is to identify all the implications and references 9-1-1 made about sex in season 6 from an overall perspective to illustrate how they missed the mark by not fully committing to whatever story they were trying to tell.

My sixth set of “constructive criticisms” regarding the implications made about sex in season 6 are included below the cut. Please note criticizing a TV show is NOT a bad thing especially since TV critics have been doing it for decades. Constructive criticisms are designed to help make something better and they are VERY different from negativity. A person can offer criticisms about a form of entertainment they spend their time watching and not be negative about it the same way two people can agree to disagree on a topic. Just because one person liked the season, they shouldn’t expect others to feel the way they do because everyone has their own opinions. Simply put, two people can have different opinions about 9-1-1 and those opinions can COEXIST since they are not mutually exclusive.

If reading criticisms about the TV show 9-1-1 upsets you, then don’t read below the cut.

⚠️ Warning! ⚠️“Constructive Criticisms” Ahead!

As mentioned above, season 6 focused on sex for at least half of the season but it’s evident whatever the show was attempting to imply or reference about it remained unclear. In previous seasons, the emergencies included in an episode were always related to the main characters’ storylines but in season 6, two of the sexcapade themed emergencies didn’t relate to the episode titles or the main characters’ storylines at all and Buck’s masturbation jokes in 6x7 should have been eliminated.

For whatever reason the showrunner thought the audience listening to Buck tell Hen about the way he hadn’t masturbated in four weeks was a good idea because she thought it would be funny. Comments posted after the episode aired proved it wasn’t fun, funny or hilarious and most viewers’ comments stated how they were left scratching their heads and wondering why it was included in the first place.

Also, Hen had just dropped out of medical school when she had the discussion with Buck which means she should have been allowed to tell him not masturbating for four weeks actually hurt his chances of providing Connor and Kameron with a viable donation instead of it helping them. It was another egregious error and omission by the showrunner because she wanted Buck to have a baby by any means necessary instead of following the narrative for his character (Part 5 of this blog series, linked here, includes details regarding continuity errors and forced narratives).

Based on the way episodes were rearranged and titles were changed, it appears there were a lot of last-minute changes to the original plan which probably contributed to the lack of continuity with regards to whatever story the showrunner was trying to tell. While it’s possible someone had an idea during the season’s planning stages and they committed to it, hours before filming or days after a scene was completed, someone else or the same person decided to change course and renege on what they set out to accomplish. Since they never committed to identifying what the implications and references to sex meant, it made the season appear to be discombobulated and unorganized and it made the way sex was incorporated into the season seem like it was an afterthought to fill up empty slots in episodes. It was handled similarly to the way storylines were treated during seasons 5 and 6 (Part 4 of this blog series, linked here, includes information about the unequal distribution of storylines).

All the episodes that included implications and references to sex during season 6 have been included below.

Please note: instances where no explanation was needed, weren’t included. For example, the implication of Henren’s active sex life in 6x6 and Bathena’s active sex life in 6x13 weren’t included because they don’t have to be since the implications and references were able to be interpreted without an explanation.

6x1 “Let the Games Begin”

Maddie and Chimney had a one-night stand after he invited her to stay with him at his apartment when the kitchen ceiling in her place started leaking. The next morning, he left before she woke up and they never talked about it. The synopsis included details about them going to couples therapy but that didn’t happen so their one-night stand played out like they weren’t communicating with each other and it conflicts with the way their relationship was shown in previous seasons. After the end of 3x13, they didn’t have a problem doing it or talking about it and even when Maddie was pregnant in 4x9, she told Chimney they were going to have sex with the hope that it would induce her labor. That’s the reason why their one-night stand and the lack of couples therapy made it seem like something in 6x1 changed before the episode aired. They hadn’t reconciled yet but they never had a problem communicating prior to season 6 even after 5x12 because they agreed while they were in Boston, they weren’t going to hide things from each other anymore. Therefore, the implication of them having difficulties communicating didn’t make any narrative sense (this topic will be elaborated on in a future post).

6x2 “Crash and Learn”

The emergency at the beginning of the episode that had the wife cheating on her husband with her next-door neighbor DID NOT relate to the theme of the episode. It was evident their affair had been going on for a while since the neighbor built a ‘Tunnel of Lust’, that’s what Chimney called it, that was connected to the bottom of their closet. It gave the neighbor access to enter their home without her husband seeing him on any of the cameras he had set up on the outside of the house. It begs the question, what was the point of this scene? A woman having sex with her neighbor instead of her husband had absolutely nothing to do with the crash and learn synopsis. The husband dropping explosives into his backyard like he was doing it to ward off gophers was actually, an attempted murder where if he’s found guilty, he could end up in jail. He suspected she was cheating on him but it wasn’t like the walkway that crashed at the Happiness Convention later in the episode and Hen proved it when she told him he was under arrest. He tried to kill his neighbor so the inclusion of this scene in that episode made no sense and the implications and references to sex made it seem like it was another afterthought that was thrown into the episode for a purpose that only the showrunner understands.

6x4 “Animal Instincts”

Connor telling Buck he felt like a total failure as a man because he couldn’t get his wife pregnant DID NOT relate to the theme of the episode. Eddie’s worry about Chris growing up was an example of animal instincts and so was Lourdes protecting her daughter Claribel but the whole Buck, Connor and Kameron storyline was not about protecting one’s child. It seems like the whole “sperm donor” storyline was thrown into the episode because they didn’t know what else to put in it, even though Hen and Karen have a son and Athena and Bobby have two children but hey, apparently the showrunner needed an excuse to include a storyline for Buck in that episode too even though he already had two storylines by the time the episode aired. What were they trying to accomplish with Connor manipulating Buck into being his sperm donor? Whatever it was, just like a lot of the other storylines, it wasn’t clear (this topic will be elaborated on in a future post).

The implication and reference to sex when Buck told Hen “I think we all know I’m capable” while he referenced his junk and his semen shouldn’t have been included in the episode. It seems like hardly anyone wanted to hear him reference his “baby making machine” especially after 6x7 aired but apparently someone thought it would be good TV.

6x5 “Home Invasion”

That whole ambulance scene with Marisol and her brother was right out of that 1980s Folgers coffee commercial. The scene that made it into the episode was reshot but it still looked like she was in love with her brother so what was the goal here? What were they trying to imply or reference? Did the implications and the references have anything to do with sex? It’s still unclear especially since they threw the character of Marisol at Eddie in the last two episodes of the season, and that was after he saw the way she acted with her brother. Both his and Chimney’s eyebrows were raised like they were trying to figure out what was going on and the audience was trying to figure out the same thing. Furthermore, the ambulance scene didn’t even need to be in the episode so what the actual Frick Frack was that about?

6x7 “Cursed”

The masturbation talk Buck had with Hen and the jokes about his junk were NOT FUNNY and it should have been edited out of the episode. No one wanted to listen to them discuss the way Buck hadn’t done the deed for four weeks. The implications and references to his junk were ridiculous and it could have been omitted. Also, since the “cursed” part of his storyline (if there even still is one) wasn’t revealed even though the show was supposed to end after 6x18, why was this scene included in the episode?

6x8 “9-1-1 What’s Your Fantasy?”

The couple who wanted to have sex on top of the fire ENGINE was ridiculous and Bobby explained it best when he said, “That has to be the dumbest most dangerous and dumbest fantasy I’ve ever heard of”. The episode title was changed from “Pilgrimage” to “9-1-1 What’s your Fantasy?” so it’s kind of obvious the scene was a last-minute addition to make the episode work but it fell flat. Also, IIRC, the couple who had sex on top of the fire engine in the movie “Backdraft” was up there while the ENGINE was parked not while it was going down the street. This wasn’t funny and the scene should have been deleted.

6x13 “Mixed Feelings”

Buck discussing his “woodworking skills” while they were playing poker was a reference to his Buck 1.0 days and Julie Rosen saying she “worked” with Buckley implied they had sex. But the question is when was it supposed to have happened since prior to that episode she was only included in two episodes, i.e., 5x7 while Buck was with Taylor and in 6x2 when he was completely distraught after Lev died? Was it supposed to be something else that happened off-screen? From the way it was executed, it appears it was just another way for the showrunner to focus on Buck’s junk.

The original title of the episode was “New Sensation” and if the show would have kept that title, then it would have made sense with regards to the final emergency. The husband misplaced the vibrator while he and his wife were in the middle of having sex so there weren’t any implications or references that needed to be explained. She was mortified and he was nervous therefore the emergency was NOT related to either of them having any mixed feelings.

Also, the husband’s conversation with Buck about the article he read regarding 80% of women being unsatisfied by their partners after sex didn’t relate to the episode title either. Buck did the math for all the women he’d been with and after he completed the calculation, it was implied he didn’t satisfy the majority of them and he didn’t have any mixed feelings about it. Actually, he was mortified when he realized the number of women who weren’t satisfied with his “Firehouse” was larger than he expected.

Later in the episode, he was shown calling all the women whose names he could remember asking them if they were satisfied but it was NOT FUNNY and it made him look ridiculous especially since he had just died four episodes earlier which means that should have been the farthest thing from his mind. He upgraded to Buck 3.0 in 4x6 therefore, he shouldn’t be the butt of sex jokes anymore. It appears the show won’t allow him to grow and mature which allows the showrunner to keep making his character regress so his lack of growth shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.

6x17 “Love is in the Air”

Lucy insinuating, she did more than kiss Buck in 5x11 when she hugged him in front his date was asinine. It was like she was implying they had sex when they didn’t so what was the purpose of this scene and why was it included in the episode?

Also, Taylor referencing her relationship with Buck while she was on TV talking about her raggedy book was trifling. She proved exactly who she was and still is in that scene, someone who will throw anyone underneath the bus if they get in the way of her telling a news story. Why was she brought back? Oh, probably to make Buck look bad again.

Buck pursuing Natalia and going right for the physical when they were in his loft showed him reverting back to Buck 1.0. Him dying and being revived was the opportunity he needed and the audience wanted to see so he could grow but that can’t happen since the showrunner wants to keep portraying him as a sex machine.

Maddie asking Buck why he had a ring cutter and Buck not responding was a reference to him owning one for another type of ring. It was a sex reference and an implication about a specific type of ring men use during sex. Why was he searching for it in his kitchen of all places? This was another example of the egregious way they refer to Buck’s character instead of allowing him to grow.

What was the point of all the implications and references to sex with Buck in this episode? The title only referenced love being in the air for Maddie and Chimney so what was the point of all these scenes?

6x18 “Pay it Forward”

In 6x13, Buck did the math while he was talking to Patty’s husband and he realized he wasn’t as skilled in the bedroom as he thought but the show contradicted itself when he fell back into bed with Natalia at the end of 6x18. It was implied they had sex since she was still at his loft wearing nothing but a shirt. So, what was the goal here? Was it to illustrate how Buck reverted back to the physical when he didn’t want to fix his own life the same way he’s always done even though he wasn’t shown learning how to be better in bed? Was the audience supposed to assume he had changed when he hadn’t? The season ended with him being viewed as Buck 1.0 again especially since his past was referenced earlier in 6x17 so, the goal of all the implications and references to sex is still unclear.

Since the implications and references to sex in the nine episodes listed above weren’t resolved by the end of season 6, it could mean those in charge of the show knew it wasn’t the end even though they wanted the audience to believe they didn’t know. Hopefully whatever the goal was by including these scenes will be resolved in season 7 otherwise, there will be a lot more filler episodes during the upcoming season that won’t make any sense at all.

These are my criticisms regarding implications and references to sex during season 6 and “Constructive Criticisms” #7 will be posted on Monday, July 3, 2023.

I have a total of 15 CANON “Constructive Criticisms” (9 remaining) and my goal is to have all of them posted by Monday, August 28, 2023. The topics are being posted in a specific order that begins with the overall issues for season 6 so they can be referenced within the posts about individual characters and ships that will follow them.

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