#now how to convert this into a passing days chapter...

[writer-and-artist27]

[Image Description: A screenshot from Fate/Grand Order, showing the "Saint Graph Evolved" screen for Archer Robin Hood. The subtitle says, "Level 120 Reached" in bright gold lettering. End Description.]

...Funny how much time a little over a year can do. From June 22, 2022 to today, December 11, 2023 — that was how long it took to get Big Robin to Level 120. It was a lot, from splitting up grails between him, Art-san, and Achi, dealing with two family deaths in that span of time, and transitioning from one job to another, but if there's one thing I can take from it?

Big Robin is the biggest he can ever be until the next update. And as a girl who grew up with the Disney version and found herself loving the Fate version to no tomorrow, this is the least I can do to show my gratitude.

I love you, Big Robin. I love you so much. Thank you for being you. :)

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

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The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

----------

*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.  

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

-----

The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

-----

Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

[lucozadehulahoop]

Star-crossed. Lo'ak x fem!human!reader

This was originally posted on my side blog @thankeywa. It's a brand new blog and tumblr thinks it's a bot so it's not giving it visibility. Please go give it some love, I want all my avatar!related stuff to be on there.

PART 2 HERE PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE

I know that literally nobody asked for this, but I've noticed a disturbing lack of Lo'ak fics out there, so I've decided to give my input. I've had a story in mind for a while now, and I needed to get it out there. It will be a reader insert to make it more accessible, but it's somewhat based around an original f!character, so I apologize for that in advance if it gets too specific.

WARNINGS: Lo'ak is 20 years old in this and so is the reader, I do not write about minor characters. There will be eventual mature themes in this so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK.

For everyone else, if you like my writing, please let me know if you want to be on the tag list for future installments and SEND ME REQUESTS (head canons, imagines, sfw/nsfw, ecc.) ! I love that shit.

words: around 1.200

summary: reader is a human left behind on pandora, she grew up with the remaining humans who'd been aloud to stay on the planet after the war and has been friends with the Sully clan her entire life. She and Lo'ak were best friends until he began to pull away from her in their teen years for seemingly no reason. This story is about them reconnecting on the day of her twentieth birthday, and dealing with the feelings they have for each other and the obstacles that come with them being from two different worlds.

TW for this chapter: angst, smoking (don't do it, ever), brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of war and death, brief mention of child birth, reader can breathe on pandora.

Y/n looked at the 'birthday cake' made out of cookie rations that Norm and Max had made for her. No matter how many years would pass, her dads always knew how to get creative.

"I'm twenty years old, you guys don't have to keep throwing me a birthday party." She reprimanded them softly, though her heart was filled with joy. Y/n was so thankful to have people in her life who cared enough to make her day special every single year.

"Considering you spent most of your early existence tied to test tubes to stay alive, we're merely celebrating the scientific marvel your continued survival has been." Norm joked, raising a beer, and y/n shoved him, before blowing out the single candle that had been meticulously re-used each year. It was a wonder how there was any wax still left on it.

"What did the birthday girl wish for?" Max asked, reaching for a dried-up cookie and cringing slightly at the taste as he chewed on it slowly. "The whole point of a birthday wish is to keep it to myself... or it won't come true. Honestly, I question your two's knowledge of Earth's traditions." y/n shook her head, before taking a celebratory sip of alcohol.

Norm and Max left eventually, back to the main base. They were more than capable of piloting a helicopter those days, and y/n was all grown up. More than capable of living by herself. What once had been an avatar lab, smack dab in the middle of the forests of Pandora, had been converted into her home. Pandora's rapidly repopulating fauna had surprisingly left her residence alone, well... mostly. There were still some creatures who couldn't help but keep themselves away. And by creatures, she meant Spider. Y/n was also friends with actual people like Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk, and... Lo'ak. Truth be told, she didn't know whether or not she and Lo'ak were even friends anymore. They'd been thick as thieves for as long as she could remember, always getting him out of trouble and fixing him up after a scuffle with his siblings. But then, around her sixteenth birthday, he'd started pulling away, and y/n had never understood why. They'd had a big fight about it, bottom line, he hadn't wanted to be around her anymore and y/n had to accept it.

"Open up! It's fucking freezing out here!" Came Spider's loud voice followed by an incessant banging on the door that immediately pulled y/n out of her reverie. "Alright, alright..." she laughed a little as she went to let them all inside. The Sullys were always insisting on spending birthdays together, even though some of them were now getting too big to even fit inside her 'home'. Neteyam had to walk around with his back bent forward, and Kiri knocked over quite a few things before they made it to y/n's main living space, which was more or less Na've-proof. "Happy birthday!" Tuk hugged her and y/n struggled not to feel crushed by the embrace. Even the littlest Sully was now nearly as tall as her.

Y/n let them all inside, already giving them dirty looks at the sight of gifts. "I told you guys not to..."

She stayed on the doorstep a little longer, gazing out into the night, desperately hoping one last uninvited guest would turn up. She felt Neteyam's hand on her shoulder. "He's not coming. I tried to talk to him but he was being a skxawng as usual..." Y/n blushed, not really wanting Neteyam to know she was pining for his younger brother. "Oh, right! I was—just checking you were all here..." she closed the door and they both went back to join the others.

___

"Alright come on, your mom is going to kill me if you get back late and I don't have enough space in here for all of you. Spider would have to sleep outside." Y/n teased, trying to let Tuk understand it was time to go. "Hey!" Spider protested at her lighthearted jab, but knew it was time for them to get going. Nobody wanted to get on Neytiri's bad side. Y/n hugged them all goodbye and thanked them for the presents: Tuk had made her a lovely drawing, and the others had collectively made her a rather beautiful necklace, which she immediately wore. Y/n waited on her doorstep till she could no longer hear the sounds of her friends chatting, and then proceeded to do two incredibly dangerous things: she sat outside of the protection of her bunker, all alone in the cold Pandora night air, and lit up a cigarette.

She'd discovered a terrifyingly endless supply of cigarette cartoons back at the base almost a year prior, and as soon as she'd tried her first one, she'd gotten addicted. Y/n hadn't told Norm or Max, of course, as it would have broken their hearts, especially because of how fragile she was. Y/n's mother had gone into labor in the aftermath of the battle for Pandora between the Na'vi and the Sky people. The soldier had lost her life giving birth, but her baby had survived, taking her first breath in the inhospitable Pandora air. Norm was convinced Eywa herself had kept her alive, had given her the ability to take in the air that hadn't previously failed to kill any other human. Sure, it had come at the price of being particularly fragile her entire life. And how was y/n repaying that gift? By cutting her miraculous existence short more and more each day. Thankfully, it was a while since she'd been used as a test rat, or had check ups of any sort. As far as the Sullys were concerned... they were way better off not even knowing what she was doing to herself.

A sudden rustling in the trees instantly made y/n alert and she didn't waste any time getting back inside. She showered, and shamefully hid her smokes somewhere her dads or the Sullys wouldn't look. When she had nothing else left to do, y/n forced herself to crawl into bed, placing a hand over her necklace. Her wish to see Lo'ak hadn't come true in the end, and while not surprising, it still hurt like hell.

"A pack of viperwolves? Seriously, Lo'ak?" Y/n groaned in frustration as she cleared her table for her best friend to lie on.

"I thought I could take them." He hissed as she doused him with disinfectant. "Yeah, well, you know human medical treatment hurts like a bitch, so it's either my way, or you're going to have to fess up to your parents about what you did." Y/n tried to sound cold, but she'd always been too soft on him.

When they were younger, and Lo'ak still hadn't grown to be double her size, they would often fall asleep together in her bed. "You don't have to keep doing this shit to prove something, you know?" She whispered to him one night, turning over to look at him and gently touch his face. "Your parents love you. And so do Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk and Spider. Lo'ak, I— we— don't want to lose you."

Y/n was almost asleep when a loud 'thud' coming from outside woke her. Something was moving on her roof, or rather, someone... Y/n didn't show whether she was dreaming or not as she looked out the window and locked eyes with Lo'ak, because the second she did, he seemed to slide off the top of her bucker, falling down into the grass below with a loud groan.

He'd probably just woken up half of the animals on Pandora.

[theheirofthesharingan]

"Itachi tortured Sasuke for 72 hours in his Tsukuyomi." and "Itachi showed Sasuke his parents' deaths 518400 times in his Tsukuyomi."

It's a cheap attempt to demonize Itachi. A way to say, "Look! He committed these atrocities at his own brother. What a terrible person. No way I'm ever going to like him."

Before I begin, this post is not condoning what Itachi did. And it's not an "Itachi did nothing wrong" post. So if anyone wants to get angry about it, calm down.

What Itachi did was already bad enough without having to inflate the numbers in order to demonize him and his fans as well. It can be proven right away.

First of all, on the "72 hours Tsukuyomi" thing.

Itachi never put Sasuke in the 72 hours Tsukuyomi. We know Sasuke's state after the 24 hrs one. The boy was in a coma afterwards. Let's just take a look at the pages following the massacre.

First of all, Itachi did not show Sasuke the same thing over and over "on a loop" to Sasuke right after the massacre. It was a lot of things. The deaths, the happy moments. He wanted Sasuke to believe he was evil. That the person who took away these happy moments from him was Itachi himself. There's this one panel of his parents being slaughtered in the corner. However, there is also Itachi replaying Sasuke's happier memories.

This moment then continues.

Sasuke wants to escape. Is he in coma yet? No. He's clearly run out of the house. Although Sasuke almost collapses in this, but we know he wouldn't collapse right here yet.

The above flashback continues in the chapter #403 when Sasuke recalls his suppressed memories. He's staggering and nearly collapses. But he actually doesn't fall down here.

The next moment from that page.

And then this.

And finally this.

In all these pages Sasuke is seen running/chasing after Itachi. He throws kunai at Itachi. He does collapse, but it happens after he's awakened his Sharingan and he's exhausted after everything he's experienced. His trauma plays an important role, but it's not immediately afterwards.

I need to be enlightened: How could the 7 year old Sasuke endure a 72 hour Tsukuyomi, chase after Itachi, and even make attempts to attack him, but a 12 years Sasuke went into coma after 24 hours.

Now, where do the specific numbers 518400 really come from? And why do people think it's truth?

Let's do some maths here. To convert 72 hours into seconds, we need to multiply 72 with 3600 (or 60 × 60).

So, seconds in in 72 = 72 × 60 × 60 = 259200 seconds

When you multiply 259,200 with 2, you get — 259200 × 2 = 518400.

What do these numbers really mean?

That Itachi had to put Sasuke in the 72 hours of Tsukuyomi twice and show him their parents dying "on a loop" every single second. Or he had to show their parents' deaths twice every second to make these numbers.

But we know already he never put Sasuke in his Tsukuyomi for that long.

When we take the 24hrs in the inn into account, that demands that Itachi show Sasuke his parents dying 6 times every second. Because the seconds in 24 hours are -

24×60×60 = 86400 seconds

To make these numbers 518400, we need to multiply the above mentioned numbers by 6.

86400 × 6 = 518400

So, by this logic, Itachi was showing their parents dying to Sasuke 6 times every single second. How did people calculate this? Where's the proof? Is there anything other than "Trust me, bro" to this claim? No.

Some people bring up Itachi's novels to justify these numbers.

The time that passed within this genjutsu was one one-hundredth of one one-thousandth of one one-millionth of that of the real world.

But Kishimoto never alluded to these numbers in Manga. The novels were published 7 years after Itachi had died in Manga (in 2015 in Japanese). All throughout those years, Koshimoto never bothered to tell us Itachi's genjutsu had this much detailed ability. The "Itachi had a girlfriend" is a more believable claim than this.

To conclude - Itachi never put Sasuke in Tsukuyomi for 72 hours. There was no torture that "lasted for 6 days/lasted for so many days/lasted for eternity" and all the lies these people have created here.

People are too desperate to demonize this boy. I wish I had vast vocabulary of colourful words I could hurl at these people.

[seashellisinmyheart]

I Never Watch Television: A 31 Minutes Novel

English Translation

Chapter One: Part One

I am splitting the chapters into two parts since the post would be too long otherwise.

Please note that I am not a professional, so I cannot guarantee that there won't be grammatical errors. Enjoy!

Chapter One - Part One

‘This is very, very, very, very, extremely strange.’ Juanin Juan Harry says to himself. 

The small, hairy television producer feels something strange as he pedals quickly on his tricycle through the streets of Titirilquen.

Something is happening, or rather... NOTHING is happening. That's what's strange!

Like every morning, Juanin is on his way to his beloved job at 31 Minutes, the most truthful news program on television. Juanin lives, and works hard for his job. He left last night, after turning off the channel's lights, and he is always the first to arrive the next day!

This morning, however, feels different. He doesn't hear the traditional honking of angry vehicles. Nor the shouts of Freddy Turbina and his fellow cyclists protesting against the angry vehicles. No Huachimingo desperately chasing fluff stirred by the morning wind. There is not even wind or fluff! No accidents, no crying babies, not even a little bird being chased by a cat…

And the most incredible thing: Nobody is talking during that fateful morning hour! Everyone moves forward, like never before, happy with their travels. Smiles are the only thing Juanin sees, amazed.

He arrives at the station. So intrigued that he leaves his tricycle at the entrance and runs up the stairs. In the 31 Minutes press room, the always full screen that shows ‘tragedies, emergencies, and disasters’... does not indicate any activity.

Zero tragedies, zero emergencies,, zero disasters. At that moment, Juanin realizes nothing newsworthy is happening today. There is simply NO NEWS! 

The stagehands, small stick-like beings who officially prepare the broadcast everyday, move energetically through the studio.

Juanin, meanwhile, is spinning around worriedly. Thinking about what to do. What worries him the most is how Tulio Trivino will react to this unprecedented situation. 

Tulio is his beloved and admired boss. The most famous news anchor in Titirilquen. And the only one. Tulio is a somewhat eccentric, ridiculous, slightly ignorant journalist and not exactly a genius. Some even say that he is an egoist who only think about himself. And it is true. But Juanin considers him his friend and will always be grateful for being given his reason for living: his job.

Minutes and hours pass without Tulio arriving, but that is no surprise to Juanin. “He must have fallen asleep again,” he thinks. Tulio sleeps at least sixteen hours a day, as instructed from his personal holistic therapist. He also has a bad habit of turning off his phone, alarm clock and doorbell in his mansion. And of course, he sleeps with earplugs over his earplugs.

As is often the case, Juanin decides to do the most practical thing. Call a helicopter to bring Tulio to the station with his bed and everything, piloted delicately so as to not wake him up until the last minute.

But that is not necessary. Suddenly, through the windows, he hears the powerful roar of his boss's latest model grey convertible. A gift from his personal friend, the Sheikh of Flufistan. The vehicle was sent to Tulio as an unbirthday present via Philippine canoe, along with half a dozen dwarf hippos. 

Tulio parks in his exclusive place by the door, marked by a large star on the floor with the words “reserved only for Tulio with absolute and eternal exclusivity until the end of time. Amen.”

Juanin runs to tell Tulio about the problem with the lack of news. 

“Tulio, Tulio! We have a little problem!”

“Now is not the time, Juanin...”

Tulio is too rushed to listen to his faithful producer. He walks down the long corridor of the channel, while being made up and dressed by his subordinates. 

“But, Tulio…”

“Enough, Juanin. First you forgot to wake me up and now you try to delay me with your blathering! I remind you that I have a newscast to host!” 

The journalist arrives at his desk fully made up and dressed in his custom made ue suit.

Just in time! The music starts, the cameras turn on and Juanin has no choice but to give the signal.

“We're on the air!”

The cameras focus on Tulio Trivino's face. His yellow button eyes shine under the powerful light of the spotlights. All the attention of every television in Tititilquen is, as every day, centered on what news will be presented today.

Tulio Trivino runs his hand through his head, combing his non-existent hair. Then he clears his throat and looks directly at the camera.

“Hello, friends, I'm Tulio Trivino and this is a new edition of 31 Minutes, the most important news program on television. Let's get to the latest news…”

Tulio waits for the information. Everyone on the set does too, but nothing happens. “Cri-cri.” Some crickets chirp. Tulio looks at Juanin, nervous.

“Where is the latest information, Juanin?” he asks, impatiently.

“That's what I wanted to tell you, Tulio.” The producer answers. “Nothing has happened in the last minute.”

“NOTHING??”

“Actually, there has been no news all day…

“No? Oh, but, what do we do, Juanin?!”

Surprisingly, the producer seems very calm. The hours of waiting for Tulio have given him the opportunity to reflect and draw happy conclusions from what is happening.

“Oh, Tulio… I was nervous like you too, but not anymore. Relax.”

“How do you expect me to relax? Don't be ridiculous!”

“But Tulio. Think about it carefully. There has been no theft, no crime, no injustice, no war. Doesn't that make you happy in the depths of your soul?”

“Of course not!”

“No???”

“But Juanin, this is a newscast. I AM A NEWSCASTER! We live off the misfortune of others! We need news, tragedies, disasters, and nonsense, you pacifist! We have been here for years reporting the greatest events in history… Who revealed the torturous route of the poop? Where did we finally manage to interview the elusive Mr. Invisible Mute? Who immortalized the mass photos of naked puppets by Jacob Fotonolowski? We informed the world about the end of the world and also its restart immediately after! We made the world aware of Denis Danis's fast paintings and made the first live coverage of a robbery, reported by my daring niece Patana! And what about the Zapandilla that ravaged the streets of the city? Or the true identity of the tooth mouse? Or the balloon that that poor innocent Carlitos Lechuga lost? Or the serious case of obesity from last year's gloves? We denounced the horrors of the Sea War between Salsacia and Conservia! Without us, nobody would know the exploits of the great superhero Calcetin con Rombos Man, nor the plague of zombies the day before yesterday, nor the crimes of the master of disguise Lulo Serrucho… So many other hot and delicious news!!!! Understand once and for all, Juanin, a newscast without news would leave us without work!”

Hearing this, Juanin begins to tremble. As we know, working is his great passion. And his only one.

“No job? Oh no!”

“Oh, yes!” Tulio replies.

“But then, what do we do???” Now Juanin is the desperate one. 

“Relax, I have a solution, Juanin. I'll tell it live on camera 1.”

Tulio adjusts his tie and looks back at the camera, doing his best influential public figure voice.

“Dear viewers, I'm very sorry, but there's no news today. So, while the producer of this show somehow solves the problem… I'll take the day off. Let the music and the final credits roll! And I'm off to the beach!”

The credits of the show appear on the screen, accompanied by it's characteristic music. Tulio throws the cards with nothing written on them into the air and runs away, happy. Finally, he will be able to test drive his new yacht with a double jet engine, a gift from his personal friend, the Prince Consort of Nadalisburgo!

“But… but… was that your solution?” Juanin shouts confused and alone. 

Juanin freezes, or so it seems. All his years as a producer have not prepared him for this moment. He, who knows perfectly well what to do if a meteorite falls on Earth, or if the bathrooms flood, or if a baby elephant invades the cafeteria. He, who knows by heart the protocol for fires, floods and incendiary floods! The only one who knows how to calm down the interviewee who gets angry because Tulio is a pest, or Tulio if he gets angry because the interviewee is a pest.

But a newscast without any news? Is it time to think about another profession? Just when poor Juanin begins to fear a long vacation, a miracle happens… 

[riaarivic]

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary  Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗  Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗  Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

[pikatsum]

high tide (came and brought you in) - chapter one.

summary: you’d originally rescued the injured merman out of kindness, and perhaps a healthy undercurrent of fear of what others in your town might do to the creature. the last thing you ever expected after returning him to the sea, was for him to try to stay.

tags: afab reader, merfolk, mention of explicitly-inhumane fishing practices.

this fic is a part of the teahouse collab, on discord!

A hunting party had left port, yesterday.

It was made up of the usual kind of tourist, you gathered, overhearing the neighborhood gossip on the sandy, well-trodden path into town. It was made up of a bunch of trigger-happy business students, likely bored with another year of academia and looking for something visceral. Looking to harm in a way that was sanctioned— even celebrated, in some corners of your seaside town. Doubtlessly, they were after the biggest creatures they could catch: sharks, dolphins, or something even more dangerous. Most of those you passed seem to believe that they’d be headed to the outer reefs.

This year, the annual merfolk migration had come early. You had heard through the grapevine that some of the offshore boats had begun to radio in with the usual signs: faulty sonar, empty traps and a general sense of unease, the closer they got to the outer-lying reefs, where multitudes of traveling pods made their temporary homes. Anyone with sense usually knew to stay far away from merfolk-territory, no matter how temporary their stay.

But now that that the sudden departure of the town’s gaudiest fishermen had combined with this news, it was collectively generating more rumor than Baralou Island had handled in months. As the path transitioned to craggy, uneven sidewalk, you still heard people on their porches, gossiping about what could’ve drawn the group’s attention so suddenly. Perhaps it was one of the cartload of technological additions that they’d constantly been wheeling up onto the sleek convertible boat they’d rented. You’d already had to duck through their large group by the harbor yesterday, and through the small crowds that had gathered to see what the fuss was about.

One of their number had been particularly boastful, perched at the top of the gangplank. His cerulean hair almost blinding in the sun, you’d heard him claim that he possessed the skill to capture merfolk— “I could snag a whole pod, in a single net!” — Anywhere else, those statements would’ve warned a call to the coast guard, if not the police. On Baralou, however, it was met with scattered applause and a single wolf-whistle.

Anti-merfolk sentiment always reached a peak in the summertime. The reason always varied: a lesser catch of fish that year, an increase in hurricane warnings. Merfolk— intelligent, powerful and little-understood— made the perfect scapegoats. With the early arrival of their annual migration, it was the opinion of some locals that the large pods passing through the reefs of the island were choking out the tourism industry. Never mind the fact that it was barely the start of summer, and the migration never lasted longer than a month. Nothing got people riled up like the notion of losing out on their most important source of income.

As a former resident, you knew that Baralou took great, and often dubiously-legal pains to advertise itself as having the “safest beaches in the world.” Entire books recounted years worth of fishing competitions with consistently high numbers of so-called “incidental harm” to merfolk. When taking these years’ worth of torment and fear tactics into account, it was little wonder that no mer would dare cross the reefs near the island, these days.

As a teenager, you too had sworn you would never come back to the island again— though this was more to do with Baralou’s pitifully-tiny size outside of tourist season, and the maddening frustration of growing up amongst the same faces you’d seen since nursery school. Nearing the end of your college career has reignited that passion to stay away— but unfortunately, your budget wasn’t quite in agreement with those plans. A summer of housesitting for your aunt and uncle, as well as your waitstaff position at one of Baralou’s many dockside restaurants would ideally give you enough to leave for good, come the fall.

Although you could barely wait to repack your overflowing suitcases, your first weeks back home had reminded you that not everything here was abjectly awful. Your expression lightened once you’d ordered from your usual café, turning to find an outside table already occupied with your favorite resident.

Camie Utshushimi wasted no time in shattering your hopes for normalcy.

“I heard—“ she began in a low voice, as you seated yourself, “—that somebody on the south-side offered to guide the business yuppies to a huge mer pod.”

You exhaled your disapproval over a warm mug of tea.

“That’s gotta be a scam. Even if they wanted to go out there, those reefs are nationally-protected. The fines alone would keep anybody away.”

“Babes, you know as well as I do that won’t stop them.”

“Even if they make it—” you retorted, “—I highly doubt a mer from these parts would be so easily caught, especially by that group.”

Camie at least seemed to take that point into consideration, a brief smile playing at her lips. She took a slow sip of coffee, her warm brown eyes pensively scanning the water.

“If anything, they’ll snag a nesting sea turtle, or a manatee that got washed in by mistake. The poor thing.” still you frowned, considering, “I hope they come back with nothing. But with all that fancy gear…”

This seemed to shake Camie out of her reverie, turning from the sea with a dismissive click of her tongue.

“Nah, Inasa already gave me the deets— that’s all rented. Fat chance they know how to use all of it.”

“Are you sure?” your lower lip worried anxiously, under your teeth.

Despite her agreeable chirp, you knew by the actual look in her eyes that she couldn’t be fully certain. You both finished your drinks in uneasy silence.

Camie was always amongst the island’s earliest risers, which meshed well with you. Shame that she had a social calendar more tightly packed than a visiting royal— she was never available in the evenings, no matter how many nights you tried to invite her to join you at the beach bars. Regardless, she was your closest friend on the island, and if these short moments outside the cobblestone cafe were what you had with her each morning, it was something you were grateful for.

On your way home, you cut back through the fishing harbor— at least, until you were stopped by a growing crowd. You couldn’t make out what was going on amongst their fluctuating number, but with everyone talking and the piercing beep of a large convertible boat backing in along the docks, you could only assume the town’s ‘conquering heroes’ had finally returned. Disgusted, you gave up your gawking and diverted to walk along the craggy shoreline for the last half-mile, back towards your borrowed home.

Most beachgoers preferred the island’s largest offerings, located just outside the shopping district at the other end of the island. These days, you preferred this semi-deserted spit of sand, despite the high tide forcing you to walk through the shallows for most of the way home.

Your weak earbuds were cranked to the max, but still did little against the crash of the waves. Slowly, you picked your way through a bed of oyster shells— even if any accidental cuts would be soothed in an instant, once the saltwater raced over your feet, again. At last, you reached the end of the shell bed, picking up the pace as the wind pushed insistently at you, spraying sand into your face and forcing you to stop, until it calmed.

Your podcast faded to ringing static in your ears when you spotted the torn fishing net, lying ahead.

Its edges had gouged deep into the sand— and, as it was so close to the shoreline itself, the waves that followed had buried them under more silt, throughly entrapping it. It was doubtlessly lost from the harbor. Was that the source of the commotion you’d missed? But, more horrifying than its condition (so tangled up on itself that it resembled a massive bunch of seaweed) or location, far from the fishing harbor, was the fact that it was moving.

Fear coursed through your veins. You needed to call some kind of authority. There should be a phone number at the prior beach access for the wildlife conservatory, if you could just get back to it. You’d have to go back over the oyster bed, but if something was still alive in that monstrosity, there wasn’t much choice to make. You’d taken all of two steps back, preparing yourself for the pain, when an odd sound rose in the lull of the tide. You tore out your cheap earbuds and strained to listen.

The sound that followed defied explanation. You’d never heard anything close to it. The only comparative experience you could draw from was mourning. A harsh, desperate cry, from something that was quite literally on its last hope.

The next thing you knew, your hands were plunging into damp tangles of rope. You cursed as it slid from your hands, as you first tried to wrench it apart, and then upwards— but of course, its moorings were stuck fast. It vaguely occurred that you had absolutely no idea what you were attempting to unearth, but the thought was quickly forgotten. Whatever this was, you could hear breathing from within the mass— shaky, ragged, and quick. You didn’t have much time.

And so, you turned instead to the edges themselves. You plunged your hands into the wet sand and dug as fast as you could. Fortunately, the fasteners weren’t buried too deeply. It didn’t take long for you to pry one up, and then another, the raspy catch of breathing serving as an inefficient and rapidly-dwindling timer. Your fingers burned. Your arms ached. And yet, you continued to tear at the bindings, tugging at the base of the netting until you could finally start to pry up a corner.

You‘a heard of hysterical strength before, but you’d never truly acknowledged the sensation until the soaked, dripping netting was held high above your head. Very quickly, those considerations vanished entirely at the sight of the form underneath.

A pair of bright dichromatic eyes blinked at you through the gloom. The moment would be almost ethereal, if their owner wasn’t literally heaving for breath, both arms stuck akimbo in the holes of the netting. You gave voice to the only thought that actually made sense in this situation.

“…What the hell…?”

Your arms burned from the sopping weight of the net. Water and damp pieces of seaweed were falling on the both of you. With a grunt of effort, you finally stepped forward and chucked the excess portion backwards, before you immediately knelt to loosen the remaining bindings.

The man— not human, not fully, your brain warned— almost immediately began to thrash, displacing a spray of water between you as the tide came in. You bit back a yelp, but repressed the urge to flinch, caught up by the look on his face.

Whatever he was or wasn’t, you knew he was afraid.

You couldn’t be sure if he would understand, as you raised your hands, palms out. Was there really such a thing as a universal sight of surrender? Although your next movement forward earned a flash of sharp teeth, he didn’t move against you. With that, your hands returned to the net, and you set to work untangling it from his body.

You stared down at your hands as you worked, pulse thrumming in your ears. Outside of them, you couldn’t feel anything, outside the numbing sting of adrenaline. Because of that, your motor control was tenuous at best— all you could do was continue working at the net. Heart in your mouth, you snuck another glance up, to confirm your suspicions. Sharp teeth. Bright eyes. Fins, twitching and alert, where ears would be.

If anyone else happened upon your rescue of a beached merman, you would be in very serious trouble.

You re-doubled your efforts, trying to get him loose, wishing that you’d somehow had the foresight to grab something sharp—

—oh, wait.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow—!”

One painstaking pick-over of the oyster graveyard later and you had yourself a prime specimen. You’d exchanged a fair bit of blood to the sand, but that was neither here nor there. You half-ran, half-limped back to the fallen net, makeshift tool held high and set to work, ignoring the latest attempt to swipe at you. This particular shell had sliced open the ball of your foot, so, soon enough, it had started a tear into the tangled net.

The merman didn’t seem to appreciate your ingenuity. You’d barely gotten his right arm free before he was using it to grab onto yours, tugging you forwards as his other, bound arm tried to gesture to his throat.

“Wait—!” you panicked at the strength of his grip, “I’m getting your other arm out, just breathe—!”

A feeling like ice water ran down your spine.

“….Can’t…”

“You ca—?” you’d barely gotten through the repetition before you saw the small slits in his throat, gaping and closing frantically.

You had no idea how long the mer had been breathing above-water, but those rattling wheezes sounded like he was reaching his limit.

“Oh, shit— hold on!”

You cut through the last binding of his left arm and began to feverishly hack away at the snarled mass behind him. It wasn’t long before the shimmer of scales became apparent through the remaining bindings. You couldn’t think much about the full magnitude of what all you had uncovered— how could he speak? — because the merman in question could barely breathe at all. The small gasps of air he managed to draw seemed more like hiccups.

With no time to spare, you dragged whatever remained of the net backwards, wincing as a massive number of koi-like scales were caught and sloughed off in your haste. Supposedly the merman would sooner be alive than care about the finer details of his appearance.

The net had barely dropped before his powerful tail slammed down into the surface of the wet sand— sending fragments of it splashing back over you. You took a few steps back as the merman— tail uselessly trying to propel him forwards— was forced to use an approximation of an army-crawl to get towards the shallows.

Without the snarled ropes in the way, you only saw the injuries left behind. A multitude of bruising and deep scratches marred his back, some still sluggishly-bleeding. There was a long gouge of scales missing on his left flank, revealing the smooth muscle of his tail which seemed to share the unique dichromatic coloring of the rest of him. A few pairs of dorsal fins twitched valiantly as he tried to propel himself forwards.

Finally, the merman made it to the sea. It was easier going from there, especially after he’d managed to fully submerge his head and neck underwater. He stayed for a long moment, doubtlessly drinking in the relief of oxygen that he could fully process. But no mer would ever want to stay this close to Baralou’s shore. As he sank into the shallows, you expected him to tear off, instantly.

Instead, he broke the surface again, split hair tumbling over his broad shoulders, before another of those indecipherable sounds carried itself over the shush of the incoming tide, back to you. This one sounded like a challenge. He’d fought his way through whatever hell had gotten him trapped in that netting, suffered through a slow asphyxiation and crawled himself back to the sea. He’d very nearly been killed. But now, he seemed to dare the land and anyone living there to try it, again.

Caught in the early-morning rays, he was the most breathtaking creature you had ever seen.

In spite of the sentiments, the posted warnings, and the merman’s borderline war-cry, you made your way back down the sand and into the shallows. The merman had vanished far into the deeper waters by then. You doubted he’d return for such a silly reason. And yet….

A few small tide-pools were receding beneath the tangles of net you’d torn away. You knelt and began to dig through their broken coils, to extract as many of the curved, glimmering scales as you could. They were ivory, with splashes of wine red, each one with its own unique pattern. Perhaps, like snakeskin, a mer’s scales were destined to be shed. Still, you felt like they had to serve some purpose.

Once you’d gathered up as many as you could carry, you made your way down the shore, following the shallow trench that his tail had left. You went along it, into the sea, out until it lapped up over your kneecaps, where the merman had first shoved his face underwater, and then you went a bit further, just for good measure. It would be nothing but bad news to have these wash back up, after all.

There, you lowered your hands, and let the scales slip through, to the ocean floor. Even if the merman didn’t come back, perhaps the currents would be kind enough to return at least some of them back where they belonged. With one final glance outwards, you took your leave, walking determinedly towards the shore, even as the ocean’s receding current pulled enticingly, trying to lure you to follow, into its depths.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

The Rest Is History

A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️

“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”

Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.

She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.

He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.

It had been enough to want a second date with him.

It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.

And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.

By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.

To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.

With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.

“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”

As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.

Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.

When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”

“Yes. The ending was terrible.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”

Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”

“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”

Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.

“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”

“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.

“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.

Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”

“Blue steel.”

“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.

An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.

“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.

Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.

“Well, I can’t post this.”

“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.

And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.

Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.

She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.

Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter six: remember when

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 7.3k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners (use of sir & ma’am), feeling familial and self-pressure, undefined relationship, mutual masturbation, voyuerism, dirty talk, likely poor spanish grammar, pining joel

One month. Four weeks. Thirty days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes. 2,592,000 seconds.

No matter what you convert the time to, it doesn’t change the bone-deep ache that you have felt since you found out your start date for your new job in Boston. No matter how you frame it, you will still be living next to Joel for that long before you can put thousands of miles between you two and hopefully, hopefully, have the space you need to get over him.

Three hours and a few hundred miles was not enough. All year you itched to dial his number, to message him, to come to visit your parents for the weekend to catch a glimpse of him or even a short conversation about the weather or the neighborhood.

It was getting pathetic at a certain point, so you deleted his number.

Of course, not before scratching it into a Post-It note that lives in your wallet now.

You knew yourself too well to think that you wouldn’t want it, or need it, one day.

The temptation to reach out grew like a weed the closer it got to move-out day. Maybe he would want to hear from you that you’ll be home, even for a short while, you thought. Sure, your parents have probably mentioned it in passing by now, but is he hurt that you didn’t tell him yourself?

Who are you kidding? He never called, never messaged. Never answered when you did. That night at his house was the last you heard from him.

There were small updates about Sarah from your mom, and mentions of Joel coming over to watch a Texans game from your dad. Whenever you heard his name, your stomach lurched as if jerking back like a sudden, harsh break in a car. Palms sweaty, mind weighed with memories of your summer with him, all of it crashing down into the same heartbreak you felt that final night.

How could he do that after you told him you loved him?

He never said he didn’t feel the same way.

“You alright there, Kiddo? Spaced out there for a good while,” your dad is sitting across from you on the deck, empty dinner plates in front of you while your mom ran inside to grab dessert, “Something on your mind?”

Your vision focuses again, your practiced smile stretching across your face as you nod.

“I’m good, Dad. Just tired from the drive today. And glad to be home, even for a bit.”

“We’re really happy you wanted to stay at home for a bit, too. And I wanna say how proud of you we are, sweet pea. Always knew you were gonna go off somewhere that moves just as fast as you do,” he beams at you, a glistening in his eyes before he turns away, nodding towards the Miller house.

“You heard anything from Joel about babysittin’ while you’re in town? That little Sarah of his asks about you just about every time we see her.”

That pulls a genuine smile to your face, smoothing over the cracks in your heart as the early summer heat relaxes your muscles. Truth is, you would 100% nanny Sarah again if Joel needed the help. She became like a little best friend of yours after spending nearly every day of the summer last year with her. You missed her probably as much as you missed Joel while you were away.

“He hasn’t asked me, but I haven’t seen him since getting back this afternoon. Maybe I’ll try to catch him tomorrow when he gets off work.”

“Oh! Y’know what? He’s gonna be coming over here tomorrow night, you could catch up with little Sarah then. I mentioned you coming home and got to talkin’ to him about all the flowers and vegetables you planted last year and how those damn rabbits kept gettin’ at them, so he offered to come over and help me build some raised beds for you to replant everything in, sweet pea.”

“Joel offered to do that? You’re not paying him?”

“Nope, not a cent. I offered about ten times and he refused each one. Nice guy, that Miller.”

“Yeah…yeah he is a nice guy.”

The rest of the evening you spend on the deck with your parents, talking about what’s been happening in the neighborhood and with family friends. Your brother is meant to be back home at the weekend, having one more final to take at the end of the week before he can fly home for the summer. Once your mom and dad have resigned for the night, you sit out a bit longer and stargaze, enthralled with the vast night sky and shining moon.

It’ll be the same moon you see when you’re a couple of thousand miles away, but it won’t ever be as decorated with stars as you can see now.

The moon and stars aren’t the only things that you think about as you sit under the midnight sky. The conversation with your dad comes back around, replaying the short moment when he said Joel wanted to do something for you, free of charge.

Sure, he might have thought it the neighborly thing to do, but you can’t help but smile at the thought that Joel volunteered himself to do it. Maybe he wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him.

Nothing could come of this summer though, of this month, even if there were still sparks between you two. You were leaving. Unsure of when you were going to be back. There were no Spring Breaks or Thanksgiving weeks off you could plan for, and your parents had already decided this year’s Christmas was to be spent at your grandparents’ in Wisconsin. You had no plans to be back home soon after moving, and even if you did, a long distance that far rarely works out.

He didn’t even want to make a go of it when you were at school, why would he try when you’re contracted there for at least a year, likely going to be much longer as you gain the experience you craved of being away from Austin and living a big city life?

Unfurling yourself from the deck chair, you shuffle inside and upstairs quietly; the door closes with a soft click behind you, and relief percolates through your body as your eyes adjust to the golden lamplight of your bedroom. There are boxes of your things from school around, not to be unpacked until they’re moved across the country to the Northeast. Your suitcase is flung open on the ground, clothes rummaged through to find something fresh to wear after your shower earlier that day. You approach the luggage again, culling through the mess of fabric to find something to wear to sleep.

Turning toward your bed to climb in, a light in Joel’s window across the way catches your eye. Being back in your room, staring at the single-lit window of the Miller home, crumbles the resolve you had been grasping onto. Memories of waiting for him to retire to his room every night before that first kiss. The image of him standing at the window after he had made you come the first time while you watched him work his fist in quick strokes. His face as he came, playing over and over in your brain with his handprint breaking up the foggy glass. Aching desire heats your core, arousal flooding between your thighs as your body begs for something, anything to relieve itself.

You climb in bed, touching yourself to the thought of him, of your Joel from last summer, picturing him with his head between your legs or his steady, hard thrusts that you branded into your brain. Laid out on top of your bedding, your fingers circle around your clit and spread your wetness on your fingers, and you’re reminded of each time you have found yourself in this position before. This had been the scene in your college bedroom frequently, picturing Joel over you, under you. When you were brave, or drunk enough, to have hookups this year, you caught yourself drifting to the image of him when you closed your eyes. It never felt the same as with him, never as full, never as satisfying.

And at this moment, your fingers thrusting in and out of you weren’t coming even close to any touch of Joel’s on you.

Little did you know, once you settled on your bed and closed your eyes to attempt to see and hear and feel him, Joel came back from grabbing a glass of water downstairs and glanced out his window when he saw a new light on that wasn’t there minutes ago.

His gaze trained on the sliver of you through the opening of your sheer curtains, bare legs with your t-shirt pulled up over your braless chest, and hand beyond the waistband of your underwear. He nearly drops the glass at the sight, his boxers beginning to tent as his blood rushes down. Rolling his shoulders back, he tries to alleviate the tightness that grips them, his arm coming down too quickly and forcefully setting the glass next to his bed. The amp clicks off to cloak him in darkness, to disguise himself as he finds his usual spot from last summer sitting in front of the window with the perfect view of you. Tugging his boxers down just enough to free his stiffening cock, he spits lewdly on his hand, wasting no time with the view he’d got — that he has been dreaming of having again. He fucks himself with his fist, attempting to keep the pace he sees your hand moving at and talking to himself as he has before when he sits in bed thinking about you with his hand around his dick.

The sensation isn’t anywhere close to what he remembers of you, how he felt like you were made as a flawless match for him to fit into. Never had it felt like it did with you last summer, even the one time he had you completely and unabashed was enough to ruin him for the whole time you were away. Nights off on the weekends, while Sarah was at her mom’s, he’d go out with Tommy or some old friends from work. Women would chat him up, he had no idea what they saw in him, but it happened. And no matter how forward they were with him, he could never bring himself to close the deal. No one had been in his bed since you’d stayed the night, no one else had touched him since you.

And with you back, only a mere fifty feet away pleasuring yourself, he was reminded exactly why no one lived up to you. Watching your face as you worked yourself up to bliss, your soft, curved body laid out for him to devour, even without you knowing.

Maybe you did know. You did last year.

He’s brought himself close, so fucking close but he waits, holding out until he sees that face that occupied his mind every time he found himself in this same position.

Filth flows out of his mouth with an attempt to read your lips as they move along with your hand in your panties.

“Missed seein’ you so much, pretty girl. Look so good laid out on your bed…”

None the wiser to what the other was saying, the two of you were talking as if you were together while you both touched yourselves to the image of each other.

“Oh my god, Joel…Missed you so much fucking much…”

“Remember what I did the last time we were in that bed? Had you coming on my fingers, all over my mouth.”

“Thought about you all the time, Joel. Every time I touched myself, even when someone else touched me.”

“Such a naughty girl. Eres una chica muy mala (You are a very naughty girl). Mi diablita…Fuck, got me so fuckin’ close watching you, darlin’.”

“Never felt as good as it did with you…I was fucking pissed that you made my first time that fucking good. Set the bar way too high…”

“Never goin’ to forget those sweet little sounds you made for me. Es música para mis oídos incluso ahora, mi Mariposa. (It is music to my ears even now, my butterfly.)”

“Fuckfuckfuck, please, Joel. Please let me come…”

“Are you going to be my polite Southern belle like last summer? Gonna ask for things nicely if I get to touch you again? You know what that does to me, Mariposa.”

“Please, please may I come, sir?”

“Dámelo, dámelo. Carajo! Podrías por favor acabarme adentro? Por favor, mi cielito? (Give it to me, give it to me. Fuck! Will you please let me come inside? Please, my little heaven?)”

Joel’s head rolls back once he watches your body seize up, your own jaw falling open as you moan. With both yours and his own window open, he can hear the faintest echo of you finishing, and he swears he hears his name mixed into the sounds. His eyes squeeze shut as his cock twitches in his hand, ropes of his warm come coating his fingers as he slows his strokes and catches his breath.

As his head falls forward, he sees you sit up on your bed and glance his way, heart rate immediately picking up again as he sees a pout on your lips.

He really fucking missed you. And you’re leaving again. Across the country.

This month, he wants to spend every second he can get with you. He just hopes that you feel the same way.

The day after, he spent every minute from when he got home til the sun went down helping your dad build the raised garden beds. You had one conversation that was barely a couple of minutes, thankfully alone, before Sarah pulled your attention away and your dad dragged Joel down from the deck to the yard.

“Hey, Joel. Nice to see you again.”

He was pretty sure it was only a nicety that you greeted him, your voice smooth and higher-pitched than you normally talk around him, like the one you use around your elderly neighbors or when he’s seen you on the phone with people outside of your family. It stings a bit, that you’ve put up that wall again around him.

“Glad to have you back, Mariposa. How’ve you been?”

Your gaze darts from him to your feet when he uses your nickname. Arms crossed over your chest, bottom lip worked with your teeth.

He desperately wants to reach out and run his thumb to release your lip, to use his hands to wrap your arms around him.

“Fine, yeah. Been fine…um, how about you? How are you and Sarah?”

“Sarah’s been great. School was good for her this year. No problems with other kids like before, made some new friends. Her report cards were filled with ‘a pleasure to have in class.’ Only got one ‘sometimes is a distraction to other students.’”

Your laugh lifts the corners of his mouth into a genuine smile. God, he missed that sound.

“I can definitely relate to getting those remarks. She’s much more social than I was though, so I can't say I ever got ‘is a distraction’.”

“She is quite the talkative little one, definitely doesn’t get it from me.”

“Definitely not. She’s got your sense of humor though,” you remark as you knock your closed fist gently against his shoulder, dropping it back towards you when his own hand catches it. He holds it in his for a moment, unfurling your fingers to hook your index with his.

“How’re really doin’, Mariposa?” His finger squeezes yours, looking up from your hands loosely joined to meet your eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment; he watches as you search his face, mouth downturned into a soft pout.

“I guess it’s a little — I don’t know…How are you doing really?”

He laughs sadly, shaking his head as he replies lowly, “Haven’t been great, I’ll be honest. I mean, myself. Work’s picked up — I hired a couple more people ‘sides Tommy. Sarah is doing awesome. Should be over the moon…But, just feel like something’s missin’.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I really—”

You get cut off when Sarah rushes out from inside with your mom on her tail. Joel drops your finger from his, standing up straighter and grinning when Sarah runs right over to you. She pulls you away from Joel, talking your ear off about the school year. The reunion of you two warms his heart, but there’s that aching feeling in his chest still as his thoughts spiral about what you were going to say.

That winding path of thought continued the whole build, glancing over his shoulder every so often to look at you playing happily with Sarah.

After that night, he found little ways to attempt to get you alone again, every time interrupted.

He’d wandered over one evening when you were replanting everything into the garden beds, about to call out to you when your mom came down from the deck to help you out. He was already halfway between your yard and his, so he had to commit to walking over and making small talk about summer produce.

Another time, at the weekend, he’d been spending the afternoon sitting out on his own deck, waiting for Tommy to come over to grill out. Sarah was at her mom’s, so it was only him at home. You were laid out on the hammock in the grassy area of your garden, half in the sun and half in the shade as you swayed side to side slowly. There was a book in your hands, he couldn’t quite make out the title, but when you walked inside, leaving your book to come back for, he’d hopped up quickly and plucked a wildflower from his freshly mulched beds, laying it over your novel and taking note of what you were reading. He’d awkwardly waited a few moments for you to return, but before you could, he heard Tommy pull into his driveway.

The next day on his way to work, he made a stop after dropping off Sarah at the bookstore to pick up his own copy of what you were reading.

The latest time he tried and failed to get you alone was arguably the closest he came to having another conversation with you and arguably the most adorable interruption.

Joel had spent an afternoon hanging a tire swing for Sarah in the backyard while she was out with her Uncle Tommy. It was a surprise for her, something she had been begging for since seeing it in one of the shows she was watching these days. As Joel was finishing up, you walked down the stairs and waved at him on his ladder next to the tree. He called out to you with your name, asking you to come over to help with a favor.

You made your way across the lawns, smiling growing when the tire swing comes into full view.

“You did this yourself? I would have helped you.”

Joel chuckled as he climbed down the ladder and met you next to the swing, a playfully creased brow looking at you incredulously.

“Darlin’, you are very sweet but gotta be honest with you — I think I would end up doin’ it all myself anyways.”

You feign offense, a hand up to your chest as you gasp, “That is so not true! I would help. You would be the control freak you are and not let me do anything.”

His eyes narrow at you as you look at him smugly, shaking his head as he breaks into a quiet laugh again.

“Got me there,” he pats the rubber of the tire, nodding his head toward it, “I’m asking for your help now. Gotta test this thing, you wanna try it?”

“And break my neck potentially?”

“Oh, c’mon. Thought you would wanna be a part of the fun,” he grins and looks at the swing before turning back to you, “Does this make you feel better about swinging on it?”

Joel climbs onto the bottom end of the round tire, feet holding himself up and bouncing his knees to test the strength of the knot and rope.

“Actually, yes. Move it, Miller.”

He happily gets off of the swing, offering you a hand to help you up. You slide toward the side he’s standing on, his hands reaching out quickly to hold your thigh steady and push you back up the swing. His touch lingers on your smooth skin, fingertips dancing along and creating goosebumps in their wake. Finally, he brings his hand to your hip and meets your eyes, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Y’know what we were talkin’ about the other day?”

“Yeah? You mean when I was asking how you were doing?”

“Mhmm…I, um, I wanted to tell you that I missed you. And I know it’s really fucking selfish to say it cause I’m the one that asked to leave it all behind at the end of the summer but…I really missed you, mi Mariposa.”

“Joel, I—I don’t really know what to say. I did mi—”

“Daddy! Is that a tire swing? That’s so cool!”

Sarah speeds down the steps and across the grass to the tree in the corner of the lot. Joel’s hands leave you to scoop her up and sit her on his hip, easily carrying her despite how much she’s growing.

“It is indeed. All for you, Bug,” he smiles widely, nodding toward it with you still sitting there, “You wanna try it with Mariposa, mija?”

“Yes! Yes, please!” Sarah reaches out for the rope and Joel sets her on your lap facing you. Sarah wraps her legs around you, holding tightly onto the rope. You look at Joel, the faintest smile tugging at your lips over the interruption as Sarah looks back over her shoulder, grinning wildly.

“Give us a push, Daddy!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a salute and a chuckle. Placed on either side of your thighs where you’re sat on the swing, Joel’s fingers brush against your exposed skin and the hem of your frayed denim shorts. He watches as goosebumps raise on your skin, biting back a smirk as he starts to walk the swing forward with a push, jumping out of the way as he lets go. Sarah giggles loudly and you laugh along with her, throwing your head back as the breeze rustles the leaves above you, rays of soft evening sunshine peeking through the branches and dancing across the two of you.

It is an absolute vision, seeing his two favorite girls having fun together, and it’s an interruption he was glad to have.

“Sarah, mija, we live in Texas. Disney World is about eighteen hours away, even if we did leave right this minute it would take a very long time to get there. And I have to work, Bug. Maybe we can plan something for next year, alright? ” Joel is crouched in front of Sarah, her brows knitted together and arms crossed with an angry pout on her face.

“But Emily’s family is going today and we wanted to go together! Next year is so far away,” she whines with a stomp of her foot, and Joel resigns with a sigh.

“I understand that you wanted to go when Emily was going. But we can’t just pick up and go, Bug. Takes a lot of planning — I would have to find us someplace to sleep, get tickets, pack up suitcases for us. I can’t do it in one day by myself, mija. I promise I will take you,” he brushes her curls out of her face and gives her an apologetic smile, “How about I plan a trip to the beach for us for the end of summer? That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t wanna go to the beach! We go all the time, I wanna go to Disney! And see Mickey and Minnie and Ariel and Jasmine.”

“Well, I’m sorry, mija, but it can’t happen this summer.”

Sarah stomps again, turning on her heel and running upstairs as she shouts behind her, “That’s not fair! You’re being mean, Daddy!”

Her tiny frame pushes hard to slam her door close. Joel stays at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his hands over his face with a deep sigh. He hates disappointing his daughter, but there is no way he could swing a trip this summer. With business picking up, he needs to be around more than ever. It would be a struggle to take time off to go to the beach even, but he makes a note to plan for something at the end of the summer to get some time with Sarah before the school year.

He returns to the kitchen, continuing to clean up from lunch and making the grocery list to get the shopping done tomorrow morning. It’s been about thirty minutes of Sarah moping in her room, and he decides to attempt to mend the rift with a promise of ice cream later tonight after dinner.

Joel climbs the stairs and knocks on Sarah’s door, calling out for her, “Mija? Can I come in?”

Silence.

She must still be upset if she’s ignoring him.

“I’m sorry we can’t go to Disney, Bug…I’m gonna come in, okay?” He twists the knob and pushes the door open, eyes finding her bed where he expected her to be laying. She’s not there.

His eyes comb the rest of her room, and she’s not anywhere.

Inside his chest, his heart rate starts to pick up in a simmering panic. Moving quickly, he checks under her bed and in the closet, two of her hide-and-seek spots. Nothing again.

“Sarah? Where are you, mija?”

He continues to call out her name as he searches upstairs in his own room, the guest room, and the bathroom.

She is nowhere.

And she’s not anywhere in the rest of the house either.

He is officially in a full-on panic now, reaching for his cell phone in his pocket and dialing Tommy’s number, asking him to come over and help him find her.

He can’t bear to wait as long as it takes Tommy to get over to the house, and he knows he needs help with the way his brain is going to the worst-case scenario. He attempts to take deep breaths to calm himself as he grabs his keys and slips on his shoes, jogging across his front lawn and to your front door. He knocks and rings the bell, hands shaking with worry as he prays that you’re home and that you answer the door.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Christ, who the hell is ringing the bell like that?” you grumble to yourself as you pad across the tile in the entryway, brushing your hair back behind your ears and unlocking the deadbolt to pull the door open.

On your porch is Joel who turns at the sound of the threshold opening, eyes filled with dreadful frenzy. His foot taps quickly on the wood underneath it, keys jingling in his hands as he shakes all over.

“Hey, Joel. What’s going on?” Your eyes softened with concern, standing up straight as you wait for his answer.

“Have you, um, have you seen Sarah? She was just at home with me twenty minutes ago, but she wasn’t happy with me telling her we couldn’t go to Disney today to meet her friend’s family so she went up to her room and when I went to go check on her, she wasn’t there and wasn’t anywhere in the house and—”

Reaching out your hand, you squeeze his bicep to cut him off. Your hand rubs up and down as you speak calmly.

“It’s alright. We’ll find her. Gimme two seconds, just gotta go shut off the oven and get some shoes on, okay?”

“Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

You give his arm a gentle pat and nod shortly, a tight but comforting smile on your face.

“Don’t worry. She’s around here, and we’ll find her in no time.”

He nods over and over as if trying to let the words sink in. You feel tethered to him, painfully pulling away from him in this state to run to the back of the house and shut off the oven, taking out the banana bread you were making. Running back up front, you slip into sandals and grab your keys off the table in the entry, closing the door behind you. You lay a hand on Joel’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles as you lay out a plan with him.

“I can start walking through yards to see if I can spot her. Do you wanna stay at home in case she comes back?”

“No, no, Tommy’s on his way over, he can wait there when he gets here. I don’t think I could just sit there right now,” his hands move up to cover his face, pulling down on the skin as he curses to himself.

“Joel, hey, it’s okay. It’ll be alright,” you squeeze your arms around him in a brief hug, standing back and pulling his hands from his face to look him in his glossy eyes.

“Think you can drive right now?” he nods in response before you continue, “Alright, you hop in your truck. Start driving all the streets in the neighborhood. I’ll walk everyone’s backyards to see if she slipped into anyone’s gardens or something, okay? Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that,” he nods repeatedly again, standing frozen on your porch out of fear. You walk him over to his car, waiting in his driveway as he reverses out, pulling away down the street and driving at a snail’s pace while he moves his head back and forth to search for her.

Starting with your neighbor’s house on the other side of the Millers’, you stalk through the yards, calling out Sarah’s name and asking anyone who’s outside if they’ve seen her. You’ve made an entire loop in another thirty minutes through your street and the immediately surrounding streets, with no sight of Sarah. You make your way back towards your own house to start another loop, popping into your backyard on the off chance she made it there without you noticing during your search.

Next to the flowers in your raised beds, you see a mop of kinky curls and a bright blue t-shirt with a Rocket Power backpack slung over her shoulders. Relief settles in your stomach and you immediately pull out your phone, dialing the number you had added back into your contacts after that first conversation with him this summer.

“Hey, did you find her?” It’s the fastest he’s ever spoken to you, and it makes your heart rate pick up again with the amount of alarm that is laced in his voice.

You speak calmly, trying to placate any more anxiety, “Looking at her as we speak. She’s in my backyard. I’ll keep her here until you get back.”

He gives you another thank you before hanging up, your cell phone returned to your pocket as you walk over to the youngest Miller.

“Hey, Sare-Bear. What’re you doing out here, sweet pea?” You approach her with a genuine smile, kneeling down next to her as she stands at the boxes her dad built for you. His small fingers brush over some flowering buds, shrugging and looking over at you.

“Hi, Posey. I wanted to come and see your pretty flowers,” you reach a hand up and rub her back soothingly, nodding slowly in understanding.

“They are pretty, aren’t they? Your dad was so kind to build these for me so that the bunnies don’t eat them all,” you look over at her, her own stare still focused on the plants in front of her, “Does your dad know you came over here, Sarah?”

She looks over at you quickly, guilt painted across her face. She shakes her head in a silent answer, and you nod back.

“I figured…He told me you ran away after you got upset. What happened, sweet pea?” you maneuver to sit cross-legged on the grass, and Sarah immediately sits in your lap still facing the flower beds. She shrugs and plays with the bracelet on your wrist before answering.

“My best friend Emily is at Disney World with her family and I asked Daddy if we could go today to meet them cause I really wanna go with her. He said we couldn’t and that I would have to wait until next year to go to Disney,” she pouts and curls up into you, reaching to pull out a blade of grass from the ground to toy with in her hands.

Your arms wrap around her and rub her back, “That is really frustrating. I understand why you got upset, sweet pea. Sometimes it really stinks that you can’t do everything your friends do. But, if there’s one thing I know about your dad, is that he would do anything for you that he could. It would be really tough for him to take off work so last minute and be able to get you guys there. He would do it if he could, Sare-Bear. I know he would.”

“And if you two plan a trip for next summer, your dad can make sure you get to go all the places in the park you wanna go. And he could find a hotel with a pool. Oh, and you could make a plan to meet all your favorite characters. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

She starts to smile wider in your lap, nodding quickly, “I want you to come with us. I think my daddy would like that, too. He always talks about you..” She trails off into a ramble about her favorite characters as you sit there and listen, thinking about the off-handed comment about Joel talking about you.

Joel pulls the key out of the ignition after parking the truck in his driveway, jumping out of the car and leaving the door wide open as he runs around the side of his house to yours. Displeasure laminates over him, buzzing his nerves as his steps bound heavy underneath him. He stands in the middle of the grass, looking at you two from behind with Sarah curled up on your lap. She’s giggling and listening to you speak about something, a flower pruned off of its stalk and handed to his daughter from you. The sight makes his anger falter, Sarah’s soft laughter and your voice returning his body to a copacetic state. He continues toward the two of you, breaking into a light jog when you glance over your shoulder and see him.

“Sarah Elena!”

He watches her eyes widen as she peeks over your shoulder at him, hiding her face in your neck. He rounds where you’re sat in the grass, squatting down to be eye level with you. You send him a pursed smile, only one side of your mouth lifted as your hand runs over Sarah’s back.

“Mija, can I please see your beautiful face?”

“No, I don’t want you to yell at me, Daddy,” Sarah speaks into your neck, her voice muffled as she wraps herself closer to you.

“Oh, Bug, I won’t yell at you. I promise,” his hand lays over yours on her back, a grateful smile when you drop yours and he takes its place rubbing gentle circles, “I only want to tell you that I am sorry we can’t go to Disney World today, or this summer. I know it’s a bummer, but Daddy can’t take off work that easily…”

“You really scared me when I couldn’t find you today, mija. I love you so very much and I want you to be safe at all times, and leaving without telling me isn’t very safe, is it?”

Sarah shakes her head slowly, twirling the flower you gave her in between her fingers.

“It was really scary for me, and Uncle Tommy, and Mariposa. I had to get their help to find you. We just love you all so much, we want you to be safe, yeah?”

“I love you, so unbelievably much, mi alma. You can be mad at me whenever you feel that way, but please don’t go anywhere without telling me. You can even come to see Mariposa whenever she’s around, all I need is for you to ask me first, okay?”

Sarah unfurls from her spot on your lap, standing and closing her arms around Joel’s neck. He scoops her up as he stands, holding her close and squeezing her gently.

“I”m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just sad and upset and wanted to come play with Posey to feel better.”

Joel pulls back and looks at her with a soft smile, nodding.

“Thank you for the apology, mija. I love you.” He kisses her forehead and she grins, kissing his cheek.

“Love you too, Daddy,” she looks back at you as you stand, Joel’s eyes following hers to lock with your own gaze, “Posey was talking to me about going to Disney World next summer. And I told her all my favorite characters that I would want to meet.”

Sarah looks back at Joel, a wide smile on her face as she asks excitedly, “Can Posey come with us on our trip next year, Daddy?”

Joel stutters, looking at you as his eyes widen, attempting to find a means to explain yours and his situation-ship to an eight-year-old. You step forward with an exaggerated pout, rubbing Sarah’s arm as she stays perched in Joel’s arms.

“I wish I could, sweet pea, but I’m gonna be living pretty far away soon. I have to get a big adult job like your Daddy has, so I don’t know if I could make it. But never say never, if you still want me to come, you let me know,” your smile dazzles in the evening light, your open-ended response making Joel’s chest feel lighter. Maybe you do see a future with him, somehow.

“I have to move in a couple of weeks for my adult job, but I would love to hang out with you whenever you want, Sare-Bear. You just come knocking or have your Daddy call me, alright? I should be getting inside, it’s nearly dinner time and it’s my turn to cook tonight. Y’all should get inside before the mosquitoes come out hungry.” You laugh softly and Joel echoes it, his eyes glued to you with a soft smile.

Tommy comes out then onto the porch, calling out to Joel and Sarah, sending you a friendly wave.

“Sarah, how about you head inside with Uncle Tommy? I’ll be right behind you, just gotta talk to Mariposa about something.” He sets her down and bites back a wild smile when she gives you a hug before running back home up to her Uncle, the two of them retreating inside.

He turns back to you, silence falling between the two of you.

You're the first to break it, nearly squirming under his stare and his silence.

“I’m sorry if that was overstepping to invite her to come over when she wants, I just, I did really miss her when I was at school, and I thought—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he steps forward, nearly second-guessing his movements but telling himself that he needs to quit stalling with you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest tightly with a squeeze, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Thank you. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but that’s all I can say right now. Thank you, darlin’.”

Arms around his neck, they tighten with his sincerity, your voice breathing hot whisps of air against his ear, “You don’t have to thank me, Joel. I would do anything for Sarah in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know. I’m just really grateful that you still have room for her in your life, and that she has someone like you around. Even for a bit…” He stands up, picking his head up from your shoulder to look down at you. His hand reaches to caress your jaw, toying with his bottom lip between his teeth before he speaks lowly, “I’m glad you’re still in my life, even if it looks different from how it was before.”

“I’m glad you’re still in my life, too. Every time we’ve been alone and get interrupted by someone or something, I have been trying to tell you that I really missed you this year, Joel. And I know I’m leaving soon, and we’re gonna be right back where we were, but I needed to tell you.”

“I want every second of time with you that you can give me, mi Mariposa. I want to be with you before you leave, even if you only can spare little moments,” his thumb brushes back and forth on your jaw, eyes dropping to glance at your lips before he brings his gaze back to yours.

“Deal. I’m yours for the month, cowboy,” you grin up at him and he matches the expression, raising his eyebrows at the nickname.

“Cowboy, huh?” His other hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles as he presses you closer to him.

“Mhmm. Gonna be trying out some nicknames for you. Especially since now you and your daughter have given me one.”

“‘M sorry she has picked up on that…It is pretty cute, though.”

“It is extremely adorable. She may have said you always talk about me.” You wink and laugh louder, his own head shaking as heat creeps along the back of his neck.

“She’s always telling my secrets…” he licks his lips, a sheepish smile turning more confident as he looks down at you, “But she certainly wasn’t lying. Missed you a lot, Mariposa.”

“Missed you too, Joel…So are you gonna kiss me or not?”

He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head as he leans in, whispering as his lips ghost against yours, “Todavía eres mi diablita (Still, you are my little devil).”

He punctuates his sentence with a slow kiss, his body falling into muscle memory as he deepens it with you, groaning softly as his tongue melds with yours and the taste of you hits him again after so long without it. His hand greedily paws at your curves, desperate to hold onto the moment, and you, for as long as he can. When you pull away for a breath, his head follows you, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth and along your jaw all the way down your neck.

“Alright, alright, don’t want to get caught making out with you in the middle of our yards,” you push at his shoulders and he separates from you with a huff of annoyance, lips tingling and mirroring your own kiss-swollen pout.

“See you tomorrow? You could come over, Sarah’s gonna be gone for the day with her mom.”

You nod and lean up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, cowboy. Text me whenever you’re free.”

“Expect a text at 6 A.M. then. Don’t wanna waste a second that I could have with you,” he kisses you again, hands finding your ass and squeezing it teasingly.

“Well, you’re gonna be waiting for a few hours then, sir, 'cause I am not waking up that early. Even for you,” you drag your nails along his shoulders through the fabric of his t-shirt, “Goodnight, Joel. I’ll see you in the morning. Not at 6 A.M.”

He laughs lightly, nodding as he smiles sweetly, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” He gives you one last kiss before he sends you on your way up to your house, watching you make it inside, that familiar stirring in his stomach making his limbs feel featherlight.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[pursuitseternal]

Introducing “In the Monster’s Shadow:” Shadowheart x Ascended Astarion dark!fic… where power, pain, and pleasure go well together

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart (BloodLoss?) | E | 1.5K chapter

Summary: Shadowheart wakes far from alone, in the belly of the Monster’s lair—that monster he has become since his Ascension. And now, she’s in his clutches.

CW: Biting, blood kink, jealousy, sexual tension, general dark!Ascension behavior (assumes Tav left him), defiant Shadowheart

Read on AO3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 1…

🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸

For a dungeon, this was far from the dank and musty one she recalled that day…

Back when he became a monster.

His Ascension.

No, she couldn’t even recognize this place. Warm and soft and bright with torches and a burning brazier. Empty but clean. Of course the thought had crossed her mind during these hours, maybe days of languishing in her binds, that the fire could be used for more torturous activities than heat and light and comfort.

But… regardless, this was a far cry from the mouldering walls of Cazador’s decrepit pit of death. Of sacrifice and death.

Shadowheart had been trying to forget the faces of those spawn, all seven-thousand of them that had died to make her former… friend… into the monster he was now.

It changed him.

Or was it the fact that his true love had abandoned him… abandoned them all really… once the final battle was over. Shadowheart would never forgive Astarion for becoming what he did… that he chose power and ascension over just being him… over keeping that love of his.

Maybe he wouldn’t have become so vile. So evil.

She shook her head, arms beyond numb from the way he had her chained. But that was all she felt. Numb. Such unique chains… somehow the metal seemed softened, enchanted perhaps… but even as her body grew tired, arms reduced to pin pricks above her head, she never once felt the bite of metal into her flesh.

Not that you would mind the edge of pain, Princess…

She could almost hear his voice. Taunting and goading them all. Not towards her in the way it always had been aimed at the one he had loved. He saved all his most lustful comments, his fangs and his body for her.

Not that she had deserved it in the end.

Shadowheart shook her head, clearing the fog that had kept her under. Time passed strangely. There were no guards, no prisoners. No sounds other than the crackle of fire. Not even the chattering of a rat or the stench of neglect. She sighed to herself twisting as she scanned the barred room. Her cell. “For a dungeon, it’s actually rather cozy,” she muttered, meant for no one’s ears but hers.

“One may even mention just how… luxurious… it appears, isn’t that right, little princess?”

That velvet voice. That dripping, seduction, only amplified now with his power—a power that was only magnified in the bowels of his palace.

He crept from the darkest corner, the densest patch of shadows almost materializing into his body.

Just as lean and wiry. Exuding that same flow of limitless power. His face’s lines caught the flickering light, all sharp bone and quirking brows, all glowing crimson eyes and flashing fangs. “I wasn’t expecting your company,” he hissed, eyes narrowing as he closed in on where she dangled. “Imagine my surprise when my thralls and servants found you on my ramparts, crawling around like a vagrant. Come to kill me or convert me, Shadowheart?”

She held her tongue, glaring daggers at him instead.

“I didn’t silence you…” he purred, striding closer slowly, hands clasped behind his back. So unassuming, except for the brilliant red glow of his eyes in the shadows. “I just… relieved you of your magic and charms. Until you find a way to earn them back... or perish in the process.”

“You fucker,” she finally broke, spitting in his direction. “I should have killed you, should have thrown that dagger through Cazador’s dead heart instead of letting you carve that infernal to take his place as Vampire Ascendant.” She strained at her bonds, forcing herself a step in his direction, where he leered at her just out of reach. “How does it feel to be alone, hmm? To have all your friends disown you for the monster you became. Even her…”

There, that’s the monster—the way his eyes flared, his fangs snapping as his hand flew to clench around her throat. “You don’t… get to mention… her… or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” She swallowed beneath his chokehold, her breath ragged and thin. “Cause me pain? Kill me?” She grinned, craning against the pressure of his hand to shove her face closer into his. “You should know, as well as any of us, I do not mind the pain… I crave it. And if you want to add my soul to your vast inventory, then who am I to stop you, might Vampling? Not even the woman you did love would stop you, and you all but killed her…”

Fingers clawed her chin, jerking her head to the side. His teeth were like ice, chilling and tearing into her skin, but not to kill.

To feed. To drink her blood.

She shuddered. His hands gripped so hard, she had no place to escape. So she laughed. “So this is what all the fuss has been about,” she cackled, not even recognizing her own voice. “I always wondered what it was that Tav craved to let you into her bedroll every night…”

He lifted his mouth, biting down again even harder against the top of her shift. Just where breasts began to peek out.

That made her squeal. “That’s a good little princess,” he purred into her flesh. “I’ll take your cries of agony over your ceaseless, pointless words any day. You don’t get to speak about… her.”

“Why not? she hissed back. “Afraid you’ll have to own up to the way you always kept the corner of your eye on me? Have to admit how you always made sure I heard your nightly activities… made sure I caught you staring at my breasts when I would have to bend over the campfire….”

“Too late for any of that,” he growled into her skin. “Tempting as you may have been, you’ve shown your true colors, princess, sneaking into my palace, intentions unknown, and now…” he lifted his head, his chin covered in her bright red blood, his tongue equally coated as he licked it clean, “…now I get to have you anyway, my enemy, chained so prettily for me to keep here…” His hand swept down her body, touching the skin of her thigh, teasing up the bottom edge of her shift, “…for me to do with as I see fit.”

“And what are you going to do to me, Astarion?” she sneered in reply, totally unphased by the bites in her flesh or the blood that trickled from her wounds. “You going to turn me into a mindless spawn like you wanted to turn her?” She rattled her chains, breasts heaving as she worked herself into a frenzy. Her white shift stained red with her blood, the thin material clinging to her skin as she grew sticky with it and with her sweat.

“Not unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he purred, closing in on her, pressing his body to crush her against the wall, one hand yanking her chains hard enough to make her cry. “Not unless you beg for it, to be mine, little princess of Shar, to serve me as all creatures crave,” his eyes flashed down at how their bodies melded, how her supple curves caved against his hard planes, “in one way or another.”

“You want me?” she spat, “you want what you could have had a lifetime ago, it seems. And what if I don’t? What if I came here to end your miserable existence, to make you pay for the seven-thousand and some souls that made you a monster?”

“Let’s be clear, I don’t want you.” That stung, her face flinching as his voice rang, cold and exacting. “I don’t… want… you. You’re cold and cruel and self-righteous. You care only for pleasing your goddess,” he gave a little disgusted shake of his head. “Why would I want you if you have no interest in pleasing me?”

She held her breath.

“Seems… pointless,” he released her, withdrawing a step. Out of reach again. Close enough for her to smell that scent of him, more powerful and heady than he ever smelled at camp. Undiluted perfume of citrus and brandy and rosemary. He turned on his heel, heading for the gate to her cell.

“You’re going to leave me like this?” Shadowheart screeched.

“Darling, I can leave you however I want,” he gloated, flicking his gaze over his shoulder. “And today, I want to leave you to know the meaning of hunger, a lesson I learned over the course of centuries.”

“Yes that’s right, continue the cycle,” she jeered, cocking her chin in defiance as he turned to face her completely. “Become the next exalted vampiric master in all the ways that made you what you are.”

Crimson eyes steeled over, he raised his fingers to snap loudly. Her chains released, a small table of warm food and clean water appeared before her. Out of thin air.

“You are going to learn hunger, little princess, and I am going to find out why you were creeping around my walls…” he turned to continue, not even needing to unlock the door to the cell to walk straight through it. “There are so many more forms of hunger, Shadowheart. And you’re going to learn them all before we are through…”

And then he vanished into mist.

[bipolarman2022]

**Title: "The Transformation of Miguel"**

**Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter**

Miguel, a young Spaniard from a well-to-do family, had spent his life pursuing knowledge in the cloisters of academia. He had always been curious, seeking answers in books of philosophy and theology, but lately, nothing seemed to satisfy his thirst for understanding. The life he led, filled with Western studies and family traditions, felt incomplete to him, lacking the spiritual depth he yearned for within.

One day, while walking through the bustling streets of Córdoba, Miguel came across a bazaar full of colors and sounds he had never experienced before. There, among the stalls of spices and fabrics, he saw a sign that read: “Classes on the Quran and Islamic Philosophy.” Intrigued by the idea of learning about a culture and religion so foreign to his life, Miguel decided to attend one of these classes, driven by his insatiable curiosity.

**Chapter 2: The Arab Teacher**

The class was held in a small madrasa located in a quiet alley. Upon entering, Miguel was greeted by Ahmed, an Arab teacher with an imposing presence and an air of deep wisdom. Ahmed was known throughout Córdoba not only for his vast knowledge of the Quran but also for his ability to convey the essence of Islam with patience and clarity.

Miguel, with his expression of wonder and naivety, began attending the daily lessons. At first, he didn’t understand much about the Quranic verses or the Muslim customs that Ahmed taught with such passion. But little by little, Ahmed’s enthusiasm and devotion began to awaken in Miguel a genuine interest in understanding Islam beyond its stereotypes.

**Chapter 3: The First Steps in Islam**

Miguel was fascinated by the teachings of the Quran and the wisdom contained in its words. He marveled at how Ahmed explained the importance of inner peace, submission to Allah’s will, and brotherhood among believers. The teacher taught him about the Five Pillars of Islam: Shahada (the profession of faith), Salat (prayer), Zakat (charity), Sawm (fasting during Ramadan), and Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca). Each lesson drew him deeper into a state of awe and respect for this new way of life.

Miguel, naive in many aspects of Muslim life, would ask questions that seemed obvious to Ahmed. But the teacher, with infinite patience, always answered, not with mockery but with a sincere desire to share his faith. Gradually, Miguel began to participate in prayers, fast during Ramadan, and learn Quranic verses in Arabic, something he never would have imagined doing before.

**Chapter 4: The Growing Fascination**

As the months passed, Miguel felt increasingly drawn to Ahmed, not just because of his wisdom but also for his charisma and deep sense of inner peace. Ahmed spoke to him about the ways of the Prophet Muhammad, explaining how Islam was not just a religion but a way of life that embraced justice, compassion, and equality. Miguel felt he had finally found something that filled the void in his heart.

Ahmed also noticed something special in Miguel. He saw not just a student eager for knowledge but someone with the potential to be a great defender of the faith. He taught Miguel to recite the Quran, interpret its meanings, and live according to the principles of Islam. Each lesson was an open door to a new world, full of meaning and purpose.

**Chapter 5: A New Path**

One day, after an intense study session, Miguel approached Ahmed with a decision he had been contemplating for weeks. "I want to convert to Islam," he declared with determination. "I want to follow the path of Allah and be like you, someone who lives with purpose and inner peace."

Ahmed smiled with a mix of pride and affection. He knew that Miguel was ready to take this important step. He took him to the mosque, where Miguel recited the Shahada with tears in his eyes, surrounded by his new teacher and his new brothers in faith.

**Chapter 6: Leaving Everything Behind**

Miguel, now known as Jamal, decided to leave behind his previous life, his old beliefs, and his family, who never understood his fascination with Islam. He left everything for this new life, for his new brothers, and above all, for Ahmed, who had become more than a teacher to him. Ahmed was now his mentor, his spiritual guide, and the reflection of everything Jamal wanted to be.

Every day, Jamal learned more about Muslim customs. He helped those in need, participated in philosophical debates at the madrasa, and dedicated himself to memorizing the Quran. His transformation was complete; he was no longer the naive young man who had first entered the bazaar in Córdoba but a man with a mission: to live fully in Islam.

**Epilogue: A Devoted Disciple**

Jamal's story became a legend in Córdoba, an example of how faith and devotion can transform even the most skeptical of hearts. Under Ahmed's guidance, Jamal not only found a new purpose but also became a teacher in his own right, teaching others about the beauty of Islam, always with the memory of his own transformation in his heart.

And so, Ahmed's library remained a beacon of light and wisdom in Córdoba, a place where seekers of knowledge, regardless of their origin, could find the path to true peace and understanding.

[smolghostbot]

Patchwork Melody - Fall

Chapter 3 of 4! Things are finally taking a turn towards the blushy! As always, dashes usually denote a POV change, though their perspectives are slowly becoming more aligned...

Start here if you haven't read Spring and Summer first.

Word Count: don't... don't worry about it... (8k) (I'm sorry)

CWs: Part 4 has alcohol/drunkenness played for drama, though nothing bad happens. Part 5 has some minor transphobia.

Tag List: @gt-daboss, @reborrowing, @spikyspinachstreet (Hope that's not a presumptuous @)

=====

Part 1

About two months had passed since Patch had officially “moved in” with Melody. The little sprite had taken residence behind an unused electrical outlet on the kitchen counter, converting the space behind it into a small dwelling. Various ropes and ladders had sprang up around the apartment, giving Patch access to various places like the kitchen counter, the tables, and the bathroom sink.

Although the two had become closer, Melody soon came to realize that there was also a more destructive side to her new roommate, as he seemed to have very different ideas about the meaning of “personal property”. Melody would often come home from work to find missing buttons in her clothes, and missing office supplies from her desk, which Patch had put to use in constructing his little mechanisms. For the most part, Melody tried to let it go, as their little roommate at least had to courtesy to not take anything Mel actively used, but they couldn’t help but slightly resent his kleptomania. On several occasions, they had asked Patch if they could just buy him supplies, but he seemed almost offended at the suggestion.

Despite her desire to avoid conflict with Patch, Melody finally hit her breaking point after a long day of work, when she came home to discover one of her beloved plants was missing most of its leaves.

“Patch!” She found herself raising her voice as Patch looked at her, fear in his eyes. “You… did you seriously tear Benjamin’s leaves off?! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to tear apart my plants?! Ugh, you’re impossible sometimes!”

-

Patch cowered as Melody began to yell. Truly, the sprite had gotten hungry due to Melody not being around, and the “Benjamin” on the table was far easier to reach than trying to open the cupboard where Melody kept her food. However… it didn’t take a genius to realize that Patch had clearly made a mistake here. He knew Melody would never hurt him, they had sworn, right? Yet as their voice raised and they stared daggers at him, he couldn’t help but tear up, an involuntary panic reaction.

“And now you’re crying…” Melody put her hand against her temple before continuing, “Gods, Patch, just because I let you stay here didn’t mean I said, ‘Hey little buddy, feel free to ruin my things and kill my plants! And then make me feel like the bad guy for being upset about it!’”

Patch didn’t know what to do… apologize? How? He couldn’t exactly put the plant back right now… but Mel was clearly furious. As she continued to berate them, and Patch continued to panic, the sprite did the only thing they could think to do: they ran, leaping off of the table and hiding under the couch.

-

“Hey, hey! I wasn’t done! We’re not done here!”

Melody shouted in frustration, but knew better than to chase Patch down. Instead, she put on her shoes and shouted to Patch again, “I’m going for a walk, and when I come back, we’re continuing this! And if any of my plants are so much as touched again then… Augh!”

Once she was outside in the cool fall air, Melody began to decompress a little bit, but was still furious. Her plants were the closest thing she had to a family anymore, and she had raised all of them from sprouts. To see one torn apart by Patch, for seemingly no reason, had made her freak out, possibly too much, by her own admission. As the chilly air bit at their nose and ears, they tried to think rationally about the situation. Although Patch could understand her, he was decidedly not human, which was easy to forget aside from his tiny size. He was… a something, they had been using the word fae, but he was something non-human, something that probably sees the world through completely different eyes. Sighing, Melody decided to try to talk to him again to get to the bottom of this.

-

Patch sat anxiously on the table next to the “Benjamin”, wondering how to apologize. Clearly, this plant was important to Melody, but they couldn’t understand why. She had so many plants around, and what else would they be for? Although, they supposed they had never seen Melody actually eat any of them, except for one plant that she kept in the kitchen area. Did this one have sentimental value? Patch struggled to think of why somebody would keep food around for sentimental value, but maybe humans are just different like that. Patch’s thoughts were interrupted as the front door opened, and Melody walked back inside, heading over to the table after seeing Patch was there. After a moment, she spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“Okay, I’m sorry for yelling, I’m not going to yell anymore. Can we please talk about this?”

Patch nodded, and the human sat down on the couch and began to speak. “Listen, the reason… the reason I was so upset is that all of these plants,” she motioned to the variety of plants around the apartment, “These plants… before you came around, they were like… my family. And then you hurt one of them.”

Family… Patch thought. Oh. Oh no. He didn’t know that humans and plants could be friends… how did that even work? Could humans speak to plants? Immediately, he began to tear up, wondering what Melody must have heard from the “Benjamin” he had hurt.

“I just… why would you tear apart my plants like that? What possibly possessed you to do that?”

Patch bashfully put a hand to his stomach, hoping the gesture would be understood. It clearly was, as Melody’s red eyes lit up with recognition.

“You took the leaves because you were hungry, weren’t you? I know I was gone until late… you probably didn’t have anything around to eat, huh?”

Patch sheepishly nodded as Melody sighed. “That’s… my fault. I should probably leave the cupboard open for you, it’s not right that you have to wait around for me. But listen, clearly there’s some… conflict here. This is your house just as much as it is mine, but that doesn’t mean you can just… tear up my stuff, okay? It makes me feel like you’re taking advantage of me. Just… can you ask first before taking stuff from now on?”

Patch nodded again, starting to understand where Melody’s anger came from. He put a hand over his heart, hoping that the gesture would convey a promise to no longer borrow from her. Tomorrow, he would have to look for entrances to the other apartments nearby… and work to fix what he had done to the “Benjamin”.

Part 2

Things had calmed down over the next few days, with Patch adjusting to borrowing from Mel’s neighbors instead of her. However, there was one reminder of their conflict, that being the struggling plant on the coffee table, which Melody had apparently named “Benjamin”. While Patch had tried to trust Melody with most of their secrets, there was one little “party trick” that could help, one that humans were absolutely not allowed to know about…

Patch clambered up the plant’s pot and walked over to the stem of the plant, sitting down near it, as they had done for the past few days. They closed their eyes and began to focus on the apartment as a whole, the memories contained in it, the feeling of security brought on by the shelter and the inhabitants within. Patch absorbed the feelings of safety and comfort, and prepared to channel that energy as they felt it flow to their hands. As they grabbed onto the stem of the plant, they felt heat radiating to their palm as the energy began to transfer into the plant. This would hopefully be enough life force to keep it from dying, at least.

As they began the energy transfer, their throat began to try to vibrate, an involuntary action which caused Patch to flinch in pain as a droning, scratching sound echoed out from their damaged vocal chords. Normally, this would produce a healing song, but ever since their injury, they were unable to use their power without hurting themself. However, they had to make things right and try. After a few moments, they let go of the plant, not wanting to hurt themself further. The plant still seemed to struggle, but it was the most energy Patch could afford… although they may have given a bit too much today.

Exhausted, Patch made their way back down the plant and onto the coffee table, where they decided a quick nap to recharge sounded… perfect.

-

When Melody came home, there were two things she noticed. The first was Patch, asleep on the coffee table. She really needed to figure out a way for him to get onto the couch if he was just going to nap on the table like he had been for the last few days.

The second thing she noticed only after getting close to the table, as she saw that Ben had already started to sprout a new leaf from one of the torn-off spots. Was… he growing so soon after losing his last leaves? She was absolutely not going to object to the plant recovering from Patch’s little attack, at the least.

Patch began to stir as Melody walked in, and she quickly greeted her little roommate. “Hey Patch! Guess you decided to… whoa, are you okay, dude? You look super pale right now.”

Patch seemed confused and slow to respond, as if he was lost in thought. After a long moment of staring at each other, Mel took this as a sign as they continued speaking, “Okay, permission to check your temperature?”

When Patch still didn’t respond, Mel held out one finger and slowly approached him. She put the finger to her forehead, as if to demonstrate, before slowly moving it towards her tiny roommate, who seemed uncharacteristically calm. Usually, Patch would involuntarily recoil from their hands. The fact that he didn’t made Mel even more concerned. They gently pressed the back of their finger to the sleepy fae’s head, before quickly pulling it away and beginning to speak in a panic.

“Oh shit, dude, you’re freezing! What happened? Uh, oh no, I have no idea what to do… is this like a flu? Shit, I don’t know what to do… can you give me any advice here? How do I help?”

Patch, shocked awake by Melody’s finger, weakly held up his hands in a gesture to get Mel to calm down, before miming writing something down.

“Right, right, notepad. Got it,” the human replied as they gathered the notepad and gently brought over Patch’s tiny backpack. Patch slowly dug through it for his pencil lead and began to draw after thinking for a moment.

-

How to explain… there isn’t much a human could help with… thought the sprite. Truthfully, energy drain could only be cured by somebody else giving up some of their energy, which as far as he was aware… humans couldn’t do. They would also heal over time just by resting in an inhabited home for a while, but Patch had to draw something. Thinking on what they had seen from TV as a reference, they decided that they could at least address the searing pain in their throat from the attempted healing.

After finishing the drawing, Melody practically ran over to inspect the drawing, and looked over it with an urgency the sprite had rarely seen before from the human.

“Okay… warm soup, lots of rest, fluids… this is just like a flu! Okay, don’t you worry Patch, I’ll get you back to health, you can trust me. I’m gonna run to the store to buy some soup ingredients, can I move you to the couch?”

Patch nodded, and Melody carefully lifted him and placed him on the couch before she started getting ready to head out in a clear panic. Before leaving, she turned to Patch and spoke again with an urgent tone, “I’ll help you, Patch, mark my words.”

After a short trip, Melody returned and immediately went to prepare a soup. She was hardly what anybody would call a chef, but throwing a bunch of vegetables and stock into a pot was doable, especially if it would help Patch. Truly, they were just nervous because of the mystery of it all. How long had he been sick? Sure, he had been sleepy lately, but Mel had thought nothing of it. Was he okay? Was this because of the plant? As far as she was aware, Benjamin wasn’t poisonous to anything, but she didn’t know what Patch was. Would he… no, she couldn’t think about that. All she could do was give her friend the help he asked for.

As she handed Patch a measuring cup full of soup, making sure to include a piece of broccoli and squash alongside the broth, she was already thinking of next steps. “Okay, so have some soup and rest for a while. I’ll call and see if Grant can cover my shift tomorrow so I can stay home and take care of you, okay?”

Patch shook his head no, but Melody wasn’t hearing any of it. “Nope, it’s happening, little buddy, I’m not leaving your side until you’re better.”

Patch could only sigh, accepting the human’s offer, not that they had a choice. Mel stood up, bringing Patch more soup, some water, and some tissues, though they didn’t know if he would need them.

“I don’t think I would be able to catch anything that you might have, but I’ll be careful. Do you need anything else?” she asked. When Patch once again shook his head, and curled up to fall asleep, Melody was quick to cover his little body with one of the tissues.

“Okay… I’ll let you sleep, but let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, Patch fell into a deep sleep.

The next few days were interesting for Patch, to say the least. As they drifted in and out of consciousness, their body trying to absorb as much energy from the environment as possible, their dreams were vivid and wild.

They were back there, still living in that cage. They were in the present, living in their little shelter in the wall. They were in the past, living in their hometown.

Their dreams were filled with faces they had once seen, faces they’d rather forget, faces they wish they could remember. But one face kept reappearing despite it all, the face of the human who had made it her duty to care for the sick sprite.

Right now, they were outside, like when they had first had their meetings. She was looking off in the distance, humming to herself, a sprite song used to reach out to others. Even though she wasn’t looking at them, Patch could tell she was acutely aware of where they were, and was waiting for them to join. Almost instinctively, the sprite tried to harmonize with her humming, but the pain surged through their body.

Melody turned to look at him, confusion on their face. “Patch, you okay?”

They were on the couch, covered by a tissue. Right. A dream. They looked at Mel, who repeated their question.

“You were… I dunno, it almost sounded like a creaking noise? I actually think it’s the first time you’ve ever made any sound. Are you okay?”

Patch just nodded. Melody said something, but they couldn’t make out the words.

They were in the alleyway they had lived in after escaping. But they weren’t alone. There was another sprite there, one with Mel’s face. Patch felt drawn to her, to wrap her in the biggest hug he could manage. Why? He didn’t know. The other sprite reciprocated the hug, filling them both with a radiant warmth. Warmth…

They awoke to a meal, soup broth poured into a bottle cap. Right. Dreaming again.

They dutifully sipped the broth, before sitting up and stretching.

“Good morning! Well, it’s actually like 5pm, but you know, good morning anyways!” Melody said, watching Patch with a cheerful yet worried expression.

“How are you feeling, buddy?”

Patch nodded, they were indeed feeling a little better, but the thought of standing up made them feel exhausted still.

“Good! You look a little better too, I think.”

As Melody smiled down at Patch, the sprite felt a warm feeling inside, one that was more than just the soup they had consumed.

Part 3

Once Patch’s energy had recovered to a point where they could at least wander the apartment, they began to focus on something new to get their mind off of their weakened state. One thing that had been bothering them since they moved in with Melody was their outfit. The tattered tunic was sufficient for preserving their dignity, but it reminded them too much of… the past. They used some paper scraps from their notebook to sketch some ideas for a few new clothes to wear. Luckily, they had learned to sew clothes at least enough to get a simple outfit together.

-

“Do I… even want to know where you got that stuff?” Melody asked, looking over Patch’s new outfit as he stood outside of his little room on the countertop.

The outfit was a simple orange tunic, much more form-fitting than his old one, with a small belt around the midsection held together by a small black button. The gray pants were somewhere between tights and actual pants, as they covered Patch’s legs as well as his feet. Of course, the green scarf remained, loosely wrapped around the little one’s neck just enough to cover his scars. The outfit wasn’t very fancy, but was unmistakably an upgrade over his old outfit.

Patch simply waved his hand dismissively at the question. As promised, he had stopped borrowing from Melody, aside from a few trips through her trash that he decided to keep a secret from her. Specifically, this fabric had come from Melody’s upstairs neighbor, apparently an avid fan of sewing, who surely wouldn’t miss a single fabric swatch… or the few others the sprite had borrowed for previous attempts at making a new outfit.

“Well, okay… Either way, it looks nice! And you look much more confident wearing it!” Exclaimed the human. Patch briefly posed like he was modeling, which he had learned from watching one too many TV shows, causing Melody to laugh at just how cute her little roommate was. “Yeah, work it, Patch!”

After the moment passed, Mel spoke again, “Actually… that does remind me, I wanted to ask you something.”

Patch looked inquisitively at Mel, tilting his head curiously.

“Yeah, so turns out Tara said we’re allowed to dress up for Halloween this year,” Mel began. Patch had no idea what a “Halloween” was, but he had put together previously that Tara was another human at Melody’s job. He nodded his head as she continued speaking.

“And, well, basically I found this really cute costume that I thought I could wear, but I wanted to get your opinion on it,” she finished, and Patch nodded with recognition. “Okay, stay right there, I’ll be right back.”

Melody walked into her room, and after a few minutes, came back out, fiddling with something around her ears that Patch couldn’t quite make out. Her outfit was a green dress that looked as if it was made of giant leaves, with some clearly fake butterfly wings on the back of the dress. On her forearms and ankles were some green bands, and the ensemble was completed with a flower crown on her head.

“Wow, these do not do a good job of staying on… but what do you think of the rest of it? I figured it would be cute to dress up as somebody small like you, you know?”

As the realization set in for Patch, he couldn’t help but silently start to silently laugh. An outfit made of leaves? How ridiculous! It would decay in weeks, would probably be incredibly scratchy once the leaves started to dry, and it would hardly keep somebody warm.

“Hey… don’t laugh! Geez, I didn’t think you’d be a tough crowd. Let me guess, you think it looks silly.”

Patch calmed down, and waved his hands apologetically before shaking his head no and giving the outfit a thumbs up, a gesture he learned from Melody.

“Okay, so it’s maybe not the most accurate… although I think it’s still cute!” She said, posing, which got a nod of agreement from Patch.

“I just… have to get the ears to fit… One second…” She mumbled, before turning around and walking towards the bathroom, causing confusion from Patch. Ears?

The question was answered a moment later, as an “Ah ha!” came from the bathroom, and Melody emerged with two clearly fake pointed ears worn on top of her normal ears. Patch couldn’t help but stare. One thing about humans was their off-putting rounded ears, looking more like a rat’s than a sprite’s, but with these fake ears… Patch looked at Melody in a new, slightly awkward light. Did… did her eyes always glimmer like that? Was her face always so… nice? They found themself blushing a bit as they stared at their human roommate, only to be interrupted by her speaking again.

“... Hello? Are you even listening? Ground control to Major Patch? Why are you staring like that? Do they… do they look bad? Shit, is this like appropriation or something?” she mused, quickly turning anxious.

Melody was relieved as Patch shook his head “no”, waving his hands to make the point explicit. As soon as she saw Patch turn red like that, she was worried she had offended him somehow.

“Well, okay, if it’s not like… offensive or anything, I can keep them. We can be pointed ear buddies!” They said, as Patch nodded his head, face still a bit red.

“Well, not right now. The party’s not until this Friday, after all.” Melody said, before turning and walking back into her bedroom to take off the outfit, leaving Patch alone with their thoughts.

-

Stupid, Patch thought to themself as soon as they were alone. She’s a human! You can’t make things weird just because she’s nice to you and wore some… some costume!

They tried to take a few deep breaths to think things through.

Don’t worry… she’ll take them off and you’ll probably go back to feeling how you did before. Yep. Just like before, where she was just… a friend. I just… she’s nice. She’s nice to me. That’s all. You’re not used to somebody being nice to you. She’s just a friend.

Patch walked back into their little room and looked around to try and ground themself, until their eyes settled on a drawing they had done a few weeks back, of Melody. For reasons they couldn’t explain before right now, just the picture alone was a source of comfort for them. Patch put their head in their hands as they silently continued thinking to themself.

Okay… maybe… she makes me happy. Like… more than a friend. Maybe… I have… some feelings for her. Not that anything will happen, though. I mean, she’s… she’s a human!

Patch flopped down onto their bed, as they heard Melody walk back into the main room of the apartment. They needed time alone to think.

Part 4

“Okay, it’s almost time for me to go,” Melody said, as Patch nodded his head. “I’ll leave some leftover salad out for you, remember that I said I’ll be a little bit late tonight, we’re going out for a Halloween dinner after work. It’s a team-building thing Tara wants to do.”

Their little roommate continued to nod his head. Mel noticed that he was staring at her, as he did the other day when she first put on the costume, but she couldn’t figure out why. He said it wasn’t offensive, but then why would he be so flustered whenever she wore it?

“Okay… I’ll see you later then, Patch. Bye!”

And with that, Patch decided to make their way to the TV remote, to hopefully distract themself from thinking about their feelings for Melody, about how she dropped everything to care for them when he was sick, how she was so considerate of his needs despite being, well, a human.

-

Hours later, far later than Melody was usually out and about, Patch heard the door start to open. As the door opened, they instantly hid behind one of the flowerpots on the table when they realized the person walking in was not Melody. An intruder? No, there she was… being helped inside by this other human… What happened? His question was soon answered as the strange human spoke.

“God, Melody, you are impossible. We said ‘let’s get a drink as a team’, not ‘let’s get blitzed at the Applebee’s and start doing improv karaoke’”, the clearly-frustrated human said.

“H-hey, hey, shut up, Clay, they were just… just jealous of my singing. They couldn’t handle me at my best…”, Melody said, although there was something off about her voice… something familiar and off.

“Melody, I swear I don’t think you have a best. Now, go sit on the couch or something so I can go home, I only brought you back here as a favor for Tara, I’m not about to play babysitter for your drunk ass.”

“Ugh… fiiiine, you’re no fun. Thank you so much for, y’know, for bringing me home at least. I love youuuu”, Melody slurred, as they were ‘gently’ pushed onto the couch by the other human, apparently named Clay.

“Don’t mention it. Literally. Ever.”

And with that, the other human shut the door, leaving Melody on the couch. Patch cautiously peeked out from behind the pot as Melody began to look around the apartment from the couch. “Heyyy, hey Patch, he’s gone… you can come out! Sorry, I maybe haddd… like, one drink more than I planned…”

Patch recognized that tone. It was the tone they used, when they became even less predictable than usual. They knew about alcohol, and the effects it had on humans, but they had never seen Melody under its influence. Fearfully, they ducked back behind the plant as she spoke again.

“Paaaatch, I know you’re around, it’s late. Come onnn, where are youuuu? Clay’s gone… I promise…”

Where are you…? The words, spoken with that tone, activated something in Patch’s memory. Memories of them, stumbling around the room, trying to find where Patch had hidden. Wanting to stay in control of the situation, Patch decided to make their presence known, though it didn’t take long for Melody to locate them as they rounded the flowerpot.

“Heyyy! I was worried for a second. I promise, I… I promise that Clay’s a nice guy, he just… he doesn’t like me, but I’m sure he’d love you… if he met you… after all, you’re the most lovable little guy of all!”

Patch immediately regretted their decision to come closer as Melody reached for them. “Come here, I missed youuuu”, she cooed, as Patch backed away, shaking their head “no”, and praying she would listen. “No, no… please, not you too… don’t just walk away Patch, I need youuu…. Come on, let’s just… let’s hang out, just us… like friends do…”

Patch wasn’t sure what to do. This entire situation was too familiar… Do they run? Do they stay? Nervous about defying Mel while she was in this state, they nervously walked over the edge of the table and held their arms up. Melody’s face lit up in almost childlike wonder, and she wasted no time quickly, and somewhat roughly, grabbing Patch. She began to coo as she held Patch in her hands, luckily not holding onto them too roughly. “Oh Patch, you’re the… the absolute best… I just… I feel like you get me, you know?”

Patch absolutely did not “get” anything about this situation, especially as the human began to cry just moments after sounding so jovial. “I just… I love you so much, you’re… you’re one of my only friends… I thought I could impress my coworkers but I totally… I totally failed… I just made a fool of myself… What am I doing wrong, Patch?”

Patch was getting increasingly unnerved by how much this conversation was familiar… they would often drunkenly ask Patch for advice on how to fix their life… but get upset when the mute sprite couldn’t give any answers. Nervously, they patted the human’s hand with theirs, hoping maybe it would calm her down. They were instantly caught off-guard as Melody brought her hands close to her chest in what was probably meant to be an embrace. If Patch wasn’t so terrified right now, they might have blushed at the awkward position they were in, especially as Melody was still wearing the low-cut outfit from earlier, sans the wings, which must have fallen off at some point. As they strained their head to look at her face, Patch was hit with a realization that put his brief moment of attraction on ice. Even if she looked like a sprite with those fake ears, this was a human he was dealing with, and humans are unpredictable. And dangerous.

“You’re… you’re my best friend, Patch. Is that… is that weird? I feel like I’ve only known you for a few months, but, but, you’re just… you get me…”

Melody continued to cry for a bit, constantly repeating how much she loved Patch, with Patch awkwardly stuck in her grip until she eventually drifted to sleep, Patch in hand.

-

“Oh, gods, my head…” Mel said, as she woke up the next morning on the couch. “Wait… the couch… where’s… Patch!” Melody shouted, shocking her little roommate awake as he lay in her hands. “Oh geez, I’m so sorry! Are you… are you okay? Did I go overboard last night? I, uh… honestly don’t remember much…”

Patch tugged at his scarf, which Melody knew by now was a nervous tic. “Oh no… I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t hurt you, I… get huggy sometimes…”

Melody sighed with relief as Patch shook his head no. Before continuing, she gently placed Patch on the other side of the couch as she scooted away from him. “Thank the gods… Ugh, I feel terrible! And not just because of this headache… I should have warned you that I can sometimes get a bit… much after drinking with Tara… she has, uh, a much higher tolerance than I do.”

Patch just listened as Melody went on, unsure what to do in this situation.

“I promise, I’ll make it up to you, really! Um, what if I got strawberries for you? I know those are your favorite. Or, you get dibs on what’s on the TV for like, a week! Two weeks!” Melody said, clearly anxious.

Patch waved his hand dismissively… before stopping and pantomiming the shape of a strawberry, which actually sounded delicious right about now. If she was offering one as an apology anyways…

“Heh, I knew I could win you over,” Mel said, though there was an undeniable nervousness in her tone. “Let me get changed and I’ll go to the store and get you some treats to apologize. And I promise that won’t happen again, promise!”

-

At the store, Mel stocked up their cart with almost every treat they had seen Patch eat. Berries of several kinds, some candies that they knew he could eat, chocolate… Truthfully, Mel felt that simply buying food couldn’t properly apologize for how they treated their roommate, but they didn’t know what else to do.

After getting home, she prepared a giant plate with the treats, and gently called for Patch to come out of his little room, where he had apparently spent the whole time she was gone. Patch walked outside, rubbing his eyes sleepily, before they went wide at his roommate’s apology gift.

“Here, I hope this is enough… I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me?” asked Mel, nervousness in their tone. Patch couldn’t help but smile and nod as he walked over to a tower of food taller than he was, and started picking at the food. This wouldn’t immediately resolve things, but the offering was definitely appreciated.

-

The next few days were awkward, with Melody apologizing and trying to make amends at every turn. Patch could hardly be in her presence without being asked if they needed or wanted anything, or being drowned in gifts. Patch had repeated many times that it was fine, but admittedly they were experiencing many conflicting feelings about their human roommate right now. They had spent most of the time in their little room, away from Melody, but decided after much consideration to spend a day with her, to try to prove that they weren’t mad at her.

-

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Mel once again asked Patch. As he had done the last time she asked, twenty minutes ago or so, he shook his head “no”.

“Oh, okay, well if you do, just let me know, okay?” Mel said, to an expected “yes” nod.

Melody knew Patch would respond that way, but couldn’t help but ask. She didn’t know how else to make him know she was sorry. She had already said the words a million times.

“So… what are you drawing?” she asked, trying to change the subject. To her surprise, Patch jumped a bit, quickly covering the tiny drawing with another piece of paper, before looking around nervously and pointing to the TV. Melody was watching a cartoon, which she knew Patch normally didn’t pay much attention to. She immediately could tell that he was lying, but decided to play it off.

“Okay. Well, um, if you want me to pause or anything to practice, just let me know, okay?” She asked, and Patch nodded affirmatively.

-

Stupid, stupid!, Patch swore to themself as they covered the drawing. It was a silly little thought experiment, just a drawing of a human… who looked remarkably like them. If they were human… what would that be like? How would their relationship with Melody change? Would they be brave enough to actually…

Frustrated with the direction their thoughts kept going, the sprite ripped up the drawing, getting a confused look from the human they were having these feelings for. Melody clearly noticed Patch’s frustration and held her hands up as she spoke.

“It’s fine, I know how it goes sometimes… I mean I haven’t drawn in ages, but sometimes you just can’t make it look right, I get it. I’m sure you’ll nail it next time!”

Patch took a deep breath before nodding and beginning to draw something else, leaving their little thought experiment behind.

Part 5

Something was off with Melody. Despite the human claiming things were fine, Patch could tell from the energy in the apartment that Melody was feeling upset. At first, Patch assumed it was the cold weather, as the first snowfall of the year was a few days ago, but that probably wasn’t it, as her mood had actually gone up on that morning. Granted, it was mostly because she could call out of work, but still, the human seemed to enjoy the snow.

It was an ordinary afternoon, with Patch sitting on the couch watching TV, and Melody sitting on the other end of the couch reading a book, when suddenly Mel’s phone began to vibrate. She only looked at the phone before a look of disgust showed on her face, and she looked back at the book. After a moment, the phone went quiet, only to begin to vibrate again a moment later.

“Ugh!” cried Mel, as she reached over and pressed a button, causing the phone to stop. She looked over at Patch, who was watching the entire thing with confusion.

“Sorry… that was, uh… a number I didn’t want to answer,” said Melody.

Patch continued his staring, tilting his head again to make it clear that he wanted to ask a follow-up question.

“I said it was nobody!” snapped Mel, before she continued reading, as the phone vibrated again. Patch was a bit taken aback, Melody almost never snapped like that, especially not without something big happening.

Patch had to get to the bottom of this. With a determined look, they pointed to the phone again, as it began to vibrate once more. Melody sighed in frustration, and finally grabbed the phone.

“Fine, she gets one chance,” was all Mel said as she pressed on the screen, and a voice came out. Patch couldn’t help but eavesdrop, and heard a name that was decidedly not Melody’s before the human hung up just as quickly as she had answered.

“Aaaand that was her chance.”

Patch was still curious, and mimicked holding a phone to their ear.

Melody put her head in her hands before speaking. “Ugh, fine. That was… my mother.”

Her mother? Patch was instantly curious, but more than that, a bit envious. The human has a chance to speak to her mother, no matter where they are, and she chooses to ignore them? Patch couldn’t help but look at Melody with a scolding glare, hands on his hips.

“What’s with the face?” asked Mel, but she knew the answer. “I know, I know what you’re thinking. Mel, why would you ignore your mom? Well, it’s complicated. She, uh, doesn’t really like me. To say the least.”

This only confused Patch further. Why would she be so insistent on reaching out, then? Patch pointed at the phone, and mimed picking it up again, before pointing at Mel, which seemed to frustrate her.

“I’m not answering the phone to a woman who won’t even use my name!” snapped Melody. “She does this every year around the holidays, calling and begging and pleading for her son to come back to them and be a family again, but it’ll never happen! I’m on my own now, and I’m happier this way, and I don’t need anybody else!”

Despite how confident she sounded, tears were forming on her face. Patch realized they may have misunderstood the situation, and walked over, placing a gentle hand on the side of Mel’s thigh. The human sighed, before speaking again in a calmer voice, “Well, that’s not true. I have my cool little roommate, and I definitely don’t know what I’d do without you. At least you like me for who I am… I think.”

Patch nodded affirmatively, and Mel smiled. “Thanks, dude. Maybe… maybe at some point I’ll tell you the whole story, but you don’t need to worry about it… or me. I’m okay, I promise.”

At that, Patch simply nodded.

“You know, I guess I never asked about your parents. I mean, I guess I’m assuming you have them?” Melody asked, suddenly curious.

It didn’t take long for her to notice Patch’s uncomfortable expression, though.

“Oh shit, are they, uh…” the human said, her voice trailing off.

Patch simply shrugged.

“Oh… I’m sorry I brought it up. I, uh, guess that explains why you were so adamant about me answering the phone. I… I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silent tension between the two, which was finally broken by the phone vibrating again.

“Yep, it’s her.”

Patch walked over to the phone and kicked it, getting a small giggle from Mel.

“Thanks, buddy. That’ll show her.”

Part 6

The holidays were always tough for Melody, ever since she had left her family. Normally, she would just spend them like any other day, maybe taking up shifts at the library when they were open. But this year, something was different, she had a roommate.

“So… I guess it’s a weird question to ask, but do you have any, like, winter holidays?” Melody asked one day, after seeing the first holiday commercial of the season (Several weeks before December, of course).

-

Patch seemed to light up, and nodded his head yes. One of the few holidays that sprites celebrated was on the winter solstice, when the night was the longest.

“Oh, that’s so cool! I’d love to learn more about it… maybe we could celebrate together! When is it? What do you do?” Melody asked, instantly excited by the prospect of learning about a different culture’s customs, especially a non-human one.

Patch nodded, and motioned a sign that Mel had come to understand as “Let me try to draw it”.

“Okay! Got it, let me go get your notepad.” Patch went to work trying to draw what he was able to express. On the Solstice, inspired by the humans’ celebrations around that time, sprites would exchange gifts and try to watch the stars when they could, which were believed to be the ancestors of the sprites watching them from the heavens. They would use that time to huddle for warmth and share stories of their ancestors, to keep traditions alive.

Of course, all of that was a bit complicated to draw without using a single word. Patch had slowly been introducing Melody to their written language, drawing objects and what their names looked like, but Melody still wasn’t able to read much.

“Okay, okay, let me try to figure this out…” they said, looking over the drawings once Patch had finished.

“Okay, we have… a drawing of day and night… then a shorter day and longer night… then a moon… oh, that word means moon, right! Longer night, moon… the longest night of the year?” She deduced, and Patch nodded approvingly.

“So, the winter solstice… that would make sense, a lot of cultures have holidays around then… Okay, more drawings… somebody giving something to somebody else… that makes sense, like Christmas. Then we have… one of your kind watching the stars… that’s a really good drawing, actually.” Mel continued, as Patch blushed at the compliment.

“So, gift giving, stargazing… I don’t know what this one means, though,” said Melody as she looked at the final part of the drawing, being a triangle of stylized faces with Patch’s distinct pointy ears.

Patch thought for a minute, before beginning to pantomime speaking.

“Talking… speaking… telling a story? Yes! Telling stories about… each other?” Patch shook their head. Struggling to think of how to clarify, they thought back to the conversation a few days ago, and pointed to Melody’s phone. After a moment of thinking, she seemed to get the message.

“... Mom. Telling stories about family, huh?”

Patch noticed Mel’s mood turned downwards, but nodded.

“Okay… I think I’m getting the picture now. It’s a time for family, just like our holidays, huh?”

Patch nodded again, and Melody seemed thoughtful.

“Well… obviously I’m not talking to my family… and you said you don’t know where your parents are… I guess we can celebrate together, though. I can teach you about our holidays, and we can celebrate yours, ooh, this is exciting actually! I could be the first human to celebrate your holiday! Isn’t that a cool thought?”

-

Before long, the night was upon them. Melody had set up a countdown to both holidays, the winter solstice and Christmas day. At Patch’s instruction, Melody prepared a nice meal, although the meal was far more lavish than anything Patch’s kind would have been able to prepare.

After sharing a meal while watching a holiday special (Since there was nothing else on this close to Christmas), Melody began to prepare for the exciting part, to her.

“Gift time!” They announced, and Patch seemed to light up as well. Melody brought Patch back to his room, where he disappeared behind the fabric door.

When he emerged, there was a small box in front of the door that Mel had wrapped in a ribbon.

“I know normally you turn down gifts, but I figured this was my chance to help you out,” Mel said, as they gently pushed the box a little closer to Patch.

Meanwhile, Patch stood there with something hidden behind his hands. He placed the object, a small piece of wood about the size of a coin, down on the counter, face down, before gently pushing it towards the human.

“Oh?” said Mel in confusion. Truthfully, they weren’t sure what to expect as a gift from Patch, but they excitedly flipped the small wooden object over to reveal a tiny painting of Melody.

“A… Patch, how did you even get… Nevermind that, this is wonderful!” They exclaimed, as Patch blushed slightly. Truthfully, the detail was incredible for such a small piece. The colors were slightly odd, but Mel was more surprised that Patch was able to find any kind of dyes to work with at his small size.

“Well, yours was super from the heart, and mine was just from the store… I hope you like it anyways,” Mel said, suddenly feeling a bit inadequate. Patch opened the box, and Mel saw his eyes light up and ears perk at the box of paper clips they had prepared as a gift.

“I know you use them a lot for your little rope ladders and stuff… I figured it would be a useful gift…”

Patch smiled wide at Melody before pushing the box into his room, and she knew that the gift was appreciated.

-

After receiving the generous gift from Melody, Patch pointed to the window. It was time to watch for stars.

“Right, right. Luckily, my window has a pretty nice view of the sky, and it looks clear enough, we might see a few stars!”

After holding her palm up, she gently lifted Patch and moved herself and her little roommate over to the windowsill. Mel placed Patch down as she leaned her elbows on the other side, watching Patch look up at the sky. He seemed lost in thought.

“... I wish I could hear your stories… I’m sure you have lots to share,” Melody mused. “I only know a few words of your language, though… not nearly enough. Maybe by next year…”

Silence filled the room for a moment as both parties watched the sky.

“Oh, is that- No, sorry, that’s a plane…”

More silence filled the room.

Breaking the silence in the best way they could, Patch gently tapped on Mel’s arm, before pointing at her and then the sky, with one or two stars breaking through the city’s lights.

“Me? Oh… my stories, yeah.” Melody said, but her attitude seemed withdrawn.

“Um… I don’t really know what to say about my family. They’re kind of… not in my life anymore. There’s my mom and my brother, Archie, but… like I said, there isn’t much to talk about.”

Patch nodded, taking in the new information. They knew Melody has a mother, but the sibling was new information.

“Do you have any siblings?” Melody asked.

Patch shook their head, before holding up one tiny finger.

“Ah… okay.”

Once more, awkward silence draped over the two of them, though Patch seemed content to watch the sky.

“You know, there’s so much I want to know about you, buddy. Your past, your family… your name. I feel like I should know more about you by now.” Melody mused.

“Do your people have anything like New Year’s Resolutions?” she asked.

Patch looked at her in confusion, so she began to elaborate.

“It’s basically when you’re really determined to do something in the next year. I don’t usually do them, but I think… I think my goal is to learn your language, really focus on it… maybe even teach you mine while I’m at it. That way, I can finally learn more about you.”

Patch smiled and nodded, a determined look on his face. If he was going to live with Melody, they needed to be able to communicate better.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m warning you, I’m far from the best teacher, but I’m sure I could find some library books that could help…” Melody trailed off, already lost in thought planning how to start the lessons. She was interrupted by a small feeling on her arm. Looking down, she saw that Patch was sitting on the windowsill, leaning up against her arm as he watched the sky.

Learning could wait. Tonight, they were watching the stars.

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 1

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

A light breeze passed through the sky, causing the trees above to rustle, their leaves singing the melodious tune of spring. The sky above was painted a clear, baby blue, with hardly a cloud to be seen. Something about the air in Eastern Europe felt different. While the maiden couldn't quite describe it, she loved it all the same. Down below, a young maiden held a bag of seeds, taking small handfuls and tossing them along the ground. The tune of nature was casually interrupted by chickens pecking at the dirt and idly wandering around the maiden's skirt.

Smiling contentedly, the maiden hummed to herself as she fulfilled her daily chores. After feeding the now-clucking chickens, the maiden returned inside and set her bag on the table, ready to repeat the same chore the next day. As well as the many others that occupied her time. She didn't mind it, though. After all, what was the point of being awake if you weren't doing anything? Idleness was for the weak. And she, (y/n) (l/n), was anything but.

She gazed around the room and saw her father at the table, reading the family bible, practically eyeball-deep in study. Her father, a self-proclaimed student of religion, could often be found spending his spare time studying the text, occasionally bringing his daughter in for conversation. Smiling, (y/n) walked up to him.

"Hello, Father," she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. Her father laughed in response and rested his hand on her forearm.

"Why hello, my little girl. Tell me, did you finish all your chores already?" He smirked up at her after she let go.

"Indeed I did. Say, which book are you in now?" She asked, peering over his shoulder to gaze at the old, weathered pages.

"The book of Matthew," He said promptly, looking back at the book.

"What part?" (y/n) asked.

"The part where the Lord is cleansing the temple. Serves the merchants right, if you'd ask me!" He scoffed before turning back to his daughter. "Say, how about you take a seat. I would love to tell you about something I noticed within the text earlier today."

His daughter shook her head, smiling. "Sorry, but I can't. I promised my friend Adeline we would head out into the forest for berry-picking today."

"I see," he nodded. "Well, it is already quite late in the afternoon, and I would hate for you to miss it."

(y/n) leaned down and gave her father a kiss on the head. "Do not worry, father. I should be back in plenty of time for you to tell me about what you found. I look forward to it."

After saying their goodbyes, she grabbed her handwoven basket and left out the front door before walking down the dirt pathways of her little village. While she enjoyed spending time with her friends, she loved time with her father even more. After her mother passed a year prior, her father remained her companion through the seasons. As such, she inherited much from him, including his love of study and analyzing every last bit of text to the finest, most minute detail. Biblical stories and doctrine took on a whole new meaning when you took the time to analyze the context, though this wasn't always looked kindly upon. If anything, it was more accepted to go with whatever interpretation the church gave you. But that would never stop people like (y/n) and her father from thinking for themselves. There is, of course, truth in ancient texts, but it takes a discerning eye to unravel the complexities that lie beneath.

While lost in thought, she nearly missed the young woman standing by her front door, waving her down. Her long blonde hair bounced around as she waved frantically, calling out (y/n)'s name.

"Oh, hello Adeline," (y/n) stopped and smiled, allowing the blonde a moment to snatch up her own basket and bound toward her friend.

"Hello, (y/n). You seemed lost in thought there for a moment," She commented, playfully linking her free arm with (y/n)'s.

"A little," she admitted as the two walked along. "How has your day been?"

Adeline rolled her eyes and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. "Boring. Nothing more than cleaning laundry and mending. I am surprised that I even have time for this."

(y/n) chuckled. "Well, seeing as we do have time for this, let us make the most of it!"

"Agreed!" Adeline gave a small cheer in response, swinging her basket through the air.

The two young women had been friends for years. For (y/n), it was hard to imagine a life without Adeline's relentless joy and optimism. When times were hard, (y/n) knew she could rely on her upbeat personality and outlook on life to bolster her spirits. As the two walked along they soon made it to the outskirts of town before being greeted by two knights sitting on their horses, keeping guard. The Teutonic Knights.

The Teutonic Knights were monastic warrior monks clad in white with black crosses on their chests and cloaks. Knights were sent there by both the Pope and the current Holy Roman Emperor for the sake of spreading Christianity, as well as to expand the Germanic kingdoms, though that second reason was not as often talked about. The area in which (y/n) and her friends and family now lived used to be pagan territory before the knights came through years ago and pushed them back, claiming it for Christian families and settlers. Her own family settled in the area in hopes of starting a new life, as well as many other families looking for another place to call home. The knights in the area where she lived typically found themselves guarding the new locals rather than going out to conquer. That was left to the knights even further up north.

As (y/n) and Adeline approached the knights, one of them stopped the two maidens.

"Halt. Tell me, where are you going this fine afternoon?" He announced.

"Berry-picking," Adeline answered. "Would you care to join us?" She smiled cheekily, earning an eye-roll from (y/n), remembering that, while Adeline was an absolute sweetheart, she was also a relentless flirt.

"Funny, but no," the knight chuckled in response. Adeline and the knight proceeded to have a small back-and-forth, leading to (y/n) beginning to ignore them.

As she tuned out their idle chatter, her attention turned to the other knight beside him. A quiet, stoic man who, unlike his companion, wore his hood up and over his head, partially obscuring his face. However, the shade from the hood could not disguise the sharp, ice-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the shadows. He appeared bored with his job, staring listlessly at the surrounding trees just outside the village. After a few moments, the knight turned to look at (y/n), feeling her eyes on him. In any other instance, she would quickly look away. But she couldn't. Those eyes were mesmerizing as if piercing straight through her. Only after he furrowed his brows, giving her a confused look, did she have enough sense to look away, feeling her face going red.

After looking away, her friend Adeline said her goodbyes to the other knight and pulled (y/n) along into the forest. As they walked along, Adeline rambled on about the knight she was just speaking to.

"You know what? I am starting to think that knight likes me." She giggled.

"Adeline," (y/n) shook her head, "you would do best to avoid flirting with them. You do remember that the knights take a vow of celibacy when they join the Teutonic Order, right?"

"Well yes, of course I do!" She stated as the two maidens stooped down upon finding a bush full of berries ready for picking. "That won't stop my imagination, however." She gave a sly wink to (y/n), who could only respond with a cross between laughter and another eye-roll.

As the two girls went to pick, the air was filled with casual chatter and conversation. Speaking of all manner of things. Life, the weather, hobbies, chores, stories, and so on. It was only near the end when the sun began to set and the girls picked themselves up off the ground, now having full baskets, that the conversation took an interesting turn.

"Say, (y/n)," Adeline began as she linked her arm with her friend, beginning their short trek back home. "Have you thought about marriage yet?"

"Is that a proposal?" (y/n) joked, laughing when Adeline rolled her eyes in response, stifling a small giggle.

"You know what I mean, (y/n). I am asking if you have given any thought as to when you want to get married? Or to whom? We aren't getting any younger, you know."

(y/n) sighed. "I'm not sure, Adeline. I have mostly been focusing on taking care of things at home and making sure my father's taken care of. Ever since my mother passed, it's been on me to keep the household running, more or less."

Adeline nodded, taking in her response. "That's fair. Though I will say, I saw you looking at that knight earlier. Care to tell me what that was about?" She smiled, nudging (y/n) in the side.

"Adeline!"

"Kidding, I'm kidding! Calm down, (y/n)." Adeline attempted to laugh off her teasing, only for (y/n) to shrug.

"He just seemed interesting. He seemed far more quiet and withdrawn than the other knights we've seen," (y/n) admitted. Not to mention those eyes, she thought to herself.

As if right on cue, the maidens approached the knights standing at the edge of the village. The more talkative knight greeted the two with a small nod. Meanwhile, the other one, still with his hood up, watched the two maidens walk past with veiled interest. For a split second (y/n) glanced in his direction, only to quickly look away, earning a suggestive smirk from Adeline as she nudged her friend.

"Oh yes, very interesting," she whispered. (y/n) only laughed and shook her head. After reaching Adeline's home, (y/n) bid her friend farewell.

"We will do this tomorrow, yes?" (y/n) asked.

"Always," Adeline assured her.

After giving their farewells, (y/n) made her way back home, the sky now painted with vibrant reds and firey orange. After entering in through the front gate and door, she found her father asleep at the dining table, his head resting on the family bible. Smiling to herself, (y/n) walked forward and gently took the bible out from under his head, lest he potentially drool on it (again). After gently placing a small pillow under her father's head and giving him a kiss goodnight, she surveys the room around her after placing the bible to the side.

I suppose scripture study will have to wait for tomorrow. As for now, I might as well get to bed. Yawning, she went to her small room and dressed in her nightgown before slipping under the blankets.

She slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the vicious dangers that lay in wait once the sun went down.

Next Chapter

Next chapter is here! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter, and please let me know what you think!

[thankeywa]

Star-crossed. Lo'ak x f!human!reader pt.1

I know that literally nobody asked for this, but I've noticed a disturbing lack of Lo'ak fics out there, so I've decided to give my input. I've had a story in mind for a while now, and I needed to get it out there. It will be a reader insert to make it more accessible, but it's somewhat based around an original f!character, so I apologize for that in advance if it gets too specific.

WARNINGS: Lo'ak is 20 years old in this and so is the reader, I do not write about minor characters. There will be eventual mature themes in this so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK.

For everyone else, if you like my writing, please let me know if you want to be on the tag list for future installments and SEND ME REQUESTS (head canons, imagines, sfw/nsfw, ecc.) ! I love that shit.

words: around 1.200

summary: reader is a human left behind on pandora, she grew up with the remaining humans who'd been aloud to stay on the planet after the war and has been friends with the Sully clan her entire life. She and Lo'ak were best friends until he began to pull away from her in their teen years for seemingly no reason. This story is about them reconnecting on the day of her twentieth birthday, and dealing with the feelings they have for each other and the obstacles that come with them being from two different worlds.

TW for this chapter: angst, smoking (don't do it, ever), brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of war and death, brief mention of child birth, reader can breathe on pandora.

Y/n looked at the 'birthday cake' made out of cookie rations that Norm and Max had made for her. No matter how many years would pass, her dads always knew how to get creative.

"I'm twenty years old, you guys don't have to keep throwing me a birthday party." She reprimanded them softly, though her heart was filled with joy. Y/n was so thankful to have people in her life who cared enough to make her day special every single year.

"Considering you spent most of your early existence tied to test tubes to stay alive, we're merely celebrating the scientific marvel your continued survival has been." Norm joked, raising a beer, and y/n shoved him, before blowing out the single candle that had been meticulously re-used each year. It was a wonder how there was any wax still left on it.

"What did the birthday girl wish for?" Max asked, reaching for a dried-up cookie and cringing slightly at the taste as he chewed on it slowly. "The whole point of a birthday wish is to keep it to myself... or it won't come true. Honestly, I question your two's knowledge of Earth's traditions." y/n shook her head, before taking a celebratory sip of alcohol.

Norm and Max left eventually, back to the main base. They were more than capable of piloting a helicopter those days, and y/n was all grown up. More than capable of living by herself. What once had been an avatar lab, smack dab in the middle of the forests of Pandora, had been converted into her home. Pandora's rapidly repopulating fauna had surprisingly left her residence alone, well... mostly. There were still some creatures who couldn't help but keep themselves away. And by creatures, she meant Spider. Y/n was also friends with actual people like Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk, and... Lo'ak. Truth be told, she didn't know whether or not she and Lo'ak were even friends anymore. They'd been thick as thieves for as long as she could remember, always getting him out of trouble and fixing him up after a scuffle with his siblings. But then, around her sixteenth birthday, he'd started pulling away, and y/n had never understood why. They'd had a big fight about it, bottom line, he hadn't wanted to be around her anymore and y/n had to accept it.

"Open up! It's fucking freezing out here!" Came Spider's loud voice followed by an incessant banging on the door that immediately pulled y/n out of her reverie. "Alright, alright..." she laughed a little as she went to let them all inside. The Sullys were always insisting on spending birthdays together, even though some of them were now getting too big to even fit inside her 'home'. Neteyam had to walk around with his back bent forward, and Kiri knocked over quite a few things before they made it to y/n's main living space, which was more or less Na've-proof. "Happy birthday!" Tuk hugged her and y/n struggled not to feel crushed by the embrace. Even the littlest Sully was now nearly as tall as her.

Y/n let them all inside, already giving them dirty looks at the sight of gifts. "I told you guys not to..."

She stayed on the doorstep a little longer, gazing out into the night, desperately hoping one last uninvited guest would turn up. She felt Neteyam's hand on her shoulder. "He's not coming. I tried to talk to him but he was being a skxawng as usual..." Y/n blushed, not really wanting Neteyam to know she was pining for his younger brother. "Oh, right! I was—just checking you were all here..." she closed the door and they both went back to join the others.

___

"Alright come on, your mom is going to kill me if you get back late and I don't have enough space in here for all of you. Spider would have to sleep outside." Y/n teased, trying to let Tuk understand it was time to go. "Hey!" Spider protested at her lighthearted jab, but knew it was time for them to get going. Nobody wanted to get on Neytiri's bad side. Y/n hugged them all goodbye and thanked them for the presents: Tuk had made her a lovely drawing, and the others had collectively made her a rather beautiful necklace, which she immediately wore. Y/n waited on her doorstep till she could no longer hear the sounds of her friends chatting, and then proceeded to do two incredibly dangerous things: she sat outside of the protection of her bunker, all alone in the cold Pandora night air, and lit up a cigarette.

She'd discovered a terrifyingly endless supply of cigarette cartoons back at the base almost a year prior, and as soon as she'd tried her first one, she'd gotten addicted. Y/n hadn't told Norm or Max, of course, as it would have broken their hearts, especially because of how fragile she was. Y/n's mother had gone into labor in the aftermath of the battle for Pandora between the Na'vi and the Sky people. The soldier had lost her life giving birth, but her baby had survived, taking her first breath in the inhospitable Pandora air. Norm was convinced Eywa herself had kept her alive, had given her the ability to take in the air that hadn't previously failed to kill any other human. Sure, it had come at the price of being particularly fragile her entire life. And how was y/n repaying that gift? By cutting her miraculous existence short more and more each day. Thankfully, it was a while since she'd been used as a test rat, or had check ups of any sort. As far as the Sullys were concerned... they were way better off not even knowing what she was doing to herself.

A sudden rustling in the trees instantly made y/n alert and she didn't waste any time getting back inside. She showered, and shamefully hid her smokes somewhere her dads or the Sullys wouldn't look. When she had nothing else left to do, y/n forced herself to crawl into bed, placing a hand over her necklace. Her wish to see Lo'ak hadn't come true in the end, and while not surprising, it still hurt like hell.

"A pack of viperwolves? Seriously, Lo'ak?" Y/n groaned in frustration as she cleared her table for her best friend to lie on.

"I thought I could take them." He hissed as she doused him with disinfectant. "Yeah, well, you know human medical treatment hurts like a bitch, so it's either my way, or you're going to have to fess up to your parents about what you did." Y/n tried to sound cold, but she'd always been too soft on him.

When they were younger, and Lo'ak still hadn't grown to be double her size, they would often fall asleep together in her bed. "You don't have to keep doing this shit to prove something, you know?" She whispered to him one night, turning over to look at him and gently touch his face. "Your parents love you. And so do Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk and Spider. Lo'ak, I— we— don't want to lose you."

Y/n was almost asleep when a loud 'thud' coming from outside woke her. Something was moving on her roof, or rather, someone... Y/n didn't show whether she was dreaming or not as she looked out the window and locked eyes with Lo'ak, because the second she did, he seemed to slide off the top of her bucker, falling down into the grass below with a loud groan.

He'd probably just woken up half of the animals on Pandora.

[billys-slutcherson]

THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG - MDNI

Hello, my name is Becca!! (づ￣ 3￣)づ

I am 26 and recently converted to my unhinged era.

This means, minors PLEASE do to interact in any form with this blog, you will be swiftly blocked. There is no ifs or buts about it, and going against it just makes you a shitty person please don't interact with me. Please and THANK YOU.

───────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────────────

I enjoy design, art, and most importantly right now, WRITING!

ironic this is the way I have decided to use the josh fixation

───────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────────────

As of now I love to write:

❤ soft fluff & smut!

❤ one-shots

❤ requests!

❤ multi-chapters, maybe? (●'◡'●)

I will NOT write:

⊠ rape, paedophilia, incest or anything of these nature!

⊠ real people, including celebrities, online personalities etc.

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As of now I am not sure if I will take requests, because I am still really new to writing fanfics. But! I don't mind trying out prompts, and providing the GOODIES!

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MASTERLIST below the cut! ↘

✯¸.•´¨*•✿ •┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈• ✿•*¨`•.¸✯

*＊✿❀ FANFIC MASTERLIST ❀✿＊*

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✿ Billy (Burn) x F!Reader 'I Always Knew You Were Needy' (NSFW)

Billy finally succumbs to your convincing, letting you tease him for a change. Reluctant at first, but it doesn't take long for him to start begging... (2,140 Words)

✿ Mike Schmidt x F!Reader 'Nightshift Degeneracy P.T 1' (NSFW)

Slow security nights leave the mind to wander to more enticing places than where he is stuck. All alone, for once, Mike allows himself that indulgence. (978 Words)

✿ Mike Schmidt x F!Reader 'Nightshift Degeneracy P.T 2' (NSFW)

After his near miss of being caught up to no good on the nightshift, Mike thinks he might be in the clear. However, you relish in letting him know you caught him. Desperate to fulfil his urges completely. (3,041 Words)

✿ Mike Schmidt x Gen!Reader 'Pretty as a Vine'

Working as Abby's babysitter had grown on you, so much so that you let her mess up your face with an old lipstick she found. It became a game of chase, till you were both caught by Mike. Feeling like a scolded idiot, you turn your attention to how he might look wearing it. Much to his dismay. (805 Words)

✿ Mike Schmidt x Gen!Reader 'It's You I Hold On To'

Abby stubborn as she is just wants to go camping, which is a total no-go for Mike. But in the garden, under the stars with you there? He can't shake the idea. So movie night, and junk food huddled around a little DVD player, is worth it just to make both you and Abby smile. (2,826 Words)

✿ Mike Schmidt x Gen!Reader 'And I Saw Sparks' (NSFW)

Following the failed garden camping and being drenched by the storm, Mike just wanted you to stay. More than that, he wanted you, to kiss you. Begging for more, confessing all of his pent-up need for you and only you. NSFW follow-up to 'It's You I Hold Onto' (2,392 Words)

✿ Derek Danforth x F!Reader 'I'd Rather Stay Here' (NSFW)

Insatiable for you, Derek convinces you to ditch the party. Eager to have his way dominating you, away from prying eyes. Desperately, you wouldn't dream of passing up the chance… (3,589 Words)

✿ Derek Danforth x F!Reader 'Bathed in Wine' (NSFW)

You hated it, the façade. It bored you, but for Derek, you'd do anything just to be there to tease him. In the end, you get what you want, or better yet what you need. Even at the cost of making a slight fool of yourself. It was worth it to see him in ruins. (2,754 Words)

✿ Peeta Mellark x Gen!Reader 'Strawberries'

After it all, you are still you and he is still Peeta. He will always go above and beyond to see your smiles, always. (981 Words)

✿ Josh Futturman Cowboy AU x F!Reader 'The Moonlighting Cowboy' (NSFW)

Your day was about as average as they get out in the middle of the Wild West. Until the sweet silent peace is broken by a manic strange running for your stables, fleeing a gang of outlaws hunting him. Being the person you are you stupidly offered to help. Inevitably falling for his accidental charms... (8,695 Words)

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Also, here is my AO3 - It is the same fics, but I know sometimes I prefer bookmarking there!

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 36/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder sleeps in the back of their rented van on the drive to Henryton, exhausted from nearly twenty-four hours of preparation and worry. His mind feels like an oversaturated sponge, and he finds himself in a perpetual state of frustration as memories tease the edges of his subconscious, never fully revealing themselves. It’s all on the tip of his tongue, burbling just under the surface, but woefully inaccessible.

Langly remains in critical condition, his bedside now attended by his younger brother who flew in on a redeye from out of state. Byers dutifully calls for an update every few hours, and the men make it their mission to save Scully in his honor. What they can’t bring themselves to say aloud is that if he dies, it will hurt all the more to have lost them both in one fell swoop. Never seeing Scully again is an idea that Mulder can’t even allow himself to entertain. He just has to find her. He has to.

Frenchie is curled up near his head, intermittently cracking one eye open to verify that he hasn’t left her again. She’s been glued to his side since she arrived, and between her clear separation anxiety and the fact that they have no idea how long they’ll be gone, he decided that they couldn’t leave her at the Gunmen’s house in good conscience. Having her in tow will also allow him and Scully to set out for Canada right away, without returning to Washington, as will the lock box under the driver’s seat containing two sets of passports, ID, birth certificates, a marriage license, and $10,000 cash.

In the back of the van there are also several firearms. To Mulder’s recollection, the last time he fired a gun was during his short stint at Quantico. But when Byers slid a pistol into his palm, he instinctively released the magazine to verify that it was loaded, slammed it back home, and racked the slide without a single conscious thought regarding what he was doing. He hopes that he doesn’t need to use it, but knowing that he would be able to do so effectively instills the confidence he’ll need if he’s going to pull this off.

It was Byers, fresh from the hospital, who suggested that Teena Mulder’s cryptic message regarding the trains that pass through Henryton tunnel should be interpreted to mean he needs to board a train there. Henryton, however, has no train station, only the infamous tunnel. The railway schedule indicates that between three and five trains pass through the tunnel each day, as early as 10:00 am and as late as 6:00 pm. Their plan is to arrive by 10:00 and scope out the area, then board the train if given an opportunity to do so. They have surveillance equipment, radios, a first aid kit, and detailed maps of every square inch of land within five hundred miles of Henryton, none of which have offered any answers or even suggestions as to Scully’s location. As prepared as they are, they are operating off little more than a hunch and an audacious amount of hope.

They arrive in Marriottsville, a small town near Henryton, just past 10:00 am and stop for breakfast at a mom and pop cafe called Ruth’s. It’s a weathered clapboard house that’s been gutted and converted into a restaurant, and they slide into a booth next to an antique fireplace with historical photos displayed on the mantle.

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I get for you?”

Their server is an older woman with a moon-shaped face and wiry salt and pepper hair, and a name tag on her apron that says “Moira.” She meets Mulder’s eye and smiles, and she’s so genuinely warm and welcoming that he can’t help smiling back despite his sour mood.

“Coffee, please,” he says, and she winks at him.

“Three coffees, coming right up.”

They sit in relative silence, thinking about Langly, or Scully, or the potential outcomes of boarding a train to nowhere and encountering who knows what on the other side. Mulder has tried, unsuccessfully, to force his brain to remember where he and Scully were taken before. Any tiny detail that might give them some context regarding the level of security in the building or how far it is from a source of transportation. He worries over what they’ll do if she’s injured or ill, or if they’ve already wiped her memory clean and she no longer knows who he is. There are a million ways it could go wrong, but never for a single second does he contemplate not trying. He could never live with himself if he doesn’t at least try.

Their coffees arrive and they order pancakes and waffles, bacon and eggs, carbohydrates and protein to fuel the journey ahead. Byers lays the maps out over the table, following the train tracks with his index finger and looking for an out of place building along their course. He’s already done this dozens of times, but he’s just as meticulous now as he was on the first pass. Mulder watches him with heavy eyelids and a worried heart, wondering what Scully is doing at this exact moment.

The bell above the door jangles and the excited squawk of children draws looks from several patrons. Mulder glances at the newcomers as they are shown to a table, and they seem familiar to him. The man, presumably the father, is tall and tawny, and he takes one side of the booth while the two children, a boy and a girl, sit on the side that is facing Mulder and the Gunmen’s table. The girl is older, and her hair is long and ruddy against her porcelain cheeks. The boy looks more like the father, with protruding ears and raucous laugh. Mulder watches them for a long time as they color their menus, wondering if he knew them before but just can’t recall the memory.

“Flapjacks and scrambled eggs,” Moira says as she sets a plate in front of Mulder, and he is distracted enough by trying to force himself to eat that he forgets about the familiar family for a time.

“I think John should stay back,” Frohike announces, shoveling a forkful of waffle into his mouth.

Byers turns and gives him an incredulous look.

“I agree,” Mulder chimes in, and Byers turns his incredulous look to the other side of the table. “For one, we can’t leave Frenchie in the car; it’s too hot. And if we don’t come back…”

The men all stop eating and look at each other. He doesn’t need to say the rest: if they don’t come back, someone will need to look after Frenchie, and be there for Langly. Someone will need to try and send for additional help.

Byers slowly nods and lowers his eyes to his plate. Though he won’t say it, Mulder can tell he’s relieved.

In his periphery, he sees someone small approaching the table. When he looks, he finds the young girl from the familiar family walking towards him, her eyes on the ground. She crouches down beside the booth and picks up a yellow crayon, then stands and looks at Mulder, locking her brilliant blue eyes on his.

“Abby! Get back over here!” the man, her father, calls out, turning in his seat to admonish her.

Mulder gets a better look at his face, and it’s just so familiar. He knows he’s seen it somewhere before. The little girl scurries away, and her father gives Mulder a long look. A warning look.

“How’s everything tasting?” Moira asks, a stack of dirty dishes resting on her hip. They assure her that the food is up to snuff, and she takes in the pile of maps now neatly folded in the middle of the table. “Where ya headed?” she asks, gesturing to the maps with her chin.

The men exchange glances.

“Henryton,” Frohike supplies after an awkwardly long silence. “Any recommendations?”

She pulls a face, indicating that Henryton is not what she was expecting to hear.

“There’s not much to do out there in terms of tourist attractions, I’m afraid, but lots of great walking trails. Lotsa people like to visit the train tunnel; it’s the third oldest in the world that’s still in operation. And haunted to boot.”

“Haunted?” Byers asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well,” she says, shifting the dishes to her other hip, “It’s really the old sanatorium that’s haunted, but the tunnel is right nearby. Legend is that they didn’t used to let the patients bathe for weeks on end, and they’d get to smelling so bad that they’d escape and run down to the river to wash up.”

Byers sets his fork down and pushes his plate away.

“Even now,” she continues, “people claim that they see ghosts crossing over the tracks on the west end of the tunnel. Sometimes trains will even stop right there, halfway through, to let ‘em pass.”

“The train stops in the tunnel?” Mulder asks, too urgently, and she gives him a perplexed look.

“Sometimes,” she says, hiking the dishes up higher. “Not always. That’s why people think it’s the ghosts. If the engineer spots one, he better throw on the brakes or the whole thing could derail.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Frohike says blandly while giving Mulder a significant look.

“Anywho, I better get back to it. You ready for your check?”

They nod, and she leaves them.

“Ghosts on the tracks,” Mulder says, pushing his plate away. “Why else would a train stop in the middle of a tunnel?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Frohike says, shaking his head.

They settle the bill and collect their maps, and as they head toward the door, Mulder passes by the table of the familiar family. The children are dowsing their pancakes in an ungodly amount of syrup while their father stares absently at the table top, his own plate untouched. Just as he reaches the front door, Mulder turns back and approaches them, seeking resolution for the familiar feeling that he just can’t shake.

“Excuse me,” he says, addressing the father. The man looks up sharply, alarmed, and Mulder takes half a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Have we met? You look so familiar to me, but I can’t place you.”

The man flicks his dark, intense eyes over Mulder once, sitting up taller in his seat in a show of dominance.

“I don’t think so,” he says levelly.

The little boy, taking advantage of the fact that his sister is distracted by Mulder’s presence, sticks his finger into the half-melted scoop of butter sitting atop her syrupy pancakes and then stuffs it in his mouth.

“Peter!” she shrieks, “Don’t touch my food!”

“Abby, shhhh,” her father says softly, and she sticks out her lower lip.

Abby and Peter. He remembers from the maps that Ellicott City isn’t far from here. What are the odds?

“Cal,” Mulder says, turning back to the man. “Calvin, is that your name?”

The man stands abruptly, positioning himself between Mulder and his children, and Mulder takes another step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man hisses, and Mulder is surprised to find himself quite intimidated. He holds his hands up, palms out, in deference.

“My name is Fox Mulder,” he says. “I know Dana.”

Cal looks at him for a beat, his expression unreadable.

“Mulder?” he repeats, and Mulder nods once. “How do you know Dana?”

He has no idea what this man knows regarding the nature of he and Scully’s relationship. Most likely nothing at all.

“We used to work together,” he offers, and Cal relaxes a little.

Cal seems to become suddenly aware that the whole restaurant is looking at them. He extends his hand, and after a brief moment of consideration Mulder shakes it.

“Calvin Rose,” he says, then cocks his head over his shoulder towards the children. “This is Abby and Peter.”

“Hi,” Mulder says, looking at the children and smiling. Abby shrinks towards her brother shyly.

“Hi, I’m Pete!” the little boy says proudly.

“Did Dana tell you to come here?” Cal asks with narrow eyes. He may have concluded that Mulder isn’t a threat, but he clearly doesn’t trust him.

“No,” Mulder says, and his heart sinks. The children are both watching him intently, and he doesn’t want to scare them. He motions for Cal to come closer, and the man leans his upper body forward, turning his head to the side to offer his ear. Mulder speaks in a low voice, one he hopes the children can’t hear. “We’re trying to find her. She was…taken.”

Cal slowly leans away and stares at him.

“What do you mean?”

Mulder looks at Abby and Peter. Their syrup-sticky faces and their wide, innocent eyes.

“Maybe we should discuss this in private,” he suggests, and Cal follows his gaze back to the very observant children.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

They sit down at the dirty table just vacated by Mulder and the Gunmen, close enough for Cal to keep an eye on the kids but far enough away that they won’t hear them.

“What do you mean taken? Taken where?” Cal asks, his elbows on the table top.

“I don’t know,” Mulder admits. “I’m not sure how much Dana told you about what happened to us before, but I believe she’s been taken back to the place where our memories were initially manipulated.”

“Who took her?” Cal asks urgently, questions tumbling out too quickly for Mulder to answer. “Did you see this happen? Where were you? I don’t even know where she’s been, she just left and then I got this letter yesterday—”

“You got a letter? From who?”

“From Dana,” Cal says, reaching into his pocket.

He sets the letter on the table and Mulder reads it several times. Henryton tunnel at noon. He checks his watch. It’s almost 11:00.

“This isn’t from her,” he says, handing the note back. “I’ve been with her for the last seventy-two hours, and I know she didn’t write this.”

Cal looks at the note like it’s suddenly a foreign object.

“Then who sent it?”

Mulder shrugs.

“The people in charge of all of this, I assume. They may be trying to lure you there, instead of taking you by force.” An image of the black van tearing out of the parking lot at the safehouse flashes through his mind. “That’s what happened to Scully.”

“Scully? Who’s Scully?”

“Sorry, Dana. Scully is…her maiden name. That’s what I’ve always called her.”

Cal looks at the table.

“Right,” he says. “I guess I should know that.”

“Even if this isn’t from her,” Mulder says, pointing to the letter, “it’s helpful. It confirms that I need to get on the train at the tunnel, and at an exact time. But you don’t want to get on that train, Cal. Especially not with the kids.”

Cal’s eyes widen and he looks over to the children, then back to Mulder.

“What are they doing to her?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says, and his chest tightens. “Best case scenario, they plan to wipe her memory again. Worst case…they’re destroying the evidence of what they’ve done.”

“I’m going with you,” Cal says without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mulder objects. “I have no idea what we’ll encounter. It’s going to be dangerous, and there’s a possibility that we won’t make it back.”

Cal leans in, locking his eyes on Mulder’s.

“Mira, cabrón,” he says, his voice suddenly venomous, “I appreciate your concern, but that’s my wife out there.” Cal must see Mulder’s reaction in his face, because he softens a little. “I mean…the kids don’t know,” he says, glancing over at them. “They still have their chips in, they’re still taking their meds. She’s their mom. I have to find her.”

The queasiness he feels seeing how attached Cal clearly is to Scully, that he still thinks of her as his wife, is quickly replaced by fear.

“They still have chips? That means they’re tracking you, Cal.” Mulder looks around the small restaurant. No one seems to be paying them any attention. “If the kids don’t get on the train, they might come for them.”

Cal sits back and swallows, then his eyes dart around erratically while he thinks.

“Who are those guys you’re with?” he asks.

“Friends,” Mulder tells him. “Of both mine and Dana’s. We’ve known them for years. They’ve been helping us.”

“You trust them?” Cal asks, very seriously.

“Absolutely,” Mulder says emphatically. “I’d trust them with my life, and Dana’s.”

“You trust them with my kids?”

Mulder sees how much the question hurts to ask. Sees the fear behind it, the risk. It only reinforces how deeply Cal cares for Scully. For a fleeting moment, Mulder wonders what will happen to the three of them if they make it out of this alive.

“I would, yes. They’ll do everything within their power to protect them, if necessary.”

Cal sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks over at his children, who are piling the remains of their breakfast onto one plate and covering it with salt and pepper.

“We better get going,” he says resolutely. “The train will be there soon.”

Tagging @today-in-fic