#pi: cast away blues

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 8: The New House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, kids, parenthood, historical topics like violence and discrimination, Cakes with Christabel, angst?? Who am I kidding. Angst!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @gemini-mama @daenysx @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbelll @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥰🧁

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” Christabel tells Alicent, a low furtive murmur around nibbles of a cinnamon French toast cupcake. They are both sitting at the kitchen counter as you scuttle around wiping down burners and handles and knobs, trying not to listen in, unable to help yourself. At the table, Amir is frosting a Lady Baltimore cake and chatting with Criston, who has eaten no less than three miniature cherry pies in the past fifteen minutes. Amir keeps casting you wide-eyed, flummoxed glances. He means: Can you believe these people? No, you can’t.

Alicent sips the glass of sweet tea you poured for her and gazes vaguely around the room. “Oh, you know how Aemond is, dear. He works so hard. He’s so consumed by the Lake Verret project.”

“But shouldn’t he talk to me?” Christabel’s large blue eyes are luminous, persistent.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of course he talks to you.”

“Sure,” Christabel says, frowning. “He talks to me about the weather and the garden and the koi in the fish pond. He asks if I listen to Dire Straights or AC/DC. Nothing of consequence, nothing revealing. And he never touches me. Alright, fine, there’s a hand on my shoulder or my waist once in a while, for a moment. There are quick, courteous kisses. But that’s all. And he’s so…so…” She struggles to decide on a word. “Formal!”

“Have you tried the cannoli cupcake yet?” Alicent asks, sliding the plate towards Christabel. “It’s just divine. I absolutely adore it.”

“When we’re apart he says he misses me, but he hardly ever calls. He tells me that he loves me, but only if I say it first.”

“He’s marrying you!” Alicent declares as she restlessly twists her assortment of glittering rings, gold and diamonds and emeralds. “What more is there to say, dear?”

“Surely there must be something,” Christabel mumbles. She obediently samples the cannoli cupcake, carving away a tiny sliver with her fork. “Oh, that is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s my favorite one yet.”

They have twelve flavors to choose from, some familiar and some new: vanilla bean and triple chocolate of course, the classics, and then also cannoli, cinnamon French toast, carrot, red velvet, Boston cream pie, apple cobbler, peanut butter and grape jelly, Neapolitan, Louisiana crunch, and hummingbird. Christabel surveys the selection and then looks to where you are vigorously scrubbing an already clean stovetop. “Aemond mentioned something about banana bread cupcakes. Do you have one of those we could try?”

And again, you are amazed by how much he remembers: the very first cupcake from the very first night. “Um…I’m not sure, actually. Amir, didn’t we make a batch earlier this week? Are there any still on the table?”

Amir checks the cake plates, lifting glass covers, until he locates a single remaining banana bread cupcake for your customers. He ferries it to the kitchen counter with great ceremony. “Everyone raves about this flavor! And it’s so quintessentially southern. Perfect for a Louisiana wedding.” You give him a miserable, deadened stare and he offers a millisecond smirk of commiseration. What else can we do? Amir means. And you think: Nothing.

Christabel samples the cupcake, an infinitesimal morsel speared on the very tip of her fork. You recall how Aemond tasted like sugar and honey and cinnamon when he kissed you on the night you met, rough, dominating, irresistible, without the aching weight of disappointments or betrayals. If time was a cobweb you could rip and walk through, you’d be back in that May dusk in an instant, you’d live there forever and never leave.

“That’s it.” Christabel grins as she licks cream cheese frosting from her full, pink lips. “This one. I want a banana bread cake.”

“Mmm,” Alicent agrees, taking a bite. “It has so many dimensions! Sweet with just a touch of salt, light and fluffy but with a certain substantial, rustic quality, don’t you think? It’s the cinnamon, perhaps.”

You make a note on your yellow legal pad—a reminder you don’t need—so you can avoid Christabel’s benign, guileless gaze. “Is there a design you’d like for the frosting?”

“Wildflowers.”

Amir emits a startled gasp before he can swallow it back down. You look up at Christabel. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Just like the vanilla bean cake you made for the engagement party.” She draws blossoms in the air with her fingers, whimsical like a fairytale. “There was white icing and then all these gorgeous flowers in a dozen different colors. You could do that for a wedding cake, couldn’t you?”

“Of course.” And then you amend: “Well, Amir can. He’s our Picasso.”

“You’ll need something for the rehearsal dinner too, dear,” Alicent tells Christabel. Then she turns to you, tugging anxiously at one of her auburn ringlets. “You’re the expert, love. What would you recommend to impress upon our guests all the history and mystique of the Deep South?”

Your mind is blank, your thoughts gnarled up with visions of Christabel meeting Aemond at the end of an aisle. Amir sees this and he saves you.

“A Napoleon cake,” he announces with his best salesman enthusiasm, powerful enough to sweep everyone else along with him.

Alicent claps her hands, elated. “Oh, just like the town!”

“It has layers of puff pastry and rich custard cream, very French, very elegant and sophisticated, but also a nod to Napoleonville. And we can add a cherry jam to make it more romantic, if you like.”

“Doesn’t that just sound heavenly, darling?”

“Does Aemond like cherries?” Christabel asks Alicent. You know he does, but you don’t say anything.

“I think so. We’ll ask him tonight to be sure.” Alicent is opening her clutch purse to get the cash to pay you; she is eager to have this errand finished, you believe. “And can you put wildflowers on top of the Napoleon cake as well?”

“You can have the Declaration of Independence written on it if that is your heart’s desire,” Amir says, then steals a glimpse of you. You’re jotting the order down and then tracing over your own letters again and again.

“That’s the color scheme,” Christabel says a bit dreamily, forever woolgathering. “Wildflowers. And I think you suggested it at the engagement party,” she tells you, appreciative. In your recollection, it was less of a suggestion than a confession of what you once dared to hope for. “Everything has to have wildflowers. Even the dress.”

Alicent groans. “Oh, Christabel, not this again.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so resistant, those dresses were spectacular.”

“Whoever heard of a multicolored wedding dress?” Alicent asks you, Amir, Criston. “It’s absurd. The bride always wears pure white, everyone knows that. It’s tradition! It’s dignified!”

“Well now I get to solicit opinions too.” Christabel reaches into her own purse—a quilted shoulder bag, light blue with red roses and a label reading Souleiado stitched inside—and produces several polaroid photographs. She gives them to you; they are all of her posing in different wedding dresses, stylish white gowns freckled with wildflowers like splashes of paint. “All anyone can talk about is what I should wear, what the guests will expect, what they will chatter about when they gossip afterwards,” Christabel tells you. And in her vast, shimmering eyes you can detect no resentment or slyness, only quiet desperation. “But you’re a real person. So be honest with me, because there’s only one thing I really care about. Will my husband think I look ravishing in any of them?”

“These theatrics,” Alicent sighs to herself, lighting a Marlboro cigarette. Again, she is peering aimlessly around the kitchen. Amir fidgets with the dogwood flower in his hair as he watches you wearily. Criston compulsively eats another miniature cherry pie.

You study the polaroid photos. Each one feels like a split lip, a fractured rib, the shredding elephantine pressure of a contraction. You wait to speak until you’re sure your voice won’t break. “They’re all stunning. But this one…” You place one picture on top of the pile. “This dress was made for you. Just look at your face. Glowing like a lightning bug.”

“Thank you,” Christabel says, beaming, immensely grateful, and she takes the photos back. She seems pacified. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“I was, yes. Briefly. Not very happily, I must admit. But it was worth it to get my daughter.”

She smiles. There’s no uneasiness; she doesn’t shy away from displays of human frailty. “I’d like a few daughters one day. We could all dress up together and style each other’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. If I tried that, I’d get my hands chewed off.”

Christabel laughs. She wears a casual blue t-shirt, blue gingham capri trousers, and white flat pumps. Her eyeshadow is a sparkling gold, her mascara flaking onto the apples of her cheeks. She is still marveling at you with those aquamarine eyes when Alicent pulls a list out of her clutch and grudgingly crosses off items with a black ballpoint pen.

“So we’ve got a wedding cake, a rehearsal dinner cake, a dress, a venue, flowers, photographers…I still need to call about hair and makeup…and we need to pick out candles…”

“Where are you getting married?” you ask Christabel.

“The most unique, picturesque, atmospheric place in the entire state of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”

“We took a drive to visit that church you mentioned,” Alicent says to you. “And it was absolutely perfect. None of our guest will have ever seen anything like it. And it’s so historic! Over 150 years old! The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens.”

Amir squeals, a distressed mewing that he stifles with a feigned cough into his elbow. You stand shellshocked for a few seconds before managing a generic encouragement: “Really! Wow! Amazing! Great!”

Now Christabel is rather melancholy again. She scrutinizes her engagement ring, a large teardrop emerald with a gold band. Her voice is low, like she’s talking to herself. “I just wish…I don’t know. That we had more time together before the wedding, I suppose. Then I think I’d feel like I had more of a handle on things. It’s all been such a whirlwind, such a shock. A good shock, but still. We hardly know each other.”

Alicent prompts her: “You care for Aemond, don’t you, dear?”

“I’m in awe of him,” Christabel replies, a little dazed, a little defenseless. “He’s so clever and gallant. He’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever known. And the scar…it gives him quite a roguish look, doesn’t it? Like a Bond villain. It’s not a detriment in the least.”

“Yes, yes,” Alicent says impatiently, like she’s waiting for the conversation to be over. “Then there’s nothing more to worry about. You care for him, he cares for you, and you’ll have the honeymoon to get better acquainted. Criston, would you go outside and start the Lexus, please?” He dutifully departs.

Honeymoon. Your stomach lurches, the sea in a storm. You can see Aemond’s hands on Christabel’s face, in her hair, skating up her bare thighs. You can hear him moaning her name.

“We’re going to Greece,” Christabel informs you, thinking she’s being polite. “Athens, Mykonos, Santorini, and Corfu. Have you ever been?”

I’ve never been anywhere. But instead you say, forcing a smile: “Not yet.”

When Christabel, Alicent, and Criston have gone, you look to Amir. Your blood has turned to cement: cold, heavy, immobile, trapped. “You realize she’s getting my wedding, right? The one I always wanted. The wildflowers. The candles. The chapel.”

“And she’ll even be taking your favorite dick home at the end of the night.”

You cover your face with both hands and shake your head, trying to clear it, to drive out mirages of someone else’s oasis. This can’t be real. I can’t handle it, I can’t survive it.

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, gently now: “If we’re catering dessert, we’ll have to go to the wedding. The rehearsal dinner too.”

“Why would they want that? How can they not see how insanely awkward and wrong this is?”

He shrugs. “They probably think it’s normal. Wasn’t Camilla at Charles and Diana’s wedding?”

“If one more person tries to talk to me about Camilla Parker Bowles, I’m going to feed myself to the gator.”

“You’ll have to come to terms with it or you’ll have to end it. Those are the only options.”

“Yeah.” And it’s not just about me. It’s Cadi’s life too.

Amir sits down at the kitchen table, crosses one leg over the other, kicks his foot nervously. He rests an elbow on the tabletop and his chin on the knuckles of his left hand. “I hate to give you more bad news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. You’ve been dreading it for months. “You have enough money saved for San Franscisco.”

“I do.”

You exhale, your shoulders collapsing, tapping your fingertips against the counter. The air conditioner whirrs; the cicadas shriek in the trees outside. The house is hushed and still. Cadi is away at horse camp. Each day you receive a postcard in the mail that you assume the employees forced her to write at gunpoint. “When are you leaving?”

“The end of July. I’ll wait until after the wedding, once all the dust has settled. But I can’t wait any longer than that.”

“I want you to be happy,” you say. “I really do. But I’m going to miss you so much. You’ve been my best friend for a decade. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a partner in life.”

Amir smiles faintly. “Come over here.”

When you sit beside him, he takes your hands in his; and you remember how he visited you in the hospital after Cadi was born, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers he picked himself and a Tupperware container full of crawfish pistolettes. He had been just a casual friend before you found out you were pregnant, one of a group, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t keep him at an arm’s length. Amir was different, and not in a way that you fully understood or accepted yet. But he was the only friend who had no judgment for you when you told him you were pregnant, who cared about how you felt, who wanted to be a part of whatever would happen next. He was the only one who stayed.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Amir tells you. “I’ve never even been on a date, not once. I’ve never been in love. I’ve never had sex that wasn’t a one night stand in a New Orleans club or the back seat of my Ford Escort because those were the only places we had to go. And I’m starting to believe that people like me can’t have more than that. So I have to go someplace where I can have more, where I will have more. I don’t want love to be something that only other people get to experience. I don’t want to be afraid of leaving my house after dark or wake up every day wondering if someone has broken a window out of my car again. I have to go. There’s no future for me here. If I stay in Napoleonville, this place will kill me, one way or the other.”

Okay, you think. I can let him go. After everything he’s done for me, this is how I can be the friend that he deserves in return. “You should leave, Amir,” you say, tears stinging in your eyes. “I hear you, I understand you. I just wish I could go with you.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry! This isn’t the end. I’ll fly back to visit, you know that. Grandma’s still here, you and Cadi are here. And you can visit me too. Maybe you’ll even settle down on the West Coast someday. Eight more years and you’re free.”

You try to imagine your life then: Cadi headed off to college—and she will go to college, you’ve already decided that—and your tether to Willis weakened, closer to 40 years old than 30, Aemond and Christabel nearing their anniversary. How many children will they have by then? Three? Four? And the Lake Verret project will be well-established and no longer in need of so much of Aemond’s attention, and the house they call The Last Desire will sit empty on the lakeshore, warm draughts breathing through it like blood in veins. “I wouldn’t know how to exist anywhere else.”

“You’d learn,” Amir says confidently. “Now, have you ever made a Napoleon cake before?”

“I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.” You consider this. “My mom might have a recipe lying around somewhere. I’ll call and ask her.”

“Yes, do that,” Amir agrees. “If she doesn’t, I’ll try to dig one up at the library. We’ll want to have a few practice runs before the rehearsal dinner. Gotta impress the Rockefellers and their soulless millionaire ilk. Unless you were planning to have a homicidal meltdown and make the custard out of antifreeze or something.”

You chuckle. “No. Probably not.”

“It would be difficult to blame you.” And he turns on the little pink Panasonic radio: Alone by Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a spacious corner booth of the Olive Garden in Gonzales, Aemond is talking about Lake Verret as you pick at your Tour of Italy and Frank Sinatra pipes through the speakers. You could swear they have the same three songs playing on a loop: Fly Me To The Moon, My Way, Luck Be A Lady, back to outer space again.

“But by total coincidence, Daeron has been researching desalination techniques for his latest article. Apparently there are ways to try to mitigate the damage and reduce the brackishness of the water, so we’re going to be—”

Abruptly, you ask: “Where does Christabel think you are right now?”

Aemond’s forehead crinkles, his fork hovers above his plate of herb-grilled salmon. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and his Marlboro jacket, jeans, Adidas sneakers. “Why do you care?”

“She’s getting the wedding I always wanted, did you even notice? She’s getting married at the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens in Belle River. She’s getting wildflowers and flickering candles.” And she’s getting you too.

“Okay,” Aemond says slowly. “I’m not involved in any of that.”

“I think you are, actually, because you’re kind of the groom.”

“But I don’t do the wedding planning,” he insists. “I have no idea what Christabel has arranged. My job is to be there on the day in a suit and that’s just about the extent of the real estate it takes up in my brain.”

“She’s never mentioned any of that to you? Not once? You’d swear on your life?”

He sets down his fork with a clang and stares fixedly at you. Your waitress glances over from several tables away where she is refilling a couple’s sweet tea glasses. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry you had good ideas and other people liked them. It fucking sucks that you didn’t get the wedding you wanted when you were seventeen. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know you yet, and you didn’t know me. You can’t blame me for what Willis or anyone else did.”

“But it’s not fair,” you choke out, sounding weak and juvenile, and you hate it but you can’t stop. “I understand that you’re marrying her, I get that, but she can’t have everything.”

“Look…” Aemond laces his hands together on top of the table, and his voice softens. “Even if Christabel didn’t exist, even if you were from my world, even if you were a duchess or a socialite or the daughter of the president of the United States of America, I still couldn’t marry you.”

You scoff; it’s despicable. “Because of Cadi?”

“No,” Aemond says, like that’s preposterous, like he’d never consider her to be a liability. “Because I have to have heirs.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss with vitriol that stuns him. Now the waitress is gawking. “You’re going to manipulate Christabel into walking down that aisle and then immediately get her pregnant?”

“Why are you mad at me?! I’m listening to you, I’m respecting you! You don’t want to have any more children of your own, fine, completely reasonable, I would never ask you to have a baby and go through all of that again for the sake of the Targaryen dynasty, but somebody has to!”

“You really don’t understand why I would empathize with a teenage girl trying to raise a child when she’s lonely and exhausted and confused about why the man she married isn’t turning out to be who she expected?”

Aemond shakes his head like it’s not a valid comparison. “She wants this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t understand what she’s signing up for.”

“Everyone from a family like mine goes through this,” Aemond says. “My grandparents did, my mum and dad did, Aegon did, even bloody Charles and Diana did, and now it’s my turn. There are growing pains, but people adjust and it all works out eventually. Christabel will learn to manage her expectations, and once the children are born she can find happiness wherever and with whoever she wants to.”

“But you’ll be with her,” you forced out, voice fracturing, and at first Aemond doesn’t grasp what you mean. “You’ll…you’ll sleep with her. You’ll touch her, you’ll kiss her, you’ll do everything with her.”

“Surely you, as someone who called up a stranger from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal, comprehends that sex can be a solely physical act under the right circumstances.”

“So what, you’ll fuck me and then go home to her? Or you’ll fuck her and come home to me? And I’m supposed to live like that?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s easy.

You gaze morosely out of the restaurant window. In the distance is a Dollar General, a Burger King, the Kmart where you had to buy your own engagement ring.

“Do you want me to tell Christabel to change the wedding?”

“No.”

“Because if I tell her to pick a new venue, new flowers, new cakes, whatever, she’ll do it.”

“No. She likes her wedding. I can’t take that away from her. She thinks I’m her friend.”

“Cupcake,” Aemond says, tenderly now. You turn back to him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m going to be gone for a while, four or five days. I have to fly to Norway and inspect some of the offshore rigs we have up there.”

“In the North Sea?” you ask, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I mean, it’s oil drilling. It’s one of the most deadly professions in the world. But that’s how we built our fortune, our legacy. I’ve survived before, I’m sure I will again. If you need anything while I’m gone, you can call the house. Criston knows that you’re to be taken care of.”

“No one else can go to Norway instead of you?”

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

“Because Viserys told you to?”

“They amount to the same thing.”

“I don’t think you should listen to him.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says again. He takes out his wallet and lays $30 on the table. “But there’s something I need to show you first.”

As Aemond’s red Audi Quattro barrels down Route 70 southbound towards Napoleonville, you say very little to each other. Once you were strangers, and the words flowed easily and your bodies intertwined with effortless need, and now you have known each other for nearly two months and shared days and nights and confessions and yet every ghost filled up the space between you until it was a splinter, a gap, a gulf, a chasm. You miss the person he was when he showed up on your sloping, creaking porch steps back in May. You miss the person you were before you found out about Christabel.

A Men At Work song comes on the car radio, and it takes you a moment to figure out which one. It’s Down Under, a bewildering hit from 1981. “I never understood this song,” you say, staring through the open window as a jungle of southern live oaks, dogwoods, and cypresses rolls by. Rivulets of opaque, slow-moving bayou water snake through the wild green. Pelicans flap their wings in the pink-golden dusk sky. “What’s a head full of zombie? What’s a Vegemite sandwich?”

Aemond laughs, a smoldering Marlboro Red nestled in his left hand. You wonder if once he’s married he’ll wear a gold band on his ring finger, if he’ll take it off when he cheats with you. “Cupcake, it’s obviously about Australia.”

“What?”

“Down Under? As in, literally below the rest of us in the Southern Hemisphere? Head full of zombie means they’ve been smoking weed. Vegemite is a kind of yeast spread they put on sandwiches. I’ve had it, it’s disgusting. The whole song is in Australian slang. Everyone knows it’s about Australia.”

I didn’t. You look out your window again. Aemond takes note and swiftly backpedals.

“But I mean, I can see how an American wouldn’t know that. No big deal, okay? To anyone in the Commonwealth, Australia is like our fuckup sibling. It’s our Aegon. But you guys probably don’t really learn about Australia in school. So…yeah. It’s probably not as obvious as I assumed.”

“Maybe I missed that lesson,” you say. Maybe I missed that year.

In a brand new neighborhood just outside the town center of Napoleonville, Aemond parks in the paved driveway of a ranch house on a three or four acre lot. The yard is bordered by a white masonry fence with chicken wire around the base to keep snakes and gators out. There are a few dogwood and bay laurel trees, and one monstrous southern live oak that’s probably two hundred years old. Aemond cuts the Audi Quattro’s engine and steps out into the twilight.

“Aemond? What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

“Why?”

He walks around to your side of the car, opens the door, and leans down to grab your face with his right hand, his fingers hooked around the curve of your jaw. Instantly, there is a bolt down your spine: hunger, warmth, weakness, momentum that is thoughtless like falling from a great height. “Follow me,” he repeats, grinning mischievously. “Right now.”

Aemond has a key that unlocks the front door. Inside is rose pink carpeting and mauve walls, a sunken conversation pit, popcorn ceilings, mini blinds on the windows, closet doors covered with mirrors. You can see your face reflected in them, puzzled.

“This is the living room, clearly,” Aemond says as he continues briskly through the house. As an afterthought, he kicks off his Adidas sneakers so he doesn’t track any dirt inside. You do the same, sliding off your cheap flats from Kmart. He points down a hallway. “There are two guest bedrooms down there, and then a big one at the other end of the house with its own private bath. Here’s the kitchen…” He leads you through it, mint green with pristine black and white tiles on the floor. “And over there is the dining room.” It’s a kind, golden yellow like dawn or sunset.

“Aemond, what—?”

“Bedroom next,” he interrupts, hurrying you along.

At the end of the hall, he opens a door to reveal a sprawling chamber. It is blue like his bedroom in the Targaryen mansion, but not a deep, vivid sapphire color; it is a pale blue like prairie flax or a clear midday sky. The carpet is lush and soft. There are mirrors on the ceiling.

“Those are optional,” Aemond clarifies, pointing upwards. “But personally, I like them.”

“Aemond, whose house is this?”

“It’s yours,” he says.

“It’s what?!”

“Well, technically, it isn’t yours quite yet,” he admits. “I bought it in cash, it will close in a week or two. At that point I’ll sell it to you for $1—the same price as one of your cupcakes, incidentally—and then it will officially be your house. And it doesn’t even have a sinking foundation or any alligators. Imagine the possibilities.”

“But…but…”

“Cadi’s bedroom is green, like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I’ve been told the yard is big enough for one horse, or two very small horses. Ponies, I guess.”

“You cannot buy me a house,” you say, aghast.

“I think I already did.” He holds out the key to you, resting in his palm among lines of prophesy.

You are paralyzed; it takes you forever to find your words. “Aemond, I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift, not a trade,” he says, the key still lying in his outstretched hand. “Every cent I spend on you, every second I spend with you, is solely because I want to do it and for no other reason. There’s no obligation. There’s no quid pro quo. And that’s what I feel like you don’t understand. I have no logical reason to keep you in my life, absolutely none, aside from the fact that I want you to be here. And I want that with everything I’m made of. I never stop wanting it. So let me help you. Take the key. Take the house.”

His right eye is on you, imploring, commanding. At last, you lift the key from his palm. Studying it like the cryptic letter of a foreign language, you murmur: “You shouldn’t have done this.”

Aemond rakes his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up towards his, skims his lips feather-lightly from your cheekbone down to your lips—though he doesn’t kiss you, only ghosts his flesh over yours, a taste, a taunt—and then up to the curl of your ear. His whispered voice is colored with wicked scarlet desire. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do.”

If he yanked off your t-shirt you would let him. If he unzipped your denim shorts and slipped his artful fingers inside them he would find panties soaked through for him. You would let him do anything he wanted to you, here in this glass-fragile liminality before he becomes Christabel’s in law, in body, in inked and inerasable history. But it would not be because you want to, not because you feel ready in your bones, not because you trust him again. It would only be because you could not bring yourself to resist.

Aemond reads this on your face; he stops before you have to tell him to.

~~~~~~~~~~

On July 1st, Cascade Stables is swarming with parents as they descend upon the property to collect their children and meet the horses they’ve spent the past week with. There is a stereo somewhere blaring Your Love by The Outfield; apparently, this does not disturb the horses. You find Cadi beside the stall of a very tall, willowy beast, ears upright and alert, one bulging eye onyx and the other a striking icy blue. Its coat is white with a splattering of rust-colored stains. Even its mane and tail are comprised of alternating strands, dark, light, earth, clouds, cocoa powder, granulated sugar.

“His name is Patches,” Cadi tells you proudly as she pets the leviathan’s velvety muzzle. “He has a wall eye. And he’s a real handful and usually they only allow the experienced campers to ride him, but they let me try and he listened so well I got to keep him all week!”

“Wow, that’s incredible! Good job! Did you learn a lot about how to take care of him?”

“Yeah. They taught me how to feed Patches and clean his hooves and put a saddle on him. And how to hit him with a hairbrush when he tries to bite me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Right. Okay.”

“Can we buy him? He’s for sale. Probably because of all the biting.”

“Who, Patches?” You definitely cannot afford to board a horse; and then you remember the new house. “I’ll think about it.”

Cadi peeks around you. “Daddy isn’t here too?”

“No, honey, I’m sorry. He had to work. But he really wanted to see the horses and he is looking forward to hearing all about your adventures.” This is a lie—Willis seems only dimly aware of the concept of a horse camp, and he is staunchly incurious by nature—but a compassionate one.

Cadi accepts the explanation readily enough. “Alright. Is Aemond your boyfriend yet?”

“Um.” You thread the horse’s forelock through your fingers to buy yourself time. It seems unwise to try to deceive her again; Cadi will learn about Christabel sooner or later. “No, we’re still just friends.” You pause. She watches you, knowing there’s more. “Actually, he’s getting married this month.”

“What?!” Cadi is shocked, but she’s outraged too. “To who?!”

“To a nice lady named Christabel. And I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.” Another lie. And you think for the first time: If I settle for being Aemond’s mistress, if I let it tear me to pieces…what am I teaching Cadi?

Your daughter doesn’t say anything for a long time. She pets Patches’ speckled face, her own expression tense and thoughtful, lines and worries that should be far beyond her age. At last she says quietly: “Is it because of me?”

You are mystified. “What, honey?”

“Is the reason why you and Aemond can’t get married because of me?”

There is a flash of crimson wrath in your skull—protective, animalistic, wronged on her behalf—but no one to direct it at. “No. No, absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Cadi shrugs, and you recognize it as her self-preservation, faux-flippant shrug. “I don’t know. One time I heard Michelle’s mom talking about how no decent man wants to deal with some other guy’s kids. And that’s me when I’m at your house. Another guy’s kid.”

Oh, fuck you, Janet. “No,” you say again. “Aemond likes you a lot, Cadi. He cares about you.” He picked out a house that could accommodate a horse for you. “You’re the opposite of a problem. He actually likes me more because of you, I think.”

“Okay.” And she’s relieved, although she’s trying not to show it. “Then why is he marrying someone else?”

“Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Where the hell do I start? “Aemond and I are very different people,” you tell Cadi. “And we want different things out of life. We like to spend time together, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be able to share our whole lives…homes, careers, values, everything. His family has a lot of expectations of him that I don’t feel right supporting, but Aemond wants to respect their rules. And, you know. He’s a robber baron.”

“But he doesn’t talk about Jade Dragon Energy or oil around me. He talks about history.”

You sigh, watching dust motes swirl through the hot, sunlit stable air, listening to horses nicker and huff. “I know, honey.”

“I don’t even think he wants to be a robber baron. I think he wants to be something else.”

“Like what?” you ask, picking stray bits of yellow straw out of her short, disheveled hair. And remarkably, Cadi tolerates this.

“I don’t know, just…just…” She battles with the words, then finds one she likes. “Free, I guess. Just free.”

[frostgears]

We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 1: Bree 1

"You should come away from the railing, miss. We're doing thirty knots, easy, with the wind in our favor like this, and the water's absolutely frigid. We lose anyone overboard, they're in trouble. Plus, I heard, the uh, the second mate, she said, uh…"

The catboy's tail swung nervously behind him, side to side.

"Spit it out, Henley," she said without turning away from the churning ocean.

"She said dolls don't swim so well."

"Yeah, all right," she grudgingly admitted, stepping well back from the wooden rail between her and the icy brine. And then, "Aren't you cold?"

"Nah. Cold-weather breed, me. Triple coat. And I swim just fine." he said proudly. "Proud nautical family, mine. Still, not looking to take a dip today. Aren't you cold, miss?"

"Can't feel cold any more."

"Huh."

"Captain awake yet?"

"Yes, miss. Captain's just finishing breakfast."

---

"Heard you were roaming around and scaring the crew," the captain said, spreading a piece of toast with jam.

"Hardly. Henley doesn't seem to mind me."

"Henley's blessed with the daftness of youth and an untrained eye for magic. The ship's witch refuses to come out of the crow's nest; they're sleeping up there now, even in this chill."

"My compliments to the ship's witch on our speed, captain," the doll said, dipping a precise curtsy. She'd meant it to be a halfassed curtsy, but even after years of upgrades, there were reflexes built into this body that were too strong to shrug off.

"I suspect they just want you delivered and off this ship."

"The winds have been good, so I'm not fussed as to whatever they think of me. Whatever gets me there fastest."

"And you will consider our debt settled then, I hope," the captain said, in a much-put-upon voice.

"Captain! I thought we were friends enjoying a sea voyage together. I had no idea you were such a mercenary."

She raised an eyebrow, a feat that had been beyond her until fairly recently, due to her previous set of eyebrows having been painted on.

"Yes, of course we're done, old man. I'm not an unreasonable person."

"You're not a person at all," he grouched.

"So I can't be an unreasonable one," she said happily, having scored a point in the long-running game that she played against the rest of the world.

---

"There we go, miss. That's the last of your things."

"Thank you, Henley." She slid an intricately jointed hand into the long-unused pockets of her old Academy greatcoat, found what she knew would be there. "Here. Little something for you."

"A pocketknife, miss? Thank you. This will come in handy under way."

"An Academy pocketknife. Take two steps back and open the big blade."

The catboy put a thumb over the tab for the big blade. She made a sharp noise.

"Ah-ah, Henley. Two steps back."

"Yes, miss."

The knife unfolded, an aurora-blade of ghostly light three feet long. Henley's fur stood on end.

"I… I can't take this, miss."

"You can take it, and you can use it, so you should. Most people can't even open one. Maybe your ship's witch…" She tilted her head, crystal eyes scanning nothing visible, and added, "I have to admit that it's not just out of the goodness of my heart. We're about to get jumped."

"You hear them too, miss?"

"Not hear, but… yes. I make three."

Two figures in crimson cloaks rappelled down from the roof of the building to the right. Another from the left.

"Four. Behind us."

She turned. A fourth cast aside their dull grey overcloak and tray of eel pies.

"Good ears on a good boy. They're Crimson Fist, Pact executioners. They're far from home, but so am I: no one's going to help us here."

The not-person in the Academy greatcoat adjusted a crystal cylinder in the open metal webwork of her left arm. Within it, something hissed; chill blue-grey fog streamed from vents, pooled at her feet, and began drifting in all directions.

"You don't have the stomach for a fight? Run now, quickly, back to the ship as fast as you can. But I think you'll be better off if you hold that blade and stand with me. And Henley?"

"Yes, Miss?"

Two of the three in front drew blades: jagged, showy things. The Fist was here to leave a mess and send a message. They'd leave witnesses. But Henley had helped her. Henley had carried her baggage. They probably wouldn't leave Henley.

"You said you were a cold-weather breed."

"Yes, Miss!"

"Still. Ware the ice."

She stepped forward.

"Hey. Hey," she shouted, as loud as she could; it had taken months of tuning to get it this way, and her voice still wasn't that loud, but it carried well enough. "Pact puppets. Future corpses. You know who I am?"

The center cloak unrolled a scroll. The Fist loved their drama. The scroll-carrier intoned, "The failed mage of the Splinter Territories known commonly as 'Bree the Blessed' has been convicted of high crimes against the people and order of the Crimson Pact—"

"Yeah, that's me… wait, 'the Blessed'?"

"–for which the sentence is death. Judgement will be rendered here forthwith—"

"You probably won't take it, but: one chance. Just walk away."

They never walked away. Except that one time they actually did. She felt a little better, given that one time. But so far it had just been the one.

"—so let all who have eyes take heed."

The one behind them incanted something she couldn't quite pick up. The two holding swords rushed her and Henley.

Right into the fog.

They never learned. Except that one time. This didn't seem like it was going to be like that one time. You had to stay alive to learn.

Bree snapped her fingers; the fog erupted into jagged blue-black ice; the two sword-wielders staggered, impaled by lances of horrible cold. She snapped again and they shattered.

Quick, at least, and limited. She'd used fire often enough that she'd come to appreciate alternatives. This one wouldn't spread past the targets of her wrath and burn the town.

Henley screeched and came swinging wildly for the one with the scroll. They caught the catboy's stroke easily on an armored wrist.

Too bad for them. An aurora-blade touching skin could burn. An aurora-blade reacting with a metal gauntlet sent fat sparks crawling over the Fist assassin's body and dropped them. The catboy might have a little more magic than she had thought.

So far, so good. She took a half-step back, turned, and opened her hand, willing the fog to condense for her into a keen-edged rapier, glinting icy blue light from its blade and freezing a trail of frost in the air.

The trip to the utter north had been worth it just to see what lay pooled there, where the world touched the cold void beyond, and on top of that, she'd been able to take some for herself. So far, it obeyed her, and she loved it for that.

The last Fist assassin, the false seller of eel pies, lunged at her, their own blade glimmering lucent gold with some invocation she didn't recognize.

She iced the ground beneath them just barely enough to trip them up. When they stumbled, she thrust, her rapier accompanied by a half-dozen reflections of itself, a hexagonal column of frozen death.

A hexagonal column of frozen death tore seven long slashes through a crimson jacket and skidded off the material underneath. She barely kept her balance. The Fist stood up, apparently unhurt, shrugging off their ruined uniform.

Bree stared, crystal eyes scanning again and again over what was clearly no armor. Her opponent bore articulations in metal and ceramic in a way that admitted no human occupant.

The Crimson Pact was human, by and large, except for the ruling minority that famously was not. The demons suffered no power that threatened theirs, and especially no permanent interference with the flow of souls.

"So you're making dolls now?" she said aloud.

The Pact assassin ran her free hand through her hair, fanning golden tresses behind her. Shreds of crimson trailed her in the slight wind. Crystal eyes met hers. They looked just like hers — or Lyric's — if rendered in pitiless ruby.

"Only," the Pact doll said, "in the service of unmaking other dolls."

The Fist really did love their drama. But she had to admit that the other doll was a work of art, a sculpture of martial glory.

"That's a hell of a compliment," Bree said. "Good luck with that."

She moved to interpose her armored frame between the Pact doll and Henley, and then let go of her mind's grip on the frozen rapier and the surrounding fog, all at once.

In the chaos of the ensuing cryonic explosion, she picked up the catboy, threw him over her shoulder, and ran. This wasn't his fight. She'd dump him somewhere safe, and then…

Her mind already churned with plans and stratagems and half-formed invocations. Another doll… Had she become threat enough to actually rattle the Crimson Pact? What could that other doll do? And were people really calling her Bree the Blessed?

She thought that, just for a moment in her flight, she saw the flicker of a certain silver radiance, but told herself it was just sunlight off the harbor. Had to be. It wouldn't dare get in her way.

---

prev: We Who Will Not Bow next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 2: Lyric 1

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life. (Waitress Au) Part 1

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader.

All you wanted to do was bake your pies, but life had other plans for you. Now you find yourself pregnant with your no-good husband's baby, and worried about the direction in which your life was now heading.

Heavily based on the 2007 film, Waitress.

Warnings:Pregnancy, Billy is reader's husband (and he is not a nice guy at all),

Word Count: 2,630.

Next part ->

*divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist.

“C’mon, just take the test, and then you’ll know one way or the other and you can take things from there.” Robin shouts from behind the bathroom stall.

You step out of the cubicle and huff out a nerve-steadying breath. Your future is quite literally in your trembling hands. Your blue and white waitressing dress suddenly feels all-too constricting and the fabric feels scratchy against your skin.

You look down at the pregnancy test in your hands, desperately hoping and waiting for a negative result.

“Please, not now, not ever, I don’t want this.” you mutter to yourself. “I don’t need any trouble and I most certainly don’t want a baby. I just want to make my pies in peace.”

“I thought you weren’t sleeping with Billy anymore?” Nancy chimed in.

“Oh you know what her husband’s like.” Robin babbled. “He played nice, took her out and got her drunk. Now look where we are.”

“I should never drink. I always do stupid shit when I drink, like sleep with my husband.”

The timer goes off and you cast your eyes downwards to the test in your hands.

“Oh fuck!” you panic “It’s positive.” 

“It’s positive?” Nancy and Robin exclaim in tandem.

A heavy fist knocks at the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? I’ve got a diner full of hungry customers and no waitresses on the floor!” shouts the gruff voice.

“Hold your horses will you Hopper, Y/n isn’t feeling too good.” Nancy shouts back.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute, Hop.” you chime, brushing the stray strands of hair away from your face.

“Well hurry up!” he grumbles.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, rubbing a gentle and reassuring hand over your back.

“Shhh..I’m coming up with an idea for a new pie.” 

In your mind you can see the pie so perfectly. The golden crisp shell, with all its fillings and toppings.

“It’s called ‘I don’t want Billy’s baby’ pie.

“I’m not sure that’ll fit on the lunch-board.” Robin laughs.

“Okay, then I’ll call it ‘Bad-Baby’ pie. It’s a quiche, with smoked ham and sharp cheddar.” 

The flaky pastry shell, filled with a savoury, cheesy, egg custard, pieces of salty smoked ham running through it. The sort of thing that would fly off the counters during a Sunday lunchtime rush.

Your mind was never not thinking of new and exciting flavour combinations, In a way it your way of expressing yourself. The ideas coming to you at odd times of the day. Sometimes sweet, and fruity, and sometimes tangy and savoury. No matter what pie it was that you made, it was always served with a smile, and enjoyed by the diner's patrons with an even bigger smile.

You sigh quietly as you hold your head in your hands. You were happy enough with how your life was going. You had a job that you loved, working alongside friends that you loved, and a husband who you were quite content to ignore to the best of your abilities. Two out of three ain’t so bad. 

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to get away from Billy now.” 

You sit beside Nancy and Robin on the bench outside the diner, a pie leftover from today’s dinner rush sitting wrapped up in cling-film on your lap. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Nancy asks.

“I’m not sure.” you mumble, suddenly more interested in the dirt-scuffed marks on your white tennis shoes than thinking about how to tell Billy you were pregnant with a baby that you weren’t even sure that you wanted. 

“In an ideal world I wouldn’t have to tell him. If I could get away from him somehow, he might not ever have to know.” 

“Are you absolutely sure it’s his?” Robin asks carefully, trying not to force the implication of her question.

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve never cheated on him, it absolutely couldn’t be anybody else’s.”

“Here you are; married to this handsome man, you’re pregnant with his baby, anyone else might be happy, and yet neither of us would ever want to trade places with you for a second.” Nancy says.

“No I would not.” Robin agrees. “Well maybe there is one thing I would trade.” She starts.

“What’s that Rob?” you ask, turning to your friend.

“I would love to be able to make pies as good as yours.” she smiles, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“So what if I can make a decent pie. I’m still stuck in a marriage with a husband who I should never have gotten with in the first place.” You sigh.

When you had met Billy you’d both been too young and blinded by love. He was handsome, with soft blonde curls and devastatingly piercing blue eyes. He’d sweet talk you in-between classes, and he made you feel special, made you feel seen for the first time in a long time. Things had been great for a while, and marrying him felt like the logical next step in your relationship, but after that everything changed. He was no longer the man you once knew. Once he’d tied you down to him he stopped trying, so sure that you would never leave him. His words were often cruel and manipulative. Many times you had found yourself dreading leaving work, for fear of what might be waiting for you at home.

The sight of your husband’s Camarro pulls in front of the diner, the wheels crunching over the rocky gravel drive-way, and his horn blaring obnoxiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you.” you mutter to yourself, when he continues to blare his horn, thumping his fist against the steering wheel.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Nancy nods, bidding you goodbye.

“-and if you do decide to tell hi-” Robin whispers to you, but you cut her off with a ‘shh’ as Billy’s car rolls to a stop in front of you.

“Hey,” you smile, putting on your best brave face. “See you girls tomorrow” you wave goodbye as you make your way to his car.

“You getting in or what?” Billy's clipped tone comes from the driver’s seat.

The sounds of soft rock music filter from the car’s radio as he rattles down the dusty back roads.

“You don’t look too pleased to see me.” he grumbles. “You didn’t even give me a kiss or nothing.”

“I am pleased to see you.” you answer back.

“Well, where’s my hello kiss then?” he demands, taking a hand off the wheel to point at his cheek.

You lean over the centre console to quickly peck his cheek, the harsh scruff of his stubble feeling uncomfortably coarse against the press of your lips.   

“That’s more like it.” he grins, satisfied to have gotten his way once more.

“Where’s the money you made today, huh?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Hand it over.”

You fish the notes from out of your pocket, handing them over to Billy reluctantly.

“Doesn’t feel like much there, now does it sweetheart?” His tone is snide as he takes the money from you and places it into his own shirt pocket.

“It was a slow day today, that’s all.” 

“You’ve been having a lot of slow days recently, I’m not even sure it’s worth you working there anymore.” he scoffs. “Think I might prefer it if you stayed home and cooked me pies all day.” he smirks, his teeth pulling against his bottom lip as he chuckles to himself.

The quiet between you falls once more before he speaks again.

“Aren’t ‘ya going to ask me how my day was?”

“How was your day, Billy?”

“Oh you know how it is, the boss is busting my ass as usual, tellin’ me that i’m not putting in enough effort-” Billy launches into his spiel about how his day went, but it all blends into the background noise, his voice no more than mindless chatter to you as your mind is elsewhere.

Inventing a new pie.

I hate my husband pie, Bitter-sweet dark chocolate, in a crumbly dark chocolate crust, filled with a gooey, salted caramel-

“You’re not even listening to me.” Billy shouts out, taking you out of your happy place. “You never fuckin’ listen to me anymore.” he shoves your shoulder with a free hand.

“Well, aren’t you going to apologise to me?” 

It’s pointless to argue with him. You know this. He knows it. And by god does he hold it over you every single time.  

“I’m sorry, Billy. Sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you were telling me about your day.”

“See? Was that so hard?” 

It’s late in the evening when you get back home, and both you and Billy are sitting at the kitchen table. Your hardly eaten dinner being pushed around by your fork. In contrast to the man opposite you, who hungrily forks up pieces of steak to his mouth.

You have something that you want to ask of him, but for that you know that he’s going to need sweetening up. You smile softly at him, as your hand reaches for his across the table.

“Baby, you’re always so sweet to me, you know that?” you tell him, your voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, yet false, tone.

“You’re my girl, that’s why.” he says, the knife scratching along the china plate as he cuts himself another piece of steak.

“I was hoping I could borrow some money from you?” you ask sheepishly.

“..And my answer to that question is gonna be no.” he clips, his answer short and curt.

“There’s going to be a big pie bake-off out of state in a few months, and I really like to go.” you continue.

“I already said no.”

“The prize money is really good.” you add on, hoping the promise of bringing more money home might change his mind.

“What do you need money for, huh?” Billy barks out. “I give you everything, and you don’t want for nothing.”

“I don’t want for nothing, Billy.” you sigh. Your plan to get away from your husband starts to look bleaker by the minute.

“I mean why do you wanna go all the way across the state, when you’ve got me to take care of?”

“You’re right, Billy.” you shake your head with a sigh. “Forgive me for asking.”

Late into the night, with Billy heavily asleep in bed next to you, snoring loudly, you’re lying awake. 

Quietly as you can you tiptoe out of bed, trying your best to not disturb the man next to you, you quietly pad over to where his shirt lay discarded on the bedroom floor. 

Looking over your shoulder to where your husband lies undisturbed on the bed, you reach into his pocket to take back the money that you had earned from your shift at the diner that day. Taking the money to hide it away from him in a secure place that you hope he would never find it.

You sit nervously in the doctor’s waiting room. Another pie perched on your lap, ready to give to your doctor.

Your name is called by the receptionist and so you make your way through the door to the doctor’s surgery.

In strolls your Doctor, except, he isn’t your Doctor. This guy wasn’t Doctor Bloom. He had a bountiful bounce of shaggy brown hair that was slicked back. His tan skin peppered with a few golden freckles, a few of them clustering over the sloping bridge of his nose, and his hazel brown eyes seemed to sparkle under the cool white lights overhead. His white over-coat draped over his broad-shouldered frame as he sauntered towards you.

“Mrs. Hargrove is it?” he asks, looking over his clip-board of notes. “Oh and you’ve brought me a pie! How lovely!” he smiles, reaching to take the pie from your hands.

“This pie is for Doctor Bloom. I made it for her, it’s her favourite, peach and raspberry.” 

“Well, Doctor Bloom retired a few months ago, and so, from now on I’ll be taking her place.”

“Well I really liked and trusted Doctor Bloom.” you sigh.

“Perhaps, you could really like, and trust me too.” he says earnestly, before offering a hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Doctor Steve Harrington.”

You shake his hand and tell him your name in return.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice a calming presence as he talks to you.

“Well, I seem to be pregnant.” you say plainly.

“That’s great! Congratulations!” He smiles broadly.

“Thank you, but I’m not as happy about it as everyone probably expects me to be, so if you could be sensitive and perhaps not congratulate me, I’d really appreciate it.” 

He nods as he listens to you talk through your feelings.

“I’m having the baby,and that’s that. It’s not a party.”

“Alright, noted. Not a party.” he nods in understanding. “Okay, well then let’s do a blood test first, make sure that you really are pregnant, and then we’ll do some basic checks, diseases, hormone levels, stuff like that.” he explains.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Alright then, the nurse will be with you in a moment, so don’t go anywhere.”

 “Mrs. Hargrove, come in.” he says gesturing for you to make your way into his office. Doctor Bloom’s peach and raspberry pie is still in your hands as you step through the door.

“Y/n.” you remind him, hating the way your husband’s name tied you to him.

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t really had the chance to tidy things up around here yet.” he offers apologetically, carefully moving a stack of papers off his cluttered desk.

“Well if you’re going to be my doctor from now on, then I guess this pie belongs to you.”

Steve graciously accepts the pie with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much.” he says, setting the pie down on the desk. “Well, uh, have a seat.”

You sit yourself down in the chair opposite him, ready to listen to what he has to tell you.

“The results of the blood test came back, and you’re definitely pregnant. So for the next eight months, I’ll be right here if you need me, any questions - I’m just a phone-call away. We’ll be monitoring your progress, keeping an eye on how things are going, making sure both you and baby are healthy. Did you have any questions for me?”

“What kind of questions?”

“Anything really, any concerns with regards to your pregnancy, some do’s and don’ts, lifestyle choices, exercise, sex..” he trails off, scribbling his pen down on a piece of paper.

“Oh well I don’t do much of either of those things.” you reply honestly.

“Okay, any diet concerns?”

You shake your head at him. 

“Not really, I mean, it’s just a lot of healthy eating, right?”

“Yeah, just try to maintain a healthy diet, be careful around certain kinds of cheese and fish, here’s a list of foods I would try to avoid,” he says handing over a small piece of paper. “..and here is a prescription for some prenatal vitamins.” 

Despite his nervous energy, something you’re putting down to meeting with a new patient for the first time, he seems sweet. Caring and attentive, and spoken with calming demeanour that immediately puts you at ease, and in the situation in which you find yourself, you are eternally grateful.

“Okay, thank you, Doctor.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/n. I’d like to see you again in about three weeks.”

You leave the doctor’s office with a smile tugging at your lips and your worries put at ease by the calming influence of your new, handsome, kind and caring doctor.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n

[oswildin]

Hope {Loki x GN!Reader}

Summary: Hoping for the better, for change, was hard… But sometimes, hoping for another… Was what was more important.

A/N: Reader is in place of Sylvie (love you bestie, sorry we took your plot), and it’s a reinterpretation of the ‘pie room’ scene in S2 EP4. Please refrain from any comments regarding Sylvie’s character here.

Loki was never one for sentiments.

At least that’s what he told himself, displayed to the world. The meticulously crafted illusion he had spent years building, wielding, using as a shield of sorts.

And when you came along…

Well, his shield began to crack. His walls began to crumble.

See within the TVA, having watched his whole life pan out before his eyes - his failures, his mistakes - it put things into perspective. Loki knew he was a man with a heart that was much bigger than he lead others to believe. No, he wasn’t as cold or indifferent to sentiment as he made out - quite the opposite in fact. Every mistake, every failure he had seen play out in his life on the Sacred Timeline was fuelled by sentiment - whether for those he cared for or his own for himself.

And when you came along…

Well, his walls were practically rubble, piles of dust and debris.

Even if he didn’t quite know how to articulate the way you made him feel, or even dare give it a name. ‘Sentiment’ was the closest he could come to. And now, there you were. In the TVA, the place you had sworn to burn to the ground. The place where your life was stolen from you, that made you run and run and run - hide and plan… Years of your life, gone, because of the TVA.

You were strong. There was no doubt about that. You had to be. You were resilient because you had to be. You were brave, unafraid to make a stand… because you had no one else to do it for you. You were independent, fiercely so. And Loki couldn’t blame you. He wished he could, he wished he could cast the blame your way, to curse the fact you had put them in this mess…

But he couldn’t. Not when you looked at him like that.

All you had wanted was a home. A place you could feel safe in, protected… Not constantly surviving. But living.

“Say it.”

Your voice cut through the silence of the automat, surrounded by the sweet aroma of key-lime pies. It was sickening. A reminder of a life that was always just out of reach. Loki stayed silent, hands in his trouser pockets as he leaned against a nearby table, head tilted faintly, brows furrowed ever so slightly. The way he looked at you made you feel… Uneasy. But a good kind of uneasy. If that was even possible.

“Come on.” You pressed, folding your arms, standing in the middle of the room, holding his gaze unwaveringly. “You heard O.B. I can see it when they look at me.” You purse your lips. Why did it bother you what they thought? You did them all a favour. At least, you thought you did.

“See what?” Loki finally asked, voice low, subdued. You let out a small frustrated breath.

“The blame.” You raise a brow, unfolding your arms as you turned slightly, eyes drifting over the numerous pies littered in the displays around the room. Loki stayed silent, answering your silent question - ‘am I right?’ A small, bitter laugh escaped your lips as you nodded to yourself, hands moving to your hips. “Yeah.” You murmured quietly, barely above a whisper.

Silence fell between you both, Loki’s gaze flickering down to his shoes as his jaw twitched, trying to figure out what was the right thing to say. “Blame is a… broad term.” He spoke lowly, voice measured. “Especially in an impossible situation we faced. Still face.” He looked up again, blue eyes trying to meet yours, but you kept your gaze away, his eyes trailing your profile.

Hurt. Betrayed. Lost.

That was how he felt. And he imagined you felt something similar. You had pushed him away, sent him back to the TVA, took it upon yourself to face He Who Remains alone, to make the decision for everyone. You fought for what you thought was right. Although, you couldn’t deny, emotion had fuelled your resolve. Loki understood that better than anyone. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t be angry, why he couldn’t bring himself to blame you. Not entirely. He should’ve known. Tried harder. You’d been on your own for so long, unable to trust, unable to see there was other ways… He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head lightly.

“We all just want what’s best-“ He tried, but you quickly cut him off, finally turning your gaze to meet his.

“Best?” You almost scoff. “There is no ‘best’, there is no version of this where any of us get what we want. There is no peace.” You say, voice holding an edge of anger. Anger at yourself, He Who Remains, the TVA… The universe… All of it. “Do you think I wanted this?” You furrow your brows, shifting on your feet to face him directly. “Losing the TVA? Sure, fine-“ You nod, as Loki pursed his lips, eyes narrowing faintly. He had to admit, he had begun to felt a sense of belonging at the TVA, with his friends, and to hear you say you still didn’t care if it lived or died caused a flicker of anger to go through him. But he understood.

And he hated that he did. It was much easier when he pretended that sentiment didn’t affect him.

“But all of this…” Your voice quietened slightly. “No. This isn’t what I wanted.” Your anger quickly shifted into remorse, guilt even, shoulders slumping. You had never meant to hurt Loki. No. The look on his face as you pushed him through the time door was imprinted into your brain, it had been the only thing you could focus on for the last six months on Earth. “I am… trying.” You clench your hand into a brief fist, an outward display of your inner turmoil. “I’m trying to… do what is right. I’m here. I’m trying to help.” You take a deep breath. “But it’s hard.” You admit. “This place…” You gestured around you both languidly. “It’s hard to imagine it could be something better.”

Loki’s expression shifted, the sharp lines of his face softening at your admission. After a moment, he pushed himself to his full height, removing his hands from his pockets, taking a few slow, almost cautious steps towards you. You were both complex people, with such different experiences… Yet both the same at your core. Wanting to have a place to belong, to feel loved, to have something… real.

“I know.” Loki replied softly, raising his brows momentarily. “I know.” He repeated, quietly, more to himself. He stopped a few feet away from you, and in his closer proximity, he could see the faint sheen of tears that stung your eyes. It tugged at something within him. “But change is hard.” He continued. “Imagining something better is hard.” He paused, letting you absorb his words. “Hope is hard.” Loki’s eyes dropped again, drifting to the tiled floor. “The notion of right and wrong… It isn’t as simple as what we are lead to believe.” He sighed. “It’s complex, nuanced… It isn’t black and white, but shades of grey that bleed into one other.” His eyes rose again to meet your own. “Much like us.”

You lick your lower lip anxiously, hands at your sides itching for something to fiddle with. The way he looked at you, as if you were the most perplexing yet beautiful thing in the universe… It was a sight that never failed to leave you scrambling for your words. Even despite everything… He still looked at you like you had all the answers to his questions.

“Very Shakespeare of you.” You commented wryly, finding it easy to use humour as a way to deflect from letting your emotions surface. Loki’s lips quirked upwards briefly at the quip, letting you take your time. “I-“ You cut yourself short, sighing as you closed your eyes for a moment. “I… don’t know… what to do.” Your lip quivered faintly as your breath hitched. “I just… wanted to live.” Your heart ached at the word. A selfish desire? Yes. But one that was born from a lifetime of experiencing the horrors of apocalypses, whole worlds dying, having to go through it all alone. And then… when you had the chance to not be alone… You panicked.

Loki blinked quickly seeing your lip tremble, as he took a step closer, a hand rising faintly as if to reach out, to offer comfort. But hesitated. As if he was scared to, incase he caused you more distress. But when you looked at him with those big, sad eyes… He couldn’t resist. Tentatively, his hand grasped your bicep gently, offering a grounding sensation, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t as alone as you may have believed. You watched his face closely, lips downturned, brows furrowed.

“And you deserve that.” Loki affirmed quietly. “You deserve to feel… happy. Safe… protected.” The word ‘loved’ lingered silently in the air between them. “I meant what I said in the void… Nothing has changed.” He shook his head, voice resolute. “We can figure it out. Together.” He repeated his words he had spoken to you in the desolate Void, conviction in his eyes. His hand shifted from your bicep, sliding up your arm soothingly as he stepped even closer, his hand moving to ever so gently, carefully, rest against your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw tenderly.

You let out a quiet breath at the touch, feeling your heart beating in your chest. Sentiment was never something you were able to let yourself feel. You never had the chance…

And when he came along…

Well, it was something that quickly began to take root within your heart, something that you knew was dangerous.

“I don’t blame you.” Loki’s words broke the silence once again. “It was an impossible decision… I just wanted more time.” He spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the momentary stillness that had settled around you. “Time to think. Time to… discuss.” He let out a quiet breath of his own, searching your eyes for any sign of understanding. “I was not trying to betray you.”

You bit your lower lip at his words, a tear escaping your eye as you could see the honesty, the sincerity of his words. You had reacted rashly at the citadel, panicking, using your instincts of survival to guide you, your emotions… Rather than logic. You couldn’t say you regretted your choice. You would be lying. Freeing the timeline… It was the right thing to do. But how you went about it… Maybe… Maybe there could’ve been another way. One that didn’t evolve into the mess, the predicament, you all found yourselves in the midst of now. But it was too late. What was done, was done.

“Emotions get the better of us all sometimes.” Loki continued, seeing the vast array of emotions going through your features. “Trust me, I would know.” He added wryly, tilting his head faintly, lips quirking into a small self-deprecating smirk - an acknowledgment of his own past. “But sometimes, letting our emotions rule over us… Finding a balance of mind and heart… Can lead to good things.”

“And you think this is it?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Bringing Timely here… Fixing the loom… Changing the TVA? You think that’s a good thing?” The skepticism was evident in your tone, and Loki gave a look of understanding. You were right to have reservations… Especially after Dox and her escapade.

“I think it’s the best option we’ve got. Whether you believe that to be the case or not.” His thumb brushed against your skin once again, soothing, calming - but most of all, reassuring. “We ensure nothing like what Dox pulled happens again. The branches will remain safe, guarded by those here at the TVA.” He spoke with quiet conviction. “Mobius, O.B, B-15, Casey… These are people we can trust.”

Trust. You squirmed inwardly at the fragile word. Loki noticed.

“We’ll never know, if we don’t try.” He told you, nodding lightly, silent encouragement for you to believe him, to remain skeptical, but to at least try… You closed your eyes, another tear falling as you ever so faintly nodded. Loki felt a wave of relief go through him, his features relaxing as he let himself release a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His hand pressed more firmly against your neck, more certain of your acceptance now, before it slid up to properly cup your jaw, fingers brushing your skin. “Thank you.” He whispered, as you opened your eyes, feeling him wipe away a tear with the pad of his thumb.

He knew you were doing this for him.

“Don’t make me regret it.” You said, an undercurrent of pleading to your voice as he shook his head.

“I won’t.” He promised, a rare thing for Loki. But he meant it, wholeheartedly. He would do everything in his power to make it right.

For you. For all of them.

Sentiment… such a vast word for an array of meanings… of feelings. Yet he understood exactly what the word really was for how he felt. What he felt. Did it need saying? These feelings were as new for him as they were for you. They were terrifying yet comforting. Such a contradiction. It seemed fitting for you both.

“The smell in here is overwhelming.” You voice broke the silence, such a blunt observation, one that elicited a breathy, low chuckle from Loki as he nodded.

“It really is.” He agreed.

“So… sweet.”

“Completely too sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Mobius likes it.”

“Of course he does.”

Your lips quirked upwards faintly, and the sight made Loki’s heart flutter in his chest. There was a look on his face, it was almost giddy, completely soft as his eyes crinkled lightly, lips holding back a grin. He’d missed this. Missed you. And you had missed him. Life on the branch… it didn’t fill the void you’d felt since the citadel.

“We should probably…” You cleared your throat, as Loki let out a breath, nodding, although his hand made no move to pull away from your face.

“Yeah…” He breathed out, his eyes flickering to your lips. The kiss at the citadel, initiated by you, had been seared into his mind, the way it had made him feel… It was unlike anything he’d ever known. It was like the world had stopped - or in this case the universe. It made him feel seen, cared for… You could see the longing in his eyes, and it made your own heart quicken in your chest, holding your breath. You could see the silent question on his face, as you gave the barest of nods. That was all Loki needed.

His face ducked to meet yours, lips capturing your own in a soft, tender kiss. Both of your eyes closed as you both savoured the feeling. Even if time flowed differently in the TVA, for you both it seemed to stop. His kiss was reverent, deeply caring, as if this was what he was made for - what you were made for.

Hope was a dangerous thing.

[cocotierz]

A catalog of all my completed and ongoing fics. These are all explicit, please check ratings and tags.

reylo

oneshots

all the right reasons

Rey Palpatine has a big crush on Professor Solo. When she leaves her diary behind after wasting his office hour, Ben sees just how much he has to teach her.

baby blues

Rey becomes pregnant after a one-night stand. Ben decides to do the honourable thing.

rain on me

The state of California has put restrictions on water usage per household due to drought but Rey’s roommate Ben has a solution. What’s some platonic co-showering between friends?

signals crossing

It's a lot easier to accidentally chrome cast porn to your neighbours TV than one would like

loving you is cherry pie

Rey Niima knows for a fact her pies are nothing short of delectable. So why is it that neighboring criminal defense attorney and resident asshole Ben Solo keeps ordering slices just to pick at it without taking so much as a bite?

don't let it stop

Ben and Rey are no strangers to competition, so when Ben proposes they see who can resist the other for the longest, they both get extremely creative to make the other break.

multichapter - completed

sign of the times

Fifteen-year-old Rey Niima can’t stand her neighbour Ben Solo. So you can imagine her surprise when she wakes up fifteen years in the future in bed with him — especially when he is calling himself her husband.

delivered

The guy Rey hooked up with at that frat party is turning out to be weird, pushy, with no respect for boundaries. And yet…

ask for more

Rey is single and wants Ben as her Alpha. Ben is hung up on some nameless Omega. They make a mutually beneficial and strictly platonic arrangement.

talk to me boy

In which Rey is a romance author, Ben is her editor, and Rey needs help with a sex scene.

multichapter - wip

queen of disaster

Crown Princess Regina and First Son of the United States Benjamin Solo hate each other. Fate, it seems, has other plans.

once upon a dream

Rey and her virgin sisters live and dance by the lakes, giving offerings to the gods. That is until the demon prince Kylo Ren takes a liking to her and steals her away to the underworld, to be his wife.

cool about it

Rey treats her dms with a list actor Ben Solo like a diary of sorts, sending him rants, memes, nudes, and recipes. It’s not like he’ll ever see it…right?

playing house

Rey Niima became an au pair in order to sightsee and improve her French. She did not become an au pair to pine after her brooding host and grow attached to his adorable daughter.

series

loser ben

drive through

Sixteen-year-old Ben Solo isn't used to pretty, kind of scary girls climbing on top of him and taking what they want - that is until he meets Rey.

video games

Rey really wants the snail Squishmallow at the arcade. She also really wants to suck her boyfriends cock.

migwen

oneshots

if you're seeking heaven (then you want to come and get it)

The girl next door is loud and arrogant and only a couple months into legal territory. Miguel shouldn’t be wanting to fuck her like some starved old man.

[darksxder]

rush it

pairing: frat boy! chad meeks-martin x fem! bff! reader

summary: you only rushed a sorority for chad’s sake, but you can’t imagine regretting it after the game of capture you get to play one fall night

warnings/tags: requited unrequited love, bittersweet (alleged by tae), skimpy bunny costume, angst and tension filled fluff, friends to lovers, deserves a second part honestly

word count: 2.1k

a.n. : I think this was subconsciously inspired by @ethansluvbot’s pfp of regina george in her bunny costume, so thank you fr!

sdt: @belle82devart

dt’s: @ethansluvbot , @midnightaemond & @spiderlover03 

If someone had told you that you would be where you are right now, maybe a year ago-hell a few months ago, you would’ve laughed in their face. Might have even flushed pink when they detailed your outfit. The fact you were dressed like a bunny, or perhaps the Kappa Deta Pi’s version of a bunny that mostly resembled Regina George’s costume rendition at Halloween.

And you were just about as skittish as an actual bunny as the fluffy white pom-pom attached to your ass rustled in the grass. Currently, you were crouched behind a bush, heart nearly beating out of your fucking chest as you heard the hoots and hollers of the various boys around.

You weren’t the only bunny. 

There were plenty of girls hiding around campus or dashing across the trails and parking lots of Blackmore University dressed as bunnies. But every man on campus, or at least everyone trying to get into a frat was a fox. Mind you they just had orange paint stripes over their bare chests, no confection or ball of fur needed to be attached to their ass.

Which only infuriated you on account of feminism and not because you had a bad habit of looking away whenever someone was shirtless. Totally. It made keeping watch difficult. And every five seconds your eyes went blurry with the glitter Tara forced into your eyes inner corner. A thick, pure dazzling white she poked there with her finger after she lined your eyes with dark brown gel eyeliner. Then go so far as to add a pretty bright pink blush to your nose and cheeks, and spread a clear gloss to your lips.

Just that and then you were off, out of the sorority, sprinting across the Blackmore University campus, and running for your furry little life. Immediately feeling your quite exposed ass cheeks freeze in the biting fall wind.

You were just thankful you could keep your knee-high boots, as they were heeled yes, but black leather, thus very warm. They even covered the majority of your stocking-clad legs. The large bunny ears glued right into the headband snug on your head were so tight it was giving you a migraine, especially when you had to double back for them twice because you ran too fast against the early September wind.

You had two hot pink flags on each side of your hip, and no one had touched yours yet. you were free.

You wanted to say you weren’t trying hard or you never usually took these types of childish games seriously but it would be a lie. You take EVERYTHING seriously and your heart is racing so fast on account of the fact you’ve fallen into that cloying and tempting trap of pretending it was real. Like you were truly being hunted like you might die, and it wasn’t too far-fetched with the masked murderer going around NYC. But you tried not to think of that. To think of anything else as you finally saw him.

Chad.

He was nearly gasping as he slowed from his dead sprint, his tanned and built chest rising and falling harshly. The tilted orange stripes were dull when you first saw them on his brown skin, but now they proved stunning in the moonlight. You allowed one glance, a second to note the soft light casting deep shadows across his muscled abdomen, leading your eyes to his sharp v-line dipping past the hem of his dark blue jeans. The sight was past your eye line but not your mind. And sweat was running in perfect droplets down his chest, the veins in his hands prominent as he clenched them, as his eyes darted from tree to bush to tree and bush. Looking for you.

Your heart pounded harder as he stopped dead still, right in front of your bush. A good twenty feet away. But he made you. Thinking of options you noted you could run, but something told you it wouldn’t do you much good.

But if there was one thing that you loved more than escapism through these types of games, it was fucking winning these types of things. So with your hands sliding down your hips, you checked to see if your flags were still there. And with a soft touch, you picked up a rock and chucked it into the bush across from you and watched as his head swerved towards it. As soon as his attention left you, and you no longer felt that hot iron brand to the side of your face, you dashed.

Some might say running in heels was difficult, especially in the platforms you were in that almost made you taller than Chad. They are correct, as you find it is indeed difficult. Especially on grass.

In a mere second, you hear this man catch up to you, your tired heart jumping at the thundering footsteps quickly echoing yours. With one of his strides, being three of yours, truly damning your advantage of being a past track star.

And when thickly muscled arms wrapped around your waist and pull you up like it’s nothing, you scream. Even though you know it’s Chad. Because he wears the same cologne and you saw him spot you. But mostly because he picks you up like it’s nothing always, no matter how many times you say you’re ‘too heavy’ for him to do so. It was the way he was gentle and firm, not yanking you into the air. Instead, it felt like he was helping you there almost.

But the fact his warm sweaty arms were around your bustier-clad middle had your pulse racing as fast as a rabbit's run.

“Gotcha'” he purred near your ear, laughing as he heard you squeak.

“Chad, put me down!” you lament, voice tired, obviously disappointed too. You had been so fucking close to winning. Hadn't seen another bunny in hours. But you just heard him hum out a 'no'.

His hand is now on the back of your plush thighs, your tits pressed firmly against one side of his back, painfully smothered against the strapless push-up set, the underwire digging into your sensitive flesh.

“Chad my boobs will fall out!” you squealed, face beet red, fists pounding sadly at his spine. To no avail. He didn’t even so much as flinch and you knew it was because you never actually hit him hard, you couldn’t even imagine it.

“Sounds like a good time for me. Wanna switch sides so I get a good view?” he asked, voice deep and teasing. But the smug drawl was cut off as the lip of your boot slammed into his bare ribs. And you were laughing into the starry night sky as he huffed out a harsh breath, gripping your thighs higher, almost fully folding over.

“Can’t hurt a man for trying, or I would’ve said that eventually if you didn’t quickly prove that you would indeed hurt a man for trying.” He rasped, voice fake pained. Back in the teasing sing-song tone that made your eye twitch.

Then he ripped the flags off your hips, pausing for a second as if to soothe the area there, hand firm and warm against your cold rear, your face flushing at the soft caress. And you just gave up. Honestly, truly, gave up, as he carried you across the vast freshly cut fields and through twisting trails, hell half the quad as other partygoers watched and laughed at the sight. But it wasn’t mean-spirited like you expected, it was almost camaraderie, but you still felt a bit like a child in time out. Helped by your huffing as you rubbed at the glitter in your eyes, sick of the burning it caused you. Hating the pain in your spine from the slumped-over posture. But as Chad reached his dorm and dashed up the stairs, to the very obvious approval of his frat mates, if their whoops and smirks were any consolation, you stopped whining about it.

Just taking the bouncing of your tits and head against his back in stride. Soft and feverish cheek smushed to his shoulder blade, just focusing on the ground beneath you, tracing the tattoos you could reach on his back.  It’s almost an unconscious action if you could ever touch him and not be fully aware of it. But you couldn’t.

You had been in love with him for years, and although he was an affectionate person, his touch never ceased to give you jitters. No matter how many years passed, it had been thirteen. It never failed to make your stomach flip so quickly and suddenly you’d think you were on a rollercoaster that just dropped 3 stories in height.

“So, are you planning on skinning and eating me?” You muse, one hand propping up your cheek, elbow purposefully digging into his muscled shoulder hard. He laughed a beautiful sound that had your cold thighs squeezing together.

“If that means I get to see you naked, then yeah.”

“Chad!” You yell, going to kick out at him again before he flipped you back over to his chest, cradling you like one might a bride, your boobs pressed harshly against the side of his chest, nearly spilling out of the small cups.  

“Okay, so you caught me..” you roll your eyes hard, trying to play along, knowing he wouldn’t drop it without your playing it up. “Whatever will you do with me now, Mr. Fox?”

He snorted, hoisting your ass under one arm and fiddling with his dorm keys in the other, his own heart skipping at your gasp at the action, your soft and perfect arms thrown casually around his neck in a vice grip.  

“I understand why they took away your barking privileges when you played Nana in Peter Pan that one year. Your acting sucks.” he laughs, smiling down at your scowling self, trying desperately to take you seriously with the soft white bunny ears on your head. But it was difficult, what with them being all fluffy and big, with a hot pink center, the right one folded over slightly for optimal effect.

“Whatever. I wanna go home and shower, Chad. Been running from sweaty dudes all night.” Your eyes fall to the carpeted floor, now actually glad he was carrying you, not wanting to get your nice leather boots sticky with whatever marred the boy's dorm carpet. You could only imagine. And instead of taking the bait to tease you, flirty personality stroked, he went quiet.

“You are home,” he said, voice soft, no ounce of teasing there and your gaze shot to him. And you felt yourself swallow hard, blinking back tears you would have sworn came from the glitter.

“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking me to stay over?” You tease, heart, pounding a mile a minute, feeling sweat trickle down your neck, sticking your hair to your shoulders as you tilted your head up at him, curious and waiting. Soft and sure, gentle. No judgment there. From the warmth in his eyes, he knew that.

“Yes. And figured I earned it since I caught you. Plus you’ve been working too hard lately. You need rest.”

The tears fall now as his words swallow you whole, making that tension building for weeks, bunched in your shoulders subside. You could only sniffle and nod, understanding the truth in his words. The reality. You had been running yourself into the ground with club applications, sorority pledges and rush, all of it too much.

“You’re right. Just this once,” you nodded slowly and sincerely, “I’m surprised too.”

Chad rolled his eyes so hard that you laughed through your tears. “Okay. Am I sharing your bed, or camping out on the floor? Or is your roomie home, the cute one?”

He scoffed, hand pressed to his bare striped chest in mock offence. “I am the cute one, not Ethan Landry.” he bit, pushing open the door and stepping inside over the frame with you still in his arms. It felt a little like you had just been married, but you dashed that thought down before it could truly take hold.

“Sure. whatever you wanna believe..” you coo, eyes narrowed in mockery.

He just shook his head, glancing up at the clock on the far wall. “He’ll be gone 'till two am. Can get out a movie, shower and get to bed before then, huh?”

Nodding, you flushed deeply as he handed you a basket he kept on his desk. Eyes widened as you took in its contents. It had your glasses container (your spare), contacts, tampons, pads, Burt’s Bees chapstick (wild cherry) and your favourite makeup wipes. You smiled wide at him.

“This is giving relationship.. like you really like your bestie.”

He shook his head quickly, cheeks heating under your teasing tone. “No.”

“Ehhh I don’t know, this is giving no commitment issues actually. it’s giving I want you in my dorm and life so much, I made a special box of your stuff for you.”

“It’s giving all that?” he mocked, glancing at the tiny basket cradled in your lap, but you just nodded firmly, lips pursed in surety.

“We’ll then maybe it’s accurate…” he whispered, breath soft.

And you felt like you had been punched, mouth agape in shock for a mere moment before you pulled it together as your head spun. “Then let me shower before this glitter makes me fully blind.” You groan, throwing in the last bit because you know he’d give his ever so clever and original ‘you’re already kinda blind’ without it.

And you hate that you loved him for it. Hate that you loved him period. Hate that you wanted him so much it ached, that it made tears spring to your eyes when you thought of it at home in your dorm.

Knowing that after your shower in his bathroom, you would steal his shirt and boxers and crawl into his twin-size bed, the laptop screen lighting up the room as he pulled you in closer by the waist, his face half in the bend of your neck and half watching the screen. Bare chest pressed against his oversized shirt he lent you. It made you so excited you might actually scream. But you knew from the many past experiences so similar to this one, that it was hard to fall asleep like that. When you were surrounded in sheets that smelled like him, generally surrounded by him, with his bare arms around you. In those moments it was hard to deny you wanted him. And you needed to because he was your best friend.  

Nothing more.

[dangantums]

Dinner in Trost

ummmm sooooo,,, i wrote a pretty long drabble for l.evi a.ckerman,,, idc if i have an audience for him or not, i need to write about him and erwin smith or i might die,,, putting it under the stuffedronpa tag cause im pretty proud of this and want it to have attention, sorry y'all,,,

NO SPOILERS!!! I AM NOT DONE WITH THE SERIES!!! I WILL BLOCK YOU!!! THIS IS FIC IS MY OWN TAKE/VERSION!!!

IF YOU'RE NOT A KINK BLOG OR INTO THIS KINK, DO NOT INTERACT!

this fic contains: bloating, burps, hiccups, belly rubs, SFW content

ship: e.ruri ( l.evi X e.rwin -- AOT )

TLDR: l.evi and e.rwin are treated to a rare hearty meal. l.evi overindulges, and e.rwin is left to attend to him.

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the bustling town of Trost. Within the walls, the Survey Corps' headquarters stood as a beacon of strength and resilience. Tonight, however, it was not the threat of Titans that occupied the minds of Captain Levi Ackerman and Commander Erwin Smith. Instead, it was the promise of a delicious dinner that drew them together – just sharing a meal together in Erwin’s quarters.

The mess hall was abuzz with the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation as soldiers gathered for their evening meal. Levi and Erwin found a quiet corner (even though they wouldn’t stay long), away from the commotion. Erwin, with his trademark scruffy blond hair and a warm smile, observed Levi as he perused the menu with a scrutinizing eye. Tonight was a special occasion – the Corps had managed to secure a shipment of fresh ingredients, and the cooks had prepared a feast to lift the spirits of the weary soldiers.

Levi sighed, realizing that the menu was far more extensive than usual. "They're really going all out tonight," he muttered, glancing over the various options.

Erwin chuckled. "Well, after all the hard work everyone's been putting in, I think we deserve a treat. What do you feel like having?"

Levi's eyes narrowed as he scanned the choices, finally settling on a hearty meat stew. "This," he declared, pointing at the menu with conviction.

Erwin raised an eyebrow. "Stew? Are you sure you want something so… filling?"

Levi scowled at his lover. "What's that supposed to mean, Commander? I can eat whatever I want."

Erwin laughed as he held his calloused hands up, his deep voice resonating in the small space. "Alright, alright. Stew it is."

The stew, however, was just the beginning. Once they were able to order, the pair asked to sample various dishes from the feast – roasted meats, potatoes, bread, savory pies, and an array of desserts that tempted even Levi's complicated palate. And when that food arrived, they snuck out to Erwin’s quarters to enjoy their rare time alone. The pair settled in, the aroma of the freshly cooked food wafted through the air. The stew was steaming hot and filled with succulent chunks of meat and vegetables. Pies freshly baked, warm to the touch. Desserts creamy, filling. The sparkling wine burbled within its bottle. Levi's eyes widened at the sight.

"This looks… incredible," he admitted, a rare hint of excitement in his usually stoic demeanor.

Erwin grinned. "I told you. Now, dig in!"

The aroma of the food was tempting, and Levi’s stomach betrayed him with a low growl. So, he wasted no time, attacking his stew with gusto. Bite after bite, he savored the flavors, the warmth of the food filling him with a sense of contentment. Erwin watched with amusement, marveling at how the usually reserved captain seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. However, as the meal progressed, Levi found himself indulging more than he intended. The savory flavors and the sparkling wine were too tempting to resist. Erwin observed with amusement as Levi's usually stern expression softened with each bite.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Levi suddenly muttered between bites, blue eyes flickering upward to glare at Erwin. Erwin didn’t reply, but instead smiled sheepishly at his boyfriend.

Sooner or later, with their plates empty and their bellies pleasantly full, Levi leaned back with a satisfied sigh followed by a grunt. Erwin couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of his usually composed boyfriend looking slightly dazed from the wine and culinary onslaught. Levi's usually flat stomach had expanded into a not-so-subtle, noticeable roundness. Buttons from his uniform straining against the overtaxed organ. Crumbs serve as a testament to the delicious meal they had tonight. Erwin couldn't resist a smirk. "Looks like someone overindulged."

Levi shot him a glare, but it lacked its usual intensity. "Shut up, Smith. It's not like you didn't eat like a pig yourself… *Hic!*”

“Hmph,” the blonde grinned. "Come on, Levi. Sit down on the couch for a moment. I'll take care of that stuffed belly of yours."

Levi eyed him suspiciously, as the comment caught him off-guard, but he complied. Erwin chuckled before the two of them stood, and he guided Levi to the couch. As Levi stretched out on the sofa with a groan, Erwin approached, a mischievous glint in his eye. Levi returned Erwin’s look with a look of his own, nearly shooting daggers into the blonde. Before Erwin could even sit down, Levi let out an unexpectedly loud burp, surprising even himself. "Ugh, this is your fault - *Hlp!*" he accused through gritted teeth as he scowled, cheeks flushed.

Erwin smirked, sitting down next to Levi. "Well, if you're going to blame me, I might as well take care of you." Without warning, after unbuttoning the buttons of Levi’s uniform in order to free the groaning organ, he gently rubbed Levi's overfilled stomach in slow, soothing circles.

"What the hell are you doing?" Levi grumbled as his hand still feathered his now-protruding belly. The thick air against it was cold, but the warmth of Erwin's touch was… surprisingly comforting.

"Just helping you. Is that too much to ask?" Erwin teased with a wink, rubbing Levi’s bloated stomach a bit more vigorously.

Levi winced, feeling another burp rising. "Ugh, this is ridiculous," he muttered, his hand now over his mouth.

Erwin laughed, continuing the belly rub. His eyes flickered downward to study Levi’s tummy: round, bloated with gentle stretch marks and redness around the center. Each small movement the shorter male made was enough to make his belly wobble, earning a groan of unhappiness.  "Seems like the surplus amount of food alcohol isn't agreeing with you, hm?"

Levi shot Erwin a glare but couldn't hold back the next burp. It escaped loudly, surprising both of them. "Damn it, Smith!"

Erwin's smirk widened, finding amusement in Levi's uncharacteristic vulnerability. "You know, you're kind of cute like this."

Levi continued to wince, feeling another bubble of discomfort in his stomach. Though his cheeks felt significantly hotter, becoming more flushed. "Ugh, damn it," he muttered, his hand pressed against his bloated belly. He could feel the contents shift underneath, sending a groan up his throat. Erwin continued his belly rub, applying a bit more pressure once again. "Maybe next time, you'll think twice before ordering so much food.”

All Levi could do was let out another burp, this one a bit softer than the previous ones. "I hate you," he grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

Erwin chuckled, undeterred. "I love you too, Levi." He paused, feeling Levi's tension gradually ease. "Is that a little better?"

Levi sighed, nodding slightly. "Yeah, whatever. *Bwwurrp!* J-Just don't expect this to happen again - *Hic!*"

Erwin grinned, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I won't. Now, let's get you to bed.”

[naesarangyunho]

Patronus- Jeong Yunho (Harry Potter AU)

[I don't own these images credits to the original owners]

SFW

Synopsis: Just a cute little piece of domestic Yunho and y/n but with magic. I've wanted to do a Harry Potter AU for so long so I decided why not write one with soft Yunho.

Contains: fluff, husband! Yunho, father! Yunho, Harry Potter terminology, Yunho is a professional Quidditch player because I say so

[Word Count: 2k]

Y/N had been slaving away in the kitchen for most of the morning, preparing a large meal.

Her in-laws were visiting for Sunday lunch and she wanted everything to be perfect.

Her feet ached from standing for so long and even though she knew that she could cut the time it took for her to cook and bake in half with the use of her wand, she was determined to avoid using magic. She'd always firmly believed that food should be made by hand and with love.

As she finally placed the two pies she'd been working on (one of her signature apple crumbles as well as a beautiful blackberry pie) in the oven she felt arms snake around her waist.

She was pulled back into her husband's chest and felt him kiss her neck. She chuckled and turned around in his hold to wrap her arms around his neck.

"What's up? Are you missing me?"

He nodded, "You've been busy all morning. You know you don't have to go through so much effort, my love. My parents love you and would probably be satisfied with meat, rice and that amazing kimchi you always make."

"I know; they've said so before but I still want everything to be perfect. It's not often that they come to visit us in England."

He cupped her face in one of his hands and pecked her lips, "I love you."

She smiled and pecked his lips, "And I love you."

He grinned and pulled her tight against him, leaning in to kiss her properly. She sighed happily against his mouth as she returned the kiss.

They kissed slowly and softly, just enjoying the embrace of their lover and the faint music that Y/n had playing softly in the kitchen to keep her motivated as she cooked.

He ended the kiss all too soon and kissed her nose and then her cheek as he began to slowly rock them to and fro in time with the music.

She rested her head on his shoulder and let herself be swayed, listening to him hum softly to the music.

Their warm, loving bubble was pierced by loud, high-pitched cries.

Yunho and Y/n both sighed heavily at the sound.

"Looks like someone still doesn't like naps," Y/n muttered.

"I think she just gets lonely," Yunho chuckled.

He gave his wife a quick kiss, "You finish up in here, I'll go and take care of Haneul."

"Thank you." Y/n gave him a grateful smile. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, too busy attending to their eighteen-month-old daughter who was still unable to sleep through the night. Usually, she and Yunho took turns to go and check on her but he'd been dead asleep last night and she hadn't had the heart to wake him. Being a professional Quidditch player was taxing sometimes, and he was always exhausted after matches.

Yunho left her to finish up in the kitchen and disappeared down the hall to their daughter's nursery.

It wasn't long before she heard the wails of her baby be replaced with giggles. She smiled to herself; Yunho had always been so good with kids.

She wondered what he'd done this time to get her to stop crying. Last time he'd Accio-ed a chocolate frog into the nursery and set it loose. Not ideal but Haneul had found it very amusing.

She set a timer for the pies and took off her flour-dusted apron before making her way to her husband and daughter.

She'd expected him to be doing something silly like making her toys float around the room like he often did but instead she was greeted by the sight of him sitting on the carpet with Haneul in his lap as his Patronus lit up the room.

She gasped softly as she watched the golden retriever bound through the air, tail wagging and mouth open with silent barks, casting a white-blue glow over the room.

It was beautiful and something she hadn't seen in a long time.

Haneul was mesmerised by the imagery and her little mouth was open and curved into a big smile.

Yunho was smiling too, looking between his Patronus and his daughter's face to watch her reaction.

She'd never seen his Patronus so strong and stunning. It had always been something he struggled with back in the day in school, earning him subpar grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It had never been a case of struggling to find a happy memory; he just had too many and could never really settle on one to focus on specifically. He would flip through his happy memories as if turning the pages in a photo album as he cast his Patronus and the constant changes in thought as he struggled to focus on one specific memory would cause the Patronus to flicker in and out of existence or have it fighting to stay lit up.

She wondered what had changed. Had he been practising or something?

He spotted her standing in the doorway and blushed. His Patronus faltered and then dissipated as he lost focus and looked at his wife.

Haneul let out a squeak of confusion at the sudden disappearance of the doggy she wanted to play with and she looked up at her dad.

He kissed her hair, lifted her and rested her on his hip as he walked over to his wife.

"Hey,"

"Hey," She responded with a soft smile, "That was beautiful, Yu."

"I… Thank you." He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, the tips of his ears red.

"And then? Why are you so coy all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. I suppose it's just been a long time since I cast a Patronus or since you'd seen it." He responded, bouncing Haneul gently on his hip.

"Why would you be shy about it though, darling?"

"I don't know… Your Patronus has always been so vibrant and unique, mine has never really been able to compete."

"Yunho."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not sure if you saw what I just saw but that was the most beautiful Patronus you have ever cast. You would have passed with honours in DADA with that creation."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do. And what do you mean yours could never compare to mine? Honey, my Patronus is a salamander, you know that. I think everyone would much prefer your puppy over mine."

She accompanied the last part with a chuckle and reached out to stroke his cheek.

He smiled softly at her, "But fire-dwelling salamander patronuses are so rare and beautiful."

She waved off his comment.

"I'm curious though, what's changed? You'd always struggled to keep your Patronus alight, but now it's brighter than half those nitwits we went to school with."

"I mean I haven't cast it since it happened but I found a new memory to focus on a few years ago."

"It must be a really beautiful one for your Patronus to manifest like that. Can I ask what you think of?"

His cheeks flushed slightly and his gaze softened as he looked at her. He always looked at her with such love and had ever since before they started dating in fifth year. It never failed to make her heart flutter.

"Our wedding night."

Her heart melted, "Which part?"

"Well, the whole thing I suppose. How beautiful you looked in that wedding gown and how I definitely didn't cry when I heard you say 'I do'. But also afterwards."

Her cheeks flushed. A certain someone had been conceived that night.

They both looked down at Haneul who was looking up at her parents with big doe eyes and her mouth hanging open.

Yunho looked up at Y/N again with a warm grin, "She is one of the best things to happen to us and I'm glad that we decided to have her."

She felt herself tear up, "Have I ever told you how much I love you, you big dummy?"

He gave her a cheeky grin and kissed her, "I don't know, maybe you should tell me again."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick peck, "Maybe later when your parents leave and a certain someone is asleep I'll show you."

"Oh?"

She ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Sweetheart, you've never told me what you think of when you cast your Patronus."

"Oh," It was her turn to blush, "Remember our first date to Hogsmeade?"

He grinned at the memories, "Yeah, we wreaked havoc in Zonko's before heading to The Three Broomsticks. How could I forget?"

"Well, I think of that. It was the first time you said 'I love you.'"

His grin widened as the memories came flooding back, "Yes! I remember. It was winter and your nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. You had taken a sip of your warm butterbeer and some of the foam stayed behind on your upper lip. You looked so adorable I couldn't stop the words from falling from my mouth."

She still got butterflies so many years later, "Our first kiss also took place that day. "

"Yup. I had to help you clean that foam up somehow.", He chuckled.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Their nostalgia was cut short when Haneul decided she wasn't getting enough attention anymore and started crying again.

"Oh no, don't cry, princess." Yunho moved her to let her head rest on his shoulder and rocked her in his arms. She was getting bigger every day but she still looked so small in Yunho's arms.

"Do you want mummy to show you pretty lights like daddy did?"

Haneul probably had no clue what he meant but the soft voice of her dad calmed her a little and she looked up at him through her wet lashes.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Drama queen."

But she took her wand out from her back pocket nevertheless.

"Expecto Patronum!" She said softly but firmly. Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to yell the spell out like your life depends on it, usually just being firm and having a strong intent works. Unless you're planning on visiting Azkaban anytime soon- yelling might be necessary there. Dementors don't discriminate.

No sooner had she spoken the words, a salamander appeared in the air in a brilliant blue glow.

It swam through the air and twirled as it did so, mock flames rising from it's skin. It was a pretty delightful sight. Haneul and Yunho thought so too, watching it with identical smiles and bright eyes. They looked so alike.

Haneul giggled and pulled Yunho's wand from his hoodie pocket. He took it from her just before she could stick it in her mouth. There were already a few teeth marks on the almond wood handle and his friends and teammates in his Quidditch team teased him every time they saw it.

He moved to hold her on his hip with one arm and held out his wand and conjured up his Patronus with firm words and a swish of his wand.

Haneul clapped her hands together in pure joy as Yunho's Patronus bounced through the air, silently barking as it chased Y/Ns.

Y/N couldn't help the laugh that escaped her as she watched her salamander scramble to get away from the big paws of the golden retriever.

Eventually, she started giggling so much that she lost focus and her Patronus faded away.

He stopped paying attention to his Patronus too, too busy lovingly gazing at his wife.

He wrapped his free arm around his wife, pulling her against his chest. He held both his girls in his arms and pressed kisses to each of their foreheads.

His little family would never lack in happy memories and he would make sure of it.

[the-kr8tor]

IM BLUE DABADEE BADA DIE. Daily Hobie HC! We got more silly highschool dork Hobie today<3 Hobie had asked you out on a date. Nothing too special or fancy, but just a hangout into town. As the two of you walked through town, practically bound to each other's side, just talking and laughing like the lovestruck teenagers you both are. Hobie feels your hand nervously grasps his, and he immediately looks down at both of your hands, before interlocking his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand firmly with a smile. He tugs you closer to him playfully, his heart melting at the sound of your giggling. You both had managed to get some rock candy beforehand, both of your tongues purple from you both constantly swapping the candy for implications sake. Hobie listened to you crunch on the crystal candy, jokingly leaning towards you at times to try take a bite, laughing as you pressed your hand to his cheek and pushed him away from your treat. Eventually, you both had wandered to the outskirts of town, near an abandoned park. Hobie looked towards you as you poked his shoulder, planting a quick peck to his cheek that definitely left him stunned, before sprinting at full speed to the swings. Shaking himself out of his daze, Hobie weakly exclaims with a playful pout, slowly walking to you as you swung back and forth on the normal swing, a smug smirk on your face. Luckily for Hobie, he could escape the baby swing with another normal swing nearby. Hobie and you easily passed the time with each other, trying to see who could swing the highest, running around the playground like little kids, a whole lot of teasing. As the sun began to set, the two of you settled down from your sugar highs, sitting down on the daisy-covered grass as Hobie plucked the strings of his guitar, smoothly harnessing a small melody of a song for you. He enjoyed the way you subtly leaned against him as he continued to pluck the strings of his guitar, his eyes occasionally glancing over to you as your fingers slowly intertwined the daisy stalks into each other, making the both of you flower crowns. The sunset casted an array of pinks, reds, golds, purples, oranges, all across the canvas of the sky, illuminating the cute scene much more. Hobie's smile uncontrollably widens as he sees your eyes light up with success. Briefly pausing his guitar-playing, he dips his head down slightly towards you, allowing you to place the flower crown on his head. (this was before he had wicks shush) Hobie gently slid his guitar off his lap, wrapping his hands around yours as you grab your flower crown. He manages to slip it out of your fingers, and putting it on your head for you. You meet his eyes with a soft, fond gaze, before resting your arms on top of his shoulders and pulling him close for a hug. Hobie responds with a chuckle, his fingers brushing across your midsection as you both hugged. (My apologies if my writing seemed off after the halfway mark- I took a quick playing break with the cats and one of them sliced my finger down the middle..I'm okay now, but the bandages are annoying me cus i cant type properly) -🐦‍⬛

NOOO NOW THE SONG IS STUCK IN MY HEAD! AGAIN!!

Daily Hobie HC ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

THE SWEETIE PIES THE DORKS AHHHHH WUSHIWJSNSJSJJSKS THEY'RE SO ADORABLE 😍😍😍😍😍😍

Oh to have such a cute experience like this 🥺 Imagine years later when they're adults and still together they have a little date back in that abandoned park where Hobie would tell R that he bought the land where they're standing so they could build their home there together 😭🥹

(oh no! That sounds like it hurts! Take care of yourself angel!! ❤️)

[proxylynn]

MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #1)

Summary: [Nursery rhymes are rarely given a fair chance in a world of magic and fairy tales. Often mocked and considered jokes. Little do most know of the hardships they endure. What they have to do to overcome their namesake. Most embrace it. Others fade away into obscurity. But few are able to break this mold they were placed in. They become something more than what their rhyme would allow. Sometimes for the better yet often worse. Jack Horner was one such mold-breaker. Overpowering his nursery rhyme to become something so much larger than a simple pie boy. Now he runs not only a substantially profitable pie company but is also a feared crime lord and collector of all things magic. Not bad for a buttered baker's boy. Yet he's not alone. Under his employ is another nursery rhyme character. One that owes him her life. You won't find her name in any book, and she prefers it that way. None know where she comes from or why she is so close to someone such as Jack. He knows her past and that's enough. It is this reason that she serves him. And nothing can break the chains that bind her to him. This is the story of an unlikely and very unhealthy friendship. The tale of a greedy man and a woman that seeks his happiness.]

Do you know the difference between a nursery rhyme and a fairy tale?

Nursery rhymes are different from fairy tales for several reasons.

Nursery rhymes are usually poems, while fairy tales are narratives.

Nursery rhymes are usually meant to be sung, while fairy tales are spoken.

Nursery rhymes are usually kept short with little context, while fairy tales are long and full of details.

Nursery rhymes usually have a musical component, while fairy tales are more visually stimulating.

But there's also one big key difference between the two...Nursery rhymes rarely end well.

------

Nestled in the heart of a Spanish industrial city, using its lake as a moat, and standing out as the tall centerpiece of it all is the Horner Pie Company. Currently, the Jack Horner Pie Co. is run by the man himself. This somewhat isolated enterprise where most employees even live on-site may smell sickly sweet from all the baked goods it produces, but don't let the alluring scent of pie deceive you. This compound is a base of operations for the owner's eccentric obsession with magic. He's hired various soldiers, assassins, and his own bakers to scout the lands to collect as many magical items as possible. Despite this, it is still a well-run business, even if conditions are a tad disheartening.

Imposing towering walls, giant dark wooden doors emblemed with golden J.H.s, barbed wire, red-tinted light fixtures, and rather warm stained glass windows are just some of the sights you can take in while entering its base. There's far more that awaits deep within the facility's main area and even the below. However, the seat of power is not all that distant from where the goods are made. It's easier to manage the bakers if one doesn't have to roam very far away from them. It is here that he sits at his large desk, "Big" Jack Horner, with quill in hand and going over numerous parchments that are slowly but surely making his right eye twitch with ever-building frustration. Something isn't adding up right.

"Big" Jack Horner is a very large sizable man, both height and girth, boarding on being eight feet tall. Rotund in both body and the cheeks of his face which are far bigger than the rest of the face. His short pink hair hasn't changed once from the childish bob cut of his youth and his piercing blue eyes have been known to cast the iciest of gazes. He wears a long ripe plum-colored overcoat over a mountain’s majesty colored dress vest detailed by little upturned pies, under that is a white buttoned dress shirt with a double triangular cut, pomp and power colored cravat ties around his neck, wine-colored textured leather pants, and black knee high buttoned leather boots with small heels complete his flawless attire that somehow resists all logic by not exploding from his bulk. His legs are much a contrast to the rest of him, being average-sized, if not smaller than the rest of his body. His right hand's thumb is stained a lovely shade of plum, an effect from all the pies he has and continues to stick it into.

While one would think based on his looks that he's a jolly giant, nothing would be further from the truth. This is a man you want to handle with care lest you live to regret it or live at all if you're lucky. A cruel, sadistic, irredeemable megalomaniac with a rather comical nihilistic narcissism about him. This is a man who would see a burning house then toss in fireworks and roast marshmallows on the smoldering remains. This isn't to say he lacks people skills, because he's actually a surprisingly patient individual. Calm and collected like a saint at times. Always trying to interact with those around him even if he's about to do something horrible. Like a true businessman, he's witty, charming, persuasive, and above all a master manipulator who loves toying with others for his enjoyment before ending them. It's such skills that have allowed him to rise to power and amass respect in those he deems worth his employ. These same employees stay out of loyalty and fear of him. No one crosses Jack Horner. No one.

*knock-knock*

The faint sound breaks his concentration but isn't loud enough to irritate him.

“Enter.”

The doors open with a small groan from the wood as a woman pushes in a tea cart before shutting the doors behind her.

“Forgive the intrusion, Master Jack. But it's tea time.”

This was Lynsie aka "Little Lynn", his personal assistant and bodyguard. The woman was small compared to him, by at least two feet, and a little on the thick side but it worked with her full figure. Her most striking features are her long thigh-length brown hair and her deep chartreuse eyes that were highlighted by dark circles. She wears the standard musketeer guard uniform of a white buttoned undershirt, dark violet overshirt with matching trousers, a black vest with the crest of Jack Horner Pies emblazoned in fuchsia on the left breast held down by a dark gray belt, completed with black elbow length leather gloves and black knee high leather boots. Both of her ears are pierced twice with steel ball stud earrings. And around her neck, a silver choker band studded with a row of amethysts gems.

Jack groans, running a hand through his hair as he leans back in his throne-like chair.

“Five already? Where did the time go?”

She tilts her head in puzzlement as she approaches his desk with the cart.

“You sound troubled. Is something amiss?”

“Bah. Damn quarterly reports. They're always a pain.”

“But...?”

She could tell there was something more to this than troublesome paperwork and her inflection was his invitation to elaborate further as she beings to fix up an assortment of goods from the cart. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, knowing while she won't pester him about it now she'll do so later on.

“But...Some numbers from one of our distribution shops aren't adding up. Their sale totals aren't matching the given amount of product sold.”

“Oh dear. That's definitely not good...”

She places a plate of tapas on his desk and starts making his tea.

“You don't think they're foolish enough to steal from you, do you?”

He wastes no time in feasting on the meaty appetizers before him. It's at least something else to focus on other than damn work. That and in the fixation on his work he had missed lunch entirely.

“Normally I would suspect something like that. But this is from one of our lucrative shops. Business is great in that area so it's not like they need to. Not unless they want to lose out on their money maker.”

“What area is it? Mind if I take a look?”

She offers him a cup of warm plum tea and he takes it with a knowing look.

“Sure, fine, whatever. You're only going to do it anyway.”

He sips from his cup as she smirks.

“Well, you're no fun.”

She strolls around to be at his side and leans down to read.

“Work isn't supposed to be fun.”

“It is when with you, Master Jack.”

He merely rolls his eyes at her. Not many were comfortable enough to speak with him so casually. Or rather, he didn't allow many to be so casual. He didn't need employees to be familiar with him on a personal level. Fearful respect is better than loving admiration in his eyes. She was the only exception to this but for reasons he'd never admit to. Thankfully for him, she didn't push this rare privilege too far as he imagined someone else would.

“I think I know that area.”

His brow cocked at her.

“Oh?”

She double-checks just to be sure.

“Yeah. It's a small spot, but it's not far from a docking port. Sailors like to hit local places and splurge after being out at sea for ages. Very good coin to be made, that's for sure.”

She straightens up and puts her hands behind her back.

“If you want, I can check what the issue is personally. I'm sure I can find the cause of this discrepancy.”

Her soft, gentle voice dipped slightly into bitterness with that last word, making him smirk.

“Now, Lynsie, the last time I let you go off on your own it resulted in a less than discrete bloodbath.”

“To be fair, in my defense... They deserved it.”

To that, Jack gave a much-needed laugh.

In stark contrast to her boss, Lynsie is someone most wouldn't think chose to be willingly around Jack. She exudes a calming and pleasant positive energy that can make a room full of roughhousing rouges disband with ease. Incredibly clever, civilized, and witty with a playful spunkiness. At heart, she's someone who'll bump into an inanimate object and then proceed to apologize to it because she doesn't want to seem rude. Such a woman at first glance appears to be everything a man like Jack Horner isn't. Kind, sympathetic, and empathetic. But to be frank, she is only like that to one person, Jack himself. Everyone else is merely tolerated for the sake of politeness. There is another side to her. A reason why Jack had made her his personal guard. A loyalty with no means of severing, unquestionable obedience, and a need to please that was scarred into her very core as a child. These are the traits that made a once gentle girl into a remorseless woman. Using her natural sweetness to persuade and disarm others into vulnerability before striking with deadly precision. If she targets you for any reason, it's too late to beg.

As Jack's mirth settles she leaves his side to return to the cart and tops off his tea.

“Ah...I needed that.”

“Always a pleasure to make you smile, Master Jack.”

And for her it honestly was. While it wasn't rare, Jack didn't smile often, and it filled her with pride whenever she was able to bring one to his face.

“Awe, well aren't you sweet. ...You're still not going.”

“Oh come on!”

Such a childish outburst is countered with a look of indifference and a rather hash flick to her forehead that makes her yelp.

“Do not raise your tone to me.”

His voice is stern with just a hint of warning. She rubs her sore brow and nods meekly.

“Yes, Master Jack. My apologies.”

He sits up straight and takes a slow sip of tea.

“As I was saying...You're not going. At least, not alone.”

She perks up at this as he continues.

“I do agree with what you said. This discrepancy needs to be handled with a personal touch. So take at least a few others with you and go.”

Her head tilts.

“Go? As in right this moment?”

His answer is just a look that speaks for him in a way that says “Did I stutter?”. She bows her head.

“Yes, of course. This will be taken care of post haste.”

She turns on her heel and starts to leave.

“And Lynsie...”

She pauses.

“See to it that this 'discrepancy' never happens again. Is that understood?”

A small smile comes to her.

“As you wish, Master Jack.”

She exits his office and he resumes taking in this moment of reprieve before getting back to work.

“*clears throat*”

She comes back in a minor sprint and grabs the cart.

“My bad!”

She shuffles out embarrassed which makes him chuckle. As he drinks his tea, he wonders if letting her out of his sight is a good move. Not that he had to worry about her fleeing or failing, no. If any of his subordinates can get a job done, it's her. The thing that concerned him was if she took things too far. Granted she only went ballistic one time, but still. The last thing he wants is more paperwork.

“Mr. Horner!”

A guardsman rushes into his office. Not a smart move. Jack doesn't like when people bust in like that.

“There better be a good reason you're barging in here.”

The look in his eyes is one of a snake ready to strike for this sudden intrusion. The guardsman gulps.

“Sir, yes sir. Little Lynn has been spotted rushing to stables and saddling up one of the unicorns.”

Jack sighs deeply and palms his face, dragging it slowly down with a groan. Of course, she'd take a unicorn. Those steeds are powerhouses. She going to ride into the night without sleeping. Typical.

“That woman, I swear...”

There's a small moment of silence. The guardsman is unsure what to do and Jack feels his eye twitch before his hand slaps down on his desk with a mighty intimidating 'WHACK'.

“Well? What are you waiting for?! Follow her!”

The guardsman stumbles a bit in fright from the shout but quickly turns tail and flees.

“Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots. Oh...And they left the door open too? That's just fantastic!”

[Time Skip]

It's been two days now. No word had reached "Big" Jack Horner. But was he worried? Not at all. There's never a need to get reports by message when he could watch the events unfold before him in real-time and all in the palms of his hands.

The Trophy Room is where Jack keeps his more prized mystical artifacts, enchanted objects, magical icons, bobbles, geegaws, and trinkets. It's also where he keeps his research on the fabled Wishing Star, but that's neither here nor there. Cinderella's Glass Slipper? He's got it. The Beast's Enchanted Flower? He's got that too. Snow White's poison apples? He has them by the bushel. The mythical Sword in the Stone, Excalibur? You best believe he has it. Yet none of that was what he was engrossed in.

In his imposing seat, he holds the crystal ball of the Wicked Witch of the West, a massive orb to anyone else but to Jack, it was like holding a simple child's toy. This particular object granted him the ability to see that which he knew of and his desires. Granted, a useful tool, but it was specifically limited otherwise he wouldn't need to pay thieves to find items for him.

With a mere thought, the crystal ball heeds his whims, and the storm of magical energy inside swirls to open in the center, revealing Lynsie with the other guardsman as they approach a room somewhere.

————————————————–

She pulls a key out from her glove and turns to her associate.

“Keep watch out front. I won't be long.”

The man looks at her funny.

“Are you sure you don't need...?”

She shoots him a look dead in his eyes as if to say “Leave. Now.”. He flinches and steps back slowly.

“I...I'm going to go keep watch out front.”

She watches him leave, pausing before unlocking the door and then entering the dark room. Inside, she relocks the door and lights a candle left in the seemingly empty room, highlighting a man bound to a chair with a sack over his head. He doesn't appear to be moving. She gives a huff through her nose before snapping her fingers. This gets the man's attention.

“H-Hello? Who's there?”

He's nervous, as he should be.

“If this is about my tab, I swear I'm good for it.”

“Is that so?”

Her voice confuses him.

“Y-You're not from the bar, are you?”

“Afraid not. A shame really.”

She approaches the man.

“Why's that?”

“Because whoever you owe coin to would've been far kinder than I.”

She grabs the sack and yanks it off the man's head.

“Hello there, Simple Simon.”

It's clear he doesn't know who she is, but the moment he sees the crest on her uniform his eyes widen.

“Oh...Oh no...”

She smirks.

“I see you understand the situation. Good. Saves me the trouble.”

He starts to sweat a bit.

“L-Look...I...I'm sure we can come to an understanding.”

She tosses the sack to the side.

“Simple Simon met a pieman, Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, Let me taste your ware...”

She begins to circle the man while reciting his nursery rhyme.

“Said the pieman unto Simon, Show me first your penny; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, Indeed I have not any...”

“You don't have to do this.”

Her response is to slap him hard across the back of the head.

“Simple Simon went a-fishing, For to catch a whale; All the water he had got, Was in his mother's pail...”

He grumbles and stares down at the floor.

“Simple Simon went to look; If plums grew on a thistle; He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistle...”

She stops in front of him.

“He went for water in a sieve. But soon it all fell through. And now poor Simple Simon; Bids you all adieu!”

His eyes are still downcast and she doesn't like it.

“I know you're simple, Simon. But to be this stupid? To be pilfering pies from "Big" Jack Horner? Don't you know? No one steals from "Big" Jack Horner.”

“Don't you talk down to me!”

He snaps, glaring up at her, though she is unfazed.

“You have no idea what it's like being me. Being a nursery rhyme known for being a moron. I was just a dumb kid! What kid isn't dumb?!”

He grinds his teeth.

“No one wants to hire a simpleton. I have to scrape by on pity scraps just to live. A rich scumbag like Jack Horner doesn-ack!!”

His words are caught in his throat...which is currently in her grip.

“You shall not speak ill of that man.”

Her voice is as cold as ice. This did little to sway Simon's ire, as he then spits in her face. He probably expected her to release him and he could try to mess with his binds while she'd distracted by being grossed out. But to his dismay, she doesn't move. In fact, her grip only tightens and her eyes intensify with malice.

“Big mistake.”

He has only a moment to gulp in terror before she begins to pummel the ever-loving snot out of him. Gloved knuckles meet his face repeatedly. His pleas fall on deaf ears. She is not going to listen. She will stop only when satisfied with doling out this punishment to such a disrespectful soul. After a good couple of minutes, she relents, wiping the spit and blood from her face on her upper arm sleeves. His bound and busted body lies broken on the floor.

“You truly are simple. Do you think your nursery rhyme traps you? You couldn't be more wrong. Your nursery rhyme doesn't hold you back, Simon. You do. You chose to stay in its shadow. To let it control you. You are the reason for how your life is.”

She retrieves from her vest's inner pocket a small pouch.

“Nursery rhymes get dealt a bad hand compared to fairy tales. You admit to knowing this. So to knowingly steal from a fellow nursery rhyme, well...That's just asking for a bad ending.”

She kneels and grabs his face.

“You can insult him all you want, but you're just mad because he is everything you wish you were. He overcame his nursery rhyme. He made something more of himself. Something you'll never do.”

She forces his mouth open and crams the pouch in his gob, expelling the contents before making him swallow. He sputters and somewhat chokes as a strange powder fills his insides.

“*coughs* W-Wha...What was that? What did you give me?”

She merely lets go of him.

“Jack Horner is a man. A real man. But you? You are nothing.”

His body begins to tremble. He can feel things from within begin to change. She puts her hands behind her back and watches him as he panics.

“What's happening to me?! What did you do?!”

Her expression is as dead as a gravestone.

“You are nothing, Simon. Nothing but an insignificant bug.”

His body suddenly implodes, bursting into a puff of glittery dust. When the dust clears, where once there was Simple Simon now is only a small bug. Using the pouch, she scoops the bug up and ties it shut.

“I should kill you, Simon. Do you know what you've done with your stupidity? Not only have you stolen from my boss, making him very upset. Not only have you insulted the only friend I have, making me very upset. Not only do you bring shame to all of us nursery rhymes by being so damn pathetic, which should make you upset. But, most personally annoying, you got me to leave his side!”

She snarls and her grip locks to prevent her from crushing the pouch.

“I have been gone for two days...NEARLY THREE DAYS! YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF ABSOLUTE SH-!”

*knock-knock-knock*

“WHAT?!”

She barks at the door.

“...Is everything okay?”

It dawns on her she's being rather loud and unbecoming. She shuts her eyes, takes a few breaths, then runs a hand through her hair to center herself.

“Forgive me. That was rude. I didn't mean to snap.”

“...So...Is all well in there?”

“Yes...”

She looks at the pouch and sneers at it.

“All is well.”

Getting the key, she unlocks the door and opens it to face the guardsman who can see the now empty room.

“We're done here. Has the client been informed their problem is taken care of?”

“Yes, ma'am. I took the liberty of doing so shortly after we detained the thief.”

“Good. Retrieve our steeds. We ride for home at immediately.”

“Now?”

Her snarl shuts him up.

“Right. On it.”

He flees to get their mounts and she glares down at the pouch.

“I need to find a jar or I'm going to end up squishing this bugger.”

————————————————–

Jack can't help the grin that spreads across his face. Now that was the kind of display that stirred something in him. Is it something good, who could say? Maybe it was respect? Maybe it was admiration? Or more likely it was the enjoyment of seeing her beat the crap out of someone before dooming them. That's always something he can take delight in.

“Good girl.”

The images inside the orb get lost in the magical storm as he gets up and returns the ball to its pedestal.

[Time Skip]

It would be another day and a half before a familiar knock would be made on the door of Jack's office.

“Enter.”

He doesn't bother looking up from his book as the door opens and her soft footfalls are heard.

“I've returned, Master Jack.”

“I can see that.”

He remarks without actually looking.

“You know the drill. Tell me everything.”

She nods and shuts the door, slowly strolling over to him.

“Upon arrival, I questioned the shopkeeper and staff in case they knew anything more than what was reported. As it turns out, in the dead of night someone was sneaking in and stealing product. We came to this conclusion based on evidence around the building. So, we proceeded to set an ambush and wait for the culprit to attempt the following night. The idiot never saw it coming.”

She pulls from her pocket a small jar containing a bug.

“Meet the culprit, Master Jack. Simple Simon. Now in a more condensed form.”

That got him to glance her way.

“You kept him alive?”

His tone was that of lack of interest with just a hint of surprise.

“Not going to lie, I've been tempted to just crush him or release him into a swamp full of hungry toads. The damn fool pressed my buttons in all the ways to seriously tick me off the longer he spoke. But...”

She puts the jar down on his desk.

“He's the one that wronged you. Stole from you. Insulted you. Thought so little of you...”

The way she said that word causes his grip on the book to tighten harshly. If there's any way to get under Jack Horner's skin more, it's remotely insinuating him as little. He spent years under the humiliation of being "Little" Jack Horner. It's why he worked so hard to get out of the shadow of his nursery rhyme. His face reddens as his breathing gets more labored and he glares daggers at the jar.

“I can do this for you if need be. Just say the word and this fool will be nothing but a memory. All you have to do is give me the order.”

His hardened stare goes to her and she backs up a bit. His attention falls once more on the bug in the jar, the tiny thing cowers in its glass prison knowing full well it can't do anything as this giant of a man is now the judge, jury, and executioner of its fate. In a swift motion, he grabs the jar, gets up from his chair, and storms out of his office with a haste that would trample anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path. She is quick to follow after him. His heels cast ominous strong speedy clops on the stonework floor as he reaches his destination...the bakery.

The bakers turn and look up from their work as he enters, looking like curious and worried prairie dogs that just popped out of their holes to see a threat approaching. Jack scans the room, his eyes landing on an unoccupied oven and he makes a beeline for it. All just watch as the massive man goes to it and hurls the jar in with pure hate before slamming the doors shut, locking it for good measure.

The staff find this confusing before sudden screaming is heard. It starts rather small, even squeaky, as if from something tiny. But then it gets louder and deeper, till it is undoubtedly the recognizable voice of a man. It is an agonizing burning sound. And it's made all the more haunting by how long it lasts before smoldering silence takes hold.

“Let that be a lesson...”

The fury he once had seemed to have dwindled but was not quite gone yet.

“No one...And I mean, NO ONE, disrespects "BIG" Jack Horner!”

Without another word or even a look of confirmation, he huffs and fumes his way back toward his office. The bakers merely look at Lynsie who is smiling for reasons they probably don't want to know.

“Leave the oven be.”

She mutters.

“Give it two hours to cremate the body. Then flush the remains out and wash it thoroughly. We can't have a single oven be compromised or out of operation for long.”

She turns on her heel and waves to them over her shoulder as she begins to go after Jack.

“You're all doing a great job. Keep up the good work everyone!”

The bakers are left in a state of unease. This was not something they were used to. Body disposal is normally a weekend thing and this is still early in the week. Whoever that guy was, he was incredibly unlucky.

Back in Jack's office he leans over his desk and settles down, his hands splayed over the fine wood. His heaving chest slowly returned to a steady rhythm. It isn't often he lets his temper flare that much. But damn did it feel good. Nothing quite like getting rid of a pest that’s been bugging you.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice makes him flinch just ever so faintly and he rumbles low.

“Did you forget how to knock?”

She ignores this and shuts the door for privacy.

“That got a bit intense out there. Do you need to talk?”

Perhaps she was misreading the moment, but something felt odd and her natural instinct was telling her to be supportive. Maybe he just needed to vent his frustrations.

“You know, I'm here for you if you need to let off some-”

“Lynsie...”

His tone is slightly off. Playful, sure. But off. See for him, now that he had calmed down and collected his thoughts, it occurred to him that something wasn't quite right. A question stewed in his head that needed answering.

“That was quite the interesting means of dealing with Simon. Turning him into a bug and all. But I must say, it begs to question, where did you get the transmogrification powder?”

His question stuns her and her silence has him turn to face her with a smirk.

“Granted, it made clean up a lot easier after you had beat his face in. A bug is much lighter to carry than a full-grown man after all. But still...Magic of any kind hasn't been part of your arsenal before. So where did you get it from?”

His sterner tone makes her demeanor shift. She'd never dare lie to him. Even if it meant punishment.

“I...I made it. Using a recipe from one of your books.”

She scrunches timidly inward, her eyes looking away at the floor while holding her own hands as a means of keeping herself together.

“I figured...It could in handy during missions. I swear, I bought the materials and didn't use anything of yours!”

His amusement becomes conflicted yet he still finds a means of enjoyment in it.

“Perhaps I've been too lenient with you.”

She tentatively looks up as he beckons her with a few curls of his finger, which she does all be it with the slightest hint of hesitation. The moment she is within his range, he grabs her by the face and she freezes in place. Her eyes widen and blink rapidly with uncertain nervousness as his huge hand smothers her, keeping her silent as well as still. She's far from the same woman he witnessed in the crystal ball. No longer confident or sure of herself. This shy and frightened girl is a side only he knows of. One that he met long ago.

“You know better than to touch my things without permission. Are there any other little tricks up your sleeves? Better tell me now. I would hate to have a reason to be disappointed in you, Lynsie. And you don't want that. Do you?”

His voice is almost mocking her. But even in mockery his aura of strength is ever present and isn’t to be taken lightly. She shakes her head as best she can in his grasp and starts turning out all her pockets to show she has nothing. Accepting this, he shoves her back and she stumbles before falling onto her rear.

“You're going to be making it up to me.”

She nods weakly.

“Starting now, you'll be given extra duties to perform around here. Is that understood?”

She nods again but this time he wags his finger and clicks his tongue.

“*tsk-tsk-tsk* What are you a dog? Speak! Use your words!”

His voice raises just above his normal volume and she freaks out in a rush to apologize.

“Yes, Master Jack! I understand, Master Jack! Forgive me, Master Jack! I'll do better, Master Jack, I promise!”

Oh, how watching her squirm and revert to a begging child tickles a twisted part of him. He loves it. He loves knowing her weakness. It's how he knows she'll always be under his big purple-stained thumb.

“Good girl.”

With those two words, he could see in her eyes just how fragile and easy to manipulate she was for him. He could visualize the chains of his control binding her further to his needs. But for her, hearing those words fills her with a comforting warmth. A feeling of recognition and worth from the one she respects above all else, including herself.

This was their dynamic.

Jack, the one in a position of power and dominance that overshadows everything that he once was.

Lynsie, the subservient eager to please one that yearns for the approval that had always eluded her.

The conqueror and the follower.

It is perfect.

Perfectly toxic.

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

[I do plan to add more to this. I think you’d all find Jack and Lynn’s background together interesting. If this goes well I’ll begin on chapter two soon. I only made it seem like it ends here in case my brain decides to crap out on me. Best not cliff hang anyone, even myself. Thank you all and I hope this was a good read. Have a pleasant day/night. ^_^]

[euryalex]

The tale of Wyll Ravengard, the Blade of Frontiers, and Tara Lunarsong, the Lily of the Valley. From the moment their stories started, to when their stories intertwined, to when the stories came to an end, and a new story began.

» Wyll reunites with an old friend, and old memories are brought up.

A/N: I write in Dutch, first, before translating to English, so sorry for any mistakes!

1 / 2 (You're here!) / 3

His horns itched, but he couldn't scratch. His claws would cut through his skin, and the horns themselves hurt enough already. He had the body of a half-human, half-tiefling, even though he was a devilspawn. The lack of a tail made it clear what he really was: a half-devil.

Behind him, behind the bushes, there was a feast going on — the tieflings celebrating that they were still alive, that they were safe. A few days ago, Wyll might have joined them, but Zevlor's reaction told him enough. The tieflings were afraid of him. They knew him as the Blade of Frontiers and now he was their greatest fear.

He heard them laughing profusely. Alfira loudly sang a song to get everyone in the mood, and he stood on the riverbank, lost in thought. Then he heard footsteps in the sand. They came closer and closer. When Wyll looked at who joined him, he was speechless.

When he first met Tara, she was wearing a bloodied blue dress that showed a lot of skin. Her hair was messed up and caked in blood. But after they defeated the goblins, Tara had clearly found a new dress.

Now she was wearing a dark purple dress, the skirt of which was torn above her knees. Her legs were covered by black thigh high leather boots with high heels. A black leather corset hugged her waist, and it looked damn good on her.

When he finished admiring her clothes, he looked into her eyes and saw a tattoo decorating her cheekbone: three bird silhouettes. The moonlight made her look even paler, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Hells, I was hoping you wouldn't notice I was gone," Wyll admitted half-softly, and she threw him a nervous smile, "Of course I noticed. It's not a party without you."

"Really? I'm honoured," Wyll said, first with a small smile before getting serious: "Honestly, I don't feel like I'm in a party mood, and I don't want to cast a grey cloud over the night."

Tara frowned questioningly.

"I'm a devil," he explained, "I love the people of the grove, but I upset them, deep down. You don't want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweet pies don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this cursed forked tongue."

His words were laced with venom. He hated what he had become.

Tara took a step closer. "For what it's worth, you don't upset me," she whispered. There was pity in her eyes — no, not pity. Grief.

Wyll shook his head and chuckled. "If only half the world had half of your heart," he sighed, "But away with you! This is your day. Dance, enjoy the music."

"Can't you tell why I wanted to find you?" she smiled shyly.

Wyll felt his cheeks grow warm, but he didn't want to cherish his hopes.

"You must have ended up here by accident," he joked, "Too much honeywine can do that. You have to watch yourself."

She laughed nervously, "No. Guess what."

"Let me think for a moment," he mused, "Why are you really here?"

She wasn't here for him. Why would she be, if she could seduce someone like Karlach or Gale?

"You must be Volo in disguise," he jokingly claimed, "Who is here to address me for stories about the Blade of Frontiers. What a cruel disguise! My nerves started hammering as soon as I thought she was the one looking for me."

Please let me down slowly if you don't feel the same. Please forget everything I said if your heart belongs to someone else.

"Surprisingly, you're getting closer," Tara said, before biting her lip nervously.

"It's a long shot," Wyll muttered, "But maybe you've... grown fond of me? Gods know I've grown fond of you."

Her eyes grew large with joy as her pale cheeks turned red. "Was I that obvous?" she blushed, causing him to laugh, "You have a lot of talents, but subtlety is not one of them."

Then he looked away and avoided her gaze, "I can't say I deserve the honour. I haven’t even manage to kill one measly devil. I'm hardly a prime catch."

He watched her swallow. She looked nervous, but that didn't stop her from taking another step closer.

"Perhaps I can prove my affection, if you'll let me?" she said softly.

He looked at her again. Her purple eyes twinkled.

"How do you want to prove that?" he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Slowly she stretched out her hand and cupped his cheek. Her skin was freezing cold, but he didn't flinch. If anything, he leaned into her touch. She looked into his eyes and then glanced at his lips.

The sounds of the party began to fade and the only thing he could focus on was Tara. He felt himself lean forward until their lips barely touched. She looked into his eyes for one last time, before their lips finally met.

He felt his heart start beating faster. As she kept one hand on his cheek, he felt her press the other against his waist. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

Wyll had had a lot of kisses, but Tara's lips felt like pure magic.

Despite feeling like the moment lasted an eternity, Wyll still felt it was over too soon, but eventually he had to pull away to take a breath.

"Well, you have a party to return to," he swallowed. He looked at her, his eyes full of promises, "There will be another time for us. I promise you."

Next part »

[little-witchys-garden]

The longest twilight, a haunting celebration and tradition. Part 1

If you don’t know what twilight is: it’s most general sense, twilight is the period of time before sunrise and after sunset, in which the atmosphere is partially illuminated by the sun, being neither totally dark or completely lit.

So what is the longest twilight celebration/holiday?

It’s a tradition/holiday that runs on June 20th all the way to June 22th/23th.

It’s three/four days for spirits and other entities entering our world, when the vail between realms is very thin some would even say the thinnest. It’s a time for family or loved ones coming together and giving each other the chills while celebrating all things ghostly and ghastly!

Where I comes from I couldn’t say though some say it originated in sleepy hallow though that’s just rumors and I’m unsure if that’s true or not but it is referenced in a lot of sleepy hallow tales.

Traditions for the longest twilight:

You hang herbs at your doorway such as rosemary and sage for keeping away evil spirits.

Making passed on loved ones favorite foods.

Making spider and spider web decorations for putting on your windows as a warding.

Drinking “ spirits “ cider aka pumpkin or squash cider with some sort of red berry mixed in so it looks bloody.

Romantic midnight walks with trades rosemary crowns on your head or around your necks. It’s a lovers tradition💕

Telling scary stories and ghostly tales in a dark room by candle light.

Making dawn day pies

Séances

Doing divination

Casting spells

Flashlight hide and seek

Wearing twilight colors such as shades of purple, blues and whites.

Planting pumpkin seeds and making wishes in the seeds.

Making aster flower crowns to help you see spirits .

Giving you’re special person/people an aster flower or a homey suckle as a sign you’d guard them from evil if you were a spirit. It’s very romantic.

Making no nightmare bags for/with the kiddos.

Lighting a purple { of any shade } candle or a white candle to show passed on loved ones that you’re thinking of them.

Dancing around the oak tree with spirits

Scaring the daylights out of each other

The fortune tellers cake { which I’ll explain in another post.}

Drinking “ spirits “ { you know what I mean I’m sure but if you don’t it’s Alcohol } 

Packing around a amethyst, pearl, alexandrite or moonstone. { I’ll put their meanings in the second post }

Stay tuned for part 2



[im-nearly-30]

Have you seen the Asian guy in the Blue Suit and Gold shoes running really fast?

If you're like me you're almost 30 and before you go to bed you lie awake for about 30 to 45 minutes in bed scrolling instagram watching re-uploaded tiktok videos.

I can't remember the first time I came across the 'Vintage King' videos but it was before they even introduced the 'Red Prince' (his brother).

These videos were wild and I would scream anytime I found a new one immediately sharing it with my one friend (and he is actually 30).

If you haven't had the great fortune of stumbling across any of these videos it usually goes like this:

A young man going his way through his life is met with an unfair and unjust situation. He turns tail and bolts, tears streaming down his face.

The pain and hurt is too much and he must change, he must TRANSITION!

As he sprints across the road with magnificent speed a bright flash signals his change, just in time with the beat drop. He is no longer the crying and sad boy, he now a MAN wearing a bright royal blue suit and golden vintage shoes. He swiftly passes the camera and looks back with a smugness as we get a view of the full buttocks on display.

You get the gist of it. Usually all of the videos follow the same format of Cheng having some sort of difficulty and then running away crying and then returning stronger than ever wearing a blue suit, gold shoes and pillow tucked into his pants.

Pi has now been added to the saga as the Red Prince as his main antagonist and the Blue King is too overpowered to be taking on normals anymore.

I'm honestly fascinated and a little obsessed with this strange series, it feels like a fever dream. Anytime I run across one I head straight to the comments because I know I've found my people. The people who speak English and are glimpsing into the "Wild Wild East" of foreign-made videos for social media.

For months my one friend (who is actually 30) and I would talk about these strange videos. We would have brief respite from time to time as our algorithms were inundated with various trends - like the Long nose dog who will do it for me, or Chestnuts roasting on an open Fye - but we would always return to the normal daily dose of "The Cheng & Pi Vintage Brothers".

Usually I would be okay with just that but lately I've been thinking about even when I'm not on instagram. I would be in my morning Teams meetinfs thinking about the man in the blue suit running so fast in these golden shoes. What is he running from? What is he running to? Is he a good guy? Or is he a bad guy?

Spurred by these nonsensical questions I fired up the old Google Chrome and just started looking for "running chinese man in blue suit" and I did manage to come across a lead -

mr.chen_handsome

The Ultimate Vintage King himself (self pro-claimed No.1 handsome boy).

Where does he fit into this? I don't know but he does have the OG cast (Blue & Red) on his actual TikTok.

I must continue my research and find out more, I must know who the Blue King and the Red Prince are!

Much Love,

You're almost 30 year old friend.

[barbelz]

𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗟𝗶𝘀𝘁: Movies and Series.

1. Crazy Little Thing Called Love (2010)

Romance-comedy

2. The Grotesque Manson (2021)

Horror

3. Titanic (1997)

Romance, historical drama

4. Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo (2016)

Romance, colossal, fantasy

5. Dark Blue Kiss (2019)

BL, romande-comedy

6. Kiss Me Again (2018)

BL, romance-comedy

7. Our Sky (2019)

BL, romance-comedy

8. Remember You (2021)

27 Dec 2022

Action-crime, thriller

9. Dilwale (2015)

24 Dec 2022

Romance-comedy, action

10. Ketika Cinta Bertasbih 2 (2009)

Religi-romance

11. Mencuri Raden Saleh (2022)

Adventure, action-crime

12. Ivanna (2022)

28 Jan 2023

Horror

13. The Proposal (2009)

Romance-comedy

14. Secret Window (2004)

2 Feb 2023

Psychology-thriller

15. 50 First Dates (2004)

6 Feb 2023

Romance-comedy

16. Di Bawah Lindungan Ka'bah (2011)

8 Feb 2023

Religi-romance

17. Forrest Gump (1994)

26 Feb 2023

Magical-realism, romance-comedy

18. Surga Yang Tak Dirindukan (2015)

6 Mar 2023

Religi-romance

19. Surga Yang Tak Dirindukan 2 (2017)

8 Mar 2023

Religi-romance

20. Quickie Express (2007)

12 Mar 2023

Mature, romance-comedy

21. Pintu Terlarang (2009)

19 Mar 2023

Psychology Thriller

22. Arisan (2003)

19 Mar 2023

BL, light comedy

23. 4bia (2008)

25 Mar 2023

Horror

24. Kucumbu Tubuh Indahku (2019)

26 Mar 2023

Documentary-based on true story

25. Fiksi (2008)

2 Apr 2023

Psychology thriller

26. Takut: Faces of The Fear (2008)

3 Apr 2023

Thriller

27. 300: Rise of An Empire (2014)

5 Apr 2023

Historical-action, colossal, war, drama

28. Nocebo (2022)

6 Apr 2023

Psychology thriller

29. Ada Kamu, Aku Ada (2008)

8 Apr 2023

Light drama

30. Hancock (2008)

9 Apr 2023

Action-drama

31. The Karate Kid (2010)

14 Apr 2023

Action-comedy

32. Bride Wars (2009)

16 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

33. Keramat 1 (2009)

16 Apr 2023

Horror-mockumentary-based on true story

34. Ever After (1998)

18 Apr 2023

Romance

35. Rumah 78

Youtube horror series, based on true story

36. The Pursuit of Happyness (2006)

19 Apr 2023

Biography-drama-based on true story

37. Sex And The City (2008)

20 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

38. Sex And The City 2 (2010)

21 Apr 2023

Romance-comedy

39. Romeo + Juliet (1996)

26 Apr 2023

Drama

40. Bohemian Rhapsody (2018)

30 Apr 2023

Drama-biography-based on true srory

41. Perfume: The Story of A Murderer (2006)

2 May 2023

Psychology thriller

42. Cast Away (2000)

5 May 2023

Adventure, survival, drama

43. Life of Pi (2012)

7 May 2023

Adventure, survival, fantasy, drama

44. The Devil Wears Prada (2006)

14 May 2023

Drama

45. The Number 23 (2007)

Psychology thriller

46. Goblin (2016)

Drama, romance, fantasy

47. I Know What You Did On Facebook (2010)

July and 9 Nov 2023

Romance

48. Saus Kacang (2008)

30 Jul 2023

Romance-comedy

49. Memoirs of A Geisha (2005)

17 Aug 2023

Historical romance, based on true story

50. Ada Apa Dengan Cinta (2022)

19 Aug 2023

Romance

51. Ada Apa Dengan Cinta 2 (2016)

20 Aug 2023

Romance

52. Eiffel I'm In Love (2003)

21 Aug and 30 Sep 2023

Romance

53. Eiffel I'm In Love 2 (2018)

22 Aug and 1 Oct 2023

Romance

54. Tusuk Jelangkung (2003)

25 Aug 2023

Horror

55. Rumah Kentang (2012)

26 Aug 2023

Horror

56. Ali & Ratu-Ratu Queens (2021)

27 Aug 2023

Drama

57. Kawin Kontrak (2008)

30 Sep 2023

Comedy

58. Hors de Prix (2006)

6 Oct 2023

Romance-comedy

59. Terlalu Tampan (2019)

8 Oct 2023

Webtoon-based, romance-comedy

60. A.I Artificial Intelligence (2001)

9 Oct 2023

Sci-fi, family-drama

61. Peekay (2014)

10 Oct 2023

Satirical-comedy

62. 3 Idiots (2009)

11 Oct 2023

Comedy-drama

63. Kirun + Adul (2008)

12 Oct 2023

Romance-comedy-action

64. Tentang Cinta (2007)

16 Oct 2023

Romance

65. Love For Sale (2018)

18 Oct 2023

Romance

66. Step Up 2: The Streets (2008)

21 Oct 2023

67. Love For Sale 2 (2019)

25 Oct 2023

68. Arini by Love.inc (2022)

26 Oct 2023

69. Dhoom 3 (2013)

27 Oct 2023

70. Anaconda (1997)

27 Oct 2023

71. Thugs of Hindostan (2018)

28 Oct 2023

72. Anacondas: The Hunt For the Blood Orchid (2004)

29 Oct 2023

73. Mohabbatein (2000)

01 Nov 2023

74. Laal Singh Chaddha (2022)

05 Nov 2023

75. Crouching Tiger: Hidded Dragon (2001)

11 Nov 2023

76. John Wick: Chapter 4 (2023)

13 Nov 2023

77. Jakarta Undercover (2007)

15 Nov 2023

78. Cinderella (2015)

16 Nov 2023

79. Pretty Woman (1999)

18 Nov 2023

80. Slumdog Millionaire (2009)

20 Nov 2023

81. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)

24 Nov 2023

82. A Moment To Remember (2004)

27 Nov 2023

83. Cek Toko Sebelah (2016)

01 Dec 2023

84. Cek Toko Sebelah 2 (2022)

07 Dec 2023

85. Ngeri-Ngeri Sedap (2022)

14 Dec 2023

86. Milly & Mamet (2018)

16 Dec 2023

87. Mean Girls (2000)

20 Dec 2023

88. The Bodyguard (1992)

24 and 30 Dec 2023

89. Petualangan Sherina (2000)

06 Jan 2024

90. Qodrat (2022)

91. Laskar Pelangi (2008)

19 Jan 2024

92. Cherry Magic (2023)

14 Feb 2024

93. Warm Bodies (2013)

25 Feb 2024

94. Sang Pemimpi (2009)

95. Pamali: Dusun Pocong (2023)

04 May 2024

96. Jakarta Undercover 2 (2022)

97. Mirror (2008)

20 Jul 2024

98. Speed (1994)

22 Jul 2024

Action

99. Foxtrot Six (2019)

27 Jul 2024

Action

100. Merantau (2009)

03 Aug 2024

Action

101. Shallow Hal (2001)

04 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

102. Jomblo (2006)

07 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

103. Janji Joni (2005)

09 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

104. 3 Hati 2 Dunia 1 Cinta (2010)

10 Aug 2024

Romance

105. Diana (2013

14 Aug 2024

Romance-documentary

106. The Wall (2012)

17 Aug 2024

Drama-mystery, sci-fi

107. Eat Pray Love (2010)

18 Aug 2024

Romance

108. Ticket to Paradise (2023)

22 Aug 2024

Romance-comedy

109. Tali Pocong Perawan (2008)

24 Aug 2024

Horror

110. Last Twilight (2023)

1 Sep - 13 Sep 2024

BL Thai series, romance

111. Vice Versa (2022)

14 Sep - 16 Sep 2024

BL Thai series, romance

[thelemonzone42]

Evie Scruffypup

Jess and Lily were both at the Helping Paws Wildlife Hospital feeding nuts to a shy squirrel.. Not wanting to bother them, they left the nuts by a pile of fallen leaves if he’s hungry. Then they wished that Goldie could be there. Just like that, Goldie appeared and took them to their secret hideout in The Friendship Forest. 

When they got there, Goldie told them that it’s Blossom Day, a holiday in The Friendship Forest where everything blossoms. Everywhere it smelled like plums, honey and jasmine all together. Soon it’ll be time for the Blossom Drop Hunt, an event where The Nibble Squeaks go around Petal Hill, the place where they hold Blossom Day every year, and hide honeysuckle petal pet treats all around the place. Along the way they meet collie sisters, ‘Hattie’ and ‘Evie’ who were excited to find the Blossom Drops. Eager to get to know them better, they agreed to bring the two collie sisters along.

As they were searching the place, they found a few in a treehouse. Just then, they heard loud noises coming from outside. 

Outside, they saw the Scruffypup home turning into a wreck and Grizelda casted a spell that whoever touch’s Masha the Rat’s mess will behave like one. Evie touched it and behaved like one. Jess and Lily had to change her back to normal fast. Evie’s older sister, ‘Hattie’ explained that Evie loves to treat Blossom Treat and they have to get more honeysuckle blossom petals fast. LUckily, Olivia knew where the trees were. Thanks to a little breeze, they caught at least twenty petals, just enough to make the blossom drops. Olivia promised to get started on the Blossom Drops right away.

At the Scruffypup Residents, Hattie explained that she loves to collect things, including jewels. After searching her room for the jewels, Hattie suggested that her jewel collection should be at Toadstool Glade, where they have jewels on the ceiling.

Along the way, they run into their friend ,’Ellie Featherbill’. Ellie explained that she was getting blackberries for her mom’s pie when she saw a mess. Goldie gave Ellie some raspberries as a blackberry substitute. It may not be the right ones, but they’ll do for the pie.

Behind them, Evie and Masha snuck up and pelted them with blackberries. Jess, Lily, Goldie, and Ellie rushed off to Toadstool Glade and they saw numerous jewels above. Thinking back, they remembered from Hattie that Evie kept her jewels in a basket. After they found it, they found round and square jewels and a special heart-shaped jewel. They decided to bring it along for precautions. 

Outside, they found a trail of golden leaves to Willowtree River, where a numerous pile is at, including a leaf wreath, but they need to know who it’s for. After running from an ambush by Evie and Masha, they come across The Blue Flash Family, which is a flock of blue jays, and Evie’s kingfisher friend, ‘Bethany’ who knew Evie’s secret at Petal Dell, which is near Petal Hill. Along the way, they met up with Nibble Squeaks and gave them the honeysuckle petals. 

At Petal Dell, they saw that Evie is going to throw a surprise party for her older sister, ‘Hattie’. Every year, her birthday gets overshadowed by Blossom Day. Evie figured it out quickly by the tired patrons and the frequent sad look on her older sister’s face. So she and Bethany decided to throw a surprise party for her. Once Masha and Evie came, they said Evie’s favorite things and Evie turned back to normal. Masha rushed off to Grizelda and they left. 

Everyone arrived for Hattie’s surprise birthday party, including The Nibble Squeaks with freshly made Blossom Drops, cheesy twists, fruit pies, honey biscuits, raspberry cream sponge cake, lemon roll cake and a birthday cake with nectar frosting. For entertainment, an owl played in his one man band. Jess and Lily gave Hattie the leaf wreath Evie made for her and she loved it

After the party it was time to go home. When they got there, they saw the squirrel they encountered earlier placing his nuts in Jess’s father’s shoes and they laughed.

The End.

[keep-this-place-beautiful]

Vignette 0.1

There’s a pop, like a car backfiring. Just once.

Then the ambulances and the sirens and the empathetic first responders in their blue Dickies with the crackling radios, the way their efficiency softens when they determine that they aren’t going to be rushing to the hospital, that they’re too late. They were too late before the call came. 

There’s always leftovers, things they leave behind. Purple latex gloves turned wrong side out and sterile paper wrappers ripped and cast aside.

The ephemera of a disaster.

There’s a lot of things to burn with this kind of mess, things with blood and body fluids on them.

But there’s things to do and that makes it easier for a little while.

There’s a casket to pick out and the phone keeps ringing. The obituary to send over to the paper, where the receptionist looks empathetic. Even with all the euphemisms, this is a small town and she knows “passed away” shouldn’t end with the period, that in the white space, everyone knows “by choice” follows.  

There’s the ancient kitchen table, wood scuffed down to raw pine, in house built decades ago by hand, the family homestead. There’s no heirlooms here, just generations functionality, plain and worn, etched with life. The table looms in the small kitchen, precariously loaded with heavy casseroles and pies, because when there aren’t sufficient words, there’s shortening and cream of mushroom soup and butter.  The Southern way of, “I don’t know what to say to make this better.” The gesture of “We don’t know what to do but we’re so, so sorry” and “Thank god it isn’t us” and the whispers of “something always seemed a little off, bless her heart, I wonder why it came to this.”

It takes two to three business days get surprise funerals in order, just like mailing a letter, standard post, but here, it’s shipping the deceased back to the center of the earth, lowering, trying not to think about groundwater and the way everything turns boggy in the summer.

There’s mosquitos in graveside attendance, too, in droves, and melting makeup, from humidity and sweat and grief. The itching and humming and sweating, the way suits and oxfords chafe. It’s a nice distraction, a tangible discomfort to direct the more nebulous, unformed suffering towards. Something to focus on, smaller than the void that opens up, deeper and more infinitely yawning than the red clay sides of a new grave.

If it were a movie, there’d be uniform black, even the cars. But this is generations of functionality next to a family plot so the cousins are tugging at suit jacket sleeves, too short, maybe borrowed, and her brother’s wearing overalls because he’s too big around to even attempt a suit, a heavy smell of hairspray and Walmart cologne and fresh-churned red dirt heavy in the stagnant air.  

At the end of it, the ladies from town are gone and dusk is settling, all golden pink and there’s still a table full of coagulating casseroles and sweating pies, frosting sliding off pound cake in the heat, and darkness, silence, except for the deafening, incessant whine of the crickets as sunset gives way to the pitch black a night with no streetlights, of the rest of life without. Without what is harder to define. Without anything.

There’s no more visible blood and in the stillness of the first night, there’s nothing left except trying not to think about whether they burned the mattress or if someone’s covered it up. The almost scientific way they speculated if she could’ve survived. If the sound was breath or the gurgling death rattle.  Voluntary or involuntary. Choice or inevitable.