#put them in a jar and like shake it politely

[squigglyoctosquigglez]

"do you think we're soulmates in every universe?"

"shut up dennis it's 2am in the morning go to sleep"

[pigeonpeach]

Early love!

Aka into the early courting stages! Pure fluff

Characters included: Arlecchino, Jean, Diluc, Shenhe, Chlorinde

Afab reader

Arlecchino

Early into the courting stages it is quite awkward. As the caretaker you know she’s not the most emotional or social of bosses. But she often requests you stay a little bit late or come see her in her office. At first it has you terrified you did something wrong. But overtime you get used to it. These little meetings are mostly her talking about the kids and any issues you think they might have etc. Nothing too unexpected, but then she starts asking personal questions like lovelife and values. You can’t help but overthink what it means

Truth be told Arlecchino is already smitten with you at this point. She’s just now starting to make her move now that she’s certain life can’t be as enjoyable without you. She sends you flowers on your day off, unintentionally the children also start to try and brag about their father in a advertising sense. She’s well composed, she brings home cakes and desserts specifically for you to enjoy over tea alone with her. She also starts to slowly suggest you move in or move closer. Even offering to compensate the cost. She’s slow with this all. Making sure to ease you into it so she won’t scare you off.

The first time you ask if she’d like to get dinner sometime she almost got a heart attack. She didn’t expect you to be so forward but you’ve grown accustomed to her to the point she’s no longer intimidating. She of course accepts watching you light up and blush with a hidden glee herself.

Jean

Oh she’s very old school. She approaches your parents for permission to court you and of course they agree. Gifts show up at your door, often flowers or your favorite treats. Meals are sent including your favorite foods with the price paid in advance. And she lingers around in your presence. Her gifts are bold but she herself is not. She’s very professional around you. She’s very polite but she tries to hard to hide her blush and trembling lips. You’re just too beautiful for her. Everytime she looks at you she is overwhelmed with her feelings. Mostly she writes letters complimenting your skills, your beauty, anything. The Knights also seem to be more protective of you.

Its quite cute for you to see the Acting Grandmaster so flustered. Her cheeks turn red when you look at her and talk to her. You decided to return the favor one-day and send her a meal, homemade, her favorite too. And ohhh she went from overworked and tired to beaming pure joy when she heard it was from you. She treasured each bite like it was gold. When she found out it was made by you she felt like she was on cloud 9. She was already starting to plan the wedding. The other knights were too.

Shenhe

Shenhe was a odd woman. She doesn’t quite understand when you pick to the best flowers and offer them to her, your face red and your hands shaking that it’s because you like her. She sees it as you trying to appease her like she’s some demon. When you clarify its just a gift she thanks you and… eats the flowers..

You try to introduce her to more tasty meals but she’s more fond of salads and vegetarian meals. Its an adeptus thing she says but its also a bit jarring to see her just eat the bouquet of flowers you spent so long agonizing over and debating which was better looking. The best method is gift giving. A beautiful ornate hairpin is appreciated and she will wear it.

One thing though is Cloud Retainer who is seemingly putting you through trials and tribulations to court her as she wants to make sure you’re the absolute best for her. You still do so. When she suggests you train to get a idea of what Shenhe’s life is like you do and boy are you sore from one day’s worth of training. She wanted to make sure you weren’t weak.

But when its all said and done, you didn’t quite pull off those herculean tasks, but your dedication and determination was proof enough that you were worthy to her. You planned a whole confession on Jueyun Karst, the journey there now seeming more like a hike after all your efforts, having appeased your future mother in law, and being a bit more stronger than before she just randomly asks you out one day before the day of the confession. You accept yes but its unfortunate you planned all this romantic gestures and such for nothing. In the future you just have to be direct and obvious.

Chlorinde

Oh another chivalrous lady! Like jean she’ll request permission… from yourself.. you’re confused because it’s basically a confession but she insists on still going through the courting process. Does she not realize you already accepted her affection? Oh well. The gifts are wonderful. She even has a customized outfit made for you at Chiori’s which fits you so well. Delicate lace you look absolutely stunning in. Jewelry, food, flowers, and more. You keep telling her you accept her feelings but she insists on continuing. Its improper to conclude too soon apparently? She wants to go through the whooleee routine. You even send her gifts in return to which she proudly wears and displays in her home. She refuses to throw out the flowers even when they’re brown and crisp. Finally after a month of having already accepted her feelings, already having told her that: she asks you out. And you accept. Somehow she looks surprised and delighted as if everyone couldnt tell the outcome.

Diluc

Oh another chivalrous one! Only he’s a bit more shy. He’s got a big reputation and he worries if he makes it too public if you would get dog piled on by his other admirers. So his gifts aren’t marked. Causing you to go crazy trying to figure out who is giving you sooo many flowers! You’re questioning Flora when Donna breaks down in tears realizing you’re the one Diluc had been sending flowers to and not her. She makes you swear to treat him well and love him dearly. Which is very confusing but you still agree. You mostly just wanted to tell him to please send something else because you’re out of vases and your cat keeps trying to eat the flowers.

You aren’t sure where to go from here though. Do you confront him? Do you send him something? Unlike Diluc you do not have this courting tradition engrained into you. You don’t exactly have alot to offer really. So you decided to catch him in the act of leaving flowers. You stayed home all day diligently watching the door from your window, not wanting to make a fool of yourself and ensure for certain it was Diluc. Donna could’ve been wrong afterall. She wasn’t though. You were almost half asleep when you heard footsteps. You peered out your window catching sight of his red hair. You immediately junped out and called out to him and… fell out the window into the planter below. Whoops.

So your first “date” with Diluc might’ve been him rushing you to the Cathedral to be seen and healed. Luckily the planter broke your fall but he still fretted over you. He apologized alot despite you reassuring him it was fine. He ended up worried when you said you spent all day waiting to catch him. You forgot to eat and he dragged you to dinner, paying for it of course. You ended up bonding with him over it. He refuses to call it your first date with him becoming so much went wrong but you still enjoyed it.

You forgot to tell him to not send flowers thiugh because shortly after that you came home to a bunch of flowers. Luckily this time they were potted plants so you could patch up your garden you body slammed.

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 5: Bridging the distance

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!LoganWarning: none. Just fluff, but the slow burn is starting to burn a little faster.

Word count: 7.3k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm hues over the cottage as Evelyn wiped her hands on a dish towel for the fifth time. The small dining table was set with mismatched plates, a modest bouquet of wildflowers sitting in a glass jar at its center. She stared at it for a moment, chewing her lip. Did it look too formal? Too casual? Did he even care? Her stomach twisted with nerves as she double-checked the food. The roast looked decent, the vegetables hadn’t burned, and the dessert—something simple—sat cooling on the counter. It wasn’t about impressing him. Not really. She just wanted him to feel… welcomed.

As the rumble of Logan’s truck echoed up the driveway, she caught her reflection in the window—hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. She smoothed her hands over her shirt and exhaled deeply, steeling herself before opening the door.

Logan hesitated before stepping out of the truck. The soft glow of the cottage’s windows spilled into the dusk, the warm light a stark contrast to the cool night air. He’d spent all day convincing himself that this was just dinner—nothing more, nothing less. But standing at her door, he felt the weight of his own expectations settle heavily in his chest.

The door swung open, and there she stood, her eyes meeting his with a nervous smile that somehow made his pulse stutter. “Hey,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Evening,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice filling the small entryway.

The scent of roasting herbs and something sweet wafted through the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. He took it all in—the table set with care, the way she’d clearly put thought into every detail.

“Hope you’re hungry,” she said as they settled at the table, gesturing to the spread. “Smells good,” Logan said, his voice low but sincere.

The meal started with polite conversation—updates on the cottage renovations, small talk about the weather, and light teasing about Logan’s persistent tendency to do things without asking for thanks. “You know,” she said, pointing her fork at him, “you’ve practically rebuilt half the house by now. I should be naming rooms after you or something.” Logan smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Just doing what needs doing.”

As the conversation unfolded, the tension began to ease. Logan’s baritone laughter rumbled softly at her recounting of a mishap at the market, and she found herself leaning into his quiet presence, the ease of his company settling over her like a blanket.

After dinner, they lingered in the living room, sipping tea as the fire crackled in the hearth. Logan sat on the edge of the couch, his broad frame relaxed but still carrying that quiet intensity she’d come to associate with him.

She hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been thinking about… everything you’ve done for me. The repairs, the firewood. Dinner was the least I could do, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.” “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied, his tone even.

Her gaze flicked to his, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Maybe not. But I still want to say thank you—for all of it.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowing slightly as he held her gaze. She could see the question there, the silent wondering if she meant more than the words she was saying.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up that day,” she added softly, her voice wavering just enough to betray her vulnerability.

The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken tension. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

And then, without fully thinking it through, she leaned forward.

Her hand brushed his, tentative but deliberate, and when he didn’t pull away, she closed the remaining distance, her lips pressing softly against his.

For a moment, Logan didn’t move, as though caught off guard. Then, his hand came up to rest gently against her jaw, his touch firm but careful, as though afraid of breaking her. The kiss deepened slightly, their breaths mingling in the warmth of the firelight.

But just as quickly as it had begun, she pulled back, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“I—” she started, her voice trembling. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Logan’s eyes searched hers, his hand lingering just long enough to make her heart skip before he let it fall back to his lap. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “Not for that.”

“I’m sorry if I—” “You didn’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I didn’t have to,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I wanted to. I just—” She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I’m scared.”

Logan nodded slowly, his expression softening. “That makes two of us.”

They sat in the quiet for a while, neither rushing to fill the space. When Logan finally stood to leave, Evelyn walked him to the door, her emotions a tangled mess of uncertainty and something dangerously close to hope.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, his voice low but genuine.

“Thanks for coming,” she replied, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile.

As he stepped out into the night, she watched him go, her heart still racing from the kiss and the unspoken promise it seemed to carry.

______________________________________________________________

The soft light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, pulling Evelyn from a restless sleep. She lay still for a moment, her mind already swirling with the memory of the night before. Her fingers brushed her lips instinctively, as if they could still feel the ghost of Logan’s touch.

Why had she kissed him?

Her chest tightened as the question lingered. She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring at the faint embers glowing in the hearth. It wasn’t regret she felt—it was confusion. Fear. And maybe, if she was honest with herself, hope.

The fear gnawed at her, though. She’d been here before—feeling something, letting someone in—only to watch it fall apart. Logan was steady, patient, and kind in ways that unsettled her because they felt too genuine, too real. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to let him in, let alone trust him not to leave.

She groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. “What are you doing, Evelyn?” she whispered to herself.

After a few minutes, she stood and moved through her morning routine. The fire needed stoking, the kitchen needed tidying, and the half-finished crochet vest she’d abandoned last night sat waiting for her by the window. The rhythmic click of her needles would usually calm her, but today, even that felt insufficient.

______________________________________________________________

Logan woke early, the cool air of his cabin doing little to shake the memory of her kiss. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated breath as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He hadn’t meant to rush things last night. Hell, he hadn’t even meant to kiss her. But the way she’d looked at him, her words so raw and honest, had tugged at something deep inside him. And now? Now, he wasn’t sure where they stood.

He shrugged on a flannel shirt and boots, determined to keep himself busy. The logging site would be a welcome distraction—or so he thought.

By the time he arrived, the other men were already milling about, their chatter filling the crisp morning air. Logan wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but his silence didn’t deter them.

“Morning, Howlett,” Pete called out, grinning as he hefted a bundle of tools. “You look like you didn’t sleep a damn wink.”

Logan grunted, grabbing an ax and slinging it over his shoulder.

Rick leaned against a nearby log stack, smirking. “What’s the matter? Got too much on your mind?”

Another chuckled. “Bet he’s thinking about her—you know, the pretty one with the cottage.”

Logan shot them a warning glare, his voice low and edged. “You’ve got time to gossip, you’ve got time to haul more logs.”

The men exchanged knowing looks but didn’t press further. Even they weren’t foolish enough to push Logan when his mood was this sour.

______________________________________________________________

Evelyn sat by the window, her crochet needles clicking softly as she worked on the vest. She’d chosen a deep green yarn, the color reminding her of the forest—the one place Logan seemed most at home.

It wasn’t just a gift. It was her way of saying thank you. For being there. For staying. For seeing her in ways she sometimes struggled to see herself.

When she finished, she held the vest up to the light, inspecting her work. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe that was fitting. Neither of them was perfect, but somehow, they worked.

She folded it neatly, tying it with a piece of twine, and attached a small note:

"For everything. Thank you. - Evelyn"

Her nerves buzzed as she drove to Logan’s cabin that evening. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, but the faint glow of a lamp inside told her he wasn’t far. She hesitated for a moment before setting the package on the porch and heading back to her truck.

As she drove away, she couldn’t help but hope he’d understand what the gift meant—what she couldn’t quite put into words.

______________________________________________________________

Logan returned home late, exhaustion tugging at his limbs as he stepped out of his truck. His eyes caught on the small package waiting on his porch.

He crouched down, picking it up carefully. The yarn was soft beneath his rough fingers, the note tied to it catching his eye. As he read the words, something stirred in his chest—an emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Slipping the vest on, he immediately felt the warmth. Not just from the fabric, but from the thoughtfulness behind it. He ran a thumb over the note again before tucking it into his pocket.

She’d made this for him.

The thought stayed with him all night, a quiet reassurance in the face of the uncertainty lingering between them.

______________________________________________________________

Logan’s truck rumbled up the driveway, the familiar sound stirring a mix of anticipation and nerves in her chest. She opened the door just as he stepped out, and for a moment, her eyes caught on the green vest she’d crocheted for him. It fit snugly, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, and the sight sent an unexpected warmth curling through her.

“You’re wearing it,” she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Logan nodded, his expression calm but genuine. “It’s good work.”

A smile tugged at her lips, her earlier hesitation melting away. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Anything need fixing today?” he asked, his hands tucked into his pockets.

She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious about how much she relied on him. But then she caught the faint softness in his eyes, and the words came more easily. “The pantry door’s been sticking, and the windows in the bedroom let in a little too much cold. If you have time.”

Logan gave a short nod, stepping past her into the cottage. “Let’s take a look.”

The warmth from the fire wrapped around them as they moved into the kitchen. She gestured toward the pantry door. His movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

“It gets stuck right here,” she said, tapping the frame where the wood had warped slightly.

Logan knelt to inspect it, running his fingers over the uneven edge. “I’ll plane it down. Shouldn’t take long.”

As he set to work, Evelyn leaned against the counter, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. His hands moved with practiced ease, steady and deliberate, every motion efficient.

“You’re good at this,” she remarked after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence.

Logan glanced up briefly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Been fixing things my whole life.”

“Were you always a handyman?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Not always,” he replied, his tone cryptic. “Picked it up over time.”

She sensed there was more to his story, but she didn’t press. Instead, she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, his focus returning to the door.

The rhythmic scrape of the plane against wood filled the room as she poured the coffee. She set a steaming mug on the counter beside him, the warmth of her gesture unspoken but clear.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, pausing to take a sip before returning to his work.

As he worked on the pantry, she lingered nearby, sipping her coffee and stealing glances at him. There was something grounding about his presence—the quiet steadiness that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

By mid-morning, they’d moved to the bedroom, where a chill seeped through the worn frames of the windows. Logan inspected the gaps with a critical eye, his brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ll need weatherstripping,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I can patch it for now, but it’ll only hold until the next storm.”

“I’ll add it to my shopping list,” she replied, pulling a blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Unless you want to come with me to the hardware store next time.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “That an invitation?”

“More like a bribe,” she shot back, her tone light. “You know your way around tools better than I do.”

He huffed softly, a sound that might’ve been a laugh, and began securing the temporary patch.

As he worked, she busied herself folding a stack of crocheted blankets near the bed, stealing occasional glances at him. The way he moved, quiet but deliberate, filled the room with a sense of steadiness she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Do you ever take a break?” she teased, crossing her arms as he straightened from the window.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

“Well, there’s soup on the stove if you’re hungry,” she offered, gesturing toward the kitchen.

Logan hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

They sat together at the small kitchen table, the silence between them punctuated only by the clink of spoons against ceramic.

“This is good,” Logan said after a few bites, his tone matter-of-fact.

“You sound surprised,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not surprised,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “Just impressed.”

A quiet laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Logan’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face.

As the afternoon stretched on, Logan replaced a loose floorboard in the hallway while she crocheted by the fire. The hours slipped by, marked by small exchanges and the comforting rhythm of shared tasks.

When he packed up his tools, she hesitated near the kitchen counter, her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt. “Would you want to stay for dinner?” she asked, her voice quiet but sincere.

Logan looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “Sure.”

Dinner was a simpler affair than lunch, the food more about comfort than impressing anyone. They talked in quiet bursts between bites, their conversation weaving through lighthearted topics and the occasional teasing remark.

Afterward, as she cleared the plates, Logan stood. “I’ve got it,” he said, taking the dishes from her hands and moving to the sink.

She watched him for a moment, her heart twisting at the simple kindness of the gesture. The sight of him at her sink—so at ease in her space—stirred something deep and unfamiliar.

“Thanks,” she murmured, leaning against the counter.

He nodded, scrubbing a plate with deliberate care. The steady rhythm of the water and his movements filled the quiet.

Without fully thinking it through, she stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she reached for the towel. He froze, his gaze flicking to hers, and in that moment, the world seemed to still.

Logan’s hands stilled on the last dish, his focus divided between the sound of the running water and her quiet presence behind him. As he placed the plate on the drying rack, she stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until it felt almost electric.

"You're really determined to make yourself useful, aren't you?" she teased softly, her voice light but edged with something she couldn’t quite name.

Logan turned, the towel in his hand forgotten as his gaze dropped to hers. His presence loomed in the small kitchen, grounding and overwhelming all at once.

"Figured it’s the least I can do after dinner," he said, his voice low, steady. But his eyes lingered, betraying something deeper.

Evelyn tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You’ve already done enough, Logan."

He huffed softly, his lips twitching in what might’ve been the ghost of a smirk. "Not sure about that."

The fire crackled faintly in the living room, the only sound breaking the quiet tension that hung between them. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a small step forward, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter.

"Logan," she started, but her voice faltered when his eyes locked onto hers, sharp yet unreadable.

"What?" he asked, his tone soft yet weighted.

For a moment, she froze, her breath hitching as she searched his face for hesitation, for any sign that she shouldn’t cross the line she’d been tiptoeing around all day. But there was none.

So she closed the distance.

Her hands reached out, tentative at first, resting lightly against his chest as she leaned up on her toes. Logan didn’t move, his broad frame still as though he was waiting for her to decide. And then, before she could second-guess herself, her lips met his.

The kiss started soft, uncertain, but when Logan’s hands came up to her waist, pulling her closer, it shifted. His grip was firm, grounding her as his lips moved against hers with an intensity that made her knees weak.

Her hands slid up his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening on her hips. The kitchen seemed to shrink around them, the edges of the world blurring until all she could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the quiet restraint in the way he held her.

Her back pressed against the counter as his lips trailed from hers, brushing along her jaw and down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She gasped softly, her fingers sliding into his hair as her body leaned instinctively into his.

"Logan," she murmured, her voice breathless and unsteady.

He paused, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought to catch their breath. His hands still rested at her waist, his grip steady but no longer insistent.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rough but careful.

Her heart stuttered at the question, at the tenderness beneath his words. She nodded, her fingers loosening their hold on his shirt to cup his face instead.

"Yeah," she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "It’s more than okay."

Logan exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. He kissed her again, slower this time, but no less consuming. His hands roamed her back, her shoulders, anchoring her to him as though he needed the reassurance of her presence as much as she needed his.

When they finally broke apart, her chest heaved as she leaned against him, her forehead pressing lightly to his collarbone. His fingers traced gentle patterns along her spine, the movement soothing despite the storm still raging in her chest.

"That," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she glanced up at him, "was… unexpected."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his lips quirking into a small smile.

They stood there for a long moment, the warmth of his body against hers chasing away the chill of the night.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing along her hip.

She nodded, her smile shy but genuine. "I think so."

Logan’s eyes softened, and he dipped his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before stepping back just enough to give her space.

"Good," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance that made her heart ache in the best way.

The air in the cottage felt different now—warmer, charged, like the fire in the hearth wasn’t the only thing giving off heat. Evelyn sat on the couch with a mug of tea, staring at the flames as they danced and flickered. Logan was still in the kitchen, finishing the last of the cleanup, but her mind lingered on the kiss they’d shared.

She traced the rim of her mug absently, her lips still tingling with the memory of his. It had been unexpected, yet it felt… right. Like crossing a threshold she hadn’t realized she’d been standing at for weeks. But it also terrified her. Letting someone in, even someone as steady as Logan, was a risk she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The sound of footsteps broke her reverie. Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His expression was calmer now, the intensity from earlier replaced with something quieter—more grounded.

“You’re staring at that fire like it’s got all the answers,” he said, his tone light but with that familiar edge of seriousness.

She glanced up, startled, then gave him a small smile. “Maybe I’m hoping it does.”

He pushed off the doorway and stepped closer, settling into the armchair across from her. His frame filled the space effortlessly, and even though he wasn’t touching her, his presence felt just as consuming as it had in the kitchen.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

She nodded, though her fingers tightened around the mug. “Yeah. Just… a lot to process.”

Logan didn’t rush her, didn’t push for more. He just sat there, his gaze steady and patient. She appreciated that about him—the way he let her find her footing instead of trying to drag her along.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” she admitted after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither was I,” he said, his tone carrying that same quiet honesty that seemed to anchor her.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like the room shrank around them, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of the firelight.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost blended with the crackle of the flames.

She shook her head immediately. “No. I don’t. But I’m scared.”

Logan nodded slowly, as if he’d been expecting her answer. “Scared of what?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. How could she explain the fear of opening herself up again, the fear of letting someone see all the broken pieces she was still trying to put back together?

“Of getting hurt,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Of losing�� something I didn’t even know I wanted.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not him,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched, the directness of his words cutting through her defenses like a blade.

“I know,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady on hers. “I’m not going anywhere, Evelyn. Not unless you tell me to.”

The conviction in his voice sent a ripple through her chest, a mixture of relief and fear intertwining in a way that left her feeling raw.

She looked down at her mug, her fingers tracing its rim again. “You’re… too good at this,” she murmured, her lips curving into a faint, shaky smile.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in the chair. “Just trying to be honest.”

Honesty. It was such a simple concept, yet it felt like the most complicated thing in the world. But as she looked at him—really looked at him—she realized that maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be.

“I’m trying,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I don’t know how to do this, but I’m trying.”

Logan gave her a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that spoke volumes—soft, tentative, like the air before a storm. Evelyn ran her fingers along the edge of her mug, her thoughts spiraling as she weighed her next words.

Finally, she took a deep breath and looked at him. “Can we take this slow?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the vulnerability beneath the surface. “I need time, Logan. I want to give myself to you—completely—but I need you to be patient with me.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. He sat forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned closer. “I’m not in a rush,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We do this your way.I’ll be here.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t trying to convince her, wasn’t pushing her to move faster than she could manage. He was offering her the one thing she hadn’t expected—understanding.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re worth it,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her heart stuttered at his words, the quiet confidence behind them wrapping around her like a balm. It wasn’t just the words themselves; it was the way he said them, like they were a truth he’d known all along.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone… waiting for me.”

Logan leaned back slightly, his expression softening as his lips curved into the faintest smile. “Guess I’m not like most people.”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, breaking the tension that had settled between them. “No, you’re not.”

The fire crackled softly, filling the space between their words. Evelyn set her mug down on the small table beside the couch, her hands finally still after what felt like hours of fidgeting.

“I’ll try not to drive you crazy,” she said, her tone teasing but laced with sincerity.

Logan huffed softly, the sound almost like a laugh. “I can handle it.”

She tilted her head, her smile widening as she studied him. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

He shrugged, his gaze warm but steady. “Just sure of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face her fears alone.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as her eyes momentarily lowered to her hands. Her fingers curled slightly in a hesitant, almost protective gesture. “The last person who was supposed to wait for me… left.” She cleared her throat quietly, her voice growing quieter. “Just a letter. Said he couldn’t do it.”

There was a brief pause before she looked up, meeting his gaze with a rawness she hadn’t planned to reveal. “I don’t… I don’t like to make people wait for me. It doesn’t usually go well.”

Logan’s eyes softened, his expression still calm but now carrying a hint of understanding. He didn’t speak right away, simply allowing the weight of her words to linger between them, neither pushing her nor pulling away.

After a long moment, Evelyn smiled again, though it was faint. “I’m trying to get better at it,” she added, as if to reassure herself.

Logan gave a small nod, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to try so hard with me, Evelyn.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face her fears alone.

They stayed there for a while longer, the fire burning low as the night deepened. When Logan finally stood to leave, Evelyn walked him to the door, the softness of their earlier conversation still lingering in the air.

He paused in the doorway, turning to face her. “Good night,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Good night,” she replied, her smile small but genuine.

As he stepped out into the cool night, she watched him go, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Inside, as the embers in the hearth flickered faintly, she knew this was only the beginning of something new. Something she wasn’t ready to name but was finally willing to face.

______________________________________________________________

The night air had a crisp edge, the cool breeze rustling through the pines as Logan made his way to the truck. His hand lingered on the door handle for a moment before he glanced back at the cottage. The warm glow of the windows stood out against the dark, a quiet beacon that felt more inviting than any place he’d known in years.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and as he drove away, the scent of the fire and the lingering warmth of Evelyn’s kiss stayed with him, stirring something deep and unfamiliar in his chest. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his mind replaying the evening—the way she’d smiled, the hesitance in her touch, and the softness in her eyes when she leaned in. It was dangerous, the way she was starting to make him feel like he belonged to something more than just the solitude he’d grown used to.

Inside, Evelyn leaned against the door for a moment after closing it, her fingers brushing against her lips as if to preserve the memory of the kiss. The weight that had pressed on her for months felt lighter, replaced by something warmer, steadier—a tentative hope she hadn’t dared let herself feel before.

The following morning arrived with the soft glow of winter sunlight filtering through the cottage windows. Evelyn stretched lazily, the events of the previous night replaying in her mind like a half-remembered dream. Her cheeks warmed as she recalled the kiss—the way it had ignited something within her that she wasn’t quite ready to name.

She let herself savor the memory for a moment before throwing off the covers and heading to the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the small space as she poured herself a mug, her thoughts drifting to Logan. Was he thinking about her too?

“Get a grip,” she muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

She glanced at the crocheting she’d left on the arm of the couch—a nearly finished sweater, simple but sturdy, made with care. She ran her fingers over the soft yarn, debating whether she’d be bold enough to give it to him. Would he see it as too personal? The thought sent a flutter of nerves through her chest, but the memory of his steady presence reassured her. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who overthought gestures. If he accepted it, he’d do so simply and honestly.

Meanwhile, Logan was already knee-deep in work at the logging site. The familiar rhythm of chopping wood and loading the truck was grounding, his body moving on autopilot as his mind wandered. He replayed the night before, the warmth of her touch and the way she’d looked at him—a mixture of uncertainty and trust that made his chest tighten.

“Hey, Howlett!” Rick’s voice broke through his thoughts. The wiry man leaned on his ax with a knowing grin. “You’re quieter than usual today. Something on your mind?”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.“Nothing that concerns you.”

Rick raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just saying—it’s nice to see you lightening up a bit.”

Logan huffed a soft laugh despite himself, shaking his head as he turned back to the pile of logs. The teasing didn’t bother him as much as it might have once. If anything, it reminded him of how much his life had shifted since Evelyn had entered it.

Later that day, Evelyn decided to take a walk into town. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but the exercise felt good, clearing her mind and easing some of the nervous energy that had been building since the night before. She stopped by the market to pick up a few things and exchanged pleasantries with Nancy, who greeted her with a warm smile.

“You’re glowing today,” Nancy remarked as she rang up Evelyn’s purchases.

“Am I?” Evelyn asked, her cheeks flushing.

Nancy tilted her head, her knowing smile deepening. “Must be something in the air.”

Evelyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “Or maybe it’s just the cold.”

As she stepped out of the market, the brisk air nipped at her cheeks, carrying with it the quiet hum of the town going about its day. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her thoughts wandering back to the vest she’d left on the couch and the man it was meant for.

She hesitated at the corner, the familiar path to her cottage stretching ahead of her. But instead of turning toward home, her feet stilled, the decision forming before she fully realized it. Maybe it was Nancy’s words, or maybe it was the nagging feeling in her chest, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait any longer.

Deciding to take a chance, she turned on her heel and started walking toward the logging company. The closer she got, the more her nerves began to hum, but she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t going to let fear hold her back—not this time

When she arrived at the logging site, the steady rhythm of work filled the air—axes chopping, saws buzzing, and the occasional shout as logs were loaded onto trucks. A few of the men glanced her way, their expressions ranging from curious to friendly.

One of the older men, a broad-shouldered guy with a kind face, stepped forward, wiping his hands on his flannel shirt. “You must be looking for Logan,” he said, his voice gruff but welcoming, his eyes crinkling at the edges with a knowing smile.

Evelyn nodded, clutching the bag of groceries she’d brought with her. “Is he here?”

The man exchanged a glance with a younger logger nearby, who smirked knowingly before returning to his work. “He’s out back,” the older man said, gesturing toward a narrow path that disappeared into the woods. “Just follow that trail there. Can’t miss him.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling politely.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone softening as he looked at her more closely. “And, miss, if you don’t mind me saying… it’s good to see Logan getting a little company.”

Another man, leaning against the bed of a truck, chimed in with a teasing grin, “Yeah, he’s been in a better mood lately. Not sure what’s changed, though.”

The older man shot him a warning look, but there was no malice in his tone. “Alright, alright. Don’t scare her off. Go on, miss—he’s just down that way.”

Evelyn felt her cheeks warm as she ducked her head. “Thanks again,” she said before heading toward the trail, her nerves tingling with each step.

As she walked away, she heard one of the men mutter, “Lucky guy. About time someone cracked that shell of his.”

______________________________________________________________

As she made her way down the narrow path, the sounds of the logging site faded into the distance. The trees grew denser, their bare branches weaving into a canopy above. Finally, she spotted him—Logan, shirt sleeves rolled up despite the cold, his ax moving with steady precision as he split a log in two.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him work. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, his strength and focus blending into an almost meditative rhythm. Finally, she cleared her throat, stepping into view.

Logan glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I figured it was time for me to return the favor,” she said, holding up the small paper bag. “Brought you something sweet.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, setting the ax down as he approached. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I wanted to.”

He took the bag from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. The touch lingered in the space between them before he cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

They found a spot near the edge of the clearing to sit. The quiet hum of the woods surrounded them, the distant sound of axes and machinery fading into the background. Logan opened the bag, pulling out a neatly wrapped pastry—something soft and golden, the faint scent of cinnamon wafting from it.

“Cinnamon rolls?” he asked, his brow lifting slightly.

“They’re Nancy’s,” Evelyn said, brushing her hands over her knees nervously. “I figured you could use something sweet after all this hard work.”

He huffed softly—a sound close to a laugh—and took a bite, his expression softening as he chewed. “Not bad.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Nancy you approve.” she teased, her grin widening.

Logan smirked faintly, finishing the roll in a few bites. As they sat there, the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by comfortable silences that felt more like pauses than gaps. She told him about Nancy’s insistence on her trying the cinnamon rolls, and he shared a few dry observations about the logging crew’s antics.

When the rolls were gone, Logan leaned back against a tree, his arms resting on his knees as he studied her with that quiet, unreadable gaze. “You didn’t just come all this way to bring me cinnamon rolls, did you?”

Evelyn hesitated, her heart pounding as his words hung in the air. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to see you.”

Logan’s expression softened, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I know,” she said, her voice growing steadier.” She hesitated, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap before she looked back at him. “I want to try—to let you in. I’m just… not great at this.”

Logan studied her quietly, the faint breeze ruffling his hair as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t have to be great at it,” he said, his voice low but steady. He paused, his gaze softening as it lingered on hers. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

His words settled over her like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of her nerves. A small, grateful smile tugged at her lips.

They lingered in the clearing for a little longer, their conversation flowing more easily now. It wasn’t anything grand—just small observations, quiet moments of shared understanding—but it felt important. Real. When Logan finally stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans, he nodded toward the path leading back to the logging site.

“Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ll walk you back.”

Evelyn felt the warmth of Logan’s presence beside her, the steady sound of his boots crunching against the forest floor grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected.

When they reached the edge of the logging site, she turned to face him, her nerves humming faintly. “Thanks for walking me back,” she said, her voice softer now.

Logan nodded, his gaze steady on hers. “Anytime.”

There was a brief pause, the kind of moment that stretched and swelled with unspoken possibilities. Then, acting on an impulse she didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to ignore, Evelyn leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. It was soft, fleeting, but it carried the weight of her promise—a promise to try, to let him in, even if it scared her.

When she pulled back, her cheeks warmed, she glanced away, biting back a shy smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Logan’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks, his hand brushing against hers briefly before he stepped back. “Yeah. Later.”

As she walked away, her footsteps light on the gravel path, Logan watched her go, the smirk lingering on his face. He turned to find a few of the guys standing nearby, their expressions ranging from amused to smug.

“Not a word,” Logan muttered, his tone carrying a warning edge.

One of the older men chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Another chimed in, grinning. “I call best man.”

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real heat behind the word. As the crew laughed and returned to their work, Logan found himself glancing back at the path where she’d disappeared, the memory of her kiss still lingering like an ember refusing to fade.

______________________________________________________________

The walk back to her cottage felt lighter than it had in weeks, the crisp air no longer carrying the same weight it usually did.

By the time she reached her porch, the cottage’s familiar charm greeted her like a warm embrace. The fire she’d left burning in the hearth had settled into glowing embers, and as she stepped inside, the quiet solitude of her home felt different now.

She set the bag from the market on the counter, unpacking the remaining items while her mind continued to wander. There was still so much she didn’t know about Logan, so many layers to the man who had somehow become her anchor in this small, quiet town. But for the first time, the uncertainty didn’t feel overwhelming.

Instead, it felt… hopeful.

As she settled onto the couch, her crocheting in her lap, she glanced out the window. The stars above Clearwater twinkled brightly, the kind of vast, open sky she never got used to. Her fingers moved instinctively over the yarn, weaving a familiar pattern into something new, something for him.

She wasn’t sure where this path with Logan would lead—whether it would be smooth or full of unexpected turns—but she knew she wanted to see it through. She wanted to let him in, to take that chance.

And judging by the way her chest felt lighter tonight, she was finally ready to try.

______________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, back at the logging site, Logan finished loading the last stack of logs onto the truck, his body moving on autopilot. His mind, however, was miles away—back in the clearing, where her soft laugh still echoed faintly in his ears.

“Good day, huh?” one of the crew teased as they packed up for the evening.

Logan shot him a sidelong glance, but there was no heat behind it. “Just finish loading the truck,” he muttered, though the faint smirk on his face didn’t go unnoticed.

As he climbed into his truck and drove home, the rhythmic hum of the engine did little to drown out the thoughts swirling in his mind. Her warmth, her laughter, the way her lips had curved into that tentative smile—it was all imprinted on him now, like a map leading to something he didn’t fully understand but was willing to follow.

For the first time in years, the road ahead didn’t feel so empty.

______________________________________________________________

Back at the cottage, Evelyn set aside her crocheting and climbed into bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin. The weight of the day settled over her—not heavy or burdensome, but grounding, like she was finally finding her footing.

As sleep claimed her, the warmth of Logan’s presence remained, lingering in the corners of her thoughts and in the quiet certainty of her heart.

They were both moving slowly, cautiously, but for the first time in a long time, they were moving forward.

Together

Chapter 4

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[fairestbeard]

Heat and dry ice. (A Sydcarmy fanfic)

Carmy felt crazy all day. It was a hectic day doing prep and overhauling the previous menu format and rearranging everything while in the worst place he’d ever been with Syd. She still wasn’t talking to him but they had to work together and be polite while jamming and revamping the menu.

It was all so unlike her to give just enough and nothing more in terms of ideas. He was always the one to reign her in when her great ideas got away with her and became too much and she was the one who inspired him to go further than the box he usually confined himself to.

Now, while her ideas where still great- excellent even, they didn’t seem as inspired. She looked sad. She looked tired, almost resigned. She also seemed to avoid him at all costs. She clocked out earlier than usual now, most times Luca hanging around to pick her up at close of work. He had only a week more to stay and was obviously using it wisely, making sure to see Syd everyday, much to Carmy's annoyance.

Which is why the vibe he got lately was jarring and confusing. The space between them felt a little more charged, even through the cold air that swirled around them. He could always feel her presence when she was anywhere near. One time he had caught her eyes on him for a moment and it seemed filled with among other things- and it was completely bonkers to even think of that word, but- longing? He felt even crazier this morning when he had to squeeze past her while she, Richie, Tina and Marcus congregated by the fridge to read a review he didn’t particularly care about, ignoring all calls of “behind”.

It was just a moment. It wasn’t enough to make him lose his mind like this. Or maybe thinking that it even happened, or could have happened, was a symptom of him completely losing his mind at this point. Anyway, it had felt like, for a fleeting second while he brushed past her, her back to him, she had ever so slightly…leaned into him? He had tried to brush it away from his mind as much as he could but his body stayed heavy with the feeling of her body cupped against his and he didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to shake it off. He knew he had to be making stuff up in his head again. It was hard to tell when he’s mind was messing with him.

The day trudged on. He carried his weight around like a wet sponge and tried to use what logical part of his brain was still hanging on to brainstorm with Syd some more. They were putting finishing touches to a duck dish and it felt like she was trying today more than usual. The dish came out excellent and Carmy was very grateful.

“This is really good. Thank you, Chef” he said , watching her face.

“Yeah. Thank you too. This is something.” she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s amazing actually" he just wanted to keep them talking  “I wouldn’t have thought about this. Really, you’re amazing at this.”

He was hoping for a smile, a kindly look, anything to dispel a bit of the dry ice that that floated between them. Instead he was stopped cold by the look of exasperation that crossed over her face.

“Yeah, sure, okay” she said in a dry tone and walked off.

He closed his eyes and steadied himself. This had to stop. He needed her to say something. Anything about what’s she’s feeling or what he'd done to warrant her attitude lately. He watched her talk briefly to Tina at the garde de manger, then walk off into the fridge. Perfect.

He followed behind, making sure he wasn’t being too obvious especially to Marcus, who was riveted by some other purple delicious contraption he was cooking up. He opened the door gently so as to not make a noise with it.

She had her forehead pressed against the fennel container, face angled away from the door. She seemed to be taking slow deep breaths and the sight of her made his heart lurch. He would do anything to make her feel better. Make them okay again. She didn’t notice him come in, and if she did she didn’t show it. He walked quietly towards her and was very close when she turned around.

The look in her eyes was disarming. Her beautiful face, ever so sad and full of questions knocked the wind out him. Whatever words he hadn’t even planned got stuck in his throat. He just wanted to physically reach out to her. Touch her. He saw her eyes scan his face from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes again and found his body reacting faster than he could think. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

He didn’t have any plans. He just left them there for a moment, pressed against hers while he could feel his heartbeat hammering through his ears. He felt her tense up for a second then relax again. Then he felt her gently lean into him too and move her lips around his to part them. She slid her hand up towards his shoulder as he took her in and it was then he realized his hands had been hanging loose. He cradled her face with one hand and found the small of her back with the other, pulling her into him.

The feeling of the inside of her lips as she gently pried his and slid her tongue into his mouth sent an indescribable feeling through him. Kind of like a tingling and a buzzing. He’d been kissed before but not like this. He didn’t know a kiss could feel like this. A thousand flashes were going off in his brain and though he could feel every single sensation course through his body, it felt like he was having an out of body experience. He felt like he was standing at the uppermost part of his brain, staring down at the most insane scenario he could ever conjure up in his mind.

It lasted forever but only a second at the same time. There was a ringing in his head but not the kind he usually got that made him want to crack his skull open. This was pure pleasure. He felt it in every inch of his body. He could hear his own moans at a distance. He couldn’t even control what he was doing, all sense of self consciousness melted away from him. He could only mirror her motions, her lips caressing his and her tongue darting and prodding and teasing the insides of his mouth. It was too much and not enough. His hand pressed on to the small of her back for dear life. He could feel her trembling lightly and heard her moan softly as they glided over each other and swayed and staggered and finally lightly crashed into the shelves.

The small shock of the crash must have brought them to their senses because he felt Syd tense up again, so he slowed down and broke free. She looked down, her breathing shaky.

“Hey” he whispered to her, bending his face to level with hers but she was looking away.

“Syd, hey, look at me.” he implored, touching her left shoulder. She pulled away and looked towards the door as if indicating to him someone might come in. He stepped back a little, realizing they looked too compromising still.

“I just… we can’t” she said backing further away.

“I know. I’m sorry. Can we just…”

It was no use finishing as she was already walking away. He closed his eyes as he heard the fridge door close behind her. The moment felt unreal. He dug his nails into his skin to make sure it wasn’t a dream, afterall. It wasn’t .

He was shocked by his own audacity. And the response that followed. How was this even possible? For how long has this been possible?

He was still buzzing all over. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” he muttered to himself as despair washed over him. “Idiot. Idiot.”

He leaned back on the shelves, eyes closed, took deep breaths and waited a while in there till he stopped shaking. By the time he got back in the kitchen, he could sense she was already gone.

P.s: This is my first fanfic ever. I'm not even really a fanfic person and didn't even want to post it but here goes. 🙈 Anyway, hope it's not totally terrible.

[esteemed-excellency]

OC SMASH OR PASS

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

I was tagged by @bardusgate (poll: x) thanks bestie! 💖💖

You all know my blorbo (last portrait by @letters-of-fire)

Name: Hiram Howell Hastings Hargrave

Age: 65 45

Gender: queer

Sexuality: pansexual

🌹 Propaganda for:

Good conversationalist, attentive and polite.

Engaging personality.

Good sense of humour, even if a bit morbid sometimes.

He's always courteous, and knows how to turn small gestures of courtesy into romantic displays.

He's a really good dancer.

Aways pays for everything on dates.

Will play music and read poetry to you.

Will spoil you with gifts.

Soft curls, very clean, loves flowery perfumes.

Throws amazing parties.

🚩 Propaganda against:

[Scandal is increasing...]

He's an incorrigible risk-seeker and he will enable all your destructive habits for fun.

He likes to create problems on purpose when he gets bored. And he gets bored pretty often.

Extensive criminal record.

Will keep offering you dubious beverages.

He can't shut up about The Horrors, he loves The Horrors (this is a good thing if you're A Horror, or a Horrors appreciator).

He can get too intense or too detached without warning.

You will get bad deja-vus if you look in his eyes for too long.

Mirrors bleed around him sometimes.

He's always plotting and scheming. Believe me, you don't want to know his secrets, and you don't want him knowing yours.

I'm tagging some mutuals and everyone else who wants to do this, it would be fun to see more oc polls in the fl fandom! @thunder-threnodies @that-giorgione @the-dye-stained-socialite @thedeafprophet @zeebreezin @viric-dreams @waterlogged-detective @velvetlinedbox @violant-apologia @capn-twitchery

[mushroomates]

samwise gamgee headcanons:

enjoys doing the dishes and folding laundry

love language is quality time or acts of service

likes to give sprouts and seedlings to friends and neighbors

nerd about mushrooms and has a mushroom log growing in his closet

keeps a hoard of ladybugs to deploy at any time

windowsill is lined with old jars and bottles, filled with clippings for propagation

he gives the best slices of pie and best baked cookies to others. will keep “defects” for himself- they taste just as good

favorite cookies are “everything but the kitchen sink” where he throws a bunch of stuff into the bowl (fruit, pretzels, nuts) and puts it into a cookie

has like 80 pillows on every couch/bed/chair

in addition to the 50-something blankets also piled high

“please, have a seat” he says. ha, no. any surface you could possibly settle onto is adorned with elaborate spreads of throws and such.

has a fruitcake that is legit an heirloom. it’s so stale it’s a brick. you can use it as a doorstop, stepping-stool, or a bludgeoning weapon. (note: has been used for all. he once chucked it at a late night visitor. this is how he learned frodo takes late walks at night. this is also how frodo learned that sam has an arm on him)

his great aunt made it forever ago and honestly he doesn’t know if it’s still good. he keeps it around because it’s been with him so long he feels bad throwing it out.

likes pecan pie! goes nuts (pun intended) for it.

roast his own chestnuts, pecans and walnuts. has a strange grudge against macadamia nuts. (almost choked on one as a child)

very cozy. has scarves and mittens and even slippers (GASP) at the ready

likes to watch the rain with a cup of tea for hours on end

takes his tea with honey, two sugars, and cream. it barely counts as tea.

enjoys bubble baths.

guerrilla gardening. sam is a force to be reckoned with on this front. he is a strong advocate for native plants and will gut someone over deforestation.

carries a salt shaker filled with seeds everywhere. kind of just. shakes it around empty plots of land.

has a hostile land grab once a month and slowly expands the baggin’s garden by an inch, until it takes up nearly the whole estate.

has a great misconception about the appropriate amount to discuss you garden with someone. this is because:

he tends to talk about this to frodo, who will listen, good naturedly

frodo also prevents anyone from talking over sam or changing the subject

most hobbits are to polite (passive aggressive) and don’t have the skills to subtly change the subject in a way sam understands

and if he does recognize the effort he will avoid it

likes to try new recipes but at the same time never follows them

knows a great deal about farming hemp. this is because merry and pippin recruited him into their pipeweed shenanigans and now sam has unintentionally created a strain of the good stuff that has hobbits traveling miles to get their hands on

loves his houseplants like children. they have names and backstory and a rich inner life that he has created that could fill a book

is fighting a battle with english ivy at the moment and only slightly loosing it. it’s suffocating the tree outside his house and he’s not very happy with it.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Pregnant Reader - Part 3

So after the final part of Not So Single Mom I realised I still had a few more parts planned for the pregnant reader fic so while we have a little writing momentum - here we are with part 3. Hope you guys enjoy!

Part One

Part Two

You press a hand to your stomach, smiling as you feel the movement beneath.  Your little girl was a dancer, it felt like. 

“Oooh, is she on the move again?” asks Janine, dropping down to sit next to you.

“And apparently determined to get somewhere,” you chuckle as you feel the baby shift.  “You want to feel?”

She gasps.  “Really?”

You shrug.  “If you want to?”

“Yes!” she grins.  “Definitely yes.”  She holds out a hand, grinning as you take hold of it and settle it against your stomach.  Janine squeals when she feels the baby move beneath her hand. 

“You trying out to be the new fire alarm or somethin’?” asks Melissa as she enters the breakroom, a frown already on her face at the high pitched noise as she heads for the coffee machine.

“The baby’s moving,” grins Janine.

The red head’s eyes zero in on the spot where Janine’s hand rests against your stomach.  “And that gives you an excuse to get handsy, does it?”

The younger woman shrinks back at Melissa’s words, her hand quickly retracted back to her own lap.  “I should get going, I have things to get set up anyway.”

You watch the younger woman go.  “’Lissa, I offered to let her feel.  It’s not like she just decided to get hands on herself.”

“Good, or she’d find finger painting difficult soon.”

Rolling your eyes at the implied threat you can’t help but smile at her possessiveness.  It’s nice to still feel wanted and protected even though you feel the size of a school bus.  Your smile only grows as you watch her prepare not only her own coffee, but a mug for you, ensuring that yours comes from the special jar of decaffeinated she picked up for you. 

*

Janine isn’t the only one to be excited at the prospect of the baby moving, quite a few of your colleagues all too eager to have the chance to feel the life moving inside you.  To say Melissa does not share their enthusiasm is putting it lightly.  You have to hand it to her though, after her initial snap at Janine, she’s been subtle by her standards.  A curling of her fingers into a fist.  A scowl.  A glare. 

One day, however, you hear it; she growls.  You’re seeing your kids off at the end of the day and one of the mother’s hands has apparently wandered a little too far and lingered a little too long for the red head’s liking.  You turn to see her standing at the top if the steps, arms crossed, stony expression on her face.  Politely saying goodbye to your student’s mother, you make your way up the steps to stand in front of the red head.  You reach for her hands, untucking them from her arms and placing them against your stomach.

“You can’t kill them all, you know.”

She frowns. 

“I’ve seen the looks you’ve been throwing at people.”

Her eyes drop to where her hands rest against you and she shrugs.  “I just don’t like people with their hands all over you.”

“’Lissa, there is precisely one person who gets to have their hands all over me and she’s standing right in front of me.”

“But-“

You shake your head.  “They’re excited.  That’s all.  The baby is exciting for them too, especially now she’s started her gymnastics.  It’ll be old news to them soon enough but let them be excited for a while.  Let them be excited about your daughter.”

*

You sit back in your chair with a sigh.  “Seriously, little one, you gotta give the tap dancing break.”  Reaching for your phone, you quickly type out a message to Melissa, asking if she can swing by your classroom when she has a moment.  Barely sixty seconds later you hear familiar footsteps rushing along the corridor.  A few moments later the red head appears in your doorway, hands clinging to the frame to halt her momentum. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her worry for you and your daughter never far away.

“You didn’t have to come running,” you say as she enters your classroom, green eyes roving over your frame, head tilting questioningly to the side when she finds nothing amiss.  “I said when you had a minute.”

She shrugs.  “I always got a minute for you and the baby.”

At this, you smile.  You smile because it’s true.  It doesn’t matter how busy, how tired or what else happens in her life, she will make time.  There are times you feel guilty, but somehow, she always manages to persuade you your guilt is unwarranted.  “I need you to tell your daughter to quit throwing a tantrum on my bladder.”

When Melissa frowns you reach out your hands, taking hold of hers and slipping them under the loose jumper you wear.  “I don’t know what voodoo magic you pull but just do what you do.”

Automatically, she moves her hands against your skin and after a few moments you smile in relief. 

Tilting her head, she regards you curiously. 

“She settles when it’s you,” you tell her.

“Really?”

You nod, covering her hands with your own.  “It took me a while to figure out, but yeah.  When it’s your hands she stills.  It’s the same at night in bed too, especially when you speak to her.  She knows you.” 

Melissa tries to hide a sniffle, but the tears glistening in her eyes give her away.

“Turns out she’s just as fussy as her mama as to who has their hands on me.”

[nightmareworks]

hi i have been Cooking lancer fic

Once again, we meet Union Auxiliary Pilot, (28th Voidcombat Division, Mercenary Wing Bravo,) ["Kingfishers",] Callsign- VI The Lovers. We meet Miss Allison Wax (she/her) [Her Body, a borrowed face]

And her Loverboy (he/him) [Stone Butch Death Machine]

(both art gotten from @skycrimedraws who NAILS IT EVERY TIME BABY)

"Hey boss man," The words fell out of her lips, halfway through (the next words were a question) when her CO interrupts with "I told you not to call me that." She stops. (She doesn't flinch, its not flinching.) [She kind of just needs to run through some maybes.] For just that moment, there's no one in the body in front of the CO. And then she starts again, words coming back out. "Alright, alright. CO, what's the job you got lined up for me and my Loverboy?" The CO gestured to the spare chair with a file, and Allison picked her way across the floor. (She walked on the tips of her toes, even in the sneakers.) [She walked with a gait to big for her body, like her legs were blades.] {She's En Pointe} She pulled out the chair and sat, crossing a leg across her lap and looking at the CO through her bangs. "The next mission shouldn't be for a while yet, Miss Wax." The CO's voice was always even, collected. That's why they were the CO. That's why they wore Union Grays and Allison wore what she always did. (Just put clothes on Her body) [What kind of clothes did She wear before Allison?] A thought dismissed with the disappointment of nearlight engines. "Really now, CO? How long are you gonna keep me up? More time in medbay?" The CO shakes their head, opening files, going through them. The work seems endless, running a Merc Lance. (But what's Alllison gotta worry about work?) [Gets to wound up, being in a ship conapt too long without her Loverboy.]

"So is it more time with the headmeds?" The CO looks up from the papers and gives that kind of pained smile as Allison snatches a file off the table to read. (One of the ones with the Mission Seal on it.) [Can't read Unionite Legalese for shit.] "No, Miss Wax, you're scheduled for wind-down, but you don't need to go see one of the after-action therapists- unless you feel the need of course." So she started paging through the mission file, going over the after action reports compiled from her Loverboy (From his eye, from his soul.) [The stars are beautiful at 2,000 kmph.] "So there's really no jobs, CO? Not even basic patrols? I get bored when I'm stuck down too long." The CO holds out their hand, and she returns the file. (She likes to feel like she earns her keep.) [That's just polite, for all the things Union offers.] "Miss Wax," the CO begins "I understand that talented pilots get odd without flight." That's the thing about Grays- they're willing to work with you more than they aren't. (Its not that Allison thought they were pushovers.) [Just the most reasonable kind of people, mostly.] I can organize testflights for you, if you see that there isn't more work for the technicians." There's what she wants to hear (But not quite).

"Work's good for me, CO. You wouldn't let a butterfly starve in a jar, would you?" The CO folds the file closed. (Her file.) [The one that says "Obvious signs of long-term Chronos exposure."] Doctors let you read files out this way. Its nice to know they care, at least. CO gives their answer. "Miss Wax, war's a failure and you're a contingency. Glory only comes with time. Take your mech out, call it a patrol if that helps, but my job is to make sure the mercenaries stay healthy and stay flying." There's more, Allison knows there's more, and she stops a moment. For that split second, she's not in Her body. Allison is watching Her sit there, in the chair, in Allison's clothes, across from the CO. (The look on their face is kind of worried.) [People still caught in their meat don't like being reminded of it's hold on them.] Allison picks a maybe, a series of words that seem right, and then the moment is over, and she's back in Her body. "So where are we headed, CO? You can at least let me prepare for the future."

"We're headed to Dawnline, Miss Wax. There'll be work aplenty for you in the Long Rim and beyond."

======

The cavalry technician looked up at the frame he was gonna work on. It was a custom job, one of the Lancers that the Aux had brought onboard when coming out of the Range. Long haul ships for Union do that sometimes, guard presence in exchange for amnesty and escape. Good people get trapped places. He just wasn't sure whoever flew this thing was the best kinda people. "Beautiful damn monster you are." The mechtech murmured under his breath, looking through a sheaf of printouts. Specs for the machine in front of him, an IPS-N Frame the pilot apparently fit together herself. He didn't, really trust the speed listed under its maximum output. That kind of speed would make someone grayout (The speed at which the blood of a human body begins to pool in the limbs, causing the pilot to lose consciousness). Redout even. [The point of g-force at which the brain is starved of blood, and dies.]

He looked up again at the machine and saw it was staring back at him, great singular eye tracking along its axis, to cast its baleful red upon him. He noted it, and looked back to his notes. Looking for if this thing had a casket it in, a C/C programmed to play tricks. The normal shit pilots pull on their technicians. He came up around the great black thing in its bay, and stared it in the eye from the gantry. It stared back, body making the clittering hiss of a mech at rest. (Mechanized Cavalry frames that are in regular usage are rarely quite things.) Coolant pumped through the entire frame, keeping the coldcore under wraps until it really needed to go. Fusion engines, power-reroutes designed along the Albatross style… where the verniers and thrusters aren't shaped for an RPV. (Remote Pilot Vehicles aren't uncommonly retrofitted for pilot use, he notes under his breath) [Under that red eye.] He eyes them again, as the giant thing keeps staring. There isn't any record of a computer smart enough to do anything of worth on this machine.

It was strictly Turning-Compliant, according to the CO's paperwork. That left the damages to repair. Bits of slagged armor along the leg-blades and shoulder plating. Nothing a few hours work with the rigs wouldn't fix. The mechtech flicked a few switches and brought the frame up to the light, to the arms that pulled and printed in smooth motions as his fingers danced across the keys. It was slower going than he thought. And the mech was making a noise. It was keening, a clatter-chatter at once both rumbling low and piercingly high. Something was wrong with the feedback from the mech-harness, reporting simple and blunt legionspace attacks. Best the cavalry technician could manage was to remove the offending plates before the assembly limbs gave up and stalled. That's when a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice rang in his ear. "My Loverboy doesn't know you, mechtech, but I do. Gimmie a minute to settle him down and you can get back to work."

The girl walks past him then, almost teeter-tottering as she glides across the floor on the tips of her shoes. She moves her legs wrong, picking her way as much as stepping. The cavalry tech looks at the mech's legs and puts together the kind of pilot he's dealing with. The kind that have gone in a direction past human, hunting for something else. (He'd never really known someone in full body prosthesis) [Was rare, in his neck of the galaxy.] She moves like her mech even as she steps off the gantry and onto its chest, placing hands against the grinning skull. Ever since she came in, the eye's been locked onto her alone. He worries and wonders what kind of monster he's got to work on now.

===

He screams for her, against the void, he tears away from the cling-gravity of the UNS-CV Paris (Like the commune, she offers) [Like lights, the therapist offers back.] But the past doesn't matter when the future is laid out in the bleeding world of 2000 kmph. She was safe from everything, safe from Gravity itself as she lay coiled in her Loverboy's guts, aching through Chronos haze and picking his flight path for him as a beautiful dance. She wanted him to run through his paces, and he was eager to please. To show her what he could do. How he was built for her. Like a butterfly flitting across a windless sky, like a shark dancing through a school of fish- Loverboy puts on a show for his girl.

She's spinning him a dance, putting the engine to its test. Her Loverboy screams for his girl as he dances, frame keening against the speed and void. (Allison watches Her legs twist against the seat.) [That's how she knew the engine was art] {State-of-the-art affection} She doesn't like to think about home. Not home anymore, and not worth thinking about. More Gravity shorn free from her under the speed. So what's it worth if its pulled away so easily? Home wasn't ever home, no matter how much anyone told Allison it was. What's where you're born compared to where you'll be? (What's the flesh you were born in but another place to be trapped in?) Allison feels her brain reel as Loverboy spins in a piroutte ascending. It doesn't spin in place, but it recognizes the forces working upon it as her Loverboy pulls into a rise. (The snap from horizontal to vertical would snap necks.) [But when you don't have Gravity, moving is easier.]

Verniers howl with force as Allison considers Her. (And the changes Allison had made to Her.) [Would She mind? Would She understand?] There are protective tendons, built from the same kind of whipcord steel that run through Loverboy. There are stabilization systems built into her braincase, that absorb and disperse the shock of sudden shifts of g-force. There's a dozen, a hundred little aftermarket touches to Her body that Allison has made. (But is it really that bad, when the body is aftermarket?) [When the body wasn't built for you.] Allison still watches Her, curled as Allison left Her. (Back curved gentle. Arms on knees, resting eyes against forearm.) [The clunky implants hooking Her to Loverboy peek their tubes from beneath Her shirt] She was still perfect. Still beautiful. Everything Allison had wanted to be back then. There She was, with Allison's brain in Her body, Allison's Loverboy hooked through feeds to Her back.

Allison reached in the stopped little flaring moments between directing Loverboy through his dance. They were all the same moment. Allison reached out, and cradled Her face, and said Her name. Something Allison couldn't ever know. (How was she supposed find Her? Long way from Ketherese.) [From everything from that life.] Everything but her Loverboy. He counts the micromovements of her eyes. His own whirrs and focuses, keening as the scopes hone in on a target and his body twists with his girl's desire. He counts the times she stops existing as a presence registered at the controls. He rolls over and considers in his clicking thoughts the ways he loves her. His adoration burns in him as retros flare and he lands blades first, touching against an asteroid with the grace of a butterfly upon a blossom. His thoughts turn and his computers chitter and churn. His whitewash tanks purge into rawmat resivors and a new batch is rapidly encoded, new chains of acids and code written by mute-drive, a silent organ buried deep in his frame, coiled round and through his girl.

The Hyperkinesis Module develops a novel admixture of nanites and adrenaline and feeds through the connection to Allison, filling her endocrine system with a soothing electricity synchronized to readouts and full reports of engine efficiencies, micrometeor grazes, and heat venting. (His body hisses for her, waste gas for heat disperial in null atmosphere environments) [He bares his heart to her, reactor dropping as he stretches against the asteroid.] Allison leans forward, the Chronos uptake stretching from her back and into the cockpit's back wall. (Little tubes running up to her spine and kidneys) [One of the other aftermarket touches to Her body.] Allison's face reaches through the holoscreen outputs of Loverboy's eye. She kisses the armored outer hull of her cockpit. (She stands to her toes.) And her Loverboy gently touches off the asteroid, into the void, gently floating in the empty place beyond Gravity.

Allison lowers her oxygen uptake, and rides the Chronos her Loverboy made for her. (She dreams like an editor.) [Looking at scenes and picking them.] A wash along the nervous system, stuttering climbing up her spinal column and into the brainstem. She dreams of Ketherese, and what was left behind. Consider the Gravity that's been shed. (In the embrace of her Loverboy.) [Memories are the only thing you can't shed.] Her grandfather's dirt is far from everything she'll ever see again. No one will see the frontiers she sees. (Allison will see things even She'll never see.) [Or maybe they'll see the same stars some day.] {Face-to-borrowed-face.}

No one she had ever known would see what she sees, know what she knows. (She'd shed them, like her old body.) [Like Gravity.]

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 1: "I've Got You"

Draco Malfoy had had more than his fair share of humiliating moments. There seemed to be no shortage of things in his memory that made him simply want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment, but this had to be one of the most horrifically mortifying things to ever happen to him.

His bank card was being declined at the check out. Face and neck heating horribly, he looked at the items he had to try to decide what to put back; a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a jar of apple sauce, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, and a container of yogurt. "Oh," he said, heart racing as he tried to get past his anxiety to make a decision.

"Here," the man in line behind him said, "I've got you."

He turned, ready to decline his help, but those words fell away in favor of a spluttered, "Potter?"

"Hey, Malfoy," the other man said, nudging him out of the way with his elbow to insert his own card into the machine.

"No-" he started, too late.

Potter looked over at him, then back at his card, "I've got it," he said softly. And somehow there was compassion and understanding in his voice without any pity.

"I-" he tried again, looking at the fresh fruits and vegetables, the rice and potatoes, meats, and other delicious foods that Potter had piled on the belt behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he said before Draco could get any other words out. "Seriously," he added, looking at Draco from under his fringe, looking like he was the one feeling embarrassed as he pulled his card out of the machine and a receipt was printed.

Draco took his bag from the cashier and all but fled the store.

He wasn't too far, though, when he heard a set of footsteps jogging to catch up with him. "Hey-"

"Thank you," he said politely, "I-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "Don't thank me. I just-" he broke off and Draco stared, waiting for him to continue.

When no other words were forth coming, he said, "If you were wanting to make fun of me-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. Shit," he ran his hand through his hair. "Look, come to my house for dinner."

He blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just making up a stir fry," he rambled on, "Nothing fancy just some rice, peppers, snap peas, onions, broccoli, steak, and some teriyaki sauce-"

"I'm fine," Draco said, even as his stomach growled at the thought of eating some actual fresh vegetables.

"Please," Potter said, grabbing his wrist to prevent Draco from turning away.

"Why?" he asked and he wondered if Potter could hear all of the questions in his head why would you help me? What's in it for you? Why aren't you mocking me? Do you just want to mock me in your home? What will this cost me?

Potter swallowed and looked down at his feet, "I know what it's like to not have enough," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Just," he huffed, "Come on. Let me feed you dinner. Please."

"You have an insufferable martyr complex." he snapped but before he could go anywhere, Potter spoke up again.

"My aunt and uncle," he said, "they didn't feed me enough. I fucking hate peanut butter sandwiches. No one should eat them day in and out. Just," he shook his head, "let me make you some dinner. You don't have to stay to eat it, you don't have to talk to me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"And that's it? You just want me to come to your house and eat your food?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Potter said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to drag you to my house or anything because that would be creepy," he said when Draco didn't reply, still weighing his options, "but I'd really like to do this for you."

"Alright," he whispered, still feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed but also a deep longing for vegetables.

Potter grinned at him, bright and charming, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Brilliant. Come on then."

And that was the first time that Draco found himself having dinner with Harry Potter, but it certainly wasn't the last.

By the time he left that evening, with a full belly and a container of leftovers, he'd let himself be convinced to come back the following week. A weekly dinner on Wednesday became a Wednesday dinner and a Saturday dinner, which became dinner every other night. And then before he quite knew how it had happened, he was at his house every night for dinner, staying later and later like he never wanted to leave.

Because the truth was that he didn't want to leave. Harry listened to him talk about his dreams, about how hard he was working in the muggle nursing program he was enrolled in, about his shitty job that didn't pay enough. He loved Harry's cat, Milo. He loved looking at Harry's art and listening to him talk about the creative process of making it. He loved hearing about Harry's childhood and getting to talk about his own. He loved having someone to do the mundane things in life with like cooking, chatting, watching telly, even just having someone to sit on the other end of the couch while he studied.

Still it took him by surprise one evening when they were making waffles and bacon for dinner, Harry was at the stove and Draco was cutting up strawberries, when the other man said, "Hey, Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed around the strawberry that he'd popped in his mouth.

"You know how your job is shit?"

He laughed, "I do. Thanks for reminding me."

"Right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "But what if you didn't have to pay rent, would that make things easier?"

"It would," he said slowly, not allowing his heart to rise, not allowing himself to hope.

Harry nodded, "Do you think you might ever consider moving in with me?" he asked. "No pressure or anything, but I have an extra room," he continued, "well, five, actually. And Sirius gave me the house, so I own it, and-"

"Harry," he said softly, fingers lighting on the other man's bicep to get him to slow down. "I would love to, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"You wouldn't have to," he said earnestly. "If you're not paying for rent, you could maybe help with the cost of groceries, if you feel like you need to. But I don't have a ton of expenses, and I have a stupid amount of money, and a ridiculously large house for one person," he babbled. "And I just really like you," he blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You like me?"

Harry nodded, hand still firmly in place over his mouth.

"I like you too," he said softly. "But I don't want you to feel like I only like you because of what you can give me."

He dropped his hand, a tiny smile blossoming on his face, "I hoped you might." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand, "I don't think that you only like me for what I can give you. You see me and hear my words, you know me. I'd really like it if you stayed."

And really, who was Draco to deny Harry Potter anything that he wanted? So he stayed.

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

[salubriwrites-blog]

I was on a train for 8 hours so I wrote smut

I am still mentally ill for What In "Hell" is Bad? so I needed to get it out of my system. Andrealphus is my sweet baby, and this one is for the Andrealphus wanters. I intend to add a full on smut chapter later, but here have some fluff.

I start my Lycawise week stuff tomorrow so I am gonna go stress about that for a bit ^^; enjoy some fluff for now!

UPDATE: Its done :3

You Chose Andrealphus

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Gusion said flatly, shoving Beleth aside. “The daughter of Solomon does not want to ride along and watch you shoot angels all day.”

That wasn’t entirely true, you thought to yourself, you didn’t mind seizing the learning opportunity that could come with being with Beleth. You didn’t know how the rules of the road in Hell worked, but how hard could they be? With his cool way of speaking and not-fucks-lost demeanor, it was easy to imagine you as the Bonnie to his Clyde in an angel waste land.

“Oh yes,” Bathin said sarcastically, examining his nails without looking at his brothers. “She’d much rather sit in a morgue instead and watch you dissect them.” That would be interesting too, if she would be able to take notes and ask questions about how different angel anatomy was from human or devil. And then ask for an in depth demonstration of those differences, you thought with a squeeze of your legs.

“Yes, thank you for agreeing with me, Bathin,” Gusion clapped his hands enthusiastically. He was able to conveniently ignore the eyeroll that Bathin gave him as he turned back to Beleth. 

“Actually,” you spoke up in the comedic lull, but you were cut off by Bathin. 

“You’re both too blood thirsty for a human. She is a fragile thing who could break if you aren’t careful. Angels are dangerous things dead or alive, and her blood would be on your hands if you are negligent.” 

“Oh no,” Beleth and Gusion said together, whirling on devil, both ready to explain how they would take care of you with the utmost professionalism and tenderness. 

Meanwhile, you huffed your bangs out of your face and crossed your arms, trying to think of what to say to get them to pay attention to you. 

Your visit to Abyssos so far was… interesting, if you were forced to put it politely. Lord Belphegor greeted you at the gates of, bowing respectfully at the presence of Satan, brushing your hand with his lips. It put the King of Gehenna at ease when the devil prince didn’t immediately try to jump on top of you like every other devil who’d mistaken you for Solomon. After making several promises to Satan that you’d be safe and cared for, the Lord of the Nephilim offered you his arm and off you went. 

It was when Satan seemed well and truly gone that Belphegor let out a yawn that could shake the pillars of heaven, and dropped all propriety. “He can be such a hard ass,” the lord groaned, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to the palace and figure this all out.” Flying over Abyssos, you saw the good and the ugly parts of this level of Hell. It was damaged and razed similarly to Gehenna, but it seemed that places associated with the Prince of lust had been targeted in particular. It was jarring to see districts that had once been for sex and drugs were leveled with unholy precision, as if whole swaths of city had been cut from the fabric of this world. 

Prince Beelzbub’s home looked less like a regal castle and more like a warehouse home to raves. The “throne room” was just a large dance floor, and on the stage where a DJ’s booth might sit was instead an empty throne. The Nephilim stood in firm military form as you and the lord burst through the iron double doors.

“Gentlemen,” he said darkly, eyes narrowing at the three devils as though he knew that he had just missed catching them in the middle of something naughty. “I present to you the Daughter of Solomon. She is here on special orders from the King’s regent, and one of you will- wait.” You started as he raised a finger and counted out the handsome devils in front of him. “Where is Andrealphus?”

“Hunting, my lord,” one of the dark haired ones replied, bowing his head as he spoke. “We tried to summon him but… You know how he gets.” 

Thinking to himself, Lord Belphegor counted the three men out one more time before sighing tiredly. “I will address him myself when he returns. In the meantime,” he paused again to yawn, and the three devils looked at you for your response. You didn’t know how to respond, this was a Lord of Hell yawning, what were you going to do? Call Sitri to smite him down for his disrespect? Believing you knew better, you just smiled placidly as the Lord finished. “I will leave the three of you to decide who will tend to the Daughter of Solomon. I need to rest.” 

“Oh wait, what?” You asked after him, now deciding that this was the time to step out of line. You weren’t so sure about being left alone in a room of three, good looking veterans of war, who were also devilishly watching you. 

It wasn’t so bad, you decided as you sat on the edge of the stage, one elbow on your knee as you watched them fight. Who would be your personal servant, guide, and whatever else you needed? Watching them argue among themselves that they knew better than the other about your preferences to pass the time. Even though none of them had even spoken to you yet. As you were wondering when they would notice that you had just left, a pair of shoes scuffed over the stage. The steps were shambling, as if whoever it was was feeling for the way forward. Looking over your shoulder, your face twisted embarrassingly into awe at the creature approaching. 

He was tall with gorgeous hair contained into a singular, bloody braid. His all black attire contrasted like night and day against his pale skin, along with the dark scars down his face. One even seemed to be choking him, it wrapped around his neck like a serrated brand. The damaged skin grappling and strangling for territory at his unblemished skin. Atop his head were dark horns, spectacular as death herself, that twisted like great constellations from his blonde lock. All of these beautiful traits almost offset how upsetting it was to see that he was also doused in blood. 

As he drew near, eyes looking forward and seemed to watch the shouting match at risk of escalating to fist throwing, you checked yourself. You owed this man an apology for having such a visceral reaction to his appearance. However as you uttered a slew of begging pardons, the devil - no, angel? - continued to watch cautiously past you. A pair of wings, angel wings, dragged on the stage behind him. 

“Uh, guys? Why is there an angel here?” You asked, scooting away as the creature shuffled to the edge of the stage. That’s when you noticed what else dragged behind him, something in a fishing net that left a smear of blood on the stage in its wake. Even more angel wings, all of them varying qualities and methods of brutally removed.

Surprise, surprise, the devils didn’t hear you say that either. At the seeming mention of his appearance, the beautiful monstrosity dropped the bundle and took a seat on the stage near you. “I am not an angel.” 

“Then what is this? Some kind of disguise?” You asked, now having the courage to step out of line and touch the thing’s wings. They felt pretty real, so you were interested to hear his excuse. 

“A mark of my shame, a reminder of betrayal,” the man said, soft spoken like Sitri but intimidating and feral like Amy. 

“Is your name… Andrealphus?” You asked, remembering that one had been busy initially, “hunting”. 

All signs pointed to yes, but still you waited to hear him respond. “It is, and you must be the Daughter of Solomon?” 

“I am,” you said, suddenly feeling bashful, he was so sweet and well spoken that you were the one to feel childish for being rude. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Please accept my deepest and sincerest apologies,” he began, turning to face you now but something was still odd about his gaze. Like he couldn’t bear to look at you, he stared past and toward the stained glass windows. Feeling self conscious now, you tried not to tilt yourself into his line of sight. “I got… carried away on my patrols, and lost track of time when the Lord Master Belpegor appointed me to return for your reception. Please,” reaching back now, Andrealphus pulled the net of amputated wings to his side. “Accept the bounty of my hunt as a symbol of good will and promise to do better.” 

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you could feel your thighs slick with arousal. This had to be the hottest thing anyone could do, bringing you the spoils of their angel hunt for you to enjoy first. Andrealphus stopped to gasp mid sentence as you realized that you were going to leave a heart shaped finish on the wood, and you wondered if he may have sensed what he was doing to you. Still, you tried to play it cool, if only he would look at you, especially after all this back and forth. 

“This is beautiful, but these are a little big for me to just carry around for myself,” you laughed, and his eyes finally looked closer in your direction. It was the vacancy in his eyes that made you squint and ask yourself out loud. “Are you… blind?”

At the same time, the entity was plucking dozens of feathers from one of the larger wings, gathering them up in an elegant handful. He held them out for you, shoving his hand almost too close for comfort. “Show me where you’d like to be decorated, then.” 

Andrealphus’ laughter was hard to hear over the still bickering that you were no longer following. “I am, but don’t worry, my other senses are sharp as ever and help me get around.”

Aw fuck, you thought to yourself as you squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to stifle the smell. It only got worse when his breath hitched in his chest again, and you knew he was catching your aroma. 

“That’s… interesting,” you began awkwardly, looking to change the subject. “Well, yeah you can put them in my hair… here,” reaching you, you took Andrealphus’ hand and twisted his fingers into your roots. “Wherever you want to put them.”

Wordlessly with interest and caution he loosened where you had gripped them, the angel navigated your hair. At first you had been afraid of the blood that stained the fine, black leather gloves, now though you fought to lean into it. Bloody fingertips left a rosy sheen behind as he ran hand over fist through it. Somehow though you were not disgusted or frightened of it, as if Andrealphus was wordlessly regaling you with the stories of his conquest. Eyes fluttering shut, you held on tight to the moan that gathered in your throat when he touched you. Little, probing touches that dragged on into soft caresses with his knuckles and the brushing of the angel feathers. The tingling feeling, like little beads of tickles rolling over your cheeks, was orgasmic. 

You waited until his hands were off of you to frown your disappointment that he stopped. “Well, if I’m going to be decorated, it would make sense that you match me.” 

His eyebrows creased downward at your proposal, but sat still as you took his braid between your fingers. The handsome devil’s eyes closed the same way as yours had, and he put his hands in plain sight, folded up tight over his lap. As if he was showing you that he was remaining chaste. It was a good sign as you fixed the bloodied and mangled feathers into his hair, sometimes even sorting through the wings that he had brought you to find softer downs. Maybe you could have him take you to where the angel’s bodies had fallen and he could kiss you on a bed of their bones. 

“How do I look?” Andrealphus asked when your hands reluctantly pulled back, touching his braid to feel where you had adorned him. 

The blood was the perfect contrast to his monochrome look, but you couldn’t just say that out loud. “You look nice,” is what you said instead. 

“How do you look?” He asked second, smiling wide with too many teeth as you swooned. At this rate, you were going to leave a permanent water stain from your sex because of this angel. “Describe yourself for me.”

“Uhm,’ you started, running your hand over your face as if trying to remember your features. “I have purple hair, it’s long.” 

Angling his body to face you, Andrealphus propped his chin on his elbows and smiled dumbly at you while you detailed your futures. Where your moles were, your stretch marks, and your scars, you listed them all and he painted a picture of your beauty. 

“So,” you said after you finished, dropping your hands slowly from your face. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to try and sneak your fingers across the little space between you and touch him. “Now that I’ve done that; how do you think I look?”

“Hm,” he said critically, deliberating heavily before giving you that wide smile like a shark. “You look nice.” 

Once again you got annoyed at how the three devils still fighting overpowered his laugh, and you whipped to glare at them. Were they even arguing about you anymore?

“Would you take me away from here?” You asked the fourth devil, expanding your hand bravely now, clasping your palms together. “They are too loud and frankly, I don’t like any of them.” 

“You don’t wish for any of them to be your guardian in the Abyssos?” He asked, seemingly surprised even though Andrealphus was helping you to your feet. Feeling for the ends of it, the angel dragged the bag of disembodied wings with you off stage. 

“No, I choose you.” You said confidently, wondering how long it would take for them to notice that you were gone. Sooner than you expected, as the throne room’s metal door hadn’t closed yet when Andrealphus laughed again. You heard this one, and your belly tightened at his soft tenor. It was not like the deep voices of the other devils, rolling like thunder and crashing like waves. He reminded you of the wind blowing iridescent fields of grain on a clear day. He almost bumped into you when you stopped to shudder. 

“They’re arguing again.” He explained, pulling his black leather gloves away to reveal delicate fingers, long and spindly. 

“What about now?” You asked, watching him stretch an arm out for you to take, just as Lord Belphegor had. 

“They’re blaming each other for not realizing you’ve left.” 

“Well,” stunned silence fell over you as Andrealphus opened his wings, which were also blood stained. They didn’t look to be in much better shape than the wings that he had dropped at your feet. “No one was stopping them from talking to me but themselves so, their loss… are you going to carry me?” 

“I can, if you want, or we can walk,” the angel offered, seeming to strain as he lifted the wings and stretched them as though they were weights. 

“Why don’t we walk? I can lead the way,” you decided and as though he had already made up his mind, watched as Andrealphus approached you with an outstretched hand.

“Will you be my eyes, please? Once we get to the square I’ll know where we are and can show you around.”

This first day in Abyssos so far was nowhere near your original expectation, but after the rough start it wasn’t so bad. At least now you felt like you could engage in a conversation instead of just being the topic. Holding his long fingers, you led the way down the steps from the house of Beelzbub, counting out the steps for Andrealphus so that he wouldn’t stumble. You were surprised by how easily he kept up with you, and how easily he clung to you. 

“What are you seeing?” He asked simply. “No one has ever told me what Abyssos looks like. I want to know what this place is like through your eyes.”

Oh Andrealphus, you thought to yourself as your stomach tightened again with feeling. Keep asking me things like that and I’m gonna show you a whole slew of new things. You didn’t say that, though. Instead you held a hand to your eyes and looked far over the rooftops. 

“All of the rooftops are flat, with furniture and bars. The windows are full length to let the sunlight in.”

[assortedgoods123]

Stardew Valley Harvey pt. 1

When you first meet, he is as timidly polite as can be. He shakes your hand without meeting your eyes and smiles at his shoes when you tell him your name. It's cute; he's cute.

Later that night though, you wake up panting, thoughts of a blushing doctor's tie wrapped around your hand as you lead his head downwards flashing in your mind. About a man you only just met that day? You grab a glass of water and look out the window, thinking about how unusual it is for your brain to latch on to naughty thoughts about a stranger that fast. You decide more investigation is needed.

The next few days have you running yourself ragged, planting crops and clearing out debris on your farm. To your chagrin, it isn't until later that week that you're able to walk to the clinic with some wildflowers behind your back.

You tell Maru you'd like to help them decorate a little for spring, and show her the scrappy little bouquet from your farm. She gushes a thank you and goes to get a jar to put them in. As you lean against the counter, you hear Maru tell Harvey about your little gift for the clinic, and straighten up as he walks into the waiting room.

He adjusts his glasses and stammers out a thank you for the flowers. You give him your sweetest smile and lean in closer; he freezes. You tell him it was your pleasure, and gently tap one of the buttons on his sweater. His eyes grow wider, and you tell him he's welcome to come by the farm if he ever wants more flowers.

As you're leaving the clinic, you catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window; his face is bright red, and he's grabbing the button you tapped so hard his sweater is twisted. Any thoughts about you going too far are forgotten.

The next several weeks are some of the most tiring you've ever had. Farm work from morning to evening, and throughout the day any chance of breaks are often replaced by fulfilling a villager's request or trying your best to socialize at the saloon.

The one thing keeping you going is getting to see Harvey every now and then at the saloon, which you notice he's frequenting more and more as the days pass. You hope it's because of you, and when Emily gives you a wink and a thumbs-up behind his back, you think it probably is.

[running2reanimation]

Scars

We all have them, it's just that not all of them are visible.

"It was very nice of them to invite me," King remarked as he rolled up a colourful towel, "Are you sure you're going to be able to carry me and our beach day things?"

"You can't be that much heavier than Green, it'll be fine," Purple reassured, popping his own towel into the bag, "Besides, it's not like there's that much in there, a couple of towels and some sandals..."

"There's an entire picnic in the other bag," King reminded Purple, hefting the aforementioned bag over his shoulder, "Oof, and it definitely has some weight to it."

"Okay, so we might walk for a little bit," Purple rubbed the back of his head, "But I should be able to handle getting us over the big lava lake and across the soul sand valley."

"If you're sure," King frowned, picking up the beach bag and hanging it off the opposite shoulder.

"I've got this," Purple reassured, and the two made their way to the basement portal.

--

And to Purple's credit, he did, in fact, got this. There were definitely some long stretches of walking through the Nether, which gave King an opportunity to talk with Purple.

"So... they did actually invite me right? This isn't going to be an unpleasant surprise for them and me right?"

"What? You don't trust me, Baba?" Purple put his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"I know you well enough to know you're more of a 'it's better to ask forgiveness than permission' sort sometimes is all," King defended, putting a hand on the bag at his hip.

"I promise, Baba. They actually invited you. They don't hate you as much as you think they should. They're kind of like that. Way too forgiving. Besides, you've clearly shown them that you're not... The King anymore, y'know. Through me and stuff. And you keep feeding them, you'd be surprised how excited they are to get your baked goods," Purple reassured with a hand on King's back, "Now we've got one more section of flight to do, think you're ready?"

"...As I'll ever be."

--

Stepping out of the portal and onto the PC was a little jarring and King sort of just stood there taking it all in for a moment. He could hear the sounds of the beach coming from all around him...

Purple pushed past him and started climbing down, out of the window and calling out to the others, "We're here!"

He turned back to look at the awestruck King, and smacked himself in the head, "Oh yeah, this is your first time on a PC, isn't it, Baba?"

"...Yes," King answered, shifting his feet a bit, and Purple held out a hand.

"C'mon, follow me," Purple coaxed the older stick into taking his hand and they climbed down onto the main screen together, landing on the sand blocks with a crunch, "Wow guys, this looks great!"

The whole screen was done up like, well, a beach, with sand and water and few palm trees. The trees looked hand-drawn, but the rest of it looked like Minecraft assets.

"Very... tropical," King nodded, gaze drifting out of the PC, but the view was... very fuzzy. Better to admire the kids' work.

"Oh, you actually came!" Red clapped excitedly, with a parrot perched on either shoulder, "Guys, Purple and King are here!"

And it was like magic, the way the others just seemed to appear, dropping down out of other windows. Green ran and embraced Purple whose cheeks definitely turned a shade darker in response.

"Glad you could make it," Orange said, holding his hand out for King to shake. King took it politely and gave it a single shake.

"Thank you for inviting me," King smiled as Yellow approached and peeked inside the picnic bag.

"He brought food!"

"Yes!" Blue cheered from their spot on the beach.

"Just a few sandwiches, really, since I wasn't sure what any of you would like. Tuna, chicken salad, egg salad, bologna and cucumber. Two of each, so anyone who wants to try can at least have one triangle to themselves," King explained as Yellow took the bag off his shoulder and carried it to the drawn picnic table.

King followed her, setting his other bag down next to the table before making his way to the water's edge and dipping his feet and legs into the cool water.

Despite hearing the sounds of the surf, the water was actually placid. That was kind of nice, it meant he wasn't about to get soaked from head to toe by an errant wave.

No, he was going to get soaked by the gaggle of children charging past him to get in the water.

King couldn't even be upset about it; the kids were laughing and having fun. Honestly it was a bit of a relief that they didn't seem to feel tense or on edge at all. They seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

King watched them play something akin to volleyball; he wasn't quite sure what the rules were but it was three on three, so it wasn't quite proper volleyball. And goodness were they ever competitive.

He frowned as he started to notice... all of them were covered in scars. Even Purple, who had a dark scar that spread across his whole torso like a lightning bolt... Had Purple ever been electrocuted before? That felt like something they would have told him. He'd ask Purple about it later.

He got up and headed to the picnic table to unpack the sandwiches, enjoying how the sand didn't get stuck to his feet. A few moments later and the kids had noticed his absence, and they all came charging out of the water as a unit.

The eagerly settled around him, grabbing sandwiches from the trays. It seemed they didn't have the best table manners, but honestly they still weren't the rudest people he'd ever eaten with.

King happily chatted with them, mostly with Yellow about her experiments with the command block staff but eventually King managed to get Purple's attention.

"So, where did you get that scar?" King asked, and despite his conversational tone the whole table went silent. Green and Blue bit their lips and Orange just stared at King, trying to lock eyes with the stick, but King's gaze was focused on Purple, who squirmed under it like he'd been caught in a lie.

"I... you..." Purple started, and licked his lips and started again, "...are you sure you want to know?"

King paused, aware that Purple genuinely thought there was a reason he wouldn't want to know. He looked at the scar, and he felt the staff he no longer had vibrating in his hands; he lashed out in anger then, hadn't he? "I... gave it to you, didn't I?"

He very much wanted Purple to shake his head, but the young man only hung his head and King flinched, "I'm sorry."

Purple shook his head, "You already apologized for it. And I forgave you then."

King knew what he'd wanted to say wasn't the right thing to say, so he didn't apologize again, or insist that Purple shouldn't have forgiven him. He just hung his own head and went back to his sandwich quietly.

He expected the Colour Gang - as Purple called them sometimes - to stay silent and them politely guide them out, but that's not what happened.

Instead, they took turns talking about their own scars. It turned out that King wasn't the only one who'd hurt someone he cared about. It was pretty shocking to hear about all of Green's scars and how many had actually come from the others.

It... made him feel a little bit better.

These kids were good for Purple. He'd already been pretty confident about that, but it was good to see it in action.

And if he was being honest with himself, they were good for him too.

[trixierosewrites]

happy STS! Do you have a favourite character? Also… did Aidan kill wife number 3…? “mysteriously died young” is suspicious

Happy STS!! And definitely Emilia. No hesitation. I love her to pieces, I'm putting her in a jar and shaking her, I'm blending her to a fine paste, I'm buying her yellow lipstick. I love her. There's a reason she's the only character I've commissioned artwork for.

As for Aidan... well, this actually comes up in Memento Vivere:

Aidan was no stranger to the cruelties of abusing someone’s love for someone else. His third wife—of four, so far, and unlikely to be more if he couldn’t get out of here, which was looking less and less likely—had looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and had been twenty years younger than him, only eighteen when they’d married. He’d married her because she was easy, because she was beautiful, and because she’d loved him. She’d fallen into his arms, believed anything he’d said, and he hadn’t even had to try with her the way he tried to convince the country that he could do better, this time, and he deserved the seat of power he was planning on embezzling money from.

[...]

Her father was in Aidan’s first cabinet for his new party. He’d been seeking power, much like Aidan, and had gladly handed his own daughter over for the chance to curry his favour. Anyone with eyes knew that Aidan was going to win—again—and anyone with eyes also knew that Aidan flipped through wives almost as quickly as he flipped through political parties, and so Aidan married his barely-legal wife on a cold December day, rain spitting down about them like disapproval from the gods. Amy had squealed with delight when he’d kissed her for the first time in front of the small crowd, mostly of her father’s friends. Her mother wasn’t told and found out through the newspapers, but Aidan hadn’t cared that he’d married a teenager and split the family into three. He had a pretty new wife on his arm and in his bed and she’d hung onto every word he said, and it had been satisfactory. Later, when she’d caught him balls deep in Miriam Fucking Fischer, he’d talked her around, telling her that it didn’t matter, he’d been married twice before her, that she was pure and touched only by Aidan, and that it didn’t matter what he did with his cock, and she’d agreed, and then he’d talked her into killing herself as he fucked the prostitute beneath him. Ten minutes later, and he’d talked Mary Mayland into revealing her real name.

She overdosed, and he made it look like an accident (she was so tragically young, after all, only twenty-one by her death), and then he got married again because he's awful.

Thanks for the ask!!

And that was a huge ass Memento Vivere chunk so I'll throw the taglist on here: @callmelyrae, @planets-collide, @mthollowell-writes

Ask to be +/- from the taglist!

[that-angry-noldo]

(cw: panic attack)

"I hate tea."

"Mmm."

I hate you, too, Orodreth wanted to say, but just pursed his lips and curled into his blanket, warming his hands with the steaming mug. Finarfin was busy; Orodreth watched, dispassionately, as he carefully put away small bags of dried herbs that he used to brew Orodreth's tea with, as he closed and hid the jar of honey and then patiently washed his hands. His face did not change its polite-calm expression through the process even once.

Orodreth did not mean to be here. He did not mean to wake up from the nightmare, from the feeling of fire-ice-cold-fear that gripped him and wouldn't let go, did not mean his screams to be as loud as to wake up his own father; did not mean to sit here, scrunching his nose at the smell of herbs and honey.

Why couldn't it be Finrod or Amil? Why couldn't it be anyone else but Arafinwë, whom Orodreth still, after all this time out of the Halls, could not see without memories of cold and fear creeping up his spine?

He brought the mug closer to his mouth. It was warm against his lips.

Finarfin's eyes skimmed over Orodreth once more, the slightest bit of worry passing over his face; as if Orodreth could be wounded and conceal the injury, as if Finarfin's falcon-sharp gaze could miss anything before, when he had grabbed him by his shoulders, when Orodreth could feel nothing but fear and pain and panic.

He noticed with a strange detachment that his father's hands were shaking as he wiped them; Finarfin rubbed his face and took a breath - and finally, finally, sat down on the chair. His frame looked exhausted. Orodreth felt - almost sorry.

"You scared me," his father finally said, softly, as if reading his thoughts. "I thought-"

He cut himself off, and Orodreth shivered beneath his blanket, looking away. He took a tentative sip. The tea was both bitter and sweet; an unpleasant mix on his tongue.

"I am sorry," he said, and the words came out colder than intended. Or maybe just as cold as intended; Orodreth could hardly care about the difference. "I did not mean to wake you up."

Or maybe, he did. Maybe, if given the chance, he would disrupt Finarfin's sleep as often as possible, for reasons as petty as possible. He wondered just how many nights it would take for Finarfin to snap, to abandon this pretense of a loving father that he surely was not, for how could have a loving father ever abandoned-

He took another sip of tea.

"It's alright," Finarfin sighed. "I would have likely woken up nonetheless. Describe me how do you feel. Any pains, or complaints?"

Only you, Orodreth wanted to answer. One horrible, massive pain.

"No," he shrugged. "But I hate the tea."

Finarfin allowed himself a little smile. "I know. But I cannot let you drink coffee at midnight."

Orodreth pursed his lips.

I hate you and I hate your stupid tea, he wanted to say. I hate your worried eyes and your careful hands. I want to smash this cup and I hope you cut yourself on the splinters, too.

He did not actually mean that. Or maybe, he did.

No.

He did not.

He felt a knot tying in his throat. His hands trembled. He took another sip, and set the mug aside.

He was crying, he realized, as his shoulders started to shake. He put a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to stiffen the sobs that he could not control, to even the breath that beat wildly inside his chest - all futile, all making him shake even more and scattering his thoughts in different directions; Arafinwë was by his side, kneeling before him, his falcon eyes sharp again, and he was talking, telling him to breathe; and with each breath another thought would hammer inside Orodreth's brain.

I hate you. A breath.

I hope you die. Another. The rhythm was unsteady. He sobbed as blood rushes through his brain.

You left me. Finarfin's voice was steady. Orodreth shut his eyes, focused on his father's words. They were a blur.

You left me. He was crying.

I thought I would die.

I died.

I missed you. I miss you. Please-

A hesitation, then an answer - regret, hurt, apology; Finarfin took his hands, squeezed his fingers, counted, voice calm and leveled.

He heared him.

"Breathe."

Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale. Five, six, seven, eight.

Again.

And again.

Finarfin counted, whispered, and Orodreth felt the fog of his state slowly fall back. He still shuddered. He squeezed his father's hands.

He was trembling.

There was fire, he wanted to say. We could not run, and-

-you left. You left. You left us. Left me.

"I know," Finarfin answered. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Orodreth, my Artaresto, my-" he took a breath. His own hands were trembling, Orodreth noted, detached. When he looked at his face, Finarfin's eyes were no longer sharp; they were pained, and afraid, and tears welled up in their corners.

"I'm sorry," Finarfin repeated. His voice was barely a whisper. "I will not leave. Not again."

Not again?

Finarfin took a breath. Never again.

[rochenn]

Why do I have such a spusific thing for old gay tailors who are also somehow play some sort of role in politics. Or did you just also watch ds9.

Anyways tinker tailor soldier spy is such a good premise for a charecter and your atrem looks like so much fun. Want to put him and Dooku in a jar and shake them.

I've never watched DS9, but I'm glad we're both shaking Atrem and Dooku in a jar :D

[sordidpsychick]

Angel Numbers

2 - Not Entirely Human

Mob finds a ‘missing’ poster, Reigen orders takeout, Dimple discovers a secret, and Angel… forgot pajamas.

Previous | Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Reigen/Fem!OC, MDNI, eventual NSFW, I am cringe but I am free, self-indulgent, perv Reigen, human experimentation, OC can see ghosts, chubby OC, short-lived Dimple and Reigen rivalry

5.4k words

“Oh…” Angel peers into the bags back in Reigen’s apartment. She’s crouched on the floor, making sure to avoid putting too much pressure on her wounded leg as she rummages through one bag. “… I forgot pajamas. Well, that’s okay.” 

A ring of the doorbell interrupts her muttering. 

“Hm, I hope that's Mob.” Reigen turned to Angel and whispered. “Just to be safe hide in the bathroom—bring all that new stuff with you,” he whispered to her as an image of whoever worked at that ‘hospital’ entered his mind. What if they had found where she was hidden somehow?

Riegen shouted to the door; “Yeah yeah, hold on,” as he stood and walked down the hall slowly, giving Angel time. Was he being over-paranoid and cautious? Yes. But had that ever steered him wrong? He told himself the answer was ‘no.’

Angel dashed for the bathroom, bags crinkling in arms. She shuts the door behind her with a click. 

When the front door opens, the only face that greets Reigen is the awkwardly expressionless face of his middle school student—and Dimple. “Master, we need to be more careful,” Mob says immediately, digging through his pockets. Soon, he’s got a wrinkled ‘missing’ poster in hand with Angel’s face on it. 

“We found that on the way here,” says Dimple, looking around the apartment from where he floats above Mob’s shoulder. “Where is she, anyway? Don’t tell me you lost her…”

Reigen proudly puffed his chest. Oh yeah, I'm good. “As a matter of fact, Dimple, I had half amount of sense to hide her before opening the door. Come on, get in.” Reigen moved out of the way so the two of them could enter his apartment, quickly shutting the door and locking it. “This is bad. We need a plan.”

“What about hair dye?” Mob suggests as he steps inside and takes off his shoes, leaving them by the doorway. 

“And face masks in public,” adds Dimple. 

Reigen was about to raise a finger in protest to say that those were the stupidest ideas he had ever heard, but instead, “That just might work. Clearly, I have been a good influence on you both. You two couldn’t have possibly come up with ideas like that prior to meeting me.” Reigen smiles and pretends to wipe a proud tear from his eye. 

“Yeah, right.” Dimple rolls his eyes. “So, where is she?” He floats over to Reigen’s bed and peers underneath, then does the same to his computer desk. 

“Ah.” Mob points towards the bathroom, where Angel is peeking through the cracked door.

“It's alright Angel, these are the two I told you about. My student, Mob, and the ghost, Dimple,” Reigen said as he gestured to the two behind him. “I just took her shopping- shit, I hope no one followed us here. We had to get her clothes and some soap from the store.” 

“Angel?” Dimple repeats the name curiously.

“Yeah, Reigen gave me it.” Angel smiles and steps out of the bathroom. 

There’s a flash of green and then Dimple is grabbing Reigen by the collar. “YOU NAMED HER?!” He shakes the man. “And THAT of all things?! I mean, it's a fitting name but still!”

“Hello, Angel.” Mob offers a polite smile and wave. 

“Hi Mob. Reigen told me about you.” Angel smiles back, taking a seat on the couch.

Reigen’s expression only darkened as he went limp in Dimple’s two tiny hands. A slow evil chuckle left his devilish grin as he whispered; “And I got to touch her boobs.” Reigen’s hands raised to his chest, his palms facing the ceiling and his fingers waving about as if casting some evil spell. He knew he had the edge on Dimple now.

Dimple’s face goes dull and he drops Reigen. “You pervert.” He turns around, immediately putting a happy face on to greet Angel. “Hey, Angel. Sorry, we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. Is this guy annoying you?”

Angel smiles at Dimple a little nervously. “Reigen has been really nice to me.” 

Dimple turns to glare at Reigen as Angel continues. 

“And I'm sorry for screaming in your face last night. I didn’t know what you were and I’ve never seen a ghost so small before.”

Dimple looks like he might blow away in the wind. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was so rude. I mean, I’ve only seen really scary ghosts so- um,” Angel shuts her mouth, realizing that anything she might add would just make it worse. 

“IS SHE WEARING YOUR CLOTHES?!” Dimple is back to shaking Reigen violently. 

Meanwhile, Mob glances at Angel. “Sorry, they don’t always get along…” 

Reigen lets out another identical laugh as his eyes widen in crazed excitement as he gets shaken once more by Dimple. He looks like some sort of villain from a video game. “Face it, she already likes me more than you! You lost your chance!” Reigen places a hand on Dimple’s small face and tries to pry the green spirit off of him.

“Ugh, yeah yeah, rub it in.” Dimple relents easily and then gets back on track. “Anyway, we need to get her hair dyed ASAP. What color are we thinkin’?” He squints at Angel as if trying to see different colors in substitute of her white hair. 

“It's a shame we have to dye it.” Mob tilts his head. “It's such a unique color.” 

“What’s going on?” Angel looks around at the three of them. “Why do I need to get my hair dyed?” 

Mob looks a Dimple, and Dimple looks at Mob. “I don’t want to freak her out… but I don’t want to lie,” Mob whispers to the spirit. Both of them turn to look at Reigen.

Reigen, for a split moment, actually showed signs of panic before quickly letting out a puff of air. “Well, unfortunately, most people around here don’t have such white hair. We just want to take precautions in case someone does decide to look for you. Your hair will be the first thing to stand out in a crowd,” Reigen explained as he put on a relaxed and cool expression. “Plus, it is strictly against my policy to have white hair while working under me, so if you want that job you will have to dye it some other color,” he said with a simple shrug. He looked to Mob and Dimple and shot them a look and a silent thumbs up.

“Oh, okay,” agrees Angel surprisingly easily, much to both Mob and Dimple’s surprise. 

“So easygoing…” Mob whispers. 

“I’m thinkin’ red,” says the green spirit as he floats in a circle around Angel.

“What about something modest, like black?” Mob tilts his head. 

Angel looks in Reigen’s direction. “What do you think? What kind of color suits your workplace?”

“Yeah, sure, look to him for hair advice.” Dimple grumbles under his breath.

Reigen mumbles, “As sexy as red would be…” Then takes a breath and speaks directly to everyone. “…We need a color that won’t stand out in a crowd. Black might look too artificial. They normally mix purple or blue hues into the dyes to make them darker. If caught in a certain lighting, she could stand out because of it.” Reigen closed his eyes in thought and nodded, holding a finger up next to his eye for flare as he opened his eyelids. “I conclude that brown will be the safest color.”

“Huh, for once I kinda agree.” Dimple tilts his body while observing Angel.

“I had brown hair when I was little!” Angel pipes up. “It’ll be nice to see what I would’ve looked like if it stayed that color.”

“How’d you end up with white hair, anyway?” Dimple raises a brow.

“Dimple…” Mob says under his breath. 

“Right, right… ahem. Whoah, look at the time! It’s nearly dinner. What a shame, let’s go Mob.” Dimple zips over to the front door.

“Hold on, I can call my parents and let them know I won't be home for dinner. How about ordering takeout, Master? Dimple and I can go to the store really quick to get some hair dye,” suggests the middle schooler as he turns to look at Reigen.

Reigen claps his hands together once in front of his chest and smiles. “What a great idea Mob! You get that dye, I'll get on the phone and get us something to eat.” Reigen turns, not sparing a moment as he looks around for his phone before realizing he had never taken it out of his pocket. “How does ramen sound?” He asked. It seemed that when Reigen was paying, it was always ramen.

Angel nods and Mob gives a thumbs-up before heading for the front door with a polite ‘be back in a little bit.’ The door clicks shut behind him and locks—Dimple’s doing.

The silence that follows—now that it’s just Reigen and Angel again—feels loud. “Is there beef flavor?” Angel breaks the quiet, drumming her fingers on her knees. 

Reigen smirked, starting to become more comfortable with the idea of flirtation now that it was beginning to become clear that her presence would not be leaving their group any time soon. “A woman after my own heart?” He tilted his head slightly and took a seat on his bed, kicking his shoes off. “There is; as well as a chicken, pork, and spicy flavor.” He flipped open his phone and scrolled with his thumb on a small arrow of the keypad down an internet browser page until he found the number. He dialed it, the phone ringing in the silence between them.

Angel’s face turns a little red and she twiddles her fingers, folding her legs into a crisscross. “I’ll have the beef,” she says quietly. She watched Reigen out of the corner of her eye, thinking that he must have Mob’s order memorized since it seemed like they’d been working together for a while, based on how they interacted.

“Hi there, yes I will take one bowl of white rice, two beef ramen, a chicken, and a pork. Yes.” He wandered off into the kitchen, mumbling his name and address for the delivery as well as the instructions on how to get it to his apartment. He came back after his phone had clicked shut. “Food is ordered.”

Angel tilts her head, most of her body tilting with it. “I’m excited. It’s been a while since I’ve had ramen. Oh.” She perks up. “Thank you for today, by the way. I know I just met you but…” She looks down at her lap a little shyly. “... I got really lucky when you three found me.”

Reigen sat down across from her and gave the most genuine smile he had since they had met. “I’m glad,” he said gently before taking a breath and smiling smugly. “If it hadn’t been us, who knows what kinda creep would have found you! Seriously though, the three of us will do our best to keep you safe.”

Angel returns his smile. It’s warm and a bit tired… like she’d finally gotten to rest her mind after a very long time.

Soon enough, Mob, Reigen, and Angel are sitting around eating ramen from styrofoam cups while Dimple floats around above. A box of light brown hair dye sits on the bathroom counter. “So, you’re going to start working at Spirits and Such?” Mob asks after swallowing a bite of his ramen.

“Reigen offered me a job as his secretary. I’ve never had a job before and I doubt that I would’ve gotten a job on my own like I am now, so yeah.” Angel nods. “I look forward to working with you, Mob.”

“Yeah, me too!” Mob wears an excited smile. 

Dimple floats down to hover over Reigen’s cup of ramen. “Really? Hiring her as your secretary? Talk about stingy.”

One of Reigen’s eyes twitched at Dimple as he slurped up a large bite of his beef ramen. Though he had ordered four, the fourth one; specifically the pork; was for his lunch tomorrow, not the floating green spirit.

Noodles swallowed, he closed his eyes and spoke confidently. “I think the word you are looking for is ‘practical.’ Plus, her freeing up some of my hours is a great way for her to pay me back for living off me for free.” Reigen set his cup on the table and flashed a sinister grin at Dimple. “What have you ever done for us in return for not exorcising you and keeping you company, huh? Sheesh Dimple, what a freeloader.” Reigen shrugged, picking up his cup and happily getting back to eating.

Dimple grits his teeth and looks like he might start spirit-sweating. “Why, you little—“

“Reigen, should I be coming in to work with you tomorrow?” Angel interrupts Dimple with a tilt of her head. Mob is quick to turn and look at her. 

“W-wait, shouldn’t you rest? That cut on your leg was pretty bad.” He points at the bandage wrapped around her calf. 

“What? That was just a little scratch. It’s all healed up, see?” Angel leans over to set her cup of ramen on the floor and undoes the bandage. The stained cloth unwinds to reveal… a perfectly healed leg with just a bit of scabbing. 

Reigen just about had it with being the only normal person in this group. He tried to hide the look of utter shock that was creeping up on his face as he looked at her wound. “W-well I mean, if you feel eager who am I to stop you,“ he said as he tried to not sound too pushy. “But don’t push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” says Angel with a smile. Under her breath, she mutters. “It is still kind of itchy.”

“How did it heal so fast…?” Mob leans over on the couch to peer at her healed leg. 

“Yeah… hey, you’re not an esper, are you, lady?” Dimple floats over to her. 

Angel blinks at him. “A what?” 

“An esper is someone who possesses an array of abilities involving their mind. Pyrokinesis, telekinesis, telepathy—just to name a few. Most espers can also naturally see spirits like Dimple here.” Reigen eyes her up slowly as he taps his chin. “Though rare, I have heard of espers who possess healing capabilities. Hah, but I think I would know if a fellow esper was in my house.” He gestured to himself in a glorifying manner and tilted his chin upwards. He sure thought highly of himself.

“Oh, right. You said that you’re a psychic.” Angel tilts her head at Reigen, smiling. There’s a strange narrowing in her eyes, though. “So that must be the kind of ‘mentor’ you are.” 

Mob nods. “That’s right. Master Reigen has been helping me with my powers.” 

Angel hums, leaning over to pick her cup of noodles up and set it in her lap. “Well, I don’t have any powers like that. I guess I just heal fast, that's all.” She lifts a couple of noodles to her lips, mouth opening when— 

“Wait a second.” Dimple leans in close to Angel, squinting. “I didn’t notice it before because it’s so faint but… you’re not entirely human, are you, Angel.” 

Reigen jumps in his seat, screaming in a slight panic. “Whatdoyoumeannotentirelyhuman?!” He looks at Dimple with wide eyes as his face drains of color.

This was the last time he would ever hide a hospital’s experimental patient, no matter how hot they may be. What sort of trouble had they really gotten themselves into here?

Dimple turns to look at Reigen. “What I mean is—“

Broth and noodles phase right through Dimple, splashing directly onto Reigen. Angel’s cup drips empty in her outstretched hand where she stands, trembling and horrified, looking at the two of them like they might hand her in any second. The cup falls to the ground with a ‘pop’ of light styrofoam and Angel’s chopsticks follow suit with a clatter. 

She makes a mad dash for the front door, yanking on the handle — but she can’t seem to figure out how the lock works. She switches gears quickly, disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. 

Reigen stands, hair and face dripping with broth and his white button-up covered in noodles. He was speechless, unsure of what to do until Angel had rushed past. He’d stood too slowly, grateful when he saw her slam the bathroom door shut. 

Reigen takes a breath, then politely knocks on the door. “Hey uh, listen, Angel. What you are is not going to change how we treat you, alright?” He said as he started plucking noodles from himself. “I understand if you want to stay in there, but could you at least give me a towel or something?” He let out a small laugh as he tried to keep the mood light. This was totally his only clean button-up though. Now he really had to do his laundry.

Reigen is met with silence. 

Mob shuffles up quietly to hand Reigen some tissues—which only help a little with the dripping broth—but they help enough. “It’s true,” Mob says through the door. “Just like how we accept Dimple—and he’s an evil spirit.” 

There’s shuffling from the other side and then a click. One pale eye stares out from the dark of the bathroom. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I panicked… I thought maybe…” she trails off, deciding not to say something. Some more rustling and a towel is held out through the cracked door. 

“You thought they’d turn you in if I told them your secret.” Dimple floats over Reigen’s shoulder. “Trust me, you’re hardly the weirdest thing we’ve seen.” 

Reigen nodded as he took the towel and wiped away what the tissues couldn't, patting at wet spots on his shirt. “We have met normal people stranger than you. Don’t worry. You can trust the three of us,” Reigen said as he held the towel down by his side and smiled charmingly.

“Thank you,” says the woman behind the door. “Um… give me a moment.” It clicks shut again. 

“What did you notice anyway, Dimple?” Mob turns to whisper up at the spirit. “It was so faint… I couldn’t even detect it.” 

Dimple glances at Reigen, looking more evil than normal. “I think I’ll let you two figure it out on your own. Hope you don’t have any allergies, Reigen.” With that, Dimple floats back towards the couch. 

“Allergies??” Reigen whispered in surprise. “What, is she a cat or something?” He said with an annoyed look at Dimple. Stubborn evil spirit. What an asshole, making the two of us work for this. I'll have to wait until Mob figures it out I guess.

By the time Angel returned, Reigen had on a spare shirt and the mess from the noodles had been cleaned up by both him and Mob. 

“How about we get to dyeing your hair?” Mob suggests as he carries the empty noodle bowls to the trash. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” Angel nods a little nervously where she stands beside the couch.

“Do any of you even know how to dye hair?” Dimple points at Reigen. “What if you botch it and make her look bad?” He grins evilly. 

“Please,” Reigen said as he waved a dismissive hand outwards to Dimple. “I have watched plenty of videos online.” His hand curled into a fist, thumb sticking out as he dramatically brought it towards his chest to gesture at himself. “I’ve got this.” 

“Yeah, it can’t be that hard.” Mob reappears by the bathroom door, flicking on the light inside and heading in. 

Everyone follows, watching curiously as Mob gets the box open and sets out three bottles, a pamphlet of instructions, and some plastic gloves. “Um…” Mob looks overwhelmed, looking between the countless rows of instructions and numbered bottles. It’s not long before the pamphlet is handed over to Reigen. 

Reigen carelessly tosses the instructions behind him, going right through Dimple’s face. He grabs the thin plastic gloves and slips them on, their one-size-fits-all material going an inch or so past his wrists. He examines each bottle and then pops open the lid to the bottle labeled ‘one.’ He slowly squeezes both other vials into that one and twists the cap back on, picking up the plastic squeeze bottle and shaking it like a well-practiced mixer at a bar might.

“Wow…” Mob watches with sparkling interest, Angel leaning in as well. 

“You seem pretty experienced. You sure it’s just videos you learned from?” Dimple raises a brow, peering at the color of Reigen’s hair. 

“I am sure.” Hah, too easy. Reigen was pulling this out of his ass. As usual, he had never dyed anyone's hair before, not even his own. He might have watched a video or two, but not enough to be as confident as he was playing up to be. That was always the key, it seemed—not with just Mob and Dimple—but with everyone. If he was confident on the outside, everyone else was too.

As he shook the bottle he turned to Mob. “Get her a towel and try to clip it around her shoulders so that the dye can't get on any of her clothes,” he instructed as he switched hands.

“Right.” Mob nods and exits the bathroom to go and find a towel. He returns with a dark one. “I figured using a black one would be best so you can’t see it’s stained.” He unfolds it, coming around to Angel who has to bend down for him. Mob brings it around her shoulders and secures it with a chip clip in the front, careful with her hair as he lays it out over her shoulders once more. 

Angel stands back up to her full height, looking at Reigen in the mirror curiously.

“Perfect.” Reigen sets down the bottle on the bathroom counter and grabs out a cheap black comb. “Sit down on the toilet so it's easier for me to see.” He said as he leaned in and examined the top of her head closely. “Mob, get me some clothes pins from the kitchen. Drawer closest to the front door,” he said as he began to squirt the cold dye onto the topmost roots of Angel’s head.

The middle schooler jogs out of the bathroom to heed orders, Dimple following as he mutters something under his breath. 

Angel squeezes her eyes shut, stifling a shiver and a laugh at the feeling of the cold liquid on the top of her head. “I’m excited. I wonder what I’ll look like.” Her fingers drum on her thighs, toes wiggling on the cool tile floor. 

“Hopefully unrecognizable– and to my company’s policy, of course,” Reigen said with a quick laugh. Right, can’t let her know how serious this makeover really is. He began rubbing the color into her roots, not bothering with the tips of her hair until all of the roots got colored. 

“I got them,” says Mob as he returns with three clothespins in hand. He holds them out to Reigen. “Wow, the color works fast.” He watches Angel’s hair slowly turns from white to brown. 

“Pretty soon you’ll look like a regular ol’ citizen.” Dimple smiles, coming to float just in front of Angel’s face. She blinks her eyes open and smiles in return, seemingly happy to fit in.

Reigen continued to work his charming magic, eventually using the clips so he could get the underside of her head’s roots. When all of her roots had been thoroughly covered, he squeezed globs of the dye directly into his gloved palm and began massaging and working it into the rest of her still-white hair.

Finally, he was finished.

Reigen removed the gloves carefully, tossing them into a trash can kept under the sink. “What do you think, Angel?” He asked gesturing to the mirror.

Angel stands and peers into the mirror, eyes wide. “It’s dark!” It wasn’t really that dark. But compared to white, it was dark. “How long do I have to leave it in?” She turns, looking at Reigen. 

Mob picks up the discarded instructions, glancing through line after line. “It says here—” 

Reigen interrupts. “While most people would think ‘the longer it sits in the better,’ this is actually not true. After about thirty minutes the dye will set as much as it will and any longer than that could cause damage to your hair.” He didn’t know what he was saying. As always, he just hoped they would take it. “So, to answer your question; I would suggest leaving it in for five to seven minutes, since most of that has already been soaking into your roots for some time now, and your hair was light to start with.” He held his pointer finger up to the sky, eyes closed as if he were reading a script from behind his eyes.

“Wow, master, you really know your stuff.” Mob tosses the instructions in the trash, smiling up at his mentor. 

Angel hums and nods in agreement, taking her seat back on the closed toilet.

“Are you gonna miss your white hair?” Dimple asks her as he pokes a strand of stiff dyed hair that’s sticking out at an odd angle. 

“No.” Angel shakes her head. “That color held a lot of bad memories, so I’m thinking… a new hair color might help put all that behind me.” She twitches a little, hopeful expression faltering. “Ugh— I’ve got an itch…” Fingers reach up to scratch at her scalp but she stops herself, scratching the air instead like it might help. 

“Just hold on for a couple more minutes,” Mob says encouragingly, opening his phone to check the time. “Oh, crap. When did it get so late? Master, I’ve got a test coming up and I should probably be home studying for it. Is it alright if I…?”

Reigen sighs. “I wanted to head to the office today but I did not expect that my bathroom would become a salon when I woke up this morning.” Reigen grabbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“You can go Mob, just be sure to come by tomorrow after school,” he said as he looked into Mob’s eyes and gave a small, encouraging smile. 

Mob nods and gives a soft ‘thank you’ before he heads for the door, bidding both adults goodbye.

“Bye Mob!” Angel waves, not noticing the way Dimple squints at Reigen on the way out. When the front door shuts, Angel goes back to drumming her fingers, this time rocking back and forth to some unheard tune. “I’m sorry I dumped ramen on you,” she says between the motions of back and forth. Eyes fixate on the tile. “Um… but maybe after I rinse out my hair, you should shower too. You smell like beef.” 

Reigen held a smile, sweating a little. “Seriously…? Apologizing for throwing your ramen on me, then insulting me for smelling like it? That's pretty cruel.” He smirked down at her as he glanced down at a small watch on his wrist. Two more minutes to go. After a moment he let out a sigh. “I’m just teasing, but seriously, please don’t throw your food on me again,” he said as he quickly walked out the hall to lock the front door and walk back.

“I really didn’t mean to.” Angel grimaced. “I meant to throw it on Dimple—uhm—I was panicking. I didn’t account for the fact that he’s a ghost.” She hunches, elbows resting on her knees and her chin in her palms. She’s… pouting? “And it’s not an insult. You smell like beef right now—and I like beef. But I also like how you normally smell better,” Angel says casually while picking at a fingernail. 

 A bell went off in Reigen’s head. No way, did he have a chance here? She likes how I smell normally…? I have never had a girl tell me that before. That means something good, right? Does that mean she likes me? No, too early to get my hopes up. 

He cleared his throat. “Alright, I believe you. Now, go ahead and take that towel off. I'll start up the shower. Do your best to avoid getting the dye on your clothes when you take them off.” He reached into the shower bath and turned the faucet on, reaching further in to open the drain all the way. “Alright, when I leave and you are undressed, just rinse your hair out until the water stops coming out colored. No need to wash it or anything. If any color got on your skin feel free to use the soap we bought you today to get it off.” Reigen brushed off his hands on his thigh, getting the water off as he stood and casually looked at Angel. “Any questions?”

“Mm-mm.” Angel shook her head ‘no.’  “Oh, but,” she says just as Reigen reaches the door. “Could you bring a pair of underwear in for me?” 

“Right, yeah sure.” He walked out of the bathroom to where they had set the bags after Mob and Dimple had come in and rummaged through until he felt the soft cotton fabric of a pack of underwear. He pulled it out, blushing as he selected a gentle, creamy, green pair and walked back into the bathroom to shyly set them on the counter before shutting the door.

Angel shrugged off her clothes once the door was shut, stepping carefully into the steaming shower. She grimaced at the water, tilting her head back and letting it run through her hair. It felt a little stiff in places from the dye but quickly became uncomfortably slick as it all ran down her figure in a stream of dark brown. Like mud. Angel glances at the brown puddle around the drain before going back to massaging her scalp. 

Something catches the corner of her eye. Turning, Angel looked at the bottle of body wash that sat beside her own brand-new one. Curious fingers take ahold of it and pop the lid. She squeezes the sides lightly, sniffing and chuckling lightly when a few bubbles float into the air. 

Yeah, that was definitely what she was smelling back there in the dressing room at the store. This. She scrubs her hair with one hand and sniffs a little more. Smells really good. 

“Done!” Angel pushes open the bathroom door after twenty minutes in the shower. She paces out into the little hallway, sugary, apple-scented steam from her body wash billowing after her. “What do you think?” She twirls a nervous finger around a strand of damp, golden-brown hair that just reaches her shoulders. It’s hard to focus on her hair though… when she’s wearing nothing but Reigen’s tank top and her underwear. 

Reigen had been in the middle of drinking water when she stepped out and his eyes hit her. He swallowed hard and unexpectedly, tears pushing at his eyes as he took in a breath and began to cough. “W-wow-!” He said in a strained voice. “I-I uh, I almost didn’t recognize you! You scared me.” So that's what he was using as his excuse for choking on his water. Reigen might have just started losing his touch. “You look- it looks great,” he corrected as he forced his wandering eyes to stay on anything above her shoulders.

“Thank you, I’m glad,” says Angel with a smile as she comes closer. She realizes something, sheepishly smiling as she covers her lower half with her hands. “Oh, sorry. I plan to sleep in my underwear since I don’t have pajamas yet, aha.” She passes Reigen, plopping onto the couch and unfolding the blanket she’d used last night, which had been laid neatly over the back of the couch. “Oh, and I didn’t know if I should have gotten out a new towel, so I used the one that was hanging on the towel rack. I hope that’s okay… and I’m sorry if was yours.” 

Reigen nodded and stood from his bed. “It's alright, i'll just use the one we used for your hair,” he said as he grabbed out a new pair of boxers and the same white t-shirt from the night before. “If someone knocks on the door, don’t answer. Uh… some of the neighbors are creepy, so just let them leave on their own okay?” He said as he stood in the doorway, flipping on the fan.

“Okay,” said Angel from the couch as she settled in and got comfortable. 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep… but she does remember waking up only halfway to a breeze that passed by and smelled like Reigen’s soap. Covers rustled distantly and, feeling comfortable and safe, she fell back asleep with no problem.

Previous | Next