#sprout country cottage

[peace-love-piper]

loxley-blair-lockhart​:

Her vibe was way off, but when she shouted at him to stop he felt it like a weight in his gut. Seeing Piper in overwhelm wasn’t uncommon, really, given that she was always learning new techniques of how to keep other people’s emotions out. This was different. She sounded scared, and that made it harder for him to not just run to her. He did as he was told, stopping still, his heart thumping so hard he was sure she could hear it.

“What - ? It’s okay, what’s? Pipes…” He kept stopping and starting, Loxley just wanted to know what he could do, if anything. He wanted to bundle her up and take her back to bed, make her a warm drink, and let her sleep it off. And he would. Just as soon as he could get to her. Experimentally, he put an arm out in front of him, as if checking for some invisible force field. He couldn’t feel anything, and so he moved closer again, taking tiny steps forward just in case something was seriously wrong.

“Show who, Pipes? I don’t understand what you mean… Can I hug you?” He’d come close enough by then to do so, with or without her noticing. He crouched down in front of her and moved her hair out of her face, wet with tears. “I’m safe, see? You’re safe here. I need you to try tell me what happened so I can help, or at least find someone who can help, because I don’t really get what you mean. Did someone… hurt you?” It was the only thing in his head, especially as she’d used masculine pronouns to describe this mystery person. He was trying to keep that anger away though and focus on her and what she needed. He took her hand gently in one hand, and with the other, he put his fingers into the earth, letting the extra emotions go down into the ground. She needed a clear head and he didn’t need his judgement clouded by anger.

That seed of Paxton’s energy had somehow compounded inside of her, like a tangled mass of prickling brush and vines that spread like weeds throughout Piper’s system, making it impossible for her to discern anything else—like Loxley’s small trickle of anger that warmed her cheeks and palm where he touched her. She couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think straight until Loxley began to actually drain all of that excess energy out of her, depositing it into the benevolent earth beneath their bodies like he hadn’t needed to do since Grant’s shiva, in the forest.

It was worse, this time.

At last, the strangling overgrowth within her was uprooted, pulled away, until all that remained once more was the seed; Piper was unable to relinquish it by force, as she normally could with intrusive energies, but it was manageable. For now.

She blinked rapidly, coming to like she was waking from an intense dream. She pulled back her hand so that she could wipe at her face, which really only accomplished streaking dirt everywhere. Piper met Loxley’s eyes and noted the fear reflected in the pools of brown; he was scared, she was scaring him. Of course she was, showing up unannounced and practically incoherent like this.

She shook her head, orange hair swaying to and fro. “No, I’m not hurt, I’m sorry, I’m fine—I mean, not fine fine, but—I’m not injured…” And then, anticipating what Loxley’s next question would be, Piper said, “It’s Pax—Paxton Brady. He was over at the house, to see Maeko and Oz, and…everything was fine, we were having tea and talking about the band and the radio and then I—I told him, about me, and he seemed…upset, you know, and he didn’t understand, so I thought if I just—just let in some of his energy and described what it felt like then he would be less—he wouldn’t be so—but something happened, Loxley, I don’t know what it was but it was awful—for both of us—and now I’m…I don’t feel right…”

He loved his people, but Loxley had a lot of people. He'd grown up just loving his dad, and now as an adult, he had more people than he could count that he cared for. It could be overwhelming at times, and so he cherished his time on the farm. He was working hard on independence. He had a girlfriend he loved who, due to the nature of her job, was away a lot. Loxley had to be comfortable with it being just him and Pearl and the majesty of the Earth.

He was in his little tent when he heard the tell tale sounds of apparation. Pearl lifted her head off his thigh lazily, expecting for him to get up and investigate, but her being a dog meant she already knew it was Piper. She could smell her. The fact Pearl wasn't even going to get up off the mattress told Loxley it was someone he liked, at least. He pulled on a hoodie and moved out to investigate. "Hey Pipes," He called out, before noticing the way she carried herself. "What's wrong babe?"

[stargazer-sims]

If you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog!

Thanks for the ask @rebelangelsims! Round three, let's go!

I really enjoy a lot of foods that most people I meet don't like; olives, blue cheese, liver, whole milk, cottage cheese, Brussels sprouts, beans, coffee beans (as a snack), hot sauce, mint ice cream... just to name a few.

Due to my disability, I cannot drive. So, as much as I'd like to spend summers in the country, I have to live in a city with public transportation. Otherwise, I'd lose a huge chunk of my independence, and even summer in the country isn't worth that sacrifice.

I knit, but I don't know how to crochet despite trying to learn on several occasions.

[melisusthewee]

hap fri!!!! i'd love to see 'The smell of freshly baked bread' for Morris x Quinn 🥺

I think I might have been a bit loose in my interpretation of this prompt, but I am very happy with how this turned out and had a lot of fun writing it!

Sour Dough Pairing: Inquisitor Quinn Trevelyan/Ser Horatio Morris Word Count: 3,169 words Rating: G for @dadrunkwriting

Quinn Trevelyan had started to like mornings in the countryside.  The bedroom had no windows which he found to be a bit oppressive, but it made the room nice and dark and Quinn found that slowly over time he had begun to sleep better for it.

It certainly helped that he never had any true responsibilities in the country.  There were no meetings to get up for, no expected appearances, and no servants knocking on his door or letting themselves into his quarters to serve him tea and breakfast.

Well… perhaps he missed the tea and breakfast part.  Morris never put together any tea trays for him, but then Morris usually left in the mornings and Quinn liked to sleep in so there wasn't much of a point to it.  Morris would get up with the sun and putter about quietly in his kitchen before going out to check on his animals.  Then - if the weather seemed promising - he would leave for the nearest village and Quinn would promptly stretch out in the bed, happy he could finally now enjoy all to himself.

With Morris gone, Quinn could gather up both pillows just the way he liked it.  He didn't feel cramped.  He didn't have to share the blankets.  The bed was not made for two people, but it was all that Morris had and Quinn had not yet decided how to broach the subject of needing a bigger bed, a bigger room, and perhaps even a bigger house.  He wasn't certain he wasn't still just a guest here, and he liked it in the country and he liked it even more with Morris so he chose not to press his luck.

If Morris walked to the village, it would take him about an hour.  He would stop at the baker's and pick up a loaf of fresh bread, and then depending on the weather and how amicable he felt, he'd either turn around and come home or he'd be gone for nearly the entire morning.  The longer he was gone, the greater the chance he returned with something interesting - pastries today instead of just bread; the blackberry jam that Quinn liked so much; a bouquet of flowers just because.  And Quinn would spend the time alone resting and enjoying sleep that was slowly coming easier to him.

Except today something was off.  Quinn had been vaguely aware of Morris rising like usual and had rolled over and gone right back to sleep himself - just as usual.  But some time later - he had no idea what time it was, just that it seemed like it ought to still be morning - he was woken up by what he thought smelled like smoke and burnt toast.  At his feet lay his dog with her paw over her snout as if to say she could smell it too and did not like it.  But Quinn was not as calm, out of bed and on his feet in an instant.

"What sort of dog does nothing while the house is burning!"

But as he burst out of the bedroom into the main room of the cottage and stood there in nothing except what the Maker had given him, he could see that the cottage did not appear to be on fire at all.  Not yet, at least.

Morris had not gone to the village.  He was instead seated at his kitchen table, looking miserable and forlorn until Quinn's appearance caused him to instead appear quite confused.  "Are you all right, Trevelyan?"

"Are you?"

Horatio Morris' dark hair had in recent years begun to show signs of greying.  It was most evident in his beard which had started to become speckled with bits of silvery-white, but he had also sprouted a few lonely wisps of silvery hair hidden among his dark brown curls.  But the man Quinn found himself looking at right now was very grey, like someone had tossed him about in powder.  His hair looked dusty and nearly white, with patches of the same white powder smeared across his cheeks, his nose, across the painter's smock he had decided to put on that morning, and up his forearms nearly to his elbows.

"I was making bread," Morris said quietly.

That explained the smell that had roused Quinn from his sleep.  The cottage wasn't on fire, but Morris had given it a very good try.

There was flour everywhere.  Lumps of what Quinn assumed must be dough had been stacked in different places on the table.  Each clump looked unique - some seemed exceptionally wet, and others phenomenally lumpy.  A glass jar was tipped over on its side and Quinn wasn't entirely unconvinced that its contents weren't alive and trying to crawl out and across the table.  There were eggshells all over the floor which left Quinn confused because as much as he was wholly inept in the kitchen, he was pretty certain that eggs were not an ingredient in bread.

Quinn walked over to the table, careful to avoid stepping on any of the mess underfoot, and inspected the nearest ball of dough.  He picked it up, trying not to grimace at the texture of it.

"Well…" he said slowly after he had dropped the dough back onto the table with a wet plop, "I'm sure it will look different once it rises."

Morris' already deflated face fell further.  He buried his face in his flour-covered hands, sending up a soft white cloud and a forlorn-sounding moan.  When Quinn did not say anything, Morris - in the perfect picture of a tortured artist - gestured off towards the side.

Of course, thought Quinn, he had smelled something burning.

A wooden board sat near the open window and on it sat what Quinn assumed were supposed to be finished loaves of bread.  The words "loaves" and "bread" were quite generous though as what had been set out were rather deflated, unevenly blackened, and very misshapen.

"Have you tried cutting out the burnt bits?" asked Quinn, trying to be helpful.

Morris looked up, giving him a dirty look.  Clearly, Morris had checked and there were no unburnt bits aside from the soggy dough gathered on the table in front of him.

"I didn't realize you were an expert baker," said Morris petulantly.

Quinn laughed - not at Morris and his predicament, but at the silliness of the idea.  "Don't get cheeky with me, Horatio, you know if I'd done this I very well would have succeeded at burning down your house."

That got Morris' expression to soften a little though there was still a rather morose feel to his gaze.  “I don't understand what I did wrong… it's just flour, water, and yeast…”

Quinn did his best to brush away the flour that coated the nearby seat, but decided it did not seem clean enough for him to settle his bare cheeks on and instead moved to absently draw a line through the flour dust that littered the table.

“Maybe you didn't pray enough,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

Morris stared at Quinn blankly.  It was evident from the vacant stare that he did not have the slightest inclination what Quinn was going on about, but with someone known as the Herald of Andraste suggesting he pray harder, he wasn't entirely sure how serious Quinn was right now.

So Quinn explained.  “Back home, the women in the kitchens used to sing parts of the Chant whenever they were waiting for the dough to rise.”

Morris ran a hand through his hair, sending up a cloud of flour.  “You're saying my bread didn't turn out because I didn't ask the Maker to leaven it…?”

“No, Horace, I'm not that daft,” said Quinn.  “But parts of the Chant are pretty long.  It takes the Sisters in the Grand Cathedral an entire year to sing it from beginning to end.  Maybe your dough hasn't sat long enough.”

“Well how long is it supposed to sit for?”

“Don't ask me.  I'm not a baker.”

Morris groaned in despair and put his head down, burying his face in the arms he'd folded on the table.  Quinn frowned.  It was only bread.  It shouldn't be the end of the world.  So what if Morris couldn't bake?  Neither could Quinn and it didn't bother him one bit.  Besides, there were plenty of things Morris was good at on his own.  It shouldn't be a big deal that this wasn't one of them.

Quinn knew better than to tell Morris this when he was in one of his artist's melancholy - for it certainly seemed like one of those to Quinn.  So instead Quinn walked over to the hearth and retrieved the little pot that Morris had attempted to bake in.  Hefting it in one arm, he walked back over to where Morris still sat with his head down, and placed the pot on the table.  Quinn then quietly began to pick up the lumps of dough that Morris had abandoned and placed them in the pot one by one.  Once finished with his patchwork assembly of dough, Quinn retrieved the discarded lid and placed it so the offending concoction was properly covered.

Clearing his throat to get Morris’ attention, Quinn slid the pot across the table.

“Maybe,” said Quinn slowly, “you wash all that flour out of your hair, I find myself some clothes, and we go get some proper bread in the village.  And perhaps when we return, enough time will have passed that the thing in here has become something bread-like.”

Morris looked up and over at the pot Quinn had slid in front of him.  His expression was still dark and moody, but as his focus shifted from the results of his failed labour to Quinn - who was still quite naked and beginning to feel a bit awkward about it - the barest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

“You want to walk to the village with me?” he asked shyly.

“I suppose so, yes.”

The significance of the gesture was not lost on Morris, whose face already seemed a little brighter as he abandoned his kitchen mess to go clean himself up.  Quinn didn't really go out much and tended to avoid anywhere with people.  It was too difficult now that he was so easily recognizable and so Quinn's world had mostly become the boundaries of Morris’ property - which was plenty of land and space, but very quiet and empty.  The nearest village wasn't very big, but it was still a village, and that meant Quinn would have to perform his role as Herald if he was recognized - a role he didn't really believe in much anymore.

But, Quinn reasoned, it would be time with Morris and that was always time well spent.  It would cheer him up, and while he was not certain he was ready to admit it to anyone, making Morris happy was important to him.  It felt… good whenever he saw the man smile, and the bright look in Morris’ eyes whenever he glanced at Quinn made him feel warm, flustered, and twenty years younger.

It took the better part of an hour for the two of them to get themselves in a presentable order.  Quinn was just exiting the barn with his horse when Morris emerged from the cottage, his hair still damp from washing but back to its normal dark colour punctuated with only the usual bits of grey.

When Morris caught sight of Quinn and the freshly saddled horse, he paused, hands on his hips and looking a little confused.  “I thought we were walking.”

“You can if you'd like.  But I've walked across most of Thedas.  I much prefer to have my horse do most of the journey for me.”  Quinn patted the flank of the mare affectionately.  “Besides!  She's got saddlebags!  And you're not going to tell me I went through all the effort of saddling her for nothing.”

“You should have let me take care of that,” Morris said, moving to take the reins from Quinn.

“She's my horse,” Quinn insisted, “and I got here well enough on my own.  I don't need help.”

He looked at Morris pointedly.  He knew the man had good intentions and he was getting better at asking first instead of just assuming Quinn needed help, but it was still difficult not to get irritated or offended when Morris seemed to constantly ask about doing the same things again and again.  There were things Quinn was perhaps slower at with only one hand but perfectly capable of doing in the end.  Looking after his horse was one of them.

Be nice, he reminded himself.  Today was now about cheering Morris up, not picking petty fights.  So he held his tongue, handed Morris the reins, but hefted himself up into the saddle unassisted.

To his credit, Morris took the slight edge of Quinn's pettiness in stride.  “But you're going to make me saddle my own horse?”

Quinn leaned forward in his saddle and grinned.  “I thought you wanted to walk.”

“You are an ass, Quinn Trevelyan.”

But there was no barb to the insult and the familiar threat of laughter could be heard in Morris’ voice.  Quinn chuckled quietly and held out his hand for the reins.  Morris obliged, but before he could head to the barn to retrieve his own horse, Quinn wrapped the reins around the horn of his saddle and then held out his hand a second time.  Morris looked at him rather perplexed, but Quinn was insistent with the gesture.

“Theia can handle the two of us.”

Morris hesitated.  He seemed to be sizing up both the horse as well as the saddle.  There also appeared to be another debate going on inside his head, judging from the way his brows creased.  Quinn had learned that to his surprise Morris had kept a lot of parts of himself held very close to his chest and away from anyone's business.  He had his own reasons that Quinn admittedly didn't understand but his friendship with one Dorian Pavus had made him realize that it wasn't something he could fix for him and could only be supportive in whichever way the other person wanted him to be.

Two men on a horse wasn't anything odd.  It wasn't anything to second guess or think about.  And even if someone did, it was exactly what it looked like so what did it matter?  But Quinn knew he couldn't push Morris out into a world he wasn't ready for, not this time.  All he could do was just keep offering his hand and hope that one day Morris might be brave enough to take it.

Today turned out to be that day and when Morris suddenly grabbed Quinn's hand, Quinn nearly lost his balance in surprise.  But he recovered quickly, gripping Morris’ hand firmly and smiling broadly as the other man took the invitation and hoisted himself up into the space behind Quinn.

“All right?” Quinn asked, after he had shifted forward in the saddle to try and make enough room for them both to sit comfortably.

“I think so, yes,” replied Morris.

It was good enough for Quinn who took the reins in his hand and tapped his heels against the flank of the horse to urge her forward.  He whistled for his dog, who fell into step trotting alongside the horse, and they set off for the road.

The weather appeared promising as the sun seemed to be reaching its zenith in the sky.  A few clouds could be seen here and there but they were white and fluffy, not the sort that tended to threaten rain.  Spring was getting on into summer, but the heat had not yet arrived and settled over things.  It was a nice day to be outdoors, Quinn decided, with the sun on his face as they passed by green fields of grass flanked with colourful wildflowers that had burst into bloom.

Morris had put his large arms around Quinn's waist, settling into a level of comfort that would likely have made both of them blush had they been looking at one another.  Quinn was tempted to tease him, but when he heard Morris sigh and felt the press of his head against his shoulder, he decided that holding on to this closeness was much more important.

For all the secret sentimentality that Quinn was holding on to, Morris’ mind was still turning over the kitchen in his mind.  Quinn realized once he heard another sigh that sounded less content and a little more dramatic.  He rolled his eyes, but chose not to dislodge Morris from his shoulder.

“I suppose I ought to give up,” Morris was saying.  “I am not made to succeed in the kitchen.”

Perhaps a little dramatic was a slight understatement.

“I've not complained about your cooking yet.  You make very good stews.”

“Any idiot could make a stew,” grumbled Morris.

Quinn made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat.  He couldn't make a stew.  He could barely make a cup of tea and even that was only something he had recently attempted to learn.  He had been asked to watch the stew pot once or twice - at Morris’ and back when the Inquisition had been a thing.  Once in the Hinterlands, the broth had started to boil over and Quinn had sat there and watched it happen because it's all he had been asked to do and he wasn't certain what one was supposed to do when these things happened.  He had been sent into the field with only army rations after that - something he was still cross with Cullen about all these years later.

“It's just bread, Horatio,” said Quinn after a while, finally returning from his thoughts back to the present.  “Don't let it bother you so much.”

“If only it was just bread,” said Morris, sounding once again much more dramatic than Quinn felt the situation called for.  “I tried making mead once, you know.”

“Mead?” said Quinn in genuine surprise.  “When did you make mead?”

“The first year I had my bees,” explained Morris.  “I had all this honey and didn't yet know what to do with it.  So I got it into my head to be a brewer.”

“I take it things went poorly?”

He felt Morris nod against him and heard another sigh.  “I put the jars in the barn to ferment.  They exploded.  My horse was startled but unhurt, but an entire harvest's worth of honey just splattered all over the walls.  I'm a little afraid of trying it again.”

Quinn didn't respond right away, uncertain whether he should encourage Morris and if not, how honest he should be in explaining why.  But the day was bright, and Quinn was determined not to let this time spent together become clouded by other things.  So he chose his words carefully, feigning an airy dismissiveness that he knew would make Morris laugh.

“Ah… well… I don't drink mead anyway.”

[pillbugpaints]

OVERANALYSING A WEEN SONG BECAUSE I FEEL RAMBLY TODAY:

"Oh My Little Country Cottage" from the Ween Caeser demos is a song I have gone back to multiple times recently and ever since I heard it in the sense that I feel like (intentionally or not) it perfectly describes how it feels to wake up with the thought that a single willing step is what separates you from crossing the road and being hit by a car at full force but taking this thought and holding it while you do the most mundane actions ever like it's a little feral animal you now have to look after whether you want to or not.

It just perfectly encapsulates to me, between the happy flute between verses, the singer's almost flat affect with just a hint of cheeriness, and the juxtaposition of living this almost idealised life for many: a little country cottage, your own personal garden, a cute pet, enough free time to forage and take in your surroundings, how passive suicidal ideation and depression seeps into even the most "happiest" days of your life, and speaks to the resilience of getting up the next day despite it all.

Throughout the two verses, it touches upon many things that are sort of "prescribed" in liue of medication: looking after plants to feel purpose and a reason to get out of bed each day, getting a pet to stave off isolation and for similar reasons to looking after plants, eating healthy foods to improve both mental and physical health. This isn't to say these don't work, they can absolutely work. This is to say that the person we're listening to say all of this seems to be employing all of these things, or at least did in the past, to "beat" their mental illness, and now has to come to terms with the fact that, sorry, it really doesn't work like that. Your cat can happily bound through the garden as much as it wants to; depression is still sitting on your brain.

let's take a look at VERSE ONE:

The person, to me, is employing the "five senses" sort of grounding techniques here. Going out of their house, saying what they see to stave their rising anxiety. Doing outdoor activities to distract their mind from whatever shitty thoughts they might be having in the moment.

"I eat my little sandwich and it tastes like crap" I feel, can be read in two ways:

One: This person is making an effort to eat healthier for the betterment of their mental and physical health. It tastes like crap, but it's undeniably good for them so they power through. It may not even necessarily taste like crap in that it's got that bland health-taste, just that perhaps they were living off of meals that were kinder on their lack of energy for so long that eating a handmade meal feels extremely jarring and off.

Two: This person, due to any number of mental issues, has been unintentionally starving themselves, falling into that "I feel too sick to eat, and when I do try to eat, I don't know what I want/it takes too much effort to make" rut. That sort of moment where even your safe foods taste like "crap". They don't bring you joy, and eating feels like a chore rather than something to look forward to in the day.

Now, VERSE TWO:

The first line, again, plays into the idea of having something to look after when you aren't looking after yourself can give you a reason to get up every day. I enjoy getting up to look at the strawberry plants in my garden and seeing if they have flowered. It's something to look forward to each day.

Their peas sprouting can also be metaphorical, the notion of little sparks of joy or dopamine hits from feeling like you've achieved something good by planting something and keeping it alive to see it sprout. They've only just sprouted though, fragile and small, and need to be fed and watered still.

The peas are also a good reminder that life moves on regardless. This is crushing, and at times it fucking sucks, no doubt about it. But one constant is time. The peas will sprout regardless. The kitty will become a cat. But life moving on can also be reassuring. You WILL get through this. It will pass like everything else. It might just take a while, like the sprouting of peas. Slow and steady, fragile at first, more resilient after growth.

The second line plays into the idea of looking after a PET rather than a plant. Slightly more taxing, but with the same if not greater benefits. Their happiness can become your happiness by proxy. Providing them joy brings YOU joy. The repetition of happiness in this line, noting it twicely, may also be a twinge of jealousy. This cat is happy doing something so mundane on a day like any other. It seems to come so naturally to her. There is maybe an undertone of a desire to be like that too. To find the joy in the mundane. But it isn't easy, or even fully achievable, and that's something to learn to be ok with.

The third line is just the "Yeah I Just Need To Distract Myself" meme, to me. Weeding and digging is something myself I've done to Do Something, to Not Think. It's a repetitive task that makes your brain look out for the odd patterns, the ones that aren't meant to be in your little garden you've cultivated. Metaphorically speaking, if the sprouting peas are the Dopamine, then weeds are the Bad Thoughts, simply.

I especially feel a connection to this one line:

Which is immediately followed by (presumably) the person that is the "I" and "myself" in this song playing the flute very well, meaning they have done the first half of what they said they would do. But then....the song keeps going. It loops the same verses AGAIN.

This is so important to me and why I feel so connected to it. So many times when my mental health has been terrible, I have found myself saying similar things to the above line. All times were passive but felt intensely real in the moment. All times lead to me learning a new skill, or finishing an important task, but I (obviously) never took the next step. Just like the person in this song. They have learned to play the flute, but do they kill themselves?

No! They do it all again. They wake up the next day and they do. it. all. again. And that is just so relatable to someone like me, who has been depressed for a little while now, and has experienced passive ideation in the past.

This song just really speaks to me because (again, whether intentionally or not) it just seems to perfectly encapsulate what it's like to live with depression, or passive ideation, or both (like me!), and to say "I'm going to kill myself when I've done this. I need to at least do this in my time on this Earth" as a sort of bargaining chip with yourself, because usually by the time you FINISH that goal you're "over" whatever in the moment was making you feel that way. In my case I certainly never wanted to kill myself for sure, it was more of a kneejerk reaction to immense overstimulation and depression that made the idea of not having to feel anything so enticing.

In conclusion, this song is a great example of the loop of "man, I'm gonna kill myself" as a kneejerk reaction to terrible circumstances, and how life goes on despite it. That you get up the next day, check on your pea sprouts, feed your cat, eat the food that you have no desire to eat, let your guard down for just long enough to hear that passive ideation you thought you smothered, and then let it sit and swing its legs on the wall as you trim back the dying branches of your rose bush while listening to the music that you love. By the end of the day, passive ideation has probably gone home, and you get ready to do it again tomorrow. Despite knowing the way to end it prematurely. Despite everything. You learn to play the flute again and again, but never get around to the "killing yourself" part.

Because in truth, it was always the flute playing that appealed to you.

[peace-love-piper]

[ cottagecore ] pix

It was clear they both needed to get away, for a little while.

The Census business, and subsequently losing her job at Flitterby, had been a tough blow to Piper’s nerves. The patrols in Knockturn Alley had been kicked up tenfold since, with the residents of Borgin and Burkes facing constant, harsh scrutiny in particular. Even apparating straight to the stoop, you could feel eyes always on you, coming or going, no matter what time of day it was. It made Piper jumpy, like she was just waiting for the real storm to hit.

Finding the Putney safehouse had been a step forward, albeit a tense one, seeing as Xiomara Winters seemed to run the ship there. But even with Xiomara’s enduringly low opinion of her, Piper had felt a sense of community there that seemed like a positive thing.

Until that day, as it was warily and rarely referred to amongst them, between Loxley and Xiomara and Nathaniel Pinnock. Loxley didn’t like to talk about it, but Piper knew how hurt he was over it; she could feel it, searing through her bloodstream even though Loxley tried his best to brush it off, always insisting the rest of them go on without him.

All signs pointed to escaping somewhere for a little while; some fresh air, some quiet. No stress.

There were still a few weeks left before the end of the Hogwarts term, when Piper would need to return to the city to see to her work for the Band Cthulhu, who would then be out of school and ready to hit the ground running. But for now, the former Professor Sprout had offered up the spare cottage on her property to her best (and only) employee to use for the next few weeks—as long as they were willing to clean it up to livable standards, that is; apparently it hadn’t seen tenants in quite some time. 

Dylan, with her Boots Network experience, had rigged them a quasi-Floo portal from a cupboard in Borgin and Burkes that was untraceable by the Ministry—a direct line between the Knockturn Alley property, and Sprout’s country cottage. Having kissed all their flatmates goodbye for the week (Mae and Oz were set to come visit the following weekend, assuming all went well), Piper squeezed Loxley’s hand at the cupboard door and said meekly, “Ready?”

They were spit out into a room that was…dark. Piper coughed, and shot a few light orbs up into the air. When she walked forward, her shoes left prints in the dust that caked the groaning wooden floorboards. She looked around and…well, they certainly had their work cut out for them. Still, bright and optimistic as ever, Piper wheeled around and smiled at Loxley. “I think we should wash the windows first—get some natural light in here, don’t you think?”

@loxley-blair-lockhart

[drgluckenstein]

Lmao my mom is so cottagecore.

[flock-talk]

Hi, had an interesting vet visit today that I was hoping to get your opinion on. I have a Quaker parrot and my vet recommended I feed him pieces of cooked chicken, potato and sweet potato, cottage cheese and was kind of meh about vegetables and fruits. He said if I can get him to eat the veg that’s fine, but to focus on the cottage cheese, chicken and potato. Ive seen very mixed results about feeding cottage cheese online, but this vet is also the vet for our local aquarium so he’s famous in our area for his expertise in birds and reptiles. My bill was also quite high, I was charged $50 for a restraining fee and $7 for a biohazard waste disposal? He had blood work, a fecal sample and a vitamin shot done so I was expecting the bill to be high, but I was surprised by those charges. This is all completely different from my old vet who no longer sees patients, which is why I had to switch. Any insight would be greatly appreciated!!

That is a really odd set of recommendations I would ask more as to why that’s their preference. There are some species of parrot who eat bugs but cooked meats are pretty fatty and they can struggle to properly digest a lot of animal proteins so that strikes me as odd. Parrots can’t digest lactose so suggesting cheese is again a really bizarre recommendation. Cooked Sweet potato is a common suggestion and I love using it since the Vit A is great for feather pigment and most birds find it tasty so it works well for veggie transitions.

Being meh towards veggies is again strange since most parrots are not true granivores and eat primarily sprouts, grasses, leaves and other vegetation. There was one study done that showed that eating veggies had little nutritional impact when pellets were fed as a base since most veggies are mostly water it didn’t drastically mess up the balanced vitamins in the pellets. So that could be their reasoning for being meh towards it?

That being said I don’t have a world of experience with Quakers so maybe there’s bits I’m not fully understanding there.

The restraining fee for such a tiny bird is also strange unless your bird was excessively aggressive and required extra time/ special handling. There could be reason for that but I’ve not had that experience myself.

I’ve also never seen a biohazard waste fee but that could be a provincial/ state/ country difference that I’m not familiar with.

I’d likely ask more questions, as a whole things aren’t really adding up!

[4dtk]

“hii! johnny hand holding 33 & hugs 7 please ^-^ thankyou <33” hope you don’t mind i did it with an au! this shit is so cheesy i’m sorry i’m in my feels :")

hand-holding, 33: bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go

hugs, 7: pulling someone into a hug

“god, what did you do?” you ask with concern, muttering out a quick sorry when bodyguard!johnny recoils from the sharp sting of alcohol against his skin.

he sighs with resignation, knowing he couldn’t say much without avoiding the subject all together. he can, however, avoid the question, going for the option that allowed him to stay silent on the matter. he knew he was going to get a scolding, but who could blame him for stretching it out for a bit?

“john, johnny. what. did. you. do,” you puncture each word which makes the other grimace, moving on to secure the start of the bandage before wrapping it tightly around the wound. johnny tenses up under your skin when pressure is applied to his patched up wound, and you know he’s only doing it for your attention.

he’s a bodyguard, for christ’s sake.

“very funny. who was the one avoiding my questions earlier?” a cheeky smile spreads across his face when he hears the tease in your voice.

“there. all done. now, can you tell me what you did?” you ask, not wanting to pull away from his hand. a gentle caress does the job to calm johnny’s nerves, your hand engulfed in his while you stroke over his fingers. it leaves blooming sprouts and a feeling of freshness against the familiar smell of blood and crack of bones against his knuckles; it was something that he didn’t regret doing even if he went a little too far.

those sprouts only bloom into the one thing they know to do: plants, flowers, fruits. like a garden, all johnny wants to do is to remain in the vast expanse of green. there would be little streams and a cottage, there would be laughter and the beating of two hearts. there would be you, the sun who gives life to everything like a goddess.

but it’s all a silly faraway dream, so drastically different from the pain and complications of working for a renowned family in all of south korea, no less, working to protect the next heir to the family business. it was anything but that fantasy that he’s conjured up in his mind.

the general nature of the bandage restricts your bodyguard from separating his fingers. you notice this with the twitching of his fingers, trying so hard not to do anything out of protocol but so craving to hold yours. the hand at your side comes up.

“someone was saying mean stuff about you,” johnny nonchalantly says, eyes fixated on the leftover chips on the vanity table, while the laptop freezes on a frame of howl’s moving castle. the familiar large title with its small description suggests that it’s on netflix.

“listening to christian bale saying ‘that’s my girl’ on repeat again?” johnny breaks the tense atmosphere with a single joke, prompting a smack out of you and then a laugh out of him. that faraway dream doesn’t seem so distant, now.

“i was just following protocol-“

“no, you weren’t!” there’s a hint of a smile in your angered tone, “you just wanted an excuse to punch someone.”

he agrees with a wink, “the training room was getting boring.”

you giggle at that, lifting the bandaged hand to your forehead carefully as you attempt to hide your fluster. he made you feel things, too many things. with a hand to the small of your back (it ignited your skin badly, it was electrifying almost), with a serious demeanour in the presence of your parents (the clumsy drop of your spoon almost made him break character) and with johnny now:

he removes his hand from your forehead, bringing it tenderly to your cheek as his eyes finally meet yours.

“i’m okay, okay?” a kiss to the crown of your head, “lemme change into something more comfortable,” and he stands up briefly, both hands already fiddling with the buttons of his shirt before you’re tugging on his injured hand.

you collide with his chest, not minding the minor pain as you bury yourself in his dress shirt.

“be careful, please,” you whisper, hidden in the white stained red of his shirt and his warm aura.

johnny relaxes instantly, arms returning the gesture and leaning into the hug more than you expected him to. he breathes in your scent, rosemary mint from the shampoo and citrus from your face wash. he makes sure to pocket it in his mind next time when he’s buying groceries.

johnny makes sure to take you away to somewhere safe one day, where you’ll live out your life either with or without him, storing away the different countries you wished you could visit.

johnny makes sure of your favourite movie that’s paused on the small screen, keeping it in his mind to get himself a ring similar to howl’s so he’d always return to your heart.

“i’ll try,” the bodyguard mumbles into your hair and he feels your arms tighten around him, “as long as i’m able to come back to you each time, i’ll try.”

[bastillewolf]

Hey I know you probably have like a billion requests already but maybe you could do something where the reader is good friends with corpse (maybe with some unspoken feelings) and they ask him to visit their country side home lmao-

I'm really embarrassed about asking this and I know it sounds strange but being out in the country side can be really good for mental health and I just want this boi to heal--

I'm so sorry hahah

Thanks

That’s not strange at all, darling!! I love this ask! I’m so sorry it took me so long to answer this, my mental health hasn’t been very good lately. I suppose I found this ask rather appropriate and I guess that’s why I liked writing it so much. Hope you enjoy!

Sunrise, Sunset - Oneshot

Pairings: Corpse Husband / Reader.

“Yo,” is the first thing you hear as you open your Discord. It’s not his regular greeting, and he sounds more tired than usual.

“What’s up?” you asked curiously. “Everything okay? Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I got really busy.”

“I can tell from your voice,” you chuckled. It had more of a rasp to it- if that was even possible.

“Yea, I can’t do too much for too long. I love that I’m able to work on music now, but it exhausts my voice so much that I can’t even stream sometimes.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” you comment.

“Probably. It’s almost done, so then I can stream more,” he replies.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hm?”

“I’m talking about an actual break, from everything.”

You hear him exhale deeply as if he’d already been considering it himself. “That does sound very nice.”

“I know, I always have the best ideas.”

“You do, except you forgot about the fact that I can’t really go anywhere. I mean, I’d love to take a break, but if I just sit here at home, I’m gonna either end up doing nothing or start working anyways. I don’t see me relaxing that way.”

“I didn’t forget about anything; I just hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

“Oh?”

You’d be lying if you said that noise didn’t make you blush. “Remember how I said I live in the countryside? You know, it’s quite cosy here, and I have a guest bedroom to spare. If you want, but only if you’re comfortable with it, you could come over.”

It was quiet for a moment and your poor nerves were wondering if you’d said something completely wrong. You knew how he was about his privacy, but you’d figured that having known each other for a more than a few months now, you’d be at a point where you’d become actual friends, especially considering you always talked over Discord. At least, when he wasn’t busy.

“I... You wouldn’t mind?” he asked softly.

“Of course not!” You immediately replied, trying your best to make him feel as welcome as possible. “It’ll be so much fun! I was just worried you wouldn’t feel comfortable with it, otherwise, I would’ve invited you over a lot sooner.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes! I’m always looking for people to take care of my chickens.”

“You have chickens?” he sputtered.

“Sure do. And that was a joke, by the way.”

He didn’t really give you much time to prepare. He’d instantly asked if he could come over in two days, which meant you had to clean, do the groceries, and have another mental breakdown within that short time.

When he did arrive at your relatively small but homely cottage, you knew that even if you’d had more time, you still wouldn’t have felt like you’d prepared enough. You were incredibly nervous, especially as the cab slowed to a nerve-wracking speed until it finally stopped in front of your little wooden fence that really couldn’t keep anyone out of your garden because it was so ramshackle.

You nod your head to the driver politely, who got out of the car to unload a bag from the trunk. Then, the door opened, ringed fingers sliding across the yellow polish on the metal framing. He pulled himself up and out, finally allowing you to take a good look at his face.

His hair was dark and curly, as to be expected from what you’d seen in the pictures, though you could barely see it underneath the hood he’d pulled up. His dark brown eyes immediately found yours, and a shy smile graced his lips, which you bashfully returned with a small wave. It made you want to hit yourself multiple times. He paid the cabby and thanked him, allowing you to take a good look at his attire, at his frame, at his whole being. He was wearing a black hoodie with some chains around it, along with dark baggy trousers and, go figure, black sneakers. He was slightly slouching, probably so the driver wouldn’t be able to make out his face in its entirety, but overall he looked lean, even while his face was more pale and tired, with dark circles surrounding his eyes.

He locked the creaky wooden fence behind him, quickly closing the distance between you two with only a few strides. He dropped his backpack on the floor, saying, “hi.” “Hey,” you replied with that stupid smile still on your face and now quite possibly a hint of red dusting your cheeks. He just chuckled at the slight awkwardness of the situation, before wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug. He smelled like nice cologne, and he gave really good hugs. It said a lot that you could tell that from just the one. “Thanks for letting me come over,” he muttered, finally allowing himself to sound as exhausted as he looked.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

When you met his eyes again as he pulled back, you knew he was quietly telling you that it meant more to him than that. Feeling shy under his dark gaze, you shook your head, saying, “Come on, let me show you around.”

It wasn’t that big of a tour, but it was home and it was comfortable, so you never felt embarrassed about it. You made enough money, to be fair, from your career through YouTube, but you’d never really had the heart to leave the house. At least you had a guest bedroom, and the garden was something to dream of. To trade that in for a bit more storage space would be such a pity.

“-and this is going to be your room, for however long you wish to stay,” you finish with a flourish of your hand. He set his suitcase down on the freshly made bed and nodded, glancing around for a bit before his eyes landed back on you. “Did I tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me?”

You huff, “Once or twice now.”

“I’ll be off your back in a few days, don’t worry. I think I just needed to get out of my stuffy apartment for a bit.”

“Stay as long as you’d like,” you told him assuredly, “I know how stressful it can be and I haven’t even been through what you have. I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

He shrugs, “I have my ups and downs. It’s mostly my health issues and anxiety holding me back.”

“Well, I hope you can relax a bit here, then. People seem to feel more at ease without a bustling city around them,” you said.

He glanced out the window and nodded. “Yeah, I immediately noticed it as I got out of the car. It’s so... quiet here. And the air, of course. It’s so much nicer.”

“I usually take walks in the early mornings. You should come along sometime if you’d like. The sunrise is always really pretty when you get up on the hill.”

The corners of his lips quirked up. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” you replied, clapping your hands together, “I’ll let you get settled and start dinner. The uh- the bathroom is shared, I left a stack of towels on the rack so you can use those.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

You nodded shyly, silently closing the door behind you as you stepped into the hall. You let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the wall, pressing the backs of your hands against your cheek in a vain attempt to cool down the heat and tone down the redness. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d reacted this way but the times you’d spend talking about everything and nothing with Corpse through Discord calls that lasted until the early mornings. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You didn’t want to risk the friendship you had with him, but the tingling that had sprouted in your gut the moment he’d gotten out of that car told you that this was going to be hard.

 You knocked on his door quietly, afraid you were accidentally going to wake him when he didn’t want to be awoken. You didn’t know what kind of morning person he’d be, but he told you yesterday that he wanted to join you for your walk today. And while you were going to leave half an hour later than usual because it took you that long to work up the courage to knock on his door, meaning you were going to have to hurry a bit to catch the sun rising, you were still scared he was going to react grouchily. But when he opened the door, already dressed and ready to go, you realized you’d foolishly forgotten that this wasn’t just anyone, but that this was one of your friends; someone you already knew, even if it hadn’t been physically. Of course, he’d open the door with a smile, even though he looked more tired than the day before, which worried you.

“How did you sleep?” You made it evident in your tone that you were rather scared to ask the question, but it made him chuckle.

“I think you already know the answer to that. I don’t sleep well in general, so don’t worry. It has nothing to do with the bed or your hospitality.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, I don’t mind being woken up.”

He shook his head as he followed you downstairs and out the front door. “To be fair, I slept more than I usually would, but your rooster woke me up.”

You laughed, “Yea, I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about that.” You held the wooden fence gate open for him, following him to the grass field until you were walking next to him. You silently picked up your pace a bit, worrying that you might miss the sunrise when you had promised it to him.

“I know, I know,” he replied amusedly, “Can we go see them later? The chickens?”

“Sure,” you smiled, “I also have a few ducks. You’ll love them, they’ll try to rip the shoelaces from your feet.”

“Sounds great.”

The walk to the hill wasn’t too far, but the hill was quite steep, which was always an exercise for people who walked with you for the first time, so you’d figured he’d start trailing behind you after some time. Thing is, he started trailing behind relatively earlier than you had expected him to.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you called out, “you good? We’re almost there.”

He nodded, though you could see him slightly panting, and you turned around to jog up the last bit until you reached the top. You could see a sliver of light start to peek over the horizon, making you glance back to see how far away he was.

But instead of having moved forward, he was now sort of slouched over, holding his stomach as he panted loudly. “Shit,” you cursed yourself as you sprinted back down until you skidded to a stop in front of him. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I should have slowed down-“

“It’s fine,” he waved you off, slowly catching his breath. “I can do it, I just take a bit longer.”

“I’ll carry you if I have to. I got us into this mess.”

He chuckled, but it sounded a bit hoarse.

“Come on,” you said. He furrowed his brow in confusion but followed you anyway. Walking along the side of the hill was tricky, but you made it around without any issues. He was able to keep up this time and gratefully plopped down on the grass beside you, just in time to watch the sun fully appear from behind the horizon.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Yea, it never really gets old.” You laid down, feeling twigs of grass tickle the bareback of your neck.

He joined you, scooting a bit closer until your arms were brushing against each other. You couldn’t tell if he’d done it on purpose, so you acted like it hadn’t affected you, keeping your eyes fixed on the sky above you. At least, you tried. They flickered when you felt fingertips graze across your lower arm until they reached your palm, where his nails slowly dragged along your skin until his warm digits intertwined with yours. His rings felt cool against the heat and tingling you were suddenly feeling in your hand. He didn’t let go of you, not as you laid there for what seemed like hours, nor during the entire walk back.

‘Is this what friends do?’ you were silently asking yourself, watching the ducks try to free his shoes from its laces, ‘is this what friends do when they need support? Is this his way of coping, or is it-‘ You quickly shook the thought away. Of course, he wouldn’t think of you that way. He probably did stuff like this with all his friends. You knew how playful he could get, his guy friends included.

Yeah, it was just that. It had to be.

You were both laid back on the couch that night, stuffed to the brink with the famous lasagne you’d put together. The TV was on, but it sounded more like static noise in the background. “I think I can just fall asleep right here,” you hummed. The glass of red wine you’d shared – because neither of you could handle liquor – had created a pleasant buzz between the two of you.

“That seems a lot less comfortable than your bed.”

“You don’t know a thing about my bed,” you huffed indignantly.

It was quiet for a moment then, a sliver of tension seeping through the warmth of your home. “I think it’s probably about as comfortable as mine, otherwise you’re treating your guests too much,” he replied.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I’ve actually never slept in the guest bedroom. I might just be treating my guests too much and I’d never even know about it.”

He suddenly sat up and turned the TV off. “Come on,” he said and was already up the stairs by the time you’d made an attempt to move.

When finally reached the upstairs and were about to round the corner, you were suddenly picked up and slung over his shoulder, causing you to let out a loud shriek. “Corpse!” you laughed, “Please put me down!”

“You were taking too long,” he grumbled, dropping you down on the bed unceremoniously. He shuffled over until he was laying down next to you and lifted the covers up until it reached your neck.

“So?” he asked.

You had your eyes closed. “I might be treating my guests too much.”

He snorted. “Fucking knew it,” which made you laugh.

You laid there for quite a while, not really caring if either of you fell asleep with your regular clothes still on. “Hey Corpse?”

He hummed.

“I’m really glad you came. It gets lonely over here sometimes.”

He shifted, but because it was so dark you couldn’t really see what he was doing. Suddenly though, you felt him hovering over you, his elbows resting on either side of your face as his hand reached across to move a strand of hair to the side. He leaned down and hesitantly, his lips barely touched yours, a silent question if this was okay. You moved back against him, your hand finding his cheek in the darkness. His kisses were gentle, but passionate, which made your breaths heavier and deeper. When you pulled apart, you were both breathing heavily, mostly from the tension that had arisen.

“I really like you,” you admitted.

“Good,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you until you were tucked against his chest. You hit his arm playfully, “Cocky bastard.”

You hear the smirk in his voice as he said goodnight.

TAG LIST CLOSED!

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[megan-is-mia]

Omggg I love your blog!! I'm new here and I'm already so hooked! 😊💖

Could I please request #14 of the monster yandere prompt with Malleus?? With spiciness of NSFW if possible please

XOXO

 (I hope you stay hooked cause you’ll be in for a crazy ride, and hell yeah you can get your NSFW. You are lucky cause this fic is loooong) 14. “You know you can’t run from me forever, one day I’ll catch you” (Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Fem! S/o) (WARNING NSFW AND NON-CON AHEAD) ((MILD CHILD GROOMING)) “Malleus do wipe that bitter expression off your face” Lilia said in a scolding tone as he poked the young king whose mouth was fixed in a deep grimace. “I don’t want to, if I must go to this christening then I will but I refuse to pretend that I’m happy about it” Malleus replied folding his arms and looking out the window of the carriage. “You were so excited about going before, why the sudden change?” Lilia said giving the draconic-fae’s face another sharp poke. 

“That was before you told me it was in the Enchanted Dominion” Malleus said, the corner of his mouth twitching with the force of his frown. “You know I cannot stand that bratty little prince Dimitri, and now there’s going to be two of them” he added with a shake of his head. The Enchanted Dominion was the kingdom closest to the Valley of Thorns, and because of that considerable effect was put in by both countries to keep their diplomatic relations at least peaceful if not outright friendly. “Actually it seems that King Klaude and Queen Eden were blessed with a little princess this time. I believe they’ve named her (Y/n), for the Queen’s late mother” Lilia said, his lips quirked up into a half-grin as he noticed that Malleus’s posture had relaxed with this additional information. They rode the rest of the way to their destination without any further chatter. The two fae were escorted into the banquet hall where a great celebration was already in process as various dignitaries approached to pay their respects to the baby.

Malleus let out a sigh as he walked up to the cradle where the infant princess lay half-asleep. As he stared down at the baby, he found himself begrudgingly thinking that she was rather cute. Not as cute as Silver had been as a babe, but definitely deserving of the cooing and coddling that had been given to her by all the visitors. Absentmindedly he reached down to stroke the child’s cheek and her little eyes popped open to look up at him. (Y/n) gurgled and tried to grab the fae’s finger in her tiny fist. It was like a switch was flipped inside the draconic-fae at this action by the newborn and he scooped the child up despite the cries of protest from the seated king and queen. (Y/n) continued to gurgle and stared up at Malleus sending him into a trance of sorts as his heart raced with infatuation for the sweet infant. It took Lilia tapping his shoulder for the young fae to finally return to reality and set the babe back in her cradle even as she tried to cling to Malleus’s fingers and began to cry as he walked away. Even as he put distance between himself and the child, the draconic-fae’s mind was filled with thoughts of the infant princess. He remembered nothing of the festivities that followed after everyone had paid their respects to the baby and he thought of nothing but her until the next day. Well, that wasn’t entirely true… even though he forced himself to focus on his responsibilities Malleus still found his mind wandering to the condition of Princess (Y/n) to the point that even Lilia noticed he was out of sorts. It wasn’t until the young king finally sent a messenger, in secret, to the Enchanted Dominion to inquire about the state of the baby princess that he was finally able to get some peace and complete his work for the day. At first, receiving an update once a day about the state of little (Y/n) was enough to satisfy Malleus’s curiosity. However, as the months passed the daily message he received just wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted to see the young princess, see how much she’d already grown in the last four months. Malleus had to fight the urge to simply teleport to King Klaude and Queen Eden’s castle to satisfy his need to see the child. He forced himself to be patient and wrote a formal letter requesting permission to visit the castle under the guise of a diplomatic visit. His request was eventually approved and the day after he was able to finally see little (Y/n) again. She was crawling now and was just as cute as he remembered her being if not more so. It was clear, even now, that the baby princess would be a great beauty when she grew up. Regretfully the dragon-fae wasn’t able to spend as much time as he would have liked with the little princess before he was dragged off on a tour of the castle by the king and queen. However, this brief second encounter with the adorable child confirmed one thing in his mind: Malleus could not wait for another four months to pass by before the next time he saw young (Y/n). He resolved to begin visiting the child in secret so he could watch over her like a benevolent ghost or a faithful shadow. Five years passed by, and Malleus dutifully watched over (Y/n) as she grew from a crawling baby to a waddling toddler and into an energetic little girl. He came to realize that his infatuation with her was not only growing but slowly turning into something not as innocent as it had been originally. The draconic fae knew it’d be only a matter of a few more years before the princess would be old enough to start entertaining potential suitors, and that was assuming that she didn't end up betrothed before that! The very thought of such a thing happening irked him beyond belief. In Malleus’s opinion, no mortal man would ever be worthy of his darling (Y/n). However, there wasn’t much he could do to stop such an event from happening. Unless… he asked for the princess’s hand before anyone else had the chance and secured his claim on his future queen now. That thought should have disgusted him, wanting to take a child as his bride to be. Yet instead it filled him with immense satisfaction when he really took the time to think about it. Really he was the best choice for the princess. Their kingdoms were right next to each other so their union would allow their countries to merge and prosper under their joint rule. Malleus knew that some of the lower-fae might object to having a human queen at first but he was sure they’d come to adore (Y/n) with time. Even though she was still very young, the dragon-fae could tell she would only grow in grace, intelligence, beauty, and maturity as the years went by. He’d already seen it during the times he’d already spent by her side.

When the time came for them to finally wed there would be no way anyone could object to their marriage. Yet before any of that could happen, he had to ask for King Klaude and Queen Eden’s permission to become Princess (Y/n)’s betrothed. When Malleus went to ask for that honor he did not go empty-handed. Oh no, he wanted to make it quite plain to his beloved’s parents that he’d make for a suitable husband with extravagant courting gifts as he made his request. However, the king and queen did not respond the way he’d hoped they would. Instead of being impressed by the gifts and his heartfelt request they were disgusted by his intentions towards their second-child. Malleus’s eyes narrowed as these pathetic mortals tried to lecture him about how reprehensible they found his offer to be. They threatened death upon him as well as war on his people if they ever caught wind of him getting anywhere close to the young princess again. Malleus found himself consumed by rage and teleported back to the Valley of Thorns unaware that his wrath had taken corporeal form as green flames that sprouted where he’d been standing last before spreading like an actual wildfire through the castle ravaging objects and killing people in its wake. When news of the terrible disaster came to the young king the next day he found himself desperately hoping that (Y/n) had somehow survived the terrible blaze.

Sadly this was not to be. While King Klaude, Queen Eden, and Prince Dimitri had managed to get out alive, the little princess had been consumed in the inferno before it had been successfully extinguished and the Enchanted Dominion held a funeral for their dearly departed princess a week later. Even Malleus attended the event albeit in disguise. He was far from ready to face the reality that (Y/n) was truly dead nor was he ready to handle the accusations from the king and queen for his crime. 

Malleus spent the next decade and a quarter in a deep depression. What was the point of living when you had nothing to live for? He ate little, slept little, and tried to keep his mind busy with work improving the Valley of Thorns. Alas, there were still times when his mind was filled with thoughts of (Y/n) especially when the anniversaries of her death and christening passed by each year. This year would have marked the princess’s eighteenth birthday, the year she’d finally have been old enough to wed. Overcome with sorrow the young king disappeared in the forest that covered the border between the Enchanted Dominion and the Valley of Thorns to wander aimlessly until his mind would finally allow him some peace. When suddenly a beautiful voice caught Malleus’s ear and made him stand straight at attention. The voice was clear as the call of a songbird and soft like the jingle of sleigh bells. The draconic-fae found himself drawn to the voice, determined to find out what its source was. Malleus followed the voice all the way to a glen with a cottage situated at the center but it wasn’t the cottage that truly interested the dragon-fae at this moment. No, his interest was for the figure who had been singing all this time. For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him; there was no way the scene unfolding before him was really happening. There in the glen, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world… was Princess (Y/n). Not as he remembered her, but how he’d imagined she’d one day be. Beautiful and graceful as can be, (Y/n) sang for all the world to hear as she walked away from the cottage and toward where Malleus was standing in the shadows of the trees. As she drew closer the young fae was able to see the burned flesh of her left cheek and right arm clear as day. Malleus felt rage begin to bubble in his stomach, he’d been lied to all this time. The princess hadn’t died in the fire he’d created! They’d hidden her away in the forest probably in an effort to make him stop pursuing her. “So this is where they’ve been keeping you all these years… clever” Malleus said, stepping out from where he’d been standing in concealment and making the young woman shriek with surprise. “Hello (Y/n), you’re looking quite lively for someone who supposedly died in a fire thirteen years ago” he added with a smirk as the girl stared at him with bug-eyed disbelief. “Come on, I know you can speak. I just heard you singing quite beautifully before you knew I was here” he finished before going silent to await her response. “King Draconia! How’d you find me?!” (Y/n) said with undisguised horror. She’d spent most of her childhood and teenage years in fear that the dragon fae would locate her. The great fire he’d caused was one of her only vivid memories of her youth and had been the basis of many nightmares when she’d first been brought out into the forest. Her parents had been planning to marry her to a foreign prince this year and she would never have to worry about being in the crosshairs of a fae again. “Fate my dear child of man, we are meant to be together and so fate made it so” Malleus said coolly as he advanced on (Y/n) and grabbed her wrist as the girl’s eyes darted from side to side as she tried to formulate an escape plan. “ (Y/n), I would advise against trying to flee from me for you’d only be postponing the inevitable. You know you can’t run from me forever. One day I’ll catch you, and the longer it takes for that day to come the more pain you’ll cause both yourself and your family” he warned softly. “What do you want from me?” (Y/n) asked quietly even though she already knew the answer to that question. “The same thing I’ve always wanted from you. I want you to be my wife. I need a queen to rule by my side and I want that queen to be you” Malleus said calmly as he pulled the young woman against his chest and wrapped his other arm around her waist to keep her there. “And what if I don't want to be your wife or your queen?” (Y/n) said hesitantly and received a patronizing laugh from the dragon-fae in answer to her question. “I’ll raze the Enchanted Dominion to the ground and still take you as my bride. I’m giving you a choice to either accept your destiny with dignity or to cause massive suffering for your kingdom through a refusal of your destiny” Malleus said gently but firmly making it clear that there was no choice, not really. “I’ll marry you… and I promise not to fight” (Y/n) said quietly, letting her head flop forward to rest against the fae king’s chest. She was dimly aware of him pressing his lips against her forehead before everything went dark. Malleus cast a minor sleeping spell upon (Y/n) with a kiss to her forehead. He knew that she was probably trying to process everything that had just happened and wanted to ease the process by letting her rest for the time being. He teleported the two of them back to his castle and into his chambers where he gently tucked the young woman under the covers with another kiss to her forehead before leaving the room. As much as Malleus wanted to stay by (Y/n)’s side and bask in her beauty, his kingly duties called.

First thing, first he needed to tell Lilia the joyous news and start the preparations for the wedding. He found the older fae hanging around one of the attics in the castle and gleefully told him of his discovery in the woods. Lilia was overjoyed to see his ward smiling again after so many years of sorrow and he eagerly agreed to oversee the arrangements for Malleus and (Y/n)’s wedding. He shooed the young fae away telling him to not worry about it and that he’d handle the specifics of the matter. Next thing to do was sending a wedding invitation to King Klaude and Queen Eden. He kept it simple and didn’t reveal the identity of his bride until the final sentence of the invitation. Malleus handed the letter off to a messenger and sent them off to the Enchanted Dominion to deliver it to his future in-laws. The draconic-fae spent the rest of the day buzzing through his paperwork with a vigor he hadn’t shown in years. By the time the sun had set, Malleus was finished with his work and retired eagerly to his chambers where (Y/n) awaited him.

As he locked the door behind him, the dragon-fae smiled to himself. The princess was still deeply asleep from his spell and there was a little smile on her face. Malleus sat on the bed and ran his fingers through (Y/n)’s hair and found himself memorized by her beauty. The burn-marks on her face and arm did not detract from her good locks, if anything they made her even more beautiful in his eyes. He still wished that things had turned out differently and that he had been granted her hand when he’d asked all those years ago. However, Malleus couldn't say he was totally unhappy with how things had turned out. Sure, (Y/n) was afraid of him for now, but with time she’d come to see how much he loved her and fall just as madly in love with him as he was madly in love with her. The young king was certain of it, he would make the princess a happy bride, happy wife, and happy queen in time. The young fae was pulled from his thoughts by the young woman moving in her sleep and letting out a soft whimper It was clear that (Y/n)’s sweet dreams had now turned into a nightmare and Malleus dispelled the enchantment he’d placed upon the young woman allowing her to wake up from her terrible dream. The young woman blinked slowly and looked around her with an expression of confusion on her features. The draconic-fae did not speak, allowing his darling human to take in the features of the room as he continued to stroke her hair soothingly as she did so. “How do you feel child of man? I’m sorry for the abrupt waking but you were having a nightmare” Malleus asked and felt the princess suddenly stiffen as if she only just remembered who she was in bed with. The young fae let out a sigh as he pulled down the covers and pulled (Y/n) out and up into his lap. “Relax my dear (Y/n), everything is alright, your bad dreams cannot hurt you anymore” he said softly pressing his nose against the nape of the young woman’s neck.

“King Draconia… Did you… did we? While I was…” (Y/n) trailed off her face turning bright red with embarrassment as she tried to articulate her question. Malleus found it adorable how easily flushed the matter made her. He knew humans took such interpersonal relationships more seriously than the fae did and he couldn't resist teasing his sweet human a little over it. “Did I deflower you while you were asleep?” he asked bluntly, making the girl blush even more as she nodded her head.

“What do you think? Do you think I took your innocence already?” the fae crooned, enjoying the way the young woman squirmed at his words and her skin began to heat up from how flustered she was. “Be at ease, I was only teasing you a bit. Your virtue is still very much intact my dear child of man” Malleus said with a chuckle. “And that is how it will remain until our wedding night my love so worry not. I promise to not lay a finger on you until then” he finished pressing a kiss to (Y/n)’s chin. “King Draconia—” a finger was placed over (Y/n)’s lips. “— (Y/n), I’d prefer it if you called me by my first name. We’re going to be married after all so you might as well start getting used to it” Malleus interrupted gently. “Malleus” the young woman said, not quite sure she liked the way the word sounded in her mouth. “Malleus... how long until we are to be wed?” she said even though she didn’t really want an answer to her inquiry. Maybe if the date was far enough in the future, she’d have a chance to escape and warn her family. “We will be wed by the end of the week my dear” Malleus replied, his words chilling (Y/n) to the core. “E-eh-end of the week?! That’s way too soon! We hardly know each other, we can't get married yet! I already agreed to marry you, can’t we take it slowly?” the princess said frantically with obvious dismay in her voice. “I have already been forced to wait thirteen years for you to reach maturity my dear child of man. So on the contrary, I think the end of the week is not soon enough” the fae replied with a small frown. “But, but… I’m not ready to be queen” (Y/n) said desperately. “I can’t be queen! Look at me!” the princess added frantically gesturing at her burnt face and then looking back at Malleus with a pleading look. “I am looking at you (Y/n), and what I see is the soon-to-be Queen of Thorns” the fae said resting his chin on the girl’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, I will be by your side every step of the way through this experience you have my word” he finished as he pressed kisses to her collarbone. (Y/n)’s mouth opened again, but no words came out. What else could she say? The fae’s mind had been made up and there was nothing she could say to change it. Sure she could try running away, but doing such a reckless thing was sure to backfire on her. Even if she got away, Malleus would undoubtedly go after her family and take out his rage on them. The princess felt tears welling up in her eyes and soon her cheeks were damp as the tears began streaming down like little rivers on her face. Malleus forced her to turn around in his lap so he could wipe the tears away and spoke what he must have thought were words of comfort but only brought despair to (Y/n) who sobbed until she was out of energy and passed out in the fae’s lap. The next few days were a blur to the princess, between the lectures on fae etiquette in the morning and being forced to accompany Malleus when he held court each afternoon there was hardly a moment of peace for the young woman. 

The only relatively quiet moments (Y/n) got were the three hours in the evening during the dress-fittings for her wedding gown. The seamstress had the tact not to ask about the burns that covered the princess’s left cheek, upper back, right arm, lower abdomen, and left leg. The young woman knew the fae wanted to ask questions but appreciated that she did not voice them. Instead putting her energy into making sure the dress would fit (Y/n)’s conservative tastes and cover her marred skin. The day of the wedding finally arrived with the finishing touches being put on the dress even as (Y/n)’s face was caked in make-up and her hair was pulled back into an elegant updo. Since her father King Klaude would probably not be in attendance, the ancient fae Lilia Vanrouge had volunteered to be the one to walk the young woman down the aisle and was permitted to help with getting her into the freshly completed gown. Once everything was laced up the girl was permitted to see herself in a mirror. “Well I’ll be, you look exquisite” Lilia commented as he watched the girl stare at her reflection with wide eyes. (Y/n) found herself overwhelmed with sorrow. The woman in the glass looked like a regal queen, not the terrified teenager she knew she was under the makeup and dress she wore. For a moment despite how ridiculous it was, she considered trying to run for it now. However, Lilia’s hand clamping down on her arm and gently guiding out of the room put an end to that notion. (Y/n) let herself be led down the aisle to where Malleus stood with an eager grin at the altar. Distantly she was aware of the sounds of screaming. The princess turned her head and locked eyes with her mother Queen Eden. She wanted to run to her mother and hide her face in the familiar warmth and aroma of cinnamon that clung to the queen’s clothes. However, she couldn’t move a muscle, whether it was because she was frozen with fear or it was because Malleus had bewitched her… she’d never know. When the time came to recite her vows there was no passion behind the young woman’s words, which were in vast contrast to the dragon-fae’s impassioned oaths that had been spoken only moments before hers. They exchanged rings and kissed before (Y/n) was swept off her feet by Malleus and carried up to his chambers before being dropped on his bed. She watched as the fae fumbled to undo the tie on his dress shirt before giving up and just ripping it off before sitting on the bed and kissing her again. This kiss was worlds different from the one they’d just shared at the altar and all the ones he’d given her over the past six days. This kiss was hungry, and it would not be easily satisfied. (Y/n) tried to pull away from the liplock but Malleus’s arm wrapped around her waist keeping her close as he forced his tongue into her mouth and ran it over the roof of her mouth, inside of her cheeks before darting under her tongue in what he probably thought was a playful move. (Y/n)’s vision was starting to go dark from lack of air when Malleus finally pulled back before flipping her over to start unlacing her dress before running out of patience and just tearing the back open so he could feel her skin under his hands. He had planned on taking his time originally, it was going to be his darling’s first time with a man and he did not want to hurt her unnecessarily. However, she looked so intoxicating it was hard to hold himself back and not just rip everything off so he could bend her over and fuck her. He had to force himself to take a few deep calming breaths as (Y/n) quivered beneath him. With his head a bit clearer now, Malleus slowly pulled the top half of the dress down to the young woman’s hips as he peppered kisses down her spine. He sat back on his heels and began unbuttoning his shirt and jacket so he could shrug them off onto the floor beside the bed. The dragon-fae gently rolled (Y/n) onto her back once more before bringing her hands up to his lips so he could kiss them. “I love you” he said in a low purr as he continued to press kisses to the girl’s fingers and gazed down at her with his cheeks now a faint shade of pink. “I love you so much” Malleus added, adjusting his grip so he could pull (Y/n) up into a seated position and kiss her again. He let go of her hands but kept kissing her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and began laying back so she’d fall on top of him. One of the fae’s hands crept down to cup at the curve of the young woman’s ass before lightly squeezing it.

(Y/n) threw her head back and let out a soft squeak at the sudden grope to her rear before hiding her face against Malleus’s neck. The young king smirked to himself as he squeezed again this time with a bit more force, and received a second adorable sound from the girl as her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. Not wanting to waste any more time undressing her, Malleus snapped his fingers making (Y/n)’s dress vanish into thin air and leaving her with nothing but her undergarments to preserve her modesty. The young woman tried to squeeze herself flat against the fae, shivering from how drafty the room was as well as the fear she felt coursing through her veins. Malleus allowed her to lay like that for a few moments before he coaxed her head up for more kisses. He slipped a hand under the cup of her bra so he could grope her chest experimentally. (Y/n) wasn’t the most well-endowed but the bounty she did have was more than enough in his eyes. He playfully pinched her nipple enjoying the way she twitched in response to his touch. The dragon-fae’s other hand retook its place on the young woman’s rump, squeezing roughly before slipping in between her thighs to press his nails against the fabric of her panties and tease her clit underneath. (Y/n)’s body twitched again, this time more violently and the fabric of her panties became damp from the stimulation she was receiving. Malleus pulled back from the kiss to chuckle at this cute response and continued his teasing until the young woman was shaking like a leaf with her eyes rolled back from his ministrations. (Y/n) wasn’t completely oblivious to the carnal pleasures of the body. She’d experimented quite a bit when she was first going through puberty. Yet all of that had been on her own, it was something else entirely to have her body manhandled by someone who knew what they were doing and wasn’t afraid to get a bit rough with her. Thankfully Malleus’s fingers went still and fell from between her legs to rest on the bed as his face contorted into an expression of thoughtfulness before he brought that hand up to her chest With a hand already under her shirt, it was easy for the young fae to pull the princess’s brassiere up and off her body before tossing it aside onto his shirt and jacket on the floor. Malleus pressed his face between (Y/n)’s breasts inhaling her unique aroma of raspberry and blackberry. His tongue flicked out from his mouth as he licked up the valley betwixt her boobs lapping at her delightfully, soft skin before reluctantly pulling back so he could reposition the girl into facing away from him with her legs straddling his chest. The young woman was perplexed momentarily by this sudden shift in position before her eyes focused in on the bulge in the fae-king’s pants and felt his hand on her back forcing her to bend forward. (Y/n) braced an arm on the bed next to Malleus’s thigh and with the other, she shyly ran her fingers over his clothed erection. Her move was rewarded with a soft growl and she repeated it a few times before a squeeze to her leg told her that more effort was necessary. 

Timidly she undid the buttons to the draconic-fae’s pants and let out a yelp at his boner, no boners sprung free. (Y/n) stared bug-eyed at the twin dongs with a bewildered expression before jolting as her panties were ripped off and something wet touched her clit. Malleus’s free hand pat her butt to remind her of what she was supposed to be doing before it trailed down to the nape of her neck and gently pushed down on it so her face was now brushing against the dragon’s double cocks.  Taking the hint she stuck her tongue out to give one of dicks a cautionary lick. The other she ran her fingers over tentatively. Malleus let out a purr and thrust his tongue into her cunt in answer to her inexperienced touches. (Y/n) was starting to understand what was being asked of her and responded accordingly, shyly taking the head of one member into her mouth and the other into her fist before slowly taking more of the fae’s cock until it was all the way in and someway down her throat. She went still for a moment, letting her oral chamber get used to the feeling before she pulled back a little and repeated the process with her hand moving in time to her mouth. While she jerked and blew the dragon-fae, he, in turn, fingered and tongue-fucked. Malleus knew if he wasn’t careful and didn’t probably stretch (Y/n) out beforehand he’d only hurt her instead of pleasing her. His free hand trailed down from her neck to tease her chest again causing the girl to choke a little on his rod. Slowly (Y/n) managed to find a rhythm to her movements and was able to disassociate somewhat from what was happening to her. Of course, it wasn’t possible to completely dissociate with Malleus’s mouth and fingers in her pussy but she was going to take what she could get. Her brain was going a bit hazy now, the combination of being eaten out and having a cock down her throat making her vision go blurry before she felt something burst inside her and she came all over the young fae’s face. A moment later she felt his cocks twitching in her mouth and hand, this was the only warning she got before she found herself coated in cum both inside and out. She had no choice but to swallow the dragon’s load as he lazily licked up her fallen juices and gave her cunt a quick swipe with his tongue to make sure he got everything. (Y/n) pulled off Malleus’s cock and tried to wipe off the cum on her face and hand on the mattress with little success before she was abruptly forced onto her back again. The fae-king stared down at his wife’s flushed face and felt both his heart and cocks twitch at the adorable sight before him. Malleus positioned himself between (Y/n) legs and lightly pressed the heads of his cocks against her now well-prepped pussy. He smiled at her as he began to slowly sink into her inviting depths. The young woman let out a whine, even though she’d already stretched out by the fae’s fingers and tongue it still wasn’t enough to make this part completely painless. Thankfully Malleus took his time sheathing himself, running his hands over (Y/n)‘s skin and pressing kisses to help her relax and take him without injury. The princess’s legs were wrapped loosely around the young king’s hips and her hands had balled into fists that caused her nails to dig into her palms so they were bleeding a little. The fae went still when he noticed this and clicked his tongue scoldingly before he reached down to force her fingers to uncurl from clenched fists “If you need something to grip onto, may I offer these instead?” he crooned bringing her hands up to his horns and gently encouraging her to grab tight to them before resuming the task of slowly burying himself inside the girl’s cunt. (Y/n)’s hands tensed up on Malleus’s horns and she began babbling nonsensically for him to stop. The fae-king ignored these ramblings as his mouth latched onto one of the young woman’s boobs and began to suck lightly as he finally bottomed out inside her. Malleus did not move until (Y/n)’s breathing had stabilized again and her body had finally relaxed again. He pulled back a little, and thrust forward striking her sweet spot directly and making her body arched up into his. The fae repeated this motion again and again with varying speed and intensity. Sometimes it was slow and gentle, sometimes it was fast and rough, and sometimes it was somewhere in between. Regardless it didn't take long until the young woman was babbling for a very different reason. To the fae-king’s delight, his darling human’s hips pushed back against his needily which only egged him on into being wilder and wilder with her. His teeth dug into her neck, her chest, any flesh he could get his mouth on was soon covered in marks. It made for a fitting contrast the burn-marks of passionate rage and the bite-marks of raging passion to cover his beloved one. Even better when (Y/n)’s fingers fell from Malleus’s horns they found a new perch in his shoulders and he let out a lusty growl as she bit down on his shoulder. The two drove each other closer and closer to that coveted high of orgasm before finally going over the edge in a fit of moans and groans that shook the very walls. Neither party spoke for a long while, too busy trying to catch their breaths as the horny haze over them began to clear. Malleus finally gathered the strength to gently pull out, his cocks flopping limply against the mattress as their exit was followed by a gush of cum flowing out of (Y/n)’s ruined cunt. The fae gently scooped the escaping jizz back into his darling’s pussy making her whimper weakly at this attentional stimulation to her already oversensitive body. Malleus chuckled softly as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and grabbed a plug from the nightstand beside the bed. Carefully pressing it against (Y/n)’s gaping cunt until it slipped it and prevented any more cum from dripping out and ruining the sheets. He had a second reason for doing such a thing of course. He knew that the sooner they had a child the better. A babe of their two people was sure to put an end to any objections that the princess’s parents might attempt to raise against him for taking what was his. Malleus knew that the human king and queen wouldn’t dare try to start war if there was an unborn grandchild they might put at risk. Plus… he wanted to be a father, a real father. As he pulled (Y/n) under the covers with him, his mind was full of thoughts of their future together as the King and Queen of Thorns… THE END

[n-miri]

Spirit-touched!Tommy AU where Tommy sees what should not be seen. And, by being himself, circumvents the natural world order. 

-

Exile is fine. Living alone on an isolated piece of land, occasionally seeing the amnesiac ghost of his dead brother figure, having his items and hardwork blown up every week by his supposed ‘friend’.... Life in Logstedshire has been surprisingly peachy, all things considered. If Tommy closes both eyes, he may even say this is a vacation. Kind of. It could be an unpaid holiday, where he lost his job and cut off all ties with his family. It could be a- a retirement arc! An obituary about an ex-soldier’s cottagecore lifestyle. Except there isn’t a cottage. Plus, with a lot more TNT and ghosts over his shoulders. 

Literally. 

The summer sun beats down his back, filtering through floating particles of dust and ash. Tommy refrains from sighing. Another day, another stack of items destroyed. It’s annoying. He wakes up, goes through the repeated motions of create and destroy, ignores the ringing in his ears, and. Rinse and repeat. That’s all there ever is to it, right? He needs these tools to survive, and Dream wants the entertainment. He fights with his lives on the line, and Dream spits in his face. 

That man hides it well, but he can’t quite mask the glee that rattles through his collar bones, stifled pelts of laughter shaking his core. Dream is a master of deception and Tommy is far too perceptive—they see right through each other. If Dream is stained glass, unseeing eyes becoming windows to a desolate soul, then Tommy is tulle fabric, pulling back the veil between life and incorporeal. 

Dream is his friend, but Tommy doesn’t trust anyone with phantom arms growing out of their face. When they first met, there was a plain-drawn face upon a porcelain mask. A pair of inky hands peeked out from where the cheeks were supposed to be, patting his back when the two passed or brushing ghostly fingers through soft tufts of hair. It was endearing at first. The boy wondered why fucking ghost hands were glued to his friend’s face, but eventually grew used to the sight. They exchanged harmless jabs; Tommy called out Clay and Dream returned with Tomathy and things were good before Wilbur joined. 

Then Wilbur joined. During the first war for L’manburg’s independence was when the limbs started growing in length and joints. Hands covered the mask whole, spiralling darkness that ensnared nearby shoulders within a ferocious grip. However, most recently, the appendages have taken to growing eyes. Fucking eyes. Like some eldritch horror monster with bloodshot eyes crinkled mid-laugh. It was ugly. It was stupid. Worst of all, it scared the other ghosts away. Not fucking- whatever Ghostbur is, but the actual spectators. Stalkers. Weirdos (affectionate). 

Say what you want, but Tommy enjoys the company. Not that he would willingly admit it. 

“Good morning,” Tommy says into the empty field. There is no response. He sighs, then proceeds to hack up the inhaled soot. His throat is hoarse and his voice cracks at uneven intervals; he is thirsty but there’s no drinkable water left. Dream found his filter -wasn’t that a fun conversation to have-and he isn’t desperate enough to drink sea water. So, dehydration it is. 

Peering up into the cloudless sky, the male squints through the sunlight and bright blue vastness. Looks like there’s no chance of rain. 

Shame. 

A chill spreads across the skin of his elbow, despite it being wrapped in gauze. Tommy looks down and grins. “Hey, River. Nice day, innit?” The child gives him a watery smile, little twisted fingers curling into his tattered shirt. When a gust of wind breezes through Logstedshire, only the teenager’s blonde hair rustles along. “Sorry I can’t play today. I need to find water.” With a tilted head, they point towards the sea behind him. Tommy smiles wryly. “Preferably something less salty.” 

River tilts their head, contemplating. Choppy bangs hide their pupil-less, hollow gaze from roaming around the land. Then with a determined nod, they gesture for the male to follow. “Oh,” he says. “Hold on! Let me grab my things first.” 

Turning towards the bed of water, Tommy takes a deep breath and sinks into the shallow area. There’s some seaweed growing inconspicuously nearby, which acts as a marker for where he buried his chest. Funnily enough, Dream is a pretty easy person to hide valuables from. Or maybe that’s just Tommy being the biggest man ever, outsmarting the traceur in a battle of schemes. 

His fingers slip a few times while prying open the chest, but the inventory menu pops up and Tommy is quick to take the furnace, crafting table, half a stack of glass, an iron bucket and an iron pickaxe and sword. The downgraded version of the barest essentials. It’s safer to keep them here obviously, but it would be nice if Dream stopped destroying his items during every goddamn visit. Destroying them with TNT, of all things. Why not something quieter, like lava? Lava is nice. Lava doesn’t knock you off your feet if you are caught in the blast range. Lava doesn’t shatter your eardrums or destroy the ground underneath you. At least lava destroys objects completely, without any trace left behind. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe he still feels bitter about the diamonds Dream found and shattered, showers of crystalised pieces glinting against the firelight. The shining particles can still be found scattered across soil, if he looks hard enough; instead Tommy digs his hands into the dirt and covers up his blunders. It doesn’t help, not really, but seeing a physical reminder pains him. 

When Tommy breaks the water’s surface gasping for air, River stares at him worriedly. “I’m o-okay,” he coughs. “Let’s… let’s go.”

-

The first time he notices River, it’s a few weeks after being prosecuted and exiled; only a handful of days after WIlbur’s shadow gives him a compass. The compass, with a simple two words engraved into the cover. 

Placing the gift atop his open palm, Tommy walks in the direction a glowing arrow points at, only stopping at the sea line. Water laps frostily at his ankles, bare feet digging into coarse sand. Still, he fixes his stare onto the lonesome horizon. He won’t admit it now, or ever, but he desperately wishes that a wooden boat will creak upon this shore, paddles splashing hardly against the lulling waves; even the warping of the Nether portal would be welcome. Anything at all.

 He yearns for company, for companionship—Your Tubbo, the sea soothes. Your Tubbo, his heart beats for. Yours. 

Standing resolute, the boy imagines a crater and a country and a White House that stands still. The bench would feel firm under his fingertips, Cat humming its gentle tune by his side; his best friend would look around, fixated on the bees mulling about; and a red flower sprouts from the cracks of the Prime Path, dancing daintily with the wind. The boy would close his eyes, taking in the dewy air, and laugh at happiness itself. All would be good. 

Tommy stands until his arms shake and his legs quiver with loss. His eyes water and he wonders what the point of seeing is, if not to witness the conditions of his loved ones. 

In his hands, the compass point is nimrod straight. 

The next day, he finds himself drowning. A ghost’s freezing hands slap his cheeks, brittle arms wrapped around his torso, and frantically pushes him up, up, up. 

They don’t talk, or tell him their name, so Tommy calls them ‘River’. It’s only a little spiteful. 

[thebestbookrecommendations]

My Year in Books - 2021

(Part Four!)

When No One is Watching - Alyssa Cole

Sydney Green is Brooklyn born and raised, but her beloved neighborhood seems to change every time she blinks. Condos are sprouting like weeds, FOR SALE signs are popping up overnight, and the neighbors she’s known all her life are disappearing. To hold onto her community’s past and present, Sydney channels her frustration into a walking tour and finds an unlikely and unwanted assistant in one of the new arrivals to the block—her neighbor Theo. But Sydney and Theo’s deep dive into history quickly becomes a dizzying descent into paranoia and fear. Their neighbors may not have moved to the suburbs after all, and the push to revitalize the community may be more deadly than advertised. When does coincidence become conspiracy? Where do people go when gentrification pushes them out? Can Sydney and Theo trust each other—or themselves—long enough o find out before they too disappear?

Genre(s): Thriller, Mystery, Contemporary

Thoughts: I really liked this one. At first I thought that I misread the summary and this one wasn’t a thriller, but I’m glad I pressed on because it was really good and thought provoking. Overall, 4/5.

The Searcher - Tara French

Retired detective Cal Hooper moves to a remote village in rural Ireland. His plans are to fix up the dilapidated cottage he's bought, to walk the mountains, to put his old police instincts to bed forever. Then a local boy appeals to him for help. His brother is missing, and no one in the village, least of all the police, seems to care. And once again, Cal feels that restless itch. Something is wrong in this community, and he must find out what, even if it brings trouble to his door.

Genre(s): Mystery, Thriller, Suspense

Thoughts: This was a good read, but it wasn’t anything spectacular. Kind of forgettable, but entertaining. Overall, 3.5/5.

The Kite Runner - Khalid Hisseini

The unforgettable, heartbreaking story of the unlikely friendship between a wealthy boy and the son of his father’s servant, The Kite Runner is a beautifully crafted novel set in a country that is in the process of being destroyed. It is about the power of reading, the price of betrayal, and the possibility of redemption; and an exploration of the power of fathers over sons—their love, their sacrifices, their lies. A sweeping story of family, love, and friendship told against the devastating backdrop of the history of Afghanistan over the last thirty years, The Kite Runner is an unusual and powerful novel that has become a beloved, one-of-a-kind classic.

Genre(s): Historical Fiction, Contemporary, Drama

Thoughts: I found this book to be both powerful and thoroughly engaging. Highly recommend, 4.5/5.

The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August - Claire North

Some stories cannot be told in just one lifetime. Harry August is on his deathbed. Again. No matter what he does or the decisions he makes, when death comes, Harry always returns to where he began, a child with all the knowledge of a life he has already lived a dozen times before. Nothing ever changes. Until now. As Harry nears the end of his eleventh life, a little girl appears at his bedside. "I nearly missed you, Doctor August," she says. "I need to send a message." This is the story of what Harry does next, and what he did before, and how he tries to save a past he cannot change and a future he cannot allow.

Genre(s): Science Fiction, Historical Fiction, Time Travel

Thoughts: This was one of the most interesting books I’ve reach since Blake Crouch’s Recursion. Very unique and well written. Overall, 3.5/5.

A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking - T. Kingfisher

Fourteen-year-old Mona isn’t like the wizards charged with defending the city. She can’t control lightning or speak to water. Her familiar is a sourdough starter and her magic only works on bread. She has a comfortable life in her aunt’s bakery making gingerbread men dance. But Mona’s life is turned upside down when she finds a dead body on the bakery floor. An assassin is stalking the streets of Mona’s city, preying on magic folk, and it appears that Mona is his next target. And in an embattled city suddenly bereft of wizards, the assassin may be the least of Mona’s worries…

Genre(s): Fantasy, Humor, Adventure

Thoughts: This was so cute! I had previously only read Kingfisher’s horror, and this was such a good change of pace. Definitely worth a read if you’re into low fantasy. Overall, 4/5.

Beach Read - Emily Henry

Augustus Everett is an acclaimed author of literary fiction. January Andrews writes bestselling romance. When she pens a happily ever after, he kills off his entire cast. They’re polar opposites. In fact, the only thing they have in common is that for the next three months, they're living in neighboring beach houses, broke, and bogged down with writer's block. Until, one hazy evening, one thing leads to another and they strike a deal designed to force them out of their creative ruts: Augustus will spend the summer writing something happy, and January will pen the next Great American Novel. She’ll take him on field trips worthy of any rom-com montage, and he’ll take her to interview surviving members of a backwoods death cult (obviously). Everyone will finish a book and no one will fall in love. Really.

Genre(s): Romance, Contemporary

Thoughts: This book touched on all of my favorite romantic comedy tropes in a very well written self-aware manner. A super fun book for a casual read. Overall, 3.5/5

The Loop - Jeremy Robert Johnson

Turner Falls is a small tourist town nestled in the hills of western Oregon, the kind of town you escape to for a vacation. When an inexplicable outbreak rapidly develops, this idyllic town becomes the epicenter of an epidemic of violence as the teenaged children of several executives from the local biotech firm become ill and aggressively murderous. Suddenly the town is on edge, and Lucy and her friends must do everything it takes just to fight through the night.

Genre(s): Horror, Science Fiction, Thriller

Thoughts: This one was okay. It was entertaining enough, but it just didn’t blow me away. Overall, 3.5/5.

Hench - Natalie Zina Walschots

Anna does boring things for terrible people because even criminals need office help and she needs a job. Working for a monster lurking beneath the surface of the world isn’t glamorous. But is it really worse than working for an oil conglomerate or an insurance company? In this economy? As a temp, she’s just a cog in the machine. But when she finally gets a promising assignment, everything goes very wrong, and an encounter with the so-called “hero” leaves her badly injured. And, to her horror, compared to the other bodies strewn about, she’s the lucky one. So, of course, then she gets laid off. With no money and no mobility, with only her anger and internet research acumen, she discovers her suffering at the hands of a hero is far from unique. When people start listening to the story that her data tells, she realizes she might not be as powerless as she thinks. Because the key to everything is data: knowing how to collate it, how to manipulate it, and how to weaponize it. By tallying up the human cost these caped forces of nature wreak upon the world, she discovers that the line between good and evil is mostly marketing. And with social media and viral videos, she can control that appearance. It’s not too long before she’s employed once more, this time by one of the worst villains on earth. As she becomes an increasingly valuable lieutenant, she might just save the world.

Genre(s): Fantasy, Superhero, Science Fiction

Thoughts: This book was so unique and fun. I felt it was a little long, but it was definitely worth it. Overall, 3.5/5.

The Martian - Andy Weir

Six days ago, astronaut Mark Watney became one of the first people to walk on Mars. Now, he’s sure he’ll be the first person to die there. After a dust storm nearly kills him and forces his crew to evacuate while thinking him dead, Mark finds himself stranded and completely alone with no way to even signal Earth that he’s alive—and even if he could get word out, his supplies would be gone long before a rescue could arrive. Chances are, though, he won’t have time to starve to death. The damaged machinery, unforgiving environment, or plain-old “human error” are much more likely to kill him first. But Mark isn’t ready to give up yet. Drawing on his ingenuity, his engineering skills — and a relentless, dogged refusal to quit — he steadfastly confronts one seemingly insurmountable obstacle after the next. Will his resourcefulness be enough to overcome the impossible odds against him?

Genre(s): Science Fiction, Adventure, Space, Survival

Thoughts: I liked this book so much more than I was expecting, I could not put it down. So good, 4/5.

[honkster]

Yay meta

:)

1. Ranboo compared to the other anarchists of the server.

2. C!Tommy’s mental health.

3. C!Dream as an immortal insane god.

4. Ghostbur’s resurrection.

5. Who betrayed who Techno vs Tommy edition.

A bit of an after-thought - everyone on the SMP is traumatized. Absolutely everyone, no one is handling everything in a mentally healthy way. That’s why it’s meaningless to try to say what’s wrong and what’s right, that’s why it’s all morally grey - everyone is doing things because of their own warped perception of the world, the right and wrong blur when everyone thinks that they’re right and everyone else is wrong. Trying to justify someone’s actions with logic and moral righteousness is inherently time-wasting, because everyone is acting how their feelings let them at the time.

Saying who’s right or wrong, trying to figure out villains and good guys <<< Analyzing characters by their actions and trying to understand WHY rather than SHOUD THEY HAVE.

Probably a bit of a backwards way to say that I don’t care if Tommy or Techno are wrong in their argument - L’manburg was destroyed, Tommy thinks Techno is bad. That’s the end of that story, stay tuned for what Tommy’s gonna do now.

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#1

There is just a very huge difference between Ranboo and the other two anarchists of the server.

Ranboo, while being strong in his beliefs, is a non-violent person. Yes he’s stacked, yes he could fight, but he chooses to stay on the sidelines and just watch the action unfold. He’d rather listen in to people and then make conclusions about their actions and decide on things by himself. He’s hard to sway, Quackity may have softened his viewpoint slightly, and I genuinely hope that Ranboo follows through with that and decides that teams and groups is something that kind of needs to happen before the idea that all conflicts are a personal thing between two people can actually make sense. People are stronger together, especially those that don’t have good gear or pvp skills. The weaker people, the ones lower in the food chain, don’t have that many options for getting their point across. The server is already dominated by the strongest, most skilled, most geared people, and those are the people that matter, when it comes down to it.

Quackity is very much a unique case. He has managed to do with four people what L’manburg and all of its inhabitants didn’t manage for the longest time. He is very much a main player.

The other two anarchists are both very violent. Dream was always like that, he hasn’t shown a crumb of being able of change or considering a different opinion (extreme delusions or just extreme self-confidence? Either one makes him a prick), but Techno actually had an arc where he made the entirely wrong conclusions.

I don’t think I’ve talked about the Butcher Army much.

So Techno blew up Manberg, threatened to take down any government that sprouted up and then dipped. He made his little cottage, he went on a retirement arc, so on and so forth.

But then the Butcher Army formed.

And their one target was the pig.

And they went out of their way to track him down, to prepare to kill him, they arrived there and threatened him, and they said that it’s time for Techno to pay for his crimes, and they reacted how anyone else would when being attacked – they attacked too. They took his horse to get him to stop, they brought him up for execution, they didn’t manage to kill him, but they switched targets once they realized that they can’t actually kill him while literal god is on his side, helping him.

The conclusion there wasn’t that government is evil and abuses its power. It’s that violence is paid forward with violence.

It doesn’t really matter that Techno misunderstood. Either way he would’ve returned to good old Blood for the Blood God Technoblade, but I fear that this event reinforced his very wrong belief that government is the source of ALL problems on the server.

If he would say that government is the cause of MAJOR conflicts that wouldn’t happen if government didn’t exist, yeah! Yeah, I agree with that actually. But he’s saying that EVERY conflict is because of government.

The disc war was not because of government.

The Pet War was not because of government.

Most of the rivalries of the server are not because of government.

Tommy was not… Actually (yeah Tommy was exiled because of government and the fact that the sentimentality for L’manburg seemed very important at that point. Things shouldn’t be more important than people, people you can’t just replace. But…) Dream specifically when he went after Tommy targeted L’manburg. If the country didn’t exist, Dream probably would have gone about it another way, probably one more difficult, but he wouldn’t have involved all these people whose only connection to one another is a flimsy city built on stilts. I still hate how Techno refuses to acknowledge that Dream WAS the cause of Tommy’s exile, not government.

But what if Techno was big brain?

Yeah, things shouldn’t be more important than people. Is that what he’s suggesting? That government favors power over giving up land/buildings/countries for their people, knowing that if they lost their country they would no longer have power?

That would be very interesting!… If his actions actually indicated this.

Techno didn’t chunk error L’manburg because he thought those buildings gave power to someone over another. He did it out of revenge, claiming that it still lined up with his anarchist beliefs and that he was doing good. Techno released withers, the most destructive and hard-to-kill mob available to the server, he stalled while Dream essentially set up nukes above the city. They didn’t do this out of kindness and want for the people to have freedom, they KILLED the people that they were so “graciously” “saving”.

Technoblade and Dream are both violent anarchists who misunderstood what the word means. They don’t seek order in the chaos, they don’t seek a peaceful anarchy, they just want blood.

Which makes me very worried for Ranboo. I don’t think that he will get influenced by the two, if the two ever come back together to stir up shit again. I don’t think Ranboo is going to believe Technoblade when he says that government is the cause of ALL problems, because Ranboo doesn’t just hate the factions of the server. He has said that Dream is the reason for a lot of conflict on the server, he understands what Dream is up to. If he will agree with Techno at the beginning, he certainly will find issue in Techno considering Dream a worthy ally.

I just hope that Techno LISTENS for at least once in his life.

(But I won’t be too sad if it’s Phil Ranboo manages to convince. Might actually be easier to get through to anarchist pig Blade that way…)

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#2

I worry for c!Tommy’s mental health.

I know this probably is never going to get addressed rather than that one tiny little plot point where he got exiled for no reason but being as resilient as Tommy is, so constantly himself without apology, so constantly in everyone’s faces and just out there so much, so purposefully annoying just because it’s entertaining for him… I don’t think he’s alright.

The many times he has been beaten down, how many times people have battled him and won, how many times he’s told to shut up and just take it – it makes you wonder how come he hasn’t just given up by now and toned it down so people stop hating him.

Yeah, he’s resilient. Yeah, he’s annoying that way. But I seriously doubt that he can take all that he takes and still be perfectly okay.

One insult means nothing. One time can be just a made up thing to make you pissed off.

Same thing twice? Someone’s just mocking you.

Three times? Wow okay these guys must all be friends and they gossip about me!

Four times?… Hey how big is your friend group exactly?

Five times?…

Six times?…

Seven?…

How about 20.

No matter how ridiculous something that someone noticed about you may be, if repeated enough times, you almost sub-consciously start to believe it. Lots of people notice this – hey I can also notice it!

C!Tommy being annoying on purpose, saying that it’s just entertaining for him… Doesn’t that sound like a really depressing thing to enjoy? Something that garners you so much attention you literally get exiled?

And the fact that, even during Dream enforcing the exile, even when he escaped, when he appeared in Techno’s house and huddled under it like a raccoon, he was still so painfully annoying you just want to punt him?… Does that really sound like just a funny pastime for him and not a defense mechanism against all of the shit people put him through, something that he does out of habit because even though it gets him in trouble a lot of the time, it’s also the only way he can actually react to events and people threatening him, cause what is he gonna do, actually threaten them and get them to leave that way?

I dunno this may be dumb… I may be projecting slightly… Wondering where all of his resilience comes from when actual good things that happened because of him versus the bad things that people constantly blame him for… Sir where do you get that strength and how can I sell my soul for it?

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#3

Oh I’ve written characters that think of awful, violent things as fun…

I actually really like those characters.

I don’t know why I always make them the most traumatized, split-personality, abused and manipulated victims-turned-absolute-monsters.

No wait I do know why.

BECAUSE IF YOU THINK THAT CAUSING PAIN TO OTHERS IS A FUN TIME AND YOU WANT TO DO IT AS OFTEN AS YOU CAN JUST TO SEE THEIR EXPRESSION OF PAIN, THERE IS SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOU.

Dream’s no different. We haven’t seen much of him, other than his motivation and the fact that he goes the wrong way about thinking of means to get to the end. He hasn’t revealed a traumatic past or any real reason why he targets only one person if torturing everyone on the server would probably be way more “fun”.

But he is called god.

And THAT lines up with one of my favorite things to talk about!

Immortals :D

You see the whole concept of a god or an immortal being is at its core something we shouldn’t comprehend. Death and the fact that it will happen can be counted as a reason for a lot of our motivations, so how does it affect one’s thinking if one of our core reasons for life is erased?

I can dump a whole philosophical essay here but I feel like it is highly unnecessary. Dream, as an immortal god on the server, has access to stuff that many people have to grind hours of their life for. This twists his perception of the value of certain items, and also certain actions. The fact that he cannot die also affects that perception, and in his long life he has probably had the same thoughts a lot of immortals have – few things are meaningful in life, few are worth sacrificing things for and few are just as immortal as they are.

This, of course, can cause a little thing called an existential crisis, and it can break an immortal, especially if they were once human and most definitely mortal. We don’t know for sure what Dream is, but assuming either scenario makes his pursuit of fun and drama valid.

If he was once a human and by some dark magic gained immortality, his want to see how humans react to things being destroyed, or how humans fold under torture, may be a twisted way of analyzing himself, trying to understand how he could be a part of them, trying to reconnect with his old self, attempts to return to the mortal plane, there are many options but all firmly lead into “this is just a fun experiment for him”. How people throw mentos in a bowl and pour coke over it just to see an explosion. That’s Dream with the SMP.

If he was always a god, then it gets even more interesting (and thematically relevant!). He never understood these creatures that run around and desperately try to prevent death while simultaneously causing so much of it. If Dream doesn’t understand mortals and death as a concept, then his view of them, based on what he’s seen of the SMP, is that humans SEEK violence, and drama, and pain, and harm. They purposefully create meaningless things to then give them meaning and then feel pain over them. He is utterly confused by humans, but he also understands them quite well.

Taunted, insulted? Retaliate with force.

A country that demands peace? Blow it to smithereens.

A sentimental thing that you could literally replace within a fraction of a life, a little thing of pride that you were able to acquire?

It can control people.

And he seems to understand THAT concept of humanity perfectly well. The want for power, the seeking of control, the simple want to somehow be above your equals, somehow stand out and be admired.

Dream grasps that concept so well he might as well be human.

I don’t know if this humanity side of Dream will be his hubris, if the weakness he acquired from humans – sentimentality over objects that can very easily be replaced and mean nothing in the grand scheme of things – may actually come back after he so rudely pushed it away.

We don’t know enough about this guy. We can make some conclusions, sure, but uh… The simple fact that he causes chaos for fun means that whatever we may think the reason for his motivations is, we will probably fail to understand him as long as we think logically.

C!Dream is an absolute prick. I want to punt him.

But I won’t until he explains why he chose to be a bad copy of the Joker with immortality sprinkled on the fucked up cake.

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#4

Wilbur is coming back into the plot!

Not that Ghostbur isn’t important to the plot. His character is just stagnant because in order to give him proper char development you need to address some very serious mental issues and that’s not exactly something the SMP does often. (Most serious I’ve seen it is Tommy’s exile arc and maybe Fundy’s adoption stream)

So they’re bringing back Alivebur. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Literally everything.

I talked about it once, how if Ghostbur’s character wants to reach peace – finish his arc – firstly he has to confront his trauma. At the same time I said that if he was brought back to life, it could hinder his already done little progress of adapting to ghost life and probably reset him. Very certain conditions would have to be met in order for Ghostbur to gain something out of being brought back to life, and a lot of those conditions lean on Alivebur coming back as a certain “version” of himself, which cannot be predicted simply because there isn’t a resident ghost expert on the server. No one knows how these idiots work.

The worrying thing is that they are most definitely bringing back Alivebur. There wouldn’t be need for this plot otherwise. So they will definitely succeed, Alivebur will definitely be brought back, and he will be important to the plot.

What can we theorize about knowing those things?

Mmmm… Isn’t it weird that Ghostbur said he wants to quit being Ghostbur after L’manburg was destroyed? Is it a want to stop ignoring bad things that are happening, since he knows he is going to forget this and move on and he doesn’t want to keep escaping anymore? That’s a good motivation.

Or is it because Ghostbur is like the old spirit of L’manburg, both connected to it physically and mentally? Would Alivebur want L’manburg back, considering that was his only goal in his life, to destroy it, or is he finally going to feel fulfilled that it is over and his obsession with it can die?

I dunno! I have no idea what part they want Wilbur to play in the upcoming plot. It’s very unclear if Wilbur is going to be a side character that moves the plot in little ways or if he’s going to become the main character again or if, and this is probably my most likely theory, the resurrection fails at first and it leads the whole gang, with Ghostbur up front, down weird paths that somehow end with Dream.

(Cause we all know that guy is not going to just write himself out of the plot if he can instead continue being the villain)

It all feels like it’s going to connect, finally. All of the main people from the past getting back into the spotlight in a very convoluted plot to get one of them back into the land of the living.

Don’t really know though. Wondering how resurrection works, that’s all. Knowing that info, may be possible to make a better theory.

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#5

There is no one right in the “Tommy betrayed Techno” vs “Tommy realized Techno is not a good influence on him” argument. Neither one is right, but neither one is completely wrong. Neither character is in the right, or in the wrong, and it doesn’t really matter who’s right or wrong in this scenario, fact is it happened and the people reacted how they did.

There is only one thing to say about Techno and Tommy, and probably the only thing I’m kinda feeling very strongly about.

Sometimes the refusal to be swayed to another side or believing in yourself gets you called selfish.

That’s both about Techno and Tommy.

And a lot of other people on the server.

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Here’s a cookie for reading all of that. I can also bake your favorite muffin if you want :3

[lilaswaterfalls]

Lavender Fields, Baratheon Dreams, a Gendrya Cottagecore AU

So...I wrote something that I couldn’t really get out of my head. It’s essentially the Gendrya cottage core fantasy of my dreams and it’s the first fic I’ve published in years. There may be more parts, but really, just let me know your thoughts. cool thnx. :)

UPDATE: Thank you so much for the reblogs and likes and comments. I genuinely thought I’d be posting this into an unknown void. I am currently working on Part 2, but I’ve decided to upload it onto AO3 as well. I’ll be adding a second part soon!

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Rating: T (may go up?)

SUMMARY

Gendry Baratheon finds himself the owner of a failing lavender farm, but with the help of his cousin Shireen, a family friend Davos, and his long-departed friend Arya, maybe this season will bring more than just sweet-smelling fields. 

Gendry loved the first day of spring, and his cousin Shireen was the second person who knew that. The first had left the country a long time ago, he hadn’t seen the girl who knew he loved spring since they were both kids. But that hardly mattered. He needed to get dressed for the day full of celebrations on the Baratheon farm today, not think about the girl with black hair.

He usually tried to hide his excitement for the equinox, but his younger cousin always saw right through him. Shireen often caught him feeling the ground for warmth in the days before, she saw him checking the amount of time the sun spent in the sky, she saw him planting some seeds early in the greenhouse on the far side of their land. And when she questioned him about it, all he said was that he hated the cold, that if it were up to him, he’d live in a place where he’d never have to see snow. When she told him he could leave anytime he wanted, he told her that he couldn’t leave his family after he had been searching for it for so long. They never talked about it again, but they still celebrated together.

The sun was barely peeking out of the sky when Gendry came downstairs to meet his cousin. The rest of the house was quiet, they weren’t expecting any visitors until the evening when the Baratheon house would come alive for its first celebration of the year.

“You’re late.” Shireen said, handing him a cup of tea, her hair was in one long braid that went down her back and she wore a white dress.

“Barely.” Gendry said taking a long sip and closing his eyes, he really wasn’t late, it was just Shireen who felt like spring could be rushed if they started their ceremony sooner. Gendry wished she were right, but every year, the Earth took its time waking up, not really paying attention to the two of them.

“Well, come on then, we should get started.” She grabbed the cup he was holding, set it down and went to put on a red sweater over her dress, it was still cold, but as soon as Shireen dragged him outside and towards their glass greenhouse, he knew that winter was over. There was fog, and although some trees were still dormant, others had begun to sprout buds, pretty soon, the air would be fragrant and warm. Today, though, the air felt sleepy, only some green present.

After some time, they came to the greenhouse, the air muggier and much warmer, but not as hot as it would get in a few months. There were some germinating herbs, especially lavender, one of Shireen’s favorites, that they’d plant in a few days. But they walked from through the rows of the plants to the empty pots they had painted the night before, there was already soil in them.

Gendry had painted his grey, with a bull wrapped around it. Shireen had painted a boat on hers. They looked at each other and smiled, “I’ll get the candles, you put on the music.” He said, walking towards the cabinet with the pillar candles. Shireen put on the songs that reminded her of spring.

They made their way to a table in the corner of the greenhouse, and Gendry took some seeds from his pocket. He handed two of them to Shireen but she refused. “You always plant cilantro, I’m trying lemon this year.”

Gendry laughed. “If you think you’re going to be able to grow lemons this year, I think you may be a little too optimistic.”

“That’s the whole point of this.” He rolled his eyes and they sat down. He placed a gold candle in the center of the table. Later that evening, the whole Baratheon clan would plant seeds for intentions, but the two of them had been doing these smaller ceremonies for the past five years. She was the first person of the family who made Gendry feel welcomed, and though the whole family loved him now as one of his own, he always liked spending time with Shireen, she was the only one who really knew about Gendry’s life before he had come to the Baratheon farm, an heir out of nowhere to the fortune and lands. Or…really…just the lands, his late father Robert had spent most of the Baratheon fortune, leaving Gendry, Shireen, and their advisor Davos to rebuild it.

“What do you wish for?” He asked her.

“If I told you, the surprise would be ruined, wouldn’t it?” She said, rubbing the seed in between her palms and placing it gently into the soil. He nodded and did the same, closing his eyes and making his wish. He wasn’t much for believing that it would come true, especially after he had spent all this time wishing for the same thing. For the same girl to come back, the girl who knew he loved spring, who had every reason to hate him after he left her alone. It was ridiculous. He knew that, but he wished he could explain how ridiculous he was, he wished to see her again, to hold her hand.

He planted the seeds and sprayed them with rose water. Shireen had told him the rose water would help them grow faster. And once they were done, he grabbed his pot and placed it under the grow lights. If the plants grew, their wishes would come true, if not, he could always try again next spring. All of his previous seeds with that wish had died after a few weeks. Shireen’s always grew into full, healthy plants. Maybe he was just not cut out for this whole planting seeds thing. Shireen always told him that he needed to care for them for longer than just two weeks, he would change the subject. This year, he’d really try to keep his cilantro alive, maybe he’d even make something with his newly grown herb. This year he was going to try.

“Even if it doesn’t work, this year we’re going to have busy growing season, I can feel it.” She said, placing her pot next to his under the light. “We may not be the icons of lavender just yet, but give us a few more seasons, we will be.” He smiled and they grabbed spray bottles. They began to spray the growing lavender that had been germinating since February.

“I really hope you’re right.”

“And, once it’s all planted, we’ll be able to get visitors to come too. We’ve got the plans Gendry, this year will be great. I know it.” They finished their round in silence, and before they left, he blew out the candle, he’d be back the next morning to light it again for a little while.

“We should get back. Davos will be up, and we still have to finish cleaning out the barn.” He said, and the two of them walked back. Farm hands were making their way around the fields, looking for signs of growth.

The sun was in the sky, the morning energized, the fog had mostly cleared and the doors to the Baratheon mansion were open, receiving food for the evening’s celebration. Life was flowing through the house, the lights on, music playing, people coming in and out. Shireen went to the back house to feed the animals while Gendry walked back to the house to see if he could look over some of the financial plans he had made the night before.

Davos was standing in at the entry way, a clipboard in his hand, he looked up to greet Gendry. “Good morning.” He said back to the old man. “Anything burning down?”

“Not yet. But if you’ll excuse me, I think they brought too many tables, and you know how Shireen doesn’t like empty tables.” He rushed out of the house, before turning around, remembering something. “Oh,, you have a visitor. I don’t recognize her, but she said you knew her as a kid. She’s in the kitchen.”

Davos left the house, and Gendry walked to the kitchen.

He really couldn’t be it when he saw her, as if she heard his thoughts this morning and decided to appear to trick him. Her black hair was longer and she looked…good. She was holding the abandoned teacup he had left this morning, half full when she looked at him.

“Arya.”

[fireheartfaery]

Day 10: “Can you quit being sappy for five seconds?”

masterlist; my links

sorry if the editing is trash i’m almost black out drunk (blame @nishlicious-01 and co)

Elain's heart is so full from the smiling kindergarteners and the paint splotches covering her jeans —it was art day at the school— that it takes her a second to realize just how cold and desolate her apartment feels. She shivers as she tosses her keys on the counter and switches the kitchen light on.Despite the warm yellow glow the rest of the house is still dark and foreboding. The floor to ceiling windows high above the city seem to make the shadows of buildings crawl across her space.

Inheriting this place from her late father was both a gift and a curse. She wasn't used to this life of grand and tall, having grown up in a quiet cottage on the outskirts of the Vanserra Forest with her sisters and their mother. But her father, in his passing, had asked her to have this place, and when she had gotten a job in the city it seemed to all fall into place. A little too nicely she sometimes thought but it immediately came with a flood of regret for being so ungrateful. So she sucks it up and lives in this big loud place with its large concrete slabs and the glass that refracts the light instead of letting it melt.

She should visit home.

Instead she moves through the apartment, switching on lights and talking softly to the plants scattered like jewels around her home.

Hello little Thea, glad to see the burns are clearing up.

And buttercup, oh you are sprouting the prettiest flowers

Ah and Nicolas you look a little down? She frowns at that, making a note to give him some water after she showers. I know how you feel buddy, she strokes a leaf.

Then she's at her room and she's pulling off the button down and unclipping the bra and sighing at the freedom as each item comes off. Her shower is steaming, enveloping her like the morning fog when she used to skip to school. By the time she steps out, the floor is slick with the dampness of the steam, and her stomach is rumbling loudly. Guess it's takeout tonight; she can't be bothered to cook for one today. Friday evenings were for snuggling up in her giant knitted blanket, switching the TV to some horror/mystery and gauging on popcorn and chocolate.

Her plans certainly start out the right way. The popcorn is popped, the milk duds box pulled apart so she didn't have to shove her hand all the way inside and the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. But just as she puts her choice of movie on there's a ringing at her door.

Her eyes immediately dart to the clock in the kitchen, the crease between her brows deepening as she sees the hand strike nine. The doorbell rings again and she reasonably argues with herself that a murderer would not be so polite as to buzz. Nonetheless she makes sure the baseball bat is sitting in the unnecessarily tall vase near the front door.

With slow, nervous movements she unlocks the door, poking her head around. And laughs herself silly when she sees Chaol, her next door neighbor and fast friend in this strange city, standing in the other side.

He looks confused as he stares at her, doubled over, tears pooling in her eyes, laughing at her own jumping mind and absurd theories.

"You alright, love?" It's the first words he ever said to her. The day she moved in, boxes stacked past her head, wobbling down the corridor like a newborn deer.

"Hello Chaol," She sighs the last of her laughter away, "Glad you're not a murderer."

"Glad I'm meeting the bare minimum." He raises an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"

"Did you bring me chocolate?" She demands.

"Something better." He winks.

Apparently in the four months they'd known each other he had her pinned down, because she falls for it hook, line and sinker.

"What?" She squeals, "Tell me!"

“You have to let me in first."

She steps aside, practically bouncing as he walks in but just as she's closing the door she spots her dinner walking up the hallway.

Moments later, pizza boxes in hand, she settles back on the couch, her leg pressing against the warmth of Chaol's

She offers him a box and digs into the three cheeses, an expectant look on her face.

Chaol isn't even looking at her, transfixed on the pizza in front of him, eyes shaped like hearts as he stares at the cheesy, pepperoni goodness.

"Can you stop looking at the pizza like that and tell me the exciting thing!" She scolds, jabbing him in the side.

"I am having a moment." He pouts, and it reminds her of her toddlers at the kindergarten.

With an eye roll she shoves another slice into her mouth and pinches his side.

He glares, already reaching to retaliate. Her brown eyes narrow in what she hopes is a menacing glare. Instead she finds he's fighting a smirk.

"Tell me before I put on a horror movie and make you watch it!" The threat works because his own eyes, a bronze to her hazel, widen in fear.

"Okay, okay," He turns to face her, "I got two tickets to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show on Broadway."

Her scream is enough to deafen the country, and if this fancy apartment wasn't soundproof it might have. Unfortunately for Chaol he was in the blast zone. The scream reverberates through his skull. And then Elain is throwing herself at him, pizza boxes crashing to the floor, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

There are definitely tears in her eyes but later when they recount the story she'll deny every drop.

For now she squeezes his neck, muttering unintelligible excitement against his skin. Her heart is beating to the speed of a race car and her lungs feel like they've taken flight without her.

The one good thing about living in this massive city is that she can watch the productions she's only ever seen on a scratchy VHS when the signal in the cottage was good enough. It's been her one true burning need since arriving, and something she quickly spilled to Chaol. In fact it was the very first night she came, after they had carried all the boxes in and he'd sat on the floor with her eating chow-mein and showing her how to use chopsticks.

His arms are warm around her back, fingers brushing her waist as he hugs her to him, just as fiercely. She pulls back a little, only enough so she can see his face. Their lips are a breath away from brushing against each other. She doesn't think about it.

"Thank you," There's definitely tears in her eyes.

"It is your favourite one yes?"

She just nods, too choked up to respond verbally.

"Want to know when it is?" He grins, and she thinks it rivals the morning sun. "Next week Friday."

Her gasp is soft, sharp with surprise. "You didn't—"

"Oh I absolutely did," His grin widens, and it glows like stars. His hand, large and slightly calloused, comes up to brush strands of hair out her face. He looks at her so gently. They are still so close

"On my birthday?"

"The very day," He taps her nose. "And guess what?"

"Oh gods," She groans, burying her face into his neck. He smells like the forest, and the faintest hints of soap. "I can't take anymore things. I'm going to be a pile of mush soon."

He pokes her side, smiling delightedly, "You get to meet the cast."

She bursts into tears. "I hate you." He kisses the top of her head. "You're the worst person in the world." He strokes her hand across her back. "How dare you make me cry!" He laughs softly; she feels the sound in her stomach.

"Can you quit being sappy for five seconds?" She glares, tear-stained cheeks nullifying her doe eyes, "So I can be mad at you for making me blubber."

"I figured you deserved something special, this being your first birthday away from home in a big city you don't know."

She kisses his cheek, ignoring the blush that covers their cheeks. "Thank you."

"Anything for you little flower." He swipes a thumb across her cheek, cradling her jaw in his hand.

"Anything," She grins.

He groans, knowing what's coming. "Almost anything. I'm not watching horror with you."

She pouts her lower lip, making her brown eyes huge with plead. "I'll give you all the milk duds for it."

He smirks, turning his head to see the box which had been scattered in her little meltdown. "How about something sweeter?"

"Than milk duds?" She frowned, "I'm not sure you should even be eating candy that's sweeter than milk duds. I feel like that's the fast track to—"

His laughter cuts her off, and she frowns at him, feeling his ribs shudder with amusement underneath her.

"What's so funny?" She demands.

"Not candy Elain," He swipes more strands from her face. He always wants to see her. The freckles across her cheeks from far too much time in the sun. And the slight dip in the bridge of her nose where she fell onto a step when she was little and managed to chip off her skin. And the slight rose tint, brushing right down her neck that makes her look like she was permanently blushing. He especially liked to see her eyes, as he had drunkenly confessed one evening, because they reminded him of the warmth he felt on his back when he was at the beach or going on a run or simply standing in the street. A comforting weight, that wrapped its honeyed heat around you.

"A kiss," He stares at her lips, back into her very soul, down to the beating pulse at her neck. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Yes," She doesn't even have to think about it. She doesn't want to. "Kiss me Chaol Westfall."

And unbeknownst to them, when their lips meet, the garden growing inside her New York flat comes to life. They are the sun. They are light itself. They are—

"Dammit Chaol!" She gasps, breaking them apart, "I forgot to water Nicolas."

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

Tags:

@nishlicious-01

@simping4bookboisngrls

[likesomekindofcheese]

Cottagecore  (Gwilym Lee x fem! Reader Oneshot)

A/N: Hello! For @queenandborhapevents​ I wrote this fic as a part of an exchange on Ao3 and now I can share it here and reveal who I am! Hello there @itsametaphorgwil​! I am your Secret Santa revealed! I am glad you enjoyed it and know I enjoyed writing it for your honor!

Word Count: 1,832

Summary: When reaching your dream job gets too stressful, Gwilym suggests an escape to the countryside to get you to relax.

Warnings: not much, some swearing, drinking, a touch of angst, but mostly fluff, and poor Reader being on edge.

“Y/N, if you would like this position, here are the things you need to work on for the next month. Then we might give you this offer,” the woman stated.

You nodded your head enthusiastically. Every word was put into your brain in the strongest part of storage. Your dream job was eminent. The people you have admired for ages were pushing you on. Every dollar spent, every hour clocked in, and every bit of training and studying and student debt was about to be worth it.

“We’ll try you out and interview at this point on the fifteenth of next month, sounds good?” she folded her arms in her black pantsuit, slightly serious.

A Pollyanna smile grew on you.

“Of course! I will!”

You wound up practicing and trying every free hour you had for this job. Cups of coffee devoured. Then water to make up for coffee. Then constant bathroom breaks. Words in front of you seemed fuzzy. But you kept at it.

Even when your boyfriend, Gwilym was around, it was all you could talk or think about.

“Hey Y/N…let’s escape,” he suggested. “There’s a place…it’s out in the country!”

“I don’t know…” you sighed.

“It will be fun!” he begged, taking your hand.

With a huff, you nod.

“Where is it?”

“Pembroke-near some family.”

Pembroke! Grassy fields, a nearby ocean…

And two whole weeks without work!

He led you into the cottage excitedly. Then his smile dropped briefly as he saw you pull out your laptop from its bag on the kitchen table.

“Annwyl, did you bring anything related to your job with you?” he asked sternly.

The laptop clicked shut and you let out a sigh.

“Yes, it’s just that…I’m really afraid of failing!” you cried. “It’s just…I’ve been…been afraid to relax. I’m just so close to my dreams coming true, and I’ve been struggling and hustling just to get the opportunity…I feel like if I let go…it will slip away from me.” Tears came out before you could stop them.

He hugged you. You could hear the rustling of trees.

“Then promise me this…every day you do one hour- and only one hour- of work and the rest of the day, you try to breathe.”

You nodded, “of course.”

“Oh, Y/N, I completely understand but…you’ve seemed so…it isn’t going to go away if you enjoy yourself for a bit.”

He kissed the top of your head tenderly.

Settling into the cottage, the sunlight poured in from everywhere. Dust specks flitted around in circles as if they were dancing. You only flicked the lights on when it got dark.

Both of you had to see the garden around the house. There were more roses, lilacs, and peonies than you could count and plenty of green sprouts not even Gwilym could name.

Soon you were walking down to the markets, drinking cold lemonades, and buying a large basket of strawberries in their prime: large, red, and juicy, almost like candy to devour.

The next morning, you felt him shake you awake.

“Cariad…look out the window…” he said softly, kissing your temple.

The sun was rising and the whole world was baked in a sweet, pink light. The sunlight was melting over the fields, making it glow.

“Are we in a fairy tale?” you asked.

You could sense the sleepiness in your voice and you felt two arms pull you close, so your back touched his chest. You heard the slight rumble of his laughter.

“No, we’re in Pembrokeshire, but close.”

There was a ten-minute stroll to town, passing herd of sheep or a goat enjoying its breakfast of dandelions. The town was tiny- the houses still had vines, dates from the 1600s in the upper corner and every nook had little shops and businesses and whatnot. People walked by, from children on bicycles to grandmothers ushering in guests for tea.

Nearby there was a stone bridge. A river babbled beneath it and across you could make out taller buildings, some painted a gaudy yellow or a musty red.

But something about the rust on the bridge’s sides made it feel surreal, ancient. Every step you took you held your breath because it might collapse and fall. It never did.

On your third day there you noticed there was a gaggle of little ducks, clucking nasally as they glided across the water’s edge.

“Look!” you cried, pointing to them.

Gwil leaned his brown head over in your direction. “Why, look at these little fellows!”

Normally at this time, as soon as your walk with Gwil was over, you took to your work: editing your resume, cover letter, and other items online and practicing and curating what the try-out would consist of.

But today was different. You felt tired at the thought of that hour approaching. You wanted to take your time.

“Should we get them bread?” you asked.

“Not bread, that will make them sick…”

Gwil ran up to a plant shop and got them seeds, you both took turns tossing it to them. Laughing at the way they shook their beaks as they ate. Soon a mother waded forward with a trail of ducklings behind her- all peeping in high little voices and in a line so straight it seemed mechanical.

He opened the bag and released the seeds into his palm. Their graininess against the softness of his skin. Reaching in for a bit, you could smell the earth it came from.

He walked closer over the edge of the bridge. His reflection looking back up at him from the blue of the water A few ducks hovered toward the mirror Gwil, quacking in curiosity.

He let a few seeds fall with a plop into the water.

They nibbled graciously. As they chewed with their beaks open, a pretty, little white duck passed by, sniffing for morsels as well.

Grinning, you obliged, letting a few seeds fall from your fingertips. They landed, creating ripples that went to the edges, growing fainter. But the white duck wagged its tail as if it were a canine and devoured the seeds.

“How would you like a beach day, tomorrow?” he asked. “It’s only an hour dive.”

“Is that even a question?” you replied, giving him a chaste kiss.

The hour drive long drive seemed to take forever with no beachy signals except for the smell. Until a road that went downhill showed the yellow sand right where it dipped down- flowing out of the grass until soon it replaced the fields as you drove onto it and parked.

The sand dissolved between your toes; the breeze was cool against your legs. Only a few people came and went as they day was slightly overcast.

“Yeesss! Let’s swim, Y/N!” your boyfriend cheered, leaping out of the car.

Gwil ran childishly toward the ocean in his swim trunks and you in your red one-piece, pulling you with him. Though you shrieked at the icy water, it soon seemed normal and refreshing to feel around your calves.

Both of you splashed at each other and got deep enough to swim. Often bending down to pick up interesting little seashells and collect them in a glass jar.

Suddenly Gwil turned his head, let out a slight swear, and covered your eyes with his hands.

“Oh, Y/N, I’m glad you said yes today…” he teased, walking against you so you had to walk forward.

“What! How come? What are you up to?” you asked.

“We havesome guests!” he announced.

“Are you really going to let us have all the fun?” a sweet voice asked in front of you.

He pulled his hands away and you let out a squeal. You knew that blonde bob and pair of bright eyes anywhere.

“Lucy! Lucy, what are you doing here!”

“Rami’s filming, and Gwil had told us you guys were vacationing. Might as well go over and say hello!”

Salt caught into your hair to where you smelt in all day. You missed the scent of the ocean and the sound of its lulling, but hearing Rami and Lucy catch up as Gwil drove back made up for it.

“Oh- we got two local Cabernet bottles to try…would you stay for a drink?” Gwil offered, pulling up near the cottage.

That night, the wine overtook you both, Lucy especially.

“It’s cold! Let’s go in the room!” Lucy insisted, as red as the strawberries in the fridge.

She went over to an extra guest room in the cottage- it was smaller with white walls, a few paintings, and a tiny window. But the bed was so large it took up half the space.

Ooooh! It’s sooooft!” she cooed as she settled on it.

Both of you pulled the duvet over the two of you and began talking softly. You heard Rami and Gwil catching up downstairs with talk of directors and long days of filming.

“Hmmph, do you think this shirt shows too much of my titties?” you asked.

Laying down in the bed had pulled the edge of your shirt down and you began to stubbornly pull it u.

Lucy began giggling like mad. She pulled the duvet over her head into a large lump.

“What is it?” you asked.

She poked her face out with an elfish gleam in her eye.

“Titties!”

You both began to giggle profusely. There are creaks upstairs as Rami and Gwil walk in, bemused at the two of you. Lucy and you pulled blankets up over your mouths to stop.

“You alright? You both had a lot…” Gwil began, walking closer to see your faces.

“We’re fine, it’s just…” you began.

“It’s about…about titties!” she blurted.

You both burst out howling.

Rami and Gwil looked at each other, beaming despite Lucy’s tipsiness.  They ran downstairs and returned with a small plate of cheese, crackers, and apple slices.

“We’ll leave you ladies be,” Rami promised.

He put it on Lucy’s lap. She grinned and gave him a smooch as thanks.

Gwil stood by the door, watching you take a bit of a red apple slice.

“Just have something on your stomachs,” he added before Rami returned to shut the door.

Lucy and you giggling over snacks was the memory you kept inside you. That and the beach, the ducks, the berries, as you and Gwil crossed the corner where the fateful building stood.

A month had gone since this was planned and the day you expected and dreaded had arrived. You whisper the right words and picture it. And none of it is forgotten- a muscle memory.

“Darling…thank you for the trip. No matter what comes to it-I needed to enjoy things and not let it all get to me,” you say, pausing before the door.

He cups your face, “you always put your heart and soul into things…and I love you for it.”

As Gwil walks with you to the building, saying he will wait outside. He kisses you on your forehead, leaving a subtle, shiny mark there as you walk in.

Taglist: @queenlover05​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @joeneslee​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ @bens-jawline​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​