#still need two colours of yarn for the hair

[ace-of-snails453]

I am doing it again!!

Curse my inate desire to hold all holdable characters for reals

Ps.. it has already begun

[simpingforstardew]

a mini cozy harvey smut would be amazing if possible ❤️ 🤭

no pressure of course!

pairing: sdv harvey x reader

synopsis: one mini cozy harvey smut, coming right up~ just some fluffy smut, pretty much no plot ♡ i really hope you like it !!

warnings: 18+ smut (minors dni), reader is described as having a vagina, oral sex (reader receiving).

word count: 1.3k

Sparrows chirp outside as rays of the spring sunrise filter through your sheer curtains, casting a golden glow into the room. Beneath the layers of yarn blankets enveloping the bed, you luxuriate in their comforting embrace, basking in the tranquillity of the early morning.

Beside you, Harvey stirs, stretching languidly while he haphazardly pushes the duvet off his body. As he arches his back slightly, the fabric of his white t-shirt obediently follows the movement, riding up to reveal a glimpse of his belly underneath and the happy trail that adorns his midsection. Your eyes follow the trail down to his green plaid boxers, hanging loosely on his hips.

“Darling, you’re staring.” Harvey whispered through a grin, his morning voice more gruff than usual; his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

You smile in spite of the blush that warms your cheeks, “I’m allowed, aren’t I?”

The doctor rubs his heavy eyes as a soft chuckle escapes his lips, “Shh, come here, you’re-,” A yawn interrupts him, “You’re so far away.”

“I’m only on my side of the bed, Harv,” You giggle, shuffling towards your boyfriend, “‘s not that far.”

He wraps you protectively in his arms, one hand lightly massaging your back while the other finds itself on the back of your head, pushing you comfortably into the warmth of his chest. Harvey’s chypre scent was just as comforting as the embrace. Your calloused fingers trace shapes into the skin under his t-shirt, trying to remember where each mole and freckle is.

“I love you, y’know?” You whisper, looking up at him as another smile tugs on his lips.

“Of course, I just hope you know that I love you more.” He kisses your forehead. You still weren’t used to the tickle of his moustache.

You reach a hand up to caress his soft cheeks, while his viridescent eyes scan your face— as if he was memorising every feature. Harvey’s strong arms pull you impossibly closer as you stare at his mouth, your thumb delicately brushes along his lower lip.

Before you could tease him for the flush that was quickly colouring his cheeks, he leans down to kiss you.

His lips, soft and yielding, already carried the faint taste of coffee; it was intoxicating. A soft whine escaped his lips as you threaded your fingers through his dark hair, still tousled from sleep. Touching him feels like heaven; tasting him is like indulging in a forbidden fruit. It was the kind of adoration that devotees created worship for.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until this moment, a moment in which you two are the only people awake in the valley. Every sensation seems to converge into a single, overwhelming need for closeness.

Harvey’s large hand moves down to your thigh as it rests on his hip, tugging you desperately towards him, as he deepens the kiss. This kiss is nothing like your first just weeks ago: a gentle, yet nervous confession. This is carnally unrestrained; honest.

“Please I-,” the whispered plea slips out of your kiss bitten lips.

“Fucking insatiable,” Harvey chuckles softly, his lips still brushing against your own, before rolling to cage you between his arms. With your back now pressed against the plush sheets, Harvey took the opportunity to tug off his wrinkled t-shirt, fumbling with the hem before discarding it on the floor. With anybody else, at any other time in his life, perhaps he would have been too insecure to do so.

Harvey’s large frame hovers over you, his hand gentle on your neck as he leans in close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers; you feel the warmth of his breath caress your ear, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me here— Please, I…” you beg, voice reduced to a hoarse whisper, “I need you, Harvey.”

He kisses down your neck, nipping just to see you squirm, as his hand caresses your chest beneath your t-shirt.

“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate,” he continues to praise you between kisses, marking your most sensitive areas as he makes his way down your body, “So pretty.”

As he shuffles down the bed, he lifts up your t-shirt to kiss your belly— blowing the occasionally raspberry in response to your embarrassed whines. You look down to see him comfortably snug underneath the duvet, kissing your inner thighs with delicate reverence before meeting your gaze.

“Hi.” he smiles, chuckling as he looks at you longingly.

“Hi.” you respond breathlessly, stroking the brunette waves of his hair. You involuntarily tighten your grasp when you feel the warmth of his breathe tease your clothed pussy; a sinful moan escapes his lips in response.

“Careful, darling,” Harvey exhales, “You don’t want me to come that fast, do you?”

Your breath hitches as you hopelessly buck your hips, feeling both of Harvey’s large hands reach to grab your ass “N-no, fuck— sorry.”

Your wetness soaks through your underwear as you feel Harvey’s deft fingers rub slow circles on your clit; his other hand moving to diligently massage your tense hips. Despite the doctor’s dominant act, you could feel him grinding against the soft mattress as he pants pathetically. He glances up with puppy dog eyes, through the hair that had cascaded down his face, to watch for your reactions.

“Do you-,” you whimper, interrupted by the increasing speed of your boyfriend’s fingers, “Do you want to fuck me, puppy?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything,” Harvey sits up, tugging off your underwear, “but right now, I need to taste you.”

Harvey is quick to begin lapping up your juices, occasionally moaning to send vibrations through your sensitive cunt. He is committed to satisfying every inch of your sex so much it almost overstimulates you. His hot mouth, his coarse moustache, his wet tongue, all determined to make you climax.

“So gorgeous for me like this, darling,” Harvey gasps; all you can do— all you want to do— is whimper and moan as you weakly grind against his face.

Slowly, he pushes two fingers inside you— the mess of your anticipation from Harvey’s unrelenting praise making the perfect lube. The delectable stretch just barely satisfies the heavy ache in your pussy; so you roll your hips in time with his digits as they slide in and out, hitting just the right spot. With his fingers fucking you, he continued to eat you out like a man starved. You spread your legs further when he pulls you closer to his face, resting one thigh on Harvey’s shoulder.

“Mmm, p-please.. Fuck—” your moans were becoming unintelligible, your boyfriend’s ministrations unravelling you completely, “Please, Harv’— I’m so close.”

Snapping your hips back and forth, Harvey’s nose nudges against your clit as he groans beneath you; you quickly came undone. As you stumble blissfully towards your release, your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls slack; wanton cries fill the room. You feel your legs continue to shake when Harvey pulls his fingers out, the absence of his touch making you whine.

“So good for me, I got you. There you go—,” Harvey soothes; as you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the sight of him sucking your juices from his fingers. His unwavering eye-contact leaving you breathless, “All for me.”

He makes his way back up the bed, bringing you back into his arms as you catch your breath; after a few moments, your light-headedness fades as you ground yourself in his embrace.

“Wait, Harv—” you mumble, “What time is it? You don’t have to be in the clinic today do you?”

“Shh, don’t you worry, Maru has everything sorted out for today,” he traces shapes in your back, almost lulling you back to sleep, “How about I get you some water while you go to the toilet, then I can make us some breakfast? Is that ok, honey?”

You nuzzle into his chest, nodding emphatically to his morning plans, “Sounds perfect.”

[vinylfoxbooks]

August 27 - Magazine  | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 540 Not super Jegulus centered but...

James picked up knitting and crocheting because it's something relatively mindless that occupies their hands. They don't do it at school or outside of the dorms (though it would help them get through their classes) aside from the occasional quidditch game they attend (though they usually get more distracted by the plays) because there's the whole thing where 'masculine people shouldn't do girly things like crocheting' and 'if you knit, you must be an old woman' and they don't want to have that spread around.

That being said, ever since they took up crochet and knitting, their childhood friend Remus has been the subject of many of their projects. Yes, they make things for themself -- especially in later years when they start experimenting with mesh shirts and layered clothing -- but the main person they make for is Remus.

James makes all of Remus's sweaters. They memorised a bunch of patterns that they know he likes, and they work with him to figure out colours that Remus wants. It's to the point where all of the sweaters and sweater vests in Remus' trunk were made by James, with the exception of one or two that friends have bought him, and Remus loves their sweaters. They're comfortable, made of a soft yarn, fit him just right no matter what, and they're more Remus than any store bought ones he can find (not to mention free, good quality sweaters aren't cheap and James lives making them for him).

Needless to say, whenever someone makes fun of Remus' sweaters or him for wearing them, he's always going to James to comfort them because they take any insults to their creations as an insult to them. There have been times when Remus has had to physically force James' hook or needles into their hands for them to pick up the hobby that they love so much again.

James' friends have just come to accept it, cone to understand that James is still paying attention to them even when it seems like they're focused on whatever project they're working on -- Remus and Regulus, after they started dating, will carry around balls of yarn, scissors, and a set of James' favourite sizes of hooks and needles in case they need a breather and they don't have their current WIP.

They make their friends things too, usually fun tank tops and amigurumis for the girls (skirts and dresses after Lily finds an old woman's pattern magazine for them), hair accessories for Sirius, random things that Pete, Barty, and Evan ask for. For Regulus, they've made him a sweater once but decided that they only want to make those for Remus, they'll make crochet flowers and blankets for him (because he's always cold) and Regulus loves it.

It just becomes a fact that James does fiber art, they love making things, and they now have a large audience for them to make for (which was always a struggle, they make things much faster than Remus could need them).

They later find out that Remus still has some of the first things that they made: ill-fitted, wonky things with weird tension that are falling apart both due to use and an inexperienced creator. That fact alone makes their heart swell.

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found -Chapter 13

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)

Warnings:  profanity

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @thesirenrealm @asirensrage @residentdormouse @ninjasawakenedmystar @karimac @starryeyes2000 @timbradfordsboot @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @arrthurpendragon​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/120781585

​My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)

******

“Which one is your favourite?” Millie inquires, as they sit side by side in a corner booth; tucked away from the breakfast rush that’s invaded The Continental’s dining area. “Pancakes, waffles, or French Toast?”

Tyler rifles through the plastic container of crayons open in front of him, selecting a blue and a red, then returning to the sheet of paper spread across the table. “Pancakes.”

“Me too! With lots of butter and syrup! But sometimes, I’ll put strawberry jam on them. Have you ever had that? It’s delish.”

“I haven’t. Guess it’s something I’ll have to try.”

“Maybe when we’re at your house, we can make pancakes together. Momma and I do that every Sunday morning. I get to stand on a chair and help. Mom ALWAYS lets me stir the batter. But the pancakes are never very good ‘cause she isn’t the best cook in the world and…”

“Hey!” Esme objects, and reaches across the table to playfully tug on one of her daughter’s pigtails. “I am sitting right here.”

“I’m sorry, mom. I love you. Bunches. But you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’ve somehow managed to keep you alive for four years, haven’t I? My food can’t be THAT bad.”

“I mean, it’s not horrible. But it’s not great either. I can STILL eat it. Just sometimes I have to pretend it tastes like something else. So I CAN get it down.”

“You’re a savage, you know that.”

“I woke up today and chose violence.”

“How about choosing NOT to throw me under the bus?”

“You always tell me that honesty is the best policy. And I was just being honest, so…” She sips at her chocolate milk and then addresses Tyler once more. “Momma is a really awesome baker though! She always makes my birthday cakes and sends cupcakes or cake pops to school with me so my class can have some goodies too! She bakes all kinds of awesome stuff. Brownies and cookies and pies. And these really yummy things made with mushed-up frosted flakes and chocolate and marshmallows. She even sells her stuff sometimes. At the market near our old place.”

“We used to live in Queens,” Esme explains, when Tyler looks to her for clarification. “We had an apartment there. A walk up in an old brownstone. There’s a little pop-up market every Saturday. I would spend the better part of a week baking and then Millie and I would go to the market on the weekend and make some money. We don’t do it as much anymore now that we live…LIVED…in Manhattan.”

“It was a lot of fun! I loved going to the market,” Millie says. “‘Cause when momma sold all her stuff, we’d walk around and she’d buy me all kinds of goodies that other people were selling. Treaties and stuff. This was this lady there that made dresses and hats and even dolls. She made me Posie for my third birthday. See…” Reaching, for the doll that rests between her and the wall, the four-year-old proudly places it on the tabletop. A Holly Hobby inspired creation; sandy blond hair made from yarn, a purple and pink paisley dress and matching hat, and pink vinyl shoes.. “...this is Posie. Momma had her made to look just like me.”

Tyler shows the doll his full attention; Millie anxiously awaiting his admiration and praise. “She’s beautiful. Just like you. Pink and purple are your favourite colours?”

“They’re my top two. But I like other colours, too. Blue and green and orange. And camo. I know that’s not a colour, but I really like it. Especially the one that makes you look like GI Joe.”

“You know who GI Joe is?”

“Yup. I have a whole box full of them! Momma got them at the secondhand place.” Her smile diminishes and her eyes darken; lips forming a pout. “But they didn’t get brought with us. When we had to leave the house. I wish we could go and get them. And some of my other stuff. Auntie Nik says we can’t; ‘cause the bad guys will find us there. But I really miss my stuff.”

“Maybe we can get Uncle Yaz to go and get some of your stuff,” Esme suggests. “He can take a couple of people with him to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. But we can’t bring EVERYTHING, baby. I wish we could.”

“And if we can’t bring it, we’ll get it for you,” Tyler adds. “When we get wherever we’re going. Maybe you can make a list? Of all the stuff you miss and you really want? Can you do that for me? Because I don’t know much about little girls and what they like.”

“I can do that. I like all kinds of stuff. Girl stuff, boy stuff. Momma says I can play with whatever toys I want and that it’s stupid that society puts labels on things like toys and clothes.”

“Your mum’s a very smart lady.”

“Momma always says that I’m the Millie I’m supposed to be. That the things I like and make me happy are part of me. Part of my personality. And no one should take those away from me.”

“No. They shouldn’t.”

“And she says to never let anyone dull my sparkle, right mom?”

“I don’t think anyone ever could, sweet pea. You’ve got way too much sparkle for anyone to take away. And if they tried and I caught them doing it…”

“You’d punch them in the face!”

“Well I might not resort to violence, but…”

“Alessio? That guy momma was gonna marry? He always complained about my sparkle. He didn’t call it THAT, but he always bitched and moaned about my clothes and how loud I am and how much I love to sing and dance. And you know what he did one day? He threw out my shoes! My favourite ones!”

“She’s been wearing those same Spiderman sandals since she was almost three,” Esme tells Tyler. “I always buy a couple pairs at a time; one a bit bigger for when she sizes up.”

“I LOVE these shoes!” Millie enthuses. “They’re comfy and they’re cute and they light up. Alessio didn’t like them. He said they were for boys! But momma told him it didn’t matter. That girls love superheroes too! And I can wear whatever I want! And you know what he did? The big, fat jerk! He waited until momma and I were asleep and he threw my shoes out! I couldn’t find them in the morning and I was really sad! I cried. A lot. They were my favourite. They fit just right.”

Esme reaches for one of the carafes in the middle of the table, pouring herself a second cup of tea. “And what happened next? When momma found out what Alessio did?”

“You went and bought me two new pairs. And told Alessio to never pull that kind of shit ever again!”

Tyler grins. Esme’s never been afraid to speak her mind; never threatened or intimidated no matter how big and bad her opponent is. He’d learned that the hard way; finding himself the target of her ire in Dhaka. When he’d had the nerve to ‘pull rank’ and ‘man-splain’. “Your mumma takes good care of you, huh?”

“ She doesn’t let anyone mess with me. And if they try? She gets really mad. And she doesn’t back down. She’s little, but I bet she could kick some serious ass!”

“Oh, I know she could. I’ve seen it. What she gets like when she’s angry. Or she’s trying to protect the people she loves. She’s a good mumma?”

“Best mumma ever! We do a lot of cool stuff together. We go for manis and pedis, we go to the library to look for books and play in the kids’ section. We go to museums and the movies. And you know what my favourite thing is? When we go to Central Park. We always take a picnic. And we sit by the fountain and go for a walk and go and feed the ducks. That’s the best part. I love the ducks. Do you have ducks in Australia?”

“We do. We even have some rare ones you can’t find anywhere else in the world.”

“Do you think maybe you could take me to see them? If we go to your house? I’d really like to see the ducks. And feed them. Do you think we could?”

“I think we could arrange something, yeah. And we can go to the zoo. Feed some joeys, see some koalas. Maybe hold one. I don’t think your mumma would mind. If we did stuff like that.”

“Can we, mumma? Please? Can we go to the zoo? I want to feed the joeys and hold a koala! Can we go there?”

“I definitely think we could do that.” Esme returns Tyler’s smile from across the table, and then briefly and inconspicuously lays her hand on top of his. Giving it a light, loving squeeze before she runs her nails along the length of his fingers.

She enjoys this quiet, unassuming closeness. An intimacy that’s pure and beautiful and reserved solely for each other. The glances exchanged, their feet touching under the table, their hands in close enough proximity to each other they often come in contact. It’s the honeymoon stage; that blissful, relaxed contentment that comes with getting to know someone and falling head over heels in love. But there’s an extra layer to their story; two people who had found acceptance and solace in one another during the most difficult and stressful of times and somehow survived the unimaginable. Dhaka had created a powerful bond between them; one that not even The High Table had managed to erase. Now they’ve started down a new path; friends and lovers who managed to find their way back to each other. And are now caught up in a whirlwind of rediscovery.

When the waitress departs after refilling drinks and taking orders, Millie and Tyler fall into a companionable silence; both concentrating on their ‘masterpieces’. It’s quite the juxtaposition compared to their surroundings and the original reason for his visit to New York; surrounded by men and women engrossed in the criminal world yet somehow managing to create this comfortable, happy space. This powerful and intimidating man with his scars and tattoos and his demons devoting his full attention to the little girl beside him; Millie occasionally glancing at him with a mixture of fascination and pure, unadulterated affection. A connection established since the moment they’d laid eyes on each other the day before; Tyler shocked and overwhelmed by the news that he was a father again and Millie awed and intrigued by the ‘giant’ that loomed over her. And she’s become incredibly attached to him in such a short period of time; putting all of her faith and trust into him and believing his promise to keep her and momma safe from the bad guys.

In return, he’s indulged every one of her whims since that initial hug only forty minutes ago. One of those enormous, strong hands swallowing her much tinier, fragile one when she reached for him; chattering away as she skipped happily alongside him as they headed for the elevator. Immediately obliging when she asked to be carried on his shoulders; giggling as she was lifted high into the air and then wrapping both arms around his neck and resting her chin on the top of his head. And he didn’t blink an eye when she abandoned her original seat at the booth in favour of climbing up next to him. Joining her in drawing and colouring and patiently answering all of her questions about Australia, allowing her to creep closer and closer to him until she eventually settled upon his thigh.

Millie is currently perched upon her knees with both arms wrapped around one of his biceps; quietly and intently watching the drawing that he works so diligently on. Those big hands with all their scars and calluses and misshapen knuckles and their ability to take a life creating something beautiful and ‘just for her’. It’s a side of him even Esme has never seen before; a loving and devoted father that willingly ignores societal norms in order to make his little one happy.

She had seen the potential inside of him during those five days in Dhaka; the seemingly fearless mercenary lowering his guard and showing her all his broken and aching parts. A grief-stricken and guilt laden man; willingly putting his own life on the line to save others not because of the money involved, but as repentance for the mistakes he’d made. There’d been a gentleness to him that she’d never experienced with another man. The way he’d cradle her face in his palms when he kissed her, that slow, adoring way his eyes would search every inch of her face. the tenderness in his fingertips when he’d smooth hair away from her cheeks and tuck loose strands behind her ears. There were layers to him that he’d never allowed another to explore; instead choosing to hide behind all of his rough and tattered edges and his strong, intimidating physique. But he’d granted her access to even the deepest and darkest of places; spilling secrets and regrets and allowing himself to be vulnerable. He hadn’t been a horrible husband or father by any stretch of the imagination. What he had been was damaged and traumatized; a lifetime of nightmarish circumstances that had made it impossible for him to deal with the reality of his son’s illness and impending death.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” she had said, when he’d asked her why she was being so kind. So understanding. Why didn’t she see him as the monster that everyone painted him as? He killed people for a living, after all. He’d abandoned his child when he’d needed his father the most. How could she NOT look at him with pure and utter disgust?

*****

She watches him with that second chance now; nursing a cup of tea as she muses on how alike father and daughter truly are. The exact same colour and texture of hair, the long limbs and impossibly big hands and feet, those brilliant blue eyes that can grow so dark and stormy when frustration or anger settle in. And how, while dedicated to a task, those eyes narrow; intently focused with their lips slightly parted and their brows furrowed.

“You are soooo good!” Millie gushes, as she peers down at the paper. “I want to draw like that! I’m alright at it, but I’m not great or anything.”

“You’re only four. You have lots of time to get better at it.”

“You don’t look like the type that would be an artist.”

“No? What type do I look like?”

“The type that kicks serious, big time ass!”

“Well, I do THAT too. I do lots of things, actually. I have lots of different skills.” A grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he shoots Esme a wink. “Just ask your mum.”

Eyes widening, Esme directs a kick to his shin.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Millie inquires, oblivious to the behaviour of the others at the table. “I don’t understand how you and momma met. How you became friends. If momma was living here and you were living in Australia, how’d you even meet?”

“Tyler and I were both working for Auntie Nik,” Esme explains, flashing the waitress an appreciative smile as she replaces empty carafes with full, fresh ones. “And she needed us to help her find someone.”

“Where’d you have to find them?”

“Somewhere far away. In a place called Bangladesh.”

“Where’s that?”

“Far, far away. On the other side of the world.”

“Was it a boy or girl?”

“A boy.” Tyler reaches for his coffee. “A teenager.”

“What was his name?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“You have to set the scene. I need to know details.”

“His name was Ovi.” Esme begins tidying the table; dropping crayons back into their carrying case; a retro metal Transformers lunch box Millie had spied in a second-hand store and just had to have.

“Why did he need to be found, momma? What happened to him?”

“Some bad people took him. And didn’t want to give him back unless they were paid a lot of money.”

“Why did the bad people take him?”

“Because his dad was a bad person, too. And they wanted to cause trouble with him.”

“But WHY? Just to be mean?”

“It’s a long story. And not one for little ears. They took Ovi because they wanted to hurt his dad. Who was just as bad of a person as they were. And when no one could find where Ovi was, Auntie Nik got called into things.”

“And she asked you and Tyler to help? Why you guys?”

“Because I find people. I go places and ask all kinds of questions and track them down. And then I give guys like Tyler that information and he goes and rescues them. Remember what I told you? About teamwork?”

‘Teamwork is dream work!”

“Exactly. And because these people were so bad, I needed to have someone keep an eye on me. So I wouldn’t get hurt.”

Completely invested and desperate for more information, Millie lifts up Tyler’s arm and slips under it. Climbing into his lap, she places a hand on his cheek and turns his face towards her. “You were momma’s bodyguard then too?”

“I was. And you know what? It was the hardest job I’ve ever had. Because your mum? She is stubborn as hell. She refused to listen to a word I said. I almost told her to find her own way home and left her there.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t listen to you,” Esme argues. “I just thought you thought what you were saying was…how do I put this gently…stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“That and I was in my ‘I won’t let any man tell me what to do’ stage,” she chides, and shoots him a playful wink. “You weren’t getting away with it. And it didn’t matter how hot you were.”

“Were? Past tense? WERE? First, you call me fat and now you’re saying I’m ugly?”

“Momma!” Millie gasps in horror. “You called Tyler fat?! That’s not nice. You’re not supposed to say things like that about people! I mean, I know he’s a little chubby, but…”

“Chubby?” He lightly pinches the four-year-old’s sides. “Whose side are you on anyway? Calling me chubby.”

“I’m on your side! I am! I really am! But…”

Millie squeals when he tickles her and then dissolves into hysterics; eyes closing and her entire body arching against him when his fingers dig lightly into her stomach. Her laughter travelling throughout the restaurant and drawing attention; a handful of disapproving frowns and whispers mixed in with amused eyes and broad smiles. The first child to ever need protection within The Continental’s walls, many of the staff and clientele remember her as an infant; watching that blue-eyed, chubby-cheeked little girl go from a newborn in her mother’s arms to a baby just weeks shy of her first birthday. When the dust had cleared and it was safe to finally leave, they’d moved to Queens; into a quaint and cozy two-bedroom apartment that Nik had furnished and paid the first year's rent on. After that, they’d had no reason to return to The Continental. Extra money earned doing intel work from home while Esme devoted everything she had to raising her daughter and making sure she was loved and provided for.

She’d spent years longing to be a mother, and Mark’s abuse and the eventual disintegration of her marriage had left her incredibly jaded and wary of ever trusting a man again. She had tried to convince herself that perhaps it was just the way things were meant to be; she wasn’t destined to have a child and instead would throw herself into her work and find contentment and fulfilment in the few friendships she managed to maintain. Yet there’d always been an emptiness and a longing she couldn’t quite explain; a need for a different life in a different place, surrounded by different people. And she’d been so close to breaking free. Setting a firm ‘six-month exit strategy’; giving it half a year before moving to Scotland and living with a long-lost cousin until she was able to get on her feet.

And then Nik had called, offering her the Dhaka job.

It had been too good to resist. A massive payday and an assurance from Nik that once it was over, she was officially ‘off the books’. There’d be no paper trail of her ever connected to Nik’s business; staying in touch as ‘friends only’ and perhaps offering the occasional consultation over the phone or through a video chat. She was looking forward to no longer being part of that world; using the money she was paid to travel the globe and create experiences and memories before settling down in Scotland. Perhaps once there she’d ‘find herself’; discover a new profession that would give her the same feeling of accomplishment. It had been illegal and dishonest work, but it HAD come with one major benefit; able to dole out karma and see those who deserved it meet their often bloody and brutal demise.

She never did get to travel.

Instead, her entire life changed the second she walked into the rundown shack in the middle of the Australian outback.

“I gotta chubby tummy too!” Millie announces, as she once more settles herself on Tyler’s lap and then pulls up the bottom of her t-shirt. “I also have an outtie! See!”

Grinning, Esme lifts her mug to her lips. “She’s very proud of her belly button. She had an umbilical hernia when she was a baby and had to have surgery for it. When she was still a wee little thing. That’s her souvenir from it.”

“All my friends are jealous! None of them have outties. I tell them that I’m special. Like a unicorn. ‘Cause I got something different.”

“You are,” Esme agrees, and reaches across the table to sweep Millie’s bangs from her forehead. “You are very, very, VERY special. More than you will ever know.”

She desperately wants to add: “And your daddy and I love you so very much” but manages to hold it back. It’s way too soon; only twenty-four hours since Tyler had discovered Millie’s existence and less than three days since the four-year-old’s entire world had been turned upside down. While full of smiles and giggles and hilarious chatter throughout the day, the trauma comes out to play at night. Plagued by uncharacteristic, aggressive meltdowns before bed and a newfound fear of the dark, reverting back to sucking her thumb as a form of comforting and self-soothing, and suffering from horrible nightmares that tear her from rest and cause her to vomit and wet the bed. She’s been through way too much for such a little thing; hearing and seeing things that not even adults should be subjected to. With no way of telling what another huge event would do to her, it’s best to keep Tyler’s true identity a secret for now. At least until the aftereffects of four nights ago begin to weaken.

It hurts to have to keep lying. For four years she’s kept Millie’s existence a secret out of pure selfishness and stupidity; afraid of rejection and unable to handle the mere thought…never mind the sight… of him being with anyone else. Choosing instead to remain hidden and off the grid; convincing herself that she’d only ruin his life if she was to suddenly resurface with a child in tow. Deep down she was aware of just how wrong she was; even hurt and angry, Tyler would never turn away his daughter. Even if they couldn’t get along, he would still want to be in Millie’s life. He’d want to be present and active and have a say and a helping hand in how she was raised. While Esme had told herself that staying silent was better for everyone involved, the truth was that it was only better for her. A way of protecting her heart.

She knows it stings. Whenever Millie calls him by his first name. She can see that little wince that captures his mouth and the pain that darkens his eyes. He’s already missed so much of her life and not being seen and known as ‘dad’ only adds insult to injury. But she also knows that no matter how pained he may be and how desperate he is for the truth to be known, he’d never do anything to hurt Millie or jeopardize her well-being.

Even if it means putting his on the back burner.

It’s a beautiful thing to witness. That big, strapping man already so attentive and adoring. Protective. All that faith she had and all that potential she saw five years ago now playing out before her eyes. The infinite amount of patience that he possesses; allowing Millie to ask a seemingly endless string of questions involving how he met her mother, what it’s like living in Australia, and if she’ll get eaten by a shark if they go to the beach. Always having the perfect answers for her; ones that light up her eyes and make her giggle and feel completely safe and content in his presence. Not blinking an eye when tiny fingers explore the calluses on his palms and his long busted up knuckles; staying away from any talk about the job and telling tales instead of sports injuries and incidents while rock climbing or hiking or surfing. And not appearing bothered when she inquires about his collection of scars; sparing her the more horrific details and only alluding to mishaps while with the military and while fighting ‘bad guys'.``

“Momma,” Millie leans across the table and lightly taps a hand against Esme’s cheek. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what, sweet pea?”

“Looking like you’re gonna cry. What’s wrong? Why tears? Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad,” Esme promises, then leans forward and rests a hand on the back of the four-year-old’s head. Giving her a reassuring smile before pressing a kiss to her brow. “I’m happy. So very, very, VERY happy.”

****

They find Nik and Abuela waiting outside the suite door when they return; the latter anxiously pacing the thick, plush carpet. And it’s Nik that approaches them; her brow furrowed and lips set in a thin, stern line.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Tyler frowns. “I don’t like hearing that.”

“I don’t like saying it.”

“How big is this problem?”

“I’d say about six one, two hundred pounds. Alessio is here.”

“How the hell did he get in here? I thought this place was secure. I thought one of the rules was that no one could come and cause shit. Conduct business under their roof.”

“He says he’s not here to cause problems. Or do any business. He just wants to talk. With Esme.”

“Tell him to go away,” Millie pipes up from her perch upon Tyler’s shoulders. “Momma is off limits! Tell him that, Auntie Nik. Tell that asshole to f…”

“Amelia…” Esme gently scolds, then turns to Nik. “Talk about what? I think everything that happened last night spoke for itself. His family broke into my house and tried to kill me. And Millie. A little kid. If he thinks I have anything to say…”

“He’s a dickhead!” Millie declares. “Tell him momma has a new boyfriend. Who is really big and strong and will rip his head off and shove it up his…”

“Let me take her,” Abuela suggests, and moves towards Tyler. “We can go and hide in her room and watch a movie or we can make crafts. Maybe go downstairs for a swim. Or we can…”

“No!” The four-year-old protests, wrapping her legs tightly around Tyler’s neck and her arms around his head when the ‘nanny’ reaches for her. “I don’t want to go in there! I don’t want to see him!”

“He’s not going to leave,” Nik addresses Tyler and Esme. “He’s pretty adamant about that. And it’s not like we can force him. If we even put our hands on him, we’ll be leaving this place in body bags. And he knows that. He knows we can’t do a damn thing.”

Tyler sighs. “I mean, one bright spot is neither can he. He goes against the High Table rules and he knows he’s fucked. Not even his family and their connections can save him from them. But wanting to talk to Esme? About what?”

“About what went down the other night I guess. He feels that he’d owed an explanation. That he put eight months into the relationship and everything turned out to be a complete lie. He’s pissed. Hurt. I guess he has a lot to vent about.”

“Tell him to go to a fucking therapist. Esme doesn’t owe him a damn thing. His family tried to KILL HER. No amount of talking is going to change that.”

“What harm is there in hearing him out? If he won’t leave and we can’t make him leave…”

“I don’t wanna go in there,” Millie sobs. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t like him. He’s mean. Don’t make me go in there. Don’t…”

Gently prying her arms apart and untangling her legs from around his neck, Tyler reaches up and carefully lifts the little one off his shoulders. Briefly settling her on his hip before placing her on the ground, then kneeling in front of her and cradling her face in his palms.

“Don’t cry.” He uses his thumbs to clear away the tears that sparkle upon her cheeks. “There’s no reason to cry. Everything is fine. You’re okay.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know. I know he was mean to your mum. I bet he was mean to you sometimes too, yeah?”

“He threw out my shoes.”

“And that’s bad enough, right? There were other times, too? When he was mean to you?”

Millie nods. “He didn’t like me. He said I was too loud. That I talk too much. And make too much noise. That little kids need to be seen and not heard. He wanted momma to send me to a special school. Where kids stay over instead of coming home. But momma told him to go and ‘get fucked’. She always told him where to go. When he said mean things to me. She doesn’t let anyone hurt me.”

“That’s because she’s an awesome mumma. But he can’t hurt you. Not here. Not with me and Auntie Nik and Abuela here. You’ve got a lot of people that love you. Who will do anything to keep you safe. You trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“I need you to do me a favour. I need you to go inside with Abuela. I want you to do everything she says, okay? You go in your room and you watch a movie or you make some crafts or find something else to keep you busy. Just for a little while.”

“Just for a bit?”

“Just until I finish talking with your mum and Auntie Nik. Then I’ll come and get you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Maybe you can even do me up one of those bracelets. So I can add it to my collection. Maybe even make yourself and mumma some too. We can all match.”

“I’ll do yours in boy colours. So you don’t get teased. But you do promise, right? That you’ll come and get me?”

“As soon as I’m done out there. It won’t be long. I just need a chance to talk some things over.”

“What if he hurts momma?”

“No one is going to hurt your mum. I won’t let that happen. So can you do that for me? Go inside with Abuela? Just for a little bit. And then we’ll go and do something. Just the two of us. Is that alright? If we do something together? Are you okay with that?”

“Just us?”

“Just us. If you’re comfortable with just me. If you’d rather mumma tag along…”

“No. I’m okay with it. Just us. Maybe we can go swimming? They have a pool here. And it’s nice and warm. It’s not as fun as the beach, but…”

“You put your bathing suit on when you’re inside and I’ll take you down to the pool. Maybe we can go and get ice cream after. If my chubby tummy can handle it.”

She finally manages a smile, then sniffles noisily and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Mint chocolate chip?”

“Of course. It’s our favourite. There’s no other kind. So you can do all of that for me? I know how strong you are. How brave. You get that from your mum. She is the strongest person I have EVER known. And you come from her, so…”

“Even stronger than you?”

“MUCH stronger than me. Go inside, okay?” Giving her a reassuring hug, he drops a kiss on the top of her head and then reaches for not only the doll and koala bear Esme holds, but the backpack slung over her shoulder. “Take your stuff with you. So you got your beads and what not if you want to make those bracelets.”

Helping Millie shrug into the backpack, he tucks the doll under one arm, the bear under the other, running a hand over the top of her head before Abuela lays a hand on Millie’s shoulder and gently leads her towards the door. Hesitating on the threshold, Millie glances over her shoulder at Tyler. Tears sparkling in her eyes, as her chin trembles and she tries to remain as stoic as possible.

“You promise, Tyler? You promise you’ll come and get me?”

He struggles with his own emotion; a potent cocktail of rage and heartache to know that someone has mistreated her. It’s only been twenty-four years but the love and the pride he feels towards her is all-consuming; this beautiful, healthy little girl that’s a mixture of himself and the love of his life. It’s surreal; the realization that he is indeed a father again. And while it isn’t the time to jump fully into that role, he can give Millie what she so desperately needs at the present; a sense of safety and security and someone she can trust to protect her. At all costs.

“I promise. I’ll be there in a little bit, okay?”

Nodding, she gives a wiggle of her fingertips in a departing wave and then allows Abuela to lead her into the suite.

****

They stand in silence; waiting to hear if anything goes wrong within the hotel room. And it’s Tyler that speaks first; attempting to push away the anger and animosity he feels towards his old friend and colleague. It’s hard to be civil in the face of Nik’s betrayal; the painful truth that she’d kept Esme’s whereabouts and Millie’s existence a secret. But he reminds himself that it isn’t the time for personal quarrels; Alessio’s appearance bringing the job back to the forefront.

“How’d he get in here Nik? You told me this place was safe. That no one could get to them here.”

“Winston let him.”

“Of fucking course he did.”

“But why would he do that?” Esme inquires. “He’s the one that gave us somewhere to hide out. Why would he just let Alessio walk in, never mind get THIS close?”

“I think it’s personal,” Nik replies. “I know there’s no love lost between him and Tyler and…”

Tyler scowls. “He told you?”

“Told her what?” Esme’s eyes narrow in confusion as she glances back and forth between the two. “What did Winston tell her? What’s going on? What…?”

“Winston and I had a little disagreement. “About…?”

“About what we think is best for you. And Millie. We weren’t exactly on the same page.”

“And what DO you guys think is best for us?”

“I told him that I thought bringing both of you to Australia, getting settled, and starting a life there would be in your best interests. He disagreed. Thought it was better that I brought you back here. To New York City. So he could keep an eye on you.”

“Keep an eye on me? I don’t need him…of all people…keeping an eye on me. Once I’m out of here I am NOT coming back. Ever. If I never see this place again, it’ll be too soon.”

“He seems to have it in his head that you can’t survive without him,” Nik explains. “That you’re better off here…under his roof…than anywhere else.”

“I hope you told him to go and get fucked. Because that’s the furthest thing from the truth. I’m grateful for everything he’s done, but this is the last place I want to be. Kept like some prisoner. That’s not much of a life. For either of us. But especially for Millie.”

“I think he has some weird-ass obsession with you,” Tyler adds. “That goes way beyond the father-daughter bullshit that he spews all the time.”

Nik smirks. “You THINK? It’s not obvious?”

“That is just…” Esme’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “....ewwww. I’ve never gotten that kind of vibe from him. He’s always respected my boundaries and never tried anything. I would have kicked him in the nuts if he did. Did he actually admit to all of this? That he’s got some creepy hopeful sugar daddy going on?”

“Not in so many words, but…”

Nik pipes up. “When he offers to double someone’s payout so they’ll bring you back here and walk out of your life, it’s safe to say there’s nothing normal about how he feels about you.”

“Wait…what? He did WHAT?”

Tyler glares at his old friend. “You did NOT need to tell her that.”

“I assumed she knew. That you already would have told her.”

“I didn’t tell her because I didn’t think she needed to know that part. What good does it do? She’s got enough going on. Add Winston and his bullshit to the list…”

“He offered you money?” Esme struggles to digest the information. “ To bring us back to The Continental and leave us here? Is that what went on? Is that why he showed up here? THAT’S what he wanted to talk to you about? He wanted to pay you off?”

Nik sighs, then addresses Tyler. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause issues. I thought she knew. That you would have told her.”

“What did you say to him?” Esme inquiries, as she moves closer to him; suddenly needing the comfort that his much stronger, heavier body can provide her with. He’s always been her protector; ready, willing, and able to do whatever he had to do in order to keep her safe.

“What do you think I said? I told him to take his money and shove it up his ass. There’s no ‘deal’ to be made. You and Millie? You two aren’t up for negotiation. And I let him know that. That I’m getting you two the fuck out of here and I’m not bringing you back. I don’t care how much money he throws at me.”

“This is just…” Esme pushes both hands through her hair. “...I honestly can’t believe he’d do that. I already told him; once we’re out of here, we aren’t coming back. We’re going on with our lives. I told him that we already talked about all of this. That Millie and I were going to make a life in Australia. With YOU. Whether it’s under the same roof or starting out in separate places. I made it very clear that it wasn’t up for debate.”

“He seems to think it is. He’s got it in his head that I’m some piece of shit that would abandon you and Millie. That I’m some enormous fuck up that’s going to ruin your lives.”

“That is the furthest thing from the truth. You’re none of those things. And I told him all of that. I told him that we were going to be a family. Or at least try being one. That we were going to work through our shit. Get past everything that’s happened. Have a good life together. Give Millie a mom AND a dad. I made it pretty clear that it was my life and my decision.”

“He obviously didn’t listen. Because he’s pretty convinced you’re better off here. That this is the only place you can have a good life.”

“He’s full of shit. And if he thinks I’d EVER think of him in THAT way…”

“I know I opened up a huge can of worms and you two have a lot to talk about,” Nik speaks up. “ But I think we need to refocus. Get back to what’s going on right now. Because whether we like it or not, Alessio IS here. He’s got no intention of leaving until he gets what he wants. And seeing as we can’t force him to leave and we can’t toss him out…”

“What choice do I really have? If he’s not going to leave…”

“I don’t want you alone with him,” Tyler says. “I don’t trust him. If he and Winston are that buddy-buddy, you can’t tell me that he wouldn’t be allowed to break High Table rules. That Winston wouldn’t look the other way.”

“I’ll stay,” Nik offers. “I’ll hang out in another room and keep my ears open. If I even hear things starting to go south…”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Esme assures them. “Yeah, he’s an asshole in many ways, but putting his hands on women? That’s not his style.”

“His family tried to kill you,” Tyler reminds her. “And Millie. He’s got people just lying in wait outside. They will put a bullet in you the second you step out there.”

“Alessio isn’t like them. He’s nowhere near as committed to that life. And he’s not as loyal to the family as they think he is. He spent the last eight months spilling a lot of their secrets. He wasn’t shy about all the twisted and gory details.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t go to bat for them now. You’ve disgraced his family. Made him look like a complete fool. These people don’t take betrayal lightly.”

“You heard what Nik said, Tyler. He’s not going to leave. And as much as I know you want to just beat the living shit out of him…”

“I can’t just leave you with him. And I already told Millie…”

“I’ll be fine. Nik will be close by. She’s not going to let him do anything. I know you don’t exactly trust her right now, but I DO. She’s kept us safe and sound all these years. She can do it for another half an hour.”

“I know you’re pretty pissed at me right now, Tyler…” Nik begins.

‘That’s an understatement.”

“...but we need to shelve the personal shit. We can deal with all of that later. I know you have a lot to say to me and believe me, I’m going to let you have a chance to say it. But NOT right now. We have much bigger fish to fry. Not to mention less than forty-eight hours to figure out how the hell we’re all getting out of this city in one piece. So we can focus on what we’re really here for? The job?”

Sighing heavily, he briefly closes as he pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I need to talk to Esme.”

“Tyler, I…”

“Nik, there is a lot going on here. And believe it or not, not all of it involves you. I need to talk to her. ALONE.”

She accepts defeat; holding her hands up in surrender and then heads for the door and disappears inside. Tyler waits. Giving Nik a chance to clear the foyer and head further into the suite before he turns to Esme; watching as she chews on her bottom lip and nervously wrings her hands together.

“What do you want to do?”

“There’s not many options. Alessio won’t leave unless he gets what he wants. And as much as I’d love to see you hand him in his ass…”

“Do you want to try and get out of here? Just grab Millie and leave?”

“You know we won’t get far. They’ve got a small army out there. You against all of them? I’ve always had faith in your skills and the things you’re able to do, but…”

“Even I’m not dumb enough to think I stand a chance against all that firepower. There’s gotta be a way though. Of getting you and Millie out of here. With no one else knowing. There has to be some way they get people around without being noticed.”

“I mean there’s an underground garage and there’s passageways, but Winston monitors those. There’s security EVERYWHERE. There’s no way we’d be able to even get to them without being seen. And if he’s messed up enough to offer you money to leave Millie and me behind, what’s stopping him from letting the enemy know what we’re up to?”

“He wants me out of the picture. He made that clear. Many times.”

“And he can make it happen. He’s got the power of The High Table backing him up. And we’ve already dealt with them once before. Look what they did five years ago. Tyler, these are powerful people. They make Alessio’s family look tame. And if we don’t play ball with them, the DiTomassos are going to be the least of our worries.”

Leaning back against the wall, he runs his hands over his weary, unshaven face. “I don’t like any of this.”

“Neither do I. And I’m starting to regret dragging you into this. There you were, just living a nice, quiet life and…”

“I was living a miserable life. Just like I have been for the last five years.”

“Which was my fault, too. Everything I touch, I totally fuck up. Your life, Millie’s life.”

“You haven’t fucked anything up. I mean, just look at her Esme. Look at how amazing your daughter…OUR daughter…is. She’s beautiful and she’s insanely smart and she loves the world and everyone in it. Her life is far from fucked up. Look at how much she loves you. And trusts you. You did that all on your own. Brought her up this far. And she’s incredible.”

“But I didn’t HAVE to do it alone. I had a choice. Once all the smoke cleared and we didn’t have to hide anymore. I could have made things so much easier on myself. And Millie. But I didn’t do it because I was a stupid, selfish little girl that couldn’t handle the thought of rejection. Or of seeing you with someone else.”

“That was what it was? The real reason? Why you didn’t get a hold of me?”

“I couldn’t handle it. The thought of you being with someone else, let alone SEEING it. And I realize how ridiculous that sounds now. You had every right to go on with your life; to meet someone else and fall in love and get married and have a family. But every time I thought about it, it made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t have you and I didn’t want anyone else to either. How pathetic is that?”

“Wanna hear pathetic? Every time I think of you with that asshole in there, I want to put my fist through a wall. Or throw that fucker out a window.”

“I was so scared. I was worried that if I called you or just showed up on your doorstep, you’d turn us away. That you’d still be so angry that you wouldn’t want anything to do with Millie.”

“That never would have happened. Not in a million years. I wouldn’t have turned her away. Or you.”

“The logical and rational side of me knew I was wrong. That you’d never do something like that. But when does fear make you think logically or rationally?”

“I wanted you. I never stopped wanting you. And if you’d just shown up on my doorstep, I would not have turned you away. Not when I spent so long missing you and wanting you back.”

“And now I’m back and look what’s happened. Look at the mess I dragged you into! This is NOT what I wanted. All those times I thought about just bringing Millie to you and begging you for another chance? None of them included THIS. If I’d just left you alone…”

“Esme…” Offering her a hand, he pulls her into him when she accepts; their fingers entwined and their joined hands resting on the small of her back. Her body resting against his as she stands between his legs; hands settling on his hips as he cradles the back of her head in his palm and presses a kiss to her brow. “...I don’t regret taking this job. And I won’t regret it no matter how messy it gets.”

“You had a normal life. You were doing normal things. And I came along and screwed that all up. Just like I screwed everything up five years ago.”

“Stop saying that. It’s not true. And you know it’s not. We had a good thing. A REALLY good thing. And yeah, it went bad and it sucked and the last five years have been pure and utter shit.”

“Because of me.”

“You didn’t know The High Table was going to come for you. There was no way you could have known that. And you were right; with what you said the other night. I wouldn’t have survived that. Challenging them. No way.”

“I had to protect you. I HAD to. I never would have forgiven myself if something happened to you.”

“And I’m starting to understand that. I’m not quite there yet, but I’ll get there. It’s hard. Normally I’m the one who does the protecting. Kinda hard to accept when I’m on the other side of the fence.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You and your ego. And your whole knight in shining armour thing you’ve got going on.”

“I thought it was ‘knight in slightly tarnished armour’?”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything when it comes to you.”

“Even how you used to always leave the toilet seat up and your dirty socks in front of the hamper instead of in it? And how you always used to put your cold feet against the back of my legs in bed?”

“I don’t seem to remember any of THOSE things.”

“Typical.” She gives a small laugh. “You had a selective memory then, too.”

Pressing their joined hands against the small of her back, he draws her even tighter against him and kisses her; long and soft and sweet. “I don’t regret taking this job. And I’m not going to regret it; no matter how ugly it might get. At the risk of sounding sappy and embarrassing myself, it brought us back together. And it brought me Millie. Which is the most amazing thing that could have ever happened.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Tyler. It was never intentional. It was all me. It was never you. I was just worried and scared and…”

He pecks her lips to silence her. “I know. So what do you want to do?” Releasing her hand from behind her back, he runs both palms across her shoulders and down her arms. “About right now? And this dick head fiance of yours?”

“Like Nik said; he’s not going to go away. It’s better if I just suck it up and talk to him. See what he has to say.”

“I’m sure he’s pretty pissed. Being led on for eight months. You’ll be okay? Being alone with him?”

“He won’t hurt me. He knows better. He knows I’ll fucking drop him.”

Tyler grins. “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll be fine. Nik will be close by. I trust her. With my life. With Millie’s life, even. And I know you’ve got a raging hate-on for her right now, but maybe you could shove that aside? Until we’re at least out of New York?”

“I can do that.”

“If you don’t trust Nik, trust me. I know what I’m doing. I know what Alessio is like. He’s not a threat. He’s an asshole, but definitely not a threat.”

“Good. Because I really don’t want to be throwing anyone out the window. Not today, anyway.”

Smiling, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to the tip of his chin. “You’d do that for me?”

“Are you kidding me?” Gentle fingertips explore the bruises and cuts on her face, then loop pieces of hair behind her ears. “ I’d set the world on fire for you.”

[sailtomarina]

Grapplings with Grindylows

Molly loved her husband. Truly, she did. Anybody who knew her would testify to the same, and it only took a look at her children to find proof of that commitment.

But the girls who grew up with Molly knew, as did her understanding husband after decades of marriage, that the woman was a hopeless romantic. There was a wall of books in their bedroom overstuffed with fluff and smut, from bare-chested pirates to wand-holstered Cure-Breakers. An entire shelf was dedicated to a certain Dark creature expert extraordinaire. 

So, when Ron burst into the house to inform her that “there were grindylows in the pond,” she knew exactly who to consult. What better source than the legend himself?

There was only one problem.

Gilderoy Lockhart held a permanent residency in St. Mungo’s. Molly had tried to read through his last published work, Who Am I?, but much of the text meandered about like a lost child in the woods. Still, there was hope, wasn’t there? He’d recovered enough to write, and none of her letters had ever been returned to sender.

Molly slipped on her second-best robes; the canary yellow reminded her of Gilderoy’s disposition. Her hair curled, the grey charmed to match her red, Who Am I? clutched tight, and a picnic basket filled to the brim, she stepped through the Floo with confidence.

She only managed to take two steps before a woman’s voice caught her in place. “Excuse me, ma’am? How may I assist you?” 

Pinching her nose in annoyance, Molly swung around and plopped her basket on top of the front desk. It seemed like this would take a while if the Mediwitch’s obstinance was any clue.

“What is it you require of me?”

“Thank you, ma’am. Who is it that you are here to see?” The young woman pulled up a chart and hovered over it with her wand.

“Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Molly expected the witch to react immediately, so when she merely nodded and proceeded to search through their records, it became apparent that the witch had no clue who he was.

What did they even teach youngsters these days?

“Ah.” Darcie, per the nametag, lit up as she located the correct file. “Mr Lockhart is a resident of the Janus Thickey Ward–”

“Yes, I know, which is just where I was headed before you stopped me.” 

“Yes, ma’am. However, visitors are restricted to family only. Are you related to Mr Lockhart?” 

Molly was an intelligent witch, even if others frequently overlooked that fact. Oh, they’d been reminded when she’d defeated Bellatrix, but most of the time it was easy to ignore dishes that washed themselves.

She needed to change tactics.

“I’m actually here to visit the Healer in charge of the ward. I’m sure you’ve heard of my daughter-in-law, Hermione Granger-Weasley?”

The Mediwitch’s mouth formed a small ‘o’, her back straightening into place.

Molly respected her daughter-in-law even more now. To think that just the mention of her name was enough to elicit such a reaction.

“Absolutely! Please forgive my interruption; hospital procedure, you know. Go ahead, Madam Weasley.” Darcie held an arm out in the direction of the lifts and lowered her head in respect.

As Molly stepped into the lift, she made a mental note to get started on a new jumper–Freddie and Hermione might not be expecting, yet, but it never hurt to jump ahead of schedule. The doors slid open to the fourth floor and she set aside ideas for coloured yarn in favour of locating her favourite wizard.

Correction. Second favourite.

The plate on the wall noting “Spell Damage” looked a little worse for wear, though it did shine from regular polish. She pushed the door open and strode through, eyes scanning the room.

There!

Light streamed through the narrow strip of windows lining the top edge of the outer wall. He sat right in the path of it, face tilted upward and eyes closed in bliss. The gold waves of his hair called her forward like a beacon.

“Mr Lockhart,” she breathed out, almost afraid to interrupt his reverie.

Time seemed to slow as he turned to look at her, the cornflower blue of his eyes taking in her figure before crinkling at the edges as that perfect, perfect smile stretched across his face.

“Yes, that’s me! Gilderoy Lockhart, at your pleasure. Feel free to call me ‘Gilderoy’.” 

Molly nearly dropped her belongings at his exuberance. To think, he was giving her permission to call him by his first name!

“Oh, I c-couldn’t–”

“Pish-posh,” he admonished her. “Of course you can! I just said you could!”

She could feel heat filling her chest and beginning to crawl up her neck. Of all the times for her bashfulness to strike, it just had to be now in front of this lovely man. “If you insist…Gilderoy.” 

His name rolled off her tongue like whipped buttercream.

He beamed in pride and reached over to pat the chair next to him. “Why don’t you have a seat? What is it I can do for you, my dear?”

Molly gave herself a little mental shake. She was a Weasley and a Prewett for Godric’s sake! She could do this little thing that was asking for advice.

First thing’s first.

Pulling out the top bundle from her basket, she gave it a flick and watched as the cloth flew over to cover the table. Her companion clapped in approval, and she couldn’t help but preen at the praise. Then, she proceeded to do the same with the rest of the basket’s goods. In no time at all, a feast spread before them: three types of sandwiches, a fresh pot of tea, and an entire lemon drizzle cake.

“Oh! My favourite!” He reached straight for the dessert, pulling the platter towards the front.

Molly bit at the impulse to reprimand him about saving sweets for later.

“Yes, you mentioned as such in Magical Me.”

“Did I?” Gilderoy looked pleasantly flummoxed. “I suppose I must have. Or are you a mind reader?” His face took on a childlike wonder. “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

Molly chuckled as she took her seat. “No, I am not a Legilimens. Nobody in my family has the gift for mind magic.”

She wanted to take the words back the moment his wonder transformed to sadness. “Oh. I was hoping you’d be able to look inside my head and see where I’ve hidden myself.”

Molly knew what had actually happened to him, despite what the public had been told. The accident wasn’t so much an accident as it was self-defence. She’d struggled, then, with forgiving this wizard for almost taking away the children’s memories.

Re-reading his books had helped, as had time, which dulled wounds if you allowed it.

“I’m afraid I can’t. It seems like you’ve recovered some memories, though?” She helped him slide a slice of lemon cake onto his plate, then poured him a cup of tea, the aroma of which helped steady her nerves.

“The lovely lady who visits me every day says so.” At the first bite of dessert, Gilderoy hummed in delight and wiggled in his chair. 

Molly decided right then she’d bake him a cake every week.

She watched him devour one slice, and then another, before continuing to the matter which had brought her here in the first place.

“Mr Lock–Gilderoy–I was wondering what it was you remembered about grindylows?”

The man paused, forkful of yellow sponge midair. “The water demons?”

Hope blossomed in her chest. “That’s right!”

He pursed his lips in consideration before answering. “Do you have any children, my dear?”

Her breath caught in her chest. “...yes, why?”

“Because!” His dimples flashed as he grinned triumphantly at her. “Grindylows eat humans on occasion, if there are no other smaller prey nearby.” Then, he proceeded to carefully pick through the sandwiches.

Molly looked at him in horror. Was he suggesting what she thought he was?

“You–You want me to feed them children?”

He choked, then hastily drank down tea to clear the blockage. “Of course not. Dear Merlin. You simply use the children as bait to lure the grindylows out for capture.”

She still didn’t like the implications. That the man was willing to endanger children, no matter how seemingly trivial the task, was abhorrent to her.

Molly looked around their surroundings once more, finally taking in the other residents who lay or stood around their beds and other tables. A distinct air of neglect persisted despite the sunlight streaming through the window and the overall clean interior. She needed to speak with her daughter-in-law sooner rather than later about livening the place up. Perhaps regular arts and crafts, and more than just family visitors.

Children. Small humans. An idea began to form. “Would gnomes work? Merlin knows we have plenty of them in our garden and they can defend themselves.”

The man had finished his sandwich triangle and returned to the lemon drizzle, a dollop of cream on his nose as he bobbed his head in agreement. “They certainly would. What a brilliant substitution! I was just about to suggest them, myself.” He winked knowingly at her. “Are you sure you aren’t a mind reader?”

She assured him she was not, and proceeded to usher him towards further savoury choices before he demolished the cake. It wouldn’t do for the man to suffer sugar overload. The Mediwitches would be beside themselves!

Gnomes did, indeed, work to lure out the grindylows for immediate capture and relocation. Hermione took to the suggestion of handicrafts quite well, and, if she harboured suspicions of Molly’s knowledge on the goings on of the Janus Thickey Ward, she kept them to herself. 

With the final strawberry in place, glazed with sweet syrup and adorning a two-layer sponge cake, Molly admired her newest creation.

He was going to love this one.

wc 1647 (yes ;_; I know I went over the limit)

Cross-posted on AO3 and Tumblr

[tinytinybumblebee]

im missing viago so so much :( can you write something about my little baby please? anything you think of! thank you

Waaa saaame😭 missing that silly bat so much!

Viago loooves going into shops! Most stores are closed by the time a vampire wakes up, so he doesn't get to go to the fun stores, just those stinky 24-7 shops that have those lights that probably hurt more than sunlight!

But! When the winter nights come, that means it gets darker out earlier!! Which meaaaaans, vampire's can go to fun stores!!

Tiny Viago is probably the only tyke that loves going shopping- most tiny ones get so bored sitting in the cart or hold their carers' hand while they're looking at two products. Just wanting to go hooome

But, tiny Viago has so much fun! There are so many exciting things to see, lots of new smells, and Viago's favourite part, being the helper!

Now, vampires don't need human food, they get a lot of their clothing from victims but, hobby materials are things they still need to procure ♡

The craft store is sooo big! Many wonderful isles to explore! Of course, Vladislav has reminded the little bat that he is to not wander out of eyesight- he can look down the isles they're in but, not ones without Deacon or Vladislav!

Viago happily holds onto the hem of Vladislav's shirtsleeve, bouncing on the heels of his feet at anything that catches his eye.

Vladislav can't help but coo when the little bat points at the 3d-model kits of nighttime creatures.

"V'ad!! Look, it's us!!" Viago says as he points to the bat models, "Or it me n' Deacon, cause you cants gets the face no more," he giggles with that little smile he gets when he's being cheeky.

Vladislav smiles and tousles Viago's hair.

"That just means my bat is far cooler, one they don't even sell," the older vampire jokes as they continue down the path.

Deacon is probably in the yarn section, picking out the right colours for his next project while the other two shop around. While deciding between two shades of purple, something just outside his gaze catches his full attention.

Soon enough, the store announces it's closing soon, so all purchases are to be completed now.

Deacon is already waiting by the exit as Vladislav and Viago are paying for their things. He holds onto one of the bags behind his back the whole journey home.

When they arrive back with their bountiful items Deacon has a surprise for Viago for being such a good boy that whole week and during their trip.

Deacon hands the bag over to Viago and inside is these two friends!

Viago gives Deacon a biiig hug, thanking him and holding the bears close to his chest, swinging back and forth happily babbling to the two new friends (deciding on names for them) and soon is going down the hallway to introduce the plushies to the flat and alllll their new friends!

A very fruitful trip for all three vampires ♡♡♡

[writingwrittenwriting]

With the rainy season stretching on to its fifth week solid, I was growing unsteady. My dear little changeling was complaining of hunger, and though she ate such a ridiculous amount of food, (not just daily but multiple times a day) she was still underweight and in the process of putting meat back on her bones. It was important to get her more food. She couldn't afford to not eat.

Water being as it is, I couldn't wander too far from the cave. Travelling by foot through muddy terrain and cold sheets of rain was exhausting. Most decently intelligent animals had the right idea, staying hidden in their dens, bedding down, trying to rest through the storm and wait it out. But I couldn't do that, it was her second day without food and she was so hungry she had started crying. Needing food now, I set out to scavenge the base of the mountain.

Unable to feed her the mushrooms or wild turnips that grew in abundance, I was in my human form and rooting through bushes for berries or prey like a lowly mook. I'd never found the need to hunt like this, typically I would eat a few heads of livestock every blue moon. Hearing the convoy through the storm was a stroke of sheer good luck.

A carriage covered in luggage to such a degree as the one I spotted had to be ripe with resources! Donning my dragon form, I easily scared off the two men holding onto the horse reins. Scores of guards accompanying the convoy took up their weapons in a bid to protect the carriage, only to be sent flying into the mud by a mere swing of my tail. Picking up the carriage, I held it to my chest and sped back to my warm dry cave. Supplies for my changeling, as well as a new carriage should she want it. A lucky find!

Only after I had settled the muddy wheels down within the crack next to the other carriage did I hear someone shifting inside it. Once again taking my human form, I gestured for my changeling to stay back. Opening the decorative rounded door to peer inside, I felt my heart sink in frustration. Another woman was in my cave! This one well fed at least.

This woman was dressed in bright glowing shades of orange, red, and yellows like fire. Hair like gazing into an abyss, such vibrant darkness in countless lively twists swept back to hold up a golden halo. Yarn of gold twisted into her hair appeared to flow into the crown, hanging with the loose locks cascading behind her head. Widely set netting of gold string was laced around the smaller twists that framed her face, small precious gems twinkling on them like fruit on a tree. Ready to be plucked by a greedy dragon.

Sharp amber eyes were set in smooth svelte frames, narrowly tapered as though to hide their beauty from the word. (While showing just enough to make it weep for its loss.) A soft round face contrasted her stunning eyes, round as though the moon had become a goddess. Her nose followed the lead of her soft subtle chin and cheeks, barely rising from her face save for the slightly pronounced tip, like the gentle slope of a small hill. Even the tone of her skin was soft, a muted river stone brown. Truly a blue blood from what I'd heard, the nearly pastel tone a result of staying in the luxurious indoors of a dark castle.

She screamed for dear life upon seeing me. I would scream too, if a god were to open my carriage door. Unfortunately she didn't appreciate my beauty, as she began throwing pillows at me and insulting my parenthood. Demanding that the dragon be killed, of course. Beauty doesn't correspond to intelligence, perhaps she was only blessed once. Before I could speak a word to her, my dear changeling wrapped a sheet of golden silk around my waist and pinned it shut with a broach.

"Meeting people with your willy out is rude. You don't do that." So now she tells me. Allowing myself to be seen was rude? It was rude of others to be insulted by the honour of getting to witness my glory! Never the less, I allowed it. At least it was my colour. Peeking around me to see the stranger, my changeling tried her best to be confident.

"You don't need to be scared. He wont hurt you. I promise. He just wants your gold, he'll let you go." Despite her lovely and logical words, the woman screeched and threw a biscuit tin at me. Easily catching it, I opened it to see food and began to pass it over to my changeling. Manners be damned apparently, as she snatched it like a fledgling racing their siblings for a meal. Off to her spot to ravenously devour the biscuits. Silly little creature.

Screaming once more, the woman grabbed her slipper and gripped it like a weapon, as though she could bash my skull in with it. I merely sighed, of course I had some prissy high-born human being a pain in my cave. I only wished to get food and perhaps some new trinkets for my little changeling.

"When you've finished your screaming, you may come out. Stay within the boarder of crystals, it's safe for you here. We'll discuss getting you home once you've calmed yourself." While she cowered with her shoe, I climbed the carriage and dug through the trunks atop. All of it, clothing, grooming supplies, make up. Useless! Frustration growing, I was stunned to have a shoe smack the back of my head.

Having heard me digging through her luggage, she'd rushed out of the carriage in an attempt to keep me from absconding with her precious belongings. I returned the favour and threw the shoe back at her, not with force mind you. Shrieking at me to get down, she scooped up her shoe and took aim once more. I jumped down to start going through the supplies on the back of the carriage. I had apparently insulted her with my reciprocation of her actions. Tearing away ropes, I opened the trunks and dug around. That's when she rushed up behind me and swatted my back with her slipper. Ridiculous creature! Alas, I found what I was searching for. Decadent little snacks. Wrapped gifts of food and drink. Her private selection of quality goods.

Choosing the wrapped glass box of smoked salmon and a bottle of wine, I walked past the fussy woman to join my changeling.

"You cannot steal my belongings! Those are gifts for the royal family! Those are specialties of my kingdom and I demand you return them this instant!" Oh how indignant she acted. Stomping her little nude foot and crossing her arms as though to intimidate me. I unwrapped the salmon for my changeling, who ravenously tore into it, eating it with her fingers, bones and all.

"My dear, your belongings became mine the second I snatched them from the road and brought them to my cave. Your guards should come for you soon, at which time I'll allow one or two to live and take you away. However, I shall be taking any other supplies they bring with them. I suspect you've had a long trip, which means your little convoy is carrying food and other such useful things. Those are also mine now."

Gasping at my audacity, she pointed quite rudely at me and shouted like a child.

"You're the dragon! You beast! Return me and my belongings right now! You shall perish for this! My guards will kill you!" Using a new tactic my sweet changeling had taught me, I moved my hand to mimic it speaking, and made irritating high pitched noises to mock her. Something the village children often did to my changeling when she tried to get them to behave.

Her pastel bark colour shifted to more of a rusty clay, anger rising in her. Ah, she turned red like my changeling! How amusing! Such an effective tactic to annoy someone!

"How dare you!" She seethed with venom in her tone. A cocky grin lit my face up as I playfully challenged her.

"With great gusto, I assure you. Now then, if you continue to act like a spoiled brat, I can and shall continue to be a pest. If you'd rather be civilized, you may introduce yourself and pull up a chair. I'd like to be rid of you as soon as possible, as I'm sure you'd like to leave at your earliest convenience." Still standing there offended, she merely gaped at us. So I ignored her to address my changeling.

"Does that feel better now, my little changeling? Or do you still feel the pain of hunger?" She curiously eyed the bottle of wine as she chewed on the salmon. Little beast wanted to consume it all.

"There's still lots here, but yes I'm still hungry. I need vegetables. And bread or rice." Oh my poor changeling. Her diet was so expansive, and meeting her needs required such a variety of food. As I soothed her, our unwanted guest huffed for attention.

"You cannot just steal my belongings and do as you please. I am claiming this cave of treasures in the name of my kingdom and I shall be taking it all with me when I am rescued." Oh how my eyes rolled.

"My dear, you aren't claiming shit. If you're going to continue your blathering on for attention, you may return to your carriage and wait until someone comes to fetch you. I have no patience for spoiled little brats." Goddesses above, some high-born she was. Growling like a beast and stomping her foot before storming back into her carriage and slamming the door shut. It bounced back open, she had probably never had to close a door before in her life, so she grabbed it and slammed it a few more times before figuring out how to properly close it. A soft click indicated she had locked it. All the better for us.

"So who is she? Are you going to send her back home?" Speaking with her mouth full, I couldn't help but chuckle at her. She spoke of manners yet shared the visual of her chewed food.

"Probably some noble or royal, I'm assuming royal. She'll be gone soon enough. She had plenty of guards in accompany. Most likely important." She nodded and leaned into the couch, pulling her feet up and getting comfortable.

"She's really pretty... but so mean. And loud. I don't like her." I was surprised at her, choosing to dislike someone like that. To be fair to her, the woman was rather loud.

"I'll go work on getting rid of her, my little changeling. Worry not. Soon she'll be gone, and we can go through her stuff together." Getting up, I nudged my head to hers (A newly allowed gesture) before walking to the new carriage and knocking politely.

"Go away." The woman hissed.

"Who are you, brat?"

"I'm not a brat, my name is Princess Incandessa Luminerrie Pavo-Cristatus, I am the crowned Princess of the kingdom of the sun and you will respect me." I laughed. Honestly, such a conceited brat with an imperious name. To be rid of her would be a relief.

"My dear, were you aware that Pavo means turkey? You are the princess of turkeys."

"Get fucked."

"Such a lovely Princess you are, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I laughed as I left her alone, returning to my changeling polishing off what had probably been two pounds of smoked fish and half a bottle of wine. She was laying on the couch with the box of fish beside her head, numbly chewing on what was likely to be her last bite. That much food and wine, she was likely falling to a food coma.

"I feel dizzy. That juice was rotten." Juice? Had she never had wine? Oh goddesses, I hoped she didn't end up vomiting.

"Darling, that wasn't rotten juice, that was wine. Do you feel alright? Are you going to be sick? You ate so much so quickly, I probably should have slowed you down."

"Too hungry to puke. Not losing my food. My food now. Mineeeee." Oh how silly my little changeling was. I took the food away and laid a blanket over her.

"Sleep my darling, I shall solve our problem." And she did fall asleep, precious little thing. I left her to be and reluctantly departed from the warmth of glowing crystals. Walking through the chilly caves and streams of water flowing through the sloped tunnels, I made my way to the entrance of the deadly system I had created to weed out the weak. No guards nor knights had come through yet, and it could quite easily take them some time depending on their skill level, but a part of me wished they'd come through already.

So fucking cold, I shifted to my dragon form and began picking my way through the tunnels, hoping to find someone to take the frustrating brat away. They were empty save for the creatures I had brought to populate them. Out into the rain I ventured once more, following my previous muddy tracks. No guards scouting ahead... No one on the path. Making it back to the scene of my crime, I found myself fiercely annoyed! And slightly... regretful. They had left, continuing to the next kingdom. It might be days before anyone was sent out. How was I supposed to feed two humans? Well, the princess was more than just bone, she probably wouldn't need to eat as frequently... And she was unlikely to gag on mushrooms and turnips.

With no reason to stay out in the damp cold, I headed back home. Back through the winding tunnels, the soggy little rivers, back to the warm glow of the orange crystals. I would have to make this work. I couldn't just kill the irritating princess. She hadn't tried to kill me, it would be unfair.

To my horror, the princess was out of her carriage and standing in front of my little changeling. Talking in an angry tone I knew would scare her. My changeling looked half asleep, pale and nauseous. Her normally jarringly wide eyes were tired slits, staring at the frustrated royal turkey. Thank the goddesses she was so tired, not freaking out. To my amusement. she just slowly lifted the blanket over her face. And then I heard her start to cry.

Rushing the princess, I scooped her up by her underarms like a child and carried her kicking and fussing back to her muddy carriage.

"Get your filthy hands off me! You have no right to touch me! How dare you handle me in such a disgraceful manner!" I set her down and let her scramble back into her carriage, slamming the door behind herself and locking it.

"You keep the company of a filthy changeling, kidnap princesses, and live in a damp cold cave! You're lowly trash! Filth!" Annnd now I wasn't going to bring her anything but mushrooms and turnips for her royal highness.

"Stay in your carriage, and stay away from my changeling. If you ever talk ill of her again, I'll carry you through the skies and drop you in the nearest kingdom. You'll forever be known as the princess so unpalatable that a dragon rejected you. You foul useless child." She smacked the window of the carriage through the curtain. As though that would frighten me.

Her behaviour continued like this for days, then stretched into weeks. Such a pain in my ass, yet I still took care of the spoiled rotten runt. I brought her warm water to clean herself with, mushrooms to feed herself (Despite her protests at the flavour). Even warm blankets from my personal hoard to keep her comfortable. How she managed to stay alone in the carriage, barely speaking, I don't quite understand.

At least my dear changeling was happy with this arrangement. I had noticed she was much more demure with our guest here, far quieter, even in her movements. But at least the princess wasn't out tormenting her. Not hanging around making her constantly uncomfortable. I had also noticed she had stopped sleeping in her carriage and started sleeping near me. Most likely to feel safe, she trusted me to protect her.

"It's been a month, my little changeling. I don't think they're coming for her." I whispered to my dear human as she drew swirling interconnected lines on the stone, blanket over her shoulders like a cape.

"I know. She's been here a long time. She's not happy here." Having given thought to her words, I knew my changeling was right. I nodded, it was time for the princess to leave. The matter of how to return the fussy royal would be a difficult task.

"I'll find somewhere to take her. I can't just drop her off at a random kingdom, if anyone believed her identity, she'd still be subject to much gossip. Where she had been, what had happened to her. What she had been up to during that time. Unless a knight comes at this point, she can't go back with ease." I wasn't certain how to handle this. This princess had become a huge problem for me, but I still had some sympathy for what was essentially a victim.

"Why don't we get her all muddy and let her wander out of the cave. We can show her the path to the mountain temple? She can tell them she escaped." Such a simple plan, but inspired! So basic in its intricacies, it'd be easy to execute! Admittedly the idea of pushing the princess in the mud was quite pleasant as well.

"My dear changeling, that is truly brilliant!" Her smile was twice brilliant, I ruffled her soft golden hair and got up.

"I'll go inform the princess, she is to depart now." Her smile turned into a grin worthy of myself. She wanted this princess gone, and made no effort to hide it. Chuckling at her, I made my way over to the crusty carriage the princess hid in.

Knocking on the dusty knuckle-print covered door, I was nearly bouncing on my feet. (A habit I'd picked up from my silly little human.) Our guest peered out through the thick curtains, glaring at me with disdain and disgust.

"What do you want, beast?" Oh how much fun I'd find in pushing her into the mud.

"You're to depart now. Get out of the carriage, you're leaving my cave and returning to your kingdom of turkeys." Such a ladylike growl she gave, but the door clicked with the lock lifted, swinging open violently for her to climb out and stare at me. Crossed arms and tapping foot, she was so childish. I would not miss this pathetic human, even her kingdom didn't want her back, and as sad as that was, it wasn't about to become my problem.

"Has a knight finally come to rescue me?" She demanded in a haughty tone. A touch of remorse must has slipped upon my face, as she cringed and hugged herself, looking down in abandoned sadness.

"No, but I shall bring you to the nearest temple. You will tell them you escaped, and they will return you to your kingdom." Anger flashed across her face, painful and forsaken. I pitied her, but I couldn't let her continue to stay here causing my changeling discomfort. I began walking to the cold rivers of flooded water rushing through my gold, pausing to look back at her.

"You'll be the princess who rescued herself. Perhaps you can earn respect from that." I offered her, prompting her to reluctantly follow me. Whining as she stepped into the cold water, I had to agree with the displeasure of this venture. I'd whine as well, if I didn't have an audience.

"I'm not fond of the frigid water either, but the temple always has a fire keeper. Once you get there, you shall be warm again." Lucky for her, I'll have to return to the cave to be warmed. Stumbling through the water in her ridiculous dress, she put up a surprising fuss when I scooped her up. Kicking and squirming against me, I considered dropping her into the rushing water to cool her off.

"Unless you wish to wade through this, I suggest you give in and calm yourself." Thankfully she was wise enough to comply, thus our journey began. Working my way through the flooded tunnels, past the shivering beasts lurking upon the ledges above the water, over traps and trenches filled with bones, I brought her out into the howling winds of the outside world. Both of us were shivering, her teeth clicking pitifully.

"I'll take you to the point you can see the temple, but you must walk from there." Too cold to respond, she merely nodded against me. Part of me wondered if she could even make it the short distance to reach the temple. Nearly falling many times as I trudged through mud up to my shins, I barely kept her upon my shoulder. Seeing the light of the temple was a miraculous relief. Finally! I threw her down into the mud, earning a shriek from her that almost pierced the winds.

"How dare you-!" She started, but I prevented her from continuing her tirade by hauling her to her feet.

"Enough. Go home. Follow the light, there you'll find aid. Return to your kingdom. Perhaps if you work on being a more palatable version of yourself, your kingdom will care enough to fetch you the next time you find trouble. You're a distasteful struggle to deal with, a horrible princess, and you've only survived through pity and luck. You've been born with every advantage this world has to offer, aim higher.

To my surprise, she looked deflated. Anger replaced by a knowing sadness. She knew she could do better. She knew she was unpleasant. Without another word, she turned and trudged through the mud, stumbling and nearly falling. Despite the cold getting through to my bones, I waited to ensure she made it before I returned to the cave. Washing off the mud in the flooded little rivers along the way.

Returning to the crack was the greatest relief. I couldn't quite take my dragon form and curl up around the warm glow of the stones, but I could do so in human form. Alas, I wanted nothing more, but first I had to find-

My changeling was in her carriage, door open, sleeping with the remains of a wheel of cheese laying on the ground just under the steps. I snorted in laughter and shook my head before scooping up the trash and tossing it into the river to be carried away. Then I made a nest of blankets around one of the larger warm crystals and snuggled up to it. Honestly, I'd rather snuggle with my changeling, but I didn't wish to violate her personal space. Perhaps one day.

You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them.

[threejadesoflan]

euphoria had become intense fear in the span of a moment. they had been happy. feng min had been holding jiang cheng’s hand, fingers interlaced, while she practically bounced with every step. the weight of their newly acquired medal was pleasant, and filled her with glee. she had been talking, in the middle of telling her skating partner that he was really handsome when he was concentrating.

then she saw her. she saw them.

panic gripped her chest in an iron vice, her legs froze from the indecision of whether to fight or flight. she felt like a cornered animal just from seeing the people responsible for causing her so much pain. the reason why she struggles with giving her own boyfriend - her own parents even - a hug on some days no matter how much she wants to. the reason why she sometimes hates looking at herself in the mirror and seeing her feminine body. the reason why she spent months, maybe even a year, of childhood believing herself beneath her little brothers because of her gender. the reason why she’s still seeing a therapist and needs to nap in the middle of the day to recharge because she spent all her energy crying during appointments.

she lost most of her awareness of the outside world. her ears were ringing. she barely registered wei wuxian and jiang cheng at the edge of her hearing. barely registered them seeing the cause of her distress and jumping to action. she barely registered jiang cheng’s particularly vicious anger and demanding for them to leave.

their coach had helped her to sit, handing her his soft knitted scarf to hold onto. he was talking to her calmly, trying to help her focus on the pillowy yarn. she was crying, struggling to breathe steady. struggling to not throw up into the plastic bag their coach kept on hand. she needed xiao feng, but venues rarely allow him to accompany her. she started feeling alone, despite the words in her ears. the world was closing in, like she was back on that sidewalk screaming for her mom to come back.

she couldn’t see the familiar purple and black of jiang cheng jacket, or the autumn hues of her baba’s favorite hoodie that both she and a-die loved burrowing into because of how comfy it was. she couldn’t hear wei wuxian anymore, where had he gone?

jiang cheng. was he still here? did he leave the venue? she tried to form the word but she was choking on her own tears. all she could manage was a garbled /‘er/.

She may 'only' have skated silver, but no one in the stands had been prouder than a certain black-haired man and his brown-haired, tanned companion. Mu Qing had risen to his feet while applauding Feng Min and Jiang Cheng during the awards ceremony and has only retaken his seat now- he was recognised in mid-applause and despite his distaste for it, especially during his daughter's competitions, had to turn down several unofficial offers for gigs. When will people learn to go through his damn agent? When he turns back to Feng Xin to roll his eyes and talk shit about stalkers and people who think they can disregard official channels, he sees his husband turn pale and pick up his jacket as if to leave. Following his gaze, Mu Qing feels what little colour he has leaving his own face.

Feng Min is on the ground, back to a wall, while Xie Lian holds her shoulder and presumably talks at her and her bitch-faced skating partner/boyfriend is reading the riot act to two individuals who look... Oh, no. He doesn't need to hear from Feng Xin, immediately grabbing his husband's wrist and dragging him down the stands. Feng Xin has to elbow some people (better that he do it than Mu Qing, since Feng Xin is much stronger and his elbow jabs hurt much more), but it doesn't take them long to reach the disaster scene.

The woman in particular looks quite similar to Feng Min, and it doesn't take Mu Qing long to confirm that these two are, in fact, her biological parents. The ones who had abandoned her and mistreated her for daring to be born female- the reason she needs weekly appointments with a therapist and struggles to claim her place in the world, or even in the arms of her beloved Jiang Cheng- who is still standing between them and her, forming a human barrier and telling them in no uncertain terms to get the hell out with a face and murderous tone that makes Mu Qing proud.

Next to him, Feng Xin squares up to support the lad, but Mu Qing instead kneels next to his daughter, on the side opposite Xie Lian. Covering his hand in his sleeve, he reaches up to gently wipe away her tears. It's the worst panic attack he's seen her have since she came into their family, and from what Xie Lian is saying, it's the same for him and the other skaters. He's telling her little nonsense reassurances -"Die's here, baba is too, you're safe, they won't hurt you"- until he notices her gathering what little strength she has left and weakly trying to speak.

-er... Cheng-er, likely. When Mu Qing nods at Xie Lian, the coach switches places with his pupil. Jiang Cheng drops to his knees so hard Mu Qing winces in sympathy, but the younger man pays it no heed as he grabs one of Feng Min's hands. "I'm here, A-Min. I didn't leave you alone. Wei Wuxian is getting rink security. They'll be gone soon, okay? Just look at us."

[meowizard]

ugh. how i would make monster high customs of my cake ocs:

tropical soda: base clawd, with clawdia's slimmer (but still 'big sister', which is to say, tall) legs bc high heel sandals would be fun to make. clawdia's face is probably the best fit too, as long as her nose could be sanded down. i'd feel too mean sanding down her goregeous goregeous fangs, so if i'm keeping her ears i'm keeping those. sa is, technically, at nd roots, a dog, and glueing on ear fluff is absolutely essential and so fun. i would probably have to use yarn hair to get the volume- i'd need two different shades of orange and an accent light blue. their hat and shorts are canvas - i could probably repurpose a tote bag for that. i love painting canvas its such a good texture. uhhh bikini has to be authentically stretchy or i'd never forgive myself - but tbf it'd be so small i don't know where i would get fabric i'd like to use. bright orange string is easy to come by as trash on beaches, though. shirt i'm tempted to crochet, but idk if i would like the amount of texture, i think it would take away from the hair.

very berry: frayed satin ribbon and crepe and beaded skirt. okay now that's out of the way: i have no clue who i'd use as a base without having to buy epoxy :( possibly a g3 drac, but her arms are too skinny so maybe i'd replace em withhhhhh abbey's upper half? that be good because drac is super short, and abbey's face mould is pretty on the nose for a round-eyed and flat-nosed hollyberrian. the problem is that neither of them are as dark as kix. maybe catty will be (as of posting she's not released her) but colour correcting #00000 skin would be soo hard. sigh. i digress. if i could use as much silk as possible on her clothes that would be cute - using selvedge edges and such for her pettiskirt. purple and pink pleather would be perfect for her dragon-scale boots. and her handwrap might have to be crepe paper too idk how i'd make it sit close to the skin like real bandages. her other glove - ugh i dont even want to think about it, probably just buy a bunch of tiny pompoms and stitch them together. or beads!

black licorice: hahahahhahha i'd use a base from a entirely different doll line. something tiny skinny and toddler-sized in comparison to the monster highs. idk which maybe from the pixie lines from eah? i'd have to shrink the head in that case bc i hate the bobble headed look its so not cute. and we want him to be kind of creepy anyway :3c. i'd use hot glue for his goopy hair - if its not opaque blue-black i'll just paint over it. some glow-in-the-dark paint details would be cool too! painted black felt for his boots to give the congealed look

crowned cream: g3 frankie's head for sure, but cat demew's body for the claws, and so i don't have to build up the white that hard. I have blonde and white kanekalon for its hair and i'd like to make a crown out of glittery hot glue and red velvet. pleather and more velvet for her details, and some kind of suede?? i would 3d print the skull since i don't trust fimo clay

pomousse: ooh. howleen base, probably. again. the body is perfect..... more or less......... i can't use a g3 doll because she doesn't have the same smile and that's very important. i dont know, actually, but there's no little sister dolls with her skin tone so we can rule out not painting her at least. i have a perfect red for her hair that i could colour but im not sure its heat resistant? (its not) so itd be a little hard to twist into bantu knots. her dress is made of muslin and her robes of red linen.... but linen doesn't look great on doll scale so lets use polyester instead. id like to use sublimation paints for the intensity, but i dread to make her pattern ssksjskjsksksksks........

[tenander]

OC: Fal Fenan Fataliae

I've actually been sitting on this character, his race and their language for several years but the last three years were a black hole. I just wanna get this out already

Fal Fenan Fataliae (Fataliae is the personal name) is a member of a very vaguely draconic-humanoid race I have yet to find a good name for. They are biologically immortal, small in number, extremely reclusive and extremely old. Their language is exclusively spoken and its grammar is based on the rhythm of the syllables (for example, a word or sentence in which every second syllable is emphasized is present tense.)

More (dry-ass and extremely self-indulgent) details under cut

Fataliae's race/species are digitgrade bipedals and generally humanoid shaped.

they have four fingers, which are covered in fine flexible scales and end in short claws

they have four toes, also scale covered which sit close together to create a pointed shape when relaxed and spread out when walking or climbing

they have a long, prehensile tail partially covered in flexible scales as well

they have four horns atop the head, which are always softly curved backward, but the exact angle and length of each pair varies by individual

while the horns are stiff, they connect to the face and the hearing slits at the side of the head with (you guessed it) smaller, more flexible scales

some of them have head hair, but its single filaments are much thicker and softer than a humans, more akin to soft thread or thin yarn. None of them have body hair.

they have solid eyes and a wide range of skin colours with darker gradients toward the scale-covered parts.

they do not sexually procreate and have no concept of gender or biological sex. Ain't no boobers on these lizerds sir. (Nor penises.)

they may or may not have a second, more animalistic form, I'm still waffling on that

many of their older members do not consider short-lived mortal races people at all, and as a society they are generally disdainful toward the rest of the world

while they stop aging upon maturity, they are no more immune to injury or sickness than anyone else, which only contributes to their reclusiveness

their names consist of a single syllable Past Word which is the ancestral line an individual hails from, a two-syllable Present Word which is the current family the individual belongs to and a variable individual name that is chosen by its owner upon reaching maturity

their language consists of short syllables spoken in specific rhythms which denote the Past, the Presence, the Future, Hypotheticals & Choices, Orders & Needs and the Sacred.

Fataliae is one of a handful of his race who have decided the wonders of the world are worth its dangers and taken to traveling. It has made him some enemies back home, but he couldn't care less. He's not generally a bad guy, but he has not fully shaken his culture's view on mortals and can very callous and cavalier with the lives and safety of others.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

I am inclined to agree and disagree at the same time, yet also think the statement is phrased somewhat misleadingly in the first place, as, quite frequently, full historical accuracy is not even achievable.

If you were to push "100% historical accuracy" to the extreme, that would include going so far as not even being allowed to use any modern amenities in the construction of your garment, e. g. (the obvious sewing machine aside) electric lights to sew in th evening, or a printer to print out a pattern you found online.

A major reason why in many cases "100% historical accuracy" is not achieivable is because the fabrics and yarns that were used 100, 200, 500 years ago are often not produced anymore. And if you're indeed lucky to find what you need, it will still have been produced using modern machinery and very often, modern dyes.

So for me, the best we can do when creating historical garments is going for the closest semblance of "100% historical accuracy" that can be achieved.

Having attended a costumed 1790s-1810s ball on the weekend in an outfit that was designed to be as much in keeping with the period as possible, I can see two sides to the accuracy of historical accuracy; the attendee's clothes were varying from 1795 Fashion Plate Come to Life to pink polyester ensembles, and that's fine. Dancing, fun, and meaningful discussions about the period we were portraying were had.

The issue with "100% historical accuracy" in historical costuming is that an attitude like that will make historical costuming an exclusionary, elitist, ableist community. It is not that many people in the hobby do not want to be as close to 100% historically accurate as possible regarding their garments, they often simply cannot be.

Firstly, keep in mind how much of a financial investment historical costuming is, even if you're making your garments yourself; quality materials in keeping with the period, where available, are expensive, not to speak about the investment of time that goes into the process of sewing (especially if done by hand).

Secondly, as I already mentioned, some fabrics simply are not being produced anymore at all, and, if they are, often by usage of modern production methods. ...And, really, thinking about the conditions in textile mills, or worse, on cotton fields where enslaved people were made to work in unspeakable conditions, would one really want that?

Thirdly, even if time and money may not be constraints for some, illnesses and conditions might be. For some, that might mean that they, for example, do not have the strength in their hands to hand-sew, while others might have to make adjustments to the pattern to accomodate their needs.

And fourthly, there is always the slippery slope of gatekeeping, all the unsavory -phobias to do with human identities and racism. I am coming from a perspective of European fashion history mostly, but where would "100% historically accurate" begin and end? Does that mean that costumers of colour would face backlash for e. g. wearing a 1450s Italian nobleman's ensemble, because someone might tell them 'you do not look like you would have been an Italian noble in the 1450s'? Similar issues might be faced by people cross-dressing and trans costumers.

The well-meant approach of searching for maximum accuracy can easily turn sinister if pushed to the extreme, but an attempt at recreating clothes from a specific period inevitably includes a desire to replicate said look and aesthetic within one's abilities and means.

To many devoted to their hobby, accuracy, as far as they can achieve it, matters a great deal. I was over the moon when a clearly more experienced costumer complimented my outfit saying something to the effect that my clothes echoed a fashion plate. There were, by the way, well-concealed bobby pins in my hair previously curled over night on modern foam curlers and a safety pin holding my long-ish train up while dancing. Not to speak of the machine-sewn petticoat. Those little anachronisms did not detract from the overall impression of historicity.

Since you mentioned it in the original post, as far as living history is concerned, I think that even there, a maximum of achievable historicity is not important, as long as a faithful, and overall well-looking portrayal of the period's garments can be reached regardless. You can still teach visitors how people made their clothes by hand for most of history while wearing machine-sewn seams. Chances are, they will not notice, looking from some distance.

The second aspect I see is that the garments worn by living history professionals are work wear, and it would be utterly impossible in terms of time and resources to issue maximum authentcity reproduction clothing to a whole team working on a site due to costs and time-constraints. In addition to this, depending which professions are being portrayed, clothes might experience a lot of wear, so it is probably less time- and cost-intensive to re-issue, say, machine-sewn garments.

(As a quick aside, while I am on the topic of professional environments featuring historical reproduction clothing, what I sincerely do not get are modern (fantasy-)period dramas like Bridgerton or that horrid latest adaption of Jane Austen's Persuasion, i. e. larger productions with a decent enough budget that still choose to go for the full rhinestone and prom dress polyester extravaganza. Just... Do not do a period setting if apparently the entire idea of the fashion prevalent at that time doesn't suit your artistic aesthetic.)

We should have no illusions; historical costuming, like everything humans do, is not without its controversies, but for many (hobyist) historical costumers, making garments, researching their construction and exchanging their knowledge with others opens a window into a better understanding of the past, and in this specific case, particularly its material culture.

As a conclusion, I would not say that "100% historical accuracy in clothing almost never matters"; the specific sartorial aesthetic of an era is a non-negligible part of what draws people's interest in recreating clothing from that era the first place, after all. Costumers will never be able to achieve "100% historical accuracy", simply because they do not live in the era they choose to portray. Many costumers are doing their best to reach as much historical accuracy as can be achieved using modern methods, tech, and fabrics, and taking their own skills, needs, and and of course, budget and time constraints into account.

I have a lot of opinions on this but I would love to know what other people think.

[c-nstellati-ns]

Can I request Kars with a dom hamon user bf and implementing hamon play in the bedroom pls

I LOVE TO LOVE YOU, BABY… — short

author’s note — sorry the pillar men are literally my biggest carnal need and i happened to be in a mood word count — 1.2k featuring — kars, with mentions of esidisi cw - NSFW CONTENT, masochism, first time hamon play, existing dom/sub relationship, alluding to a threesome during the fic, kars being a pain slut

all works belong to c-nstellati-ns ⓒ 2022. do not steal or repost. ask before translating.

MDNI. 18+ CONTENT BELOW, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

It was such a sight— to see him so vulnerable.

Kars’ eyes furrowed as he stares up at you, a light pale pink dusted over his cheeks as he leans his head to the side, avoiding your gaze. You could tell he was embarrassed, it’s the first time he’s engaged in an activity like this. You cup his face and gently rub a thumb over his cheekbone, marvelling at how soft and completely unblemished it was.

“You doing okay, gorgeous?” You mutter out, leaning in to kiss his neck, lightly biting down onto the soft flesh and sucking a light mark onto it. He shudders underneath you and slowly nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing when you kiss against it. His lips fall a bit and there’s a low huff, “Of course, I am. I trust you, dearest. To have you in my bed alone is a blessing in itself.” He says, his deep voice steady despite how his body shivers slightly each time you trace your fingers over the deep purple silken ropes that wrapped around his body. You had specifically chosen this colour because you enjoyed how it matched his beautiful hair. Kars found it so silly, but secretly enjoyed all the little details you had put in this particular session. Not only because of how expensive it was, but because it had been partially made from Satiporoja beetle yarn, conducting your hamon better than any other sort of rope could. It truly made him sigh with excitement at the thought.

Hamon play had been something you two have discussed for a while now, Kars having the thought himself and slipping it into your conversations in private as smooth as a giant ancient man-eating Aztec vampire can. At first, you were hesitant, of course— not for your safety, but Kars’. This was quite dangerous if not properly done, and you both knew that. But after some convincing, you fell for his words and demands. So here you both were, Kars naked and all nicely tied up in the ropes with you straddling his waist, touching every part of him that you could. You could tell that he was getting impatient so you leaned in and pressed a deep kiss to his lips, smudging the lipstick and makeup that he had insisted he wore, just for you.

You passed a hand over his chest, briefly brushing a finger over his nipple, to which he jumped and bit his lower lip. He still wasn’t so used to being so… intimate with a human like this, much less a hamon user. He found it a little embarrassing. You pulled back and smiled down at him, wrapping a finger around one of the ropes, lightly tugging on it… and then letting your power run through them.

Kars’ reaction was immediate— his mouth dropping and back arching a bit as the hamon burned at his skin so good. He let out a deep groan once you finally stopped. His breathing was ragged, and despite how little of the hamon you used, he was already sweating and panting. You leaned back in, lightly slapping his cheek to get his focus back on you again. “C’mon, pretty boy. Don’t give up so easy now, what’s your colour?” You asked softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It took him a moment to refocus, but the sly grin on his face told you all you needed to know.

“Green. V-very much green- haah- A-again.”

Of course, you had to oblige to his demands. You matched his smirk and watched as a deep whine fell past his lips once more, watching the hamon ripple throughout the ropes and over his skin. Watching it bloom a pretty pink was truly a sight to see. He sported quite the hard on, even though you both only got started. You briefly stopped to lean back, watching his chest rise and lower heavily, your head leaned to the side. “To think you were so desperate for this… it’s cute, almost.” Your teasing tone only made him groan, but you continued anyways. “Imagine Esidisi walking in on us like this. How do you think he’d react, hm?” Kars couldn’t help but close his eyes and imagine it. Both his lovers here to ravage him completely… it only made him harder.

“Do you think he’d enjoy seeing you like this? He and I share a similar love for sadism, I think he would… so would you, right?” You leaned back and wrapped a hand around his cock, teasingly passing a thumb over his tip, watching as it starts leaking pre-cum all over your fingers. Kars bites his lower lip as you laugh, feeling his cock throb in your hand, “You’re so spoiled. You know how much we’d give you. That’s why we’re doing this in the first place, right?” You watched as Kars let out a wanton cry when you used your hamon against the ropes again, his thighs shaking. You simultaneously jerked him off— slowly. It was torturous to him, but he loved every moment of it.

“Look at you, beautiful creature.” You hummed happily as you lazily got him off. His jaw was slack and all those pretty little cries escaped from his lips, you ate it all up. You could tell he was already so close, the way his body shook and how he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood… for such an intimidating man, he could be so… enticing. You licked your lips and sat up properly, briefly stopping your hamon from flowing through the ropes to stare down at him.

“You gonna cum?”

You cooed softly in his ear, biting the pointed outer lobe and kissing his temple right after. He was drooling, almost unable to control his body. It was delicious. He could only bring himself to nod very briefly before you wrapped your hand around his cock again, this time a lot tighter than he could have even begged for. Watching Kars’ face twist in ecstasy, so full of pure pleasure and want from you, it was beautiful. His scarlet eyes were filled with unshed tears that you plan on kissing away soon, because good gods, you wanted to eat him up. You leaned in close, his breathy pants and groans right next to your ear. You enjoyed those quite a bit.

You could feel his thighs shake around your waist as brushed your fingers over the silk ropes, the spark of hamon filling the air you both. “O-oh, fuck- again- a-again, hngh— again!” Kars could be so demanding. But you kissed him despite that and indulged in his wants. Besides, you couldn’t get over the fact that you got such a normally elegant and poised man in such a state. You were so hard in your pants but could only focus on getting him off first. He was always your first priority, always.

“Haah- close! S-so so close- please dearest…” Hearing him beg was always the highlight of your nights.

“Go on, darling… cum for me.” You purred, kissing at his neck as you felt him tense underneath you, his cock throbbing in your hand before shooting ropes all over his own stomach and chest. You made sure to milk every drop, effectively overstimulating him completely. There was another laugh from you, Kars shuddering underneath you at the sound. He was riding his high and quite lightheaded, but that sound never meant something good. And well… he was right.

“You did so good, my love… Care to indulge in my own little fantasies until Esi comes home and joins the fun, hm?”

Needless to say, Kars had quite the busy night. Who knew that a human like you could be so virile?

NOW PLAYING — love to love you baby, donna summer…

[firespirited]

I got my booster on wednesday and spent the rest of the day slowly tweezing or chopping out Kia’s green and teal without bothering to try and save it this time. Simple slow but enough to keep my hands busy. The next day, I needed to rest so I very *very* slowly added a slightly more muted pink silk milk kiwi to Kia’s teal and green stubs, normally I remove cut hair stubs but since this stuff is so slippery and in big plugs I decided to not be a perfectionist.

So while they’re still together here’s a photo of Kia with teal/green replaced with “ayame” matte purple kiwi (no lashes), Kia with pink replaced hair (no eyes) and Bubbles the non-shiny factory head rerooted with yarns.

I then attempted french braids on pink!Kia and wow it’s like trying to hold sand in your fingers. I’ll try wet hair if I try again. You can see the difference in the two pinks in a filled thinly rooted area on the left there.

I’ll be giving purple!Kia’s head lashes and putting her up for sale because 3 Kias is a little excessive OTL

Jane was bugging me: the aqua kiwi is way too transparent for her purple head, she looks half rooted even with a nice thick head of hair so I added pale sky blue silk milk kiwi (yep used up what was left of the baby pink and blue I’d got ages ago to try), it makes the holes look like they’re just blue and the blend is gorgeous - if very hard to capture! I just love it! This was a very lucky turn of events, it was silly to not paint her head and silly to start Moana with the same colour before deciding Jane was 100% ready.

Booster went as expected, first day not much, all glands swollen by evening, second day very weak and clearly fighting, third day back to my fluey normal.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Osborn’s 5✩ Inspiration: Black VS Black [黑色对峙] Date Translation (Prologue)

“Cat food, cat toys; everything was all set and ready… except for a cat.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Osborn’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 5✩ Inspiration has 6 Endings!! *Osborn’s tag will be #For Night, For Freedom *Requested by anon! You can check my on-going requests and more here!

It was only when I stood before Osborn's door that I realized the startling fact: this was the first time I'd ever been to his place.

A few days ago, Osborn's neighbour entrusted their cat to him because they were going to be gone on a business trip. And shortly after that had happened, I'd received Osborn's obligatory cat-lover "Invitation".

And thus, that was how I now found myself before his door, with the glee of having received his invitation swiftly being replaced by nerves.

I hesitated, pulling our previous chat back up on my phone to double-check the address.

It was then that the door opened with a click.

Osborn: Oh? Already here?

A familiar voice sounded, making me abruptly raise my head.

Osborn was leaning sideways against the door, staring at me with an impish glint in his eyes.

MC: I just got here and I was just gonna check if this was the right place.

Osborn: Check?

Osborn: My bad. Looks like I'm going to have to remember which door it is next time.

MC: No need, no need. I can tell which door's yours now!

Osborn: Then, come in?

I quickly nodded and followed him in.

❖☆———————————★❖

All Osborn had on was a simple black singlet and a pair of casual sweatpants.

I'd rarely seen him in such a casual state of dress, so I couldn't stop my lingering eyes as I drank the sight of him in.

Osborn: Want something to drink?

MC: Nope, no need!

Osborn paused for a while after hearing my reply, but he continued pouring the water into the glass.

When the glass was filled, he turned around and leaned closer to me with a mischievous smile.

Osborn: You seem nervous today.

I felt my face burn. I swallowed my saliva and attempted to still my racing heart.

MC: Only because this is my first time in your house, and everything feels so foreign...

I averted my gaze, purposefully trying to look relaxed and at ease as I surveyed his home.

The living room wasn’t overly decorated and it was painted in a simple, minimalistic, colour. It was overall simple and refreshing. That being said, there didn’t seem to be a trace of there being a cat here at all.

MC: Right. Where's the cat?

Osborn handed me the glass of water before lazily sweeping his gaze across the living room.

Osborn: Mitt? Mitt!

MC: Mitt? ...Is that its name?

Osborn: Yeah. Its owner calls it Mitchell, but that’s a bit of a mouthful, so I just call it Mitt. It seems to understand me when I do, anyway.

MC: That's… Well, okay then…

Osborn: It was still slinking around here earlier. Might have run off into a corner somewhere.

His gaze snapped back to me. He suddenly raised a brow, gesturing at the backpack I was carrying.

Osborn: Just what did you stuff into that bag of yours to make it so bulky?

Osborn: And you've been carrying it this entire while too. Isn't it heavy?

Upon his mentioning of the backpack, I then recalled with a start about the “business” I was here for today.

I quickly placed the backpack onto the sofa, taking out the many cat necessities I’d packed in, enthusiastically showing them all to him.

MC: Look! This is a cat food bowl that I especially picked out! It looks like the gigantic face of a cat. Isn’t it cute?

MC: I also bought two flavours of cat food since I didn’t know which one it’d like. I’ve got salmon flavour and chicken flavour here.

MC: Oh, and this! I thought it might like it!

I picked up the cat teaser wand and shook it, ringing the silver bell attached to it and releasing a crisp sound into the air.

Suddenly, a small black head poked out from the kitchen door. Its eyes were wide and round as it stared curiously at the wand in my hand.

MC: Look, Osborn! It came!

Osborn: Looks like it really does like this one.

Then, it averted its gaze from the wand, giving us both a glance.

However, it disappeared from our sight as quickly as lightning before we barely had the chance to blink twice.

MC: ...Eh? And you're gonna leave just like that?

I shook the cat teaser wand again, but it never once reappeared.

Osborn looked at the items laid out on the table, frowning slightly, his expression tinged with a faint hint of confusion.

He picked up a small cat post.

Osborn: And what's this supposed to be?

MC: It’s a small cat post! It can be used to satisfy a cat’s natural innate tendency to want to climb everything and anything they see.

MC: It can also prevent them from messing the house up from all the climbing up and down they’re inclined to do.

Osborn: Oh. This one's well-suited for it.

MC: Haha, is it that playful?

Osborn: Hmm. Well, the owner said that their house was always in constant chaos thanks to it. They also said that their cat would normally be a little more obedient when it is in a new environment.

Osborn hesitated for a moment as doubt and a bit of helplessness slipped into his voice.

Osborn: But maybe my place isn't exactly new to it. Obedient, huh… Don't really see that happening.

MC: That bad? Maybe it wouldn’t attempt to demolish the house with all it's jumping around with all these toys here now?

MC: I even prepared yarn balls and stuff!

Osborn: A new boss is in office, and this one seems terribly well prepared.

MC: Of course I am! As soon as I heard that you were going to be temporarily housing a cat, I immediately went to place some orders online.

Osborn: You were looking forward to it THAT much?

Osborn: Looks like I'm gonna have to have it over as a guest more often.

My face flushed a slight red as I shoved the cat food bowl into his arms.

MC: No slacking! We're setting these all up together!

Osborn froze for a bit before taking the cat's food bowl from me.

Osborn: No problemo. I'm at your service.

MC: Ahem. Then, where would it be better for us to place all of these?

Osborn looked at the area for a while before slightly raising his chin and gesturing in the direction of the kitchen.

Osborn: The kitchen's entrance, I guess. It's almost always hanging out there.

After determining how and where we were going to set the whole ensemble up, we immediately got down to work.

Osborn casually opened a bag of cat food, pouring it into the cat food bowl I was holding. Following that, I tore off the plastic wrapping that covered the scratching posts, putting the simple cat post together with Osborn.

Cat food, cat toys; everything was all set and ready… except for a cat.

I looked all over, but I saw neither hide nor hair of it.

I attempted to call it out by calling it by its name of “Mitt”. Osborn had also attempted to shake the cat teasing wand in an attempt to lure it out, but we didn’t see even so much as a whisker of it.

Osborn: It’s usually ready to jump at anything and everything, but now it’s shy?

MC: Looks like it went into hiding. How about we split up and look for it?

Osborn: Okay. I’ll take the rooms on the north and you can take those on the south.

MC: Okay!

I searched for a good long while, but it wasn’t in either the kitchen or the study.

I was just about to go over to Osborn to ask about how his search was going when I suddenly noticed a small room right next to the study.

The door was also cracked slightly open.

MC: Huh. Did it go inside here?

❖☆———————————★❖

I gently pushed the door open and walked in. I was instantly greeted by display shelves that spanned the entire wall the moment I walked in.

Inside the many display shelves were racing trophies of all shapes and sizes. There were also photos of Osborn and his teammates, along with several race car models that were modelled after their real-life counterparts.

MC: Is this Osborn's collection room?

I couldn’t help but stop short. I suddenly caught sight of a black shadow seated atop a shelf.

MC: ...Mitt!

It was just about to get a paw on a red and white racing car model inside the shelf.

Probably having noticed the movement on my end, it tilted its head to look at me, its paw suspended in mid-air.

MC: What… What is it trying to do? Don't tell me...

I gasped in surprise, subconsciously holding my breath in nervousness.

We’d interlocked gazes for only a second before its ever-vigilant amber eyes flashed.

It lightly and resolutely batted its paw at the model it’d set its eyes on immediately after.

MC: AH!!

I subconsciously lunged at it, but all I caught was thin air.

The car model fell to the ground with a clatter, shattering into its many compartments with its wheels spinning in the air from the impact.

Upon seeing the result of its actions, Mitt quickly fled from the scene of the “crime” with a satisfied little meow.

MC: Wait!

I didn’t manage to stop it in time at all. It all happened in a split second, and now I was the only one left in the room with the overturned car model.

What am I to do now?

The cat caused an incident! What should I do?

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 5 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 6 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Freedom⊹ —————★❖

[elsewhereuniversity]

I made a deal with the fey. The deal was that I could have any power I desired. Powerful, isn’t it? The fey I made the deal with is a particularly hungry one, and it’s a wonder that I got out of there alive. My part of the bargain, is I had to supply zem with bodies. Exactly 20 human bodies, no more, no less, no substitutes. What we did not specify, however, was whether the souls had to be connected to the body. So, being the way I am, I had to come up with a solution that would save both me, and the 20 people I had to kill.

Given my newfound powers, I’d gone back to the University, and for about a week I did nothing. Then, I disappeared again, until someone would notice my absence. My roommates noticed first, and when they came looking in the forest, I almost couldn’t take them. That would be cruel, would it not? Yet, I had to. Surely they would understand? They’d come to know me somewhat, this shouldn’t be so far off the mark they would think I’ve been taken. So I did, I took their bodies to a safe place. I had come up with a power that would let me take and hold their souls, which is what I did. I kept them in little jars until their new bodies were finished.

The new bodies were made of cherry wood and fabric and moss. Cherry wood makes such nice bones, and fabric is a much nicer skin texture, the moss is just the filling in the cake. Buttons for eyes, and flowers for hair. None of it would wilt or die, they could grow like humans. I made them look as realistic as possible with few exceptions, I wanted them to have a normal life after this. They had no blood, but I did give them organs, lungs, stomach, intestines, genitals, etc. Even a brain. The only difference is that none of their body was human.

My roommates were furious with me, and I apologised over and over and over again, but I could not give them their old bodies. Instead I could give them powers, which I think made up for the incident, but it was still quite awkward when I came back and had to explain to their teachers that yes, these were the same students. I gave them nerves, and emotions, and control over their bodies. It was hard and exhausting work, and I realised I had to do this 18 more times. What nights weren’t spent studying and doing homework for classes, were spent creating. No body was the same, each was unique and used different materials. Only my victims knew it was me.

After the 7th, I think the knights noticed the changes, noticed how often I left and brought back a slightly different person. Two of them came for me the next time I disappeared, I could tell they were young. They thought they could save everyone. I felt so awful, I gave them bodies wrought from iron and silver, silver for skin, iron for bones, twigs for hair, moss once more for else. I made them powerful, in thanks for the bodies they leave behind. 13 left.

Mud, grass, moss.

Vines, gold, moss.

Clay, yarn, moss.

Glass, wood, moss.

Button eyes and stitches, seams and tears and hair that doesn’t feel right.

Eight left.

I loved all my creations, I care for each person who tried to save me from a fate that was not my own. They mean the world to me. I hated the burden I’d wilfully taken, I feared for my life every time I saw that Being. Yet I did not need worry, for I would be alright, I was not forgiven nor forgotten, but I was alright.

The last was a senior boy. He came to me, a friend of a friend of a friend. He asked me for a new body, he said he hated his own. His voice was high, he looked close to tears. I asked him why, I got no response, I thought I could understand. I had given myself several new bodies throughout my time at Elsewhere, it’s why I asked for the power. I did what was asked of me, I would owe him nothing, he would owe me nothing, he would get a body he could love, I would get a body that would get me out of this deal. We worked together on it, I let him help me sculpt it. Clay for skin, hickory wood for bones, vines for organs, grass for veins and nerves, moss for hair this time, dark paint for colour, it was my best piece yet.

When it was finished I kissed his old body goodbye, as I had done for each before, as a final loving blessing to welcome them to their new body. Because I was thankful, thankful that they had lent me their bodies without their permission, and hopeful they would not hurt. He was more special, I cared for him. I never saw him after he hugged me with his new self, tears flowing as he left.

I live alone now, in a bustling city I dare not share the name of, in an apartment that fits just right. My rooms are covered in plants, I have a cat and she is wonderful, art adorns the walls and I’ve become somewhat of a safe haven for people like me. In almost every aspect of my identity there is someone I can relate to, and can help, and that’s what I do. I go around the sparse places, I wander alleys and skate-parks and libraries and parks at night, where I know they will be. I do not trick or manipulate anymore, they all come to me, and they all get a full explanation of what will happen. I still make, but I make differently. There is a very specific range of people I make for, they are unloved by most, they are loved by me. I think I would have been a good Knight on campus, had I gone the route, but the danger was frightening, I realise now that what I was doing was far worse. It does not feel good to dwell and worry of the past, and I know I will never get those bodies back, the people that I hurt. My clients, you could call them, do not need to worry about losing their body, or seeming unnatural in the world, thankfully. I am happy, and living.

I think I’ve become a bit of a legend on campus. They still call me The Body Thief.

x