#thanks brooke for the dividers

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 2

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  Chapter Summary: Try as he might, Joel just can’t shake the memory of you. Try as you might, you can’t stop thinking of the woman tied to his desk. CW: The slow burn is burning. Mentions of death and underage drinking. Topless in public, this is a love story about BDSM after all. Reader does have some physical descriptions, so maybe more of an OFC, or just pretend you have pouty lips and a slightly upturned nose. Double POV (reader and Joel). AN: Thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all the love on chapter one of this story. I literally cannot believe it surpasses 1000 notes in just a month, you're all insane and I love you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Biiiig shout outs to the bb's who have been so supportive of me spiralling and panicking this last month over the next chapter. I'd be in a deep dark cave without you @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @lotusbxtch @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk and @milla-frenchy . Thank you! I feel like I'm giving some sort of Oscars speech and if you're still reading this, you're the real MVP. XO Word Count: 8.5k

~ Joel - 27 Years Ago ~

Joel’s stands in the garage of someone he barely knows, surrounded by drunk and rowdy classmates from his high school. He’s a senior, graduating in just a few weeks and moments like this are one of the perks of being the star designated hitter and first baseman, everyone wants you at their party. Someone hands him a warm, flat beer that was pumped poorly from a keg as they pat his back roughly in congratulations. Joel’s not sure how a bunch of seventeen year olds managed to get a keg, most likely an older brother, but he drinks the shitty beer all the same. Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t seen Tommy in a while. He’s only fifteen and he promised their mom he’d keep an eye on him. The younger Miller shouldn’t be at a seniors party, but that's where those perks come in again, because if Joel was good, Tommy was better. In fact, he was so much better that he’s played up a whole age group his entire life, always right beside Joel. Tommy was the back catcher, and tonight he got the eleventh inning game winning out at home for them to win the state championship. 

He finds Tommy chatting with a group of girls, all of whom are incredibly beautiful. They’re going to be very disappointed when they find out how much younger he is than them. Joel smiles into his red solo cup as he takes a sip of stale beer. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his light blue wranglers and walks over to the wall of the garage. He leans back and crosses one cowboy booted foot over the other. The brim of his cowboy hat grazes the unpainted drywall behind him. Texas, and the country, in the late nineties was where everyone wanted to be, and Joel Miller could have been the poster boys for teenage country boys in 1997.

Brooks & Dunn plays on someone's CD player in the corner, laughter and people talking overlaps until it’s just noise to Joel. He stands back, watching his younger brother effortlessly charm the five pretty girls around him. All of them in tight blue jeans, lacy white tops, denim vests and cowboy boots. He grabs one by the hand and Joel overhears, “I’ll teach ya how to two step, shame to not know in a place like this.” Then the motherfucker winks at her like he’s some sort of cowboy Casanova. Joel lets out a silent laugh through his nose and sips the beer again shaking his head. 

Just as Tommy pulls the pretty little blonde over towards the unmarked and unofficial dance floor in the corner of the garage the song changes. Slow guitar, followed by the unmistakable twang of Tim Magraw’s voice. Joel didn’t know it then, but that song would change the course of his life and intertwine itself in the very fabric of his being.

‘Dancin’ in the dark, Middle of the night’

That’s when he sees her, tall and slender, deep olive toned skin and pale green eyes. Her dark curly hair cascades over one of her shoulders. She’s laughing with another classmate, and even though he can’t hear the sound of it over the noise of the party, he can tell it’s a light and melodic sound, and he wants to spend the rest of his life drawing that out of her. 

‘Takin’ your heart, An holdin’ it tight’

He puts his warm beer on the work bench beside him and takes off his black felt Stetson, placing it over his broad chest, hoping the comfort of his favourite hat would slow the rate at which his heart is beating. 

‘Emotional touch, Touchin’ my skin, And askin’ you to do, What you’ve been doin’ all over again’

She looks over at him, smiling shyly, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s walking over to her. His legs move on their own accord, knees shaking as he approaches the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

‘Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, Don’t think I can keep it all in, I just gotta let you know, What is that won’t let me go’

Everything in the room fades as she fully comes into view. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the girl in front of him. She radiates a warmth that he’s only ever known his mother to radiate. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this girl, but she feels like home. This is it, that one thing that everyone says you’re supposed to feel. The thing his grandpa told him when he was younger, “Son, you’ll just know. It sounds ridiculous, but when I saw your grandma it was like a pull behind my belly button. I just knew, and I’ve known everyday since then.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Joel says, tipping his hat to her before placing it back on his head. 

She giggles, confirming his earlier thoughts. It really is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. “Hi.”

He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, her skin is so warm and smooth. In that moment he knows that hers will be the last hand he ever holds. Fire flushes through his veins as he continues, “I’m Joel, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I know who you are Joel Miller,” she flirts, not letting go of his hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, his voice going deeper as he says it. It’s egotistical but he loves the way girls shiver just a little when he lowers his register. “And how is it that you know who I am?”

She slides her hand from his and reaches up to grab his cowboy hat, plopping it onto her head. “Star first baseman and designated hitter, everyone knows Joel Miller. Look around, look at all these girls lookin’ at you, cowboy.”

For the first time in his life Joel finds himself blushing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Tiffany. 

“I only see one girl.” She rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep at the cheesy line, but that was it for both of them. From that point they were inseparable. 

They both turned eighteen a few months later, and just ten months, and a thirty two hour labour after Tiff turned eighteen, a tiny little Sarah came into the world all pink and screaming. Joel hears that song again as he watches Tiffany hold that little bundle of blankets, ‘Better than I was, More than I am, And all of this happened, By taking your hand.’

They get married when Sarah is just a few months old. Both his beautiful curly haired girls in white dresses, Tiffany grabbing that same black Stetson off his head during their first dance. He holds them both, swaying from side to side, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at how goddamn happy he is. ‘And who I am now, Is who I wanted to be, And now that we’re together, I’m stronger than ever, I’m happy and free’.

Things for their little family of three are perfect. They buy the house with the white picket fence and the wrap around porch. Joel gets a job working construction and enjoys a nightcap with his beautiful young wife on their front porch every night. They make love often, slow and sweaty, Joel worshiping her soft copper toned skin inch by glorious inch. Tiffany wraps every minute of her day around Sarah and being a sweet, devoted housewife. Nothing seems to stand in their way. Until the diagnosis shortly before Sarah starts Kindergarten. 

Tiffany is too young, they’re all too young. This isn’t something that happens to people their age, they haven’t had enough time. Joel spends the next few months in a haze, it has to be a bad dream. The appointments, the treatments, the call to 911 when the illness starts to win. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. 

He holds Tiffany until the very end. Sponging a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering his goodbyes as they shut off the machines keeping her here. “You’ve been so strong, my love. You fought so hard. I know you’re scared to go, I’m scared too, but we’ll do it like we do everything else. Together. I’ll be ok, Sarah will be ok. Just rest now. I love you.” 

As she takes her last shaky and shallow breath, a sound will live with him until he takes a breath that matches hers, that song echoes through his hollow chest. ‘It’s your love, It does something to me, It sends a shock right through me, I can’t get enough’.

You - Present Day

You roll to a stop outside Mister Miller’s house for your second day of cleaning. As you look towards the impressive house your pussy flutters at the memories of yesterday - the almost pornographic noises that were made in that office, his soft and kind eyes as he apologized profusely in the kitchen. You were supposed to go to a study group last night, but instead you got lost in a rabbit hole of porn where women are tied up and fingered. You got yourself off four times thinking about a man you’re not even supposed to know, wishing it was his thick fingers hitting that spot inside of you that you can’t reach on your own. You felt guilty about it last night and now being back in his home you have that same sinking feeling again. 

Stupid. Sacrificing my future for a fantasy. Never again. 

You let yourself in the house and look at the list in your cleaning app. You pop in your AirPods and start listening to your favourite true crime podcast; thankful for the new episode, a gruesome distraction as you scrub baseboards and lightswitches. The episode ends and in an attempt to not let your mind wander to the gorgeous man that lives here, and the depraved new things you’ve discovered about yourself, you start an educational audiobook about civil rights law. You might want Joel Miller to strap you down and whisper filth in your ears, but you are a good person, and your aspiration in life is to help people who face discrimination on a daily basis. 

You breeze around his home, checking off each task and before you know it it’s almost one in the afternoon. You have almost your whole list complete, his soft sheets are in the dryer (and yes, you are incredibly proud of yourself for only putting the luxurious white fabric to your face twice on the way to the washer). You only have the patio furniture to spray down and the kitchen counters to wipe. That’s when your stomach growls, almost as if to remind you that it’s the perfect time to take a break while the dryer finishes. You haul all your stuff out to your car and lock up, sitting in your front seat as you take out your lunch container.

An engine revs in the distance and your heart skips in your chest. Before you even have time to wonder if it’s Joel’s car, one of the black garage doors slides open and Joel’s obsidian coloured Aston Martin rolls by you, stopping with precision on the shiny cement floor of the garage. You avert your eyes, focused on your container of chicken noodle soup. The left side of your face feels the warmth of his gaze fixed on you. Without looking over you can tell he is studying you and it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on your measly lunch. 

The afternoon sun is blocked as Joel raps his knuckles on your window. You glance over at him, looking up through your lashes. He’s looking at you intensely but you can’t quite place his expression. As always, his deep brown eyes are locked on yours, he could either be happy to see you or incredibly disappointed in you. But one thing is for sure, he’s calculating your every need with those warm and inviting eyes. He knocks again so you crank the handle to roll your window down a crack.

He raises one eyebrow at you, both hands rest on the roof of your SUV as he leans forward to speak to you through the small opening in the window. “Seriously?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. 

“What?” You say, “Can’t be too safe.”

He blinks at you before continuing, “What'd ya doin’ out here?”

You lift your tupperware container a little, willing the tingles between your thighs to stop, “Eating my lunch.”

He rolls his eyes, running his hand along his greying scruff. “You’re eatin’ lukewarm soup in your car in the middle of February.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but his voice is warm and curious, and you start to realize that the look on his face isn’t happiness or disappointment, but concern. 

You nod, “Yes.” His eyes dance around your face and you swear your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttering so fast that it’s traveling up your throat and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. 

“Get out of the car. Come warm that up and eat inside.” His voice is thick with concern, entire face soft as he looks at you. 

You swallow your heart back down to where it belongs, “I’m not allowed to do that, Mister Miller.”

His cheeks redden a little and some of the softness in him disappears, “Don’t call me that, it’s jus’ Joel to you.”

“I’m not even supposed to know your name, Mister Miller. I can’t call you by your first name.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and points a thick finger at you through your window, “Don’t. Either you call me Joel or nothin’ at all. Come inside,” he drops his pointer finger to the door handle. He pulls on it to find it locked. “Seriously?”

“I told you, I can’t be too safe!” You can help but think how cute he looks all flustered - shaking his head at you for being cautious in a neighborhood where you could probably scream your credit card number and no one would use it. If anything, the wealthy homeowners on this street might transfer you money when they see the state of your vehicle. 

“You’re eatin’ inside.” He says flatly. 

“I told you, I can’t. We aren’t allowed to do that. You’re a client, Mist - I mean. Sorry, I just can’t. We aren’t allowed.” You glance towards the clock on your dash. At this rate your break is going to be over before you finish eating. 

He jiggles the door handle again, as if he can convince the metal to bend and unlatch itself with just his sexiness alone. “You like rules, don’t ya?”

He’s got you there, you do enjoy following the rules. You nod and hum a noise in agreement. 

“Unlock the door, please,” his voice has changed, he’s being more commanding now. A deeper, huskier sound leaving his lips. The sound seems to latch onto something deep in your mind, strong fingers wrapping around the control center of your brain, guiding you to do his bidding. You blink the feeling away. 

“Mister-,” his eyes flash with darkness, “Sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to eat in your house, plus my break is almost over.”

Joel releases your door handle, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath, as he drops his hand back to the top of your vehicle an amused smirk flashes across his face. “Do you consider yourself to work in customer service?”

“Yes,” you say nervously.

“And isn’t the main rule of customer service that the customer is always right?” His lips form a tight line and a deep dimple carves into one of his tanned cheeks. Your brain flashes back to one of the videos you watched last night, a man sucking on a woman's nipples as he rubbed her clit, her arms and legs strapped to a padded table. He had a dimple, but he had nothing on Joel. 

“Yes,” you croak and then clear your throat gently, shifting in your seat at the fire building behind that bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Then unlock the door, darlin’ and eat inside.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning and walking towards the house. He stops on the front step, opening the large glass front door. You follow, flip flops slapping on the concrete, carrying your powdered chicken noodle soup and plastic spoon up towards his fancy home. When you reach the threshold, he holds out his large hand palm up and you place the old, stained tupperware with your half eaten soup into it. He looks down at it and then back at you, eyes trailing along your body and it feels like he’s running a torch over you. “Is this all you have to eat?”

You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen and one pushed back curl that’s laced with a few greys falls into his eyes with the movement. In order to stop from pushing his loose curl back you squeeze your fists gently and head towards the stool you sat on yesterday. As your flip flop hits the tile you stop and look back towards your car nervously. “I, umm, I forgot my shoes.”

His large, warm palm comes to your lower back and he pushes you gently towards the kitchen. You sit as he transfers your soup into a matte black bowl and places it in the microwave. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a loaf of fresh bread, as you go to protest he flicks his eyes up to yours and something about the expression on his face tells you not to argue with him. He pops the two carefully cut pieces into the toaster. He breezes effortlessly around the kitchen for someone so broad and masculine. You didn’t realize someone making toast could be so sexy. The microwave beeps and he grabs a gold spoon from a drawer before wandering around the island, placing them both in front of you. His arm brushes yours as he pulls away and your heart flutters at his touch. He walks back around the kitchen island and grabs a glass. 

“Still or sparkling?” He says as if that’s just a normal question to ask when you get someone a glass of water. Just another thing that proves you don’t belong here. The toaster pops and you jump a little. He chuckles as he grabs the toast, slathering it with butter. “Still or sparkling, darlin’?” 

You breath hitches, he’s called you darlin’ twice now. Is that just that southern charm you hear about so often, or is it more? You shake the thought from your head, there’s no way someone like him is interested in someone like you. “Still is fine, you don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

You take a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before putting the spoon in your mouth. Joel is watching you in the same way he was yesterday. Assessing. Observing. Calculating. It feels like he’s looking into your very soul. He slides the plate of toast and then a glass of sparkling water over to you from across the island.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You didn’t -”

He holds his hand up, stopping you in the same way he did yesterday. “I wanted to.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you have to look away as you take a bite of toast. He’s too handsome standing in the kitchen with the afternoon sun highlighting his features. He’s wearing a black dress shirt today, the top few buttons undone, accentuating the perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair on his chest. You swallow your bite of warm, salty, buttery toast, allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the delectable flavour, holding back a moan. 

Joel clears his throat and crosses his arms across his broad chest, “So how did ya get into cleanin’ houses?”

You look up at him through your lashes. Why is he being so nice to you and taking care of you? He apologized yesterday. And after you told him it was fine he left you a massive tip. He said he wants to do this, but why? He’s rich and handsome and you can probably safely assume that that icy blonde from yesterday was his girlfriend. Unless…could she possibly be a mistress? You decide that that must be it. She’s his mistress. He has a wife. He’s just like every other rich man, cheating on his beautiful and age appropriate wife with someone much much younger than him. He’s probably terrified that you might find out who his wife is and tell her. That tip was hush money.

“I’m saving money,” you say and then shake your head, willing the thoughts in your mind to calm down. “For law school.”

“That right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I want to be a lawyer. I graduated a semester early and needed some money before going back to university. Assuming I even get accepted. This job meant I could work part time so I could study to take the LSAT again and also make good money.” You take another bite of the toast, mainly to make yourself shut up. 

He watches you the entire time, nodding along, his eyes constantly assessing. “Take the LSAT again?” he asks.

“I passed it already and applied to schools but I haven’t heard back yet. Law school is pretty competitive, so I’m going to take it again and hopefully have a better mark for the next round of college applications.” You’re talking too much, you need to shut up and just eat, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. No one has ever listened to you like that, not even your parents.

“Next round?” He asks curiously. 

You feel your cheeks redden. You don’t want to admit to this obviously successful man in front of you that you probably won’t get accepted to any of the eight universities you applied to. “Yes. It’s competitive, and I probably won’t get in. So I’m preparing to be better the second time.”

“Where did you apply? If that’s not too forward of a question.”

“No, not too forward. Umm, a few places. Strength in numbers, I guess. Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Berkeley, Duke, University of Toronto, but I don’t think I’d survive a Canadian winter. I also applied at Notre Dame and University of Texas here in Austin.”

Joel laughs at you mentioning the Canadian winter and once you’re quiet, he looks down at his expensive dress shoes, “I, umm, I know some higher ups at UT Austin if you need me to put in a good word.”

You smile at him when he looks back up at you, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Joel. But thank you.”

The two of you are silent for a moment while you finish your first piece of toast. You glance up at him and he’s looking at you with that same hint of pride he had yesterday while you drank your water. He’s making you feel like eating toast is something to be proud of. You can’t explain it but his facial expression wraps around like a corset. Pulling its metaphoric laces and making you sit up taller, holding your head up higher. With just the shimmer in his deep brown eyes you feel like you could take on the world. You need to break the silence so you say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning back to rest on the countertop behind him. His arms uncross, his strong hands wrapping around the countertop on each side of his body. 

“What do you do for a living? To have all this?” You gesture around the house as you sip your sparkling water.

“A few things. I used to own a construction company, sold it a few years ago to retire but I got bored pretty quickly. Now I own a few properties, I rent them out.” You nod as you listen to him, eating your lunch. One hand rubs at his patchy, salt and pepper beard nervously before saying, “I also own a club.”

You let out a little giggle into your water glass, immediately praying that he doesn’t think that was you being rude. Of all the professions that could have come out of his mouth, owning a nightclub was the last thing you expected. Joel smiles at the sweet melodic sound leaving your lips and relief washes over you. “Why’s that so funny?” His voice is light at his inquiry. 

“It’s not,” you say after swallowing your water. He furrows his brows at you. “You just - I mean, I guess I don’t know you, but don’t seem like the nightclub type.”

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But you’re also right that I am not a nightclub type,” he states. Something about the way he says it makes you sense that that’s as far as you’re going to get with it, but you also realize that the club is probably how this man meets young women to bring home.

You put your spoon down and place your hands in your lap. “Can I umm, ask you something else?”

“Of course,” he repeats. 

“What’s with that little dinosaur toy on your coffee maker?”

He smiles and reaches over to grab it, rubbing his thumb along the faded and scuffed brown paint of the little toy. He looks down at it and a hint of sadness seems to fill his coffee and amber eyes as he looks at you. “My daughter, she umm, she got it for me from the prize box in Kindergarten after her mom -” he stops mid sentence, sadness lining his features. Joel’s not married, you roll your eyes at yourself internally for thinking the worst of him. And truthfully, you of all people know he’s not married. You clean his house, you’ve been in his bedroom, and there are no women's clothes. You’ve also been in all the spare bedrooms and there’s no chance another person lives here with him. He continues, choosing his words almost carefully, “Well, just after she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mister,” his eyes flash onyx for just a second, he looks lethally sexy and you swallow your words before starting again. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, placing the dinosaur back. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper curls, letting out a little sigh. There’s a shift in him, like suddenly the world is heavier. He tries not to let it show, and maybe most people wouldn’t notice, but you see it. The slight fall in his face, a little slump in the shoulders, a breath held for just a second too long. He clears his throat gently and says, “I’ll be in my office. Eat your lunch for me, please.”

Joel

Joel closes the door of his office and rests his forehead against the smooth wooden surface. He can’t remember how much he spent on these doors when he built the house, but he would set any door that separated him from you on fire if he had to. 

Get it together, Joel.

He closes his eyes and only sees you. The way your glossy, pink lips formed a little O as you blew on your soup. The way the gold plated metal spoon slid softly along your tongue. His cock twitches in his pants and he feels the urge to throw all the spoons in his house away. 

Great, you’re jealous of a spoon. 

He shouldn’t be home. He signed a contract, and more importantly, you signed a contract. In order to protect him and you there is to be no contact between the cleaner and the client. That’s what you consented to when you took your job at Maid Discreetly, and now he’s caused you to break that contract not once, but twice. But he cannot seem to get you out of his mind, and as he sat in a meeting at his club he couldn’t focus. You were here, cleaning his home in that form fitting white polo shirt and those black pants that hugged at your hips in all the right places, and he just had to know if you were as beautiful as he remembered. Just a quick peek, he convinced himself as he made up some bullshit excuse to leave. 

When he saw you sitting in your rusty SUV you looked so innocent and pure, you were more than beautiful. The afternoon sun lighting up your high cheekbones and slender, slightly upturned nose, it gave you an almost angelic glow that temporarily took his breath away. If he had to describe you in two words he would say that you were simply ravishing. For the first time in almost thirty years he wished he still had the calming comfort of that black felt cowboy hat. But that soft Stetson went with her because she loved it so much. 

As he caught his breath and looked at you from his garage, he was overcome with an urge to bruise and corrupt you. He’s a bad man for the thoughts he's been having about you. He can’t help himself, but even in his most twisted of fantasies, he’d never do anything you didn’t want him to. But, fuck, he’s sure he could mold you into exactly what he wants in a submissive. 

Joel isn’t new to the world of kink; he’s had many subs, all of whom have referred to him as Mister Miller. However, his name has never sounded so fucking sweet as it did coming off your lips. Those two little words leaving your pouty, pink lips feel like that first sip of whiskey after a long day, and it might kill him if he doesn’t make you his. 

He sighs into the white wood of the door before standing and walking to sit behind his desk. He drops into the soft leather chair and lets his head fall back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. What is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? You’re way too young. Way too sweet. Way too…sinless. And even though he can’t explain it, and he knows you don’t know it, you’re way too “exactly-what-is-going-to-ruin-his-entire-life”. 

You’re not someone he can just play with. No, he’s good at reading people, and you’re the kind of person that deserves being invested into. You’re also not someone who is going to stick around. You have dreams and well laid out plans on how you’re going to achieve them. He can’t cage you in, he’ll have to let you spread your wings and fly no matter how much he sees himself as the man he used to be reflected back in your eyes.  

He opens his eyes and pictures you kneeling in the corner, perfectly manicured hands that he pays for you to have done weekly folded on your lap as he works. He imagines calling you over with a curl of his fingers, you crawling across the plush carpet and resting your head on his lap as he responds to emails, takes calls, or plans events. He could reach down and run his fingers through your soft, silky hair as you nuzzled deeper into his lap with your cheek. “My perfect, sweet girl,” he’d hum.  

His body falls forward, forehead hitting the sturdy wooden desk with a thump. Jesus Christ, Joel. 

It was one thing when he only found you beautiful - he could live with being attracted to you, he could find a way around it or stuff that attraction down, maybe he’d find a new sub to distract himself with. That would be easy for him, but then you had to open your mouth, you had to speak so passionately about your future. Why couldn’t you just be pretty like all the other women he plays with? You might be one of the most driven people he knows: the way you push yourself, already planning for the next “no”. And that kills him, ruins him really that you are programmed to think there will automatically be a “no” and that you’ll have to endure another round of LSAT’s and college applications. You’re smart, and he wants to kill whoever made you feel like you need to push yourself this hard. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; annoyance courses through his body until he sees his brother's name across the pristine screen of his newest iPhone Max. 

“Ya?” He says harshly. 

“Everything ok with the alarm?” 

Joel’s mind goes blank, “What?” 

Tommy is silent for a second before he responds slowly, “The alarm? You left in the middle of a meeting because of an alarm.” 

Joel shakes his head. Right, the alarm. The bullshit excuse he made up so he could leave to see you. “Ya, right. Ya, it’s fine. Got it all, umm, all fixed up. Should be back soon.”

“You ok, brother?” Tommy asks suspiciously. “You seemed, I dunno, distracted today.” 

“I’m fine,” Joel snaps. 

“Alright. Well, come back soon, pretty big night here and we need ya.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s the owner, he knows it’s a big night, but he’s sort of busy having an existential crisis over possibly being in love with his house cleaner. Whoa, in love? Pump the fucking brakes. Joel’s heart stops beating for a second at the thought of it. He can’t possibly be in love; he doesn’t fall in love. No, he decides, it’s just because she’s new, and exactly my type, and it’s been a long time since I found someone that’s my type.

Just as he stands from his desk, he hears the hose outside turn on. You must be at the pool furniture part of your list. He takes this moment to sneak out of his own house, because he’s a weak man when it comes to you, apparently. He slips into the Italian leather front seat and lets the new car smell waft over him; he loves the smells of a new sports car and has never owned one long enough for it to stop smelling that way. It’s a matter of status to him. He takes a good hard look at himself in the rear view mirror. That’s enough now. For both of your sakes. Leave her alone. 

You 

After spraying down the pool furniture you rush inside to warm up. Seriously, who needs their pool stuff cleaned in the fucking winter? As you jog up the stairs to grab Joel’s freshly laundered sheets, you blow into your cupped palms. The warmth spreads from your frozen fingertips to your palms. Joel’s office is empty; he must have left while you were outside. Your brain swirls with unanswered questions as you pull the fitted sheet back onto his king size bed. Why would he come home? First of all, he knows you’re here this time and second of all, he knows he’s not supposed to be here. So why? And then there’s his calculating stare, always watching and usually with a flash of pride in his features. Did he come back here just to talk to you? Maybe even to get to know you? 

It’s safe to say that you’re more confused than ever, and you make a mental schedule of studying and reading to keep you busy later tonight so you won’t spend hours trying to google him again.

It takes way too much effort, and a silent promise to yourself to get back to the gym, but you manage to wrestle the oversized duvet back into its cover just as three o’clock rolls around. You jog down the wide, open staircase and your phone bings in your back pocket. Jamie’s name is splayed across your cracked screen, the sunset from your last trip to California shining back at you. 

What are you doing tonight? Want to make a bunch of money serving drinks topless?

You laugh to yourself. Truthfully, nothing Jamie asks you seems to surprise you, and some sort of odd job where you’re topless or in a sexy outfit is practically a guarantee as a condition of your friendship. As you reach for the black envelope on the kitchen island you text back. 

What?

You barely have the thick parchment of the envelope open when she responds, like she already had the text locked and loaded and was just waiting for you to try to fight her on it.  

Remember Laren? My cousin? She has a topless catering company and needs help tonight. It’s at some exclusive VIP poker game downtown. 4 hours, $300 + tips.

You respond as a thousand dollars falls out of the tip envelope. 

I’m in.

Jamie picks you up a few hours later and parks her blacked out Range Rover in the alleyway behind a shiny black building in the heart of downtown. You’re once again surrounded by wealth and success thanks to Jamie. The dress code tonight is a black pencil skirt, black heels, your tits, and a bow tie that Laren will give you. Speaking of whom, Laren is holding open a staff door for you and Jamie with her hip, waving the two of you into the warmth of the building. She pulls you both into a big hug, “Thank fuck! You two saved my ass tonight. Gotta love having friends and family with great tits!”

“You’re so weird,” Jamie says, brushing past her and into the building. You follow her in before Laren ushers you towards a service elevator. 

“They’ve already started, you’re part of the second shift. I think the first set of girls made about four hundred each in tips, helps if you serve the guys that are winning though. The first round of games is almost over, winners move on soon.”

“How were their tits though? As great as ours?” You joke. Underneath the calm and collected mask you’re wearing you are definitely nervous. All these strange men are going to see you half naked, you know nothing about poker or serving drinks. Your two friends laugh as the elevator opens to a small changing room. Girls from the first shift are putting their tops back on, handing the bow ties back to Laren who gives them to you and Jamie. 

She cocks her head towards a swinging door, “Just through there when you’re done. Go to the bartender for a tray and table assignment. Two girls per table and only six seats so it should be pretty easy. Make sure you smile!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Jamie say teasingly as you strip off your tops and bras. She flips you the middle finger as she heads back out to the poker game to supervise. The cool air of the room stiffens your nipples, nerves fluttering behind your navel as you put the bow tie on.

You overhear the girls that are leaving talking about the men, “Did you see the one with the curly hair at the table by the bar?”, one says. 

The other responds, “He was so fucking hot. Total daddy, I think he owns this place.” 

A third pipes up with, “Fuck, I should have flirted more. I could use a sugar daddy.” 

As they walk towards the elevator the first girl says, “Did you know that this is a sex club? Too bad we can’t go explore the rest.” They giggle as they leave and you take a steadying breath. You’re going to be topless, in a sex club. 

“Ready?” Jamie asks, adjusting her bowtie around her slender neck. 

“Did you know this is a sex club?”

She laughs, “Ya, it’s like an exclusive kink club apparently. Laren said it’s owned by two brothers who are insanely hot. Maybe I should see if they need a maid.” She winks at you as you both walk towards the swinging door. 

You step into the dimly lit room and find the bar directly across from you. After rolling your shoulders back and down, you cross the dark hardwood floor to the bar. Everything in the room is black or deep forest green. Black paint covers the walls, your heels click against the sturdy black wooden floors, even the poker tables and chairs are black. A pop of deep green velvet only along the seats and table tops. It looks soft, like one of those fuzzy blankets you have on your couch and you fight the urge to run your hand across one of the empty tables as you pass. 

The bartender hands Jamie a tray first and then quietly tells her to go to the table in the far right corner. She sways her hips like the sultry goddess she is as she walks to the table. Relief floods through you when you notice that none of the men have raised their eyes, they’re focused intently on the card game. This isn’t some sleazy club like you initially thought when you heard ‘sex club’ leave the lips of the other servers. You relax a little at being able to just be yourself tonight, maybe a bit more naked than you’d usually be but yourself nonetheless. 

You take the black marble serving tray as the bartender points to the table closest to the bar. The curly hair man that the women were talking about in the change room faces away from you. Your heart leaps in your chest. Joel. As you approach the other server standing behind the table, he starts to turn his head. Time stops, your heart speeds up, and it starts to feel simultaneously too hot and too cold in the room all at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s turning his head in slow motion. As you catch his side profile he has the same hooked nose, in the dim light of the room you can’t see any greys along his temples and he doesn’t appear to have a beard. After what feels like an hour, his eyes finally meet yours and you let out a breath, although you aren’t sure if it’s disappointment or relief leaving your lungs. It’s not Joel Miller.

“Mind bringin’ me another Macallan neat, sweetheart?” His eyes stay locked on yours as he smiles at you sweetly. He holds the crystal glass out for you and you take it with a soft ‘yes, sir.’

Something about those eyes, and the way they flash darkly at being called sir, feels all too familiar. In the time it takes for you to take the six or seven steps to the bar you convince yourself that it’s just your brain seeing him everywhere. You tell yourself that when you bring this drink back he’ll look nothing like the man you caught knuckles deep in a woman as she cried out, nothing like the man who was so gentle and sweet, yet slightly bossy and commanding with you this afternoon. 

That’s definitely it, you say to yourself with finality. You’re just cock drunk over a cock you’ll never have. 

The bartender pops the whiskey open and the hair on the back of your neck stands up, you can feel someone looking at you. Almost feel their stare heating the right side of your body. It feels as if all of your exposed skin is being covered by the gaze of whomever is looking at you, shielding you protectively from the view of the other men. The bartender's eyes flick to the corner of the room and then back to you while he hands you the drink. The shift of his gaze confirms that you weren’t imagining it, there is someone looking at you. You place the whiskey on your tray and spin cautiously to the right, stopping dead in your tracks when you lock eyes with Joel Miller. He looks dangerous, sitting at a low table along the wall, his face just barely illuminated by a single candle on the dark wooden table top. His fingers are laced together, forearms of his black dress shirt resting on the knees of his black dress pants. His lips are pressed in a thin, disapproving line. 

He stalks over to you and you wish your tray was empty so you could shield your tits from him. The way he moves is almost menacing, like a jaguar stalking his prey, his eyes are almost black in the low light of the room. Your nipples stiffen under his intense gaze, your mouth fills with saliva and you gulp loudly. You stand frozen, the whiskey for that man you had convinced yourself isn’t related to Joel forgotten about on your tray. He plucks the drink off the marble slab, the glass looking like one of those disposable paper cups you have in your bathroom in his hand. He takes two long strides and drops the glass beside the man. 

“Thanks,” he starts to coo, a ten dollar bill clasped between two fingers. After realizing it’s not you, he adds a confused, “Brother?” 

He tries to pull the money back, but Joel is quicker. Snatching it from his brother's grasp and tucking it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Joel turns back to you and steps in closely, your lower back hitting the cold marble bartop and you gasp, arching your back and naked breasts towards Joel. His jaw flexes as he fights to keep his eyes level with yours. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he says in a harsh whisper. 

“I’m working,” it comes out a lot more bratty and defiant than you intend it to. 

“Not here you ain’t.”

You take a small step forward, your hard nipples lightly grazing the soft fabric of his black dress shirt. “I’m not leaving.” 

His hand circles your bicep and you twist out of his grasp. “You’re makin’ a scene, darlin’.” 

“You are, Joel. I’m just trying to make money.” He grabs you more firmly this time, not tight enough to hurt you but enough for you to know he means business. 

What’s his problem anyway? He doesn’t own you. What you do outside his home is none of his business. He can boss you around via an app every other week, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. You glance desperately over at Jamie to find her back to you as she speaks softly with a man who’s waiting for the next round of poker. Her hand grazes his bicep flirtatiously, she makes it look too easy to get what she wants from men. Joel guides you towards the staff changing room, keeping your body in the dark edges of the room. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, like an angry dragon and you’re honestly surprised smoke isn’t billowing out of his nostrils. 

In the bright lights of the changing room you feel more exposed than ever. You want to lift your tray, but in order to prove to him that you don’t care what he or anyone thinks you don’t. In fact, you stand up taller, holding your head high and pushing your chest out. It’s infinitesimal but he looks down just for a nano second. You smirk when his eyes come back to you. 

“Put a shirt on.” 

“If none of the other girls have to put a shirt on then neither do I.” You pop your hip out and pull your arm free from his large calloused hand and rest it on your hip. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” 

“I’m not fighting. You are. So all those other girls are fine, but I’m not? Why? My tits aren’t big enough for you?” 

“That’s not,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed. When he reopens them his eyes land softly on yours. “I just need you not to be here. Please.” 

Bright red anger sparks along the sides of your eyes. Seriously, who does he think he is? “You aren’t the boss here, Mister Miller.” 

“Do NOT call me that.” His neck flushes the same colour as your vision. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing into glaring slits. What is his aversion to being called Mister Miller, and why does it turn you on a little bit to rile him up when you use it?

“You aren’t my boss or my dad, Joel. You can’t make me leave or tell me what jobs I can or can’t take.” You’ve figuratively dug your heels in, you aren’t leaving. He can’t make you. Only Laren or whoever owns this sex club can ask that of you. “You can’t kick me out like you own the place.” 

“Actually,” he says darkly, “I can.” 

“What?” You say through a nervous breath, eyes widening. 

“I own the place. So I can kick you out, and I am kicking you out. Get your shirt.” 

Your shoulders fall slightly. You feel about two feet tall with the realization that he doesn’t want you here. This afternoon you thought that maybe he cared, he seemed like he cared, and now you’re half naked and he wants you to leave. He watches as you unclasp your bow tie and slide on your bra and shirt. 

You look over at Jamie’s clothes and it dawns on you that you didn’t drive here. Your face falls as you blink around the room and then towards Joel. 

“What’s wrong?” he says through thick concern.

“Nothing. I just…” 

He steps towards you, he’s so broad, his presence so large that you start to feel almost claustrophobic when he’s this close, but you never want him to step away. You’d happily let him smother you with his innate Joel-ness. “You just what?”

“I didn’t drive here,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. Your left thumb nail immediately finds purchase along the cuticle of your right thumb. 

His strong palm cups your chin, lifting until he’s looking at you again. You’re becoming more and more used to the amount of eye contact Joel seems to make. He seems constantly dialed in on you when you’re in the same room.

Yes, I would be very happy to let him smother me. 

The harsh lines of his face soften, “I can get you a car. They’ll meet you at the staff door.” 

You nod into his hand and find it exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you that way. He drops your chin and turns his large, broad body back towards the swinging door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” His voice is soft and sad, almost as if he’s full of remorse and just hoping you won’t hate him before heading back into the poker game. Any bit of anger is flushed from your system, replaced with the disappointment of having to leave wherever Joel is.  

You drag your feet to the elevator and then towards the staff exit. You let the heavy door close behind you with a loud bang as a blacked out SUV pulls up. The driver says your first and last name as he opens the back door for you. You look towards the black building one last time. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” 

JMKink is written in shiny metallic black on the door and all the information of the evening hits you at once. JMK. Joel Miller Kink. Joel Miller, insanely handsome millionaire, owns a sex club.

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What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[mcuamerica]

Legacy | Eris x Reader

For Eris Week 2024 - Day 2: Childhood | Legacy @erisweekofficial

Summary: Eris and his mate have two girls, but Eris starts to doubt his ability as a father as you’re about to have a boy. 

Warnings: parental abuse (Beron), child near-drowning (let me know if I missed anything!)

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears for Eris Week.

Calida and Rhea ran around the Forest House garden. Callie stuck to the areas near the bushes while Rhea played by the brook, always so much closer to water than Callie. It was a trait that you nor Eris had a clue where it came from but Rhea loved the water. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was a daughter of Summer and not Night and Autumn. Nonetheless, you were both proud to call her your daughter. Callie too. 

Eris frowned as he watched Rhea stumble into the small brook, sitting up in his chair to prepare to help her. 

He paused, a memory of when he was a child flashing through his mind. 

Lucien was showing Eris how he caught fish. A mere boy of 10. He had no business being in the river. Certainly not when a dam suddenly broke and rushed the water towards him. Eris was too late, watching as his youngest brother was devoured by the waves. As we went to help, his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Do not help him,” he said sternly. 

Eris looked up, frowning. “What do you mean? He will drown.” A slap for the talk back fell upon his cheek. He was used to it, should’ve known better. 

“If he does, then he is no son of mine.” He said and frowned as he watched the red haired boy fight against the raging water. Eris looked towards the broken dam, frowning at the singed bark around the edges. His father. Beron had broken the dam. Knowing Lucien would drown. 

Eris turned towards his father. “Mother will be-“

“Your mother will not say anything.” Beron said, his hand coming up to Eris’s throat. “Shall I throw you into the water as well? See how well you survive, Eris?” He growled. 

Eris shook his head, taking a deep breath as his father released his throat. “Let him die… or save him and face the consequences of ensuring the weakness of your brother. Of my legacy.” He growled. 

Eris watched as Lucien struggled. He could swim. Not well… but he could. He was struggling to stay afloat… and being pulled further down the river. To the waterfall. Damn the consequences, he wasn’t going to let his brother die because his father was a bastard. 

He ran towards the river, leaping in after Lucien. He helped Lucien to the shore, his arm wrapping against his waist. Lucien coughed out water as they reached the shore. Just as he was about to say thank you to his brother, Eris was snatched out of the water by Beron. 

“Find your way home.” Beron growled to Lucien then winnowed away from him, Eris’s dripping body going with him. 

Eris received the beating of his life that night. And two days afterwards. Lucien was fine, but was forbidden to see Eris for weeks. What did it say about Eris that his daughters never experienced such things? It was good, they never met their grandfather. Never knew the abuse he endured. But did that make him weak? For keeping it to himself? 

Just as he had the thought, Callie ran over to her, helping her up. 

“You okay?” Her small voice asked, ever the protective older sister. 

Rhea frowned at a rock beneath her foot. “It tripped me.” She said, crossing her arms. 

Eris let out a small chuckle, leaning back as he watched his girls talk. They ran off together, two of his (their) hounds running after them. He looked over his shoulder as you slept on the bed, perched up by a few pillows so your pregnant stomach would be supported. He still wasn’t sure how you two had managed to get pregnant so close in years, but he wasn’t complaining. 

He loved you so much it hurt. And he loved your two girls even more, if it was possible. Though, you know your were having a boy this time around. And a boy was different. 

Raising the girls was new. There was nothing for him to compare to… his father raised all boys, if you call what he did raising… The girls were different. They were bright and soft and strong and full of life. And he knew his little boy would be too. But… his father raised so many boys. And all but two were truly decent. If Eris counted himself decent. 

Would he be different towards his boy? Treat him harder? Worse than his girls? Would be expect more from him just because he was a male? 

The inner turmoil raced through his head, so much that it was communicated down the bond to you. 

You stirred from your afternoon nap, seeing Eris chewing on his lip. It was a quirk he didn’t show often but when he did you knew something was wrong. 

You slowly got out of the bed. You were 8 months pregnant, very much ready to be done with the pregnancy and have your little boy in your arms. But something was bothering Eris. And that was something you needed to fix. If only because you wanted to go back to sleep. 

“Eris.” You whispered, a hand resting on his shoulder. 

Eris barely moved, his eyes glancing up to you. “Are you well, my love?” He asked you. 

A small smile danced on your lips. “I should be asking you that. You’re a nervous wreck. Are the girls okay?” You asked. 

“They’re perfect… that’s the problem.” He said. 

A confused frowned made its way to your face with a slight tilt of your head. 

“It’s just… What if the girls are this way because… I’m meant to raise girls. Because my father-“ Eris took a shaky breath. “My father raised terrible sons. What if I do the same?” He asked. 

“Eris… are you the only one raising them?” You asked, walking to stand in front of him. His only answer was a shake of the head. “Are you planning to raise our boy differently?” Another shake of the head. “And will you love him just as much as you love our girls?” Another one.. “Then why would you raise a terrible son?” 

His eyes finally met yours, amber burning into violet. “Because I don’t know how to raise a son.”

“You didn’t know how to raise a daughter until 10 years ago,” you said, cupping his cheek. “And now you have two. Maybe not perfect, but damn good daughters. Who love you more than anything.” You said. “And I would not decide to have a child with you, male or female, if I thought you would make a bad father.” 

Tears lined his eyes. “But my father-“

“Was a terrible man… and you, Eris Vanserra, are not your father. Not by a long shot.” You said and leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “Don’t you forget that.” You whispered before turning away from him. “Let’s go get the girls, I’m hungry and we should make some apple crisp.” You said. 

Eris followed after you, soon seeing the girls wrap themselves around your legs. And when he looked at the three of you, and soon to be fourth growing in your belly, he knew this would be his legacy. The strong, loving family you built together. And he was proud to have it.

A/N: I love the thought of Eris being a girl dad (and being amazing at it) but being insecure when a boy rolls around... ugh I love him.

[alexa-fika]

Ghostly mischief (Sanji x male!ghost!child!reader)

A/N I'm also kinda meh on this one, this is part of the three part request of @spiderman-er our beloved < 3 I hope this is to your liking!

Reader here is re-placed by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Sanji-nii, what are you making this time?” the small boy asked, floating next to said chef

“Some cake.”

“Can I help?”

“Hm, all right. Just do what I say.”

“I got my eyes wide open, ready to learn! Even though I don’t really have eyes!”

“…I think you spend too much time with Brook”

“I spend just the right amount with Uncle Brook Thank you very much.”

“I beg to differ…; just get me the flour; it should be up there.”

“Okay,” he smiled, floating his way up to the drawers looking through the different shelves

“This one?”

“Yeah! Grab it for me.”

“Can I have a piece of the cake when we’re done?” he said, handing Sanji the pot

“Last time you had one, you were bouncing off the walls.”

“Come on! I promise I will just have one this time, pleaseee?”

“Alright, fine. But only one.”

“Yahoo!”

“Alright, you little scamp, now go get the flour.”

“Hehe, of course!” he said, floating towards the ingredients and taking a hold of the flour, though rather than handing it to Sanji, he simply dropped the flour on Sanji

Sanji stood there for a second, blowing out flour from his mouth and wiping the one in his eyes

“…”

“Dokucha?”

“Yeah, Sanji-nii?” he said with a grin on his face, flying upside down and watching his brother try to pull himself together

“I'm giving you a chance here. Was that an accident?”

“Nope”

“Come here.”

“I'm good over here.”

“You don't get off the hook that easily, you little scamp,” he said, pulling his sleeves up and grabbing a handful of flour

“So remember, you were the one who started this.”

Listen with the way you made the request I had to put a Brook Joke myself, I just had to, was mandatory

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[sotwk]

The Task of Living (Thorin x unnamed OC)

Love Confession feat. Thorin Oakenshield 

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.

Prompt: “You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.”

Requested by and Dedicated to: @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady. Thank you for the request, the follow, and for letting me do a little something to help you feel better! This definitely turned out longer and more detailed than I had planned, so I hope it brings you some joy and comfort! <3

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

The Task of Living

Third Age 2943

Dunland

“Is she… is she yours?” 

You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don’t remember her."

His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. “And how is she?”

“She is dead,” you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. “Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both.” You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. “Why don’t you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?”

“She needn’t have bothered, truly.” His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling’s small size and worn-out shabbiness.

“Of course she had to,” you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. “What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?” 

Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head. 

“A caravan is on its way here,” he said. “Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because…” He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. “...because I could not wait to see you.”

Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, “Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk.”

Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin’s hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.

“If I may say so, you look well--” 

You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?” You grimaced and corrected yourself. “Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?”

“Thorin,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You need not be so formal with me, not after so many years of friendship between us.”

Friendship. That word could not have burned you worse than a glowing hot iron straight out of the furnace. And suddenly it was thirty-five years ago, when you stood before each other in similar surroundings all the way in the shadows of the Blue Mountains, and Thorin told you with utmost conviction, that he could not accept your marriage proposal. 

And you exploded. All the grief and pain and anger that you had shored up behind a wall inside your heart flowed like fiery lava on the slopes of an awakened volcano. 

“Are you trying to hurt me?!” you cried. “Is that why you have come? Now that you have accomplished your great destiny to regain your throne, you thought it might amuse you to return to your former haunts and toy with the commoners you used to dwell amongst? Are you already so weary and bored of counting all the gold in the great Kingdom Under the Mountain?”

Thorin squared his shoulders and set his jaw against the accusations, incorrigibly stubborn as you had always known him to be. “I came to help. Both you and your kin.” He gestured at the house behind them, and the others beyond. “This land was also my home once.”

“It has not been your home for a very long time, Thorin.” You wrapped your arms across your chest, whether to shield yourself from the winter chill or from the dwarf who had shattered you irreparably, you weren’t certain. “Allow me to refresh the King’s memory since it has been so long: you abandoned it for the Blue Mountains. I was there. I left my own family and moved across Eriador to follow yours. But a humble life at the Lune would not satisfy you either, and you refused to settle and put down roots.”

At least not with me. You swiped at the corners of your eyes, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop their descent. "You should not have come back here. We will manage well enough without Erebor's charity."

The old Thorin might have exchanged your rejection with biting words of his own; such was the pride that ran through the Durins' veins. But the face of the dwarf-lord before you softened as he continued.

"I came for you. To tell you I have not forgotten everything we shared together." The tone of his voice had changed; it cracked with desperation, pleading with you to accept his declarations. And then he uttered your name, and hearing it on his lips roused an ache inside you that was too much to bear. 

You started walking again, stomping over the thick snow, following the line of naked trees along the frozen brook. He kept up with you in determined strides, raising his voice to a near shout as his passion grew.

"I have thought of you every day since we parted. Every memory I had of you, I kept close, even though it burned me as often as it kept me warm, because I refused to surrender hope that this day would come for us."

You shook your head wildly and pressed your hands over your ears, as though these gestures would be enough to make him stop. 

“Amrâlimê, please...”

"Do. NOT. Call me that!"

You whirled around and punched him, slamming your fist into his chest, stopped by a wall of thick leather and muscle. While you considered yourself strong for your race, your strength fell short against a Durin. Thorin did not budge an inch, or even wince. Perhaps your predictable temper was the part of you least easily forgotten. So you hit him again. And again. Until you were pounding both fists repeatedly against his torso, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you thought you could get him to feel just a small fraction of the agony he had put you through for over thirty years. Still Thorin refused to move or throw up any kind of self-defense. 

How dare he! How dare he address you as such, in the tender manner that haunted you for decades even after you left the Blue Mountains to escape the unbearable sight of him. The precious endearment he would whisper into your ear on occasions of stolen intimacy, sigh into your hair in moments of peaceful contentment, moan against your skin whenever he made love to you.

Through your rage, you sensed the guards approaching to rescue their lord, and instinct prepared you to turn around and fight back like a cornered animal. But Thorin raised his hand at them in a signal to halt, and he finally reached out to catch your flailing wrists, easily ending your assault.

"I love you. As Mahal is my witness, my heart has ever belonged to you alone." He encased your hands tightly within his and held them against his chest, tugging you to him. "And you love me still, I can see it, however wretchedly undeserving I am."

You could not even think of struggling. It was too late. He was too close now, close enough for you to feel how real he was--his piercing eyes, his strong, calloused hands, the scent of smoke and steel that clung to the very hairs of his warm skin. These were not just a fantasy conjured by delirious longing, or a dream from the nights you cried in your sleep. Thorin was here. Alive and well, and here. 

“I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Amrâlimê,” he murmured hoarsely, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping down the softness of your jaw. “If I can have nothing else from you, I beg you to grant me that last kindness.”

That single moment of exposed vulnerability, of breathtaking sorrow and regret that radiated from him, reached you more than any of his expressions of passion. How much have the years changed him? The Thorin you knew could never bear to admit he was wrong about anything. Was it possible that rising to his kingship finally taught him humility? 

“You have my forgiveness.” As you spoke this pardon, the remaining flames of your anger blew out to nothingness.

And Thorin smiled, his sweet, gentle smile, rare as the most precious gem but many times as beautiful. Your own smile felt like it would break your cheeks. He pulled you into his embrace and you sobbed into his neck, wondering if it was possible to die of happiness. 

Drawing back, Thorin cradled your face between his hands, smoothing your tear-streaked cheeks, and rested his forehead on yours. “May I…?” Your breaths mingled in the soft whisper, and his eager lips already brushed yours even as he waited for permission.

"I may only ever kiss My One, whom they call Oakenshield," you said softly. "Where can I find him under the fine trappings of this great King?"

In response, Thorin gripped the heavy golden crown on his head and lifted it off. It slipped carelessly from his fingers and fell to the snow-covered ground with a dull thud. 

"Let me show you," he said, and waited no more. He kissed you with the hunger of years of longing, deeply and greedily, pausing only when you whimpered for breath you could not catch. He backed you up underneath a tree, which you leaned against to aid your weakening balance as Thorin pressed on, his mouth leaving your swollen lips only to descend your neck, worshiping every inch of skin he could access.

"Durin help me," he growled into the curve of your shoulder, exposed where he had nearly torn your sleeve off. His chest still heaved from exertion and barely restrained lust. "I must have you again." He raised his eyes to meet yours, and the look in them made you swallow hard, conscious of your own depraved desire for him. "But it should be in the proper way you deserve."

"You are the only one I would ever have," you said, combing your fingers through a section of his thick black hair, now beautifully mixed with silver stands. 

He took your hand to his lips, kissing your palm repeatedly before saying, "So would you return to Erebor with me?"

Your hesitation made him wrap both arms tightly around you, his entire body tense with the lingering fear of being separated from you again.

"You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."

"Do what?" you asked, caressing his beard to calm the anxiety you regretted causing him. "What task is it that the great hero of Erebor needs a humble peasant's help in accomplishing?"

"The task of living." Thorin cupped his hand underneath your chin and gazed at you with soft, earnest affection. "A life with you was the only treasure I ever desired, but duty forced me to deprive myself of it. But no longer. I have avenged my family and restored our honor and our house. I have led our people back home. The time has come for me to pursue my own joys and pleasures, and those exist only in you."

"But my lord. My love," you whispered, once again moved to tears by the gladness his words roused in you. "Am I still a suitable match for you now that you require a consort to rule a kingdom by your side? I am not fit for the legendary grandeur of Erebor." You gestured at your attire, from your unadorned hair, your plain brown wool dress with a patched up skirt and worn, dirt-caked boots. "Just look at me."

"Indeed. I look at you with great pleasure," Thorin said, with a smirk that immediately made you blush. "When I look at you, I see my dreams fulfilled. I cannot imagine providing Erebor with a braver, kinder, wiser, or more radiant Queen."

"If you would still have me, that is." He held out his open palm to you, revealing an item he produced from the folds of his robe. Fading sunlight bounced off the high polish of the small, silvery-grey stone. You gasped when you recognized the betrothal bead you had offered him so many years ago. He must have rescued it after you had flung it away in your heartbroken grief, and kept it safe with him all this time. 

"I fought through dragonfire and armies of orcs so I may live to see this day, so I may get a second chance to accept and wear this." Hope and fear battled in his intense stare, which bore down on you with heavy anticipation. "But now the course of my fate rests entirely upon you. Will you have me?"

He held his breath in the brief silence before you closed his fist around the bead and smiled. "I will have you for the rest of my life and whatever else lies beyond, Thorin Oakenshield." You placed a tender kiss on his knuckles. "So let us go home and see to this task of living… my King."

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse; @undeniableadrenaline

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

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[andreal831]

So, I'm just gonna come out and say it: Despite probably only being planned in S4 - the idea of the Hollow and it's very elusive presence being the mastermind behind the Originals and it's history is actually engenious!

(Keep in mind, I'm talking as if I'm inside the universe - not as a viewer looking in. Also, fair warning, I alternate between "The Hollow" and Inadu since they are the same person.)

Let's start with the fact that thanks to Inadu, we know werewolves are just cursed witches cut off from their magic with interesting loopholes (such as the Unification Ceremony) - everyone from TVD should've called it because it's ALWAYS a witch creating a new supernatural species! The even bigger factors come from: why killing triggers the werewolf curse (Inadu was murdered - by her mother), the history that combined werewolf abilities were once divided and needed a witch-like ceremony to come together, the story of how Inadu's bones were kept/used until she got her body back, and the very idea that - unlike vampires - werewolves are a bloodline curse allowed to reproduce. If I'm not being clear, the story of the Hollow correlates a lot with werewolf lore. My only headcanons are that werewolf venom became a thing as a result of vampires being created - a natural defense with a supernatural twist - and wolfsbane is a weakness because she died in a field of wolfsbane. With the fact that werewolves existed 500 years prior, that's half a millennia of history that's got lost, destroyed, or spread out in time (since you don't watch Legacies: Long story short, a Shunka Warakin - a creature Ioway Native American mythos that hunts werewolves - made an appearance. Liberties aside, that essentially says werewolves had a rival predator/there were so many werewolves that a creature like this came into existence), and that's not forgetting how much that loss was furthered by Klaus & Elijah engineering The Sune & Moon Curse to lift his own - imagine how many werewolves died listening to following that crap. So, thanks to The Hollow, we have an entire lost-to-be-rediscovered lore for werewolves. Who knows, maybe the Fated Mates in typical werewolf novels might have some truth in them as well😁.

Next, New Orleans. The very idea that The Hollow is a corrupted, evil soul capable of dark and impossible feats says so much. For starters, her very presence and influence can turn good people into evil-doing followers. If I had to go back, let's start with Xavier Dumas (Jackson's grandfather and the guy who murdered Elias and Brooke Labonair - my HC names for Hayley's parents if you don't mind). It was bad enough he was already upset with Elias for trying to make peace with Marcel, once the Hollow sunk her hooks into him, she used him to get access to one of her remaining remains and when he was of no use, he was left to accept his crimes as a disgraced wolf. Next, we see Vincent and his then not-evil-wife Eva dealing with Marcel's hold on the witches. When Vincent started practicing its magic with Eva - who took it a step further, Inadu started to influence them and their bodies. But for whatever reason, Vincent stopped practicing but Eva was already in her grasp. Now fast forward. I'm sorry, but did no one ask why a twenty-something witch was able to overcome an Original's possession over her body? Not even Alaric and Tyler were able to do it when Klaus possessed them. Like, that's badass as hell, but now that we know about Inadu and her thing for sacrificing witch children, it's very likely now we witnessed the first acolyte of the Hollow's cult through Eva and we just didn't know it - and considering she'd already had killed witches for her, the juice she got for empowering Inadu came into play in the form of gaining her body back from Rebekah. (I also have a theory Finn was corrupted by Inadu's leftover essence on Vincent - explaining his different behavior as Finncent vs in his own body, but nobody's ready for that talk😝). Now, let's move to the last group, the Ancestors. The very fact she was impressed by them and how it connects to the Harvest is interesting if you wanted to say the Harvest was created to give power to the Ancestral Well and keep The Hollow imprisoned. The killing of young witches, the passing on power to super-witch that Davina went through in S1, coming back not quite right but more to the Ancestors' cause? The very fact of all that the Ancestors knew about Inadu's origin story says they knew what she was and was capable of since the beginning and when the connection was destroyed in S3, in all good intentions, Vincent let a very bad cat out of the bag for Davina.

Lastly were Inadu's abilities. Compared to many others in the TVD Universe, not only was she a master at possession, she was able to practice magic in a vampire's body - which no one has done before, bring somebody back to life after having their heart ripped out, alter her blood to be toxic to a vampire, telepathic moral corruption, create corporal illusions capable of physical attacks, crushing hearts from the inside... honestly, The Hollow was a full package of feats that shouldn't go underutilized. I even say she didn't even need to feel scared when she had her original physical body back because she already had a plan and Hope - being her blood and easily located, helped by the fact she fears her - only says she knew things would work out. My only regret is that if done right, Inadu would have followed Hope into Legacies because she'd be the Boogeyman only she can face.

Most people hate Inadu for writing reasons and some hate her for being the reason the Mikaelsons were divided. But in the case of the latter, isnt that what made her a successful villain? A villain's job is to stop the heroes or antiheroes (the Mikaelsons) from getting what they want. The Hollow was a villain so powerful, so menacing, manipulating from the background while the living were clueless in their own troubles that inadvertently added in bringing her to power so she could be an active threat. TO was all about being a family and sticking together and she gave them no choice but to separate if they didn't want Hope possessed again. So technically, in life and in death, the Hollow is a successful villain as she kept the Mikaelsons apart and got to Hope in the end. Essentially an inevitable that did what no one else could do.

I am obsessed with how thorough this is.

I'll be honest that I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Inadu/The Hollow, simply because Season 4 and 5 are not my favorite seasons. But, not because I didn't like her story or the lore, simply because the writing starts to go off the rails and becomes very rushed.

But I agree, Inadu was one of the best villains in TO. And it's completely because, as you pointed out, she did what every other villain was attempting to do. She felt not remorse for it either. Don't get me wrong, I love most of the villains in TO, but the show, for the most part, would always back pedal at the end and make them "redeemable" villains. Which is why I liked Lucien, even in his last breath he did not try to be a better person. He was a villain through and through. Inadu took it even further because they don't offer any justification for her behavior. Yes, her family killed her, but because she was power hungry and murderous. She was essentially the Kai Parker of TO. And you're exactly right, people only don't like her because she was successful. They only like the villains when the villains are bad at it. Inadu had the entire city, including the Mikaelsons, running scared.

I loved that we finally got lore into the werewolves, they were such an underutilized species throughout TVDU. I'll have to actually watch Legacies if it goes into it more. I love your headcannons of how the werewolves evolved and played out. I would also add that Inadu likely added the "werewolf rage" to make them just like her. She was punished for her murderous mentality, so she wanted her family to feel how she felt, to behave as she had.

I only wish that we could have had a full season with Inadu. There was still so much to explore and a lot unanswered. She was incredibly powerful and I love that they never really defeat her. I agree, she should have gone on to Legacies. I hated at the end, Elijah and Klaus die to "kill" Inadu, but they had tried that before. I'm forgetting who it was, but Inadu was possessing someone and they killed that person and Inadu just went back to the ancestry plane and then possessed someone else. You may remember more and maybe I'm forgetting exactly why it worked, but to me, it was too easy.

I would have also loved to see the werewolves more invovled in the Inadu plot line, since it was their ancestor. But we only ever see Hayley. The werewolves completely disappeared after season 3.

I love this breakdown so much and I'm definitely holding onto it for future stories!

[i-like-her-like-that]

Hi gang

I do not have very good reception currently and I'm on holidays somewhere hell knows where. Well really I know where I am but. Yeah. Anyqays um I love you guys and I promise I'm not dead. I will answer my DMs and asks when I get home sjdjkf and you're more likely to catch me on Discord, but really nowhere at all because i can't really use my phone without being caught by my mother pensive emoji sad emoji

I really freaking want a burger and I was promised a burger on the first night here but I still haven't had a burger and it's all I want so yeah you should mail me a burger

Anyways Hollis is cool and so is Chaos and so is Brook et Xen et tout de mes amis and anyways I know I wrote that in french and it's probably wrong but half my app is in Frecnh and I can't be bothered to click on the word and just change it so you guys xan use google translate um

If there’s any drama at all that I miss that requires my opinion you can just add Brook + Chaos + Xen's opinions together and divide them by 3 and you'll get mine. Have a good day and giive me a burger thanks I hope you missed me imy sorry but this was written under a blanket in a very tight space [ the bottom bunk bed of a stupid caravan or whatever ] so yeah

I wanna go home it’s also nearly my birthday and also I have schoolwork to do why am i stuck here for like four more days

[writingquestionsanswered]

If I'm outlining a plot and unsure of what should go between one plot point and the next (eg: between leaving hometown and making friends on a train), what should I do? thanks!

Unsure What Goes Between Plot Points

If there are no important plot points in-between... or in other words, if nothing important happens in-between two plot points, you would do a scene transition to get from one plot point to the next. If there's a only a minor change in time/setting, you might do a soft scene break (two line break). If there's a bigger change in time/setting, but the two events flow cohesively from one to another (usually when they're parts of a collective event), you might do a hard scene break (asterisks or custom scene divider.) If there's a really big change in time and setting and the next plot point begins a new event or series of events, you would probably want to do a chapter break/begin a new chapter.

If you feel like there should be plot points in-between... like if--using your example--you know something needs to happen between the character leaving home and getting on the train, but you're not sure what, you may want to look at some different story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel! or Larry Brooks Story Structure to get some ideas about different plot points and see if any can help you brainstorm ideas. Here are some previous posts that might help:

Guide: How to Turn Ideas into a Story Guide: Starting a New (Long Fiction) StoryGuide: Filling in the Story Between Known Events Creating a Detailed Story Outline

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

WIP File Game

I was tagged by @pookieh and @thelettersfromnoone Thanks for the tags, friends ❤️

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it. Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I’m going to add some rules here because I plan on tagging a few artists as well. For artists, instead of a snippet, post a screenshot or pic of one part of your work I progress OR tell us a little bit about it. Maybe this won’t work so well since I’m operating on the assumption that artists, like writers, have multiple pieces that they might be working on at once… 😬

Sooooo… I had to pick and choose how I was gonna do this because the number of files after ten+ years of fanfic writing is slightly insane. And because I can, I’ve taken notes from @thelettersfromnoone and divide them into categories.

“In progress” means currently posting to ao3 but not complete. The last few on this list haven’t seen updates in close to a decade but they’re not abandoned yet (crazed laughter in the background).

Spellbound

Outside Chance*

Outside Expectations*

Outside the Lines*

Where the Stars Crumble to Life

Holiday Havoc Ensues

No Reason

Fickle Games

Ampersand

Everything You Are

One Last Hope

“In progress” actually means in the planning, outlining, and/or drafting stages. Pieces of these may or may not have already been posted to tumblr or other places but I am actively working on all of these, depending on my mood, and hoping to start posting the actual fics to ao3 within the next year…. Hahahahaha. 😒 There are a few notable exceptions that I’ll talk about if someone asks. This list is in no particular order.

Spiral & Collision / Ellipses and Ignition

Caught in the Net of the World

To Know Not to Be Known

Babbling Brookes*

Grief Catches Us All

You + Me

In the Eyes of My Love

The Turning of the Seasons

Hand porn

The Touch of Time

The Courtship of Lambs

Septimus

In the Waiting Dark (The Red Moon Rises)

Crush My Bones with Bittersweet

The Cold Side of the Bed

Nude Dude Food

Yeah, I’m not tagging that many people. And that’s the trimmed down version. 🤦🏻‍♀️ but I will tag a few!

If you so choose to play: @frick6101719 , @browneyeddevil , @deinde-prandium, @mrspeetamellark , @charlunday @am2c @gremlinddrawss @little-lynx

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Only the Strong Survive Ch. 6

Series Summary: Lexie Weston is in a terrible, abusive marriage. In her mind and soul, she feels like she has no way out that won't result in her death. But something changes in her life to make her take the risk. Can she rely on Sheriff Beau Arlen to protect her like he said he would, or will this risk lead to ruin?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x OFC (eventual)

Series Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut, Angst, Fluff throughout. A pretty slow burn, TW: Abusive marriage, Domestic abuse will be talked about throughout. Chapter warnings will be more specific

Word Count: 3,348

Chapter Summary: Y/N is starting to realize some exciting and scary truths.

Chapter Warnings: Not many in this chapter. Brief mentions of abusive relationships, and hard times.

A/N: So, this next chapter took almost an entire year to get out to those of you who've been enjoying this series. I apologize profusely, and can only blame it on my cruel muses, who stalled this story in my brain. But I'm very grateful to those of you who said kind things about the story and said you were looking forward to the rest. It's encouraging to have people say they want to hear more. (In a friendly, kind way, of course.) So thank you, and I don't think the next chapter will take another whole year. (Like six months, tops. 😜 JK! JK!)

Hope you enjoy Ch. 6!

P.S. This song features in the chapter - To Make You Feel My Love and I've linked the version I was imagining here. (Minus the cheering crowd, and with a singer I love EVEN more than Garth Brooks.)

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @saradika

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Lexi stood in front of the full length mirror and shook her head at her reflection for the dozenth time that day. She felt ridiculous.

“Ooh, you look so cute!”

Cicely Travis was beaming as she came up behind Lexi to squeeze her shoulders. The young, tall, brash, and outspoken woman had become a good friend to Lexi in the months that she’d been staying at Haven House. She was a decade younger than Lexi, but seemed to have lived four lifetimes in her mere quarter century of life. 

The women had shared some of their hardships with each other, but certainly not all, so Lexi only knew that Cicely had run away from home at thirteen to get away from her mom’s boyfriend, and that she’d spent some of the years since as a sex worker. It was one of the things she’d told Lexi right away. 

“I was a hooker and a stripper.” Cicely had told her out of the blue on only their second meeting. When Lexi had just blinked at her for a moment, Cicely had explained. “I’m not any more, but I like to tell people that right off, so that there’s no misunderstandings or issues down the road. I did what I did, and I’m not ashamed, so, if that’s gonna stop you being a friend, then I wanna know that now. You know, save us both time.”

Lexi had just shaken her head and shrugged. “I don’t care.” She’d said honestly. “We all survive and exist the best we can. Sucks being a woman sometimes.”

Cicely had snorted. “Damn right, sister.”

Since then the women had bonded over some shared hardships and the general shittiness of most of the men they’d known. Cicely had also been there for her as Lexi had proceeded through four more court dates over the last two months.

She hadn’t been asked to speak again, thank god, but the judge insisted on all her written and recorded accounts being read into the record. So four times she’d had to sit in the courtroom and listen to Marsha read out her words describing the abuse, or else listen to her own timid voice coming through a tinny recording as she recounted years worth of trauma. 

And every time, after getting a ride home from Beau complete with his encouragement that everything was going to work out, she went to Cicely’s room to commiserate about the day and to admit just how scared she was. She never wanted to admit her fears to Beau because she didn’t want to burden him more than she already had. But also, she didn't want him to think she was just this scared, trembling thing. 

He’d called her a warrior, and she wanted him to keep believing that.

But Cicely would listen, and then trash Simon and the judge and Simon’s lawyer endlessly. It felt very therapeutic to Lexi, and Cicely often made her laugh with her slightly crude, but always hilarious sense of humor. 

She was the perfect kind of friend for Lexi; someone non-judgmental, who was so brash and loud, and talkative, that it became impossible for Lexi to stay quiet and shy. Cicely just pulled her along in the conversation no matter what.

Now the younger woman smoothed down the back of the blue polyester robe that Lexi wore, before stepping in front of her to beam at her. 

“This is so stupid.” Lexi said for the hundredth time that day. “I look like the world’s oldest high school graduate.” She rolled her eyes.

Cicely shook her head. “Nah, don’t be silly.” She pulled the graduation robe tight across Lexi’s baby bump. “You look more like a knocked up teenager.”

Lexi couldn’t help snorting out a laugh. She slapped Cicely’s hands away and let the gown fall back loose.

“Seriously,” Lexi continued, “I can’t believe they're putting on this whole thing. It feels like a bit much for passing a GED test.”

As she finished and before Cicely could respond she looked into the mirror and saw Beau and Jenny saunter into the tent.

“Oh my god!” Lexi cried as she spun around to face them. “What are you doing here?”

They both smiled and Jenny gave her a hug. “We’re here to celebrate you graduating, of course.” She answered as she stepped back beside Beau.

Lexi felt her cheeks go crimson. “Oh, for pete’s sake, I’m not graduating.” She shook her head. “I passed a test.”

“Lexi, this is a big deal. You should be proud of your accomplishments.” Beau argued while Jenny nodded.

Cicely gently bumped Lexi in the shoulder with her own. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her all day. We deserve to be celebrated!” She turned her head towards Lexi. “You listen to this beautiful man when he tells you things. He’s obviously very wise.”

Beau gave a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He turned to Jenny and tapped a finger against his temple. “See, what have I been telling you? Wisdom.”

Jenny rolled her eyes and continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Seriously, Lexi, this is definitely worth celebrating. And to that end, the station is hosting a little graduation party for everyone this evening. Six o’clock, at Beau’s trailer. The land is beautiful, and there will be a huge bonfire to ward off the chill, and amazing BBQ and drinks.” She smiled at Lexi. “And sparkling cider for those of us who can’t partake.”

Beau looked at Lexi, understanding in his gaze as he obviously caught the trepidation in her expression. “There will also be more than a dozen cops there, so you’ll all be very safe.”

Lexi was amazed sometimes how easily Beau understood her. He seemed to read her mind at times, and he always knew just what to say to make her feel better, or feel safe. It made her happy and nervous at the same time. She could feel the way her heart was responding to him, could feel the way her body responded to him too. 

When he was close to her, she always wanted to lean in to him, always wanted his arms around her. She remembered the way it had felt to give him an innocent kiss on the cheek, and now when she looked at him, she was uncomfortably aware of his mouth and how she'd been mere inches away from feeling his lips under hers.

At one of her most recent doctor’s appointments, the doctor had informed her that many women notice an increased libido during the second trimester, and warned her to make sure if she had sex to use a condom as being pregnant didn’t stop her from getting an STI.

Lexi had blushed, but told the doctor there was no chance of that. But she was blaming the increased libido for why her heart raced, and butterflies flew wildly in her belly every time Beau was near. 

She didn’t know very much about sex outside of her marriage. She’d slept with three guys before Simon, and none of them had been exactly earth shattering. Of course, sex with Simon had started out as nothing special and turned into a nightmare. Thankfully in the last few years of their marriage, he hadn’t been much interested in her, and he had very little ability to get it up, so she’d at least been granted that small mercy.

So, this was the first time she’d ever felt this kind of strong attraction to someone. It was slightly overwhelming, so she was definitely blaming it on the hormones racing through her blood while also trying desperately to ignore it altogether.

Jenny gave them final details about the after party and then she and Beau hugged Lexi and Cicely quickly before going to take their place in the high school gym that was hosting their small graduation ceremony. 

After they were gone, Cicely whistled slowly. “Je-sus CHRIST, that man is fine!”

Lexi choked slightly on her laughter. “Cicely!”

The other woman gave her a look. “You telling me you don’t think so?”

Lexi shrugged. “That’s not the point. He’s our friend. He’s been very kind to me.”

Cicely frowned at her. “So? That makes him LESS attractive?”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “I just mean, I don’t wanna talk about him like that.”

Cicely snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating beauty where you see it. I’m telling you, if I thought I had a chance in hell of pulling him away, I would be all OVER that man.”

Lexi felt her heart plummet. “Pull him away? I thought…” She cleared her throat. “I thought he was divorced. I didn’t realize he was with someone.”

Cicely looked at her like she was nuts. “You can not possibly be that obtuse.”

Lexi frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Cicely rolled her eyes. “What am I…? Girl, that man is so far gone for you it’s almost pathetic.”

Lexi’s eyes grew huge. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy? He’s not interested in me like that. He’s just a kind person. He’s a friend.”

Cicely gave her a deadpan stare and Lexi waved at her dismissively. “You’re crazy.” She said again.

Her friend shook her head. “Lexi, seriously. Beau is kind and friendly to me. He’s kind and friendly to his co-workers, to Sarah, to the other women here. But it’s not the same. When he looks at you, his face gets all…gooey.”

Lexi snorted out a laugh. “Gooey? Beau Arlen is not gooey about me.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Sarah poked her head into the room. “Okay, ladies - showtime! Everyone out in the hall to line up.”

Lexi smoothed down her gown and moved towards the door, but Cicely held her back a moment. “Okay, just pay attention tonight, at the Barbeque. If you pay attention, I know you’ll see it. And I say when you see it, baby, jump on it.”

Lexi shook her head and followed Cicely out the door. Her friend was wrong, imagining things. She knew it. Beau didn’t think of her as anything but a friend and someone he was trying to keep safe. 

That was all…right?

***

The women and their children were shuttled over from the high school to Beau’s in a rented school bus, and when they all arrived - the party started.

Beau’s land was very beautiful, Lexi thought. It was situated in a valley with a stunning view of the mountains all around. When they arrived around six o’clock, the mid-March sun was already sinking in the west, being swallowed up by the peaks in the distance. It was a perfect night, though, slightly warmer than usual, with no wind, and a huge bonfire to throw off plenty of heat.

The kids all immediately started a game of tag in the field, and left their moms to chat and mingle with each other, the deputies, and the Haven House staff in attendance. The atmosphere was jovial and celebratory, and despite herself, Lexi began to feel excited and proud. 

Not long after her arrival, she met Beau at the grill. He was laughing and joking with everyone, proclaiming he was king of the grill. As she watched him tease Deputy Poppernak, she shook her head at Cicely. She was crazy, Beau was this way with everyone. 

But then he spotted her standing in the crowd and his face did…change. She didn’t know that she’d call it gooey. But his eyes definitely lit up, and he left his precious grill to come up and give her a hug.

“Lexi, you looked so great up on that stage! Congratulations!”

She hugged him back, closing her eyes and trying to get Cicely’s words out of her head while also trying to ignore the way Beau’s strong arms felt locked around her. She inhaled his cologne and the butterflies were back. He pulled out of the embrace and she smiled at the ground.

“Thanks, it was a really nice ceremony.”

“Congratulations.” Said a voice from behind her and Lexi turned to see a teenage girl walking up to stand beside Beau. “How hot are those polyester robes? I want to dress accordingly when I graduate next year.”

Beau chuckled. “Lexi, this is my daughter, Emily. Em, this is Lexi Weston.”

Lexi shook her head as she took Emily’s outstretched hand. “It’s Howard again, actually.” She looked at Beau. “Marsha is helping me with the paperwork to change back to my maiden name.”

He nodded and smiled softly. “That’s great.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Howard.” Emily said politely.

“No, please, it’s really just Lexi. And it’s so nice to meet you too. You know your dad talks about you all the time.”

“Oh my god, how boring for you.” Emily said with a pained smile and an elbow to her dad’s ribs.

Lexi laughed lightly. “No, I like his Emily stories, he’s helping me prepare.” She explained with a hand on her baby bump. In the last couple of weeks it had become an honest to goodness bump, obvious unless she was wearing something flowy. The t-shirt she and leggings she wore now did nothing to conceal it. 

“Oh, good.” Emily said with a grin. “I love when he tells baby stories about me. It’s not embarrassing at all.”

Lexi laughed, and Emily reached up to kiss her dad’s cheek. “I’m gonna go organize the kids into lines to make s’mores.” She looked back at Lexi. “Congrats again.”

She bounded away and started the kid round-up. Lexi smiled and moved to stand beside Beau and watch. “She’s really great. So smart and capable.” She said as she watched the young girl effortlessly get the kids in line, and enlist the deputies to haul the s'mores making ingredients over to the bonfire.

Beau’s smile was all pride. “Yeah, she’s pretty incredible.”

Their attention was wrenched back to the barbeque as Poppernak called to Beau. “Hey boss, as king of the grill, you might wanna come figure out where all this black smoke is coming from!”

***

A couple of hours later most of the people had gravitated to sit around the big bonfire where it was warmest. There were dozens of chairs set around it, and lots of blankets to share.

Cicely and Lexi were almost in each other’s laps, curled up on a big adirondack chair under a thick wool blanket. They were very toasty, and Lexi was loving the peace and contentment she felt as she just listened to the soft rise and fall of conversations around her, the laughter that would break out occasionally, the sleepy voices of little ones in their moms’ arms, and the sharp crackling of the sweet smelling wood as it burned.

A couple of seats away Beau was leaning towards Cassie and talking animatedly with his hands. She couldn’t make out his exact words, but she liked to watch his expressions; he was so animated she could almost guess at the conversation.

He said something to make Cassie laugh and then he looked up and caught Lexi’s eye. His smile turned soft and he winked at her. “Comfy over there?” He asked a bit louder.

Lexi nodded happily. “Very.”

“Good.” His smile lingered a moment before his attention was snagged by Emily.

Cicely pinched Lexi lightly and cleared her throat. “Goo-ey.” She whispered conspiratorially.

Lexi slapped her friend’s thigh under the blanket. “Stop it.”

Cicely hummed noncommittally. “Whatever.”

When Lexi looked back at Beau he was shaking his head at Emily who was trying to pass him a guitar. Other people around the fire seemed to notice at the same time and they quieted down to listen. 

“No, god.” Beau was saying with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m not gonna subject these lovely people to my singing.”

His deputies all started egging him on too, but he was shaking his head, adamantly refusing to take the guitar from his daughter. Finally she pleaded with him.

“Please, you used to sing all the time.”

“Yeah, to make you go to sleep. Pretty sure you’d just pretend to make me stop.”

Emily pouted at him. “No, I loved listening to you. Come on.” She paused. “You haven’t picked up a guitar since…since before you left Dallas.”

A look shifted over Beau’s face that Lexi couldn’t interpret. He seemed sad, but also wary. He sighed. “Em -” 

“Please!” She interrupted him. 

With an even deeper sigh he finally took the guitar from her. His audience clapped and he shook his head, clearly embarrassed. “Oh god. What am I supposed to sing?” He asked his daughter, slightly desperate sounding. 

“Sing that one you used to sing.”

Beau lifted his hand in exasperation. “What one I used to sing.”

“The ‘love’ one…the…make you feel the love.”

“Make you feel my love?” Cassie clarified and Emily nodded. “Ooh, I love that song!”

Beau was obviously still very reluctant, but he settled the guitar on his lap and strummed a few chords before adjusting the tuning pegs to his liking. Finally he cleared his throat and shook his head as he looked out at the now silent audience staring at him.

“Oh boy.” He said quietly and everyone chuckled. “Sorry.” He said with a shake of his head.

Then he began plucking at the strings and a warm melody surrounded them all. When Beau began singing there was a collective intake of breath, clear surprise on everyone’s faces. His voice was warm and full, melodic and emotive. In short, it was beautiful.

When the rain is blowing in your face And the whole world is on your case I would offer you a warm embrace To make you feel my love

He watched Emily as he sang the words and Lexi knew he meant every word he sang to her. He looked around the circle with a slightly sheepish smile as he strummed out the melody between verses, but his eye caught Lexi’s again as he began the second verse, and it was as though something kept their gazes locked as he sang. Lexi couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear And there is no one to dry your tears I would hold you for a million years To make you feel my love

He strummed his way into the first bridge and then looked down at the ground before looking back at the rest of his audience as he began singing the bridge. Even though he wasn’t staring at her anymore, Lexi could feel every word he sang as though it was only the two of them there and he was singing it right to her.

I know you haven't made your mind up yet But I would never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met There’s no doubt in my mind where you belong

Cause I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue And I'd go crawling down the avenue There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do To make you feel my love

The storms are raging on a rolling sea And down the highway of regret The winds of change are blowing wild and free Oh, but you ain't seen nothing like me yet

The last verse he sang slowly, plucking the strings gently, and there was no doubt that he’d cast a kind of enchantment over the whole group.

Cause there ain’t nothing that I wouldn't do Go to the ends of the Earth for you Make you happy, make your dreams come true To make you feel my love

The last note echoed into the evening air and there was a moment of peaceful quiet before everyone started clapping and talking at once. Several deputies got up to slap Beau on the back, and everyone was shouting disbelief and praise. 

For his part, Beau turned very red, and thrust the guitar back into Emily’s hands before wrapping one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, and kissing the top of her head.

Beside her Cicely sighed deeply and repeated herself to Lexi. “Gooey.” She said, but her tone was definitely saying, “I told you so.”

@lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26 @slut-for-evans-stan

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla @stoneyggirl2

[west-brooke]

Hey everyone!

I know I haven’t been posting or active that much for the past few months, but this is just a quick post to let everyone know I’m alive! I had a few months of artistic burnout and have also been getting into Transformers, which divided my already low energy due to college and midterms and such. But now I’m back, even if it might be a bit slow for a little while!

I’ll be responding to the asks I have in my inbox and getting back into posting, rebloggs, and writing. New Hardware is still being worked on (albeit slowly) and you can expect more updates and projects on it in the future. I still love ROTTMNT and will continue to make content for it!

Thank you to everyone who’s been patient, and I hope to be much more active here in the future!

Cheers,

West Brooke

[idyllic-ghost]

CONGRATS ON 2K!!!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 in celebration i am here to humbly request an angsty blurb for the following: woozi + fantasy au + "i had a dream about you" + "what do you mean you're not supposed to make it out alive?" (or if you are more inspired to write for a different svt member that's fine too i love them all 💜)

a/n: THANK YOU SAVV !! it's so scary that you picked my favorite things, can you read my mind ??? also- i had so much trouble keeping this a blurb, but i tried my best !!

title: one final moment

pairing: king!woozi x elf!reader

warnings: death, gender neutral reader but leaning masc, angst, forbidden love-ish

word count: 1.6k

join in on the celebration!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The water was cool around your legs as you waded through the brook. Although there were rocks that you could walk over instead, you knew it would be reckless - the stones were covered in greenery and had gotten slippery from the water. You stopped right in front of the edge of the other side of the brook. The body of water was the only thing dividing two kingdoms - that of humans and elves. Looking back to your side of the stream, you could tell elves were watching over you between the trees.

Turning back to where you were going, you finally took the step across kingdom lines. As if on cue, out of the trees arrived the king on his white horse. You smiled and straightened out your clothes - a traditional royal robe from your elven kingdom.

"Hello, your majesty," you greeted.

Lee Jihoon got off his horse and approached you with haste, wrapping his arms around you as soon as he had gotten close enough. You stumbled back with a soft laugh but stood steady on your feet. His comforting scent filled your nose, and your hands tangled themselves in his long, black hair. Closing your eyes, you let relaxation take over you. You were glad that the guards you had brought with you knew when to keep quiet.

"I've missed you," Jihoon murmured in the crook of your neck, "So much."

You didn't respond, but he knew you felt the same way from the way you placed a kiss on his temple. The king was notoriously a lonesome wolf, at least to his people. He never married or got an heir - he never followed the steps that had been laid out for him. It didn't seem to matter, the people loved him anyway. He was a righteous king.

"I had a dream about you," you whispered, "And you must listen closely."

Everyone in your kingdom, every last elf, had some sort of power. Whether that'd be an elemental power or darker magic, everyone was born with something. You had foretelling dreams and used them frequently - you didn't get all of the contexts, and you couldn't decide what your vision would be about. However, whenever you did get a dream, you acted on it.

"I know that you have called a meeting of the kingdoms. I need you to send an invitation to my kingdom as well- I know that our countries don't-"

"Consider it done, my love." Jihoon let go of you to look at you properly.

His hand cupped your cheek and, by the way he was looking at you, it felt impossible to look away from his eyes. You hadn't gotten to finish your sentence, but now all of your words were lost. Tears flooded in your eyes at the thought of the foreboding nightmare, and you hid your face in his chest to run away from the images you had seen.

"I wonder if you'd be so sure if you knew what would happen," you sniffled.

"Then tell me."

"You know I can't." You looked back up at him. "But it has to happen, and I must be there for you."

"Fine," he sighed, "I trust you."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Seeing the inside of Jihoon's castle for the first time was not what you had expected. The decor did not match the man at all, and it left you feeling on edge - although it was unsure if that was because you knew what was to come.

You walked with your head high, knowing that everyone was staring. If you just closed your eyes, you could dream yourself back to the forest. In your heart, you knew that you didn't have to do this - but you couldn't even force yourself to leave. This had to be done, or you could never forgive yourself.

Jihoon greeted each royal attending himself, looking everyone in the eye and welcoming them with a warm yet stern smile. You were the last to join him in the hall. He grabbed your hand, his warm skin sending shivers down your spine when it touched yours. When he looked into your eyes, you never wanted to look away.

"Thank you for coming." Was all he said.

"Thank you for having me." Was all you answered.

You didn't have to say more. When you saw how he looked at you, you already knew all that he wanted to do. Squeezing his hand, you finally let go and went to your seat. Everything was as it should be, as you remembered from your dream.

The night went on, you talked and ate and laughed. All in a very superficial, polite way. Even if you wanted to, you were too nervous to act normally and enjoy yourself. On top of that, you found yourself avoiding Jihoon - but when you saw him sneak out of the room, while the rest were busy with poorly handling their ale, you followed him - which he quickly noticed.

He had hidden away in the garden. While there was only a door separating you from the others, an open door at that, it felt as if you could live in your bubble for a moment. You sat down on the bench beside him. In your dream he had been sitting alone, so you knew to keep him company now.

"You look striking tonight, your highness," he said and grasped your hand in his.

"You look quite handsome as well, your majesty." You smiled knowingly at him.

Jihoon intertwined his fingers with yours, seemingly building up the courage to say something. You looked around you, before bringing his hand to your lips and kissing the back of it. A small act of affection that left the king's ears burning red.

"I'm glad I invited you tonight," he said, "You haven't been bothered by anyone here yet, have you?"

"Not just yet." You shook your head.

He looked at you as if he wanted to say something more, to question your somber expression or the way you kept squeezing his hand harder and harder. However, he never did.

"This is for the better," you hummed, "You'll understand later on, but... if anyone's supposed to make it out of here alive, it's not me."

"What do you mean you're not supposed to make it out of here alive?" he was quick to ask.

"Just a moment, my love," you whispered, for if you spoke any louder you feared it would come out as a sob, "Just let me have a moment with you where we're not of any importance to anyone but ourselves."

Jihoon watched you with horror as you leaned your body against his. Nevertheless, he put his emotions to the side for you - putting his hand on your back and bringing you in even closer. You felt his tears fall on your shoulder - even he knew that there was nothing he could do, not when you had put your stubborn mind to it and especially not when it was fate.

"Why would you do this for me?" he mumbled.

"You're the king, I'm nothing but an ambassador on the royal court," you chuckled and looked at him again with teary eyes, "At least, that's the simple answer. Words cannot describe my feelings for you, your majesty, they would not do you justice."

He cupped your face in the palms of his hands and wiped away tears that you never realized you had wept. If anyone were to be with you the moment that your life on Earth ended, it would be him - you were happy it was you and the king.

"I love you, you stupid bastard." Jihoon laughed through his tears. "Why do you use fate against me in this way?"

"Don't loathe fate, my love," you murmured, "It's what brought us together."

The clocks rang from the bell tower on the other side of the castle - and you leaned in to give him one last kiss. After pulling away, you reached around your neck and took off your necklace. A pendant with the stone you were given after your birth - a protective gem. As you reached over him and tied the necklace around his neck, you felt something sharp shoot into your back. Your body had shielded his at just the right moment. The poison arrow had settled just below your chest, and you were already losing a lot of blood - it covered Jihoon's hands as he desperately tried to do something to help.

"Don't call upon anyone," you whispered in a strained voice as you watched Jihoon panic and try to get help, "Stay with me instead. Just for a moment, right?"

Jihoon settled down beside you again, handling your fading body with a gentle touch. Now it was your turn to cup his cheek in your hand.

"Listen to me, Jihoon. Take in each one of my words." You wiped away his tears. "Find someone to marry, and make sure to get an heir. I don't care if you love her but love that child. Make them half of the ruler that you are and I'm sure that we'll all be fine. I'll watch over you... I am the dew in the grass on a Spring morning, I am the rumble of thunder during Summer showers, I am the red leaves of Autumn, and I am the snow that falls in Winter. I'll watch over you for every season that passes- and when you have reached your last, after a good life, you'll see me again, my love."

He couldn't get another word in, as he had bit down on his tongue to not let out any sobs or cries for help. You smiled at him and thought that there was no other fate you wanted than to die being held by your lover.

[alexa-fika]

Ohh if you going to write Platonic reader

how about a male reader who's part of the straw hats and his devil fruit power is that he can talk and use dead people to fight (like Klaus from The Umbrella Academy)

he has a best friend who died but he talks to him all the time so he's never alone (like Klaus and Ben from The Umbrella Academy)

Gone but still there (Strawhats x male!reader)

A/N: I had to change it a little bit since im bot comfortable with the whole controlling dead people to fight nor I think the strawhats would be too happy about that but I made this instead, hopefully it is somewhat appealing to what you envisioned! It is not very good, I would say this one is a flop :(

Dividers by @/saradika

“Okay, are we ready?” Reader exclaims, staring at his crewmates around him. Robin and Nami sat at a table nearby, with Sanji bringing them both snacks and compliments. Zoro sat down in his favorite corner, eyes closed, with Chopper standing close to him; Luffy sat at the head of the Sunny as usual, with Franky and Ussop sitting together, tinkering with some gadgets they had. Jinbe sat at the boat's wheel, keeping watch of the course ahead, Brook standing nearby with his violin.

He looked up at the reader, smiling and waving his bony hand in excitement

“Yes! Im excited to hear what Doctor Hiriluk has to say this time.”

“Yohohoho, and im excited to hear what new songs my old crew-mates have learned since the last time we spoke.”

He smiles

“I promise I’ll go around with everyone!”

He sweatdrops staring at the small girl next to him

“Umm Zoro, I think Kuina really wants to say some things to you…”

His eyes open, and he walks over

"What did you want, Kuina?" he said with a bit of annoyance

He laughs nervously

“she said your form was off in your last fight, that only an idiot would make such a mistake.”

He sighed and shook his head a bit

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he said sarcastically and started moving back to his corner

He sighs

“This is going to be a long one…Ah, Nami, Bellemere says you shouldn’t be hitting your crewmates.”

She gives a small sigh

"Well, when they don't listen, it's what happens. Thanks for the message." She said while fixing her bangs gently as she took a bite from her apple

"Robin You're mom says you should look up the Old Signs? Uh she says that the second part gives some interesting views on cryptography?"

"Hmm I will look into it, thank you for the suggestion"

“What about my Mom?” Ussop questions, glancing at Reader

“She says you should be more careful with your experiments; she hates to see you get hurt when one of them goes wrong.”

He chuckles softly at that

“I’m not a little kid anymore, though…”He said before he fell quiet and went about working with his tools

He cackles at what the crew can only guess is something one of the ghosts has said

“Ussop~ Your mom says you will always be her little baby.”

“That’s what she said?!” His hand froze on the tool in front of him as the other slowly wiped away his sweat, his eyes wide in shock and even some embarrassment at his mother’s words

He can’t help but laugh even harder at Ussop's embarrassment; he glances to the side as his laughs die down, now just chuckles escaping him as he smiles gently at his crew and all the one-sided conversations they were having with their loved ones, every once in a while he would step in to deliver a message to them. Still, even if it was one-sided, none of them cared, happily chatting with their loved ones, knowing they were there, listening to them.

Okay I was honestly debating if to put this one on a timer and then delete it but I think I smoothed it out at the end, but still debating that one.

[to2llynottoby]

rules: shuffle your likes or your favorite playlist and post the first ten tracks (and say a little something about them if you want!)

Doing my likes cause I want to see what insane tonal whiplash I get from all the music I listen to

Ezekiel Saw De Wheel - Louis Armstrong: One of my favorite spirituals and this is such a great version of it.

Move Along - All American Rejects: BANGERS ONLY BIONICLE COMMERCIAL CLASSIC

Across The Great Divide - Nanci Griffith: Thank you female folk vocalists I owe you my life. Top ten songs to wistfully reflect to

All My Friends Are Nobodies - Zebrahead: Goes hard. Zebrahead rules and not just because I like their version of His World. This song was on Tony Hawk 1+2 Remastered and that game owns.

Pico - Friday Night Funkin: Shoutouts to this sick soundtrack. I love fake vocals. Ba Bee Bo

Forever and Ever - Pooh's Grand Adventure: I wanna call your name forever. And you will always answer, "forever" :'). brb sobbing

All Out Of Love - Air Supply: I don't care if it's corny I love Air Supply. This song, Even The Nights Are Better, Making Love Out Of Nothing At All, just the BEST love songs to clench your fist and belt out (even if it's a little high)

Have A Short Rest - Persona 5: Sue me, this soundtrack is kickass

White Collar Holler - Stan Rogers: Fantastic song and also hilarious. Who would've thought to make a completely played straight worker song about a bored to death office worker.

That Summer - Garth Brooks: HE'S JUST LIKE ME FR

This was super fun, I love doing stuff like this and just taking an inventory of all my different music. Thanks for prompting me to do this ixaca!

I'm tagging @narwhaled-wheatfield @tactfulsaboteur @prehistwhoreic @vi-sigoth @foxmulderswaifu5ever @khanuckle @a-certain-nigerian-toyota and anyone else who wants to!

[andydrysdalerogers]

The ABCs of Nick Vaughn ~ "R"

Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)

Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn

Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...

The new upload will probably be Sundays and Thursdays. Have fun kittens! Also, the tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: Q - Quicky

ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist

R - Romance

Work had been difficult the last few weeks.  That big case involving Levinson had finally gone to the arbitration phase and it looked like it would go in your favor. Nick knew you had been stressed, working long hours and basically wanted a break from everything.  

A package arrived at your office on Friday. “A delivery, Ms. YLN,” your assistant said.  

“Who’s it from?” 

She read the label. “From NV. Not sure who that is.”  

You smiled softly.  NV, Nick Vaughn “Thank you Alissa.  You can go for the day.”  

“Thank you, Ms. YLN.”  She put the box on your desk and left.  

You went too open the box. On top was a note from Nick.  

My darling YN, I’m so proud of all the work you done.  You deserve a night out. I hope these fit. I love you, Nicky.  

You pulled the tissue away to see an amazing green lace dress. “Oh Nicky,” you whispered as you pulled it out. Next to them were some matching green heels. And another note.  

Dinner is at 7.  

You squealed a little and looked at your watch. It was 530 so plenty of time. You grabbed your makeup bag and headed to the bathroom.  After touching up, you put on the dress and heels. As you grabbed your purse, a call came in from security. “Yes?” 

There is a car here for you ma’am.  

  “Ok thank you.”  Really Nick, a car service. You shook your head, but the smile never left.  You made it to the lobby and the doorman held the door for you as you climbed in.  And waiting for you was champagne and two dozen roses.  What the hell? You smelled the roses, smiling at the subtle scent and took the glass of champagne that was poured for you. 

As you made your way to wherever Nick had planned, you reflected on your time with him.  He had been on edge since that time with the train girl, Brooke, when you had met him.  He had been playing at a club where you had sat down, waiting for a blind date.  A date that never showed.  He saw you sitting, looking more and more deflated as time went by.  When the group had a break, he headed over and asked if you were ok.  He had been sweet, just a guy noticing a girl.  

He asked you to stay that night until he was done so he could walk you home. And before you knew it, it was morning.  You had breakfast together, the conversation flowing.  He walked you home and gave you a kiss on the cheek.  

You had texted and talked for another six weeks before your next official date. That had been three years ago, and you were thankful for being stood up because otherwise, you wouldn’t have Nick.  

Arriving at your destination, you looked up to see that you were your favorite restaurant in New York. What was he up to? You made your way to the hostess. “Uh... Table for Vaughn?” 

“Yes ma’am, right this way.”  She led you down to the back of the restaurant to a private dining room.  That was filled with candles and flowers.  And Nick, in a suit, is waiting for you.  

“Nicky,” you gasped, looking around. That romantic bastard had pulled off the most romantic surprise.  

“Hey beautiful.” He came over to place a sweet kiss.  He ran his hands over your arms, causing goosebumps, the sensation of warmth spreading. “I wanted to celebrate how amazing you are.”  

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” waving your arm about.  

“I wanted to, love.” He pulled out a chair and got you seated. A waiter came in and poured you each a glass of champagne. As you toast, you notice something about Nick demeanor.  

“Nick, what’s going on? You seem... anxious, or excited.”  

“A little of both. I Have an idea.” His eyes turn mischievous. He pulled out a gift-wrapped box.  

He slid the box to you. You opened it and saw a pair of panties.  

Nick grinned as he held up a remote. 

“Do you want to play a game?” 

Continued in “S” 

Taglist:

@patzammit @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @atoosa22 @tinkerbelle67

[nullusreimorio]

Brooke Rose's adventure

Pairing: Eli Clark/Luca Balsa Rating: General Audience Word count: 1212 words Enjoy ^^

______________________________________________________________

Despite being a mystic creature, the Seer’s owl often displayed a behavior fitting for a curious cat. It wasn’t uncommon for her and Apostle to chase each other, whenever the two factions came together. And just like a curious cat, she would often wander the manor, flying and exploring every possible corner, sometimes giving lifts to Kurt Frank whenever he was in his tiny form.

One day, Brooke found herself tangled in cables, shrieking in hopes to be heard from her companion. It was a dark room full of machinery and blueprints, like a study or laboratory of sort, divided in three different corners where different kind of pieces and metallic shapes took place.

Despite her best efforts, it seemed like her connection with the Seer was not going to work with how dark the study was. But she didn’t give up, trying her best to free herself, and failing miserably, her shrieks turning into soft coos. Did she learn something on today’s adventure? Yes. It’s better to pull Eli’s hair and force him to go with her than be alone and imprisoned in this cold, cruel world-

The sudden light coming from the newly opened door was enough to interrupt her soliloquy, a startled hoot surprising the newcomer. “What the- How did you get in here??”

Gloved hands skillfully freed the cooing bird. Brooke soon flew to rest on top of the fluffy brown hair of her savior, her hero. Yet said hero only made a confused noise, putting the cables into the correct order and checking that everything was alright in his shared studio. It would have been a disaster if Tracy or Charles’ experiments and plans were to be damaged because of that stupid bird.

It was only when Brooke started tugging at his hair that Luca took her off of his head, holding her in his hands and looking at her curiously.

“Stupid, stupid bird. You shouldn’t wander around like this. I saw Eli having to rely on other people to walk correctly since you weren’t by his side. C’mon, I’ll bring you to him.” The only answer Brooke gave him was a soft coo, getting comfortable in his hands as Luca came out of the study. His footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, lulling the owl into a dozing state, interrupted only by the occasional twitch in the inventor’s left hand. She couldn’t get a single moment of shut-in even when his hand relaxed a couple minutes later, as when they turned the corner, they collided against another person, Brooke saving herself thanks to being… well, an owl. Luca wasn’t as lucky though, almost falling on his arse.

“I’m sorry- Oh, Brooke! There you are! Are you ok? Why was it suddendly dark?” At the sight of her companion, the owl immediately nestled in his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek and cooing in reply to his worries. The Seer petted the soft feathers of his owl, but soon stopped and regarded instead Luca, who was looking at them. He seemed nervous, somehow. His usual smirk wasn’t in place.

“I’m very sorry for the inconvenience Brooke caused, mr. Balsa.” “Oh please, I found her by chance- Uhm, call me Luca please. We are all on the same b in this manor, after all.” Eli only smiled. It was difficult to understand if it was a mocking or genuine smile, as his eyes were covered as usual. “Thank you for finding Brooke, Luca. I’m indebted to you.” “That’s… no need for that, Eli.”

The Prisoner looked more and more nervous, playing with his fingers and looking at the owl rather than the Seer. He was fascinated by him and how his powers worked. Since he saw his old mentor alive again and with some powers again, he was more curious about mysticism now. Never would he ever thought that his interest would be matched with a inquisiviness in magic.

“I insist. You know Brooke is much more important to me than a normal pet, so it’s only fair I repay you being her hero” Ok that was 100% mockery. Or was it? His deep chuckles were far from it. He was jesting.

“It’s what Brooke thinks of you. You are her hero, after all, saving her from a dark room full of possibly dangerous objects for her”

Oh. It was genuine. Alright cool, cool. How do you talk to pretty boys again-

“Th-Then.. if it’s not too much, can I ask you-”

Luca couldn’t even finish his sentence. It felt like Eli already knew what he was going to ask, and his lips drew in a tight line. The inventor interrupted himself, the silence between them uncomfortable before Brooke cooed at Luca, detaching herself to nestle on his head once more.

“… Can I ask you how come your owl is on such bad terms with the cat?” The Seer’s mouth opened a bit in shock before releasing his laughter, clearly took by surprise at such a question. Who the hell knew why those two mystic animals had such a poor relationship? “I believe it’s because they are from two different faiths. The same way, Fiona’s key and Patricia’s skull also react negatively oftentimes. But since it we have to live in the same space, I think they’ll get along soon. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” Luca couldn’t suppress the leap his heart did, hearing how loving and soft the Seer’s voice became when addressing Brooke Rose. He wanted to hear more of it, and if the bird loved him for saving her, that was good enough of an excuse.

“Uhm- Eli, do you like tea?”

Do you like tea???? That was it, he was doomed. That was such a lame question- who doesn’t like tea? God above he was feeling more pathetic than ever. Yet Eli looked so at ease, his gentle smile still in place.

“I prefer herbal infusions over tea, but I will still drink it nonetheless. I’d love it if you would have tea with me, Luca. And maybe a slice of acorn cake? It’s my favourite dessert.” Oh dear he got closer. Oh God he’s actually closer. He can see a tuft of his hair- a different brown than his- peek out of his hoodie. “I… uhm, yeah, I’d.. like to try it.” At that, Brooke hooted happily, ruffling her own feathers in excitement and flapping her wings briefly, preparing to fly back to her companion once more. The mood between him and her savior was satisfactory. She will be flying back to his studio more often, especially since his hair was soft enough to take a nap on.

“I look forward to it. Thank you again for finding Brooke, Luca. Oh, and..”

As he talked, his hands went to the prisoner’s head, fixing the strands that were messed up by the owl’s antics. If he noticed Luca’s eye widen, or how his breath hitched, he said nothing of it, instead gently running his fingers through the interested strands.

“… there you go. I hope you have a nice day, Luca. And good luck with any match you might have.”

“Ah- y-yes, you too, thank you-”

Did Brooke learn a new lesson today? Indeed, she learned that exploring the Manor made her life more interesting.