#the sketch had a stray mark and I got talked into keeping it in the final

[xxthefairywitchxx]

AU stuff...Forcing Purson Soi to participate in the special tutors and Harvest Festival arks...Ignore the mistakes, lines and colors alone took 7 hours and the designs prolly took another 2-4 before that

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 4

afab!mc x asmo description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Asmo knows you need a break.

warnings: breeding kink with talk scents/scenting, afab reader with she/her pronouns. dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. spoilers: aphrodisiac used.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) ||

Asmo:

Asmo: I heard what happened. 

Asmo: If you need a little something for those love bites, come see me. It's incredible what Devildom cosmetics can do. 

Asmo:

You puffed a little laugh watching the messages roll in. Leave it to Asmo to be so sweet under such ridiculous circumstances. 

Turning your phone face down on the pillow beside you, you folded your hands over your chest, staring up at the ceiling and taking inventory of the situation at hand. In the motion, your hands briefly brushed against a stray bite mark, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain throughout your body.

You had, by your estimation, about three more days under the microscope. The halfway point had snuck up on you amidst a flurry of seemingly nonstop activity. Until now, you hadn't had a chance to breathe, let alone strategize. 

Responding to those messages meant walking straight into a trap, of that much you could be certain. Truthfully, his distance thus far had surprised you. Asmo was something of a dark horse; an unpredictability bubbled just under his surface. Surrounded by his sin, comfortable and in his element, there was no way of knowing how his behavior would manifest. 

Well, there was one way. 

___

“Aww, muffin! You came!” Asmo cheered, swinging the door open before you could even knock. He flung his arms around your neck and pulled you into a tight hug. 

He paused to take a good look at you, lightly chiding: “You're a mess, you poor thing! Come on, let's get you fixed up.”

Linking his arm in yours, Asmo led you inside where he left you waiting at the edge of his bed while he broke away to dig through a readily prepared stash of bottles and assorted sundries.

“Brutes, all of them,” He clucked his tongue, “You’ll have to tell me all about it, obviously.”

You laughed, settling back amongst the pillows, “They’re not so bad. They’re trying.”

“Please. You coddle them,” The demon teased, rolling his eyes at you, “Meanwhile, you look like a chew toy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No need to worry, Asmo-chan is here!” He sing-songed, joining you on the bed with an armful of products, “And I’ve got just the thing- I brought my most powerful arsenal.”

This seemed… normal? Too normal, you thought. Asmo chattered on happily, laying out his choices one-by-one and explaining the benefits of each. All else aside, it felt like any other spa day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised that The Avatar of Lust remained unfazed in the face of something that may very well be considered a mundane part of his domain. After all, Asmo had been the one to keep a cool head back when…

“Sounds good?” He chirped, holding up a jar in the shape of a deep purple crystal, eyes glittering with excitement.

“S-sure!” You nodded, hoping your eagerness covered up the fact you had entirely zoned out during his presentation.

“Yay~” He unscrewed the lid, “Then we can start with ones on your neck.”

You tried to relax, craning your head to one side. Asmo gathered some of the lightly-scented balm between his fingers and you sighed when he softly traced the sensitive marks.

“This stuff works quickly,” He assured you, extending the motion down to your collarbone, “I didn’t think Beel would be so bitey. On second thought, I guess it does make sense…”

With a practiced familiarity, you reached to pull your shirt overhead, “I think he got me on my back, too.”

“Ooh, lemme see!”

You rolled onto your stomach and buried your face into one of about a thousand silk pillows. Asmo gasped. Chuckling to himself, he wasted no time getting to work on your shoulders, and although you jumped at his touch at first, you soon found yourself sinking into its warmth.

You were feeling pretty warm. 

“They're fading already,” Asmo said, sounding impressed with himself. He positioned himself over you, straddling your hips for purchase, ministrations straying closer to a massage than a cosmetic treatment. 

“Is that why I'm so warm?” You asked, groaning in appreciation as he helpfully teased out a knot between your shoulder blades. 

“That's probably the magdalena extract,” He giggled, breath tickling  the shell of your ear, “Like I said, this stuff works fast.”

You rolled the name over in your mind, trying to remember where you had heard it before. A fog was encroaching on your thoughts, swaddling your head in a thick haze reminiscent of being wine-drunk. 

“Do you like it?” The fifth-born's voice stayed soft and playful as his hands glided down the small of your back. You set your remaining thoughts aside and sighed again, feeling yourself become putty in his hands. 

“Good,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck and nipping gently at your ear, “Then, do you want to turn over so I can get the rest of you?”

You hummed in agreement, turning underneath him when he rose up on his knees enough for you to move. Once situated on your back, Asmo lowered down to sit on you, again; his lithe frame light enough to not cause any discomfort, but heavy enough to keep you in place. You studied him through lowered lashes– he truly was beautiful.

“Ah, there you are,” He said as if seeing you for the first time. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, tangerine gaze raking over your flushed body.

Magdalena extract. 

The name continued to echo somewhere in the back of your mind. 

Asmo collected a generous amount of the salve, warming it between his hands before tenderly cupping your abused chest. His tongue poked out cutely between his lips in concentration, perfectly manicured fingers trailing feather-light over fading teeth imprints and rapidly stiffening nipple peaks. 

It's an aphrodisiac. An alarm bell sounded somewhere in the distance. You were too far away to pay it any attention. 

“I swear, these boys have no idea how it's done,” He murmured, more to himself than to you, and leaned in to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He lapped around the sensitive bud, sending you reeling. Your eyes rolled back as your body exploded in sensation, arching off the mattress. 

What the fuck was that? You wouldn't have time to think too hard about it. 

“Shh,” He lovingly shushed you, stuffing two fingers in your mouth, “You don't want to get us caught, do you~?”

You whimpered around the digits’ probing–  even their intrusion was starting to feel good. Asmo turned his attention back to your body. He trailed his free hand down your side, tracing the hem of your waistband. 

“Can I?” He looked up at you with a hopeful smile. You nodded, eager to shed the remaining clothes covering your feverish skin. Asmo removed his fingers from your mouth to help shimmy you out of your bottoms. 

“You know,” The demon said, parting your legs to sit between them, “Your scent has been driving me crazy for almost a week now.” He pouted, “It's pretty rude.”

Goosebumps cropped up along your thighs, following the path of his hands applying more healing balm. You lifted your hips for him, allowing space for him to slip his hands under your ass.

“Besides, everyone's been paying attention to you,” Asmo huffed, kissing each of your hip bones. Your eyes watered. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“ -‘m sorry,” You managed to whine, rolling your hips against your will. You ached for more. 

He giggled again, placing a few more kisses along your stomach, “Aww, that's okay. We'll have plenty of time for you to give me attention. Lucifer thinks I left the house hours ago.”

The words hardly registered. Asmo offered you two of his fingers again, which you readily accepted into your mouth. You twisted your tongue around them and sucked, and he looked at you like you hung the stars. 

He was right. There was plenty of time 

to be spent lavishing one another with affection– and what more perfect place to start, he thought, than playing with your adorable puffy clit until you cried that you loved him. 

You had all night, after all. 

[tuttifuckinfruttifriday]

All slashers with a S/O who counts on their fingers:

For @iloveslasher ;) since asked! idk when I’ll open my requests (inbox)

Warnings: teasing, some cuteness, lots of confusion, referring to Pennywise as “they”, ooc Doom Head

I’ll probably forget some since I’ve got lots on my list :,)

It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written!

I’m SO, SO sorry it took me so long D:

Sorry if I made some mistakes or missed some things!

Michael Myers

He probably doesn’t even see it at first, not until he sees you at the table with a sheet full of your month expenses and your fingers moving up and down while you look down at the scribbled numbers.

If he cares, he sure doesn’t show it. He’ll just look at you from the doorway and maybe tilt his head before walking away. If you do that again though, he’ll stare at you and wait until you notice him before he walks over and finally understands that you’re just counting, which makes him almost facepalm.

I don’t think he ever did it, and he never will.

Jason Voorheese

The first time he’ll see you counting will probably make him smile as you’re looking at the ceiling, your lips moving a little as you put your fingers up then back down.

He did that when he was a kid and still does it sometimes, but only rarely though! So he understands how it can help you and will only smile whenever he sees you doing that. He finds it so cute coming from you! He’s happy he isn’t the only one who did and does that.

He’ll be less self conscious to do that because you do it.

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

He’ll laugh when he sees you focused on something and moving your fingers, a shit-eating grin on his face. “What tf are you doing?”

If he startles you he’ll laugh even more as you try to explain it helps you counting. He’ll then tease you about it, seeming like a big meany, when he‘s just really curious ,even if he would never dare admit it.

When you see him at the kitchen table trying to count while moving his fingers, don’t tell him you saw. He’s got too much pride to be caught doing something so “stupid” like he told you when he saw you at first.

Tiffany Valentine

You’ll probably laugh at how big her smile will become when she sees you. She’ll probably squeal like a fangirl too.

What can she say? It’s so cute! So whenever she sees you, she’ll hug you from behind and if she sees that you lost your count, she’ll feel guilty and help you count back, trying the trick with her fingers.

If we’re talking about your concentrated face as you do that, oh boyy.. She will stare at you with a smile on her face, but will look away when you’re about to catch her. She’ll try it behind your back one time, but won’t really do it after.

Brahms Heelshire

He’s really happy when he sees you doing it. You count on your fingers?! He does that too!

He’ll help you if you need some help and will compliment you and tell you about how you’re twinsies for doing that.

Everything you do is cute (y/n)... So be prepared for him to be amazed by your cuteness, even if like I said multiples times earlier, he does that too.

He’s pretty childish though, so he might tease you when he’s feeling like it. Don’t hesitate to tell him if he offends you or if he’s being a brat, he’ll immediately stop.

If you’re too concentrated, he WILL try to make you pay more attention to him.

Freddy Krueger

Wanna talk about teasing? He’s going to tease the HELL out of you when he sees you. He’ll act confused, even a little disgusted as he call out your childish behaviour, but it’s all obviously a big joke to him.

If you’re offended, he’ll just laugh in your face and roll his eyes, smirking if you frown or become mad at him.

He’ll be so smug as he looks at you deep in thoughts, your fingers moving as you try to keep count of whatever you’re counting, before he scares the bejesus outta you.

He’ll probably try it once and like it, which will result in him doing it without you noticing.

Thomas Hewitt

If he comes up and sees you sitting at the table, your fingers moving up and down as you’re trying to count whatever you’re counting, he’ll be curious.

He knows you’re counting, he just didn’t thought you would do it like that! When he was younger, he used to do that to help himself too.

He’ll probably sit and watch you for some time, a small smile on his face. If he distracts you, he’ll feel so sorry! He’ll fidget and probably get up to get back down, but if you stop him he’ll stay reluctantly.

Bubba Sawyer

What?? What are you doing??

He’s clueless at first and only watches, his eyes following the movement of your fingers before they stray to your concentrated face as he tries to be quiet.

Lots of happy noises and cute babbles when you tell him it’s to help you count. He never really had to count, but he did it sometimes too! He definitely will always do that now<3

If his brothers make fun of it, he won’t hesitate to let them know his mind with the threat of a hammer.

Nubbins Sawyer (since I count him as a slasher)

When he sees you, he’ll tilt his head and come closer, sitting beside you and trying to keep silent to not make you loose your counting.

He can take the guess that you’re counting, he probably knows it, but he finds it cute that you do it with your fingers.

He’ll probably goofs about it, doing the same as you do whenever he needs to count, even if it’s to count to three.

Prepare yourself for some camera flashes! He will shamelessly try to capture you in pictures and put them on his wall, and he’ll talk about it like it’s normal if you ask him hehe

Chop Top Sawyer

He’s like his twin, but even more goofier.

But he’s a nuisance too.

When he sees you counting, he won’t even think about it and make you loose your count, then he will apologies and try to hug you even if you don’t want to. He feels bad!

Definitely trying, though. More to make you laugh and joke than to really count <3

ChromeSkull/Jesse Cromeans

It couldn’t be funnier to see his massive frame stop in the doorway, his eyes fixated on your smaller form as you’re trying to count something. He’ll only stare at you, like Michael, but will probably go see what you’re doing.

Whenever you do that, he’s going to tease you to hell and back, but it’s only because he finds you really cute!

His smoll S/O is counting on their fingers! Aww!

It’s only playfully though, he doesn’t (kinda does) wants to be mean or anything.

He doesn’t do that, but doesn’t have anything against it so he’ll try.

The Collector/Asa Emory

Oh... Okay?

He’s probably the one that acts the most normal about it at first. Like, you do you.

He sure will find it childish and a little bit funny, but he won’t say anything about it.

After that, there’s two ways it can go, one: he can go in with his day and just forget about it or two: he can just stare and silently wonder how cute it is you’re doing that.

He doesn’t do it, but he might try ONE time, feeling like it’s kind of ridiculous.

Pin Head

He won’t see you and won’t say anything about it— Or maybe he will, you never know what this guy will say or sees.

He’ll probably lift one of his non existent brows and will go away, leaving you to count. If you see him, he’ll maybe say something or like I said just go away without a word.

He doesn’t have time for this, so he probably won’t try.

Doom Head

As soon as his eyes land on you, a grin will escape him.

He’ll definitely distract you, chuckling if you become mad. But he’ll tickle you to make you forget about it! Even if you’re not ticklish.

He might cuddle for some time with you if you’re mad enough, reluctantly as he would seem grumpy.

He won’t try, but he’s got nothing against watching you.

Carry White(NEW!)

She’ll be the normal one probably, smiling if she sees you at first.

She’ll let you do it, and might even try it if you feel insecure about that^^

Scratch that, she WILL do it.

She’s SO nice about it too🥺!

CandyMan

A deep chuckle will escape him when he sees you sitting, your fingers moving as you look deep in thoughts. He might even try to capture this moment with a little sketch!

He’ll look at you lovingly as you pout your lips as they move, your brows furrowing as you finish counting.

If you’re not finished and you see him, he’ll only shake his head and murmur a “don’t mind me” with one of his charming smiles.

He’ll try counting on his fingers if it makes you happy!

The Creeper

What...??

Super confused at first, until he hears you mumbling some numbers.

After that, he finds it really cute like most of the slashers <3 he’ll definitely tease you about it with some purrs in between, just to make you loose what you were counting and pay attention to him. He might feel a little left out if you take too long.

You want some help? He’ll just pop up randomly and start counting with you, a little smirk as he counts on his fingers too.

Jig Saw/John Kramer

He’ll chuckle at first, seeing you so concentrated with your back to him.

He’ll watch you for some time, but he’ll sit beside you and probably will help you if you need some help.

He’s got nothing against trying, if it makes you happy<3

Amanda Young

She’ll just smile when sees you, walking back towards what she’s doing if she’s doing anything. If not, she’ll just watch you and wait for you to finish.

She’ll make some comments here and then, but she isn’t mean about it.

Probably tries!

Mark Hoffman

Okay, first thing... why can’t you use the calculator before you?

Well, he’ll smile tho when he sees you so concentrated bit won’t bother you. He’ll make some small comments that you probably won’t put together, but he won’t say much about it.

He won’t try, maybe just one tiny time.

Poly!Ghostface/Billy&Stu

Billy will be more chill about it, but Stu will try not to giggle to loud as he stops him in the doorway, his hands on his face.

It’s cute! It reminds him too much of a kid<3 you’re precious

The two of them will laugh/chuckle when they see you’ve caught them, but they won’t look away and Stu will even ask if you need some help!

They will both try, but Billy prefers sticking to paper.

Norman Bates

He’ll be kind of confused for 1 second, just to realize when he hears your small mutters.

“O-Oh! You’re counting? Let me help you!-“

Even if you tell him you don’t need help, he’ll insist and you two will probably be counting on your fingers, even if he prefers paper. His mother might say it’s too childish, but he won’t even care.

He’ll try it, but only when he’s with you.

Otis Driftwood

He’ll be hella confused, maybe chuckle a bit.

“You back in kindergarten or something?”

If you’re downstairs and Baby is near, she’ll smack the back of his head and send him a little glare.

Immediately feels bad if he sees you slouching! He’ll give you a head pat or a hug, trying to not seem too lovey-dovey.

When you’re alone together, he’ll probably tell you he didn’t mean it in a bad way.

He won’t really try it, except if you really want him to,

Captain Spaulding

Of course he’ll probably laugh at first when he sees you.

“What the hell are you doing?”

If he scares you, he’ll feel a little bad and ask the same thing, a small smile on his face.

When you tell him, he’ll laugh like it a joke, but stops once he sees you aren’t laughing.

Why... Why are you counting like that?? How can that help you??

He’s confused, but he’ll still smile and joke a lot about it if he sees he made you sad or feel insecure.

He’ll definitely try!

Vincent Sinclair

He acts pretty normal about it, if as-soon as-he-sees-you-he-tries-to-capture-the-moment counts as normal. But if somewhere throughout your relationship you’ve made comments about him not taking moments out of sketches, he’ll just stare in awe.

He sure does find it kind of funny tho!

He’ll look at you and smile softly behind his mask, blushing madly and turning away if he sees you’ve caught him.

He’s the first to try it, but he’ll do shyly<3

Bo Sinclair

When he sees you, he’ll do some jokes about it and tease you, because we all know that he’s the Queen of teasing (😂)

But seriously tho, it’s just because he finds you really cute. Like, who does that anymore?? He did that when he was a kid!

He’ll tell you it’s childish and all, but you might catch him trying to count on his fingers at the end of the day

Jack Torrance

That’s cute! He’ll definitely smirk each time he sees you doing that.

He’ll act goofy about it... But it’s just to hide the fact that Danny did that.

If you ever tell him that because you see through him, he’ll probably just frown or have a full breakdown while hugging you tight. Just don’t talk about that when he’s finished...

He might try, but probably only to be funny.

Art The Clown

He obviously won’t say anything about it and watch you, mimicking you for fun and grinning as soon as you see him.

If he’s in the mood, he might sit beside you and count on his fingers too, for what? We’ll never know.

He acts like it’s one of the cutest things, you might even see him framing his face with his hands, or maybe you won’t if he wants to be sneaky.

Is it a question? He’ll definitely do that now!

Pennywise(1990/2017)

What are you doing, human?

IT will be the only one who doesn’t understand one bit, having no idea what tf you would do that for.

They will just tilt their head, maybe try it^^

But they’re definitely the one who made fun of you for it, kinda playfully

Leslie Vernon

He’ll stop what he’s doing just to watch you, a smile on his face. But when you’ll look towards him, you’ll see him looking at his things like nothing happened 👀

He’s so sneaky about it you won’t even notice each time he’s looking at you.

It might slip sometime later tho, he’ll tell you with a big goofy smile before acting shocked and smirking at your face.

He’ll try!

Leprechaun/Lubdan

This guy will smirk about it, probably will scare you with a little magic too.

If you loose your count, he’ll have it counted in one second, so please try not kill him 😂

He honestly finds it really cute, not that he would say it (except if you’re cuddling he might hehe)

He’s got nothing against trying it, but he’ll probably be really confused.

The Moaner/Billy Lenz

He does it mostly all the time, but he’ll still tilt his head when he sees you sitting peacefully, a piece of papier and a pencil before you as you’re concentrated on counting.

If he’s feeling it today, he might just sit and stare at you, or he’ll mumble some filthy words under his breath as he bounces his leg, random impatience going through him.

If you see him and try to tell him he’s distracting you, then he’ll be even more of a nuisance

Or he’ll simply just walk away with a blank face, so please consider your options carefully, because that’s not a good sign.

You should probably pay attention to him if you don’t want something in the house broken tho, what do you need counting for anyway?

The Man(Hush)

He finds it funny at first, but he’ll still watch you silently, he might even scare you, like he’ll just sneak and jump before you to make you loose your count

He’ll have a good laugh, but after that he’ll apologies and give you kisses before he sits down and continue to watch you. He won’t do anything after that until you’re finished.

He’ll try! He’ll say he feels silly, but he just finds it cute hehe

Mayor Buckman

Aww! Cute^

As soon as he sees you, he’ll stop what he’s doing and a smile will appear on his face as he watches you so focused in what you’re doing. When he’ll ask you why, his smile becomes bigger and a chuckle might escape him.

He’ll let you do it, might even try it^^ but he’ll insist that you ask him for help whenever you want to count, because he doesn’t want you to take too long.

Herbert West(Dk if he’s a slasher but hehe)

He probably never saw it since he’s so into his work, but he’ll frown when he sees you.

What are you doing? It’s so childish!

Personally, he’s got nothing against counting on your fingers, but he’ll still wonder why?? Why can’t you just use your head??

He’ll be confused even if you say it helps you.

He won’t try.

Patrick Bateman

He might just stare at you blankly or make a “supposed to be funny” comment about it, even though he finds it kinda.. cute

He’s got other things to do, but if you ask him, because he won’t do it if you don’t, he might try counting on his fingers, or maybe he’ll just say an excuse because he don’t want to.

But other than that, yes he might try, just might.

[mhysa-leesi]

му вℓσσ∂у ναℓєηтιηє

{Gif Source} {Gif Source 2}

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader 🩸.

Summary: "Steve Rogers is madly in love with you and he'll do anything for you to see that--no matter who gets in his way."

Word Count: 4,765 (Sorry, this is a long one!)

TW‼: Non-Con, Smut, Stalking, Yandere Themes, Murder (Description of Side-Character Death), Blood, Description of Gore, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. Also, I used one of the prompts from (@the-modern-typewriter) to describe a character's death, ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

The first love letter was delivered on a gloomy Friday afternoon. The clouds above the city were dark and full of frigid torrents of rainfall. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves whispered against the chilly winds as acorns scattered about; rolling and cracking underfoot as you made your everyday walk to work. You had chosen to stray from your usual route that day, deciding on a new corner coffee shop instead of your normal stop.

You remembered that day clearly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The new coffee shop was a small, hole in the wall with plastic vines of ivy and fairylights rimming the framework of the inside. You ordered rich and dark coffees, with creamy oat milk for you and your coworkers, and an apple pecan oatmeal cookie for yourself.

Your workday was seemingly the same as any other. Pam was gossiping with Susan, and Scott was hiding from Mark, your manager, in the breakroom. You remember you were seated at your cubicle when things turned, staring at the rain against the window, and tapping your pen against your notepad, when you were startled by the mail carrier. He handed you a single, pink envelope with a heart stamp on its flap and left with a mumbled “you’re welcome”. You frowned as there was no return address or other name besides yours. You had opened it anyway.

You remembered how your frown had deepened as your stomach dropped. The paper trembled in your hands as you stared at the small heart sketched at the bottom. You frantically looked around the office for any sign of a joke, hoping to see one of your coworkers giggling at your shocked reaction. But everyone had their noses deep into their screens, typing away at their work. You turned the letter over, looking for a name or a clue as to who had sent it. But it was blank.

And you remembered how you had crumpled up the letter and tossed it as you refocused and finished the rest of that workday.

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Weeks passed before you got another mysterious love letter delivered to your desk, a small bouquet of roses and baby’s-breath with it. And again, you crumpled it up and threw it away; leaving the flowers in the breakroom. You had made a mental note that day to talk to the mailman about the delivery of these letters.

For a time they stopped and you thought you were out of the woods or thought your secret admirer had lost interest at the very least. But you were wrong. Your third envelope had been waiting for you in your mailbox when you had gotten home from work one Monday evening. You didn’t bother opening it as you sent it straight to the garbage.

You were growing paranoid and antsy as you constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d freeze every time you came across an envelope, even if it was just your monthly rent notice or bank statement. You had refused to live like this, in a constant state of anxiety and fear, so, that’s how you found yourself moving into a new apartment across town.

You were met with months of peace, you were finally readjusting to life before the letters. You had even moved in with someone you had been seeing from your new job, Chris. He was perfect, someone straight from a romance novel; tall, dark, and handsome, with a taste for adventure and romance. You were happy with him--you were in love and had long since decided that if Chris were to ask you to marry him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

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

Today was your anniversary with Chris, and the two of you had an entire evening planned. Dinner at your favorite restaurant, a surprise showing of your favorite movie at the corner cinema, and then home, where you’d give him his gift. A red lacy lingerie set with fuzzy handcuffs, and a silk blindfold to match.

Your heart skipped and your stomach alighted with butterflies as you touched up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. The evening had been absolutely perfect and it was about to get even better. You stepped out into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but red lace and a bathrobe. A spritz of perfume here and a mint there, and you were ready to go surprise your man.

You walked out into the living room and seductively leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of red wine. He turned and froze, swallowing hard as he abandoned the drinks on the kitchen counter. You smirked as he pulled you to him by your hips, instantly locking his lips to yours. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his deep brown eyes darkened with lust, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips once more.

Your eyes closed and moaned as he peppered kisses along the curve of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His hands roamed your body hotly, squeezing and caressing your dips and curves. Chris entangled his hands in your hair as he moved you to the counter, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He pushed your robe down your shoulders to reveal the red lace hidden underneath, and with a groan, he bent to trace the rosette lacework that covered your breasts with his tongue. You hummed and wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands running down his back to toy with the bottom hem.

Chris gently pushed you down to an angle as he kissed down your body, stopping just below your navel to wink up at you. You bit back a laugh as you wiggled your hips impatiently as you leaned back on your hands. With your fingers splayed against the wooden countertop, your touch met something smooth and waxy--like the waxy seal of an envelope. You reached behind you and grabbed a pink envelope, with a wax stamp of a heart on its flap. Your heart seemed to stop as you stared at the envelope in your hands.

You vaguely felt Chris’s lips on your inner thighs, kissing and nipping at your skin. When he heard no reaction from you, he looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes full of questions.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You wrote me a love letter, too?” he winked as he reached for it.

You jerked it away from his grasp, your heart hammering in your chest as you ripped open the flap; ripping the waxy heart in half.

P.S. You should really lock your windows, doll. You jumped off the counter and ran to the windows, each one was locked--except for one. You locked it and double-checked its strength, fighting against the lock as you tried to open it.

“Babe? (Y/N),” Chris said sternly, snapping you out of your trance.

You looked at him now. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t think of how to form the words. You wanted to say everything was fine and okay, but it wasn’t--it was far from it. Whoever had been writing and sending you these knew where you lived now, and that scared you. After months of trying so hard to move on from this, you felt as if you were right back at square one again.

The rest of the night was unclear to you. You moved like a zombie, your brain on autopilot as you crawled into bed to hide under the covers until the morning sun rose. Chris asked questions, of course. But you had no answers for him. You had no idea who had been writing them and had absolutely no clue how they had found you again.

Chris had suggested going to the police, but what could they do? No one had physically harassed you, and although creepy, the letters weren’t threatening. And not to mention, you had thrown away most of your evidence. You were at a loss. Chris was supportive, always there to comfort you during the night when you were restless, but that never kept you from feeling alone.

Your paranoia increased tenfold by the end of that week. You changed your daily routine every few days, hoping that’d throw your stalker off your trail, but it never did. They always seemed ten steps ahead of you, whereas you struggled to even think to keep up with them. Your breaking point was reached on Sunday evening as you met with one of your old friends from high school for breakfast-dinner--an old tradition you two had decided to revive for the night.

Things were going good, and you even dared to forget about your own issues as you cut into your syrup-soaked pancakes. Madison was telling you about her newest fling and how good he was in the sack, and you genuinely found yourself happy to listen to the vulgar details. After painting you a vivid picture of her sex life, Madison excused herself to the restroom; leaving you alone with your pancakes and empty cup of iced coffee.

You saw a head of electric blue hair and you perked up. Your waitress came with a smile and handed you a paper cup of steaming coffee and a single napkin.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said with a polite smile.

“A gentleman ordered this for you,” she winked before walking away.

You frowned as you looked at the writing on the napkin. Refusing to even acknowledge the cup of coffee in front of you.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at the familiar handwriting. Brown dress, he knew what you were wearing--he was here. You shot to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, as you looked around frantically, ignoring all of the judgemental looks and hushed whispers you were getting.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” asked Madison, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I just… I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you later, Mads.”

You dug through your wallet and gave a twenty to your waitress on your way out, only stopping to yell over your shoulder for her to keep the change. You practically ran home from the restaurant as your anxiety started to settle in your bones, making you heavy with unease. You called Chris, but were only met with his voicemail. The elevator ride up to your floor was tortuous as you watched the floor numbers slowly light up one by one until finally, they stopped at your floor. You panted as you slammed the door shut behind you, sliding the lock and chain in place as you dropped your head to rest against the wooden frame.

You sniffled as the words from his letter were seared into your eyelids. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t know what you did to catch his eye, and worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop. You choked on your hiccupped breaths as tears streaked down your cheeks. When you finally calmed down you switched on the lights and finally turned around…

You stared at Chris in horror. Blood drenched the entire living room, his corpse sat limp in a chair like a broken, bloody doll. His throat and wrists had been slashed. You tried to hold your hand over the open wounds as you screamed for help, but no matter the pressure you applied, the blood still gushed and seeped through your fingers, oozing down your arm, and dripping from your elbow. The gore of it all brought waves of nausea that went beyond physical retching, the sickness you felt was indescribable. But the smell, the smell was something much worse. Metallic, iron, copper… Your ears started to ring. You couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. You could only stare at the bloodstain on your hands and scream.

You left that following weekend, abandoning the big city to move back in with your parents and younger sister. You spent most of your days locked in your room, hiding from the world under the comfort of your blanket and drawn curtains. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and cry as you no longer recognized yourself as the woman you once were. You knew it was time to move on, but you couldn’t, not when you’d see Chris’s bloodied body every time you’d close your eyes.

You started small by taking baby steps toward your recovery. It started with family meals, then a cashier job at your local supermarket, shopping trips with your mother and sister. Then you eventually graduated to therapy, where you’d stare at a forest green ceiling as you reclined on the chaise longue. Therapy helped and it was admittedly one of the better moments of your monotonous days, you felt heard, seen, as you walked through your own thoughts and nightmares. Your appointments even inspired you to reach out to Chris’s parents for closure, to go with them to visit their son’s grave. It was bittersweet, leaving behind a bouquet of roses for the man you had loved so deeply instead of a kiss goodbye; but it was something you knew you’d have to come to terms with. It wasn’t your fault, that was the mantra you’d tell yourself when you’d catch glimpses of his blood on your hands.

Before you knew it a year had passed since the incident, and in that year, you had not received one letter. You had made a resolution for the first time that New Year’s Eve as you waited for the midnight ball to drop. You told yourself you’d forget, to start fresh, and become an even better version of yourself. You were a flower that was fighting against all odds to blossom.

You cut your hair, got bangs and highlights. Saved up for a brand new, off-the-lot car. And moved into a cozy apartment with your sister. Things were looking up for you and you truly believed that you had finally found your way out of the woods. But life had a habit of playing cruel tricks on those who were naive enough to believe such a thing.

It was mid-February, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, when things started to go to shit. You had just come back from the gym with your sister when you saw it. A pink envelope with no return address or any other name besides yours, with a wax seal in the shape of a heart on the back flap, sat on your pillow. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you held it in your hands. You debated on throwing it away, on pretending you never received it. But you wanted to know what more this twisted bastard could have to say. You ripped it open and read.

You didn’t hesitate as you ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces into the garbage with an angry grunt. Delusional piece of deranged shit, you thought. You raked through your brain for the millionth time since your first letter, trying to figure out who the fuck could possibly be the sender, but you came to the same conclusion you had been coming to for years--nothing. It was agonizing, not knowing who your torturer was. It was your shadow, how could you not know who was living in it? But, no matter how hard you thought, you kept drawing blank after blank.

Your sister comforted you with a glass of wine and dumplings from the takeout place up the street. She was going out tonight, but offered to stay home with you instead.

“No,” you shooed, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?” she frowned, “It’s no big deal, Girls Night is every Friday night, I can always go next week.”

“I’m fine. Go and have fun for the both of us,” you said as you waved her away.

She left a few minutes later, dressed in heels and a short skirt. You ate the rest of the dumplings and finished the bottle of wine before calling it a night. You undressed down to your underwear and threw on an oversized t-shirt and plopped down onto the bed with an unceremonious bounce. The wine coursing through your system made it easier than usual to fall asleep, and the next thing you knew, you were in a deep sleep, dreaming of a life with Chris--of a life without the letters. It was one of those good dreams you wished you’d never wake from.

Which was why you were so annoyed when a loud noise startled you awake. You looked at your phone and the time read “1:00 AM”, you frowned, it was too early for your sister to be back already. You padded along the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you called out for her, worried she might’ve passed out drunk on the floor or something. You stopped as you reached the front room--the very empty front room. Your heart started to pound as you stood frozen, staring at the empty room before you. A shuffling from behind caught your attention, then. And against your better instincts, you turned around slowly to see a shadowed silhouette of a man standing at the end of the hallway.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring dumbstruck at the man. With every step he took toward you, you took one back. Inching closer and closer to the front door with every backward step.

“Doll, don’t,” he warned, his voice striking you with fear like a bolt of lightning.

Without a second thought, you ran toward the door, fumbling stupidly with the locks in your panicked state of mind. The man was on you in a flash, easily dragging you away from your pathetic attempt at escape. His arms slithered around you like snakes, their hold constricting as he locked an arm firmly around your neck, silencing your screams as you struggled to breathe. You slapped and clawed at his forearm as he pulled you back to your bedroom.

“Please be a good girl for me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he said against your hair.

With his arm still wrapped around your neck, he threw you down onto the bed, quickly straddling you before you could scramble to your feet. He pinned your arms above your head with one hand and forced you to look at him with the other. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. The silver shine highlighting his familiar eyes through the holes of his helmet. You froze as he pulled off his blue cowl.

You were beyond confused, to say the least. You stared up at Captain America, your brain working overtime to try and put the puzzle pieces together. What was Captain America doing in your apartment? And why had he called you “baby”? What the fuck was going on? Were you lucid dreaming? You must’ve looked as confused as you felt because he smiled down at you, gently promising you answers to the questions that you hadn’t yet asked.

“You’re even more beautiful up-close, doll,” he said as he brushed away hairs that fell in your face from your struggle.

Your eyes widened. Doll. The nickname sent chills down your spine as the word flashed against the pink color of the envelopes, against the red of spilled blood.

“You…”

He ran a finger down your cheek and nodded, “Me.”

You paled under him, your bottom lip trembling as you shook your head in disbelief. He frowned and hushed you, caressing your cheek and wiping away the tears that fell.

“Shh… Don’t cry, baby,” he cooed, “I’ll take good care of you, you don’t need to cry.”

“W–Why?” you hiccupped through your sobs, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” your stomach dropped as he answered you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, “No. No! You’re Captain America. You’re supposed to be a hero!”

You fought against his grip, flailing and kicking wildly as you tried in vain to get away from him. You trashed against him, kicking against his thighs with all of your strength, but it was nothing to him--nothing but an annoying inconvenience.

“Stop,” he said, his jaw ticking with simmering anger.

But you refused to stop. You whined and fought against him.

“Stop,” he repeated, his anger coming to a rolling boil.

You shot up and headbutted him. He reeled back and glowered down at you, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

“I said stop,” he shouted as he finally stilled you with a sharp slap.

The sound was as sharp as the feel of it. You sobbed as the pain stung your skin, the right side of your face becoming numb from the harsh impact of it.

“Why are you doing this, Steve?” you asked again.

“Because I love you,” he answered again, “I know you love me, too, (Y/N).”

“No,” you exclaimed, “I don’t love you! I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” you sobbed.

“You will,” Something seemed to change within his eyes. No longer were there hints of green in his blue eyes, but something much darker… Something more sinister. You swallowed as you shrunk under his intense glare.

You exclaimed as he forced his lips against yours. Squeezing your jaw until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You pushed against him, beating on his shoulders as he shoved his tongue further down your throat. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, a ghost of a content smile on his face. You gasped and tried to wiggle away once more, rolling onto your stomach as you did so. A yelp escapes you as you feel him grab your hips, pulling you back under him.

Steve puts his weight on you, trapping you underneath him as he begins to undress you. You try to roll onto your back, but his knee keeps you in place. You fight to keep your shirt on, knowing you wore nothing but your panties underneath it. But you were fighting blind. You kicked up, the heels of your feet hitting the backs of Steve’s strong thighs. He manhandles you easily as he rolls you onto your back, finally ridding you of your cotton shield.

Your hands went to your chest before he could. He pried your arms away, baring your breasts to him with a jerked jiggle. He licked his lips as he cupped and squeezed your breast. You flinched as if his touch had burned you, and in some sense, it had. Your eyes widened in shame as Steve blew on your nipples, the skin hardening into pointed peaks. He brings his lips to them, circling them with his tongue. Sucking, licking, pinching. You press your lips together to keep you from whimpering, and you close your eyes in hopes you can will him away. But your feeble defense attempts don’t last long.

Your eyes snap open as you feel his lips leave your breasts to trail kisses down to your navel, stopping at the band of your underwear.

“Please…” you beg. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as fresh tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes.

Steve smiles against your skin, “I’m going to make you mine, (Y/N). ‘M gonna make you feel so good, doll.”

You stifle a sob as you feel him slide your panties off past your ankles, his fingers scorching your skin as they explore back up between your thighs. Instinctively, you try to close your legs around his hands. But he doesn’t stop. Steve digs his fingers into the soft skin of your inner thighs as he forcefully spreads you wide. Your pussy on full display to him. You stiffen under his gaze, your face burning with shame as he stares in awe at your spread folds. He runs a finger from your clit to your entrance, dipping knuckle-deep into your channel. Your thighs flex as your body tenses at the intrusion. He adds another and languidly pumps them in and out, curling and scissoring them. You fight against the blossoming heat within your belly. Your shame grows as you hear the squelch of your wetness around his pumping fingers.

Steve presses a firm thumb to your clit and you cry out before you can stop yourself. He pumps his fingers into you harder, faster, as he pulls more moans and cries from your lips. You sob as you feel that coil deep within your belly begin to unravel with every stroke and pump. You fight against your own body as you keep yourself from teetering over the edge of pleasure, refusing to let yourself submit to him. But Steve had other plans for you. Suddenly, before you could register his movements, you felt his tongue against your most intimate area. You mewled and curled your toes as he fucked you with his tongue, his thumb never stopping their firm and fast circles against your clit. You sobbed as your body convulsed with white-hot pleasure, and before you could stop yourself, you came on his tongue with a loud, dragged out moan.

You sniffled as you cried, but whether it was from the intensity of your orgasm or your shame and fear, you didn’t know. The lines were starting to blur for you.

Steve gently kissed around your folds before crawling up over you. He held your face and forced your lips to his once more before he began to undress, leaving the taste of yourself on your tongue as he pulled away with a wet smack. He unclothed himself, then. Stripping himself of his spangled-stars and red and white stripes. He looked down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, and a breathless quirk of his lips.

You were limp as he folded you to his needs. Bringing your bent and spread knees to your chest as he took himself in his hands. His length stood tall and proud, the tip swollen and leaking down this thick shaft with anticipation. Your legs flinched as they tried to close on their own. You choked on a sob as he wrenched them apart. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him tap your pussy with his cock, running the tip up and down your folds as he wet himself with your soaking arousal until finally, he pressed himself into your entrance. You let out a strained whine as he slammed into you.

Steve’s eyes were shut and mouth slightly agape as he hisses at your tightness. His hips thrust in excitement as you clench around him. You whimper again as he slides out, just to slam himself back in. Your body jolts with every lust-driven thrust. He slides his hands under you and brings them to hold onto your shoulders, bringing you down to meet his every forceful thrust. The sound of skin slapping and lewd moans fill your bedroom, your sweat sheen bodies glowing under the moonlight. Steve speeds up, mercilessly hammering that hidden sweet spot that makes you scream and clench around his cock. You spasm and shake as Steve forces another orgasm from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders as the realization of your situation comes crashing back into you.

His hand wraps around your throat as he pounds into you harder than before, “Say it, (Y/N).”

You scratch at his hand as your vision begins to dot and blacken, “I–I love you…”

“Louder,” he demands, “‘I love you, Steve’, say it, doll, I wanna hear you say it.” he moans.

“I love you, Steve,” you choke out.

He releases his grip on you then, and you cough and gasp for air. His rhythm becomes erratic as his hips drive into you with renewed vigor, “Again.”

“I love you, Steve,” you moan.

His body jerks as his hips stutter to a stop. Steve comes with your name on his lips, and you whined as you felt his warmth flood inside of you. He panted above you, his hips languidly thrusting as his abdomen clenched with his drawn out release. He pulled out of you and collected the spunk that leaked from your weeping cunt on his fingers. He brought them to your lips and forced you to suck them clean.

“I love you, too, doll. Forever and ever,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi

[stayatiny]

Little Dolly Chapter 6~ Yandere Seonghwa

(Gif made by me)

Pairing(s) – Killer/Yandere Seonghwa x Virgin! Reader

Series warnings – Violence, Daddy kink mentions of murder, TW- beating, swearing, blood, smut and lose of virginity (later on), yandere behaviors, Stockholm syndrome (seriously this is darker than my other fics. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.)

Chapter Warning(s) –Daddy Hwa again, mentions of family troubles, mostly plot for this chapter

Tagged Lovelies - @mirror-juliet @aikyubi @babybunnyalien @mingkisbitch @chonsayeosang @jodidan @cheline @hapapino-cake @ateezsadist @t4elor @soft-teddybear Please let me know it you want to be tagged or if I have forgotten to tag you.

I sat in the office chair again, staring at the door. I went back to working on emails and looking at marketing material. Its already past seven pm. I logged off and walked over to the door. I cracked it just enough to see how she was doing. I see that she is fast asleep in the middle of the floor. She curled into a ball, hugging her knees. I let out some relief and shut the door again. I go to the kitchen and get some food ready for myself. The kitchen was lifeless. Was my life really like this before Y/N was with me. I knew my life was dull but never anything like this.

When I wake up, my body is so much pain that I could hardly move. I whine as I try to turn on my side. I reach out for the bottle of water and sit up slowly, my mouth dryer than the desert. I chug the water until it was empty. I lay the bottle to the side when I hear the door open again. Seeing Hwa with some soup.

“Here, eat this. It’ll help. I also brought some pain killers for you.” He set the try of food down. I nod. He gave me the medicine first then watched me eat. I started to eat slowly waiting for the meds to kick in.

“Do you need help?” For the first time I looked him in the eyes.

“Please daddy,” I say with a little blush on my cheeks. I still wasn’t used to calling him that.

“Alright open up,” he said, scooting closer to me. I open my mouth as he fed me. We stayed in silence for while only hear the spoon clank. When the bowl was empty, Hwa set it down on the floor.

“I’m going to keep you in here for another day to make sure this lesson sticks. I shouldn’t have kicked and hit you as bad as I did but let that be the punishment,” he says. He stands and gets ready to leave. I grab his pants leg.

“No please don’t leave me alone. I’ll be a good girl,” I beg. Even after being in here for half a day, I didn’t like the silence or the loneliness.

“Let go of me little girl,” he growled. A few stray tears fell as I let him go. He turned his back leaving the room, shutting me in again. I wipe away my tears and then lay back down on the floor. Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.

The next morning, I feel the chain on my ankle loosen. My eyes immediately open to see Hwa. He helps me up and into his room.

“What did we learn?” He sits me on the bed and pulls my shirt up enough to look at the bruises and marks that he left.

“Never to run away from you again.” He smiles and kisses my forehead.

“Good girl. Here lay down in bed for a little while. I’ll be in the office if you need me. Get some rest,” he says leaving the room. He leaves the door open this time. I hear him talking on the phone while I sit on the bed. I decided to get up and hobble to the bathroom. I use the toilet and brush my teeth. Hwa comes back in.

“Are you hungry? I’m thinking about ordering some food,” he asks. I nod and then walk over to him. I lay my head on his chest. I missed him being his normal self and not being angry with me.

“I told you to get some rest. Here lay down until the food gets here,” Hwa says helping me back into bed. I sit in the middle of the king size bed and snuggling a pillow. We haven’t spoken very much other than short sentences and yes and no answers.

“I know but I wanted to brush my teeth before laying down.” Hwa smiled a little and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I hit you until I saw your bruises this morning,” he apologized. I chew on my bottom lip. I didn’t actually expect him to tell me he was sorry for what happened.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have run away. Even if I did get away with it, I don’t know where I was going or wanted to go. My parents aren’t the greatest people to begin with and the rest of my family aren’t much better.” I hug my knees while speaking.

“Why do you look so down on your parents?” Hwa pulled the rest of his body onto the bed sitting crossed legged.

“When I was growing up, my older brother and sister were twins that could get away with everything. My brother became an actor while my sister became a nurse. There’s several years between them and me, fifteen to be exact. When I was born and up until I was thirteen, I was the baby of the family but once my siblings started getting recognized for what they did you could tell that they were the favorites of my parents. Nothing I did mattered to them. That’s when I left and moved here,” I explain.

“Sounds like a rough time,” he says, patting my leg.

“It wasn’t so bad. My older siblings kinda raised me. My parents were always so busy with their jobs that they weren’t really around much to begin with. My siblings didn’t like that I was moving here in the first place, and they wanted me to stay with them in America. They hated the attention that our parents gave them over me.”

“Why not go back when times got hard? Why not go back home with them?” I scoff.

“I didn’t want to go back home a failure when I didn’t have anything accomplished. I would have never heard the end of it,” I say leaning against the headboard.

“Well, what would they say when we get married,” he asks. Oh, right we are supposed to be getting married.

“They might actually care since you are a CEO of a big marketing company,” I say. He nods in agreement. That’s when the food gets here. He runs to the front door getting the pizza. I stare down at the comforter. I’ve never really told anybody my family history, but he made it so easy to talk about. I hear Hwa coming back in with the pizza on two plates and some drinks. I smile and made room in the bed for him to join me. He then turned on a movie. I snuggled down into the covers and ate.

“Are you comfortable?” I nod and continued eating. He smiled and ate quietly. After eating, I lay my head on Hwa’s shoulder.

“Tired?” I shook my head. I felt okay for the most part besides the pain I sometimes felt. He kissed my head and got up.

“Alright I need to work for a little bit. I want you to stay put. Don’t give me a reason to put you back in the room,” he said, grabbing my cheeks.

“Yes daddy,” I whisper. He kisses me then leaving the room. His office is right next door. I continued to watch the movie and wait for Hwa to get back. I’m bored so I started to loosely braid my hair.

“Are you bored, little dolly,” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom.

“A little bit. Usually, I’m always working. I never really had time for hobbies or even to watch tv,” I say. Hwa shakes his head and then brings me my sketch book and a pencil.

“Here, I found this in your bag when I took you that night,” he said. I smiled.

“I thought this was lost forever.” I smile hugging the book to my chest.

“It looked important and its not like you can contact anyone with it.” I nod and open it to the landscape I was working one before I was taken. I loved drawing. I wanted to be an architect when I saved enough money.

“That’s beautiful, Y/N,” Hwa said, sitting on the bed again. I blush.

“Thank you. I never let anyone see my drawings before.” The awkward feeling setting in again. I bit my lip as Hwa watched me.

“Stop biting your lip it’ll be sore.” I blush again. I hear his phone ringing in the office. He groans and runs off to answer it. I’m shading some mountains when he returns.

“Yes mother. We’ll be there tomorrow for dinner. Yes mother. Love you too. Bye.” He hangs up the phone looking defeated.

“Is everything alright?” I put down the book and pencils.

“No. We are going to have dinner with my family tomorrow night. My father wants to meet you,” he says. I took a deep breath.

“Is that good or bad?” Hwa looked at me.

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet but all I know is no matter what he says I’m still marrying you even if we have to go to the courthouse,” he says, pulling me into a hard kiss. No turning back now…

[timelesslords]

baby, just say yes

Read on Ao3

Summary: 

“Okay, then. Marry me.”

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply.

Annabeth never appreciated New Rome as much as she did on Sunday mornings.

They didn’t have class, homework could wait until later, there was no chance of a monster attack, and, best of all, Annabeth didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to slip out of the Poseidon cabin before anyone noticed she had spent the night. She and Percy could just lounge around together and be lazy for half the day, before one of them finally got up and made breakfast.

It was starting to get a little late, but Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. It was comfortable and Percy was there. Plus, they were deep into a discussion about the architecture of the city, which only made Annabeth happier and more unwilling to move.

There was one temple in particular that Annabeth had only seen photos of, but it looked incredible. It was Juno’s, which was unfortunate, because Annabeth would really love to sketch the ceilings for her design class. 

“We should go see it,” Percy said, “It sounds amazing.”

“I wish,” Annabeth sighed, “But Juno loves to torture me. Nobody can go in unless they’re married.” 

“Okay, then. Marry me.” 

Annabeth waited a beat before rolling over to stare at him. His face was dead serious, but Annabeth still thought he might be messing with her.

“What?” she asked. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“Marry me.” he said, again, simply. 

“Are you being serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” 

“Uhh, I don’t know,” Annabeth said sarcastically, starting to count out reasons on her fingers, “We’re barely 21, we’re not even done with college, we’ve barely even  lived  together—” 

“We’ve known each other since we were 12, college is dumb, and we’ve made it two months living together and we’ve barely had any problems, so—” Percy said, folding each of Annabeth’s fingers down with each rebuttal.

“College is not dumb.” Annabeth countered. It was his weakest argument, but unfortunately it was also her lamest reason. 

“Okay, fine, college isn’t dumb,” Percy said, waving his hand dismissively, “but waiting to get married because we’re still in college is dumb. It’s not like we haven’t experienced the real world or whatever, we’ve been doing that since we were kids.” 

“Yeah, but that real world is different than like, being an adult, with a real job and a real apartment and bills and—” 

“How could that be harder than fighting in two wars and literally crawling through hell?” Percy asked, only he was grinning now, because he knew he had her. She hit him with a pillow in retaliation, and he laughed.

“You’re impossible,” she said, trying to sound mad, but it wouldn’t quite come out angry.

“You just don’t like that I’m out-logicing you,” Percy said, a little smug.

“You are not  out-logicing  me,” Annabeth huffed. 

“Okay, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married, then,” he said. That dead-serious look was back on his face. Annabeth would have preferred him to be smug. 

“Well, first of all, you don’t have a ring. What kind of lame proposal is that?” Annabeth said, knowing she was just stalling for time. 

“Who says I don’t have a ring?” Percy asked, straight-faced. The look on Annabeth’s face must have been extraordinarily panicked, because he sighed, looking defeated.

“I don’t actually have a ring ‘Beth. You can put off your heart attack.”

“Oh thank gods,” Annabeth sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. That really would have been too much too soon.

“But I can  get  you a ring, so that’s really a non-issue,” Percy continued, undeterred, “Next reason.” 

“Everyone’ll think I’m pregnant,” Annabeth grumbled, hands still over her eyes. That made Percy laugh.

“They’ll just assume that we’re crazy for each other and also madly in love,” Percy said. 

“And also that you knocked me up,” Annabeth added, moving her hands to her forehead and looking over at Percy. 

“In which case it would be my fault, and we would share the embarrassment equally,” Percy said easily, grinning. 

“That’s not even how it works,” Annabeth complained, “It would be way more embarrassing for me. Even though it's not true.” 

“We can print ‘Annabeth is not pregnant’ on the wedding invitations,” Percy said, because it was his turn to make her laugh. 

“Yeah, that’ll shut up the rumors,” Annabeth said, trying to ignore how the thought of wedding invitations made her stomach turn. 

“Okay, I concede that pregnancy rumors are at least half-way a valid reason. But I’m going to need at least one more,” Percy said. 

“At least?” Annabeth protested, “Is my potential humiliation not enough for you?” 

“Mm. Not quite. I’m sharing at least 25% of the embarrassment, so it cancels out a bit.” 

Annabeth wanted to argue that 25% was too high a percent, but he had chosen the number well. It was, to Annabeth’s calculations, fairly accurate. 

“Why can’t we just wait?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out as seriously as they did, but she saw Percy’s expression shift from joking to sincere anyways. 

“If you want to wait, we can wait. Forget I brought it up” 

She knew he meant it, and she was really tempted to take up his offer and forget about it. They had talked about marriage before, in an abstract way, and Annabeth hadn’t exactly been  opposed, but he’d never asked straight up either. She had been clear that she wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives, but they’d never discussed a timeline for when they wanted to do things. 

But it had slipped out so easily, and so sincerely. He really did want this. The least Annabeth could do was talk about it with him.

“But  you  don’t want to wait,” Annabeth said, rolling onto her side to face him more directly. Percy shrugged with one shoulder.

“I love you. I want to be with you forever. Why wait?”

“If you want to be with me forever, why do it at all?” Annabeth asked. Percy frowned, little lines appearing between his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

Annabeth hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings to words. Marriage had always given her a kind of weird feeling, nervous and a little repulsed. She was sure a psychologist would have a field day digging up why, but she didn’t really care to know. It was only the prospect of doing it with Percy specifically that made it tolerable to her at all.

“I love you,” she started, slowly, “And I want to be with you forever. But why do we have to put this weird stipulation on it? Why can’t we just be with each other?” 

“We could. I’ll be with you however you want to be with me,” Percy said, reaching out, and brushing a stray curl behind her ear. Annabeth tried not to sink too much into his touch. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

“But you want to get married,” Annabeth protested. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Why?” 

To Annabeth’s relief, he didn’t look at her like it was a weird question. It would have been fair, it was a weird question. But he could tell what she was asking, what she was  really  asking. 

“I dunno, I can’t really explain it,” Percy admitted, “I guess I just want to make that promise to you, that I’ll always love you and always be there for you, sick or healthy and rich or poor, or whatever the words are.” 

Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh a little at the end of his statement, and his own lips turned up in a smile.

“You’ve already promised me all that, though,” Annabeth said. 

“Yeah, but this time it’s official. Something bigger than just you and me,” Percy said. 

And maybe that was it; the wrinkle that wouldn’t let her just dive in and say yes and get married at 21 like every other lovesick young adult. Promises. Because a promise made was just a potential promise broken and the more official it became, whether in a prophecy and a knife or a ceremony in front of all their friends, the worse the fallout would be.

“What’s wrong with just promising it to ourselves?” Annabeth asked. 

“Nothing at all.” 

“But you really want this,” Annabeth sighed. 

“Don’t say you’ll do it just because I want to do it,” Percy said. 

“But you really want it?” Annabeth asked. Percy took a second to answer, biting his lower lip the way he did when he was really nervous. 

“Yeah. I really want it,” he admitted. 

Annabeth studied his face, every earnest line marking his expression, right up to the crinkles in the corners of his sea-green eyes. 

She tried to imagine being married to him,  really  tried. Not just in an abstract sense, but what it would look like, what it would feel like. To her surprise, it didn’t seem that different from what they had now. Maybe even better, in some ways.

They were already so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend, they had been for a long while. Soulmates was a cheesy word, but she did honestly and truly believe Percy was hers. And while the thought of actually  getting  married was a little horrifying still, the thought of  being  married to him was a little exciting. Having people understand, at least a little bit, what they meant to each other made her feel warm inside.

And he wouldn’t break his promises to her. He was the only one who had kept every single one, and a stupid piece of paper at city hall wasn’t going to change that. 

“Okay,” Annabeth sighed, finally. 

“Okay?” he asked, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face. 

“Okay, I’ll marry you, you dumb idiot,” she said, unable to keep a smile off her face either.

Before she could continue, he leaned over and kissed her. She could feel how happy he was through his lips, and it was supremely difficult to break away, but she knew she had to or she would get lost and her stipulations would slip out of her mind, never to be seen again.

“I have demands, though,” Annabeth said, finally pulling back. Percy laughed, loud and earnest.

“I would expect nothing less.” 

“I don’t want a big wedding. Actually, I don’t want a wedding at all,” Annabeth said, trying to suppress the shudder that crept up on her at the thought.

“Easy. We can elope. Next,” Percy said. 

“Really?” Annabeth asked. She had thought that might be a bigger deal to him, but he just shrugged. 

“I want to be married to you, it doesn’t matter to me how we do it.” 

“Even if I say I wanna go to Vegas and get it done with an Elvis impersonator?” Annabeth asked, only half joking. 

“Can we really?” Percy asked, his eyes flashing with excitement.

“Maybe? If we— okay, no, I have more demands, put a pin in the Elvis thing.” 

“I’ve pinned it,” Percy promised. 

“Okay. I don’t want a stupid gaudy ring, it's not practical, and diamonds are unethical anyways,” Annabeth continued. Percy nodded. 

“No diamonds, got it.” 

“I want to keep my last name, or hyphenate or something. And if I do change it I want to wait until we’re done with school.” Annabeth said. She was a little nervous about this one, but it didn’t seem to bother Percy.

“We could both hyphenate,” Percy suggested, “Jackson-Chase has a nice ring to it.” 

“Chase-Jackson sounds better, but we can deal with the details of that later,” Annabeth said, waving her hand. 

“Okay, I’m putting a pin in hyphenation order. Next.”

“I don’t want to send announcements or anything. People can find out when they find out,” Annabeth said. 

“Okay, but we have to at least call my mom and Paul,” Percy said. Honestly it was impressive he had gotten so far without even a small amendment to her asks. “And Piper is going to be really pissed if you keep it a secret from her.” 

“We can call your parents,” Annabeth promised. 

“And Piper?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. But the thought of telling her best friend besides Percy was getting less cringe-inducing by the minute. Annabeth actually felt herself getting excited about Piper’s potential reaction. She would absolutely freak out in the best way possible.

“She can be our witness. If you’re cool with that,” Annabeth said. Percy grinned. 

“That sounds great.” 

“Even if I ask her to make it as irreverent as possible?” Annabeth asked. 

“We’re getting married in front of Elvis, I’m not sure how it gets more irreverent than that.” Percy said. 

“We put a pin in Elvis,” Annabeth corrected, “But I’m positive Piper can somehow make it even more irreverent if she puts her mind to it.” 

“Never thought I’d know an Aphrodite kid so willing to ruin a wedding,” Percy said fondly. Then an excited look flashed across his face.

“Plus, she won’t be able to stop herself from talking about it, and then we won’t have to tell anyone.” he added. He sounded so triumphant Annabeth had to laugh. 

“You’re right, that’s perfect. So, when are we doing this?” 

The smile on Percy’s face faltered slightly. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we really really don’t have to.” 

Annabeth hesitated slightly. In truth the idea still scared her a little, even with Percy’s promises that they could do it in the most goofy, non-traditional way possible. But his insistence that he would stand by her with or without getting married was the thing convincing her. If she asked him to drop it now, he would, and he wouldn’t bring it up again, even though it was a big deal to him. 

And really, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to Annabeth as long as they didn’t make it feel so official. Breaking a promise you made in front of an Elvis impersonator felt much less disastrous than breaking a promise you made at city hall. But it didn’t even matter, because Percy would never break that promise anyways, no matter where he made it. 

“I want to be with you. And you want to be with me,” Annabeth said, “It’s a little weird for me, but if you want to do it, I’m down.”

“Okay. Cool,” Percy said, letting himself smile again. It was so radiant it just about chased away every last shred of lingering doubt Annabeth had. Not to mention the few added advantages to being married that had popped into her mind in the last few minutes. 

“Plus, we’ll get a better tax refund,” Annabeth added, and Percy collapsed into laughter. 

“I love you so much, I don’t even care that you’re marrying me for the tax benefits,” Percy said, rolling over and kissing her again. Annabeth let this one last longer, let herself sink into it.

“We’re getting married,” Annabeth said breathlessly, when they finally separated. 

“We’re getting married,” Percy agreed, grinning. 

So, maybe the institution of marriage was weird and a little sexist in origin and reminded Annabeth of old prophecies and old promises. But that was in the past. Percy was the future,  her  future, and wanted to have every single moment possible with him. 

They were going to go to Vegas, and hire a random guy dressed as a 50s rockstar off the street and have Piper make the whole thing as ridiculous as possible. And then they were going to live the rest of their lives together, maybe as the Jackson-Chases, (or if she had her way the Chase-Jacksons), and she would finally have a word to describe Percy besides “boyfriend” which had been woefully inadequate for years.

Plus, her rebate next year was going to be  awesome. 

Annabeth grinned. Maybe marriage wasn’t so bad after all. 

[magnoliabloomfield]

Possession

Chapter 2: Do the Right Thing

song suggestion: Divisionary (Do the Right Thing)- Ages and Ages

The gathering broke up pretty soon after that so things could get done. Alby and Newt started showing the girl around together while Minho went to collect his cot for her. Gally went to the gardening shed and started taking out some things to make room for it. His mind was blue as he scribbled white lines of architecture on it, preplanning what he could do that would be structurally sound, safe, and almost defend-able.

Alby said the bonfire was still on for that night so the boys could let out their excitement, but this was the first one Gally planned to sit out. He was going to get a working blue print, list the materials and put the steps in order, then he was going straight to bed so he could get an early start. He looked across the Glade and spotted her near the kitchen getting a snack from Frypan. He noticed that since she became more resigned to her fate, her expression had flattened out until it was like she had none. No emotions played on her features as she ate, listened to Alby and Newt and was blatantly ogled by boys everywhere.

She said something to Alby, he nodded, and she spoke again. Alby looked around and his gaze came to a halt on Gally, one brow raised in a mix of mild surprise and confusion. Gally tried to be nonchalant as he nodded to Alby, playing it off as giving him a sign it was going well, then he turned away, hoping he’d be left alone. His face felt a little hotter and he wondered what she might have said, but he wasn’t going to do anything to find out.

He stood at his work table, paper and pencil’s littering it as well as his dishes from dinner. He was doing the finishing touches by candle light when Alby came up to him.

“It’s weird not having you in the circle on bonfire night,” he commented.

Gally stared at him a little apprehensively, not used to him making small talk. “Yeah, well.”

“Listen,” Alby went on, leaning on his work table and peering over his sketches. “She asked to start her working rounds with the builders, she said that she should help since this is all because of her,” Alby said as he gestured at all the blueprints and lists on the table.

Gally froze. For one that was pretty shucking decent of her, but on the other hand he was not ready to babysit her first, probably not ever. “You told her no, right?” Gally asked him, trying not to sound hopeful but make it a firm statement.

“I tried,” Alby admitted as he rolled a pencil across the table. “I tried to tell her that it would be hard work and you’d be busy trying to get it done quickly, but she was pretty adamant that she do something to help.”

Gally sighed. It was admirable but annoying.

“Look, just give her something simple to do, something that will take her a while and keep her out of your hair most of the time, just let her do something. I think… I think she felt a little guilty about all the work you had to do for her.”

Right, girls had feelings. Gally hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, he wasn’t even complaining, he was just stating the facts and trying to convey the time restraints he’d be under to get it done in time for her to be comfortable.

“Alright, fine,” he mumbled.

Alby laughed. “Don’t be such a shank about it! Acting all mad that the first girl to show up picked you first.”

“She didn’t pick me,” Gally refuted even as he felt his cheeks go warm. “She’s just trying to be responsible. Which is something we need more of around here,” he said as his gaze roamed over the boys whooping it up at the bonfire. He guessed she wouldn’t be anywhere near that, probably went to bed early. After all, the first day usually came with a massive headache.

“Ah whatever man,” Alby slapped him on the shoulder before taking steps back toward the action. “I hope you don’t get too attached to her tomorrow, she has other rounds to make, remember that. You can’t keep her," his words reminding Gally of the rule the keepers made without her around to hear.

Gally didn’t even respond to that, he just turned back to his work and gathered up his papers in meticulous order and weighed them down with a rock before putting all his pencils and such away in their jar. He strayed to the bonfire for one drink, telling himself it was to help him get to sleep faster, knowing it was really to calm his nerves.

He was the only one up with the sun that morning. He didn’t wake up any of builders yet even though they deserved it for goofing off at the bonfire when they knew a hard days work was waiting for them. He took the opportunity to have some peace and quiet, time alone to really picture what it was he was going to do.

He thought he had picked a good spot for it, close enough to food and the bathrooms that she wouldn’t have to go far if she got up in the middle of the night, but far enough to avoid the sound of the kitchen and the smell of the outhouses. She’d get plenty of shade here without anyone being able to use the trees to get into her house.

Satisfied with the location he measured and marked off the area. Luckily he had been planning on building a house on stilts before this and set aside the things he’d need for it as they had come along. Pretty lucky, he thought as he ran a hand over his short hair, looking up at the place where her house would be, imagining it there in detail.

“Morning,” came a small voice behind him.

He was glad he hadn't visibly startled as he turned around and saw the girl sleepily rubbing her eyes as she walked up. For some reason he didn’t have a response to that, it felt too intimate to say ‘good morning’, he never said that to any of the boys, so he just nodded at her.

“This where it’s going?” she asked as she looked at the markers.

Suddenly Gally was questioning what he had been so sure of a second ago. “Do you not want it here?” he asked her, looking around, hoping someone else was awake by now so he wasn’t alone with her.

“Honestly that was a dumb question for me to ask, obviously that’s what’s going on,” she admitted as she gestured at the plot. “And yes, this is perfectly fine location.”

She was standing about three feet away from him, but they were otherwise shoulder to shoulder facing the plot and it took on this weird feeling that it was their project. A silence sat between them for a moment.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this trouble for-“

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Gally cut her off, he kept his eyes on the plot even when he could tell she had turned to look at him. Why had he blurted that out so fast? “It’s just something that needs done, not like it’s your fault or anything,” he shrugged to try and keep it casual. He couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t want her to feel bad on top of everything else she must be feeling.

“Might not be my fault, but I’m still the cause,” she pointed out after she considered him for a beat. Then she placed her fists on her hips. “Well, where do we start?”

@gladerscake @crazysheeplyca @thesuitkovian @poulterholland @anniemylennox @poulterjonas @carp3d1em @neilox

I've started to make them a little bit lyric inspired but it's kind of hard atm because they're still strangers, but I think Divisionary with it's line of "Do the right thing, do the right thing, do it all the time, do it all the time" is SO Gally, so therefore it's his song this chapter as he tries to do the right thing for her.

Btw, since everyone in the Glade has a name given to them by Wicked, I was going to give her a real name instead of YN, so let me know about any historical figures you think she should be named after. In Garden of Heathen I named the girl Aussie after Jane Austen since she wasn't a genius but she had the highest emotional IQ, and then in The Reason I named the girl Nikola after Tesla.

If you want updates without following me you can always follow the tag "Will Poulter protection squad" because I'm pretty sure I'm the only one using it and from now on I'll put it in the fic tags.

Possession Masterlist

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

May we have a little tattoo artist!s/o please? As a treat?

Been thinking about this for the past few days so here you go :)

Poly!Lost Boys x Tattoo Artist!S/O

Warnings: tattoo and blood mention

You met the boys by having them come into the tattoo parlor you worked at. Well, one of them did. A tall, handsome brunette had entered the shop one night, his bike parked outside. He'd barely talked through the entire consultation, and it seemed like he'd thought about the design for a long time. He even had it sketched out for you, and he was laying on his side. You were surprised he wanted a waist/rib tattoo as his first tattoo, but you already guessed there was no convincing him otherwise. He hadn't worn a shirt, and you guessed it was because of his choice of placement. He was even quieter during the tattooing process, and you noticed that he kept shutting his eyes at certain points. Almost as if he was falling asleep.

He only asked you a couple of questions, and that was towards the end. He asked you how long you'd been doing this for, and you chuckled when you told him a few years. He'd hummed, and, after a few beats, he pressed for your age. You told him, and then said, "Don't worry, I may be younger than some of the people here, but I'm not gonna mess up your tattoo. If I do, feel free to kill me." And he laughed. It was a surprising sound coming from the brunette, and you paused to look over at him. He caught your eye, and you caught the smile on his face. Before you could turn red, you looked back down at the nearly finished tattoo in front of you. When you finished, he didn't bother heading for the mirror and instead pulled his jacket on. He headed straight for the cash register, paid, said a quick thank you, and was gone with a flash of some finger guns.

You didn't expect to see him again so soon. They were all talking fairly quietly, with the tallest of the three blondes seeming to be the one that was getting the tattoo. Trailing behind them, you saw a familiar brunette. The one with the bleached mullet kept reminding him that "tattoos are permanent, Paul" and the smallest of the four even said, "they last forever, dude". But, despite the other boys warnings, Paul, the one obviously here to get the tattoo, still persisted. And Dwayne pointed him in your direction. He just wanted something on his arm, near his shoulder. He had a piece of paper with what he wanted drawn on it as well, in a familiar art style. He only had to take off his coat, and was able to keep his sleeveless mesh shirt on.

The others sat outside the room while he got it done, and you were surprised by how chatty he was during the whole thing. Definitely unlike his friend. Whether he was normally like that or was doing it to distract himself from the pain, you didn't know. Still, you chatted with him as much as you could, and, to your surprise, he grinned at you and asked for your number afterwards. You flushed as you gave it to him, and, just like his friend, he passed by the mirror and made a bee-line to show the others instead. Paul was more focused on planning a date with you then paying, and the two of you had the entire ordeal planned by the time the four of them were heading out the door. Well, you thought it was just going to be the two of you. You were surprised to see all four of them at your agreed meeting place, and even more surprised when they didn't beat it the second you showed up. By the end of the night though, you didn't really mind.

After dating them for awhile you found out that it was Marko who was the artist, and that he was the one that designed all the tattoos. You gave Marko his first tattoo at the cave, and he quietly watched every stroke of the tattoo gun as you did it. It was an arm piece, just like Paul's. His eyes never left your hand, and you were almost scared it wasn't going to be up to his expectation until he let a large smile cross his features. He was quick to compliment you, and even quicker to kiss you.

David was a solid pass on the tattoos for now, claiming that he already had an addiction and that he didn't need another one. You chuckled as you teased him, telling him that the whole reason you got into the profession was because you liked them. David gave you a warning glare, and Paul jeered at him from the side. It was that night that David decided to tell you what they were, explaining that that's the big reason why he didn't want a tattoo yet. They were literally going to last forever.

You found out that Dwayne had been thinking about his tattoo for about the past fifty years, but he was the first one to even try to get one. They'd been half sure that it would heal the next day, and the whole painful ordeal would've been pointless. When it didn't, Paul had decided he'd needed to get one immediately. He'd only been slowed down to waiting a few weeks by the others. Still, a couple weeks later and Dwayne's tattoo had healed completely (vampire perk) and it was still on his skin.

After dating you for a few months, Paul wanted more. You, like the others, told him to sit on it for a bit before you'd mark it into his skin. And, usually, after about two weeks he had a whole new idea for a different tattoo he wanted in the exact same place.

Marko is the only one of the boys that you ever let tattoo you. You'd done it in the early hours of the morning one night, and his hands had been still and steady, with the buzzing sound of the tattoo gun nearly lulling you to sleep. It was a small one, barely an inch, but Marko was beyond proud of his work. He beamed and leaned down to kiss the area, before licking away any stray droplets of blood. You pushed his head away, mumbling something about how that was unsanitary as he laughed.

David becomes interested in the idea of giving you a tattoo as well, but you knew he'd probably end up tattooing his name onto you or something, so, just like him, you gave it a pass

The boys love to visit you at the shop, asking about what you did today and if you were making any big tips. Depending on who came, they'd bring you coffee or some takeout (Dwayne usually brings coffee, Marko brings takeout). Paul usually stops in a few times a night just to give you a kiss, and David comes in to talk for a bit during your breaks. They'd also occasionally ask about any problem customers, and god forbid they come in when any surf-nazis are getting something done at the shop. You made them swear there'd be no fighting in, or around, the shop or else it'd be your ass one the curb. Of course, David just took that as an opportunity to remind you that you wouldn't need to eat if you decided to turn, but that was only when you were at the cave or out of earshot of other humans.

They become well known around the shop from how much they visit, and your co-workers have an ongoing joke of asking, "wait, which one are you dating again?" The boys end up on their good sides regardless, simply because Dwayne and Marko remember to bring extras for some of your co-workers.

Marko considered becoming a tattoo artist for a little bit, but, after hearing about how long he'd have to be an apprentice, the idea became a little bit less appealing. Though, it was Paul that pointed out that you could always be his mentor, and let's just say that lead to some interesting comments in the bedroom for a couple of weeks

Overall, the boys love and support your profession, especially since it sometimes means free tattoos

[tofadeawayagain]

Create for Thra, Day 2: Original Characters (Post 2 of 2)

And now for my “baby gelfs”. I’m very nervous about introducing these to the wider world, so hopefully you all like them :). Once again, these babies are from my Maudra series. I can’t draw, and as such I don’t have any art to share - I hope you enjoy these little word sketches and the short excerpt from a piece I’m working on at the end.

Elidi – Drenchen

Elidi is the eldest daughter of Maudra Naia and Amri. She is the perfect combination of her parents. Her skin is like her mother’s, deep green with a hint of gold. Her eyes are bright blue with gold flecks – in the dark, her pupils get just as large as her father’s, rendering her iris nearly unnoticeable. During the day, her pupils are only slightly larger than a daylighter’s – it’s enough to make her sensitive to light, though, and she often wears clothing with hoods to drape over her head when the three suns are at their highest point. Her hair reaches to the middle of her thighs and is done in the traditional style of the Drenchen maudren with decorated locks and beaded braids. It is silvery-white just like her father’s, except for the streaks of deep Drenchen blue and a lighter Grottan teal. She is petite. She inherits her wings from her father’s side of the family, though they are black, purple, and indigo just like her mother’s. Elidi is cautious – though she is fierce just like her mother, she also has her father’s tendency to investigate her circumstances before charging into them. She doesn’t trust immediately, and she has a knack for reading people’s emotions and seeing through any artifice. Elidi studies vliyaya and healing with her mother and Aunt Eliona in addition to preparing to be the next Drenchen maudra. She is an extroverted introvert and prefers to spend time with family and close friends wherever possible. Although she is good in front of a crowd, being in the spotlight fills her with a nervous energy. Luckily for her, she looks less like she’s nervous and more like she’s on the prowl when she fidgets. The clan knows her to be a competent healer and leader and trusts her in her position as second-in-command to Maudra Naia.

Oria – Drenchen

Oria is Naia and Amri’s second child and is two trine younger than Elidi. She’s only a few inches shorter than her father. She inherited her intensity and her Drenchen wings from her mother, but the rest of her is all Grottan. Oria’s hair is the same silvery-white as her father’s. The humidity in Sog makes her hair slightly wavy, but by mid-day, it is almost always straight and heavy. She keeps it long, though not as long as Elidi’s, and she only keeps a few braids in her hair as a marker of her status. As her father’s star apothecary and alchemy apprentice, Oria can usually be found in the workshop, her hair messy and tied back away from her face, and goggles strapped over her eyes. Her eyes are bright gold, and her gaze is so sharp that she can intimidate people easily. Like her sister, her pupils can expand and contract depending on the ambient light. She doesn’t look much like either one of her parents, but she is a spitting image for Amri’s mother. Though she inherited her wings from Naia’s side of the family, they are a bright teal blue and glistening silver. With high cheekbones and skin that is closer to gray than green, Oria’s unique looks in the swamp of Sog make her stand out – and she loves it. While her older sister is uncomfortable in the spotlight, Oria lives for it. She’s the life of every room, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve. People know where they stand with Oria – she doesn’t wait for the invocation of hard-talk to express her feelings. She loves the water, and if she’s not in the workshop, she’s likely exploring the lakes and waterways of Sog. Oria is likely to get herself into trouble at any opportunity, and she treats rules more like guidelines. She is fiercely competitive with her younger brother, and though she is happy in her chosen career, she longs to see the world – but she can’t leave the swamp. No one can.

Zain – Drenchen

Zain is Naia and Amri’s third child and is only one trine younger than Oria. Zain is mostly deaf (except for low tones like thunder), and he uses the Dousan sign language to communicate. He is a carbon copy of his father, and during his younger years, he even wore the same hairstyle. As a young adult, he changes his style, shaving both sides of his head and keeping the rest secured back in a braided tail or bun. Zain’s skills with healing vliyaya rival those of his oldest sister, and he trains alongside her to become an advanced healer. Like Oria, he is extroverted; however, he keeps his emotions on lockdown. He values his family above all else, and though he is fiercely competitive with Oria, they have an intensely close bond. He also has a close bond with his baby sister, Zenna, and is the one Elidi goes to for advice due to his level head and calm demeanor.

Shiri – Grottan

Shiri is Deet and Rian’s second child. She was born only months before Oria, and they grew up as the best of friends. Shiri is very shy and doesn’t make new friends easily – as such, her circle is very small. Shiri’s childhood is marked by periods during which her mother is overwhelmed by grief at the loss of Shiri’s older brother, Jen. Shiri never gets the chance to know him, but she feels like she is always in his shadow. Though she is raised to follow in her mother’s footsteps as the next Grottan maudra, Shiri isn’t sure she wants to be a maudra at all. She’s got an ear for music, and she’d much rather become a song teller. She learns to play her father’s old lute in her spare time. Shiri’s got Rian’s tan skin and blue coloring, but she has Deet’s messy hair and long ears. Her eyes can adjust to the ambient light, and they are a deep blue color like her father’s. Her hair is a dirty brown with streaks of Stonewood blue, and her wings have the characteristic bright blue and orange coloring common among the Stonewood. She is the same height as her mother, and she’s quiet most of the time – unless she’s singing, that is.

Koa – Sifa

Koa’s parents are both Drenchen; however, they left Sog long ago to join the Sifa. Koa grew up on white sand beaches and on the decks of ships, but he’s always wanted to see the mainland and explore the swamps where his parents grew up. Koa is tall for a Gelfling, and he’s also bulky from his days manning the sails and loading/unloading cargo. He’s got Drenchen locks, but they are covered with Sifan bells and golden trinkets. As a young adult, Koa gets a job working on Elder Onica’s ship, which docks in Sog’s port city of Seaside, only a day’s kayaking distance from the Great Smerth.

Zenna – Drenchen

Zenna is Naia and Amri’s youngest child. Born ten trine after Zain, she is the baby of the family. She looks like her mother, though her eyes are Amri’s dark honey brown. Like her Uncle Gurjin, she is usually unruffled and steady of temperament. Though she isn’t yet sure what she wants to become, she knows she loves the ocean.

 And now, an excerpt from mah girl Elidi’s POV:

“She watches the ripples on the surface above as she drifts in the current. The water is cool along her neck, crisp in a way she isn’t yet used to. She knows the concept of cold, though she’s never felt it herself before. The water isn’t cold, yet, but it has certainly changed.

The rains have not stopped for three days. The waters surrounding Great Smerth have long-since spilled over the edges of the Glenfoot, and the islands Elidi grew up knowing have vanished beneath the surface of the swollen lake. It is almost as if they never existed at all. Like her people, they are hidden away, waiting for the storm to pass.

Has it passed? She looks at the line of crystal embedded in the bluestone on the lakebed. Though the vein went clear three days ago when the suns burned as one, Elidi still hasn’t touched it. She doesn’t think she ever will. She tried once when she was a childling. Her mother had been nearby and tugged her away. Naia had clung to her when they’d surfaced, and she’d shouted at Elidi as she never had before or since. She hadn’t been angry – she’d been terrified. It’s a sound that’s never left her. 

There is a great splash at the edge of the Glenfoot, and Elidi rights herself in the water column as her sister plunges to the very bottom of the lake. Oria’s at her side with two pumps of her wings, and she raises her hand immediately. Elidi presses her palm to Ori’s, and her sister’s anxious voice fills her mind.

They’re waiting for you in Mum’s chamber. They’ve been telling everyone that we need to leave Great Smerth.

Elidi’s brow wrinkles, and she looks past the ripples at the towering heights of her home. Her mother’s balcony is only three levels up. She’s accustomed to seeing her mother standing there, proud and wild. But the balcony is empty, save for the wind and the rain and stray apeknot leaves knocked loose in the deluge.

We’re not leaving Great Smerth. It’s just a bit of rain. Elidi kicks for the surface, and Ori stays with her, hand in hand.

Aunt Pemma is with them. She’s trying to keep them from starting a panic. She thinks we’re fine here in Smerth, but she wants to evacuate New Domrak.

Have they found Deet, yet?

Oria pulls her hand away. Her expression is all the answer Elidi needs, and the two girls continue to the surface surrounded only by the muffled silence of the water.

They glide over the submerged Glenfoot and toward the stairs that lead into the Great Smerth. Elidi plants her feet on the lowest stair and as soon as her head clears the water, her sense of peace is shattered. The glade is louder than she’s ever heard it. People are calling out to one another on the rope and wood pathways strung through the canopy above, and as Gelfling move their belongings out of the residences on the ground floor, the Stone’s Way echoes in a cacophony of anxiety.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then she climbs the staircase, exiting the lake and entering the great tree. She keeps her head high, attempting to project a sense of confidence that she doesn’t feel. When will Mother come back? she asks herself. Perhaps they’ll stop panicking when Mother comes back…

Oria remains at her side, only one step behind, all the way to the third floor landing. Elidi can hear the council members bickering all the way in the hall, and she exchanges a frustrated glance with her sister before entering the room.

She stands tall and says nothing until they all look at her and come to a silence. It’s something her mother taught her long ago, and with her short stature, it’s a technique she depends on to gain attention. Her Aunt Pemma gives her a firm nod of approval, and she can feel Oria standing behind her, tall and firm. She’ll hug her sister and her aunt later. For now, she has a job to do.

She catches every eye in the room, then raises a single eyebrow. “Which of you are responsible for all this huff-puff, then?”

[elizabethemerald]

Water Heals; Chap 4

AO3

Today was another of Katara’s visits. Azula felt like she was getting better at telling the days apart, and keeping track of the weeks as they passed. Katara had said that she would bring a guest this week. It would be the first time she had seen someone other than Katara, her brother, or the staff since she was admitted to the hospital. Azula had promised to be on her very best behaviour. 

She smiled her own private smile when the door to her room opened to show Katara, though she kept her face otherwise schooled. As a princess of the Fire Nation she wouldn’t let herself show all of her real emotions to outsiders like Katara’s guest. 

Behind Katara entered her brother, Sokka. Katara has talked quite a lot about her brother and what he had gotten up to recently. It would be interesting to meet him face to face, and for once, not on the other side of a conflict. 

It certainly seemed like peace was suiting him well. Sokka still had the build of a swordsman, though now he was really hitting his growth spurt, he was going to be tall, possibly even taller than Zuko. He had a slightly nervous air about him, though he was masking it well. He smiled a wide, easy smile upon seeing Azula. Her spine stiffened for a moment, fearing he was smiling because of her bonds. Before she could snap at his insolence he clapped Katara on the shoulder and took a seat. Perhaps he was just in a jovial mood?

Katara took the seat next to her brother, returning his smile. Azula felt a hint of color rise in her cheeks. Katara’s smile never failed to bring some warmth to her face, and set Salmonflies fluttering in her stomach. For some reason Sokka’s smile widened, his earlier nervousness dissipating. 

“So Azula!” He said. Azula was suspicious of his friendliness, but she supposed Katara had brought him along first for a reason. “Katara’s told me a lot about her visits with you. How have you been liking them?”

Katara had side eyed him at this question, but Azula felt their mutual companion was a safe enough conversation topic. 

“Her visits continue to be the highlight of my time here. Even at my most dower Katara’s smile brightens my day.” Azula said stiffly, as if she were giving a report to the war council. Her eyes flicked to Katara, and she couldn't help but notice a faint blush dusting Katara’s cheeks, her eyes down cast as she fiddled with her hair. She decided to quickly change the subject, not trusting Sokka not to stray too near sensitive topics. “And how about yourself? Katara has kept me informed on some of the inventions you have made.”

“Oh she has!” Sokka immediately pulled a sketch book out of his satchel. Azula leaned forward as close as she could to look at his drawings. Some of the sketches seemed almost infantile in quality, but as she was able to parse the information she could see he was trying to figure out a way to trap a fire bender’s lightning, so it could be used to power other inventions. “You see, if I can make this work we can create other things that could wildly improve life for the people of the world. I’m just trying to find some way to replicate the lake of Chi a fire bender uses to control and redirect lightning. Though its really hard to get a hold of some lightning to test my theories.”

“It should not be that hard to get.” Azula said with a smirk. “Would you like a free sample?”

Before he could respond Azula took a deep breath, pulling on her own lake of Chi and spat out a flash of lightning. Sokka jumped back with a yelp as the lightning flashed wildly around the room. Without the use of her hands to control and direct the lightning, she didn’t have any where near the control she usually did. She released the rest of her breath as a short pant of blue flame. Lightning bending was far harder than fire bending without hands. 

Katara jumped up, water flying to her hand from the pitcher in the room. Azula couldn’t help her flinch, still battling the fear that Katara was going to turn against her one day and try to kill her. Instead of forming a whip the water around her hands glowed with a strange light. Azula watched, her eyes wide in awe, as Katara used the water to heal any slight mark Sokka may have received. 

“That was rude Azula!” Katara said. Azula couldn’t help but feel a rush of guilt. She had promised Katara she would be on her best behaviour. She couldn’t stand the idea that Katara would take this as a sign to stop visiting her. 

“I’m sorry Katara.” Azula said, her eyes down cast. 

Katara was about to reply in her usual huff, but Sokka, now settled from his surprise, spoke. 

“You know Azula, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize to literally anyone. I didn’t think you knew how to.” HIs words, heavy with sarcasm were at least a game Azula knew how to play. 

“I prefer to reserve my apologies for those who mean the most to me. Not water tribe peasants like yourself.” Azula said, putting her nose up in mock disdain, though she met Katara’s gaze, attempting a small joke based on their first conversation. Katara’s smile showed that the joke had landed, and again there was a dusting of a blush across her cheeks. “Though I guess since the war’s over, I should make right with those I can. Is there anything I should apologize to you for?”

“Suki.” 

With that single name, Azula felt her hard won control slipping. The leader of the Kyoshi Warriors. She had taken great pleasure in ensuring she was imprisoned and in making sure her incarceration was as unpleasant as possible. 

“Do you know what happened to her?” Azula asked, her voice sounding lifeless and mechanical even in her own ears. All she could remember was defeating Suki and shipping her off. 

“Yeah, me and Zuko broke her out of the Boiling Rock.” Sokka said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a cave. 

The Boiling Rock. The start of her fall. She had tried to kill her brother again there. Mai and Ty Lee had turned against her there. Not only had they shown their true colors but she had shown hers as well, first by trying to kill them, then by having them arrested. From there she had known that there was no one she could trust. Eventually everyone would betray her. And she deserved it. She was a monster after all. 

Azula was fading fast, her grasp on the moment slipping as her mind spiraled into the memories of her many failures. She was only distantly aware of a rapid yet hushed conversation between Sokka and Katara. They were probably discussing how to punish her for imprisoning Suki. 

“Did Katara ever tell you about the time I drank cactus juice?” Sokka said. The surprise of the strange sentence shook Azula from her dark spiral. 

“Isn’t cactus juice…” She was trying to focus her brain on the bizarre statement. 

“Hallucinogenic?” Sokka laughed. His laugh was loud. Different than Katara’s soft laugh. “Oh yeah it is. I spent a few hours absolutely out of my mind. I remember seeing a giant mushroom that I was sure was going to be my friend.”

Azula felt a crooked, broken smile creep up her face at the idea. 

“Or there was the time Toph trapped me in a hole in the ground. It felt like I was stuck there for hours. I promised to give up sarcasm and eating meat if I was able to get out. That didn’t last very long.” He said sarcastically. 

Her broken smile crept higher on her face, feeling less broken and more natural. 

“How about the story when me and Katara got sick, I spent the entire time thinking I was an earthbender! Then guess what the cure was?” He didn’t wait for Azula to guess instead continuing on excitedly. “Sucking on frozen frogs! Aang had to go fetch them while we were resting in our sleeping bags!”

Azula could see Katara’s own smile creeping higher on her face as her brother brought back some pleasant memories from their time traveling the world during the war. Azula could feel her own smile grow, a soft huff coming from her nose at the thought of Katara with a frozen frog on her face. 

“Oh or the time we tried to convince those guards that I was an earthbender!” Katara said. 

“That was a good one! Especially because that one guard thought that Momo was the earthbender! Not the brightest guard.”

“Can’t forget the whole adventure in the secret tunnel! I thought you would have a handprint on your forehead from facepalming for a week!”

Azula let out a short bark of a laugh. She felt more herself, like her mind was back in her body where it belonged and less like she was going to start sobbing. 

“It seems traveling with the Avatar wasn’t all hard work and battles.” Azula said. Her voice still sounded a little flat, but it was coming back to her regular tone. 

“It was a lot of work. And there were some things that are going to be in my nightmares for years.” Sokka said, his tone more serious than it had been since he arrived. “But that doesn’t mean it was all bad. Aang’s a fun loving guy. He wouldn’t let us stay to serious for to long.”

“When we first met him, he immediately wanted to go penguin sledding!” Katara said, her smile now her usual full faced and spirit-blessed smile. 

The conversation continued, Sokka carrying most of it, for the next hour or so. By the end Azula was exhausted from the social interaction, but she was happy. Sokka had caused her first genuine laugh in what felt like months, though she couldn’t tell exactly how long it had been. Katara had also seemed to enjoy having her brother there. She fell into good hearted bickering so easily with him, her smile brightening up the entire room, causing even more Salmonflies to buzz wildly in her stomach and a warm feeling to fill her chest. 

When it was finally time for Sokka and Katara to leave for the day, Azula stopped him. He stood at the door, Katara behind him in the hall looking over his shoulder. It took Azula a few moments to gather her words and force them out. 

“Sokka… I’m sorry.” The words felt painful as she pushed them out past the lump in her throat. She wanted to apologize for everything. For the harm she had caused during the war, for the harm her people had caused, even for throwing lightning at him just today, but she couldn’t get all those words. He seemed to understand the enormity of what she apologizing for and gave her a solemn nod. “Please tell Suki...I’m…”

“I will.” He nodded again, that same seriousness from earlier in his voice. 

With that the two Water Tribe siblings left. Azula was exhausted. Her body drained like she had fought for the entire afternoon. However her mind felt like it was fully active. They had given her much to think about. 

She had been inclined to dismiss Sokka, as a non bender, and as an oaf, he was never the same threat that Katara was. However he had clearly earned his place among the Avatar’s closest. He was cleverer than she had ever given him credit for, and he had the ability, almost uncannily, to switch between lighthearted and serious at a moment’s notice. She would have to think more about him. About his ease in forgiving her. About his inventions and ideas. 

Thinking of Sokka was significantly harder considering something else occupied her mind. Katara’s smile. Katara had seen her slipping, had noticed her reaction to the mention of Suki and the Boiling Rock. She had encouraged her brother to joke to offset the tension and help ground her back in her body. Katara had seen her, and seen through her, and some how still visited again and again, and still smiled and laughed with her, not at her, but with her. It was a lot to think about all at once. 

[infernal-panda]

ALTERNATE BEGINNING CHAPTER 16: REAL CHAPTER POSTED NOW

The next morning, not long after the sun started to rise, Natasha stepped on to the roof with two cups of coffee in hand, still wearing Tony's night shirt and sleep pants. Her hair fell in soft, slightly fuzzed waves over her shoulders, showing just how quickly she'd gone from the comfort of her bed to the kitchen, but there was a pep in her step unusual for the early morning hour.

The day seemed to match her mood, beautiful and bright despite the grey clouds looming overhead, and there was still a pleasant chill in the air. She looked around, unsure exactly where her little delinquent had fallen asleep then spotted the blankets in the shadows of the air unit.

The crunching of gravel beneath her shoes slowed as she got close, her eyes narrowing. There was not one, but two pairs of feet peeking from the blankets, and the small palette closest to the unit was abandoned. She was confused only for a moment before a bleary-eyed Steve's head lifted from the pillow.

Steve seemed confused as well, trying to figure out why the hell he was outside and what was pinning him down. The two met eyes and Steve looked down to where Peter was still snoring softly, mouth agape and sprawled out over him. So that answered that. Steve's face drained of color at his still-bare chest.

Natasha raised a brow. This was certainly a new development.

"I was just-" Steve started, but the sound caused Peter to shift, his brows furrowing.

Steve carefully worked to peel back the blankets, but apparently Peter was having none of it, his immediate response to nuzzle in closer into the warmth, burying his head against Steve's arm. Steve let out a quietly amused huff, his heart swelling in spite of himself, and after some very delicate maneuvering, he finally managed to wriggle himself free of his comfy prison.

Peter smacked his lips as he clutched onto the pillow Steve recruited to stand in his stead, and Natasha had to actively work to keep her stony expression, her cheek up-ticking with the effort.

Steve worked on pulling his shirt on as he stepped away carefully, rubbing his hand through his hair, trying to smother the troublesome strays. Natasha held out one of the cups.

"Get cold?"

It sounded like an innocent question, but even in her stoicism, the wryness in her voice gave her teasing away. It was obvious from her reaction that she thought their sleeping arrangement happened by accident, or perhaps not by accident, but definitely not with the intentions they had laid by each other with. He could have played it off, acted like it was something less than what it was, but there was no point in holding off.

Steve hesitantly searched Natasha's face, hoping she didn't notice the trifle of a blush rising up his neck, and squared his jaw mulishly. "Not exactly, no."

Natasha stared at him, waiting for Steve to explain further. He just took a long drink. "Is that so?"

Steve gave a single, trying-for-casual nod, but it just barely missed the mark.

Natasha found herself intrigued. Her eyes flashed back to where Peter was laying, his hair a wild mess. At first, she thought it was funny in a cute kind of way, but if their cuddling was purposeful, that was something different altogether. Not that she didn't expect this to happen eventually, but with the two actively acting like the most adorable dunderheads she'd ever met, she didn't expect it to be so soon.

Then something occurred to her.

She narrowed her eyes at Steve. "He wasn't drunk was he?"

Steve's nose scrunched up in disgust, there and gone. Of course not. He never would have let any of that happen if he was. Steve may have done some dumb stuff in the past, but he would never take advantage of Peter like that. "Completely sober. We were up for a bit before-before we talked."

"Good. I'd hate to have to string you from the side of the tower after I've grown so attached to you," she said easily.

"If he would've been, I'd have done it myself," Steve replied thinly.

Natasha hummed. "So you made up your mind then? About what Tony talked with you about."

Steve nodded again.

Natasha's glare lingered for a long moment then her lips slowly slid into a smug smile. She slapped a small hand on his shoulder, knocking him off balance, and took a drink from what was supposed to be Peter's coffee. "Alright then. Too bad for Kristen in Statistics."

Steve gaped incredulously as Natasha turned on her heel and walked back to the door, calling over her shoulder, "Tell Peter he's expected to be at lunch. You and the others too, but I'll let them know. I'm sure you two have a bit of talking to do."

Steve let his head fall back as the door shut and released a breath, feeling like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. That went so much better than he ever imagined.

He walked back over to Peter, settling back under the covers. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop, going through his unread emails to pass the time, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Peter's face for too long. He found himself straying from his work back to Peter's sun kissed profile, eyes glancing again and again at the long beautiful lashes casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones, highlighting the feather-light freckles peppering his skin. His fingers itched for his sketch pad after the third time, and finally grabbed it at the fifth from where it lay abandoned on his own small palette.

Peter was an awkward sleeper, all gangly limbs and soft snores, but it didn't really bother Steve. Honestly, it only made him seem more adorable, like a quirky little puppy or maybe a strangely cuddly octopus, stretching out and falling asleep in any position possible. He wondered if he always slept like that, or if it was only when he was exhausted. They'd stayed up most of the night, just talking like they always had. It was comforting in a way, that things hadn't changed too drastically.

That thought grew, branching out into thoughts of the future as he drew. He wondered what his and Peter's relationship would look like. Would they be more like Bruce and Loki, or Natasha and Tony? How often he would get to wake up beside him? He wondered if any day could ever possibly measure up to the feelings coursing through him today, despite having thought that numerous times since having met Peter.

There would be issues, he was sure, not only with the complicated feelings between him and Bucky, but with the others too. He wasn't certain how everyone was going to take the news of them going together-or whatever it was they were doing-, and he still had his own fears to conquer, but he wouldn't let it get to him. He couldn't do that to Peter again.

Steve noticed the heaviness of his lines and shook his hand free of the thoughts. They would have plenty of time to worry about all of that. For now...

Steve's hand hung limply from his knee, and he thought, just for a moment, that he could watch It Peter sleep forever.

That is until he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. It was nonsense, hardly even words at all through his sleep slurred speech, but there was something so sweet and innocent about it Steve couldn't hold back and longer, and he dropped his notebook to wrap his arms around Peter, pressing a soft kiss on his neck by his ear.

"Good morning," he crooned against his skin.

Peter blinked slowly at the familiar strong and steady timbre vibrating against his ear, eyes glassy and bloodshot, but his face lit up with a surge of pure exaltation when Steve came into focus. Peter was fully ready to accept the night before as a fluke, a poor lapse in judgement on Steve's part, but with the way those blue eyes were looking at him, it seemed to be anything but.

"Hey," he replied, his smile warm and sleepy-soft as he stretched against Steve. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour."

"Ah man. You could've woken me up. I bet I was snoring all over you," Peter said.

"You were," Steve assured him, passing him his notebook. "You even sleep talked. It was adorable."

Peter barked out a laugh. "Did you just Edward Cullen me?"

Steve huffed, smiling at his strange reaction. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, maybe we will skip that one. The books aren't bad, but the acting for the movie is horrendous. Almost hilarious really, but it's kind of embarrassing to watch, you know? Unless you're into that kind of thing. It's MJ's guilty pleasure, even if she denies it to everyone else. Uhm, anyway," Peter forced himself to stop rambling. "How'd you sleep?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow. Amazing. Fantastic even. No tossing and turning, no staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. It was the best he'd slept in probably years.

"Great. What about you? Miss your bed?" Steve asked with a lopsided smile.

"Nope. I actually slept like a rock."

"I saw that," Steve mused, running a hand down Peter's arm. "You missed Nat bringing you coffee and everything."

Peter perked, awed. "Coffee?"

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes. He should have known that's all Peter would hear. The kid got excited about a lot of things, but coffee and science were two things guaranteed to get a smile. Steve sat up and plucked his own coffee cup off the ground and handed it over. Peter took it eagerly but he tilted his head slightly as he pulled the cup away.

It was sweet, but not overly so. Just the right amount of sugar, vanilla creamer and bitterness, so unlike his usual almost chalk white coffee.

"Is this yours?"

Steve nodded.

"Wow," Peter said, taking another drink. "This is amazing."

Steve took the cup, then dropped his head down to kiss Peter slowly, sealing their lips together softly before allowing his tongue to dip into his mouth, dragging across his bottom lip. Steve relished in the sweetness, and the slight intake of Peter's breath, then pulled away and licked his own lips. Peter's gaze was transfixed on the movement, his heart doing a painful little dance in his chest. Holy hell.

"Yeah. Tastes great," Steve agreed, eyes mirthful.

Peter blinked and swallowed loudly, his face warming. This time yesterday he thought he'd seen every side of Steve. The dorky, the confident, the good and the bad, everything, but man was he wrong. Sexy Steve was going to take some getting used to.

Not that he minded. Peter wanted more. Craved it. He could still feel the ghost of Steve's warm hands all over his body, the gentle rock of his hips, hear the sound of his labored breathing...

"Do you have any plans for today?"

"What?" Peter's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Oh. Me? Uhm. No. Nothing-Why?"

"Great," Steve said with a lopsided grin. He pulled out his phone to check the time, then tucked it back into his pocket. "That means we have plenty of time get in some training."

"Wait-what?"

"Training," Steve repeated, then raised a brow. "When's the last time you worked out?"

"Uhm, well. I-I guess it has been a few days," Peter said sheepishly. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't really remember. Everyone had been so busy lately, and Clint had caught him before he could go alone the other night.

"And you were making so much progress," Steve tsked. "How are you ever going to beat me if you keep slackin', Queens?"

"I was counting on your joints giving out or something, honestly, but I'm sure I'll manage."

Steve barked out a laugh. "Keep dreaming, kid. Seriously though. I'd feel a lot better if we got you back into regular training with everything going on."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Is it bad that I almost wish Hydra would just make a move already?" Peter asked, leaning back against his pillow.

"I'm glad they haven't. When they finally do, it'll only be because they're ready for it, and there's no telling how much damage they'll cause."

"As much as they can, I'm sure. Thieves and muggers, sometimes they are just on the wrong path, you know, but legit bad guys, they're are all the same."

"Like Death Eaters," Steve offered, absentmindedly running calloused fingers down Peter's arm. "Except they use science instead of magic."

Peter snorted.

"What was that noise about?" Steve asked. "I can't make film references?"

"No, it's awesome. I just can't wait until you are a full blown nerd."

"What does that come with? A medal? A spot in the hall of fame?"

"As if you don't already have one," Peter rolled his eyes playfully. "You're literally the world's first Avenger."

"Touché."

"Did I tell you I went to your exhibit? It was the Howling Commando one they had at the Science and History museum a few years ago, before all the Spiderman stuff. It was pretty awesome."

"Really? Did you learn anything?"

Peter shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing I didn't already know. You know how I am. When I like something, I research everything I can."

Steve tussled his hair, smirking. "I forget. You were a 'big fan.' Not the best thing to announce before a fight, just for future reference."

"That's what Tony said," Peter muttered, flattening his hair back down.

What would past Peter think if he could see him now? He probably wouldn't have believed it. Hell, two weeks ago he wouldn't have believed it.

"Speaking of being a big fan, though, I already have our next movie night planned. Ned has been bugging me to make you watch Lord of the Rings, so I was thinking maybe we could watch them tonight, or at least one of them. They're kind of long."

Steve considered it a moment, going over his plans for the day in his head. "I have a some things to do today, but tonight should be fine."

"Oh. Avenger stuff?"

"Yeah. Tony needs my help installing some new equipment," Steve answered vaguely.

It must be the cloaking device, Peter thought. If he was almost finished, it made sense that Tony would already be done. Peter should probably work on that some time today. He didn't like leaving Goggles decommissioned for so long. The testing should be done on the power pack, so all he would need to do is make sure that the device was functioning well on its own then he should be able to connect it to Goggles' processor and-

"We should probably head down if we are going to eat," Steve said, interrupting his thoughts. He stood up, offering Peter hand. "Buck is not a morning person, and he will probably maim us both if he wakes up early just to wait on us."

"Beaten by Bucky Barnes. It's got a nice ring to it. Write that on my tombstone."

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 27

The Coven was invading tomorrow.

But if all went well, they were going to bring them down tonight.

After Jay attacked Antiquam, they realized they could not keep their cover of staying in the Coven. Jay, Aziz, and her headed out to Uma’s ship for hiding when Antiquam inevitably revealed that Jay was no longer hypnotized.

Though dangerous, Jade, Uma and Calix stayed as Antiquam wouldn’t be able to prove that Jay had any help from breaking Jafar’s control. So they still had their own infiltraitors in the Coven.

At that point, it seemed like they were on the sidelines. The sidelines of an impending disaster that they could do nothing to stop. Literally as they still had no tangible plan to stop the Coven.

Then Celia, the shadow man’s youngest daughter who hadn’t been in the loop for most of their infiltrating and espionage troubles, came up with a brilliant plan.

It was obvious in hindsight. Villains were paranoid because they expected backstabbing. But until Celia had suggested it, they never thought they should sew the seeds of dissent. Uma had thought it too obvious. The others hadn’t thought of it all. But Celia suggested that only select people plant the seeds. She, for one. Jade too. They were presumed to be completely loyal to the Coven and so would more likely be believed to be speaking from genuine concern than from causing trouble.

And Celia could plant the idea in the heads of Ginny and Zevon which would then bring out Mother Gothel and Yzma’s worries. And so without the united focus in hatred, which Circe told them was vital to the spell, Coven would turn against itself and bring its own ruin.

And then on Uma’s signal, they’d come in as magical backup.

Jordan sighed. Even though she told herself that she had chosen Uma as a better leader, that she knew what she was doing, and she was okay with no longer being the hero, it stung to be stuck as backup and not be in the front lines of the plan or the fighting.

Especially when it meant, waiting in Hook’s office, away from the crew that disliked them anyway, waiting for word from Uma since their presence was too obvious to be wandering around the Isle. Although, as Jordan looked at her fellow Agrabahians, with their dirtied faces, ratted hair and ripped clothes, she thought the Isle had made its mark in turning Jay and Aziz into two more villainous-looking residents.

Right now, the two were chatting it up about some tourney strategy or parkour technique, she wasn’t sure. It was something athletic which Jordan tended to zone out and think for herself. And when her thoughts got too deep, she’d admire, well more like wonder, Hook’s knicks knacks decorating his office. What possessed him to spear a codfish over his desk. Seriously? It didn’t look grand or particularly impressive since it was medium sized and covered in green flecks that Jordan suspected it to be mold.

Was it a pirate thing? Like when that CJ chick purposefully made herself smell like rotten kelp? Was it a villain thing for their decorations to be as vile as their hearts?

She wondered if she could ask Jay this or it would be considered too offensive. Maybe a few months from now when-

A quick “knock knock knock” signalled their attention, announcing Uma’s arrival. And with her came the usual suspects of Gil, Harry and Calix. As well as some more recent additions of Celia, Jade and Lala.

Which Jade was all too happy to explain as she jumped in front of Uma, her arms opened wide, “Guess who got us another fighter on our side?”

Lala stiffened and crossed her arms at Jade’s enthusiasm, refusing to look at the girl who was trying to hook her arm through hers, “I finally convinced her that we’re already miserable with her moms so why not join the winning side. It’s not like our lives could get worse if we lose.”

Everyone looked disbelieving at that statement. After all, their lives could get worse if they lost, they could be dead.

Jordan didn’t think anyone else noticed, but she paid attention to the extra bright smile Aziz had at hearing the news. And unless she was just imagining things, she could swear that Lala had looked at Aziz first to see his reaction before looking anywhere else.

It was for a moment but it was there, and even though Aziz still insisted he didn’t have feelings, Jordan knew. And unlike her previous, and in hindsight, very bad overreaction to it, she didn’t mind it as much. After all, a girl that made Aziz feel better about his Jay inferiority complex (when all of Jordan’s pep talks hadn’t worked which kind of stung) couldn’t be too bad. Even if she was the daughter of a villain.

“Uh great. Thanks, Jade.” Uma made her way back to the center of the room as everyone squeezed against the wall or in Celia and Gil’s case sat on Captain Hook’s desk, listening intently to whatever Uma had up her sleeve.

“Okay people. We have five hours to get through this so here are the assignments.” Uma began, “Harry, Gil, gather up the rest of the crew and take position around the castle. When I signal, you shoot the bow through the window and begin the seige.” “Celia, since you’re not needed for the Coven’s spell, you can gather the rest of the Anti Villain Club, and the volunteers.” “The volunteers?” Jay questioned with, in a very un-VK move, a raised hand.

“The Anti Villain Club and I have been soliciting volunteers from the regular citizens of the Isle to fight against the Coven in exchange to getting off the Isle,” Uma promptly explained before moving on.

“Calix, Jade, Lala and I are expected at the ceremony so you three,” She nodded to them, “Will sneak in through the Underground entrances and will get into the room, at the top of the tallest tower, and help end the fight. Got it? Let’s go.”

So they split up, Gil and Harry heading toward the starboard, (or was it stern?), Celia to the alleyways and the rest of them were back to trudging through the jungle to the castle.

Jay, and Jade strode side by side each other, pausing to show off a parkour move as they talked, predicting how their family members would react to their arrival. Aziz and Lala walked in companionable silence, hacking away at tangled brush, but Jordan wasn’t paying attention as she had been before.

Jordan walked up to Uma’s side, a choice that the sea witch hadn’t appreciated Jordan could see by the forced way Uma kept her eyes straight ahead. But Jordan had a question that had been burning in her after watching Uma’s leadership skills the past weeks.

“So… where did you learn how to lead like this? I mean your mom was just a witch so why haven’t you focused more on your mystical side,” Jordan cringed realizing how it sounded and began backtracking, “Not that I expect you to be like your mother. No one is exactly like your parents. I don’t mean that. But just- you know.. Does it come naturally? Did you learn it from someone?”

“I’m Ursula’s daughter, but  do not let her define me. I make my own legacy.” Uma ducked under a stray leaf, “To give my people a chance, to get off this Isle and live better lives. And if I wanted to make that happen, I learned to lead. On the Isle, you learn what you need to. ” Uma grunted before walking faster and farther ahead.

Though Uma probably hadn’t meant anything by it. It was probably a “there-I-answered- now-shut-up-and-do-what-you-were- ordered-to-do” answer to get Jordan to go away.

Even though it offered no advice on leadership,it got Jordan to thinking. So many of them, all of them really, had their issues with the heavy legacy that their parents set before them. They were all defined by them, especially when it was announced “Name, son or daughter of-.” It was part of life. A more difficult part of life when their legacy was founded on greed and vileness and evil like the Vks.

But even though they were defined by their parents, these Vks tried their best not to let it control their lives. They lived day to day, in the present. Mainly it was for survival reasons, but it could work personally too, Jordan thought.

She had been defining herself solely by her parents. Not trying to live up to them. By rebelling to be the exact opposite of them. It is always in some relation to them or what others’ preconceptions of genies were supposed to be.

And she did the same. Judging people with her views of mortals, which were mostly right, but didn’t make her happy. It just made her miserable to know she was surrounded by so many jerks. And it kinda made her self-absorbed. Musing and complaining about how people only wanted to use her. She had been so focused on that during her time here, she had missed Aziz’s personal turmoil; She had been distrustful and uncooperative with Jay; She focused on her personal safety and her fear of the other Coven members taking advantage of her more than saving the kingdom.

But what if she took a page from the Vks book.

Just live in the present, and not focus solely on the resentment of the past.

It was a new way. Instead of expecting the worst, she could let people come into her life, if they were just using her, cut ties and let it go because she had Aziz, and Calix, and maybe Jay and Lonnie and the rest of her family. They cared for her.

And she should let go of her biggest resentment. Her parents for leaving her. For so long she saw it as evidence of their lack of love for her, and while it hurt, it didn’t lessen their love. And she hadn’t let them in because they didn’t love her like the other parents loved their children. They weren’t what she wanted. Which wasn’t fair. They weren’t like others, they were genies.

So if she survived this, she was going to stop with the sarcasm and the irritation whenever she was with them. But she was also going to have that talk with them, a serious talk even though they disliked those things, because as she had experienced with Jay and Aziz, a talk could go a long way in resolving their differences.

She was going to focus more on what she loved. Her show, mabe even add some improv sketches that she had refused to do because it was too similar to her Dad’s antics. She had no reason to hold back just because someone would compare or judge. People would always judge you so there was no point trying to prove them wrong. Just follow your instincts, do what is right because you know is right, and YOLO. YOLO because even though she lived forever, she should do more in enjoying what she had. Enjoy life.

And if they didn’t like her for it, fuck em all.

And there, right in that muddy path with jungle palms blocking sunlight as if to suffocate them all with the smell of moss and the hot humidity; Stuck on an Isle where semi rotten trash was considered high dining and you were praised for your bloodlust and kindness of any kind was a weakness.

Jordan felt a peace with the doubts that had plagued her for.. for maybe her whole life.

It was the most inappropriate place for such a realization but it was perfect too. The Isle was loathsome and the bottom of the barrel, but rock bottom was where you find your greatest strength.

Jordan smiled, remembering how Calix had thrown her own story tropes back in her face that every adventure had heart to hearts and personal revelations before the final battle.

She didn’t know about anyone else, but she was having hers. Even though she was not the leader, even though she wasn’t going to be the hero to save the day. She felt changed and it felt so good.

But she couldn’t bask in the glow of her personal growth for long. For as her newfound maturity reminded her, there were bigger things at stake right now.

Tonight was the night. The Coven was going down.

[the-book-reaper]

my @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @saltytransidiot!! I’m no IndigoDream, inexplicifics, round--robin, or any of the other amazing authors in this fandom, but I hope this makes you smile 💕💕

Jaskier absolutely loves wintering at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had finally worked up the nerve to invite him  to meet his family two years ago. They’d been together for thirteen years and together for a little over five.

Jaskier loves the winter because it’s really the only time Geralt gets to completely relax. With his father-figure (though none of them would ever admit it) and brothers there, isolated from a world that seems to wish them every harm.

read on ao3 here

Even after just two winters with them, Jaskier loves Lambert and Eskel. Not in the same way as he loves Geralt, of course, but as some mix of friend and brother. Eskel showed him around the library and Jaskier is teaching him how to craft his own lute, since every lute made for a human would be much too small. Lambert, while he loves his pranks, is quite clever and they can spend hours trading riddles and jokes.

He’d been expecting at least some animosity from Vesemir, considering he is the first “human” to enter Kaer Morhen since the raids. Geralt had blushed so adorably when Vesemir casually mentioned how often he talks about his bard. Jaskier likes doing food prep with him, though he’ll leave the actually cooking to the old wolf. The few times he tried… well, let’s just say those scorch marks in the stone of the kitchen weren’t completely intentional.

He loves cuddling up to Geralt in the evenings, all five of them around the crackling fireplace. He’d tried one sip of Lambert’s moonshine and started tearing up from the sheer amount of alcohol in it. The wolves would need a lot of human drinks to get drunk, so they usually only can during the winter. Every coin they make on the Path goes to food, shelter, supplies, and the occasional prostitute. Anyway, they don’t feel safe enough around humans to allow themselves to be in such a vulnerable state even if they did have the money.

Vesemir never gets terribly drunk. Actually, Jaskier has never seen him act even just the littlest bit intoxicated, even though the witchers drink from the same barrel and roughly the same amount. Eskel either stops after he feels tipsy or drinks until he falls asleep. Lambert usually has to be cut off once he starts suggesting things like going outside—during a blizzard—to spar. Naked.

And Geralt. Oh, how Jaskier loves his witcher. Completely sober, Geralt always maintains at least one point of contact with him if they’re in the same room. After one drink, he purrs easily and will grumble at Jaskier if he stops playing with his hair. At two, Geralt either pulls him into his lap, or is nearly in Jaskier's lap.

Somewhere between three and four is the adorable sweet-spot. When he hits this point, Geralt gets sad if Jaskier's attention strays from him too long. He demands many kisses, pouts if he only gets a peck, and whines adorably if Jaskier refuses him outright. Jaskier will herd him to their room at this point, where he cuddles his darling witcher until he falls asleep, secure in his arms.

This year, he is very much looking forward to exchanging their gifts. Geralt has been extremely secretive about his present, and the anticipation is killing him. This year, Jaskier’s gotten his love a couple new journals with some pencils, colored chalks, and a few paints.

Geralt recently shared that he initially had a lot of trouble with memorizing the bestiary. After the first couple beatings when he couldn’t answer the Masters’ questions, he learned that if he drew each monster, labeling as he went, he was able to retain the information much easier. Soon, he had a sketchbook completely filled with drawings and his only bruises were from training or roughhousing.

But once he’d memorized the bestiary completely, he didn’t want to stop drawing. So he started filling up notebooks with sketches of herbs and flowers, whether or not they had a use. Then he turned to anything he could think of, really.

Nothing is secret in Kaer Morhen though, and the other trainees mocked him mercilessly about it. Eventually he just stopped drawing altogether. Once he was on the Path, he didn’t exactly have much coin to spare on such frivolous things.

When the bard started improving his image, however… Geralt found his coin-purse to be not nearly as empty as it was before. Still, he worried that Jaskier would make fun of him about this hidden interest as well.

He honestly can’t even remember how, but Jaskier did find out and actually supported it, surprisingly. Jaskier had even been the one to buy his first notebook along with a few different pencils.

He never made fun of him, instead praising his art to a near ridiculous extent. Ridiculous to Geralt, that is. Jaskier insisted he was merely being honest.

Now Yule is coming up, and Jaskier has his gifts prepared. The art supplies for Geralt. A good set of strings for Eskel’s lute and some more sheet music. For Lambert he’s brought a book of 500 names since the idiot never calls his horses anything but “Horse” as well as more of that fancy soap he pretends to hate.

Vesemir is always the toughest. The old wolf doesn’t want for much, and it’s pretty bad form—in Jaskier's opinion—to give a person a gift they’ve already received in the past. Last year, Jaskier gave him an extremely old book of poetry written in Elder Speech he’d gotten for a steal at the market. The poor merchant had absolutely no idea about the true value of it!

That find had just been a fluke however, but he somehow got lucky again this year.

--

Now, four Wolves and one bard lounge by an open fire, safe and content. Jaskier takes another sip of his hot tea, the warmth spreading through his body. He can’t help but snuggle in closer to Geralt, who squeezes him gently with the arm around his waist. Finally, it’s time to open presents.

Jaskier insists they open their gifts from him first. He simply can’t take any more anticipation; he needs to know what they think. They’ll probably like them, but there’s always that little niggling voice telling him they’ll only say they like it to be polite.

“Oh, fuck you.” It seems Lambert has opened his gift the fastest. “And why do you keep getting me this fancy-pantsy soap?”

“Why do you keep using it?” Jaskier teases. Geralt chuckles at Lambert’s petulant grumble. Warmth completely unrelated to his tea blooms in Jaskier's chest. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being nice to yourself every once in a while, my little wolf.”

Lambert growls at him, but can’t protest because he is several decades younger than Jaskier.

Eskel and Vesemir love their gifts, which is good because Jaskier had no doubt whatsoever that they would. Absolutely none.

He turns to Geralt, who had been able to open his gift with only the one hand, and is staring down at the art supplies in his lap. Jaskier doesn’t think he’s breathing. His heart drops. “Darling? It’s okay if you don’t like-”

Geralt quickly sets the gift aside, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. His shoulders are shaking suspiciously. “Oh! Oh, my dear. I take it you do like your present, then?” Jaskier tries to add a teasing tone to his words, but he really was not expecting this kind of reaction.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispers emphatically into his neck.

Jaskier adjusts his grip on his—thankfully unsplit—tea and hugs him back just as fiercely. After a moment, Geralt releases him, kissing him softly.

There’s a gagging sound to their right and Jaskier has to pull away to laugh. Eskel cuffs Lambert on the back of the head—almost starting a spat—but Vesemir growls at them before it can go much further.

They move on to opening Vesemir’s gifts, no one mentioning the water in Geralt's eyes. Despite being crass and rough with each other, the Wolves know when not to make fun of something.

They open their gifts from Geralt last. Jaskier unties the meticulously wrapped string and unfolds the paper. Inside is something made from yarn, a light lavender that’s ever-so-slightly reflective. He runs a finger over the indescribably soft yarn, breathing in sharply. The fabric unfolds as he picks it up, revealing it to be a long scarf. Holding it closer, he can see the beautiful design woven along its entire length. There are a few breaks in the pattern, but they only make it more perfect.

Geralt spent gods know how long making this, either late at night or early in the morning, most likely frustratedly undoing his work half the time. That he spent so much time and effort, remembering how Jaskier is sensitive to the cold, and deciding to do something about it… His eyes prickle with an emotion he cannot name, he only knows that the word “love” is not strong enough.

He looks up at Geralt, who seems nervous. “Darling… You made this?” he whispers, just to be sure. Geralt nods and Jaskier mimics his love’s actions from earlier, throwing his arms around him—mindful of his drink, of course—and holding him close. “I love it so much. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been!” Jaskier releases him and holds the scarf up. “Will you put it on me?”

With reverent hands, Geralt wraps it loosely around his neck. Jaskier rubs a cheek against the yarn, breathing in Geralt's scent, etched into every fiber.

What happened after that, Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell you. The rest of the night passes in a sort of happy daze. Geralt gets all gooey with him and Vesemir herds them all off to bed.

He would have slept with the scarf on, but his dear witcher is much too fond of falling asleep with his nose buried in Jaskier's neck. They both relish in the little touches. Being able to hear the other’s heartbeat, feel their chest move as they breathe.

The undeniable truth of it gets to Jaskier sometimes. That scarf is just one more testament to their love. He really had been loathe to part with it so soon, but it would have just become tangled or stifling in the night. Besides, no item of clothing—even one made by Geralt—could ever amount to the man himself.

[atendersun-archived]

“You’re really cute…when you let yourself talk about things you love.” Absent-mindedly Sullivan complimented him, leaning on his hand. Happily he has been listening to a passionate rant of information. Every little rabbit hole Muus brain brought to him, all the fun stories. It was really nice. To get to hear the real him. “I hope we can talk about things you like again. So I can see you that happy more often.”

Besides him rested numerous plastic containers with barriers that many used to store fishing lures in. His on he other hand were labeled with different initials and numbers that marked his uniquely thought out storing system. Inside many of them were a variety of miniature items made from materials such as polymer clay, felt, shrinkable plastic, and wood. Resting on his lap as he spoke freely on his most recent passion was a notebook that he had been doodling out ideas for additional items to be made later on.

Words also appeared to be etched in between sketches with great significance yet he managed to multitask in conversation so swiftly that none of them parted through his lips as he went on with his attempt at describing to the other what it was that he aimed to do with all of us uniquely made miniatures. Amongst the growing list of adjectives was the term 'passionate', which he would later find a tad bit of humor in due to the fact that he would then begin to speak openly about what he aimed to do with an idea that had only just recently popped into his head earlier in the week.

"Sully", he began, "Do you know what a diorama is? That is kind of like what I am making, but they are going to be more like how I think the inside of a Poké Ball, or a Polly Pocket shell would be."

How exactly he wanted to approach that idea was still being determined in his drawings. He hadn't yet decided if he wanted to store his ideas inside something as simply as a tiny house, or to up the difficulty by trying put his hand at making something akin to the inside of the brain instead. If he was willing to really do his research, and figure out how to even begin adding it in, he'd have pushed it even further by including in some sort of musical trait into it as if they were very unusual music boxes.

"I've been feeling very out of touch with myself. That's why.. I am making these little houses, I guess, for the parts of me that stand out the most. That way they have places to be that are not only of their own, but also that are safe to be in as well. That way I can kind only just focus on the parts of me that are here right now instead of feeling all of the feelings of all of me's at the same time."

Showing seemed easier than risking confusion with his long string of words, so he ceased moving the pen across paper long enough for him to switch out the pad entirely for the most filled of all of the bins with the marking of the number sixteen across the top. That had been the first one he wanted to work on out of reluctancy to really even begin thinking about what he would've used to describe himself during other core moments in his life, but also because he had been really weighed down the most by pings of jealousy and resentment that he knew were stirring from the loneliness and guilt that blossomed into fruition as a teenager.

"These one's are all the things that I see when I think of me at sixteen. This one is an itty bitty version of Aime Jr. Aime was my best friend that moved away to France, but b- before that, he gived me a hedgehog that I named after him. Once I even had a real hedgehog that I named Baby Aime, but I'll probably save him for later 'cause I got him when I was older. I still have him, by the way. The stuffed animal that is. He's very beat up looking from having gone to lots of things with me before I kind of out grew bringing him along, but.. I do still like to think back on when I still had Aime around all those many years ago."

From there, he very excitedly hopped from one item to another; explaining each one's individual meaning before immediately following it up with another. In his chatter, he went on to describe making miniature versions of the favorite books he used to beg his older brother to read to him since they always seemed to be easier to understand when he heard them in a voice other than his own. Or how he simply just did so to not so secretly trick his sibling into sharing the bed with him long enough for him to drift off to sleep with him at his side instead of alone.

Also happily presented were tiny versions of some standard looking Valentine's Day cards and some even tinier stickers he designed and cut out using an x-acto blade. Both were heavily enjoyed by him during that time in his life since he held such largely positive feelings towards things that were either cute, or were associated with love in any way. His dream back then had always been to experience a fairytale love like he watched in movies, or heard about in songs by Taylor Swift songs, as he knew that his chances of that were not necessarily as high as they may have been if not for his perceived sensitivity and slowness.

And while he was still somewhat still shifting through the hurt of his plan to make that kind of dream come true didn't work out as intended, that was not the only reason he purposely chose to keep his focus on making items he associated with himself instead of himself in association with the person he was dating at the time in his life. His decision to do so had not been made out of a lack of love for that individual, but rather because he wanted to keep the home he was making for the boy he once was be one crafted from as much self love as he possibly could have.

"There's still lots of other things I could maybe make to go into the home for the Muu that was the littlest, I guess. Like if I made things relevant to dating for the first time, since th- that was a very core thing for me when I was only sixteen. I don't.. really want to though, because I feel.. like that is where a lot of the guilt of being me comes from to begin with, an- and I don't want to stick him into the house for him right back into those feelings all over again. Of not.. loving in the right way, or of making things harder than they needed to be even if maybe I didn't mean for it to be that way. I'm.. making these little houses, or whatever they're gonna be, so these littler versions of me get to be tucked away into spots of healing. That's why I- I am maybe making all of these things, but not even use all of 'em, because I want to make sure the space is happy for them. I don't.. want them to cry because something doesn't feel safe."

Even in the seriousness of his words, he never strayed away from wanting to ramble on more regarding the thoughtfulness behind his intentions. What he was working on was obviously of great importance to him. Even more than that, he seemed to have been so caught up in his own motivation that he'd failed to even really notice how expressive his body language and facial features became when he shared on about even just the smallest of things that brought life into him at such a young, impressionable age.

Or at least he hadn't until receiving the compliment offered by the other male. Out of what seemed to be embarrassment, the blond instinctively pulled a hand away from sorting through his miscellaneous items to pull the fabric of his shirt up to protectively cover the lower half of his face. In reality, however, he was more so hiding away the surprisingly boyish grin that silenced his moving lips. As well as the growing shade of pink that existed around the nose that sat above them. He was still very much getting used to being spoken to as if his company was desired rather than being hypervigilant of the backhandedness that came from people spending time with him out of obligation or manipulation rather than genuine companionship. Unlike in the many months prior, though, he at least found himself really enjoying the affirming words of endearment offered by the raven.

"Oh, thank you.. I'm not very good at talking about myself a lot of the time. Or of even just.. knowing myself, but you.. you know, th- that is something we can at least, kind of.. learn together maybe?"

[kxhlzn]

[i.] the birdwatcher & his lover.

➳ synopsis: it's the summer of '89, and you discover new things about yourself— some good, and some you wish you could swallow and never see again. dealing with the newfound confusion of sexuality, you must learn the ins and outs of friendship and what it means to grow up.

➳ genre: coming-of-age drama, fluff, crack, angst, slow burn romance, lgbtq+ themes.

➳ characters/pairing(s): eventual stanley uris/reader (main couple), unrequited!beverly marsh/reader, eventual richie/eddie (possibly unrequited), eventual bev/ben.

➳ wordcount: 3.2k

➳ warnings: profanity, partial nudity (the lake), slight angst.

➳ song recs: "beverly" from the it soundtrack & "she" by dodie.

➳ author's notes: hi hi hi! this is my first fic on tumblr and honestly i'm a bit anxious about this bc i haven't written in ages lmfao. this is a series, so pls don't hesitate to send in asks and the like! nothing is set entirely into stone yet. please note! the characters are fifteen in this, and pennywise doesn't attack derry at all; so georgie is alive and well and chasing paper boats in the rain. richie & reader are both bisexual, ben & bev fall in love as kids. reader and bill are vv close but platonically.

June, 1989.

the first time you meet stanley uris, he is perched on a oak bench planted in the middle of derry park, his bruised knees pressed together in order to keep his journal steady. his chin is pointed to the heavens, eyes searching the clouds, a curious glow in them; cheeks dusted a light pink, he was angelic, the sun's rays a dull comparison to the golden glow of his messy curls. the boy had a nervous tick of tapping his pencil against the yellowed paper in his lap, followed by the curve of his brow when he noticed a bird flutter overheard.

you, at age eleven, were fascinated by him, and lacked a filter to save you from your mouth. it's almost as if the hinge of your jaw had lost a screw, and you feared if it hung open too long a fly might seek entrance there. of course, it would have been entirely avoidable if you hadn't sat your butt right next to him, and stuck your nose right where it didn't belong: in his journal.

"your handwriting is pretty, but your drawings can use some serious work. is that supposed to be a bird? it looks like it's having a heart attack," you had said, tilting your head, "the wings are too jagged and the legs too... sticky, you know? not like sticky like honey, but sticky like... you know, sticks? are you mute or something?"

your blank stare forces stanley's hand to shoot to the back of his neck as he tries to find the words to attend to all of your commentary. his mouth opens and closes a few times before you roll your eyes dramatically, slumping into the back of the bench. stanley clears his throat, eyes falling to the ground.

a silence ensues, and you glance from his crestfallen expression to the drawings. "and, uh, his eyes are buggy; they look like fat marbles. they're taking up his whole face."

stan releases a breathy laugh, and he raises an eyebrow at the graphite drawing in front of him. "they do, don't they?"

you mirror his laugh, and nod solemnly. "there's no saving them," you say, and decide to tell him your name, outstretching your hand proudly.

"stanley," the boy replies, meeting your grip and giving it a good shake. "uh, you know a lot about drawing. could you fix him?"

you hum, taking the journal from his lap and dropping it in your own. you tilt your head at the sketch, putting your chin in your hand. "it's going to be a tough job, but i think he'll survive. scalpel, sir?"

he hands you the yellow pencil, sharpened down half its original length. "anastesia? or uh," you inquire, not aware of how to spell or pronounce the word, "the stuff that doctors give people during surgery."

"anesthesia," stanley corrects, pulling a pink eraser from his pocket and giving it away.

"yeah, that," you bring the eraser down and the bird lines are soon gone, but the remnants of what was stays behind on the paper. "your lines are really hard. you've prolly got heavy hand, you know. but don't worry, i do too."

the next few minutes are in comfortable silence, save for your absent-minded humming. stanley leans over your shoulder, but not to the point of invading personal space, studying each pencil stroke gracing the journal. he makes a comment about the structure of the real-life bird, and you nod your head in agreement. the two of you synchronize nearly perfectly — you sketch what he tells you to. you aren't very observant to the outside world, but you focus on details in your drawings. stanley will mention that the creature has a stray mark on its beak, and you pencil it in without the graphite being too dramatic, which stanley is quick to do in his work.

after an hour of chatting and working, you are sitting on the back of the bench, feet placed comfortably on the seat. you are talking on and on about a story that happened during your english class, and you don't refrain a single detail. stanley listens intently, body slouched forward over his journal as he writes physical descriptions of the bird next to the drawing. he checks the time on his watch, and nearly jumps out of his seat. he swivels around, eyes blown wide, but you don't seem to notice as your arms wave about, mimicking a girl in your class.

stanley barks your name, which sounds sweet on his tongue, he realizes. when you focus on him curiously, he looks guilty. "i have to go. i was supposed to go to my friend's house so we could go to the quarry together. uh, unless you want to.. go?"

you grin, hopping onto the soil beside him. "for sure!" you hook your arm in his, and skip forward a few steps.

"wrong way," he says sheepishly.

you turn around, now exceedingly confident. "onward, steed!"

the next few years, up until freshman year, you are best friends with stanley uris and his gang of friends; bill denbrough, richie tozier, and eddie kaspbrak. bill was the kindest of all of them, a sensitive boy with a heart of gold. his love for art made him an easy companion, and you grew very close the summer of 7th grade, spending many hours a week at his house simply talking and making art. his little brother is like your favorite person, the little squirt constantly bugging bill about when he'll see you again, and telling bill he likes you better because you'll play with him.

eddie is a mother hen to you, warning you about the dangers you put yourself in on a daily basis. you are more reckless than the other boys, so it's common to see eddie turn an ugly shade of purple when he witnesses you do something exceedingly ignorant. with your asthma, he can relate to you, but you personally believe the inhalers you have are pointless and there's no need to rely on them, but eddie disagrees. when he takes a puff from his emergency inhaler, which is more of a daily one, he tends to shove one in your mouth too for simple sake of anxiety. you've found that he calms down when you play with his hair or give his scalp a light scratch, his voice lost in the serenity of it all.

ah, richie tozier; you two are scarily similar, and everyone is aware of it. he's of course referred to as "trashmouth", and you're known as "loudmouth", as richie has a tendency to speak inappropriate things, and you just keep speaking and can't properly whisper to save your life. a major difference between the two of you is your vulnerability, naiveness, and positive charisma. his talkativeness is characterized by sarcasm and the "class clown" stereotype, while yours relies more on really just being a chatterbox, whose thoughts spill out at rapid speeds without being filtered by your brain. fortunately, it's easier to make friends this way, and you tend to be the ice-breaker of your friends. richie, personally, admires this about you and thinks of you as an "innocent little ball of sunshine", and likes to put his arm on your head to show his dominance.

your relationship with stanley uris is a bit complicated; of course, at first, it was unproblematic being friends with him, as you were easy opposites. you spoke into the space that he was too quiet to fill, and it was comfortable for the both of you; you got to speak your mind without interruption, and stanley was able to have company that didn't force him to interact gregariously. however, as you grew with time, he found your carelessness to be irritating, as he hated feeling he had to be anxious all of the time; stanley enjoys turning his alarm off, and running on low function, and he thinks it is hard to do that when you're jumping off cliffs, climbing on slippery rocks with your eyes covered, and provoking bullies three years older than you. he finds you irrational and childlike, which is difficult for him to grasp as an inherently strategic and analytical person. you are a glass half full, and he is glass half empty. he prefers to consider the consequences, and you have a tendency to wait to find them out after you commit the deed. he has his future planned, and you want to live in the moment; you enjoy surprises, new opportunities, as there is something entirely boring about being sure what you plan to do each day. sometimes, you believe stanley wakes early, dresses in the outfit he put aside the night before, and takes a seat to write down a schedule. you shiver at the thought. unfortunately, the disagreements put tension on your friendship, as hanging out periodically ends with an argument, and one of you stomping out to rant to one of the others. you sincerely care for each other, but also find each other extremely irritating when the situation calls for it; which is becoming increasingly habitual as you grow taller with age.

but you also find him to be beautiful.

you're fifteen when you properly meet ben hanscom, beverly marsh, and mike hanlon. it's also the first time you felt something strike deep in your gut for that particular redheaded girl, and the way her newly chopped locks curled at the ends. she had tucked your hair behind your ear as you wrestled with the button on your overall shorts, and took your hands in hers, pushing them aside so she could slip the button through the hole properly. she was so graceful, elegant even, in the way she held herself. that day, you labeled the twist of your insides as insecurity, nothing else.

it was a mix of many things, you realized a long time after. insecurity, deep-rooted sexual confusion, and jealousy.

beverly is the first to jump off the cliff and into the lake below. after aiding you in your clothing disaster, she slips her creamy overdress from her shoulders, and gives her arms a good shake. she departs with a glance back at you, the sun beating down on her hair like fiery red flames, and her icy eyes contrasting its intensity. suddenly, you feel so small; so plain. before she could see your lip quiver, she was in the air, high like an angel, before falling towards the murky waters.

the stars in bill and ben's eyes, and the admiration in the rest of theirs, erupt a cacophony for you, striking your heart like a harsh note: these aren't your boys anymore.

bill jumps next, and then the others, eddie last. the splash sends spikes in your spine, but it's a warm hand on your shoulder that kick-starts your body. sandy curls appear in front of your face, tilting to reveal the kind eyes of stanley uris. his mouth is shaped in a firm line, a bit disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm. he seems to be at war with himself.

he stays silent for a moment, eyes searching the sky for the right words. "i want to go last," he finally breathes, seemingly triumphed in his verbiage, "i don't want them to see me cross my fingers behind my back before i go."

you laugh softly, relieved. you are grateful knowing he wasn't going to pry in your hesitation, or your brief self-consciousness. even when the two of you bicker, you hold high respect for stan; he's a boy of few words. he isn't shy, and certainly isn't bashful; he simply chooses to speak sparingly, believing that the chattiest voices aren't always loudest. he doesn't word vomit to fill the silence; that is how you know his words are meticulously chosen, like pieces to a greater puzzle.

stanley's thin frame makes no unnecessary movements, but rather awaits yours. his hand has long since abandoned your shoulder, and rather is cuffing his other calmly in front of his hips. the lack of speech isn't menacing or awkward, but instead a bit comforting; it gives you adequate time to finish undressing, tossing aside your socks and shoes. you pull the loose scrunchie from your hair, and give yourself a silent nod in reassurance.

"promise not to tell?" stan says quietly when he's sure you're more stable, curious eyes searching for yours.

"pinky promise," you insist, holding up the smallest finger on your right hand. when his wraps around yours, you toss him a childlike grin. "i never break them."

and then you're gone, cascading down towards the green waters, each wave crystalizing in your descent.

"i know," stanley whispers to himself. little do you know, he has the same epiphany you had just seconds ago, aweing after beverly.

he crosses his fingers behind his back, and steps off the cliff's edge.

air reaches your lungs when you pull your head above the surface, and you gather your sopping hair from your skin, laying it against your neck. you face the sky, and stan's dive is a flash of gold: like a bird, graceful in it's dip, his curls like its wings.

you find yourself wanting to ask him what it's like to fly.

—

on a boiling day in the middle of june, you and the others spend a day in the quarry again, but instead have a picnic by the rocks rather than racing back into town for a snack at eddie's house. it was mike's idea; he hadn't told anyone until he showed up early that day, sweaty and beaming with a quaint basket and blanket tucked under his arm. you felt a bit guilty, honestly— you wish he would've told you so you all could pitch in.

he seemed ecstatic, though, setting it up, so you couldn't bring yourself to mention that.

beverly says she wants to sunbathe with you, so you agree with hot cheeks and position yourself awkwardly next to her, posture straight with your knees tucked under your arms. your stiffness goes unnoticed by her, thankfully, so you're able to admire her form in peace as she stretches her limbs out with a soft sigh. compared to her, you feel unbearably rigged, unbearably not feminine. a thought crosses your mind that her own feminity outshines yours so much that the boys must think of you as one of them, minus the third leg, and with twin petals blossoming on your chest.

the boys are curled around their usual spots, the multiple boulders a few feet from your seated position, chatting carelessly. mike is discluded, lost in preparing the perfect picnic for you all. perhaps if you had noticed the simplicity of it all, you wouldn't have blurted out something ignorant to force a tension in the summer air.

"do you guys think i'm pretty?"

the conversation drops briefly, takes a soft roar, and then entirely ceases as seven pairs of eyes draw to you, including mike and beverly. the red-haired girl has a smirk on her lips, tilting her head ever so slightly as if to test your patience and purpose.

bill clears his throat gently. "u-um, well, yeah of c-course.. w-why wouldn't w-we?"

you shrug nonchalantly, and the others eyeball each other, pleading for another to say something else. eddie and ben slyly play rock paper scissors for a sacrifice.

richie whistles lowly. "this is gonna be good."

your face's temperature soon begins to rival the sun as your breath hitches in your throat, attention turned directly on beverly, as though her presence might calm your nerves. it doesn't. your lower lip is caught between your teeth, as you grow progressively more embarrassed of yourself the longer the others stare.

beverly smiles gently, her intensely blue eyes never straying from yours. "i think you're the prettiest girl in the world."

you sputter suddenly, adjusting your aviators, and spill out something along the lines of "i have to go take a piss", and skitter off in the direction of the woods. you curse yourself the entire way.

richie laughs, breaking the tension. he pats stanley's bare back roughly as the lanky boy stares at the trees you disappeared behind. "and the hits just keep on coming."

"beep beep, richie," eddie scolds, and richie winks at him, suggestively nodding towards him. eddie rolls his eyes and his gaze drops to his feet.

"sandwiches, anyone?" mike whimpers, a lopsided grin as he holds up a loaf of bread. stanley gently pushes past him and disappears into the brush.

"well, i, for one, would like three," richie replies, slapping his thighs as he stands.

eddie mumbles a word or two about richie being "as selfish as ever", and makes his way to mike also. beverly is a bit quiet, and bill chooses to sit beside her; his hands fall to his knees, rubbing them subconsciously.

"u-um, you didn't do a-anything wrong," he says, aware of the deep concentration beverly has. he can usually tell when everyone is upset or has something on their mind. "she's j-just been a l-little self conscious lately."

"please," beverly whispers, lifting her head to the sky, "i can tell she's been different around me. i must have said something to offend her. i should apologize—"

beverly pulls herself up, dusts off her legs, and is yanked down by bill's shaky hand.

"d-d-don't—" when the girl steadies, he continues, "let them b-b-be. if y-you really did s-something to h-hurt her, s-s-stanley will f-find out. trust him."

the greenery is exceedingly massive— miles and miles of towering woodland, filtering in streams of sunlight, rocky terrain around every trunk. you find yourself breathing heavily while seated on a boulder that is tucked away behind a ledge, facing the opposite way of the opening that your friends are at. elbows pressed into your knees, you put your face in your hands.

the air is tightening around your throat, and your uneven breaths become wheezes. you fist your hair in frustration, and smooth it down seconds after. this turns into a cycle, as you calm your wild nerves. fuck. are you allowed to think of her like that? you inhale deeply, the scent of soil filling your senses.

twigs crack in the distance, rapidly approaching feet obliterating the silence that has so graciously aided you in your toxic thoughts. you run your hands through your hair, and then fist a handful at the scalp. you smooth it out tenderly. when the footsteps are extremely close, slow down their pace, and stop entirely, you squeeze your eyes shut.

"go the fuck away, bill, i don't need your lect—" you bark, waving him away, but are cut off by long arms wrapping around your neck. your anxiety washes away, but you make no effort to embrace them in turn. your hands become fists, with no fabric of a shirt to grasp. you don't notice the tears racing down your face until your eyes and cheeks burn furiously, and your throat is caught up in sobs. when you peek, the sight of stanley's dusty curls in your peripheral sends waves of numbness and comfort over your skin.

your thoughts become hazy once you've lain your head against the bone of stanley's bare shoulder, and you feel a weight on your body lift from you— and transfer to him.

you swear you can hear faint whispering, voice cracked and vulnerable: "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

the part that leaves you aching for days in the future, is that you're not sure he was talking to you.

➳ i hope you liked it! it's a bit short but idc cuz i'm tired.

[danetobelieve]

Lessons In Intent || Ricky and Winston

While Ricky had many things about his home that he liked, he had to admit that his absolute favorite place was his workshop. The guest house that he lived in had a two stall garage out back, but he’d never parked his truck in there, instead opting to renovate it into a place where he could come, blast music, and work on his craft. Recently however, he’d done some more renovating inside of it, condensing his stuff and clearing up about a third of the space for Winston to use. Since they’d started really claiming their magical ability for their own, Ricky had wanted them to have a spot for alchemy or whatever else they were trying, someplace safely away from the home they both lived in. He hardly noticed the lessening of his workspace however, as he had been completely and utterly consumed with his latest project. The fact that Remmy had solved his puzzle box so effortlessly and quickly had cut him in a deep deep part of his soul, and almost all of his spare creative energies were being channelled into making a new one, a better one, a harder one. Taking inspiration from several episodes of a podcast he’d been listening to, this newest design was founded on fractals, and the strange branching paths they took. A dodecahedron by general shape, it was the designs on the sides, laid in white and stained-black wood, that had to be shifted and manipulated to cause the complex locking mechanism to release itself, revealing the velvet lined interior. It had been weeks he’d been working on it, and with the sheaves upon sheaves of schematics drawn in his loving hand laid out in front of him, only about 30% of the actual assembly had been completed. It was his rabid focus, coupled with the loud music playing from the stereo behind him, that caused him to completely not notice Winston entering their shared creative space until he looked up through his curls, “oh hey dude! Sup?” 

When Ricky had suggested that Winston use the space in the workshop as their own, they had been skeptical. But they’d had a spare rig that they’d finally moved from their parents house that they wanted to set up and it gave them a good excuse to spend time with Ricky. Their lives were so full of supernatural shit now that Winston struggled to see their friend regularly. Hanging out adjacent to one another was interesting and after Winston set up that space that had been dedicated to them, they elected to spend time working on a small project. They had some questions about the extents to which enchanting could go, however it seemed to them that the main thing they had to master was the form of the spell. They started with something simple, a locking enchantment on a small cardboard box that would in theory mean that only Winston could open it. They were deep within the prep phase and ready to test out their first time attempting an enchantment. Honestly they weren’t hopeful that it would happen. After all their magic was unreliable at the very best of times and getting it to cooperate in doing something more complex then spontaneous combustion left Winston feeling somewhat skeptical at best. Entering the workshop, they nodded to Ricky. “Not much, just working on this thing.” They nodded towards the shoe box that they were carrying. It seemed prudent not to use anything of sentimental value until they got more competent. 

Winston was a particularly calming influence in Ricky’s life; the young mage/wizard/arcanist always seemed cool and collected during even the most stressful of times, and some of that rubbed off on Ricky, who could veer into the borderline manic without much difficulty. Setting down the tweezers he was using to place tiny pieces of wood onto a purely decorative panel for the box, Ricky took a moment to retie his errant hair back, brushing stray sawdust out of the dark curls as he looked across the workshop at Winston, “On a shoebox? Do you have a dead pet in there? I’m not necessarily against necromancy but it seems like thats some upper tier magic that maybe you shouldn’t fuck around with until you get the basics down. Like time magic, probably should steer clear of that too.” He consulted the plans in front of him as he resumed assembling the panel; this particular face of the twelve-sided figure inspired by the fractal nature of fern fronds. One hand held the tweezers idly as the other traced over the design, muttering measurements and courses of action to himself under his breath, switching from spanish to gaelic to english and back again as his mind plotted out his next moves. He didn’t understand the magic Winston worked but, it seemed to be working out for his friend and that was really all that Ricky cared about, “If you want different music on or need it turned down lemme know. I’ve got earbuds I can put in.”

“The shoebox isn’t actually going to be anything, actually. I just wanted to practice on something without potentially enchanting it into something which isn’t usable again.” Winston replied as they set it down. They’d carried a laptop and a stack of wires for various peripherals they were installing in their work space. Their place of work was still a work in progress but they were beginning to get things closer to the way that they wanted them. Pulling down a screen that they’d mounted on an old adjustable arm they’d borrowed from the scrap pile at the station. The amount of old tech that they were able to salvage from broken or old units was mind blowing and Winston already had several boxes of scrap in their room. “I’m planning on learning how to enchant things, seems to be a lot of adding runes to stuff and then imbuing it with power but I’d be interested in looking at the potential power sources that could be involved and what that would change for the enchantment. But that’s all very theoretical because until I have been able to set up the enchantment, which I haven’t been able to do. The theory of it all is fascinating but actually getting it to work in real life has been more difficult.” Their magic was either feast or famine. They were either setting giant crabs on fire or they were struggling to cause flames to burst into existence. “You’re good dude, the music is fine. Although I think that chronomancy and necromancy are definitely beyond my scope and not something I want to fuck with.”

It had become very evident very early on in their friendship that Ricky and Winston’s minds worked in incredibly different ways, and listening to them talk about magic really drove that point home. Whereas Ricky’s mind dealt mainly in abstracts, thoughts ebbing and flowing as randomly and ephemerally as the waves that had birthed him, Winston’s was sharp and regimented, a cascading series of logical statements and hypotheses that marched onward toward practical solutions. It had never been a point of contention between the two of them, however. In fact Ricky thought that if anything it made them function better together, able to see various parts of problems the other’s mind didn’t arrive at naturally. “Well… that sounds complicated as fuck my dude. But…” the last piece of the panel slid softly into place, gentle susurration of wood on wood marking its arrival, and Ricky gently and carefully set it in front of a neatly labeled placard for the glue to dry before he varnished it, “It also sounds like you’re getting more confident in it all. Couple of weeks ago you didn’t believe your magic existed, let alone be able to spout magical theory like that. You’re coming a long ass way.” Picking up the next page of the schematic he started carefully pulling pieces towards him, humming under his breath as he did. “Work still going well?”

The separation of personality between Ricky and Winston had always had different ways of approaching the problem. They’d gone looking for roommates and found each other. At first there had been some conflict and disagreement as there was in any relationship such as theirs but they had worked through most of it and had found that they were able to live successfully in harmony. They’d learned their habits and moods, when someone needed company and when they just needed to be left alone. “Magic is complicated as fuck,” Winston still felt wildly out of their depth, they’d barely covered the rudimentary fundamentals since they’d began reading up on magic and though they had a basic understand of the core knowledge that they required they were yet to be truly an expert, “although I have made a lot of progress and I understand more, there is more then I would ever be able to cover and I’m quickly running out of resources that I can use to actually learn stuff.” They knew what world they lived in now and now that they did know they found themselves wanting to know more. “It might be new but it is fascinating, I can’t believe that I was ignorant for so long…” they trailed off and shrugged. “Works fine, it’s boring and honestly doesn’t seem valuable when I could be back here. But I still want to help people and this is how I would be able to do that, so gotta keep going.”

Ricky carefully set the tiny wooden gear he was carving before he allowed himself to laugh, “I think that might be the understatement of the century, my dude. Magic seems CRAZY complicated… and I am literally an animal that is sometimes a person. Your shit makes my shit look simple.” He resumed his work, leaning over the table-mounted magnifier that allowed even him, with his terrible vision, to do the tiny minute work this project required. “I’m crazy proud of you dude,” he kept his voice low, willing himself not to breathe too heavily as he talked, “I’m sure when you exhaust your resources here, there’re other places you can get stuff from. I’m sure there’s some like… dark web for magi. Mages? Spellsluts? I dunno what you magically self-identify as.” The music continued on around them as they both worked and as he set down the finished gear, Ricky picked up another piece of wood, its future form sketched on it in pencil, “Well I mean don’t be too hard on yourself, dude. A lot of the not-normal parts of White Crest work pretty hard to keep ourselves under wraps. You probs had to have some like… magical coming of age before you could even be ready to see the stuff that’s lurking behind the scenes here.” His hardened look of concentration softened slightly into a fraction of a smile as Winston kept talking, it was one of the many things that bonded them together, the need to help people and do good, “Life isn’t all magic and monsters. You gotta leave time for the normal stuff too. The helping people stuff.” 

“Magic is crazy complicated but it seems to be so inherent within our world now that I wonder if perhaps there have been examples of scientific observation that is actually just magic,” Winston replied quietly before shrugging, “Is shapeshifting not magic in someway?” They weren’t really expecting an answer but it didn’t exactly seem like it was a natural thing that had evolved. Though Winston was far from sure about that. Ricky's admission of pride made Winston feel happy, they hadn’t heard it like that before and a smile dragged across their face. “Thanks dude, I am crazy proud of you too, I know this has all been … something.” Skylar, magic, cursed chests on a beach, it was all a lot for them to deal with and Ricky has led the charge. “Exactly, I get the impression that we live in an area that has a lot to offer for this sort of thing and I guess I’d just call myself a spell caster for now. Though a spellslut is a good one.” They considered their past ignorance and shrugged. “It’s whatever, I don’t understand how anyone can live in denial about these things after having their first encounter with it, that makes no sense to me, if you’ve had a brush with this then how could you deny it?” Setting the box down, Winston began working on the enchanting circle that they would need to draw before they could do their magic. It was precise work but they had spent a long time practicing it. “Sure, but it is the magic and monsters that I find interesting…” 

“It is, and I’m there’s a lot of overlap between science and magic in ways that we don’t necessarily expect.” Ricky sent the small piece of wood down on the bench, replacing the thin file he’d been using to grind its teeth back in its spot on his tool tray, more engrossed in the conversation than the carving, “Oh it’s absolutely magic. But it’s…. Sorta a loose kind of magic? Like. It happens. It’s a thing. One moment there’s a man, the next there’s a seal, and the sort of in between is less regimented than some other kinds of magic I think. But yet it’s totes magic. Just… involuntary magic. Or at least it’s magic that exists in a way that encompasses me so fully it at least appears involuntary.” Pushing himself back from his work table he moseyed over to the electric kettle and flipped it on, dragging a mug down from the shelf, “You want some tea?” He shrugged as he listened to the water start to heat up, “Denial is a powerful thing,” an unmistakable air of bitterness crept into his voice, “Just look at Skylar. Demonstrably not a human, knows the solution to her problems, refuses to accept that or the fact that she has agency in the level of misery in her life.” Ricky idly watched as Winston started to draw something, that he assumed was in some way tied to the magic he was trying to work on a shoebox of all things, “They are interesting. You know, up until you’re cursed for a month or something wrecks your dining room or a hunter tries to kill you. But. I definitely think just plain old human life would be way too boring for me.” 

“I’m starting to see that a lot in everything that I read, this exchange of energy for magic is interesting, I wonder if it could be harnessed differently.” Winston was thinking out loud, they weren’t expecting an answer yet. There was a lot of hardwork that they still needed to do. “Nah I’m good man,” they said as they looked up at their friend. They moved the marker that they were using in a specific motion, marking the box in the way that they had memorised. “I wonder how that came about,” they said generally curious, “this is all so cool, is it evolution, was it magical, was it a mixture of the two, I doubt we’ll ever actually know but even the possibilities are completely fascinating.” They considered Skylar’s situation quietly, frowning to themselves and shifting somewhat uncomfortably at Ricky’s words. They knew that they were right, but that didn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. “I hope that she works it out, I’m getting really scared for her.” They paused for a second and gazed at their shoes. “Well, I don’t want to condemn or deny anything here, but I don’t think I would want to go back to not knowing. This is a world with so much potential and it’s almost being wasted by all these people who are too ignorant to engage with it.” 

As the kettle whistled, Ricky turned it off and filled his mug, plopping a tea bag in before moving back to his bench. “I think it’s one of those things where, if there was a distinct point where magic infected or changed evolution, it’s so far in the past and so buried in myth that short of legit time travel or oracular vision you’ll never find the clear point of separation. But it would be interesting, to know exactly how things like me came into being.” He pulled a trap full of tiny and well-labeled gears towards him, and set the schematic where he could easily read it. He’d checked a ton of books on locksmithing and clockwork out from the library, some of which they’d had to call in from other branches, and had given himself a series of progressively worse headaches trying to comprehend everything in them, but they’d all come together to make what he hoped was a diagram on paper that could be accurately mimicked in reality. “Mmmm.” he made a non-commital noise at Winston’s comments, retying his hair before bending to his intricate work, “Well. Me too. But also. Not my problem anymore. I tried being nice and supportive, I tried forcing her hand. She’ll figure it out or she’ll die and nothing I do will change that those are the only two outcomes.” He didn’t have the mental capacity to respond to the tail end of Winston’s comments, as he was entirely and wholly focused on the work of assembling one of the locking portions of the box, “Those people are dumb and will be purged by their own idiocy.”

Honestly, looking back at this with the blessing of hindsight, Winston would realise that things could’ve been left for a minute. Starting a semi complex incantation to enchant something, especially for the first time was a questionable move when you took into consideration the fact that Skylar might well play on their emotions. But they shrugged at Ricky and sat down in front of the box, shutting their eyes and slowly beginning to try and draw upon the well of power that they knew lived inside of them. They slowly and carefully began to chant in Latin, the incantation they had found was originally written in Latin and they’d spent all of their time committing it perfectly to memory. The tune that they had drawn onto the box began to glow faintly as they chanted and though they didn’t realise it at the time, the mixture of emotional turmoil at what could potentially be happening to their friend Skylar and what was some poor Latin pronunciation was enough to send things wrong. The rune glowed brightly and arch’s of arcane energy sparked from its surface. “Uh, Ricky,” Winston said having stopped chanting, “I might have fucked up.” 

Up until this moment, Ricky would have never known that magic had a smell. But it was there, over the smell of sawdust and wood varnish; acrid and ozone and pervasive. He hadn’t really been paying attention when Winston had started chanting, too engrossed in the minute trickery of his own projects. It wasn’t until that smell filled his sensitive nose and he heard them stop chanting that he noticed something was wrong. “Fucked up… how…?” He haltingly got up from his workbench, unable to look at the shoebox across the room, with how blindingly the arcane light sparked and flew off it. “That seems… very very bright. For a shoebox. Is uh…. is it dangerous?” It wasn’t long until Ricky had to press his hand to his eyes, the light too bright, stepping in front of Winston to shield them from… whatever might be about to happen. He could feel the light as an almost physical force, the magic pressing in on and against him and as it rose to a crescendo there was a brief moment where he wondered if he was about to die in a magical accident. Then. As suddenly as it had started it was finished, the room nearly pitch black after the incandescence Of magic gone wrong. “Win?”

“I don’t know how I fucked up, but it definitely is not meant to look anything like that,” Winston replied as they tried to draw the power back into themselves before realising that it was too far gone and whatever happened and they weren’t going to stop it right now. A bolt of arcane energy struck the panels of Ricky’s box and then the light exploded into the room and Winston was knocked off of their feet. Blinking, they managed to get rid of the spots on their eye and saw that the garage that they were in had been entirely encased with the various surfaces of Ricky’s puzzle box. “Uh, this apparently is how I’ve fucked up, I was just trying to put a locking enchantment on the box and it must’ve done something drastically wrong. Winston felt weak. Very weak. As if a good portion of their energy had been sucked from their body. 

“Okay I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t know shit about magic but that definitely didn’t seem like what you were trying to do.” Ricky reached down to offer his hand to Winston to help them up before he looked around at what…. He assumed… was still the garage. “Oh fuck.” Ricky didn’t see the carefully organized shelves and supplies that he was so proud of, instead he saw intricately carved pieces of wood arranged in a hauntingly familiar fractal pattern, and above where the door outside should have been was instead a very familiar set of initials; an R and C carved to look like a stylized wave. “So. Uh. Magic is uh…. About intent? Did I hear that somewhere? Maybe? Does uh… does it have to be your intent? Because… I might have been really fucking focused on the box. Like super focused on the box. Which… might be… why it looks like… the box maybe ate the garage? Or something like that. Either way. We might be in trouble. You’re smart right?”

Winston laughed. “Dude what gave it away that that wasn’t what I wanted to do…” they shook their head as they looked around them, “was it the flash of arcane light or the fact that I’ve turned our workshop into a giant version of your box… this is why you don’t fuck around with magic and I really should have known better but instead I fucked around with it, fuck fuck fuck fuck.” They looked around and moved over to the wall, placing their palms on the smooth surface of the wood. It was soft and well crafted beneath their touch. This was definitely something new. “Magic is definitely about intent and if you’re intent was to make a box and my intent was to lock that box then I am a little worried that we might well just be fucking locked in here,” they looked around the room, no doors or windows or even seams for them to pry open, “so we’ve got to find out a way out of a locked puzzle box.” They were well and truly fucked. They were going to die in here. Sweat beaded on their brow and Winston forced themselves to remain calm. They had to breath. There was a way out of here they just had to find it. “I am definitely not smart.” They looked around, what did they have to work with? 

“To be honest it was the blinding light and the almost 100% assuredness that I was going to die in a magical explosion. That pretty much made me confident that wasn’t your intended use of the spell. I’m pretty confident in the assessment that you don’t want to kill me.” Ricky scratched the back of his neck as he wandered around what was once his workshop. Whatever the spell had done with his box it hadn’t made a perfect copy. That would have been easy enough to solve; he’d spent so long drawing up the plans he could solve his own box in his sleep. But it had at the very least seemed to take the spirit of his box and transfer it into the prison cell they were now locked in “well I’m dumb as a box of bricks. So. That’s not great. But…” he trailed off a little as he looked at the walls, “okay okay okay. So. The original plan. Was about conversion. Take the original design and convert it in order of ascending scale into a different one.” Furrowing his brow he waved his hands around as he tried to explain. “I read a lot of books about fractals and clockwork and locksmithing in the last couple weeks. We just have to figure out what is the base pattern of the new design and that’s a good starting point.”

“I’ll be honest, there’s no way to know we aren’t dead but I plan to continue operating under the assumption I am still living until I know better.” Winston was starting to wonder if it was really safe for them to continue experimenting with magic in the house, they doubted that they had actually taken the proper precautions and if they made it out of this it was important that they took more steps to make sure that something like this didn’t happen again. “I don’t want to kill either of us if that makes you feel any better but of course there is apparently a limit to what I can handle.” They gazed at the array of shapes on the walls around them, they were trying to work out the shape from the lines facing everywhere. “Okay, so we solve the pattern, do you have any idea what the pattern might be?”

“Well… I’ve just been operating under the assumption that because I still have… you know… rational thought and understanding, we’re alive. I don’t believe in any sort of afterlife. But. I could be entirely talking out of my ass.. Because I’ve also never been magically bound in a facsimile of one of my projects before. So. brand new territory all around.” Ricky wandered around the border of the workshop, running his hands over the polished wooden pieces. “It would have been easier if your spell had directly copied my box. That would have been fine. But it just sorta picked up the vibe and went with it.” He pulled a piece of charcoal from a table and drew a box around a section of wood, “This looks like the fractal base. What all my schematics referred to as Pattern Prime. Original plan had three steps. Pattern Prime turns into Pattern Alpha, Pattern Alpha turns a larger section of the box into Pattern Beta, Pattern Beta turns a larger section of the box into Pattern Gamma, and then Pattern Gamma locks into the other panels of the box to finally make Pattern Omega. Only six of the twelve panels actually had moving pieces that connected to gears. The others were dummy panels meant to throw Remmy off the scent. So… yeah. That’s where we’re at with this. I mean I have axes in here. But somehow I think that’ll make it worse.” 

“Plato had a theory that when we die we as humans ascend to a plane of rationality and understanding, maybe we died and went there.” Winston wasn’t trying to be morbid. They didn’t really think that they were dead. But this situation was one of the more absurd ones that they had found themselves in. They couldn’t imagine the level of energy that it must have required for them to make this happen, even if it were accidental. They already felt exhausted. But they knew that it was possible that to resolve this they would have to expend more. Maybe they would have to start carrying an energy bar with them at all time in case they accidentally went too hard with the magic again. “It would have been easier if I could handle the most basic enchantments without locking us within a modified version of your puzzle box,” Winston was frustrated, apparently it didn’t matter what they did to learn they still were far from in control of their magic and there were very real consequences for their actions, “but also know I am judging you for calling them Pattern Prime, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Omega. Wouldn’t it have been easier to call them pattern one, two, three, four or five?” They smiled gently despite the situation. “I wouldn’t advise axes either, I would like to keep as much of this intact because I don’t know what damaging an incorrect enchantment might do…” they shuddered to think, “Do you think that the actual mechanism could’ve been applied to this?” There was no physical mechanism in their garage normally.

“I’m sorry you’re gonna judge me for pattern prime and then sit here and Plato it up? You’re making it smell like nerd in here.” Ricky stuck his tongue out at his roommate and shrugged “that’s what some of the books called them so I just went with it. Also. I’m not human. So. I dunno if your Plato thing applies” seeing no other immediate recourse, Ricky wiped his charcoal covered fingers on a rag and set about making himself another cup of tea. “To be fair to you, dude, we don’t know how magic reacts to the presence of a non-human. I mean. I’m at least in some way magic, just not in any way with practical applications. That doesn’t seem like it’s setting up a good controlled environment for you to test your abilities in. You’re just starting out. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Looking around he idly bobbed the tea bag in his mug; sharp smell of citrus filling the air. “I mean. Confinement aside. This is honestly super fucking impressive. You turned a whole building into a magical prison! That’s awesome! If we weren’t inside it would be more awesome but hey. Beggars can’t be choosers.” Carrying his mug he moved to a section of the wall, pressing his ear against it as he attempted to slide a bit of paneling. “It doesn’t sound like there are gears behind it. This might just be a purely visual lock”

A wry smile danced its way across Winston’s face. “Yes that is exactly what I am going to do and if you have a problem with the stench of intellect then I can’t help you because that isn’t me.” At least they could still have a good time even if they were potentially going to die in this room. They looked at Ricky and nodded. “That is a very good point, I forgot that you were a seal, you look remarkably human for a seal you know that?” They looked around the room. They knew that Ricky was trying to make them feel a bit better by offering them the possibility of a way out of responsibility but they didn’t think that they could blame this on them. “I don’t think that the presence of a non human would have really affected it, maybe it did, but it might as likely been a problem with concentration or an error in the enchantment that I physically drew onto the box.” They would have to design a template to ensure that this was mitigated as much as possible in the future. They looked around the room as more energy drained from them and pulled open one of their draws and pulling out a protein bar in an attempt to refuel with something that would battle the energy drain they were experiencing. Rubbing their eyes free of tiredness, Winston adjusted their lenses. “Impressive sure, concerning that I am capable of doing either barely anything or fundamentally changing the reality of a situation… this is not what I had meant to do and honestly the fact that it turned out like this is somewhat worrying, although at least we know that we can create something like this in case we need it.” They reached out and placed their palm on the wall, and took a step back as they were staggered by the experience they felt. “I can’t find physical gears, but there seem to magical like, lines, almost as if we could line them up like the original puzzle box…” they looked at the panel Ricky was examining. “Turn that ninety degrees, that way the line will line up with the panel to the left and right and then turn the panel above it 270 degrees and that will complete a shape.” 

“It’s certainly not me. I am a confirmed and notorious moron. Any stench of intellect therefore has to be coming from you.” Winking, Ricky took another sip of his tea, “well that’s the point isn’t it. That I look human. Have to confuse all you landlubbers. Hide in plain site and all of that.” Being trapped in a magical box that may or may not contain just their souls since they may or may not have been dead already was surprisingly relaxing since he was stuck there with Winston. “If I ever need a magical prison, which, given the concentration of Hunters in town I might, I’m going to come to you because this is impressive.” He put his hands where Winston indicated and made the directed changes, watching as the dark and pale wood morphed into a different pattern “okay now you do to the same thing on the panel over there by the belt sander. The way mine worked you have to do each transformation on each panel as a group. So they all get the final switch at the same time.” Now that Winston had figured out the base pattern they were meant to be changing on the walls, Ricky felt a lot better about their chances. He was definitely more useful in the action portions of a plan, and now that he had action to do he could finally be helpful, “see. You’re the smart one.”

“You know that you’re quite literally studying art..” Winston pointed out with a frown, “I know that you don’t think you’re an intellectual or anything but you’re smart. I can’t do half of the things that you can…” they shrugged gently and nodded, “you do a very convincing job of looking human and acting human…” they smiled, “I was fooled for a long time and I lived with you. In hindsight the signs were all there.” They laughed and shook their head. “I wouldn’t expect anything more like this from me, this is something that is way beyond me, entirely accidental, not what I wanted at all and I wouldn’t want to even attempt something like this without more guarantees, this trial and effort escape isn’t something I ever want to risk repeating.” Winston followed Ricky’s instructions and began rearranging the panels of the walls. It was good that Ricky was there to help them otherwise the actual practical application of the changing of the panels would’ve certainly escaped them for much longer then it had Ricky. With their help however they were able to make the prescribed changes. “I’m the one who can cast spells, it is a little different.”

“I’m plenty talented, don’t get me wrong. I’m an incredibly skilled craftsman, as evidenced at least in part by this fucking prison we’re in. This spell is a little bit both of us I think. But one of my students explained it in a super nerdy dungeons and dragons way once. I’ve got shit intelligence, but plenty of points in wisdom. I’m not book smart for damn sure. But. I’m intelligent in other ways.” Ricky couldn’t help but laugh a little, “a lot of the supernatural is right there if you know what signs to look for. But.That’s the problem. Humans don’t know what to look for. So. It’s pretty easy for us to slip between the cracks” he vaulted a low bench to get to the other side of the shop and mimic the change they’d affected on the first two panels on a section half hidden behind a bookshelf. “Bah. That’s just you selling yourself short, draoi. It’s beyond you now. It’s accidental now. That does not mean it’ll be accidental or beyond you forever. You think I started out making boxes like this? Statues like that?” He gestured to the other side of the shop where a half-finished statue of icarus, wings melting as he fell, stood on a bench, “hours and hours and hours and hours of practice. Shitty duck after shitty duck until they became less shitty.” He stood on a bench to reach a higher portion of the wall, shifting and twisting panels until the second iteration of the design fell into place. “Mimic this on your wall. This is one of your shitty ducks. You just need to put in more hours. Don’t forget that you’re fundamentally altering the fabric of the universe. That’s gonna take some fucking practice.”

“Ricky, as much as this might amaze you, we don’t actually live within a dungeons and dragons game. Now I know that might indeed be somewhat mind blowing.” Winston laughed gently and shook their head. “I’m fucking with you, I think that you’re right. We don’t know what we’re looking for, but you guys seem to and that is where we compliment each other. But unfortunately I do think that you’re right and that this is an amalgamation of this stuff. A combination of both my magic and your magic too. Not necessarily in the most ta but it is still there.” They shrugged gently and sighed, feeling a little deflated. “I know that it is something that has to keep going, I know that it is something that is going to take time to learn, but I can see all of these amazing possibilities, I can see all of these amazing things and feats that I could be doing to help people and I can’t because I have only just found out about this.” They sometimes wished that they were like Penelope or Morgan, they both knew exactly what they were doing and how they were going to do it. Winston would give almost anything to have that kind of courage and confidence. 

“You know I really hope we’re not dead because this is a lot of sass to spend eternity with. If this was dnd I’d have some dope armor and as I currently don’t have dope armor I’m unfortunately very aware this isn’t a fun fantasy magical world.” Ricky looked at the walls, eyes following the patterns until he saw the crossroads he was looking for. Unfortunately they were nearly at the ceiling, which meant he was standing on his tiptoes on top of a workbench trying to shift the panels “you’ve got time dude. You’re 24. You’ve got years to get good and do all the amazing and helpful bits of magic you’re dreaming of. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll be capable of it one day.” He jumped to get the last piece in place before clambering down and moving to the other side of the workshop to do the same on another panel. “Just use them as stretch goals. Some people keep pictures of what they want to look like on the mirror. You can just keep spell descriptions.” Finishing the panel he was working on he looked around the prison, “there should just be one more mutation. Then we find out if we’re dead or not!”

“I really hope that we’re not dead because I’ve yet to fulfil my dream of actually owning dope D&D armour,” Winston quipped back in reply, “not to mention that dying in a bizarro prison box realm isn’t exactly my idea of fun.” Nervously, Winston watched Ricky stretch as they adjusted the ceiling panels and did their best to help out. Their balance was much less adept then Ricky’s so they took it much slower. But they were determined to help. “I know, I know, everyone always says that there is time for everything but inherently isn’t that a lie, there won’t be time for everything. There’ll definitely be time for new magic don’t get me wrong, but what if I don’t get to do everything I want?” It had always been a fear. They didn’t want to leave White Crest but they also knew that if they stayed forever they might miss out on some stuff. Looking around them, Winston looked for the final thing that they would have to change. “Any idea what we’re looking for?” they said as they scanned the room through their glasses. 

“I made a joke to Deidre about having cool ass armor and now I have the distinct impression it’s gonna show up at our door one day. I think she has entirely too much disposable income on her hands.” Ricky couldn’t help but grin as he looked around the room to try to figure out the last set of steps to unlock their magical prison. “Hey. This was a bizarro prison realm house but we made it a bizarro prison realm home.” Ricky let his eyes drift out of focus slightly as he wandered the room, trying not to see the details but only focus on the big picture, “well that’s just part of being alive. Not even human. Just alive and mortal. The fear that you won’t have time to do all the things you want to do, accomplish all the goals you want to accomplish. But there’s really no way to plan or prep for the great vastness of possibilities that life is. You can’t prepare for every outcome. So. I guess you just do what you can and try not to regret anything else.” His strange erratic orbit of the room stopped abruptly as he saw what he was looking for. “There!” He pushed a stack of notebooks aside and started to rearrange the pattern on one of the walls “it’s gotta be that. Do that on your wall and I’ll get the third one and that should, fingers crossed, be the final pattern.”

“Deirdre is weird, I don’t know why she would have an excess of income but she is definitely the type of person to spend an absurd amount of money on something like armour, but i think that fae cultures — which is a phrase I NEVER thought that I would say — anyway fae cultures are kind of different to ours, which is why Deirdre is y'know Deirdre.” Winston had a knot in their stomach and was far from convinced that they weren’t dead. But this was their mess to clean up and they were determined to do it. At least that way they would know about the fate of their own mortality. “There is no one that I wish I could get stuck in bizarro realms with more then you.” 

Winston was kind of curious as to what was real and what was fiction. How did you actually tell these things apart? It wasn’t like there was an encyclopedia monster book or anything. Ricky seemed to have spotted something that he thought was important and Winston was quick to follow his instructions, slotting his part of the wall into the allotted spot that Ricky had suggested. “Okay, it is in place, now we have to do the third one right?” 

“Oh thank god you know about her. It’s getting really hard to keep track of who knows who is what. But yes. If I remember stories my mom told me about them, bestowing favors upon mere mortals… like me and you… in the form of spectacular armor is right up her alley, as a fae.” He cast his gaze around the room as Winston moved and changed the wall they were near to align the patterns into what Ricky hoped was the final and correct position, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in awhile, dude. I appreciate that. We’re bizarro prison realm buddies for… well… I sure as fuck hope not for life but for as long as it takes to get out of there.” Finding the last spot on the wall behind a bench, Ricky dragged the heavy set of shelves laboriously out of the way, fingers shaking slightly as he moved the wall into the final piece of the puzzle. As the last piece slid into place he heard, and felt in the pit of his chest, a click, and turned to see exactly what he had hoped for; a panel sliding back onto itself, revealing a button on the wall roughly where the door should have been, “That… should, and I”m really going out on a hopeful limb here, be the button to unlock this enchantment. We did everything like the box operates, and it revealed a button like the box does. So. It’s your spell dude… you wanna do the honors?”

“Honestly, I know exactly what you mean, the number of times I’ve almost ‘outted’ someone in a supernatural sense is ridiculous. And it’s not like you can act as if you know or it’s a normal thing because then all the normies will get their pitchforks and torches out and I can’t be bothered with a literal witch hunt.” Winston laughed at their own comment before continuing their train of thought. “Though I will admit that I’m hopeful for the armour, for your sake. Not that you’d ever use it. It’d be good furniture.” Winston turned and looked at Ricky before shrugging. “I mean it dude, I don’t know that there are many people that I would happily keep living with, ironically you being a seal hasn’t really changed that.” Looking as Ricky activated the next section, Winston was amazed as a panel of the wall slid backwards and revealed a button. “Well,” Winston replied swallowing nervously, “I guess here goes nothing.” They took a step forward and pressed the button on the wall, watching it compress and click into place and nervously waiting for their potential and inevitable death as the room was enveloped in a bright magic light.

“God I know exactly what you mean. I’m always just like… oh god…. Who knows what. I feel like I need a super complicated spreadsheet just to try to keep track of who knows what identity, my own included.” Ricky beamed over at his roommate, “Oh come on man. You know I would wear that shit all the time at home. Making brunch? Wearing my armor. Sorting the mail? Wearing the armor. Vacuuming? Wearing the armor.” Ricky couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head, “At least with a seal man hybrid I’m not leaving fish guts around. I’ve got some human sensibilities.” Ricky would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t shaking a little as Winston approached the button and pressed it, another blinding flash of magic he could feel in his bones filling his field of vision as he hoped the spell that bound them in the garage was unravelling. When the bright light faded he was overjoyed to see the garage back to its normal state, and the door showed the trees outside the garage, “FUCK YES!!!!” He shouted, vaulting a table and throwing the door open, “We’re not dead!! We solved the puzzle spell and we’re not fucking dead!!!!”

“I’ve just resorted to always being incredibly vague and hoping that I never say anything that needs too much explaining. It’s like living a million falsehoods all at once and not knowing which one you have to resort to next.” Winston was pleased that they weren’t the only one struggling with it. “That seems like it would be incredibly inconvenient and potentially uncomfortable to be constantly wearing a suit of armour. Especially whilst vacuuming.” They paused and shrugged. “I can deal.” Winston blinked several times at the light as it enveloped them and then as quickly as it had come it was gone. Winston stood there for a moment, dazed and confused by the entire situation. Then they realised that they had made it and for the moment were in fact very much alive. Sighing a very deep relief, Winston slumped backwards into their desk chair and grinned. “Ahaha!” they hooted with glee, “Fuck dude we actually solved it, I don’t think your puzzle box is hard enough dude.” They grinned and looked at the very mundane shoe box that they had failed to enchant, pulling their glasses off and rubbing their eyes exhaustedly. “I think I’m done with enchanting shit for today.”