#things i'd frame and hang on the wall

[nemo-draco]

@blottart414 Thought you'd like this

water era of my art

[reneeyaps]

coffee - leah williamson

inspired by the song ‘coffee’ by chappell roan.

warnings: angst, slightly suggestive content.

1.8k words.

leah williamson x reader.

Life looked a lot different these days. It seemed so long ago since the last time you’d genuinely smiled, since the last time you’d said you were fine and had actually meant it.

It’d been three months since you and your girlfriend of two years, Leah Williamson, had broken up, and yet it felt like you’d lived a lifetime without her. You were still awfully aware of the cold, empty spot beside you when you woke in the mornings, the absence of Leah’s presence at the dining table worsening that shard of grief you felt in your gut. That was your sanctuary, the place where you used to talk about your days and share secrets and stories and giggle about the most ridiculous things. Every day you went into the kitchen, still hoping to see Leah already up and dressed in her Arsenal training kit, pouting when you’d walked in on her making breakfast for you when she’d wanted to surprise you in bed. You’d leave for work every day and found you were still startled to see that her coat was not hanging next to yours on its usual peg, the framed pictures of the two of you no longer hanging on the walls.

It was as if there’d never been any trace of another person residing in this house with you, but the memories were still engrained in your mind, and the pain was unlike anything you’d experienced before.

‘Can't meet you for dinner at the Italian place

It's where I met your family, some words were exchanged

I'd suggest the jazz bar on MaryAnn Street but

You'd buy me a drink and we know where that leads, so’

Getting out of the house didn’t help, especially when everywhere you went you were reminded of the places you’d visited together, the memories you’d made. As you turned the corner, your eyes fell on the small Italian restaurant where you’d met Leah’s family for the first time. You remembered how anxious you were that night, how desperate you were to make a good impression. You’d stood in the mirror, staring at your reflection and debating whether or not you needed to change again when Leah had entered the bedroom, snaking her arms around your waist and planting a trail of kisses on your neck and shoulder.

“You look gorgeous,” she’d said, resting her chin on your shoulder and grinning at you in the mirror. You immediately felt yourself relax a little, a smile creeping its way onto your face. Leah had always been good at reassuring you, able to calm your racing heart and spiralling thoughts in a way no one else could. She’d insisted that her family were going to love you, and she’d been right. They’d been so warm and welcoming from the moment you entered the restaurant, and you eased into conversation with them as if you’d known them for years.

And how could they not love you when it was evident how much Leah adored you? She couldn’t take her eyes off you and insisted on holding your hand the entire evening, running her thumb soothingly over your skin, the gesture bringing a smile to your lips.

‘I'll meet you for coffee 'cause if we have wine

You'll say that you want me, I know that's a lie

If I didn't love you, it would be fine

I'll meet you for coffee, only for coffee

Nowhere else is safe, every place leads back to your place.’

A month after you and Leah had split, you’d unintentionally ran into each other at a mutual friend’s party. You’d intended to try and ignore her, knowing talking to her and hearing her voice and seeing her smile would just make things a million times harder. You’d overestimated your own willpower, though, soon finding yourself in Leah’s company once again.

She asked if you wanted to go back to hers for a drink, and like a fool you’d said ‘yes’. A couple of glasses of wine later, and you two were making out on Leah’s sofa, tangled up in each other’s arms. “I still want you, you know?” Leah had whispered, her hands trailing down to undo the buttons on your jeans.

“Then why did you leave?” You asked breathlessly.

Leah paused, her eyes shooting upwards to meet your gaze. “y/n…” She sighed. You studied her face, noticing the sadness in her eyes. How had you not noticed it sooner, how broken she was? You’d been so caught up in your own pain and despair that you’d failed to consider how she was holding up.

Leah pulled away, and immediately you missed her being close to you, not realising just how much you’d craved her touch. “I think it’s best if you leave,” Leah said, looking at anything but you, “before we do something we both regret.”

‘You said let's do the park 'cause I love the park

That may be true but god forbid it gets dark

Here come the excuses that fuel the illusions

But I'd rather feel something than nothing at all, so’

You’d wasted no time in calling an Uber for yourself, fleeing from Leah’s apartment and trying desperately not to let the tears flow in the back of the car. It just wasn’t fair — how could she do this to you?! You’d been naive enough to think that you and Leah were for forever, that you’d end up getting married and growing old together, content in each other’s company until the end of time.

A few days after the party, you saw Leah again. This time the pair of you crossed paths in the park where you were walking your neighbour’s dog. You tried to act like you hadn’t seen Leah, staring straight ahead and picking up the pace, but Leah caught up to you easily enough, her hand circling around your wrist and bringing you to a halt. You whipped your head around. “Leave me alone,” you told her. You’d wanted to act tough, but your voice faltered, and it sounded like you were pleading more than you were telling.

You snatched your wrist from her grasp and started to walk away, but still Leah followed you. “y/n, wait!” She called. “I just wanted to apologise —”

“For what?” You demanded. “For your actions the other night? Or for breaking my heart?”

Leah’s eyes brimmed with tears that she quickly blinked away. Her gaze fell to the ground, unable to look at you and the mixture of heartbreak and anger displayed on your face. “Both…I’m so sorry, y/n.” And then she turned and walked away without another word, leaving you with another emotion you hadn’t yet experienced in your heartache — anger.

‘I'll meet you for coffee 'cause if we have wine

You'll say that you're sorry, I know that's a lie

If I didn't trust you, it would be fine

I'll meet you for coffee, only for coffee

Nowhere else is safe, every place leads back to your-’

Back to the present day, and you were walking through the familiar streets, trying not to think about how the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the bakery reminded you of the many mornings you and Leah shared croissants and coffee before you dropped her off at training. The city was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses from nearby restaurants. You paid no attention to it, lost in thought with your bag of groceries in hand.

That was when you turned the corner and suddenly collided with someone.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” You exclaimed, looking up to apologise. When you saw who you’d had the misfortune of bumping into, your breath caught in your throat. “Leah?” You said, your voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“Y/n?” Leah’s eyes widened, a flicker of something — sadness, perhaps — passing through them. For a second the pair of you just stood there staring at each other, you feeling as though you’d forgotten how to breathe, Leah awkwardly scratching the back of her neck, and both of you unable to form a sentence.

“How have you been?” Leah asked eventually.

“I’ve been…good,” the lie rolled off your tongue easily enough, you had grown accustomed to it by now, after all, “busy with work and everything. What about you?”

“Same here…busy but good. Got a game coming up this weekend.” Leah met your gaze. “I’d love it if you could make it.”

“Leah —”

“Sorry, no…that was silly of me. Um…” Leah shook her head and sighed. “How about we go get some coffee? There’s a little cafe just down the street, you know the one where we had our first date?”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” You asked, your voice gentler now.

“Probably not…but I’ve missed you, y/n.”

You contemplated her offer, every part of you desperately wanting to say yes. Realistically, though, you had to weigh up the potential consequences that might arise from agreeing to have coffee with Leah, remembering how much harder it was for you after you’d found yourself in Leah’s arms once again the night of your friend’s party. Seeing her again was just a reminder of everything you wanted, but everything you could not have. You had to say no.

‘We've done this before

And I don't need it anymore’

“We can’t, Leah,” you said eventually. Your heart broke at the sight of the sullen look on Leah’s face. “I mean you remember what happened last time —”

“It’s just coffee, y/n.”

“I know. But I don’t know if I can trust myself not to get too attached. I can’t let myself go there, Leah. Not again.” Your voice conveyed the ache you felt in your heart, the weeks of emotional turmoil you’d had to endure as you tried your best to carry on as if nothing had happened, as if you weren’t grieving what could have been. “Losing you is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

Leah didn’t say anything. She knew deep down that you were right, and she knew that she deserved this rejection, that she only had herself to blame for the pain she’d put you through. She gave you a sad smile — God you missed how warm it used to be — and nodded her head. “I understand…”

You stepped forwards and kissed her cheek. “Take care of yourself, Leah.”

“You too, Y/N.”

It took every ounce of strength you had to walk away, to leave her there and not completely crumble. And as you crossed the street, you realised it was likely you’d never get over Leah. No matter how much time would pass, you’d probably never cease to question what could have been if things had been different, if you’d only fought harder to make things work.

‘So let's not do coffee, let's not even try

It’s better we leave it and give it some time

If I didn't love you, it would be fine

'Cause If we do coffee, it's never just coffee

It's never just coffee.’

[hai7ani]

divorced parents au / with your faves

When your daughter turned two, you and your husband had brought her to Disneyland as her birthday gift. Growing up, Umi was always fond of the 12 Disney Princesses ー more specifically Princess Belle ー and she keeps a photograph of her and Belle at a meet and greet on her nightstand. Her father's half-expected her favourite to be Ariel, given that Ariel and Umi do go pretty well together. (Ariel and the sea.)

In Disneyland that summer your baby has had the time of her life, so she starts asking for it every birthday (which slowly turned into every milestone) and up until then you both have had no issues with bringing her there. He'd told you once that if going there makes her happy then he was willing to visit again, no matter the amount of times and the slight boringness he'd have to face when waiting in line to go on rides or booths.

Today she had learned how to properly draw a flying bird in art class after failing a few times and drew flying chickens instead. When you picked her up from school, the first thing she said after showing you her art proudly was, 'Let's go to Disneyland, Mama! Let's go with Daddy!'

You would bring her if you could. You know you would in a heartbeat.

But it has been two years since her last visit to Disneyland, and you and your husband aren't together anymore.

So when he comes over for dinner tonight ー just like he has been every Friday without miss ever since your divorce ー you show him Umi's drawing of the flying bird.

"Can I bring this back with me? I'd like to frame it up." He asks. In his head he plans to hang it on the wall of his living room, right on top of his television, next to your family portrait.

You eat a piece of the orange he'd peeled. "Of course."

/

At noon when your daughter asked, you told her no. So at night she is tugging on her father's shirt with a red face full of tears and she is begging for him to stay.

"Stay here, daddy. Don't go." She cries to him at the foyer. Only one side of his shoe is put on and he kicks it away quick when she attempts to climb into his arms.

"You'll see me again on Sunday, Mimi." He attempts to console her. "We're gonna go to the mall together 'n we'll find the toy you've been wanting."

Her father scoops her into his arms and sits on the floor. She kicks her feet in the air and wails.

"But I want to go to Disneyland with you and Mama." She sobs into his arms. He pecks her crown and shushes her a little.

When your chest gets too heavy you push yourself off the wall you've been leaning against and turn your back to them.

(You've been watching the duo since the moment her father was putting on his shoe, ready to leave, and your daughter came running after him in her pyjamas with wet tears already streaming down her cheeks.)

And Umi continues to cry while her father rocks her in his arms, trying his best to console her.

While walking away from the scene, you pick on the skin around your thumb. Your nose sours and you try pinching it in hopes of soothing it a little.

"Why d'ya wanna go to Disneyland?" You hear him ask before you disappear into the hallway. It's funny how he still asks even though you and him both know that going or not going to Disneyland was never the problem.

Umi sniffles. Her father hums for her to say it.

You hide behind the door of your bedroom.

"I want Mama, Daddy and Umi together again."

Just the three of us together in Umi's favourite place.

You cry.

/

"She's asleep now."

You pause from folding laundry at the couch and look up. He's got both hands in his pockets and a soft smile planted on his face.

He's also a mess, you notice ー his shirt a little stretched and out of place from how hard your daughter had been tugging on it earlier, the fabric wet from tear and snot stains, his hair a bit disheveled (you figure he was resting beside her when putting her to sleep), and he's moving to sit beside you on the couch now.

You smile back. "Thank you. I haven't been able to calm her down easily these days."

He picks up one of the garments from the pile and starts folding it beside you. "It's fine. You know I like doing it." I like being a dad, is what he wishes to say. But he knows you know it already and he holds his tongue.

Neither of you say a thing to each other after that and he continues helping you with the laundry. He folds your bra the way you prefer and your daughter's school uniform neatly so that it doesn't crease.

You steal a few glances at him without shame while stacking his sweatpants onto his pile of clothes.

"Your hair's getting long." You comment.

"Is it?" He raises his brows, genuinely wanting to know.

"Yeah." You reach a hand up to comb through his soft strands of hair. You push them back and try parting it on the middle.

"I've been busy." He's got a boxy, kind of nervous smile on his face when he explains. "Can't really see well through the mirror anyway." He rubs his nape.

You chuckle. "Want me to cut it for you?"

"Okay."

/

You still keep a room for your ex-husband even after the end of your marriage and he's given you the house.

You like telling yourselves it's solely for the sake of your daughter, for when she misses her father a little too much and refuses to let him leave.

But both of you know that's not really the case.

Somehow it didn't feel right when he was in the process of moving out to his new apartment somewhere in Meguro, and you slowly realise that you'd be having an empty room all to yourself.

(Back then you didn't think you could cope with living alone in the house you used to love each other in ー in the house you'd both created a life in.

You still don't now. Not really, anyway.)

So you transform the room that used to be his study into his own bedroom just right across the master (yours). He didn't reject the idea when you told him so.

And because of this, you leave your bedroom door open whenever he stays the night.

Tonight you do it again, and you watch him across the hall, in his room, drying off his freshly cut hair. Your head is resting on the edge of the bed with one hand tucked under your cheek and the other playing with a plush toy he'd gifted you many years ago.

When he turns to hang his towel on the wall he sees you like this. You don't shy away when he smirks.

"Goodnight." You mouth to him. You stay like that until he leaves his door open and finally gets in bed ー until he, too, shuffles around, and dangles his head off the edge of his own bed.

"Goodnight." He mouths it back to you.

You spend some time looking at each other like that ー really taking your realities in ー in rooms across each other with heads dangling off the edge of your beds, two hearts connected by the sea, and your daughter asleep in the room next to yours.

On most nights he comes over sometime during the night and helps you back on your pillow when you accidentally fall asleep like this, and every time, you'd unconsciously tug on his arm and beg him not to go.

He stays every single time.

Tonight, however, he pads over to your room while you're still awake with a pillow clutched in one hand.

"Hi." You scoot on the bed to make space for him as he throws his pillow next to yours and lays down beside you ー face to face, heart to heart. "Hey." He sighs upon getting comfortable on the bed he'd grown to find so much comfort in.

You bring the blanket up to cover his shoulders. He scoots closer to you, sneaks a hand under your shirt, and rubs a warm hand up and down your spine. (You always sleep better when he rubs your back like this.)

And while falling asleep you think to yourself that perhaps someday you'll get to try again as lovers.

You know for a fact that you'll always love him in your heart, and you'll never stop loving him even though it doesn't really make sense anymore ー just like how he'd sworn to never love again after your divorce.

Perhaps someday the both of you would be ready to move on ー still loving each other, but ready to move on from your past, from your love.

And perhaps someday the two of you wouldn't have to argue about money or time anymore. Perhaps someday he'll find a suitable work-life balance, and you're able to trust him enough to keep himself safe at work.

But for now, he's content with rubbing your back as you fall asleep next to him in the bed you'd once shared. You're content with the flowers he still buys you from time to time and cutting his hair whenever it grows out.

For now, you know that you're not ready to move on just yet. Both of you are not, and both of you have something else in mind...

You want to try again.

And you know that trying again will not be easy, but you both also know that you're willing to start all over again with everything you have if given the chance, the opportunity.

Maybe someday.

Maybe you'll give it more time.

(You feel a nudge on your elbow.)

Or...

"Wanna go to Disneyland tomorrow?"

(You smile.)

"Yes."

...Maybe tomorrow?

(He reddens all over.)

"Okay."

You'll see.

(just some characters i have in mind) TOKYO REVENGERS RAN, RINDOU, KAKUCHO, DRAKEN, NAOTO JUJUTSU KAISEN GOJO, NANAMI BLUE LOCK SAE, RIN HAIKYUU KITA, OSAMU & your faves

(i have never been to disneyland before. 😹)

© HAI7ANI ON TUMBLR. DO NOT STEAL

[canisalbus]

The latest piece you made reminds me of like, portraits of people that my grandmother used to hang up in the rooms and hallways when I was kid. I remember profusely there was one REALLY BIG portrait of Marilyn Monroe that I absolutely loathed when I was a young'un, because I was terrified of it. I'd get up in the middle of the night wanting to go use the bathroom and then I'd peak my head out, in the dark hallway, and the only thing I could see at the end of it was the judgmental, dark eyes at the end of said hallway of the slightly illuminated portrait of her, staring at me. There were times I swore it moved, and it took a while for me to accept that it was just a portrait, because when you're a kid your imagination just can't get over it. I remembered many a night where I decided I could wait till the morning to use the bathroom because of how terrified I was of it That glare especially from Machete that in one frame is following the kid and in the next it isn't, really makes me vibe with them. With how imposing, cold and harsh Machete can appear, do you think any of the kids would end up afraid or at least unnerved of the painting by chance? I know as a kid I would've been. That those sharp reds filled with such malice would come out of the frame ready to judge me for my sins

Oh that picture of Marilyn Monroe at the end of a dark hallway is reanimating some long forgotten childhood memories in me. It's wild how random lifeless objects could seem so otherwordly and distinctly alive and dangerous when you were very little, especially at night. I was irrationally unnerved by a pair of reindeer antlers mounted on the wall of my grandparents' guest bedroom.

Realistic portraits, particularly when they're big enough to appear believably life-sized, can come across kind of uncanny even to a grown adult if the circumstances are right. I wouldn't be surprised at all if that painting was giving Vasco's pups major bad vibes when they were younger. Machete's severe expression, his sharp and elongated shapes, and the dark background of the piece wouldn't be doing it any favors.

[octuscle]

The ghost of Gamma Omega Lambda Delta

“Are you sure we're standing in front of the right house?” asked Leander. The property was in a miserable state. The porch was half collapsed, the front garden a mixture of jungle and garbage dump. The exposé had shown a reasonably presentable house, which certainly had potential as an investment property in the immediate vicinity of the campus. Leander looked at Jacob a little disparagingly. Jacob was the prototype of a sleazy real estate agent. A little too fat for his not-so-new suit. The heels of his shoes were worn out. And with the help of a little too much pomade, the top of his head painstakingly concealed his incipient baldness. Jacob struck a pose. “You know what my real estate investment is all about: location, location, location! And this is a prime location. Perfect for a boarding house for guest lecturers. Or as a commercial student residence for exchange students. The Germans and Scandinavians will pay almost any price for rent.” Leander sighed. He came from Berlin himself and knew how expensive it was to study in California. But it had paid off. He was in his late 20s, a millionaire several times over after the exit of his start-up and he had no intention of dying a millionaire. His goal was a billion. “All right, then, let's take a look at the wreckage from the inside.”

The first thing they saw was a cat fleeing from them in a panic when Jacob unlocked the door. It looked as if no human had disturbed its peace for a long time. The house reeked of cat pee and mustiness. Jacob searched for a light switch with his flashlight. Leander pulled aside a tattered curtain in disgust and opened a window. It was clear: tear it down and build a new one. There was no alternative. The wooden floor was rotten, the light switches didn't work and the stain on the ceiling suggested a leaking roof. But in his mind's eye, there was a Starbucks branch and a co-working space down here and, if he could bribe the building authorities, one- and one-and-a-half-bedroom apartments on eight, maybe ten floors above. The location was perfect. But he didn't want to let his interest show. Leander was a good poker player. “Give me a flashlight, I'd like to have a look around upstairs,” he said to Jacob. And of course he was prepared and handed his wealthy customer a flashlight. “Do you need gloves too?” he asked. Leander waved them off. He wasn't a wimp, he wasn't afraid of getting dirty.

The stairs creaked unconvincingly as he went upstairs. “What was this before?” asked Leander. “A frat house, as far as I know,” Jacob replied. That at least partially explains the dilapidated condition, Leander thought to himself, pushing a pile of leaves aside with one foot in disgust. It wasn't just leaves. There were also the remains of weathered jockstraps. The upper floor seemed to be in an even worse state than the first floor… But at least there was a light on in one room. Amazing!

Jacob left his client alone. When he sold the property, it would be renovated. The property was huge. There used to be a basketball court and a pool on the dilapidated property. Of course, both were no longer recognizable due to the undergrowth and junk. But a dormitory with 20, maybe 25 units could be built on the site alone. The battery in his flashlight was flat. He needed light… And air, it really stank to high heaven in this ruin. Jacob began to draw curtains and open windows. That made it brighter and airier. But it also made the misery more visible. Dude, this place was really run down. The floor was full of garbage and leaves, the walls were covered in graffiti… Jacob came into a hallway that looked surprisingly tidy. There were stains on the wall from pictures that were no longer hanging. Lots of pictures. All obviously the same size. Only one was still hanging:

Jacob read the writing on the plaque on the frame: "Bruh of the month 09/2024: Chad". What the hell? It was September 2024!

Leander struggled through the garbage towards the lighted room. While all the other doors hung crookedly on their hinges and were covered in graffiti, the open door to the room was almost clean and looked tidy. There was a sign on the door that read “Mitch and Scott's man cave. No entry if sock is on the door handle. Unless you can take two cocks!” The room was messy. The way a dorm room was usually messy. But it looked as if Mitch and Scott had just stepped out for a quick shower after a fierce sword fight. It smelled of musk, sweat and cum. Leander got a hard-on.

Jacob felt uncomfortable. Something's not right here. He also had to pee. No, he had to piss. Fuck, his bladder felt like after two pitchers of beer. He had to burp. And his burp smelled and tasted like beer. There had been toilets around here somewhere. Better to piss in a broken toilet than just in a corner, he thought to himself. Yes, this was where the washrooms were. A frat boy was standing at a urinal and wanking. He looked curiously at Jacob's crotch. Did Jacob have to be uncomfortable now? Never mind, he had to piss. And if a bro was wanking next to him, that was somehow a compliment.

Leander opened one of the cupboards. It smelled like a boys' locker room in high school. T-shirts, football gear, jockstraps, sneakers… Everything was just stuffed into the cupboard. Some of it was clean. Other things were obviously not. Without giving it much thought, Leander undressed and pulled on a jockstrap, a pair of ripped jeans and a shiny college jacket. He found a pair of formerly white socks and sneakers on the floor. Everything fit perfectly. But with his 35 years and beer belly, he looked really ridiculous.

“I'm Dylan, are you new here?” asked the wanking bro next to him as Jacob buttoned his jeans. “Because if you're new, you might as well leave your jeans unbuttoned. I prefer to see the cocks of the new guys who suck me off outside their pants”. Jacob looked at Dylan's hard-on. impressive compared to his own. He went down on his knees. “Wait a minute!” said Dylan. “No one blows me with a stuffy shirt like that.” Leander freed his upper body. And let his tongue play with Dylan's shaft.

Leander lay on Scott's bed. He sucked in Scott's scent. For a sophomore, Scott smelled like a real man. Leander thought about Scott's hairy balls. He liked it that Scott didn't shave. Nothing against a clean-shaven cock and clean-shaven balls. But a man was hairy, he thought as he scratched his chest hair. Out in the hallway, he heard Scott and Mitch coming. They were both praising each other's performance at football practice. The two of them came into their room. Scott grinned and said that his prayers had been answered. He had wished for an awesome cardio workout before the party tonight.

Jacob asked his roommate Dylan why they only ever had sex in the washroom and never in their room. Dylan licked some of his own cum, which was dripping from the corner of Jacob's mouth, off his face. “Because it would be totally homo if we slept in the same bed we were fucking in.” Jacob didn't ask. He was here for his wrestling scholarship, not his intelligence. If Dylan, who had at least once had a B in English and supposedly even in math, said so, it would be true.

Jacob, Dylan, Mitch, Scott, and Leander all arrived at the Gamma Omega Lambda Delta fraternity house party cave at almost the same time. The party was in full swing. Jacob and Leander greeted each other with a chest bump. It was customary among the college wrestlers. And then they started drinking. The others had been at it for an hour. They had some catching up to do.

Shit, it was 05:00. Both of them had already thrown up some of the beer and tequila they had drunk. And poured new beers and tequilas. Leander actually had to rewrite his microeconomics exam today. If he failed again, he would probably have to allow the dean to blow him again. But what was much worse was that they had wrestling practice this afternoon. If Coach found out that they had overdone it again as party animals, they would be in big trouble. Okay, but that could also be settled with a blowjob. Besides, they still had four hours to sleep, no one expected the two stallions to show up on campus before 10:00. Life as a frat boy was just awesome!

[nemo-draco]

IT'S MY BEANS.

LOOKIT MY KIDDOS.

Children

All the lil demon guys belong to @nemo-draco, great pal :)

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 3

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner!Javier Pena)

Word count: 2,895

Summary: It's not a date. Just a lawyer and his client celebrating her divorce...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! No smut in this chapter. Rom com vibes. AU. Reader wears a dress and nail polish. Mentions of eating food and drinking alcohol. Mutual pining AND mistaken for a couple 😊. Love bombing. Divorce. I'm just pretending I know what lawyers do and that divorces are quite speedy. Dave is multi-lingual because I say so. Also, hints that all is not well between Dave and Carol? (c'mon, when do we ever paint them as truly happy?)

Author's note: "You can't blame yourself for the choices you made when you were too young to know better." 💜

Series Masterlist

"What does the L stand for?"

Dave realizes you're asking him a question and he looks up from his file, a smile flitting across his face. "Pardon?"

It's the first time you've seen him since that fateful day at the museum. After catching up on your plans to divorce Javier and citing every reason why you desire to be forever parted from your husband, Dave had invited you to his high-rise office the following day, where you are now, sitting across from him at his desk.

"Your card says 'David L. York," you remind him, a pink-polished finger running over the smooth white business card.

"Liam," he says, a small blush creeping up his neck. You smile when you notice it, aware of how attractive he is when he blushes.

"David Liam York," you say to yourself, liking the roll of it off your tongue. "I like it. It suits you."

His head is down, perusing the paperwork before him, but he smiles at your compliment. "Wish I could say I'd chosen it myself."

It's quiet again as he goes over the fine print, and you wander over to the window of his office, smiling to see your bookstore/bakery right across the street. There's a rush today for cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting. You'd give anything to be there instead of here, making your divorce a reality.

For now you silently glance around, interested to catch glimpses of who Dave is. Framed art lines the walls-- abstract shapes painted in bold blues and greens-- far from the childishly geometrical shapes done in primary colors found in most offices, along with his diploma from Harvard, proudly displayed next to a photo of Dave with the mayor.

"I handled his third divorce," he says, and you realize you've been staring at his photo for too long. You shake yourself from your thoughts.

"Everything's in order," he continues, pushing the papers away at last. "All you have to do is sign and the process server will bring it to Mr. Pena and he'll be served immediately."

"Is the process server attractive?" you ask, only half-kidding. "My husband can't resist a beautiful woman, and he won't know what hit him once he's served."

Dave allows a little laugh at this. "Sienna is a very pretty young woman. I think your husband will have to pick his jaw up off the floor before he realizes his gorgeous wife is divorcing him."

The initial prick of jealousy over Sienna's looks makes way for a wave of emotion when Dave calls you gorgeous. He realizes he's overstepped and tries to fix it, but you brush it off.

"I'll keep in touch with you during this process, but I advise you to just try to take your mind off it. Do something you enjoy, hang out with people who care about you. And I strongly advise you to ignore Mr. Pena should he call or try to see you. From everything you've told me he sounds like a garden variety narcissist. What you're doing right now is the right thing," he assures you.

Right then it's on the tip of your tongue-- you're privy to a mere outline of the goings-on within Javier's club. While a large part of you just wants to get the proceedings over with, a deeper, baser instinct desires to make the bastard pay for his crimes. You're the only one with any insight as to the illegal activities.. at least, the only one willing to talk. And though it's not his money you're after, your need for justice wants his dark deeds to come to light.

Admittedly, you struggle with the idea once you actually open your mouth to tell Dave. It's there on the tip of your tongue, but a deep-seated loyalty bars the way for your words to exit. You hate that you can't be the type of petty everyone thinks you should be, but neither does the good citizen in you dare to show herself.

'My ex-husband is involved in illegal doings, please raid his place of business' just doesn't sit right with you.

"What is it?" Dave asks, sensing something is on your mind. The thoughtfulness of his gaze nearly makes you melt. His touch rests softly on your upper arm.

Everything previous thought buzzes through your brain on repeat, a mental coin flips but you don't let it land.

"It's just been a lot to deal with today," you explain tiredly, your hand resting on his on your arm. Dave's touch tenses slightly before taking it away. "This is all going to be worth it. You're doing the right thing," he reiterates.

You tell yourself that as you leave the office, your paperwork signed and ready to go. Of course you're doing the right thing. That's why you feel so shitty.

You can tell Javier's been served when a never-ending procession of gifts arrives at your home. You don't know how he got your new address, but the gesture of flower arrangements, stuffed animals, boxes of jewelry, and Shari's Berries (which you end up eating a few of just because they're delicious).

He doesn't bombard you with texts or calls, but leaves notes along with his gifts. His chicken-scratch handwriting barely legibly asking you to come back, to reconcile, to please stop the divorce process because you're breaking his heart.

If you were a weaker woman you would cave in easily, but you refuse to move the line you've drawn in the sand. You give away his gifts, make mini bouquets with the gorgeous flowers he sends and you give them away to your customers. The jewelry is the only stuff you give back, knowing its value is worth far more than the others.

Only when you're alone at night do you start to have second thoughts. The days keep you busy, revolving around your business, your family, the activities you never really got to enjoy while you were Javier's wife.

But when you curl up onto the left side of the bed as if awaiting someone else to fill the opposite side, and when you accidentally make enough food for two instead of just one, you realize being single is an adjustment, and it's taking you a little longer to get used to.

The mediation that follows is quicker than you'd expected. Neither of you want any of the other's business profits. Though Javier's club is more lucrative than your little bookstore/bakery, you take great pride in it being your own income.

Across the table in a small meeting room in Dave's law office, you are keenly aware of Javier's eyes on you, as if he's mentally willing you to look his way, to sway your opinion, to change your mind. What if he pulls some Jedi mind trick and gets you to rip up the papers and go back to him, rewind everything you've done and sit in a purgatory of your own making while he does whatever pleases him?

And damn it he looks good. His hair is neatly styled, forgoing the usual messy curls and longer sideburns. He looks like he could be the opposing counsel. And he knows it, the way he returns your glance, a dare within his dark gaze.

"So it's come to this," he says, fingers drumming on the table. You recognize that habit: he's dying for a cigarette. He's just as anxious about losing you as you are about losing him. And then you wonder if he's wondering if you've told on him, given the authorities the info that would grant a search warrant and risk putting his ass away for years.

It's quite a powerful thing to see him try to hide his relief when the meeting comes to an end and he realizes he's safe. Because of your mercy.

Next to you, Dave is a grounding presence, a gentle reassurance that you're doing the right thing for yourself, your sanity, and your broken heart.

Afterwards, even with the formalities out of the way Javier still has the gall to go to you, take your arm, try to bring you to a secluded corner near the elevator bank. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Dave, waiting, as if looking for a signal from you that you need him.

"You're really ending us, mi corazon?" Javier whispers, his lips close to your ear, his wisp of breath sending a little shock to your system.

"Javi, this was a long time coming," you extricate yourself from his grip.

"C'mon.. you can't forgive a one-time thing?"

"Are you an idiot or do you just have selective memory?" you huff. "That was far from the first time.. you were never faithful to me. And I deserve better."

"Baby," he grasps your arm once more as you try to leave. "I'm a shithead. I know, baby. But I need you. Only you can make me better."

You recognize his pleas from the notes he sent with the gifts. The man could never be faulted as a writer, but it's sad that he can't even learn new pickup lines.

"Oh Javi.." you cup his face and for a moment he looks hopeful. The woodsy scent of his aftershave lingers, reminding you of mornings you shared as a couple. "If I didn't make you better in all our time together then I must not be the miracle worker you think I am."

Walking away from him feels good, freeing. Dave is at your side as you step into the elevator, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, gesturing you in like the gentleman he is as you walk away from your very first love.

Dave has meetings the rest of the day, but he treats you to dinner at an Italian place he thinks you'll like, a celebration of putting the finishing touches on your divorce.

Valentina's is the kind of restaurant that has an old-fashioned feel. Red and white checkered tablecloths adorn the tabletop and Frank Sinatra songs play over the speakers. You and Dave are given a booth near the back, somewhat private with a good view of the rest of the place.

And there it is again, his hand resting on your lower back, the heat of him pressing through your black and white polka-dot dress.

"Are we celebrating something today?" the waiter asks in a thick accent. He's around your dad's age, pleasantly plump, attired in a crisp maitre'd outfit.

"No," you answer immediately. "Well.. yes."

"First date?" the man guesses, and you and Dave glance at each other, color rushing to your faces.

"No," he answers. "We're celebrating her divorce."

The maitre'd smirks. "She is divorced, and now you get to be with her, yes?"

The look on Dave's face and the particular shade of red that he blushes is going to stay on your mind for awhile. Especially when he speaks to the maitre'd in Italian, quick and musical in his low, soft voice.

"What did you tell him?" you ask with curiosity, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand.

He pauses, obviously taking in the sight of you. "I told him your heart is broken and I'm doing the best I can to fix it." Another pause as he sips some water. "Because you're my client, of course."

That doesn't stop the waiter from coming back with a small vase of roses and baby's breath to decorate your table after he takes your order, presenting the wine Dave suggested with a flourish, pouring both your glasses with the ruby liquid.

"I'm guessing you didn't learn Italian in law school," you say slyly, taking a sip of wine.

"I like languages," he admits with a smile.

"You'll have to teach me some."

"I will," he nods. "If you keep me on retainer." A conniving little smirk curls the corners of his mouth upwards and for one insane moment you wonder how he would taste right now if you kissed him.

"How many women have you done?" you ask, then realize how wrong it came out. "I mean, how many female clients have you had?"

Despite your embarrassment, Dave answers honestly, without poking fun. "Women tend to hire female lawyers, and men tend to hire men. I guess it's about strength in numbers.. but to answer your question, not many. Why? Do you think you won't use me again?" he feigns a little worried look.

"Funny," you chuckle. "Do I get a discount if I've used your services before? Some kind of punch card? My fifth divorce is free?"

"The only way you'll have a fifth divorce is if you marry and divorce that idiot over and over."

"Of course," you play along. "But what if we're just like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton?"

"At least they had the sense to only marry twice."

Dave leaves to take a business call and you're left alone for a moment. You catch snippets of the song playing over the general ambience. "Just One of Those Things" by Ella Fitzgerald plays, the lyrics drawing your attention: 'a trip to the moon on gossamer wings'. It somehow perfectly describes your marriage to Javier..

When your food comes your mouth can't help watering. Dave returns soon after, apologizing for leaving you so long, though it was only a few minutes.

A few tables away a man with his date gets down on one knee and proposes. When the woman says yes the restaurant bursts into applause. You and Dave clap, smiling politely at the happy couple. You wish you could feel the joy they feel. Instead, nostalgia washes over you in a sickening wave.

"Javier proposed to me at Olive Garden," you tell Dave, who's digging into his veal parmigiana. He raises his brow, shaking his head.

"There's nothing really wrong with Olive Garden."

"I had to talk him out of Buffalo Wild Wings first."

"Oh."

He only met the man a few moments back at the office, but he has a good idea of the man you thought you married. You were young and impressionable, he was suave and mysterious. There was nothing for you but to fall madly in what you thought was love.

"I don't like him," Dave says. "I didn't like him the minute he walked through the door."

Something about the way he says it warms you, not only because he's on your side, but because the damsel-in-distress part of you loves having a champion. "You have better judgment than I did all those years ago.."

He smiles tenderly. "You can't blame yourself for the choices you made when you were too young to know better."

"Well.. how do some people get it right the first time? Why did it work out with you and your wife, but not for me and Javier?"

Dave doesn't know how to answer at first, sipping the wine in the crystal glass before him. He glances down at his gold wedding band, wishing he could be blatantly honest with you and tell you he and Carol have their own issues and every day seems to feel like an uphill battle, but right now it's more important to him to give you faith.

"It wasn't always perfect. We've gone through our share of problems," he admits. "And I know you probably see me as someone in the business of tearing families apart. Which I do, most of the time," he adds with a grimace. "But I've also learned what not to do. When I go home at night after a long day of court appearances, mediations, mountains of paperwork, I'm just glad to be with my family. My work helps me appreciate them more."

You manage a small smile. If he can persist, so can you. And he's around such negativity all day. You have your books and your sweets and so you expect life to always be so simple. "I think I look for the good in people, even when it's not there. Either I'm stupid or simple."

"You're neither." His hand is on your forearm, a gesture of comfort. "One day you'll fall in love again and it'll be even better the second time around. Because it'll be the real thing," he adds.

There's something incredibly special about this moment, one of the few times you feel okay with going a little beyond the bounds of a client-attorney relationship. But the moment ends abruptly when the waiter sends a couple of violinists to serenade you during what is in no uncertain terms, not a date.

You'd like to believe Dave. You'd like to think you still possess an unfulfilled 'happily ever after' for yourself, locked away for just the right person. But you're alone in your home, with no one to greet you or ask how your day was. Admittedly, the world feels less warm now that you're apart, gone your separate ways, your transactional relationship over.

It's not just that. The whole world has changed, modified itself to grow away from you, leaving you like a plant in darkness. Love songs aren't about you anymore. You can't relate to their brightness, only mourn it.

Javier was the first person you ever fell in love with. You have no idea that the bigger challenge will not be falling out of love with him, but falling in love with yourself.

dividers by @strangergraphics & @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors

@misstokyo7love @ppascalq

[rubysunnday]

when it's cold, i'd like to die

summary: they all fell victim to the datura meloxia that night, they all saw something - yet y/n's nightmare is unescapable, despite kaz's best efforts

a/n: haha, lol, i'm alive

Kaz pulled apart the doors, gradually revealing the room behind them. Y/N stood behind him, taking it all in. It was a beautiful building - the walls decorated with intricately patterned wallpaper and wooden panels. 

“Spread out,” Kaz ordered, his rough voice loud in the quiet of the room. 

Y/N stepped around him and into the room, taking slow, careful steps. Things were going a bit too well to her liking - they had yet to run into their usual chaos. 

“I can hear another heartbeat,” Tolya said softly, walking further into the room.

“I thought it was empty,” Jesper muttered, passing Y/N. 

“So did I,” she replied, glancing at him. 

“It’s fainter,” Tolya explained, “further in the house.”

Tolya took a step forward, almost reaching the other door that led further into the house. The floorboards under his foot sunk suddenly and something, somewhere within the walls, released and the doors on either side of the room slid shut with a resounding bang. 

Y/N ran back to the door they’d come through and tried to prise it back open. Her finger nails dug into the wood and she groaned, struggling to pull them at all, even with Jesper’s help.

Inej unsheathed one of her knives and stabbed the patterned screen. The knife bounced off it, leaving nothing behind. She tried again and still, nothing. “It’s impenetrable,” she said, stepping back. “Great.”

Kaz knocked on the wooden panelling with the head of his cane. His face dropped in realisation as, instead of a hollow wooden sound, there was a metal clang. “The frames are made of metal.”

Jesper pressed a hand against the frame, leaning his head in. “They’re Durast made.”

Y/N tilted her head back and looked around the room. It wasn’t big - it was smaller than what had been Kaz’s office back at the old Crow Club. But given that the frames were Durast made, and that Tolya had detected another heartbeat at the back of the grounds, there was more to the small room than it was letting on.

From somewhere within the roof, something metal clanked against something else, causing a ticking sound. Y/N’s eyes scanned the perimeter of the roof until they stopped on one of the small lanterns hanging on the wall. As she watched it, a red mist began to spray out of the floral shape above, spreading out into the air. 

“There’s something in the air,” Tolya said, looking up at the lantern too. 

It was, sort of, stating the obvious. They’d all noticed the red vapour by then and Y/N could feel her chest growing tight, the ability to breathe getting harder. She fell back, hitting the wall behind her, the room spinning around her like a spinning top she so often saw in the Ketterdam markets. 

Y/N felt someone looking at her and she had enough awareness left to turn her head, finding Kaz staring at her, his own face utterly impassive. Yet his eyes gave everything away - the slight widening showing the panic that had taken over the usual stoicism. 

Because whilst he may plan for things to go catastrophically wrong, Kaz Brekker couldn’t plan a way to cheat death when it came for them. 

Jesper went first, falling to the floor and falling still. Inej lasted a little longer - leaning back against the walls, struggling to stay awake. But even she fell, landing quietly and carefully even as she was dying.

Y/N felt her knees go weak and she braced herself against the wall behind her. She tried to keep her head up, to keep looking at Kaz. But it soon became impossible. Her vision blurred as her head pounded and her chest got tighter. Kaz became a black blur and Y/N fell sideways, the room spinning around her.

She didn’t feel herself hit the floor. One second she was suffocating, unable to breathe or think and the next she was standing in the middle of the Barrel, the sea spray from the harbour hitting her skin. 

“Y/N!”

Kaz stood at the other end of the street, a black shadow against the white lights of the street lamps. She could his cane, the metal crow’s head glinting in the hazy light. Y/N took a single step forward and as she did so, the building next to Kaz exploded. 

The force of the explosion threw Y/N backwards, the heat of the flames burning her face and her arms. She landed on the wet cobblestones, the force of the impact rippling throughout her entire body. 

For a while, there was just blackness. Y/N could see nothing. She could hear nothing. Then, gradually, her senses came back. First, she tasted blood in her mouth, then the pain ripping through her body and then the sound of the flames, of the rubble still falling. 

Y/N forced her eyes open, even as the smoke stung them. The street lamps had gone out around them - the fires burning within the rubble the only light available for the smoke had covered the moon. She coughed, her lungs burning, her breath getting caught in her throat. 

Rubble rolled off her and onto the ground and she struggled to get up, her legs bending, refusing to hold her weight. Y/N fell against a pile of rubble and pushed herself upwards, grazing her hands against the exposed masonry. 

As her mind finally caught up, the shock fading away, the panic set in. 

“Kaz!” Y/N screamed, coughing as the smoke invaded her throat. “Kaz!”

Her foot tripped over something and Y/N landed on the ground again, her face barely avoiding smacking the stones. She groaned, coughing weakly, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N.”

Y/N rolled over and she came face to face with Kaz. He looked fine - as if he hadn’t just been blown up and thrown aside. She inhaled as his bare hand looped under her arm, his fingers pressing into her skin, and he pulled her up. 

“Kaz, what -”

“It’s ok,” Kaz said, his voice rough. “Just an experiment gone wrong.”

His other hand pressed gently against her side and Y/N’s body tightened at the unfamiliar yet all too familiar sensation. She leant into him, her stomach brushing against his waistcoat. 

“We’re ok.”

“Kaz!”

Kaz gasped and sat up abruptly, his hands flying out in front of him. Someone caught his wrist and he fought against them, wrenching his hand free.

“Saints, Kaz, it’s just me,” Jesper said, ducking to avoid Kaz’s blind punch. 

Kaz blinked and the water, and Jordie’s face looming over him, fade away, replaced by Jesper and the room they’d been locked in. Jesper looked down at him, vague concern on his face as he watched him. 

“What -”

“Wylan said the butterflies are the antidote,” Jesper explained, grimacing slightly. “I had to… well.”

Kaz swallowed, his mouth dry and tasting of something not very nice. He stumbled to his feet, batting away Jesper’s offered hand, and all but slamming his cane into the ground. “Poison?”

“Yeah, some fancy sounding name,” Jesper replied. “Wylan -”

“ - knows, I’ve got it,” Kaz said.

He looked around the room, his eyes surveying the walls and the state of his crew. Kaz’s eyes widened a fraction as his gaze stopped on Inej leaning over an unconscious Y/N, a hand over her mouth. 

Inej, noticing that Kaz was staring at her, lifted her head and looked back at him. Her eyes were filled with fear. “She won’t wake up. I’m trying, Kaz -”

Wylan’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Something’s holding her in the nightmare.”

“Her heartbeat is slowing,” Tolya added. He was knelt beside Inej, a hand wrapped around Y/N’s wrist, his fingers pressed against her pulse point.

“Kaz,” Jesper muttered. “It’s gotta be you.”

Kaz didn’t need Jesper to tell him that. He knew. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because acknowledging Y/N’s need for him, meant acknowledging his need for her. His inability to live without her. 

“Inej, here,” Wylan said, sticking his hand through the hole in the wall, “another butterfly. But she can’t have more than two otherwise it becomes poisonous in itself.”

Inej stood and took the butterfly from Wylan’s outstretched hand and turned to Kaz. She held it out to him, her eyes locking to his. “Kaz, it has to be you.”

Kaz clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping in the corner. His leather gloves creaked as he gripped the head of his cane. 

“Kaz!” Jesper yelled. “If you let her die, I will kill you myself.”

The butterfly twitched pathetically in Inej’s hand. Kaz dropped his cane and limped over, gingerly taking the blue butterfly between his fingers.

“What do I do?” He asked, his voice a mere rasp.

“Put it in her mouth and force her to eat it,” Inej said, taking a step back. “Cover her mouth, pinch her nose - do whatever you have to do to get her to eat it.”

Kaz exhaled and knelt down on Y/N’s right side, wincing as his leg twinged in pain. Tolya shuffled back slightly but stayed on her other side, his hand still on her wrist. 

His argument was with his inner demons. Kaz would do anything for Y/N - and he had. He’d brought her out the White Lotus, he’d taken her into the Crows, he’d saved her life in Ravka on the skiff in the Fold - he’d told her more than he’d told anyone else. His demons had let him go that far, so why wouldn’t they let him go any further?

Kaz could feel the squishy skin of the dead bodies as his leg brushed against Y/N’s. He could taste the salt water of the harbour. Jordie was still in his mind. 

With one hand he prised Y/N’s mouth open, slightly startled at how easy it was. As gently as he could, he gripped it open and put the butterfly inside. Blue tinged her lips from the previous attempt. Kaz closed Y/N’s mouth and then put his hand over her lips, fighting the urge to let go and throw up. 

“Come on, Y/N, please,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. 

He closed his eyes, swallowing thickly as he felt his nightmare fighting back. Kaz placed his other hand against the side of her face, his thumb trailing up and down her cheek, a feeble attempt to ground himself but to also tell Y/N that he was there. 

It had been a few seconds since Kaz had put the butterfly inside her mouth, but it felt agonisingly long - and nothing was happening. 

“Y/N!” Kaz yelled, shaking her shoulders.

Apparently aggression worked because Y/N inhaled sharply and sat up, her hands flying out to grip onto anything - anyone. One hand gripped onto Tolya’s arm, her nails digging into his skin. Her other gripped Kaz’s sleeve, her knuckles brushing against the skin of his inner wrist. 

She coughed, chewing on the butterfly in her mouth. “Urgh, what the fuck is this,” she muttered, grimacing.

Tolya patted her on the back, laughing. “You don’t want to know.”

He ruffled her hair and stood up, stepping back and turning to talk to Inej. Everyone had conveniently found something else to do as Kaz and Y/N stared at one another. Her hand was still gripping his coat sleeve.

“Are you ok?” She asked, her voice quivering slightly.

Kaz nodded once. “Fine.”

Y/N looked at him - properly looked at him. “I’m fine, too.”

“Everyone’s lost their minds.”

Y/N snorted softly, glancing back over her shoulder as Wylan and Jesper continued to kiss one another. “I think we all did,” she said softly, turning back. 

Kaz turned as well, looking at her as her own gaze caught his. They looked at one another as they walked, neither saying a word. 

“Maybe…” Kaz paused, elegantly stepping over a rock, “I did see something… through the haze of the poison.” 

Y/N nodded once in acknowledgment. Kaz stopped and Y/N did too, turning to face him. His eyes were full of so many different emotions and thoughts - but they were focused on her and her alone

“There are those who drown us,” Kaz said softly, “and those who pull us out.”

The early morning sun was beginning to rise behind Kaz - his black coat absorbing all the light. Y/N shifted slightly, using his head to block the sun from her eyes so that she could still see him. 

“What did your toxin trip reveal to you?” Kaz asked.

Y/N bit her lip gently, shuddering slightly as her mind went back. To Kaz lying lifelessly at her side to him suddenly being in one piece and knocking her out the way of Pekka’s bullet. Nightmares turned into dreams were weird. One moment she’s screaming and the next she’s in his arms, feeling his heart beating. Y/N knew that would never happen and that simply hoping for it was dangerous. 

Hoping for something that she could never have.

“Hope is dangerous,” she said quietly, resisting the temptation to avert her eyes from Kaz’s. “It clouds your judgement and makes you believe unrealistic things.”

Kaz’s face cracked slightly, his true emotion coming through for just a moment before it vanished behind the wall again. For just that second, Y/N saw the pain - the desire. But the it was gone.

“Y/N!” Nina yelled. “You coming?”

Y/N’s head turned sharply, looking over at Nina where she stood expectantly waiting with Zoya and Tolya. “Yeah,” Y/N replied. “Just coming.”

She turned back to look at Kaz but he’d walked away, heading backwards and to Inej. Y/N ignored the flash of pain that gripped at her heart and took a step forward, away from Kaz and everything she hoped for. 

[capr1pengu1n]

So let's all pretend that we are undead

Summary: After an encounter with something you're sure wasn't human, you come to find that he can't seem to keep himself away from you

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), vampire au, so typical vampire things (vampire lore is whatever i say it is), choking, fingering, dom!Edward, power play, marking, stalker behaviour

Words: 4.6k

Notes: So after the lovely @adhdnursegoat posted her amazing vampire edward fic (which you all should read cause it's so delicious), i remembered i'd posted a vampire au fic on ao3 ages ago and never posted it on here, so here it is. I edited it so it flows better with how i write currently.

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The hairs bristle on the back of your neck as you walk your standard commute home, the physiological response a frighteningly normal part of your life for the past couple of weeks. You keep walking, one foot in front of the other as the wind lightly blows your skirt around your thighs. Out of the corners of your eyes, shadows move and twist into alleyways and darkened shop windows under the moonlight.

The feeling of being watched is something quite new to you. Of course, you were once a child cowering under the blankets at night, fear emanating from that corner of your room that was just a bit too dark, a bit too empty. However, the feeling had naturally dissipated once you reached adulthood. You grew up, realised no monsters were lurking in the shadows, or creatures hiding beneath your bed ready to feast on your ankles. At least, that's what you thought. But now, since you'd met him, you felt you were always the subject of someones intense gaze.

Thinking about the first time you met him, was it even a him? It made your head grow fuzzy and unfocused. You distinctly remembered the panic you felt after missing the last bus, the biting chill of the night air as you walked back, the tight feeling of your shoes and the planning to return them as they weren’t fitting right. The pre-occupied thoughts must have led you to take a wrong turn, but after that the memory feels wrong; like a tv full of static occasionally getting a flash of cable network. You remember a sort of warmth, a hand? Maybe, you think something must have pushed you. But what you mainly remember is the terrible ache in your neck the morning after, how groggy and light headed you'd felt. You shake your head and continue to press on, the faded memory won't help you get home after all. Although for a reason you can't quite place, the colour green won't leave your mind’s eye.

A clatter causes you to turn around, your heart jumping to your throat at the loud noise. False alarm, you watch as the empty pepsi can rolls sadly along the pavement. You get your phone out to entertain yourself until the screen flickers and the battery dies. You start to slightly panic now; you knew you’d charged it so there’s no way it should be out of power this quickly. As the streetlamps flicker too, you increase your pace. You’ve watched enough horror films to know you don't want to hang around when weird things start happening, so you maintain a quick stride, ducking through shortcuts and ignoring what you thought are footsteps behind you on multiple occasions.

“I think you dropped something.”

Before you register the question, you feel something grab your arm hard enough to have you stumbling. Your head spins around to face your attacker, ready to fight. He's tall, easily able to overpower you as you're pushed back against the wall and your face tilted up towards him. He looks…human? What an odd thing for you to think, it’s not like he can be anything else. Glasses frame his admittedly handsome face, and your eyes dart to the tailored suit that clings to him in a dark shade of green; the more you look at it, the more your mind seemingly feels fuzzy, so you opt to stare into the pools of his eyes instead.

You feel the blood pumping throughout your entire body, the nervous twitch of your fingers as your mind races. You want to run, to scream, to stay and find out what exactly the man before you wants. He smiles, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes, gazing down at you in what could only be described as fascination. “Shhh, don’t fret” he whispers, the cadence somehow putting you more at ease and making your body feel weightless.

“What- what do you want?”

He seemingly laughs at that, like the mere thought of you attempting a conversation with him was somehow amusing, but he divulges you.

“I have come to apologise; I can’t help but think I-“ he pauses, “over-exerted you last time we met.”

You go to explain that you’ve never met him before, but like a tidal wave it comes crashing back to you. It was him. He had done something, left that mark on your neck and had you deliriously waking up inside your apartment with no clue how you came to arrive there. Now, all you can visualise in your mind’s eye when you think about that night is the dark green that adorns his figure.

“Clever girl, I knew you’d remember. Although I admit I was not the most gentlemanly presence that night.”

While his words imply that he's trying to apologise, his tone carries no such weight.

“Someone as delicate as you all alone, you’re lucky it was me who found you.”

Scrambling in your mind, you manage to crawl out of the haze he seemingly has you under to demand an answer to a question that has plagued you you. What happened that night? But all he says in reply was “I was hungry.”

Before you can hope to say another word, he softly brings his hand up to your jaw, tracing down your neck until he reaches the marks he left.

“They’ve healed well” he breathes; his voice so soft you could barely hear it. “I suppose it’s too soon to drink from you again, I do want you to remain intact.”

You should be scared, should be screaming for help and fighting him off, but you aren't. You don't want to, why do you want to be his captive? While you don't understand who, or what, he is, you somehow know that he doesn't want to hurt you. Instead, all you have to contend with is the embarrassing realisation that you have been pressing your thighs together the whole time he spoke, his voice vibrating through you as his touch sends little jolts all around your body. His eyes flit down to your thighs, and your whole body seems to shift under his gaze.

“Such an eager little thing” he muses, “I wasn’t expecting such a response, but it is indeed welcome”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and when he places his hand on your thigh you can't stop yourself from rocking forward. That motion causes a real laugh from him, a noise deep and inhuman, something that in any other situation probably would have sent shocks of anxiety through you but instead sends you deeper into your own depravity. But he withdraws his hand, and takes a deliberate step back away from you. Confusion sweeps across your face, although his remains impassive.

“No, if I am to take you it will not be in an alleyway like a common whore.”

Your face flushes as the reality of what you had just been so eager for him to do sets in, you don't even know this man’s name yet you were so willing to have him touch you so intimately.

“Go home pretty girl, I’ll announce myself when the time is right”

His tone leaves no room for negotiation as he moves to walk away, not before stopping to utter “My name is Edward, since you were wondering.”

You get the sense he already knows yours, despite never giving it. You blink and he's gone, he hadn’t walked away, he was simply gone. Dissipated into thin air like a blow of smoke. So, you start to walk home yet again, body still aching and your mind reeling at the encounter you’d just had.

It's a few days until you have an encounter with him again. The hour is late, although this time thankfully you're safe in your apartment, having finished your depressing routine of re-watching your favourite show alone with a quick dinner you’d prepared. You're just starting to doze off on the sofa when the knock comes at your door. Freezing, you turn towards the door and listen again. Another knock comes, loud and imposing. You weren’t expecting visitors, so shyly you get up to look through the peephole but nobody sees to be there. Opening the door, you jump when you see him, Edward, staring at you from the hallway.

“Mind if I come in?” he inquires, and something about the way he speaks makes you want to say yes to anything.

You manage to shake that disturbing feeling but stammer out a yes and step aside for him to enter. He looks the same as when you’d saw him last, his pristine suit spotless save for a small dot of red staining the crisp white of his shirt. He walks straight into your living room, looking around in feigned curiosity while you awkwardly pick at your sleeve. What were you even meant to say to him?

“Have you been thinking of me?” he asks, and stares deeply at your shocked expression. You hadn’t expected him to say something so blunt, so you change the subject to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting you had.

“Who are you? Why are you- “

“Why am I here? My dear I thought you’d be happy, after all it was you who was so desperate for my personal attention when we last spoke was it not?” He replies, the smugness present in his tone.

You know you have no way of avoiding the inevitable, shameful memories pouring through as you recall just how horny he’d made you with just a few simple touches. Although the rationality thankfully starts to come back to you, as you still hadn’t had a clear answer as to what happened to you during that previous encounter.

“I suppose I’ll lay your suspicions to rest; I can see they’ve been plaguing you.” He starts, ignoring your shocked expression as he seemingly reached into your mind and pulled out the interrogative you’d been thinking of. “When I first laid eyes on you, the hunger I had been experienced increased tenfold, I needed to have you in my arms while I drained the blood from your neck”

Now you really are speechless, the cold tone in which he admits to such an act causes a chill to run up your spine. It was so…inhuman. You should laugh in his face at such a story, but your thoughts go hazy and you find yourself accepting his speech as fact. As he speaks, he walks closer to you, and when you crane your head to look at him, his neutral expression can't quite hide the darkness in his eyes. 

“And so, I did. I bit into you and you satiated me. It’s been a while since my prey was so happy, even through the daze of your vision.” Amusement bleeds through his cadence as he recalls the memory of you pliant in his hands, reaching up to once again trace the mark left on your neck, now nearly healed.

“What the hell are you?”

The sound of his uncanny laugh reaches your ears once more, deep and unsettling. Instead of answering, he leans closer to your neck, his hot breath brushing against the mark he left. Tense, you close your eyes and brace for pain that never comes. Instead he simply kisses the spot, causing you to shiver and making him hum in appreciation.

“Tell me you want me.” He demands, “Do that and I will have you experiencing pleasures your fragile mind cannot hope to quantify.”

You can't stop the noise that rips from your throat even if you'd have tried, and despite any self-preservation you may have, you nod sheepishly.

“I said tell me, sweet thing.”

“I want you.”

“Good choice.”

He pushes you against the wall and you await his next rough movement, but instead he kisses at your neck, leaving little marks in his wake, and making you gasp at the coldness of his lips. He holds a tight grip on your hips, keeping you still and where he wants you, so all you can do is stand there and take his teasing. You feel something sharp as he drags what you guess are his fangs along your neck down towards your collarbones, your loose shirt allowing him access as he continues to leave his mark on your fragile skin.

“Do you have any idea,” He drawls against your shoulder, “how hard it is to hold myself back from ravaging you? Ever since that night, my desires have been plagued by you.”

You try to rock against him at his words but his grip remains firm.

“To think some mortal girl could overtake my thoughts like this.” The mixture of resentment and lust was clear in his voice, pulling away to look at you before grabbing your neck with his hand. You stand there, at the complete mercy of this man, this creature who could destroy you so easily, and it scares and exhilarates you in equal measure. But those thoughts come to an end when he finally kisses you roughly. Like a symphony, everything in your body seems to sing in delight, your eyes almost rolling back as the ecstasy of his lips on yours overtakes you. Maintaining the grip on your neck, his other hand makes its way down to your hips and up under your shirt. With every trace of his ice-cold fingertips up your torso, he leaves goosebumps in his wake and your body trembles. 

“Such a gorgeous thing.” he rasps, inches away from your lips. “So eager for my touch.”

You can only nod in response and grip on to the lapels of his jacket. You have never felt such burning desire in your life; the more you look in his eyes, the more the ache between your thighs intensifies. 

“Come now, let’s continue in more comfortable surroundings.”

He pulls away and leads you to your bedroom, you're so overcome with desire you fail to notice how he knows the layout of your apartment without you telling him. Before you can ponder that, you're sprawled on your back upon your bed, with him towering over you like the apparition of a god. He traces his hand over your body before lifting your shirt slightly to fully expose you to his gaze.

“I feed your anger, and I sicken your desire to satisfy me with every look, what am I?”

It takes you a moment to process what he says, but you're in no sense to try and decipher a riddle. Luckily, he doesn't seem to mind, more so wanting to tell you the answer himself, proving his intellect.

“Envy, my dear. When I look at your body it makes me long for the warmth a mortal can provide.”

“You really aren’t human, are you?” you manage to stammer out, which awards you a low laugh from him.

“No. No I am not, although it doesn’t seem to be affecting you negatively now does it? I think you like it.”

He smiles then, a wicked grin that can only be described as a predator smiling at its prey. “Is that true? What a foolish little girl you are, getting aroused at the power of another being. Someone who could tear you apart.”

As he says the words, static jolts through your body making you let out a whimper and push against nothing. You look at him and he revels in your reaction, before the same sensation wracks through you. It's like you've had the air sucked from your lungs, you gasp and writhe as he commands your body without even touching you. But it isn't enough.

“Please- “

“Hm? Is there something you want my dear?”

After the third time he sends electric through seemingly your soul, you relent; you beg for him to touch you, to hurt you, to give you anything other than the blissful torture he was subjecting you to.

“If you insist.” is all he remarks callously before getting on the bed with you, ripping your underwear off with a hidden strength and pushing your skirt up, before lowering himself until he's eye level with your dripping cunt. The lewd position makes you embarrassed, but when he licks a stripe up you, your thoughts turn to mush and your head falls back. He repeats the motion before focusing on your clit, sucking while he grips onto your thighs. You can feel the bruises forming under his fingertips as he continues to please you with his mouth. Such divine pleasure coming from a creature shrouded in malevolent power makes the sensations so visceral, so intense. Bringing a hand to his hair, you attempt to shift your hips upward to feel more of his tongue but he keeps you firmly pressed into the mattress.

“You taste delightful.” He states against you, the vibration pleasantly shooting up your body. He continues to lick circles around your clit, and you gasp when you feel one of his fingers teasing your entrance. “Ask for more and I’ll give it to you, in abundance.”

So, you do. You beg for more in a way you didn’t think possible from you, sounding so desperate to your own ears. Looking down at him, you see the sadistic glint in his eyes at the way you sound, it's clear he was reveling in the power he has over you.

Luckily, he divulges your request, pushing a finger inside you; the coldness of it makes you whine and once again you attempt to shift under his grip. He ignores you, moving in and out until he feels you're ready enough for him to add a second one. All the while he continues to lavish your clit with his tongue, giving you an ecstasy that leaves your body ignited with lust. You need more, you can't take anymore. It's too much and not enough all at once.

Your pitiful cries seem to spur him on, thrusting his fingers a bit faster and crooking them just right to have your eyes rolling back into your skull. Over and over again, he has you at his mercy and you adore every second. To think you’d found out this man, this thing wasn’t human and in the same encounter offered yourself and your body willingly to him scared and excited you in one single warped wave of pleasure. He starts to gently suck on your clit once again, his fingers thrusting faster and rougher into your soaked cunt. You know it won't be long before you come undone beneath him, the prediction coming true as you feel it build inside you. Just like before he seems to once again enter your mind and know what you're thinking.

“Are you close already? My my how desperate you truly are, do you want to cum?”

You nod eagerly; your vision hazy as something seems to overtake your brain like a blanket atop a candle. You hear him speak again, but not just through your ears but through your mind.

“Submit to me, become mine and I will grant you the pleasure you crave.”

There's no other option, you have to say yes and you know you want nothing more. So you offer yourself to him fully, claiming to be his, watching as he seemingly comes alive; his fingers moving impossibly quick and something like colour appearing on his cheeks.

“Then cum.”

With his permission you let go, crying out his name as fireworks seemingly explode in your entire body. Squeezing your eyes shut, you can't control the frenzied movement of your body as it thrusts up into him. His grip on your thigh had loosened, allowing you to ride out your frantic pleasure as it seemingly lasts for an eternity. When you finally come back down from the heavens you're breathing sharply, opening your eyes to see Edward rising slightly from his position. You barely have time to think before he leans forward and bites your inner thigh. A sharp pain rushes through you as you look down in shock, seeing him lap up the blood that trickles from the wound; your thigh now has the exact same mark which was on your neck and despite both your morality and post-orgasm haze, your cunt throbs at the sight of him drinking up your blood.

“It seems I couldn’t control myself.” He states matter-of-factly, wiping a trace of blood from his lips with his finger. He then looks at you with an expression you can't read, before leaning over you and placing the finger in your mouth. Without thinking you suck the bloodied finger clean, staring at his eyes which darkened at your actions.

“Good girl.”

It had been the only time thus far that he’d praised your actions, which leads to you flushing and turning your head away. He brings you back to facing him with a hand on your jaw.

“You’re so easy to read, I hardly need to comb through your mind to know what you’re thinking.”

You stare at him, unsure as to how to vocalise your feelings. You settle on asking him how he can read your mind, which results in him smirking slightly.

“Reading your mind? What a simplistic way to put it. But I suppose if that’s the language it takes for you to understand, yes people like me can do that with ease.”

You feel a little embarrassed at the condescending way he speaks to you, although it isn't long before you forget all about it when you feel him push you so you're on your back once again. You look up at him, before he captures your lips in a fierce kiss once again. Each time he does this, it always strikes you just how cold his skin is to the touch.

“Now,” he starts, “I will take you properly, hm?”

You're a little shocked at how bluntly he says it, but you nod regardless. As he gets you in position, that same clouding of your mind happens as it had earlier; the weight of something pressing on your thoughts, making you feel so desperate for his attention, his touch, his anything.

With a gasp from your lips, you feel him enter you, a whine escaping your lips at the sensation. Grabbing on to his shoulders, you feel the air be drawn from your lungs as he pulls out and thrusts into you harshly. 

“You feel…divine” he manages to say into your ear, before his thrusts become slower. He traces his hand down your body, grabbing at your tits before growling slightly and ripping your top completely off; you’d been so caught up in what happened you’d forgot you were still wearing it. With every slow thrust you almost feel your sanity slipping away more and more, your fingernails digging in more and more to his shoulders.

“How does it feel? To have a…creature so superior to you inside you? He whispers, the pride in his voice suffocating. Despite his narcissism, you can't help but whine and tell him how good everything feels, not quite being able to articulate the pleasure he was giving you through more than just his physical touch. 

He begins to speed up after your admission, grabbing at your hip and waist before stroking his hand up and wrapping it around your throat; not squeezing but simply holding. You have no doubt that even though he was fucking you, he still posed a danger to you, and as you looked into his cold eyes you could see that that was the point. He delights in the control he has, that he could just as soon kill you than he could make you cum. And more importantly, he knows you like it.

You feel your eyes roll back slightly as he continues his pace, the slight noises of pleasure from his lips make your cunt throb more. He doesn't seem to get tired or over-exert himself, instead maintaining whatever rhythm he desires.

“Such a…greedy thing” he states, his thrusts getting faster, “You truly are a vision, what a pretty pet I seem to have found.”

You shudder at his words; your fingers having moved to drag your nails down his back as he adjusts his head near your ear to whisper into. The pleasure, the sensation, it's overwhelming. You shift your hips, the angle causing him to hit that spot inside you that has your mind reeling. All you can do is nod and release noises from your mouth that upon reflection you’re sure can't have come from you, they're so…desperate.

“And I’ll be sure to make you into such a good pet for me…all mine to use.” It was clear he meant what he said, his hand tightening on your throat. You can't help but moan at his words, the chill of his body pressing against yours mixing to create a euphoria in your head. Over and over, he thrusts into you, getting deliberately rougher as you two get closer and closer.

It was then you feel something you can't describe, an oppressive feeling throughout your entire body that simmers just below your skin. You don't know how, but you know it's him causing you to experience the strange sensation.

“Do you feel it? The control I have over you?” His grip tightens on your neck even more, causing you to struggle for breath. The feeling in your body swirls and fills every pore, every inch of you. You have never experienced anything like this in your life, the sheer ecstasy and torture of being at this monster’s mercy, inside and out.

“What fun I shall have with you, your mind cannot hope to quantify the things I am able to do to you, and I will do all of them.”

You aren't sure whether it's his rough pace, his harsh words or the fact that whatever he's doing to your mind decided it was time, but you cum loudly and frantically. The waves of pleasure crash into you; you feel as though if it wasn’t for his form pressed so close, you'd fall through the mattress and into nothingness. The world seems blurry and disjointed, your nails digging in to his back so harshly you're sure in the back of your mind you're leaving marks. Strained breaths claw their way up your throat as you feel his grip loosen, his thrusts never faltering for a moment. Overwhelmed, the feeling of him pounding into you while you're still so sensitive causes you to whine pitifully, but all you can do was lay there and let him use your body. The drag of his cock pulling out and pushing back in to you hurt so good, you almost don't want it to end despite the overstimulation. You aren't sure how long it takes, or even if you cum again from the sheer amount of pleasure your body was receiving but you feel him cum inside you, rambling about how you belonged to him as he rides out his own high. 

All that you can hear in the room is your loud laboured breathing, as the weight of his body on you was now gone. You look up at him, seeing him adjust his clothes like he’d simply done something mundane, not fucked you within an inch of your life. He glances over at you, at how pitiful you looked; half naked and sweaty, thoroughly satiated and he smirks a little. Within a moment he reaches over and strokes your cheek slightly, the intimacy surprising you. He brushes some hair out of your face, his fingers slightly shaking before standing up.

“Rest, your fragile body needs it.” His tone sounds distant, but there was a hint in his face that he wants to say something else but refrains.

“Will I see you again?”

Your question makes him smile slightly, walking towards your bedroom door but stopping before he left.

“Would you like that?” 

The way he asks makes you think he's experiencing surprise, as if the thought of you wanting to interact with him again was somehow unusual. You nod your head.

 “Then yes…I’m sure you will.”

He leaves without saying another word, leaving you still sprawled out on your bed, your mind racing. With slightly shaky limbs, you adjust yourself and wrap the blanket around your trembling form, exhaustion settling into your bones. The next morning, you're ready to write the encounter off as a wildly inappropriate dream until you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, still naked. Marks. Lots of them. All over your neck, with what looked to be fingerprints adorning the side. And as you gazed at the massacre of your skin, soft fingertips gently running over the blotched marks, you can't help but smile.

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

[yoiku]

Didn't expect people to have any interest in this lol. Here's some more pics, all very much work in progress. in order: kitchen - living room- main building entryway - top floor office - crafting hut - outdoor greenery building - middle of the yard

oh yeah my "maybe i'll decorate my housing plot" with Palia so far:

behold, a bathroom.

[xoxo-author]

A book romance kind of thing

Hey ya'll! I'm back with some shitty writing! I have been having such writer's block when it comes to writing, especially my Jake Seresin series but I sat down to write and this little thing came out so! I've decided to expand my writing and start to write about all of the men I am obsessed with... Maybe that will help with the writer's block and I can get back to my Jake Seresin series! Anywho, enjoy!

Gif not mine, credit to owner

Noah Sebastian x FemReader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex(but like not really), my writing as always

Also please don’t steal my work…

"Drinking at one o'clock in the afternoon? You really have reached rockstar status!" 

Noah's head snaps up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion before a smile ultimately takes up his whole face once he realizes that it was me.

I smile back as I start a little jog towards him, letting my bag drop once I am close enough and throw my arms around his neck. Noah, careful not to spill his drink, bends and tightly wraps his arms around my waist. 

Bending his knees a bit, Noah tightens his grip around my waist and lifts me off the floor before turning around to face the way he came and walking a few steps before sitting me down on a little wall ledge, "What're you doing here?" 

"There's this band called Bad Omens, people say they're cool so I thought I'd check them out." 

Noah shakes his head, "You wouldn't like their music."

I shrug before taking the cup from his hand and bringing it up to my lips, almost gagging as the amber liquid touched my tongue, "Oh my god, that's awful." 

Noah laughs, taking the cup from me and setting it to the side, placing his palms on the surface on either side of me, "No seriously, what're you doing here?" 

"Honestly?" 

He nods and I let out a sigh, beginning to play with my fingers that sat in my lap, "Jolly called me, he said that you seemed a little off. That you didn't seem like yourself, even when tour started. Jolly said that you wouldn't talk about it, always saying that nothing was wrong. The boys can't figure it out so Jolly asked if I knew but as far as I knew everything was fine. Jolly finally asked me if I would just come out to either cheer you up or fix what it is that's going on." I tilt my head as I look at him, "So tell me what's going on in that mind of yours."

Noah lets out a sigh before letting his head fall to my thighs, my hands automatically going to his hair. "It's so stupid but I cannot talk about it because if I do then I will be distracted the whole night and I'll be shit on stage." 

I had never seen Noah rattled before. He was always so calm and collected both on and off stage. It seemed like nothing could ever throw him off his game so whatever it was, must be big. 

Pulling my hands out of his hair, I place my hands on his shoulders and gently push him so he could stand up straight and look at me, "In that case, why don't we go put my bag away and then you take me to a merch stand so I can get a shirt and we can hang out until you have to go on? We can deal with this later." 

He nods his head and helps me down from the ledge, grabbing my bag as begin to walk towards their tour bus, "Don't you have a million Bad Omen shirts?" 

"Um, I don't have one from this tour!" 

                                                                              ****

I felt Noah shift behind me for what felt like the thousandth time. 

Don't get me wrong, tour buses aren't all that comfortable and I'm sure it's hard when the bed is barely big enough to fit someone's tall frame, but this bunk bed was so much more comfortable than previous ones. Now it could be because I have had a very long day but I all but passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

Noah lets out a sigh as he flops onto his back. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" 

I shake my head, momentarily forgetting that it was pitch black and he couldn't see, "No but will you tell me what's keep you awake? Is it what's throwing you off?" 

It was silent for a few minutes and I was beginning to think that he had, finally, fallen asleep, but he sighs, his raspy voice whispering in the dark, "It's a fucking dream." 

"What?" 

"The night before our first show I had this dream and now every time I close my eyes, even if it's just to fucking blink, I see it. I think about it constantly and I just can't get it out of my head long enough to focus. Fuck, even when I'm out on stage I think about it. "

I roll onto my stomach and push myself to rest on my forearms, "Was it a nightmare?" 

"It was a fucking sex dream. Well, it started off as a sex dream, with you and I, which whatever, I've had those multiple times, but then it morphed into something more.  One minute you and I were going at it, it was great by the way, and then it switched, and all of a sudden we were going on dates, getting married, having babies, growing old, being dumb as hell together."

Pushing my weight to one arm, I move my hand to grab his arm, "Noah it was just a dream." 

I could feel him shake his head, "No it wasn't. I thought that at first too but then I realized that it's what I want. It's like those cliche romance books you read where the two best friends fall in love. I fell in love with my best friend and that dream just sent me over the edge because I want that with you. I want to take you out, be able to hold your hand, and touch your butt in public. I want to do the absolute dumbest shit with you by my side. I want to ride out the rest of this music shit with you by my side. I want to get married and put so many babies in you. I want to grow old with you." 

Noah's hand comes in contact with my jaw, his thumb gently tracing over my skin, "I'm sorry if I've ruined everything." 

Shaking my head, I pushed myself up until I was half on his chest with my nose brushing his, "You didn't ruin anything." 

Noah takes a beat before letting out a puff of air, hand wrapping around the back of my neck and pulling me forward, smashing his lips against mine. 

It was odd at first, kissing your best friend of years, but that quickly faded into something more passionate.

Pulling apart, "I don't think we should have babies right now but why don't we practice making them?" 

Letting out a low chuckle, Noah situates me until I am on my back and he is resting in between my legs, "I like the sound of that." 

[party-poison-218]

🌸The Emperor's 🌸

🌸 Betrothed 🌸

Arranged Marriage, Enemies to lovers (?), no TW. Gojo is rude. Fem! Reader

Word count: 3,277

The wind whistled through the open palace gates as I stood at the threshold of an unfamiliar world. The grandeur of the Emperor's estate was beyond anything I'd ever imagined—crystal chandeliers hanging from high ceilings, walls adorned with golden tapestries, and servants moving like shadows in the grand hallways. I, a simple noblewoman, was being presented to this world as a bride-to-be, but not just to anyone. To Gojo Satoru—the Emperor of the Gojo Empire.

When my family had first received the royal summons, I had assumed it was some sort of mistake. Me? Marrying the most powerful sorcerer in the kingdom? A man so feared that even the bravest warriors shuddered at the mention of his name. I had heard of him, of course—the tales of his power, his beauty, his unapproachable arrogance. His very existence bent the laws of nature, and those who stood in his way were crushed beneath his heel without a second thought.

Yet here I was, the chosen bride, the prize in a political marriage that I had no say in. My father, a mere duke, had accepted the proposal with haste, perhaps out of honor, perhaps out of fear. I had been told it was my duty to bring my family's name into greater favor with the Emperor, to serve the empire in whatever way I could.

And so, I stood in front of him.

The Emperor was not what I had expected.

Gojo Satoru was... different. He was young—no older than thirty—his face framed by tousled white hair that seemed to glow even under the dim palace lights. His eyes, the infamous six eyes, glimmered like twin stars, and his gaze held a certain weight to it. Despite his relaxed posture and the casual air about him, there was an unmistakable tension in the way he carried himself. His robes were embroidered with intricate patterns, but his smile was... almost playful, like he was toying with the world.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking, as he leaned against the grand throne with a faint smirk.

I felt my pulse quicken, the weight of his presence settling into my bones. I had been prepared for many things, but not for this casual arrogance, nor for the strange sense of calm he exuded, despite being the most powerful man in the empire.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I replied, dropping into a low curtsy. I had been taught to respect the Emperor, to approach him with deference. But how could I, a mere woman, truly understand the depths of this man’s power?

He waved a hand dismissively, his smirk widening. “Relax. No need for all the formalities. I didn’t ask you here to stand on ceremony.”

I rose, surprised by his words. Most people, when in his presence, were stiff, rigid with awe. But Gojo Satoru seemed entirely uninterested in that sort of deference.

“I’m guessing your father never told you exactly what you were marrying into?” His voice was laced with amusement as he studied me, his gaze intense, as though he could see straight through me.

I nodded stiffly. “He said I was to be married to the Emperor, and that it would serve our family’s interests.”

Gojo chuckled, stepping forward, his long stride effortless. “Ah, yes. The ‘interests’ of the Gojo family. You’ll soon realize that my interests are… much more complex than that.” His smile faded into something more calculating, and the air between us thickened. “But I don’t blame your father for his naivety. This marriage isn't about politics, or power, or family at all. It's a betrothal, yes—but only in name. I’ll keep my side of the bargain, as will you. But beyond that… we’ll see.”

I frowned, confused by his cryptic words. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

He approached me, his eyes gleaming with an almost mischievous light. “You’ll find that being married to me won’t be like any normal marriage. I won’t pretend to be the doting husband you expect. There won’t be lavish dinners or quiet strolls in the garden. No, we’ll have our own little arrangement—one where I hold all the cards, and you… well, you’ll have your own rules to follow.”

My heart raced, my mind trying to process the meaning behind his words. This was no ordinary union. Gojo Satoru, the Emperor, was promising nothing but a facade—a partnership with no real depth, no romantic connection. Just a practical, political arrangement.

“You’re free to do as you wish, so long as you don’t interfere with my rule,” he continued, his voice dipping into something more serious. “But don’t mistake my indifference for weakness. I’ll expect loyalty. And if you betray me… well, I’m sure you know what that means.” His words were sharp, cold, and the weight of them settled in my chest like a stone.

I swallowed hard. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Gojo said, smiling again, his posture relaxing. “Don’t worry. We’ll get along just fine. I don’t bite.” He winked, and for a brief moment, I saw the playful youth behind the mask of the Emperor.

Still, I couldn’t shake the sense that beneath his easy demeanor lay a mind that could break kingdoms with a single thought. I had been chosen for my family’s name, but in truth, I felt like a pawn in a much larger game—one where Gojo Satoru was the king, and I was just a piece on his board.

“Now,” he said, turning his back to me and facing the grand windows of the palace. “Come, let me show you to your chambers. This is your new home, after all. Get used to it. You’ll find that things here move... differently.”

I followed him, my heart still beating erratically in my chest. What had I gotten myself into? What was this strange marriage that bound me to this godlike man?

As I walked behind him, I knew one thing for certain: life with Gojo Satoru, the Emperor, would never be ordinary.

The next few days were a blur of unfamiliar faces and strange routines. The palace was a labyrinth, its marble halls and towering columns stretching endlessly in all directions. It seemed as though no matter how many steps I took, I never quite reached the same place twice. The servants, all dressed in pristine white, moved in quiet, synchronized motions, attending to their duties with the same stoic expressions. They barely acknowledged my presence, which only served to heighten the surreal feeling of living in such a place.

I was assigned to a suite at the farthest wing of the palace, where the view overlooked the sprawling Gojo gardens—an oasis of perfectly manicured flora that seemed almost artificial in its beauty. The room itself was a vast expanse, filled with golden accents and velvet curtains that shielded the sun’s harsh light. Everything was opulent, even the smallest detail. A bed draped in silks larger than most rooms I had lived in. A vanity of polished mahogany, with ornate gold framing the edges of the mirror. But despite the luxury, it all felt hollow, as if this palace were nothing more than a gilded cage.

And yet, it was my cage now.

I had not seen Gojo Satoru again after that first meeting. For the first few days, I was left to my own devices, allowed to explore the palace and its grounds with minimal interference. But my thoughts, like my surroundings, remained clouded with confusion. What exactly was expected of me in this marriage? Why had Gojo Satoru chosen me? What did he truly want from me?

His words echoed in my mind: You’ll find that being married to me won’t be like any normal marriage. But what did that mean? Was it a warning, or just a way to test my boundaries?

It wasn’t until the fourth evening that I saw him again.

I had been escorted to the grand dining hall by a servant who did not speak a word. The hall itself was as immense as everything else in the palace, its walls lined with towering windows that framed the setting sun. The table was set for only two—one side reserved for Gojo, and the other, I assumed, for myself.

Gojo was already there when I arrived, his white hair shining under the flickering candlelight. He sat casually, one leg draped over the other, his arms resting at ease on the table. His expression was unreadable, but there was an energy about him that made the air around us feel charged, almost as if the very space was alive with his presence.

“Ah, you’re here,” he said, looking up with a lazy smile as I stepped into the room. There was no trace of formality in his voice, no sign of the Emperor I had expected to meet. He was just a man—one who made it clear that the title he bore was more a formality than an identity.

I bowed slightly as I approached the table, hesitating before sitting down. His gaze, however, was fixed on me with that unnerving intensity, as though he were studying every detail of my being. His eyes seemed to pierce right through me.

“You know,” he said as I settled into my seat, “I’ve been thinking. You’re the first woman I’ve ever considered marrying. Not that I’m particularly picky about who shares my bed, but my position has always made things… complicated. Politics, family alliances, and all that mess. But you—well, you’re not really part of that, are you?”

I blinked, taken aback by his bluntness. “I’m not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”

Gojo chuckled softly. “Well, you’re not from a powerful family. Your father’s not exactly one of my closest allies, so it’s not like there’s any real political gain for me in this marriage.” He leaned forward slightly, his smile turning more teasing. “In fact, I don’t need you for anything. So I thought… Why not have some fun with this? Let’s make our own rules.”

My pulse quickened as I tried to grasp what he was saying. “Fun?” I repeated, unsure whether to be alarmed or confused.

“Yes,” he said, folding his arms behind his head, his gaze becoming more calculating. “We’re going to make this marriage an… experiment of sorts. It’s not like we have to fall in love or anything ridiculous. No, we’ll simply live together, play the parts expected of us, and see what happens. No expectations. No pressure.”

I could hardly believe my ears. Gojo Satoru—the most powerful man in the empire, the Emperor himself—wanted to treat our marriage as some sort of game. He was making light of everything, as though the power he wielded and the weight of his title meant little in the face of his own whims.

“Why me, though?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why did you choose me? There are many women far more powerful or influential than I.”

His smile widened, and for a moment, I saw something flicker behind his eyes—something like amusement, or perhaps even curiosity. “Because I want to see how you’ll handle it. How long it takes before you crack under the weight of it all. How much of your own identity you’re willing to let go of. It’ll be a fun little experiment, don’t you think?”

I stared at him, trying to read his expression. Was he serious? Was this all a game to him? To us?

“Are you telling me this marriage is just a test? A way to pass the time?” I asked, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into my voice.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached for the wine goblet in front of him, swirling the liquid lazily before taking a sip. He then set it down gently, his gaze never leaving mine.

“No,” he said finally, his tone more somber now. “It’s not just a test. But don’t expect me to act like your typical husband. I’m not going to play along with the fairy tale. We’ll have to navigate this arrangement in our own way.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick with unspoken words. I didn’t know what to say to him, or whether it was even worth trying to understand him at all. Gojo Satoru, the Emperor, was as enigmatic as he was infuriating.

“So,” he continued, his voice taking on that playful edge again, “are you going to try and make this work? Or should I just let you go back to your room and sulk about it?”

I looked at him, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure of where this strange path would lead. But one thing was certain: my life, and my marriage, were no longer my own.

In Gojo Satoru's world, nothing was simple. Nothing was predictable. And I had no idea what would come next—but I knew it would change me forever.

The days that followed were a blur of strange exchanges and unsettling realizations. My life, once defined by predictability and quiet order, had been turned upside down by the Emperor’s casual indifference. Gojo Satoru had made it clear—he would not be the husband I had envisioned in my childhood dreams. He would not be the kind, attentive man who listened to my hopes and fears. Instead, he was a force, a whirlwind of arrogance and power, whose every action seemed calculated to test the boundaries of those around him.

Despite his dismissive attitude, I found myself unable to simply ignore him. His presence loomed over the palace, and by extension, over me. We shared the same roof, but his intentions were never fully clear. His words, though playful, often carried an edge—an invitation to challenge him, to engage with him in ways I had never imagined. I could not help but feel like a piece in his larger game, moving on the board at his whim.

It was on the seventh day of my marriage that I encountered him again—this time in the palace gardens.

I had been walking alone, trying to clear my head. The beauty of the gardens, though artificial, was soothing. Flowers in every conceivable color bloomed around me, their vibrant petals soft against the light breeze. But even here, in the heart of nature's beauty, I could not escape the feeling of being watched. The air, heavy with the fragrance of jasmine and lavender, held an undercurrent of tension, as if the garden itself was aware of the stakes involved in my marriage.

“Is it peaceful here, or are you simply avoiding me?” Gojo’s voice rang out suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I turned to find him standing near a fountain, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his robe. He was as relaxed as ever, yet there was an unspoken challenge in his stance. His six eyes gleamed under the soft sunlight, a constant reminder of the power he held in the world—and the power he wielded over me.

“Your Majesty,” I replied, forcing myself to remain composed, though I could feel the unease stirring in my chest. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Oh? Because it certainly looks like you are.” He smirked, the playful edge of his voice never wavering. “You’ve been avoiding me for days now. I can’t help but wonder why.”

I stiffened, resisting the urge to take a step back. “I’ve been getting accustomed to my new surroundings.”

His lips curled into a faint smile. “You know, I’m not as intimidating as everyone makes me out to be.” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “But you still keep your distance. Does it make you nervous to be around me, wife?”

I bristled at the word. It was so foreign coming from his lips. There had been no affection between us—only a shared acknowledgment of a duty neither of us had asked for. Our marriage was nothing like what I had imagined.

“I’m not nervous,” I said, meeting his gaze as best I could. “But I am still trying to understand what you want from this marriage.”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between us. I felt his proximity like an electric current, but I refused to let my body betray my discomfort. Gojo’s eyes, so piercing, scanned my face with an unsettling precision.

“What I want from this marriage?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Hmm… I suppose I could say I want nothing from you. But that wouldn’t be entirely true.” His eyes softened, as if pondering his next words. “I want to see how far you’re willing to go to play this game. I want to see what you’ll do when you’re pushed to the edge. That’s what interests me.”

His words hit me like a cold gust of wind. I had known this marriage would not be one of love or tenderness, but I hadn’t realized just how much of it would be about him testing me. About him pushing me to see how I would bend, how much I would give up before I broke. It made me feel small—like an object of curiosity in a laboratory.

“Do you enjoy this, Your Majesty?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. “Do you enjoy making people squirm? Making them question their worth?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my directness. “No. I’m not making you squirm—I’m testing you. There’s a difference.”

“A test,” I repeated, feeling the words roll around my tongue. “And if I fail?”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting to the distant horizon. “Then you fail. Life goes on. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be curious about how you get there.” He turned his eyes back on me, his smile turning almost affectionate, though his words were anything but. “After all, failure’s the best teacher, don’t you think?”

I wanted to retort, to argue with him, but I found myself speechless. This was the Emperor of the Gojo Empire—a man who controlled fate with the flick of his hand, who could bend kingdoms to his will. And yet, here he was, playing games with me, the daughter of a minor noble, as though our marriage was little more than a hobby to him.

As if he could see the conflict stirring in me, he placed a hand on my shoulder with surprising gentleness, though I could feel the weight of his power even in that small gesture. “I’m not cruel, you know. I’ll give you space. Time to figure out how to deal with me. But just remember—there are no rules. No safety nets. You want to play this game? Fine. But I expect you to play to win.”

My heart hammered in my chest, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. "And what happens if I don’t want to play at all?"

Gojo’s smile widened, but there was something colder behind it now. “Then you’ll be an exception, won’t you? I don’t like exceptions.” His voice turned darker, sharper. “And when I don’t like something, I fix it.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, though his demeanor remained light. He stepped back, as if the conversation were already over.

“Well, think about it,” he said, turning on his heel to walk away. “Take your time. I’ll be around when you’re ready to start playing.”

I stood in the garden, the sunlight beginning to fade behind the horizon, feeling more uncertain than ever. This marriage, this strange arrangement with Gojo Satoru, was no longer a matter of duty—it was a trial, a test of endurance, of willpower.

But I was beginning to wonder if I was strong enough to endure it.

And more frighteningly—if I even wanted to.

Hope you liked this! I love you all 💗

[moon-song-and-star]

Having a field day exploring Miles' office

- obsessed with tea huh. Well ya gotta love a man with a passion

- Wendy Oldbag stalker core we simply hate to see it

- The chessboard? That's insane. That's an insane thing for miles to own. I'd heard about their chess deal before but truly truly TRULY bizarre to custom make chess pieces that LOOK LIKE you and your rival/ex best friend/defending attorney. INSANE I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

- Pink theme is so hardcore commitment

- personal slave!Detective Dick Gumshoe is so funny. Also Miles fear of heights? Ok we love some fleshed out characters

- HE HANGS HIS CLOTHES ON THE WALL IN A FRAME. HE FRAMED HIS COAT. WHAT. WHY.

- klepto!Ema reveal I dig it

[heartfullofleeches]

Fast food reader having a yandere manager/boss??

What type of shenanigans do they get to and why do I picture the yan manager calling in the reader to their office and when the reader comes in the manager is laying on their desk in a certain "draw me like one of your french girls" pose with a rose in their mouth??

Oh God. Please not today. Standing stationary at your post, you dread the upcoming encounter with the customers next in line. The duo whisper loudly to each other, one nudging the other as they glance over in your direction. You pick up some words of encouragement over the conversation you're currently involved in and are fairly certain the piece of paper in their hand is signed with a heart. Why do so many people think this is a good idea? You hand the customer their change and ponder whether it's too late to switch to retail as the next guests approach. The one holding the note goes first. They slide it across the counter.

"Hey, uh, I've seen you in here during my lunch breaks and was wondering if yo-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. You're not even the fifth person who's given me their number this week. I'm not sure if you're one of the normal one or the kind who tries to stuff me in their car after I get off, but either way you should probably leave before my boss comes."

The customer looks dejected, but their friend steps in. "You didn't have to be such an ass about it."

"I'm only trying to warn you, and save myself the headache. They polish a hunting rifle in their office with the door wide open and I'm about sixty percent sure majority of the people on the missing persons board are the ones from this exact scenario. I'd ask if you want to order anything, but you should probably just leave. They're always watching the cameras."

"Gooood afternoon."

Well- You'll be able to sleep tonight knowing you did your best.

"I was just checking in on things, and happened to notice the line forming behind the two wastes of space who decided to harrass my favorite employee."

One of customers opens their mouth to speak, but your boss quickly shuts them down."

"Mmm, yeah, sorry- I hear you, but to be honest I don't really care. Here at this establishment, we always strive for customer satisfaction, but employee safety is the most important thing and to bother our most valued member means I don't have to abide by any rules. Moral or otherwise. Kindly get the fuck out of my store before I make you crawl out."

"I'll take this." Your Boss picks up the slip of paper and gives them their best customer service smile. "Have a nice day!"

That smile becomes just a tad genuine as the customers bolt for the door. Your boss turns to you, pulling you from your focus on the cash register as they check you for any damages. Besides the beginning of bags under your eyes, you're relatively okay. Their shoulders finally relax seeing you unharmed."

"Good. In perfect condition like always." They gently pat your cheek. "My office. Ten minutes. Don't worry about the ones you can get to."

Stocking shelves can't be much worse than this, right?

The ten minutes go by in what feels like ten seconds. The door is wide open when you arrive. Your boss has already added the note to their collection in a jar on their desk, a red line through the pages you could see. Your picture hangs on the wall in multiple frames marking you as employee of the month for years with no competition. According to coworkers, that award didn't even exist before you were hired.

You knock on the door frame. Your boss lifts their feet off the desk and shoves them underneath it along with their aforementioned weapon. They sweep the surface clean with the same rag they used to clean it as you approach and politely folds their hands as you take your seat.

"Y/n, what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to my cozy neck of the woods?"

"You called me here."

"Well - yes, but I like to think we're closer than that. Like family. Heads of the household if you will. I understand most of your time here has been manning the register, but with all this attention you've been getting I think we should move you somewhere else. I'm not jealous or anything..."

They crack a guilty smile." Well, maybe a smidge, but this is mostly for your own good. Something like keeping eye on the stock or working the fryers... Maybe even something as simple as, oh I don't know- coming home with me and letting me take care of your every need."

You think over your choices. That cafe down the street is probably hiring.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Summary (So Far!)

Based on the Sims In Bloom Challenge by Tasha @a-sims-garden posted here

Gen 2 - Buttercup (green, yellow)

"From a young age you’ve always loved animals of all kinds. You spent your childhood playing in your parents’ garden, fascinated by the wildlife all around you. As a teen From childhood you were gifted a laptop for your birthday glued to the family computer and you spent most of your time attached to it, competing in video game tournaments. Your love for animals persisted however, and you used the money won from video game tournaments to start your own vet clinic! (Plus extra help from the Bank of Mom & Dad.) ‘Romance’ and ‘marriage’ are things you never saw didn't necessarily see in your future, but most importantly, you would still like to raise a child raise your children with love and care like you were."

Immediately revising the challenge description to suit where this generation has gone instead. Daisy's gen started at YA and went pretty much to the letter, but Heather was adjusted early on.

I started with video gaming younger than the guidelines because I didn't think I'd actually make enough to buy the clinic (I didn't) and I wanted a good start on the video gaming skill. She entered a few tournaments before teenhood, but not weekly.

Enter in a video game tournament at least once a week from when you are a teen

Earn money by owning and running a vet clinic

Always own at least one cats *the original rules say at least two cats and I decided one is fine, but since the Nesbitts adopted Boomer in Gen 1 and they already had King Tut, Heather has always owned at least two cats anyway*

Never get into a relationship or marry (you can attempt to date for fun but they never work out) *if you've been following you know this rule has been broken and I'm fine with it. I love love!*

Adopt or have a science baby at least once *acting as a surrogate for Everett and Spencer with the birth of baby Jett fulfilled this, though she isn't raising this child so I plan to bring this requirement back in a future generation*

*Complete the Feather Collection twice

*Gain the Techie lifestyle

Bonus (My own additions. I might use cheats to help complete these if I feel like it because I'm just piling on stuff to do, but I'll try to make it plot or give it some kind of difficulty.)

The Feather Collection was a breeze with so many curious pets, so I decided to go for it twice - once for the statue, which currently stands out front of Buttercup Pet Clinic, and once again for the framed feathers to hang on the wall (in Heather's bathroom because they fit). I have almost every framed feather except the puffin. One left to go.

Raise 175,000 simoleons to buy out the clinic from the Landgraabs. *when this happened, I renamed Brindleton Pawspital to Buttercup Pet Clinic. A rebuild of the clinic is scheduled for spring.

Befriend and adopt Mayor Whiskers

Befriend and resurrect/adopt Captain Whitaker

Get clinic to 5 stars and maintain it, gain all vet perks *I honestly think I'll fail this one and I'm coming to terms with it tbh*

Complete the Jungle Explorer aspiration with a secondary character *working on it with Spencer (Kim-Lewis) Pancakes, though I want Heather, one of her closest friends since childhood, to help out*

Things I Didn't Plan For: Heather and Malcolm's relationship and raising the heir to the Landgraab's business empire, nor Heather's relationship with Conrad. When I started Gen 2, I honestly thought she would remain single forever (or at least until Everett was divorced or a widower) and have a child using his sperm donation. But then I fell in love with Everett's wife, Spencer, and changed the whole trajectory of this generation. Maybe even this legacy!

Once I added Conrad and Gord, I started thinking about incorporating Brindleton Bay's ghost lore into the storyline, but I didn't plan for things to get as paranormal as they did, let alone as fast as it happened! But when I made an on-the-spot decision to send Heather and Conrad on the quest for ambrosia with Reaper Rewards and commit six weeks of storytelling to it, things got spooky and mysterious pretty quick. A whole new challenge in keeping all the paranormal stuff rooted in some realism (until some later generations which go more for full fantasy), has revealed itself!

I'm not counting Gourmet Cooking as one of Heather's maxed skills until she completes it in the main save, but I should have added gardening to the chart before the screenshot.

I just love this generation and have rarely spent more time with a legacy heir than this. I can't wait to see where Heather's story goes from here, and Lavender, our Gen. 3 heir, is developing her own personality more every day!

LEGACY TOTALS

Aspirations Completed: Freelance Botanist, Super Parent (Daisy Nesbitt), Outdoor Enthusiast, Eco Innovator (Neal Nesbitt), Whiz Kid, Friend of the Animals (Heather Nesbitt), Mind and Body, Angling Ace (Holly Bell), Rambunctious Scamp (River Nesbitt), Social Butterfly (Hazel Moody-Nesbitt)

Careers Maxed: Gardener - Botany branch (Daisy), Civil Designer - Eco branch (Neal), Veterinarian (Heather), Deep Sea Fisher (Holly)

Collections Completed: Gardening Society collection plaque (all base game plants - a full and complete garden collection eludes us until perhaps a generation with a much bigger lot); Fishing Club collection plaque (all base game fish - a complete fish collection eludes us until I decide to fish a bunch again, and have a sim willing to mount endangered Sulani species on the wall); the Feather collection

Lifestyles Gained (first listed only): Outdoorsy, People Person (Daisy), Techie (Heather). Daisy had but lost Close-Knit and Energetic at different times, Heather had Single & Lovin' It but lost it obviously, and Conrad also had Close-Knit for a short time. Close-Knit is basically impossible to keep with the way I play legacies with all these interconnected families. This means I've already changed the lifestyle requirement for Gen 3 (it was going to be Close-Knit, I changed it, but I won't say to what until I get there).

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Next Chapter ->

Gen 1 Summary - DAISY | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Jett Pancakes has actually aged up to a child in game and I noticed his photo isn't updated on the family tree. So this is Jett, the biological son of Heather and Everett Pancakes.

[jpitha]

Oblivious?

"Come on, let's go here!" Rach strode purposefully towards the bar off the side of the promenade.

"Rach, that's not a human bar, can we even go in there?" Penny followed behind a few steps. Rach was fun to hang out with, but she was was more adventitious than Penny. She supposed that's why she would follow Rach around when she got an idea. That and to help keep her from getting arrested.

"Don't be speciest. It's a bar! It's where people go to meet and drink and hang out. I would like to drink and hang out, and I've already met you. Seems to me like we've met the requirement." Rach stood at the entrance with her hands on her hips, looking in. Sure enough, there were no humans in the bar. Penny peered around her, and saw the telltale furred feathers of the Tylan.

"Rach, it's an Tylan bar. They don't even drink alcohol.

"They don't drink alcohol? Penny that's the craziest thing I've ever heard. They have to have something to relax and take the edge off. Come on, let's go find out! It never hurts being friendly." Rach squared her shoulders can entered the bar. Penny dithered a moment and realizing Rach wasn't going to be stopped, followed after her.

The moment they entered the bar, the noise inside clattered to a halt. Rach stood at the entrance, framed by the bright lights of the promenade and headed to the long bar along the side of the room. The bar was dimly lit and decorated like dive bars everywhere. Cheap seats, cheap tables, advertisements pasted up on the walls, screens showing games, and tables in the back for regulars. The air handler rumbled quietly overhead and a lightly scented breeze blew around the room.

Rach found an empty seat at the bar and sat down, smiling with her mouth closed. Immediately a Tylan sitting next to her stood and moved to another seat.

Penny followed behind, her head swiveling back and forth, seeing the darting eyes of the Tylans watching them. She sat next to Rach in the newly open seat, and winced. The chairs were made for their bodies, and had lumps and ridges in the seat which were uncomfortable for humans. Rach didn't seem to mind.

The bartender walked over and ruffled their feathers. The noise was loud in the silent bar. "Friends, are you sure you're in the right place?" They spoke Tralang, but with a thick accent and some of the fricatives were lost with their hard beak. Still, Penny caught the unanswered declaration. 'Please leave before there is trouble.'

Rach nodded and looked around. "This is a bar, isn't it? I'd like a drink." Penny's eyes went wide and she tried to sink out of sight in her seat.

The bartender shook their head rapidly back and forth. A nod? "This is a Tylan bar, yes. Tylans drink here." The bartender's beak clacked sharply. Penny knew they were being patient, but also knew enough about Tylan physiology that the bartender was more than slightly annoyed.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, our money's yellow, isn't it? Rach reached into a coat pocket and slapped a note down on the bar. "What's a Tylan specialty that you can get for me and my friends?"

Without moving their head, the bartender flicked their eyes to the note. Rach had put down a 500 Star note, enough to buy everyone in the bar a drink. Or two or three. Penny's mouth opened slightly. Maybe she wasn't so oblivious after all? "In fact-" Rach continued "-how about something for everyone in the bar? To celebrate friendship?"

At that, the timbre of the bar changed instantly. Penny could feel the temperature of the room rise, could see feathers smooth, could hear people's tone of voice change. After all, the humans were known to be boisterous and friendly. If they're going to spend money anyway, why not let them buy the Tylans some drinks?

The bartender's eyes flcked to the crowd, and then back to Rach. They moved their wing-arms in a complicated gesture - probably their version of a shrug - and scooped up the note. "Okay friend. I'll make you a Melitam Smash. It's popular here."

"Wonderful! Make sure everyone else gets one of what they're drinking too" Rach beamed at the crowd.

After a moment, the bartender slid two crockery cups towards them and then turned to bustle filling everyone else's drink order. The drink steamed slightly - it was served warm - and smelled spicy. Penny took a sip. It was citrusy and spicy and hot and didn't taste alcoholic at all.

Rach took a big gulp of the hot drink and blinked. "This is amazing! what's that citrus note? I can't place it."

The bartender turned back while pouring drinks from a pitcher. "It's the Greblem. It's an insect that is muddled into the drink."

"Oh! That makes sense. I'm tasting the formic acid then." Rach nodded and took another sip. Is it intoxicating?"

The bartender shook their head rapidly side to side again. Definitely a nod. "Mildly, to us." They turned back to their work. Finally Penny couldn't take it anymore.

"Rach, did you know this was going to work?"

"What was?"

"Walking in all bold, and buying everyone a drink? I thought Tylans don't like humans?" Tylans were part of the coalition that made contact with the humans decades ago, but weren't in the initial group. Rumor is they didn't want to accept humanity's entry into the coalition.

"Everyone likes a big spender, Penny. Being friendly and learning about each other is one of the best ways to mend fences and build friendships. Now come on." She picked up her drink and looked towards the back of the bar "They're playing a game, let's go see if we can play too."