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mysticalsoot · 1 year ago

Text

you changed, it's good

A/N; soooo ive kinda been in a writing slump so take this fic thats been building dust in my docs- also tysm for 300!! hopefully ill come up w smth for it lol- I have no clue how to process that information omf

summary; months after wilbur's revival and his reunion with you and the daughter you share (that he didn't know about), you let out pent emotions and have a heartfelt talk with wilbur

tw// swearing, not lore accurate, im a wilbur apologist shush, children, suicidal mentions maybe? lmk if i missed anything

words; 1.8k

pairings; c!wilbur x gn!reader (they're parents), revivedbur x gn!reader

pronouns; none!

masterlist

—★—

The time since Wilbur’s death and revival may not have been that long, but for you, it felt like ages--you had a child now, his, yes but you’ve begun another life. A life with a little girl, a life without him. But now, he was here and he was trying. You appreciated it but god did you fear it too. The memories taunted you, the hurt and the aching that still lingered, haunted you. He haunted you.

Your head is rested upon Wilbur's chest, and the thumping of his heart echoes in your mind. His left arm wraps around your shoulder and your own arms around his middle. Your daughter, Willow lays against his other side, curled into a ball, and his other arm held tightly around her in comforting warmth. This moment is what you imagined life to be all those years, before everything…happened.

You seemed to always subconsciously wish for moments like these, at least, in the past few years. One’s where Willa has a parent other than yourself, someone else to hold her, and someone to hold you too. Domestic bliss, calm and serene. No wars or bombs, no screaming, and yelling. Simply the sound of your partner's heart and the sight of him holding your child. It's a reassurance of sorts, a silent "everything will be okay, even if it wasn't before".

Things used to be so not okay that having this calmness is nice. Having his arms around you again is lovely, being able to kiss him and hold him, to watch him help raise your daughter, to play with her and hold her. Tickle her and carry her on his shoulders, hold her hand with his, and walk with her on the prime path. To teach her how to ride a horse, after bringing one home for her, and helping her name him.

"Wilbur?" You whisper to him, moving your head back, your gaze locked upwards on him. He looks down at you, a soft smile written on his features, and he tilts his head to the side.

"Yes, my love?" he leans down, leaving a soft kiss to your lips and you smile through it, the warmth in your stomach swelling the same way it did when you both were younger. You take a moment to admire him, the way his curls fall in his face, how his glasses are always crooked and now are no different, and how the small freckles he adorns sprinkle his cheeks. Everything about him is beautiful, and so it brings you back to what you wanted to say. What you need to say, what is right to say.

"What happened? After lmanburg? You were so…" Your mind goes blank for a word to properly describe it, without hurting him. Cruel, evil, manipulative, the list goes on. It's odd to you, how someone could become so horrible and then return to a better version of their old self in a matter of years. "Horrible, then. To everyone, to yourself."

His face falls, and so does your heart, falling to the deep pits of your stomach. You can feel the life drain from your face and it hurts. You feel an immense dread, and wonder if you hadn’t mentioned it, how you would feel. It's a difficult subject for him but at this point, you think it had to be brought up. How can one accept this happy domestic life without knowing the full truth?

"I got lost, I think. Lost in the greed I suppose." He pauses, dips his head down to press his forehead against yours. His eyes close and he takes a breath, his arm letting go of Willa and placing his hand on your cheek, fingers gently brushing the skin and his eyes hold a warm sadness to them, "I wanted the joy still, the happiness for our future. But it got pushed back. I was blinded. There's a lot I don't remember. I mean I remember pieces here and there. Bribes from dream, desperate attempts to make things work for everyone and everything."

"And then what? You realized hurting us was better?" You’re hostile now, something switching or rather, breaking in your heart. You know you shouldn't react this way, get defensive--but a piece of you is still painfully angry and hateful, filled to the brim with spite and it’s accidentally let through the cracks. You back up a moment, his touch leaving you, hand falling to his side, head still dipped down.

"I realized I couldn't make it perfect for everyone, there were sacrifices I had to make." He takes another deep breath, wraps his arms around Willow again, she doesn't move. "And I made the wrong ones, I know that. I see that." Wil looks down at the lump that his daughter forms, a little ball of a girl. She moves to grab onto his arm in her sleep and she hums, a soft smile adorns his lips.

You feel you should be satisfied with his answers, and half of you is, but you still wonder; "Why? Why did you do it?"

His gaze lets its grip off of Willow, walks up and he looks to you, pupils big and somber, bloodshot and wet. "To not hurt anyone anymore. It was for the best."

You want to scream at him now, tell him how much of an idiot he is. Screams that are bloodcurdling, one’s that most definitely would wake up Willa and anyone surrounding the area. That no, killing yourself in fact does not stop the hurt, it only fuels it, like a spark to dead grass. He made Phil kill him, he made you watch as he destroyed his livelihood, your shared livelihood, watch as he's stabbed to death by his own goddamn father. It was never ending with him, it was always something new, something bigger, more painful than before. You want to storm away, back off, and not let him near you for a split second, it's all an overreaction, you tell yourself but you simply can't help it.

You stare at him for a moment, your expression blank and emotionless. Willow turns onto her back, eyes open slightly and her arms reach up to Wil. "Hey, daddy." She mumbles out, a smile of her own sculpted onto her features. Wil smiles back.

"Hello, my love. Are you ready for bed?" He asks, lifting her up by her sides and gently sitting her on his lap. She nods sluggishly, and she rests herself against him, chest to chest, head on shoulder, and tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "Let's get you into bed then, sweetie."

You just watch, your eyes follow him as he walks out of the living room, into the kitchen, and down the stairs. You sit there, alone now. Thoughts cycle through your mind. All the things you had wished for, every thought that graced your consciousness, every question unanswered for years. You missed him, you really truly did. But you aren’t sure who you missed more, and is the one you missed, the one you lie with at night? The one that wraps his arms around you in the morning, leaves a sloppy kiss on your cheek, and brushes the hair out of your face. The man that waits there, holding you, until Willow comes rushing in the room to ‘wake’ you both up. The same man that shushes you lovingly and says "Pretend you're asleep, love," the moment he hears her bedroom door open, so she can have the satisfaction of waking you both.

You now rest your head on the back of the couch, your gaze focused on the window on the opposite side of the room. Snow gently falls past it, frost taken over the glass. The fire crackles and warms you like a hug.

What feels like moments later, even warmer arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to the body they're attached to. "Wil?" You call out, your voice coming out gravelly, and you realize you must've fallen asleep.

"Hey.." It comes out weak, the word feels broken and sounds broken. "I'm sorry, for all the shitty things I've done. I know my reasoning isn't nor has it ever been valid. But I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere, and I don't have any plans of mass terrorism." His voice becomes clearer, breaks up less and he dips his head down again, pressing his cheek against yours. You nearly open your eyes, but keep them closed, and revel in the feeling of him more.

"I know." You pause, and let your own arms wrap around him, but instead of his middle like he has you held--you wrap your arms around his neck, your hands weaving into his mop of curls. "I think part of me still hurts, it's stupid I guess." You rest your head on his shoulder, and he pulls you closer, your legs now wrapped around him too.

"It's not, I hurt you. I take accountability for that and I hate that I even did it in the first place." His voice cracks again, and you know he means it. You pull back, your hands pressed against his cheeks and he looks up at you.

You hesitate, mulling over the words falling off his lips, his expression knotted in anxiety. Your thumbs run over his pink-tinted cheeks and you kiss his forehead.

"If you were that same person, you wouldn't say that." You take a breath, "I think you've changed. In a good way."

He sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around you. "I hope I have."

“I know you have,” You pause, grasping his face in your hands and getting him to pull back simply so he can gaze at you.

“How?” His voice is merely a croaked-out mumble but it’s enough that you hear it loud and clear.

“Would you be here, in my arms, after putting our daughter to bed if you hadn't changed?" You paused, eyes gazing deeply into his and searching for any doubt to crush with your words, "Would you even search for us if you were that same man? For good, not to hurt us."

He shakes his head, "I changed, didn't I?"

"In the best way possible." A soft kiss placed on his lips, one of love and devotion. A simple peck speaking every word and emotion you've ever felt--but only the good.

He smiles against the kiss, grasping at your sides and pulling you closer and closer to him. You were already so close, practically one, but he felt the need to pull you so much closer that not only were your bodies one, but so were your souls.

He pulls away from the kiss, hands resting on your face, "I love you," he nuzzles his nose against yours and you giggle, twisting your fingers into the curls on the back of his head, "so much." The last bit is whispered, like a quiet promise. A promise of devotion and loyalty. Something you're glad to finally have.

There's nothing in the way of him being with you. With your daughter.

"I love you more," You smile to him softly, a kiss placed on his forehead, and you push stray curls out of his face as he nuzzles his head against your chest.

taglist; @ella-fella-bo-bella @lillylvjy @sleepyburs @lotusanonymouse @lcvejoy

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #c!wibur #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot #c!wilbur soot x gn!reader #wilbur soot x gn!reader #wilbur soot x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp wilbur #dsmp wilbur soot

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voorbeees · 4 years ago

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[ hi im back with a part 2 bc im a sappy bitch. you can read part one here ]

Jesse makes his way into the kitchen. Early mornings are a thing he's had to get used to and there doesn't seem to be enough coffee in the world to keep him awake. Sure he's typically awake for work, but he schedules appointments around the time he spends recouping from his nightly hobby. After all a business doesn't run itself. He thinks this, accompanied with a move to LA shortly after taking the girl in could play a large part in it.

Shortly after they'd arrived at the new home, Tilly had been thrilled to learn she had her own room and own things. Apparently that was another thing her mother had failed to provide. He wants to ask her what her life was like before, but each time he thinks to broach the subject something makes him shy away from it. Maybe it's for the best. Besides, considering what it was, Jesse's sure he'll feel fire settle in his veins. Not long after that he'd had her enrolled in a small private school. It was never too early to start an education. He's also taken it upon himself to start teaching her ASL. The decision was only made final when she had looked up at him with those puppy dog eyes and said the simple phrase "I wish we could talk better."

And that had been another thing, not once had she acted like he was a stranger. It was actually the opposite. She acted like she'd known him her whole life. Maybe that was good, it made breaking the ice less difficult, at least in his mind.

Now Jesse adjusts his black suit coat, making sure he looks dressed to a T, even if he is just going downstairs. He's always been one to preen, current circumstances haven't changed that at all. Black Oxfords echo off the marble floor and he's instantaneous met with the beaming face of Tilly.

"Jesse! Jesse!" She rushes from her seat at the dining room table and bounces around his legs. Her tiny red curls dance about her shoulders in the process. She wastes no time in asking for her favorite thing, which is only made obvious a split second later when she holds her arms up, waiting to be picked up.

He picks her up with ease, acting like she weighs nothing (and to him she probably does). Her tiny arms wrap around his neck. She's made it clear she enjoys being at his height. Tilly pulls out of the hug a second later and starts flapping a tiny arm in the air. "I've been practicing with my writing!" She beams, little face begging for approval. He'd be cruel to deny her that so Jesse nods and walks the both of them back over to the table. Tilly wiggles herself out of his grasp just enough so she can grab the paper and shove it in his face.

It takes his eye a moment to focus and he has to hold the paper back a bit but sure enough, there in a child's scrappy handwriting is her name repeated at least ten times. Her statement is met with a slow nod of approval.

"Oh!" She finally makes the effort to remove herself from his arms and settle back into her chair. "Maybe I can try writing your name next?" It's a question but he knows what she's implying and its not a moment later that he pulls his phone out. He spends a moment typing on it and then turns it around to face her.

J-E-S-S-E

An amused look settles on his scarred face as he sees her focusing all her attention to write his name. Her tongue pokes out of the left side of her mouth as she finishes the last letter and holds it up, rather proud of herself.

It's messy but it's a cute gesture, so he takes it from her and pins it to the fridge with a magnet. That earns him a squeal of delight. The excitement is short lived as she goes back to her task. Jesse takes the opportunity to finally pour himself a cup of coffee.

' YOU'RE SPENDING THE DAY WITH SPANN. ' He hasn't actually left her alone yet. At least not that she knows. He's made sure to always leave when she's asleep, a caretaker there if something was to arise in his absence. The last thing he wants is for Tilly to think he's abandoning her.

"Why?" She asks as she looks up at him and then goes back to her work.

' I HAVE...BUSINESS. ' If you can consider visiting a plastic surgeon business. It's something he's wanted to do since he first saw what was once his "face". But Spann and the doctors had highly discouraged any reconstruction until the scars were fully healed. All in all it had added up to almost a year's time and it had been nothing but pure hell. Not that he cared what people thought when they saw him, more so he cared what he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn't good. Hell, for the first several months he'd busted every mirror within five feet of him, going so far as to have them removed from places of his organization that had them. It'd been a touchy subject and not many could breach it.

Jesse remembers when Tilly saw his face for the first time. It had been the next day and it was on accident. He wasn't planning on showing the mangled part of himself until she seemed comfortable around him. But she had walked in on him in his home office. He'd been sitting at his desk, mask safety packed away in the chrome case. She was supposed to be sleeping and much to his horror when he had looked up, she wasn't. Instead she was standing in the doorway with wide eyes. He'd frozen like a deer in headlights. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Was she scared of him? Fuck, he'd be scared of himself. It's not like he even looked human anymore. He sat there for what felt like an eternity, unmoving until she walked forward. "You got hurt bad, huh?" She hadn't looked at him in disgust, but rather understanding. It was like it was the most common thing to ever happen. Tilly had come up and stood in front of him. "I got hurt one time too." She pulled her hair back to show a small indention on her forehead. "I hit my head and it left a really big spot." Something about that small stupid child gesture had made him laugh. It had demolished the wall he had built, afraid of traumatizing her.

Tilly lays her pencil down and looks up at Jesse now. To only be six she's intuitive. She can tell by the way he grips the handle of the mug and shifts his weight slightly that something is off. Usually its "I have work." Not "business." It's an odd choice of words. So she does what kids do best, she bombards him with fucking questions. "What kind?"

' BUSINESS. '

There's that word again. No matter how hard she tries, she just can't fucking pick out the problem. "Can I come?" Jesse shakes his head 'no.' A tiny frown creases her brow. "Do you have to go to the doctor?" Suddenly she gasps, standing up in her chair. "Are you sick!?"

Jesse's signing and shaking his head 'no' before he can stop himself. It's not hard to tell she's working herself up. Fuck, the last thing he wants right now or at all is her to he upset.

"Are-are you going for your face?" Tilly sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Of course he fucking is, why else would he go to a god damned doctor. He obviously can't say it like that so he nods. "Bu-but there's nothing wrong with it!" Now she's just being polite, Jesse's sure of it. But the logical part of his brain says no, she's upset because she fucking cares about you you god damned fool. "What i-if I don't know who you are after? Because you lo-ook different?!" At that she breaks into full on hysteria. There's a few other words but Jesse can't make them out. It just all sounds garbled to him.

He considers pulling his phone out again but settles for a different approach. Jesse lowers himself on to one knee a few inches from her perch in the chair. He signs "hush" and "okay". Those are the easiest ones she's able to read but she just shakes her head crying even harder. "It's no-ot okay!" There's a hiccup added after she finishes speaking and for a split second Jesse thinks she's going to suffocate on her own tears. He blinks several times, actually taken aback by just how upset she is over this. This is a good thing not a bad one. He's going to look better but she doesn't want that. Of course he understands the whole "changing of features" process but it's still him. It's not like he's cutting off one of his fucking hands.

" It will be okay. " His hand hovers over her back like it's debating if it should offer comfort or not. Instead the decision is made for him as Tilly wipes at her eyes and sniffles.

"You don't know that!" There's a long pause and for a second Jesse thinks she's going to start bawling again, but she doesn't. Instead she looks up at him and the intensity in that stare almost has him drawing back. There's something in it. Love? Impossible. People don't love him, they tolerate him. Or rather he pays them to tolerate him. Tilly blinks once, then twice and yes, he sees it now. It's a mixture of love and adoration. Something almost foreign to him. "What if something happens?" Her tiny lip quivers. "Who will I have then?"

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. His mind draws a blank. There's no way for him to completely assure something won't happen. Granted people don't usually die from plastic surgeon, though he guesses it's possible. ' IT WON'T. I WILL STILL BE HERE. ' The phone's electronic voice drones out into the air. That's not what he wants to say. Jesse wants to say this huge fucking essay of why she doesn't need to worry but sometimes the simplest answers are the best.

"Promise?"

' YES. '

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

Blinding light sears his brown eye as it flutters open. Are lights always this bright? He doesn't think so. If they are then he's definitely paying someone to dim all the ones in his house. Because Jesus fuck that's a horrible thing to wake up to. Jesse blinks a few times then lets out a sigh. He can't feel his face (which, God willing, with strong as fuck drugs he won't have to until it heals).

It's only after he's been awake for an hour or two that he turns to the door at his right and sees Spann standing there, Tilly's small wide eyed form in front of her. He offers a shakey wave as a greeting. Tilly looks up at Spann, who nods and urges her in then steps back out to answer a call. Jesse thinks she looks even more comical like this. She's acting like he's a porcelain doll that could break at the lightest touch.

Tilly rests her tiny arms on his bedside. "Do you feel better?" Jesse gives her a so-so response with his hand. She takes this as privilege to climb her way up into the bed beside him, her tiny form looking even smaller near him. "Well," her forehead wrinkles, "you don't look different."

Now he is laughing. His shoulders shaking as an indicator. She looks at him before deciding to curl up next to him, her tiny head on his shoulder. "I still love you anyway. Even if you look like a mummy."

Jesse signs. " I love you too, squirt. "

#voorbeees writes #slashers #slasher fandom #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest #also i had a mental breakdown half way through bc of life #dont @ me if the second half is shit

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

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maybe? 👉👈 steve taking a really long time with college (like on one year and off one yours year, on, off, on, off) and he still doesn't really know what he wants to do and he gets really frustrated bc billy just did college all in one go and steve is taking forever and he feels down on himself? idk im feeling the whump rn???

Steve had left high school having no idea what he wanted from the rest of his life.

That’s not true, he had some idea.

He knew he wanted to leave Hawkins, follow Billy wherever he was going. He knew he wanted to be with Billy for the rest of his life, he knew he wanted to leave the past behind and make new friends, people who were kind, and fun, and didn’t bat an eye when Billy pulled him into his lap.

But that’s about it.

So when Billy graduates high school, and gets a full ride to UC Berkeley, and they move into a cheap apartment in downtown Oakland, Steve is so happy that he got out.

He gets a job waiting tables at a restaurant down the street, pays half the rent and buys the groceries while Billy’s in class.

But then two years pass, and Billy’s soaring through college, working to his degrees, plural, because he just couldn’t decide between studying English Literature or Biology with a focus in research.

So he’s majoring in both and getting a minor in Italian because then I’ll know what you’re sayin’ when you start horny babblin’.

And Steve was at the same restaurant.

True, he was assistant manager now, and it came with a pretty okay raise, and he even gets dental insurance, but he feels so stuck.

So he enrolls in community college.

He starts with some general classes, still completely unsure of what he wants to study.

Billy said it was okay to just rule out things you don’t want to study, to nearly fail a math course and know that accounting is not for you.

So when Steve finishes his first year, he at least knows what he doesn’t want to pursue.

Meanwhile Billy has an internship at a lab through Kaiser Permanente. And he can read and write Italian than Steve can.

Steve is walking home from his job at the restaurant when it happens. He’s crossing the street, and gets hit by a car.

He’s taken to the hospital, where he’s informed of a fractured spine and another concussion.

He’s told his injury could’ve been much more severe, that he will not experience paralysis, but he needs physical therapy and walking will be difficult for a while.

Their finances take a big hit.

Billy’s internship doesn’t pay super well, and with Steve being unable to work for the foreseeable future, he’s fired.

Billy has insurance through the school, but because on paper, he and Steve have no real relation, Steve’s medical bills come out of pocket.

So Steve is bedridden for months. He can’t work or get groceries, or do fucking anything but lay there.

They can’t afford physical therapy.

But Billy has a friend studying to be a PT, and she comes over every Saturday, and practices her technique on him in exchange for ten bucks and a few beers.

And so the money Steve tucked away for school is rapidly diminishing.

By the time Billy graduates, Steve is a year into recovery. He still gets dizzy at odd intervals, and his back gets stiff when it rains, but Billy gets a job right away, doing research on flu vaccines.

And Steve goes back to work.

He gets a desk job, something he won’t have to be on his feet all day for. He works reception for a message therapist, which comes with free massages, which work wonders on his back.

So in the fall, he decides to give his education another shot.

He learns that history is not for him, and that his nutrition course was fine until they began looking into how the body processes nutrients, and he was fucking lost. He takes a few business classes, thinking, hoping genetics would take over and this is something he could do.

But his dad was right to take away the job opportunity at his own firm. Steve was not cut out for this.

After a year of research, Billy is promoted three times. He ends up working on some extremely important study that Steve does not understand for the fucking life of him.

But he sits and listens every time Billy explains what he did that day, even though Steve gets so sad when Billy mentions having to kill the lab mice to study their bodies.

So Steve is two years into community college, five years into living in Oakland with Billy, and he still is lost.

He takes a semester off, working more hours, trying to save up some money.

Because Billy is beginning to think about grad school, and that shit’s not cheap.

But Billy decides to postpone that, work for a few more years, and besides, he’s caught between studying something to put him in a research field, or just straight up going to medical school to study infectious disease.

Because Billy could. He’s smart enough for medical school, smart enough to research and be a doctor.

And Steve has a smushy spine and half a degree in nothing.

A semester off turns into a year.

A year and a semester.

Two years.

They’ve been in California for seven years, and Billy gets into grad school in San Diego. They move south and Billy spends late nights pursuing a Masters in Immunology.

And Steve works the front desk at a pediatrician’s office.

He’s flipping through a course catalog from the San Diego Community College when Billy comes home from his new job, the position he got after applying to only three labs.

He kissed the top of Steve’s head, moving to grab himself a beer from the fridge.

“You thinkin’ of going back?”

“I don’t know.” Steve slid the catalog closed. “Is it even worth it?”

“That’s something you have to decide.” Billy sat down, sliding the catalog towards him. Steve had crossed off the classes he had already taken, the ones he new he wouldn’t like. “And you know, going to school isn’t the only option. You could get an apprenticeship, master a trade.”

“I can’t do anything where I need to bend over for really any length of time. So that rules out plumber, and car mechanic, and anything physical like construction, or landscaping or even general contracting is right out.”

Steve could feel the old shame, the doubt and the self hatred crawling up his spine.

“I have nothing to offer. I have no discerning skills, and in seven years I’ve only made it through two years of goddamn community college, and here you are, ripping through grad school like a fourth degree is easy.”

“Stevie, you’ve got a lot to offer. We just gotta find something that suits you.” He took Steve’s pen, turning to the back page of the catalog. “Okay, we’re gonna write down all of you strengths, and think of career paths that could fit those. I’ll go first, you’re extremely caring. You’d be good at any career where you care for people.”

“But I can’t study nursing or something, I barely understood my biology 101 course. Plus, nurses are strong. I can’t lift more than like, thirty pounds.”

“There’re way more caring fields than nursing, Pretty Boy. Although I would love if you were my nurse.” Billy smirked at him, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss to Steve’s cheek as he rolled his eyes. “Another strength: your emotional intelligence is through the fucking roof.” He wrote it down. “Okay, I’ve said tow, so you say one.”

“Um, I think that I’m good at making people laugh?”

“Yes! You are. Perfect.” Billy scribbled it down. “You’re a good leader.”

“I’m pretty good at reading people.” Billy wrote Intuitive, can smell a douchebag from a mile away.

“You’re good under pressure.”

“Sometimes.”

“Every time I’ve seen. You’re good at keeping calm and keeping others calm.”

“I guess.”

“Nah, Stevie. Positives only. Say a strength.”

“I’m, uh, I’m good at, bilingual?” Billy stared at him. “Like, I’m bilingual.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think that was English, even.” Steve slapped his chest, Billy laughed. “I’m joking. You are bilingual. You’re also really good at making others feel safe.”

“I was always pretty alright at public speaking.”

“You’ve got a great eye for detail.”

“I’m good at teamwork, and delegating.”

“You’re really compassionate, too.” Billy drew a line under the strengths side. “Okay, so now we’ve got some of your strengths, think about what you’d want in a job, and we can match everything up and think about some careers that could fit.” Steve nodded, racking his brain.

“Um, I would want to work with kind people, I would kind of like to do something, you know, worthwhile. I’d like to be in charge of something. Like it’s fine if I have a boss to answer to, but I’d like to be fairly independent.”

“I already have so many ideas.”

“Lay ‘em on me.” Steve sat back, closing his eyes to try and picture everything Billy threw out.

“I’ve actually always thought you’d be a really good teacher. Especially if you did like, kindergarten. Just got to be around little kids all day.” Steve could actually see it. “I also think you’d be a could social worker, like to work with Child Protective Services, or something. Um, you’d be good at even planning. Or I think you’d be really good working at a nonprofit of some kind. Maybe you could be the event planner for a nonprofit.”

And Steve was sitting there, and suddenly, he had four career paths, just sitting right in front of him. Four super attainable career paths.

“Wait, wait those make sense.” Billy beamed at him.

“Yeah, that’s because I know you, Pretty Boy.” Billy opened the catalog. “So, I think if you choose to enroll, you should pick a few classes, like, Intro to Social Work, Early Childhood Education 100, and maybe like, Sociology, and see from there.”

Steve stared at the course descriptions for what Billy circled.

“Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry this has taken me so long.”

“It’s okay. Everyone is on a different timeline. And it’s not like you got to explore options in high school. You were told business until your dad decided that nevermind. So it’s understandable that this took you a minute. Plus, you went through hell with your back.”

Steve sat up straight, stretching out his back.

“But, I mean, the back thing kinda happened to you too, and you still made it through all your schooling.”

“Sure, I watched you go through it, but I was not in the pain you were. And like, emotionally, it fucking sucked to watch the love of my goddamn life go through something, and I couldn’t even afford therapy. Like, I felt so helpless, but that’s nothing to what you went through literally experiencing it.” Steve took Billy’s hand, linking their fingers together, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“You did the best you could. Everything was shit for like, that whole year.”

“I cannot telly you how many times I would go into an individual study room in the library and just like, sob for a while.And then I’d get so mad at myself, thinking of you at home, hurting and not even able to get yourself out of bed, and I’d race home feeling like shit.”

Steve scrubbed his fingers through Billy’s hair. He had cut it a while ago, kept it short these days.

“You were doing everything you could for me. I would just sit in bed all day, and think about how amazing you are. Like I would just think about all the good times we’ve had together, and how much I love you.”

“That explains why we didn’t fight for like, that whole year.” Steve laughed. Billy leaned to kiss him softly.

“And you know, even now we’ve done this, there’s still no rush on you. You don’t have to go back to school this year, of this decade, or anytime until you’re ready. Until you want to.”

“Well now, I feel like there’s a fucking light at the end of the tunnel. I’m almost, excited. Is this how you feel? Excited to go to school?”

“Welcome to the nerd life, Sweet Thing.” Billy drained the last of his beer. “You wanna go out tonight? Celebrate?”

“Like, go out to dinner, or go out?”

“Oh, just like dinner. Be home by eight thirty, in bed by nine, missionary with the lights off, and asleep by nine fifteen.”

“Sign me the fuck up.”

#billy is based a lot on my sister in this #and steve is based on her best friend #any life path is valid #there's kind of a lot of set up but yeah #also i live for them settling down and becoming a totally boring mundane couple but they're just SO HAPPY toghether that's my shit #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrive #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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littleballofwhitemage · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Ferality

Well I’ve been sitting on this one since the middle of January and it’s still a WIP but lemme slide it in at the last minute. 👈🏽👈🏽

The day was going great till some Temple Knight’s came and carried me away from camp Dragonhead. I was literally about to go report to Lord Haurchefant when apprehended. I’m scared now, I hope I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not aware of any laws I’ve broken. “I’m afraid I don’t understand gentleman what’s the problem.” They yelled at me to do something but won’t let me use my hands to explain that I’m deaf. This went on for the longest time then they shoved a picture in my face of Rielle. What do they want with her? She’s just a sweet little girl. They kept gesturing to the picture angrily and getting more agitated that I wasn’t responding to anything. Well good sirs if you could please unbind my hands, I will answer your questions and we can all go on our merry ways. But they didn’t. why are they treating me like a criminal? They don’t even seem to be trying to understand why I keep staring at them wide eyed and terrified. I just wanna go home to my friends.

6 hours. They fruitlessly interrogated me for 6 hours. Then they left me in the room typed up to the chair. These are expertly tied knots I can’t feel my hands anymore and know I have serious rope burns on my wrists. I never did get them to understand I couldn’t hear them or why they want Rielle for something. The man himself finally came sniffing around for me and burst through the doors. His expression was one of indignation as he rushed over and cut my restrains. I cradled my hands to my chest getting blood on my shirt and just cried. He took me to his home in Ishgard and hurried me into a room, ignoring everyone who acknowledged us. “What happened Shirojishi?” he asked me after bandaging up my wrists and I could feel my fingers again.

“I don’t know. They just came outta nowhere and dragged me into a building. I tried to ask them if I had done something wrong but they didn’t seem to understand or didn’t care and bound me. Then for 6 hours did nothing but yell at me for something. I don’t even know what. Maybe that I wasn’t answering them.”

“They? Whos they?” he wiped at some tears with a silky handkerchief. His other arm was around me tryna comfort me in a hug.

“Some Temple Knights. Atleast I think they were Knights they had similar armor.”

“I’ll be sure to get a word to Ser Aymeric about this. You’re more then welcome to stay here and recover.” I want to go back to Mor Dhona and be with them if they are really after Rielle but if they are tracking me I don’t wanna lead them straight to her. So I asked instead if he could see a letter delivered to Mor Dhona; the least I can do is warn them and tell them that I’m staying here a few days. Fray will try to rush here also filled with indignation and that unholy rage of his, but I must persuade him to stay with the Scions. For Rielle’s sake. And mine.

It’s been a few months since the random abduction and as expected Fray was livid. It took Sidurgu practically sitting on him to keep him from running out that door. I tried to tell him I was recovered from it, but he just motioned to his wrists while staring at mine. I still had the bandages on cause I didn’t wanna look at the wound or if any scarring occurred. I got another surprise visit from Haurchefant today he’s been doing this for the past few months. I told him many times before the visits weren’t necessary, he had work just like I did. Surely, they didn’t like it when he kept dropping everything to come and see me. He insists it’s the least he could do I was kidnapped under his supervision. “The world may not care that the warrior of light is a child, but I certainly do. All the more reason I wish you wouldn’t charge headlong into every dangerous thing that you’re told to do.”

“But I'm helping people, Lord Haurchefant. That’s what I want to do with my life. That’s why im a white mage.” He stepped closer and grabbed my hands but was pulled away by Fray, I didn’t even see Sidurgu stand up. They exchanged a few words then Haurchefant turned back to me.

“I see why you travel alone now. You never mentioned your boyfriend was a Dark Knight.” And with that he was rather hastily shown this meeting was over cause Fray picked me up and walked off. I waved to him as we entered dawn’s respite.

“why are they after Rielle? They just kept shoving her photo in my face.” He explained it was a sins of the father ordeal and Rielle was being hunted for his act of heresy. But she shouldn’t be held accountable for him much less when she was born like this. I don’t like this feeling in my chest tryna digest this revelation. Fray took my hand and told me I was getting angry at this. That’s a new one. I rarely get more then upset at something. “no surely you’re mistaken Fray I’m just-” I cut off and slowly put my hands in my lap, tryna find the word for the emotion I was feeling. The silence stretched for a few minutes before I looked back up at him and he spelled out a single word. Anger. It’s not that that I don’t think Rielle deserves this or that I shouldn’t be getting emotional over it, I’m just having a tough time processing.

I have vague memories of that day. The day I finally got angry at something. Now it’s just a regular occurrence. I see Fray always looking at me warily and talking to Sidurgu in what looks like a private manner, probably about me. My vague memories usually come to me in daydreams. I just remember blood, and lots of it. Tons of bodies belonging to Temple Knights were scattered in the harsh snow. I think was covered in blood as well. Sidurgu was there and he looked a little shaken. Rielle was like cowering behind him. And they were looking at me. But I couldn’t tell you why. I still try to stubbornly cling to non-confrontational ways but it’s increasingly difficult given the circumstances of my predicament. Atleast I found all my friends again in this strange land. Today I had to go to some weird city with Alphinaud, so I was like sure. Gotta make sure he’s not getting into anymore trouble. Again. We got to the city after passing through a shanty town and it struck me as odd. This wasn’t like back home in Ul Dah. There was a different feel to this wealth, I don’t know how to explain it. It felt uneasy is what im gonna peg it down as. It has every other requirement for the comparison. Shabby underbelly? Check. Rich people flaunting their wealth? Check. Poor shaming? Big ol check again. I saw all this while Alphinaud was drawing the Miqote couple. I’m a little unnerved by it all like something’s definitely not right here. It’s too……...perfect.

There was a commotion in the uppermost level so we all piled into that room and there on the ground was our Miqote friend. The one that stole from us to get into this city. I rushed forward and Alphinaud followed. Hes bleeding badly from his forearm onto the floor. That’s a nasty gash I wanted to immediately kneel down and heal him but Alphinaud was one step ahead of me. There it is again. That feeling of anger bubbling up in my chest threatening to spill over. Then he went on a spill about how this man has wronged him and I blacked out again. When I had come to, he told me I had tried to lunge at Vauthry and attack him after blacking out. Not that he entirely blames for it. Fray would be yelling at me for getting so upset. He doesn’t like it when I mimic what he does with that sword. I made him swear not to tell Fray anything about these blackouts I keep having, I hate how worried he looks when I tell him. I can’t understand beyond the face value of why he gets so bent outta shape. Face value being attacking people is obviously wrong. On a visit back to the Source I knew what I had to do. I’m an adult now and most importantly this anger isn’t going away or subsiding. It’s only growing in intensity. So I independently picked up Dark Knight. He may hate me for this but I don’t know what else to do.

#is that a bit of a jealous boyfriend I see? 👀#seaswolchallenge #fray myste #ffxiv #ffxiv haurchefant

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mementofloreo-archived · 4 years ago

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29 for Kit Crossford and Ophilia-- HAHAHAH IM TRASH HERE'S ONE OF MY RAREPAIRS

@tomestobetold || smooch prompts || RAREPAIR HELL, RAREPAIR HELL, RAREPAIR H

Being fused with the Dark God Galdera left a great many changes in Kit.

Both Alfyn and Professor Albright took the time to verify that the changes would not progress much more or pose any risk to him. They were, however, permanent.

All his forwardmost teeth are sharpened now, like the fangs of a wolf. There are patches of his skin that have turned into sooty black scales that reflect little- if any- light, arranged in swirling patterns. A little on his neck and face, here and there on his legs...the largest patches are concentrated over his shoulders and shoulderblades, pectorals, hips, and forearms. His fingers end in sharp claws now. And all the skin that has changed to scale is very difficult to damage or bruise- even with tempered steel blades. Like dragonskin.

He never had any formal magic training growing up, so Kit had no real aptitude for combat magic. Now, though, as if in response to the fusion with Galdera, his ancestors' blood has awoken, leaving him with such an intense affinity for shadow magic that casting even powerful spells feels as natural as breathing. The tradeoff is that now he is much more susceptible to injury from light elemental magic. And while his natural healing process is much faster, healing magic has a much weaker effect on him than before.

Such changes have made finding work very difficult, of course. He can't hide them, and many people are put off by them. He looks half monster, after all.

Kit isn't sure if he's completely human anymore. And if he isn't, he doesn't know if he is lesser for it.

But grappling with these internal questions is made much easier by the kindness and understanding of the good people of Flamesgrace.

Sister Ophilia is the one to offer him a place to stay initially. But her confidence in vouching for him has quickly helped the rest of the Cathedral's clergy grow comfortable around and trusting of him. And through that, many of the townspeople have followed. There are still wary glances here and there, but after the few months he has spent here Kit is feeling relatively settled.

Kit is not an apothecary like his father was, nor has he ever had extensive training in a single trade. But through experimentation, doing odd jobs, and self learning he has developed quite a lot of skill as a craftsman. He loves art, of course- but he can also build, repair, restore almost any structure granted he has the time and materials- as well as the assistance, if it isn't a job he can handle alone.

As such, he's become the not-quite-official groundskeeper for the Flamesgrace Cathedral and its surrounding properties. He is paid with meals and lodging, as well as a modest- but still fair and adequate- paycheck, issued twice a month.

She says his tenacity and eagerness to help are to thank for Kit being able to settle and establish himself so securely here. But he maintains, even if only with himself, that none of that could have taken root if not for Ophilia's support.

She is an incredibly kind and gentle person, he's found, but her will and her backbone are stronger than steel, and she's extremely driven. There's much more fire in her than her soft demanor and looks would lead others to believe. And that is part of why he's found himself becoming so reliant on her. But also it just feels nice to have made a close friend.

He wasn't bullied or ostracized growing up by any means. But the inconsistency of his home situation did make it difficult to form any deep and lasting bonds.

For what it's worth, Ophilia seems happy to have his company as well. She has many good friends among the other clerics and gets along with others rather easily. But, as she tells him at one point, everybody needs a confidant, and not just anybody will do for that. And so she and Kit have taken to spending a fair amount of their free time together.

Usually they just get a meal, or have coffee or tea, or unwind from their busy days with quiet hobbies and enjoy a comfortable silence. Kit will sketch, Ophilia will read.

Today they are perched on the sill of a wide window on one of the upper floors of the Cathedral, watching the beginning snowfall.

It won't grow into a blizzard, at least Kit doesn't think so, but it will probably get a bit heavier before morning arrives. He's slowly growing more accustomed to the cold climate of the area, so he's not very worried.

It's a beautiful landscape, though. The winter solstice is only a few days away, which means the Festival of Lights has already kicked off its week long celebrations.

The Church of the Sacred Flame observes several holidays and festivals. The most widespread and well known are for the equinoxes and solstices. Seasonal celebrations for each period of the year. The Festival of Lights held during the winter solstice is just what it sounds like. It is a time to renew feelings of gratefulness for everything that brings light into one's life. Family, love, friends, food, merriment- all things that fulfill and comfort people are given focus. Most shops have reduced hours during that time and close completely on the solstice right in the middle of the festival period. That day is the quietest- it is when families, by blood or bond, hold their smaller and more personal celebrations. A day of quiet companionship with the people closest to one's heart. Though he can't clearly recall his mother's face now, Kit does remember her voice and her warm hands teaching him to dance or guiding his hands through meal preparation many years ago, before his family splintered.

Flamesgrace, of course, is aglow with lights of all kinds now. Glimmering in themselves and casting a colorful shimmer on the falling snow. Watching it from such a high vantage has him a bit awestruck.

"It really is a breathtaking view," Kit says softly.

"It is," Ophilia replies, and Kit glances at her- then pauses, because she isn't looking out the window at all.

Her gaze is fixed very firmly on him.

The look is sharp and intent and focused. He feels almost like she is tracing his every feature, trying to commit it all to memory. And underneath there is something very warm and fond and sentimental. It's so impossible to miss that Kit feels himself flush a little, and can't look away.

He makes an attempt to speak again, but closes his mouth when he can gather no words.

He quietly takes Ophilia's features in. A soft, somewhat round face, cheeks always a bit rosy. Her eyes are a warm brown, and her hair is straight and soft, platinum blonde.

Without meaning to, he pauses at her mouth. Smaller than his, but with fuller lips. And, h thinks, a much prettier smile. After all, he isn't blind- and he knows a work of art when he sees it. Ophilia is a masterpiece by any standard. To say he doesn't feel anything for her would be lying through his teeth.

"Are you all right?" He finally manages, still staring, a little dazed.

Ophilia moves in closer until she is standing right in front of him. Her eyes are still burning holes through him as her fingers touch his jaw, coax his face forward. And they both lean in, and Kit has time for a steadying inhale before Ophilia finishes closing the gap and kisses him.

It's a chaste kiss, but still warm and solid and full of so much affection Kit never realized Ophilia had for him until now. And he doesn't freeze or pull away or waver. He relaxes into it, returns it gladly. If Ophilia wants to give him this, he's not enough of a fool to reject it. He has many things still to rebuild within himself and many doubts and demons to contend with. But one conclusion he has been able to make is that regardless of what Galdera has changed in him, he still has a heart. One that hurts, one that loves, one that beats the same way as it always has. And as such, he has every right to be loved in turn.

There's no question in him that Ophilia could probably have anybody she wants. She's adored by almost everyone she meets, and it isn't unwarranted. But it's Kit she chooses to confide in at the end of the day, and it's Kit whose hand she holds for strength.

They part after a few seconds and are quiet for a few more. Kit's throat has run dry and he thinks he must be every bit as red as Ophilia is. But it's a sweet sort of bashfulness, one born of realizing their attraction to each other is reciprocated.

Eventually, he finds his voice again. "Could I convince you to be my escort around the festival grounds?" he says, managing a shy smile. A flustered little laugh comes out of Ophilia, like a tiny bell.

"I'd be delighted, mister Crossford." She replies.

#kit tag #tomestobetold(ophilia)#this one is v soft n gentle pls enjoy #tomestobetold

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the-mira-life-project-mtf · 4 years ago

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🏥It’s One Week Till Surgery at Virginia Mason in Seattle!👨🏼‍⚕️

As most know, I made some major life changes on this day; June 3rd 2019 by legally changing my name from David to Míra (hard to believe it’s been one year to this day!)

The support from family and friends has been awe inspiring and truly amazing. I went into this transition quite sheltered as I feared what people would think. Renaming myself as Mira, whom I’ve identified since I was 7yrs old, was a dream come true. Finally feeling free to act the way I feel most comfortable and to adjust my body to what I believe is appropriate.

There are so many of you that I truly owe a debt of graduate too! For you selflessness, encouragement and helping me adjust to my new identity. Even a year out I still am learning how to apply makeup (correctly), match clothes with proper colors, and act and speak feminine. To say the least, it’s been a challenge!

I want to recongnize specific people for being there to help me during the first year of my official transition:

🟣Ruth for being there for me. Understanding and accepting me as Mira. She was the first I ever told about me being transgender (it wasn’t easy!), and the first to accept me. We have been in a relationship for now 12 years! Having gender dysphoria made it difficult to open up. Since then...I look forward to starting anew in our relationship! I truly cherish our first kiss last year! Love you sweetie! 💗

🟣Mitch & Michelle for opening their home to me and being the first to show me that I have nothing to fear about being my self. Their compassion and love for me as a daughter was what helped me break through the fear and depression, giving me a safe place to grow. Thank you!💖

🟣John for the many conversations we had over IM. It was nice to talk to you and it was you who helped me face opening up to the world about my decision. For this and much more, you’ll always be one of my dearest friends!💜

Ryan & Tyvel for being there in the early weeks after my public announcement and offering support. A special thank you to Tyvel for introducing me to the world of makeup and taking time to show me how to apply! 💜

🟣My Mother and Sister for reaching out and accepting me, though it’s been a difficult process. Having your constant willingness to help me adjust and being there to back me up makes me so happy. And though it is odd to say I am happy to be your daughter...I will always be me! Thank you so much for everything!👩‍👧‍👧💗

For those wondering about this surgery I am having, it is one of three surgeries to affirm myself as female. I know many may not understand what compels a person to do this...and you are lucky as you don’t suffer from gender dysphoria! But it is best described as feeling disconnected from your physical body. You look in the mirror and the sight you see isn’t right, but a distortion mirror...except, you see this every day for the rest of your life. Now imagine the anxiety this creates.

It got so bad for me that I became quite depressed and never wanted any images of me taken, I didn’t want to be touched and I refused to partake in any social activities as I wasn’t comfortable with who I was. I tried to assume a masculine life and it did a lot of damage to my career, lifestyle, romantic life and self-esteem. To say the least, I stopped caring about my future.

This is what gender dysphoria does to you!

When I transitioned, I honestly didn’t know if this would do anything for me. So many what-ifs and doubts...but a year into living as a semi-biological female. Living as Mira...I’m happy, socially active, my relationship is being healed, my health has greatly improved (from 16 hospitalizations in 2015 to 3 hospitalization in 2019) and I have a reason to care for my future.

Even with all this advancements...I still have serious defects that need rendering! And one of those issues is my facial features.

First let me dispel any ideas that I am changing my appearance drastically, that is not what I am doing. Many will not even realize I’ve had surgery 6 months down the road.

All I am having is facial feminization by reducing the brow bone, hairline reduction to undo male pattern baldness, lip lift, orbital-rim reduction around the eyes and chin narrowing.

The most dangerous part of the surgery will be the general anesthesia.

It is still to be determined how long I’ll been under, by Dr. Nuara believes 2-3 hours—5 hours max.

Surgery is scheduled on June 9th 2020 at the Seattle Virginia Mason Hospital, operation room. Time is still to be determined. (Will know on Friday).

Recovery is rest for two weeks and light duty work for 2 months.

I’ll post on my prognosis and lead up to surgery and after.

Love ya all! 💗

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sluuuug · 5 years ago

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sappy music post alert

making music is really really difficult and i love making Bangers like shrimp fight or baby police but even with those it’s still a deeply personal process lmao.. songs like blushrooms (or some other ones we/i have not put anywhere yet) sometimes feel so easy to write they just fall out of me but they fall out with all the emotions and thoughts that came with them. it’s so odd to put music out there and get complimented or any reaction to it really and remember that i was like sobbing when i wrote the song initially. it’s hard to be vulnerable and using music as an outlet for all that has been a challenge because im so so very critical of myself at all times but on whole it’s been so beautiful and helpful. I'm gonna keep practicing and even when my band mates move away in the next couple months and years I promise to myself that I'm gonna keep making shit.

#:'^)

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victortortor · 5 years ago

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jc/lwj fic snippets

this one was called ‘im just a housewife’

“North,” Lan Wangji says, “Near Qinghe.”

Jiang Cheng taps his finger on the table as he looks down at the map. “That’s not even remotely close. You really can’t let it go this one time?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course he won’t let it go. It’s not in Lan Wangji’s nature to forget about something just because someone asks.

He watches as Lan Wangji bows his head to this. Even though they both know that he’s going no matter what, they always have to go through this first— Lan Wangji will always come asking for permission.

“I’m not your keeper,” Jiang Cheng says, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. They’ve had this discussion very often. “You can come and go whenever you want.”

That’s not what Lan Wangji wants him to say. He keeps waiting.

“If you want to go, you should go,” Jiang Cheng says.

“...”

He clicks his tongue. “Lan Wangji, don’t make this difficult.”

He still doesn’t answer.

Jiang Cheng frown turns even deeper, and even Lan Wangji’s unhappiness is beginning to show on his somber, handsome face. Neither of them like the situation.

“The request came from the north watchtower in Yunmeng Jiang’s territory,” Lan Wangji says. “But not to Qinghe Nie, or even Lanling Jin. If even such a faraway sect was called, then it must be important.”

Perhaps, but importance is relative. If no other sect has answered this plea, then it must be so incredibly unimportant that none were willing to take care of it. Jiang Cheng certainly won’t be sending anyone to resolve this issue. But Lan Wangji is the type of cultivator that puts no interest in scale of calamity. He’ll go wherever he’s called.

It’s easier for Jiang Cheng to deflect, or say go if you want. That way, it’s still Lan Wangji’s choice. He has to make the decision. But Lan Wangji never accepts it when he says that. He always makes it Jiang Cheng’s choice, and they both already know what he’s going to say in the end.

If you leave now, you won’t be back in time. I’ll send someone else. Just stay this once.

He says, “You can go.”

“But tomorrow,” he adds quickly. “It’s already evening. You’ll have to stay the night.”

—

They eat a meal together in relative silence. Jiang Cheng sends the attendants away, and Lan Wangji quickly gets up to sit beside him, so that their shoulders brush and their knees bump once. They’re both squeezed right in front of one small, square table meant for one person.

“Use your own table,” Jiang Cheng says, annoyed. “Do you want to share a bowl or something? If you have to sit right there, just bring it over with you.”

“Alright.”

Sitting facing one another is ideal when one wishes to have a conversation. It’s easier to see each other’s faces. But Lan Wangji dislikes small talk, and Jiang Cheng just isn’t very good at it. So it’s fine if they sit like that, close enough that they’ll brush past each other.

The food is good.

Before nine, they take a small stroll through Yunmeng. The town is bustling; everyone preparing for an upcoming Mid-Autumn Festival. The mood is light, cheerful. The Yunmeng Jiang disciples are fooling about in the streets and making a nuisance of themselves, yet Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have the heart to tell them off.

Lan Wangji sees it, too. He begins to call for their attention, but Jiang Cheng grabs him by the arm. “Don’t.”

“... Why not?”

Jiang Cheng ignores the question. His hand slips downwards, from Lan Wangji’s bicep to his hand, and walks on, dragging the other man behind him.

They walk along the near side of the lake perimeter, where fishing boats line the dock and lanterns bob up and down in the water. They take their time.

“You think I’m upset,” He says waspishly, after a moment. “I’m not.”

Lan Wangji squeezes his hand.

“I said you could go, so you should go without regrets. You’ve been frowning the entire evening. Don’t look so unhappy all the time.”

“Mm.”

Of course, it’s not like Jiang Cheng is unbothered by it either. But Lan Wangji doesn’t point it out, because he’s kind in that way. All that would that would do is cause irritation.

“They haven’t put up much of the yet, but it’s close enough,” Jiang Cheng says. “You kept your promise, alright? I’ll accept this.”

“Mm.”

Their evening ends like this: they slip into bed together, somewhere between pleased and unhappy and warm— it’s no longer summer, and the nights are cool enough for them to lay a bit closer.

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wangji whispers.

“What?”

“Sorry.”

Jiang Cheng pats his shoulder in the dark and replies gruffly, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

—

(\\uh flashback begins i guess)

While the husband heads off, the wife stays behind. She manages the home and the children, and waits for her husband to return to her.

More than three years before this, Lan Wangji is to leave again, and Jiang Cheng has this particular though cross his mind. Leading a sect is nothing like managing a household, but still he blurts out, “I’ll come with you.”

Lan Wangji turns to him in surprise, and he forges on, “You said it was close to Gusu? I needed to see your brother anyway.”

In truth, he was going to go in about a month, but Lan Wangji doesn’t need to know that. When he fails to respond, Jiang Cheng arches a brow and says pointedly, “Unless you’d prefer to go alone, then I’ll find some other time.”

“Please.” Lan Wangji walks up to him and grabs him. He hugs him, and perhaps that’s the first indication that he’s as unhappy with this development as Jiang Cheng.

It’s three years ago, see, and they’re new to this. Still in the process of trying to explain oneself to the other, but Jiang Cheng is beginning to note that it just won’t work with them— they’re both incapable of explaining their thoughts clearly.

The only solution is to simply let their actions talk for them. Lan Wangji is very good at this step.

Jiang Cheng brushes him away carefully after an appropriate amount of time. “When were you planning on departing?”

“Tonight.”

“That works for me.”

Despite being brushed off, Lan Wangji leans forward again and takes his hand. He doesn’t seem to inclined to let go anytime soon. Clingy. He must be happy.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t realized it mattered to much to him.

They leave that evening quietly, without much fanfare.

—

Lan Wangji is the sort of person that leaves no traces where he walks, quite literally. Traveling by sword becomes monotonous, eventually. They both take a moment to travel on foot— to which Jiang Cheng notices that even Lan Wangji’s footprints seem light, like they’ll fade in minutes, or at the slightest blow of the wind. There’s not a trace of dirt on his boots.

There’s no visible dirt on Jiang Cheng’s either, but that’s just because his boots are a far more sensible color.

“Is there something wrong?” Lan Wangji asks when Jiang Cheng spends too long staring down.

“No,” he responds brusquely while looking up. “Nothing.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to believe him, tilting his head inquisitively. He reaches out to pat Jiang Cheng on the cheek.

“What are you doing.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

Instead of answering properly, Lan Wangji brings up both his hands and pulls Jiang Cheng’s lips up with his thumbs. He holds the position for a bit, looking at him

“Of course,”

(\\ i dont remember what they were doing here probably like bridal carry on a sword like a real couple but unfortunately jiang cheng is allergic to pda)

It’s absolutely juvenile. He feels like a youth fooling around, and he makes it clear to Lan Wangji. “This is ridiculous,” he says through gritted teeth.

Lan Wangji states, “You don’t like it.”

“Obviously. I feel silly,” Jiang Cheng says. “Put me down, we’re not doing this.”

Lan Wangji gently lowers him back onto the ground, and Jiang Cheng grimaces when he looks a bit crestfallen. Perhaps he’s made things awkward, by protesting.

(\\ flashback finale, they found the bad guy and tricked him through a lot of self-indulgent disguising themselves as each other aka. the wearing your s/o’s clothes trope)

“You— you aren’t Lan Wangji!”

“Should I congratulate you for having eyes?” Jiang Cheng snaps, and pulls out Bichen.

(\\bad guy should say “if ur not lwj who are you???!!!

(\\ and i have no idea what led up to this but jc is somehow so pissed he ends up saying “im his fucking wife!!)

(\\ i think jcs being like “time to torture him lol”)

Jiang Cheng says very evenly, “Go wait outside.”

“No.”

“Lan Wangji,” he warns, “You won’t like it. You should wait outside.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I’ll stay.”

(\\ uuuh idk just wanted him to say “would you like for me to step on you”)

“You?” Jiang Cheng sneers. “And who could you possibly be? If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re no one. You’ll never be anyone. You’re trash at my feet. Why should I pay you any mind?”

The man sobs as he screams, “I made you! I was the one! I made you bleed! I wanted it, and it happened!”

“And what would you like next, for me to step on you?”

(\\end flashback)

In the morning, they wake. It is not yet dawn, and Jiang Cheng is roused by Lan Wangji moving the covers.

He pulls himself upright. His back is stiff; he fell asleep in an odd position. While he arches and stretches wearily, Lan Wangji dresses himself, then hands Jiang Cheng’s own neatly folded outer robes over.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he hurriedly puts it on, moving on to tying up his hair, only for Lan Wangji to carefully remove his hands from their work, and taking it for himself.

The first time Lan Wangji had done this, Jiang Cheng had snapped at him to leave it alone. He really doesn’t need someone to tie his hair for him. Now he doesn’t even bother to complain. Still, it doesn’t stop him from attempting to braid it himself first.

Another meal. It similar to the one from the night before. And as soon as it is over, Lan Wangji will go.

Jiang Cheng takes him to entrance of the Lotus Pier, then gestures outwards. “Go on. I’ll see you in a week.”

Lan Wangji turns to him, carefully watching him. He could say, I’ll miss you. He could apologize. Neither of those things will be accepted by Jiang Cheng, so nothing is said. But still, he pauses, as if feeling that “nothing” will not suffice.

“Lan Wangji, are you a cultivator or not?” Jiang Cheng demands. “Go off and do what you need to do.”

Lan Wangji visibly hesitates once more, and he almost smacks him. So ridiculous! It’s not a big deal, what’s wrong with him?

Instead of smacking him though, he fixes up Lan Wangji’s already neat appearance. Smoothing out his smooth hair, untwisting his untwisted forehead ribbon, un-creasing his un-creased clothes.

“Don’t be such a fool,” he says, a bit softer than he intends. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

—

Jin Ling arrives a few hours after Lan Wangji’s departure, ready to spend the Mid-Autumn Festival in Yunmeng. He finds his uncle working through a pile of papers, and upon looking around he says, “Uncle, I’m here. Where’s Hanguang-jun?”

“He left,” Jiang Cheng replies shortly. “The Qinghe Nie Sect is slacking off, as usual. He went off to go resolve some incident with a yao there.”

Jin Ling opens his mouth to protest, But that’s so far away! He’ll miss— but surely his uncle already knows. He thinks on it for a moment, trying to find something to say. “... You went night-hunting with Hanguang-jun before, right? Why don’t you go again?”

“Do you think I’m so free that I can just flounce off to wherever I want like him?” Jiang Cheng retorts. The fact that he’s still working even now is only further testament.

Jin Ling knows him too well to miss the wistful undertone, so he says cautiously, “Then… why won’t Hanguang-jun just stay here?” With you? “Half of the things he goes off to eradicate, they’re not even a big deal.”

Jiang Cheng looks up sharply from whatever report he’s been given to sign, and Jin Ling ducks his head and fiddles with nothing. They both know he’s thinking about what a family should be— a mother, father, maybe a child, living together, happily.

However, that doesn’t even remotely resemble the life Jiang Cheng has.

“If he’s happy not settling down in a single place,” he says, “Then it’s fine that he should do that.”

“But—” Jin Ling cuts himself off when Jiang Cheng glares at him.

“He’s the sort of person who hates sitting still when there’s still more he can do,” he says with finality. “If I really told him to stay, he’d be unsatisfied.”

Lan Wangji will always go wherever he needs to go. He’ll always do what he thinks is right. Jiang Cheng can respect that.

Perhaps he even loves him for it.

when i say rereading fma made me write this it wont make much sense (i wanted jiang cheng to be the unholy combination of izumi curtis and winry rockbell) but anyway welcome to zhancheng hell

#mo dao zu shi #my writing #current mood: would you like for me to step on you

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musingmycelium · 5 years ago

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so im writing a Thing set in the immediate aftermath of noure leaving the circle for the last time and i have Thots about them and their path so like: dump time

directly after ellanis 'conscripts' noure after broken circle noure takes off and just, runs. they don't really have any direction at first, they're too overwhelmed to know what's going on and what to do. i think they flee ferelden quickly, they want nothing to do with this place anymore and they head north as quickly as they can.

and im not sure they contact their parents after being freed. i think its too big for them, thinking about it makes their freedom feel too real and they dont know how to handle it so noure just ignores it. but they think about them, a lot.

they end up in nevarra after a couple of months just slumming it in the woods and in really small villages and in nevarra they meet a mortalitasi by the name viuus (yes that viuus) who, due to a conflict of interest, finds himself in need of an apprentice. Viuus offers to take noure in in exchange for fullfilling the duties of an apprentice and noure takes it on the spot since they don't really have a better option and they're interested in learning from a mortalitasi since their own magic is pretty heavily focused on spirits and shape changing.

which, sounds kinda odd but ive been thinking about it. i write about noure's elemental connection with fire but i dont think its their most powerful magic, nor is it their most natural. i think, in the circle, the fire magic is a manifestation if their mental state (a burning, seething hatred wrapped inside a deep terror) and their more familiar magic falls to the side because they associate it so heavily with the alienage and the past. it becomes too painful for them to access and it blocks itself off from them.

but once theyre out of their circle? i think it comes back to them slowly. it becomes a part of their healing process, reopening those channels of magic which made up so much of their sense of self. noure's first shape shift after leaving the circle is taking the form of a sparrow. they stay in that form for nearly a full day and when noure shifts back they're drained and exhausted but theyre also so overcome with the freedom of it, with how far they've come, noure just collapses in the forest and cries.

but anyways, their spirit magic is another large part of themselves and in nevarra theyre able to explore it. viuus takes them under their wing and shows them how mortalitasi communicate with spirits and noure molds their own history and knowledge with what they learn from viuus into something different.

it works out for the most part. noure's phylactery got destroyed so no templars come for them at first. they're also sheltered by viuus and he makes fake papers for noure when they come under some heat about where noure is from. they work there in viuus' shop and in the catacombs, cataloguing inventory and spirits for the most part but also working with sigils some.

noure becomes really adept at spirit to mortal communication. their time in nevarra also marks a time when theyre exploring their faith in andraste. there was a post i saw once talking about the possible differences between human andrastianism and elven andrastianism and i loved it. ive done thinking about it and noure isn't someone who prays to the maker but rather puts all of their faith into andraste herself. the maker is more.... hmm a little more inconcrete than andraste. when noure prays their pleas are meant for andraste and they fall into a habbit of just, conversing? with andraste? just out loud when they're working on something or when theyre out gathering supplies or any time they feel they have something to talk about noure just addresses those thoughts to andraste and it shapes their experience. they dont thinj andraste is a spirit per say but they do think she's something similiar

that and the whole thing about spirits being the makers first children gives noure a sense of something holy when theyre working and developing their spirit based magic

they make friends with a bunch of spirits. wisps are kinda difficult to talk to because they just don't have a lot of substance but noure talks with higher spirits like Purpose and Joy and Ardor. but theyre closest with Valor. noure does a lot of soul searching in those two years. andrastianism is pretty strong in nevarra and noure's faith was really tested -lost honestly- in the circle and so they come to terms dealing with their trauma and experiences and relate it back to andraste's struggles. honestly this is where noure's habit of talking with andraste develops

at the End of those two years templars find noure quite on accident and one of them is recently transferred from kinloch. the templar recognizes noure -since they uh, stand out a bit- and tries to arrest them. which! historically! has never gone well for anyone involved. noure kills the templar that recognizes them in the struggle but a second one lands a pretty solid blow on noure -opens them from hip to shoulder with a nasty swing. the templar leaves them to die alone and he isnt wrong for doing so. noure is, Real Close to dying. but Valor comes to their rescue and they merge.

merging with valor definitely terrifies noure but its not a bad kind of fear? if that makes sense? it does mean they have to book it out of there fast.

but this time they know where they're headed. rumor has it karl's been moved to kirkwall and noure doesn't know that anders is still alive -when they left kinloch anders was in solitary and noure was going to be made tranquil so they never knew what happened to each other- so they head to the free marches and oops! da2 happens and i havent given as much thought to fleshing out da2 with them yet, but i think i Will be sooner rather than later

#oc ramblings #i put some of this on discord way back #but i keep thibking abiut it so im making it a whole post #bc noure is In My Thoughts #noure surana

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softandtired · 6 years ago

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Headcanon for how RFA+Saeran support an MC in their weightloss journey

This is my first attempt at making a mystic messenger headcanon post, so please forgive me if it's not the best! No one asked for this prompt but oh well...

Yoosung:

"You want to lose weight? Why?" After you explain that you need to for health reasons, yoosung's round puppy eyes flash to a determined expression. He would get really excited about helping you figure out your new meal plans; insisting to make half of them for you himself. It gives him cooking practice he wants, but mostly it's an excuse to be more domestic with you.

It's so fun to experiment with all the different healthy options he can think of… When things get stressful and you cheat(skipping a workout or binge eating cake) you know hes there with you to make sure you don't beat yourself up. You feel so comfortable talking about the whole ordeal with him, that it hypes you up even more to work harder and show him how much healthier you have become through your guyses work together. While Yoosung is a gamer and not exactly a gym rat, he will go with you to the gym sometimes… "I got us matching gym shirts MC! That's not to cheesy is it?!" Give this little boy some cuddles, he's so loyal and supportive through it all he deserves it!

Zen:

When you explain about your trip to the doctors and how they said you needed to lose weight for your health...Hyun was instantly concerned about how you were taking it. "You know you're gorgeous, babe, right? In fact it's hard for me too keep my hands off you…" You laugh and reassure him with a kiss. Zen has never let you feel bad about your body, and you've really gotten to a place where you have loved yourself. But your body has been in a lot if pain lately and your longterm health was definitely worth this healthy lifestyle change.

Lucky for you, Zen knows ALL about that healthy lifestyle. You start with him taking you to the gym and teaching you to lift weights… with him there, the process was much more fun then you ever thought it could be(plus Zen at the gym… panting and covered in sweat… urging you to push through your exercises… ahem*cough*). You're not exactly a fan of only ever eating salads like he does, so you guys eventually work out healthy meals that you both enjoy. Who knew you were so good at seasoning chicken? And Zen made hella tasty veggie salads! Honestly the experience brings you guys even closer together as a couple and when the doctor weighs you two months later, you end up crying happy tears. You've felt lighter and stronger than you had in a very long time. The next time you see Zen you surprise tackle him with kisses. Expect a very romantic date to celebrate.

Jumin:

This rich boy. He's got nutritionists, personal coaches…. He would have bought a whole chain of gyms if it made you happy. When you first bring up your weight loss goals he's instantly on the phone, arranging all the help you could possibly need to reach your goals. "Whatever you need MC, I will arrange it". In fact, all this "help" overwhelms you a lot at first. You ask him if it was alright if the two of you workout together, and his face turns into one of his beautifully soft smiles. "Of course, my love."

Jumin. Spandex gym shirt. LIFE.

Not gonna lie, several of your guyses gym days end with you tugging him away from the coach and the elliptical so you can examine his body up close and personal… Workout Jumin is a side you are not used to seeing, and its… stimulating.

Boy uses this to his advantage on days your groaning and not willing to get out of bed to do push ups.

Jaehee:

When you came home from your doctor's appointment rambling on about terms like "prediabetic" and your needed life change, she was worried. Was your health really that bad? Was there anything she could do to help? When you explained that your weight loss would mostly be preventative she let out a sigh of relief. You meant so much to her, but she wasn't the most knowledgeable when it came to health and such. Sure she knew about portions sizes and things but she hadn't exactly been raised to take care of herself.

So, of course she uses her amazing research skills to help you craft a scientifically proven meal and exercise plan that would actually be realistically manageable for you. She even saved up a bit of money from the cafe to buy you guys a home elliptical machine. "I know you find it difficult to go to the gym sometimes after being exhausted from work… so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you."

An angel. This woman is an angel.

You thank her with a thousand kisses and an intimate bubble bath😘

Saeyoung:

"This is your fault Saeyoung. I told you all those honey buddha chips would make me prediabetic." When you get back from the doctor's and tell Saeyoung about your need to live healthier and lose weight, he takes it surprisingly serious at first. You dont even ask him to help support you, hes already on board with an exercise plan. But again this is Saeyoung. "Saeyoung, where did all my clothes go?" They are in a lock box, attached to a strange eliptical??? Machine that saw cooked up. "It will only unlock after ten minutes of activity MC!"

Honestly, the boy has so much fun thinking of unconventional ways to get you to exercise. Who needs a gym, when he can send you on quests/scavenger hunts through the neighborhood, leaving little notes and things up trees. He gets you a pretty bike, and the two of you make a habit of biking together. It's hard for Saeyoung to schedule it sometimes, but he will do anything to make sure you are healthy and stay with him as long as possible~ He even goes so far as to make you a special Stationary bike that gives compliments to you as you workout! "Keep up the hard work! Your booty's lookin' fiiiiiiiine."(seven why? Omg). He never let's you feel alone in all this. He can't completely give up his chips and dr Pepper but he's managed to curb it a bit… sorta. You still find crumbs and empty bags stashed in odd places but he always apologizes and gives you hugs. "You know meow I'm getting awful jealous of that bike…" He snuggles into your neck and wraps his arms tight around you. "Maybe you should spend more time riding me hmm?" OMG SAEYOUNG WHY-

Saeran:

Saerans reaction is a little less enthusiastic than the rest of the RFA. He doesn't exactly know how to be healthy much, and is really quite worried for your health at first. "I dont think you need to lose weight but if the doctor says it will help…" Hes more hands off with his support of you. Like yoosung, he relishes the opportunity to cook new foods for you, and when you fall off the wagon or get discouraged, he takes your hands in his and softly kisses your forehead. " I know this is hard. It's amazing you've gotten this far. It's okay of you mess up from time to time, but it doesnt define you. You will get to your goal eventually, okay?" SWEET MARSHMELLOW BABY HES PRECIOUS IM DEAD.

You and him go on walks more regularly now and he really loves it. More time to explore around your guyses neighborhood/city, and just experience new things together… it makes his heart melt. You've always tried to help him take care of himself but to do little things for eachothers health like this really means a lot for the both of you. When you meet your weight goal, you are so ecstatic, you tackle hug him. The boys so happy he bakes you a cake!(And it's okay to have some because health is about healthy portioning, not quitting everything you love and enjoy!)

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vore-scientist · 6 years ago

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Fantasy Soap Opera #1: Ice Princess

I honestly don’t know where I will ever put this into a story in it’s entirety so im putting it here... It’s a really weird disjointed infodump.

No vore or GT sorry, just really weird shit. Nothing that needs warnings. it’s just odd and crazy.

What are Fantasy Soap Operas? They are Soap Operas that exist in Mystic Woods. People use magic mirrors to watch them performed live*. Each episode is performed for one week, three times a day (note: weeks are 8 days). There is then a 7 day break as the next episode is rehearsed. On the 8th day the episode is performed one more time (well three more times in one day), the next day the new episode starts airing.

[each show has several casts, usually 4, each one performing two days a week]

*(Magic Mirrors are VERY EXPENSIVE MAGIC ITEMS! With the advent of Fantasy Soap Operas, simplified mirrors were made that can connect to only the mirrors of the desired theater companies, like buying a cable subscription. This is significantly cheaper than a True Magic Mirror which can connect to any mirror and even find/show things where mirrors do not exist if a spell is applied and the right question is asked)

Soap Opera Summary #1: Ice Princess

This is a world much like yours and mine, but always on the brink of calamity thanks to unseen factions that were always fighting. Witches, wizards, warlocks, sorcerers, magicians, and archeologists.

They are all after The Ice Princess. A legendary diamond unearthed and cut by one of The First Mages. The tales say that it contains unlimited magical power.

But it was just a story...

Until recently, as Archeologists uncover evidence of it’s existence, the magical powers that be all want to find it.

Backstory ( That is slowly revealed in show!!! and of course, in many versions, each time more is added or the story is retold very differently!!!)

The Ice Princess is/was a diamond. The First Mage found it, cut it, and then gave it life, gave it a soul. As the Mage aged he feared his knowledge would be lost! He needed to extend his life. He got progressively crazier and moody, and eventually bonded the Ice Princess to his heart. Either his life would extend and or the Ice Princess would take over, but retain his memories, which achieve the same goal.

Note: the First Mage was one of 6 First Mages, all identical. They were arguing over who would bond to the Ice Princess , but one of them eventually did it in secret. Two of them ended up dead, killed by the Ice Mage who went insane. The other three fled with their notes to the far corners of the world.

Anyways, the process didn’t even work the way The First Mage had hoped. Instead of extending his life it shortened it [note: He was like 30 at the time, the 6 mages were just stupidly worried about the future]. But bonding his soul to the Ice Princess, becoming The Ice Mage, did gain him it, they, something. Clarity. They were going to die soon, but the Ice Princess could live on, it just needed a body that wouldn’t rot away. So The Ice Mage built an automaton, powered by their now crystal heart. Separating the Heart from the Body separated the souls of Mage and the Princess, but not perfectly. So desperate was the soul of the Mage to live on, as the body without a heart used it’s final breaths to install the heart into the automaton. It managed to “leave fingerprints” on the Princess, leaving it with memories, and some of the Mage’s personality. So traumatic was the experience of the soul being torn, the automaton shut down only a few hours after activating. Laying dormant in the ancient Mage Laboratory. So powerful was the magic used to even attempt this feat, the ground had shaken, and the Laboratory sunk into the earth, buried. Volcanoes had risen around it, and lava flowed over top, sealing the laboratory. The land was reclaimed and is a lush jungle now.

A thousand years later, when his siblings made an attempt to find him, they found nothing. No trace. And while they had each individually extended their lives (One by body jumping (evil), one by becoming undead (less evil), one with a terrible curse to live forever in a cycle (no longer evil). Such cycle is undefined as of now). They go their separate ways again.

Another thousand years pass and that’s where the current story really takes place (aside from flashbacks, which more of then not are inaccurate and constantly ret-conned)

Unbeknownst to the factions, several high ranking members are direct descendents of the First Mages. And some of the new rookies as well.

Several of the factions have members who are in secret relationships, or spies for other factions, or related to people in other factors, or a mix of all of these. Members who are also undead, or monsters, or have ulterior motives of revenge unrelated to the Ice Princess.

Each episode focuses on one faction, rotating through the six, and sometimes pausing to show seemingly unrelated groups, normal guilds like blacksmiths or tailors, people with normal lives who end up falling into the mess of the Factions.

---

Where the show is currently::

A group of rookies, an unlikely friendship of one person from each faction, were each sent to the same jungle on a fools errand. They found each other and keep finding odd creatures, mutated, magical, otherworldly, as they get closer to the center of the jungle. (that’s the recap. But there’s been like 100 episodes of crazy treasure hunting and maps and conspiracies and lies and switching sides and betrayals, red herrings, battles! The new season started with introducing these rookies, or rather, bringing them to the forefront, following them each into the jungle)

Now to the current episode:

Where they find a massive tree growing over the chasm entrance to a cave. Inside is even weirder, plants and animals that are living on magic, not light. The cave starts to be less natural, more constructed.

The lab has been found! The automaton activated by the presence of other lives, and spotting one of the rookie Wizards, attacked, convinced they were their sibling come to steal their heart. Turns out that rookie is one of those direct descendants who just didn’t know. They are lauded and a bunch of people love and hate them for their famous lineage (so far, no other descendants have been revealed, that comes later, most of the backstory is completely unknown. Right now it’s 1 First Mage though pieces of a story about some love between the diamond and the mage and soul bonding is being pieced together).

Escape the Lair: The terrible automaton tries it’s best to kill the rookies, and does kill the sorcerer (who will rise as a undead thrall), maims the archeologist (who slowly becomes infected with some magical disease from the wound). Getting out is very difficult as crystals are springing from the walls ceiling and floors, but they make it out, only to find every nasty beast converging on the cave. They escape and the massive tree uproots itself to try and snatch the fleeing people, but falls into the cave. It cannot get out, but it also effectively is guarding the hole.

They get back and within each faction they are celebrated. They do not mention the others, they tell it as if they were alone.

The episode ends with the reveal that The rookie of The Warlocks is actually one of the original First Mages. But after so many cycles they stopped trying to retain memories and just, lives new lives. They dont remember. They remember now, but do not show it. They are given a few days off to recuperate, and go to The Mages, as they are secretly sleeping with a head magician. they do have sex that night. The Magician notes that they seem different, they did things tonight they had never done, it was like they slept with a different person]. They reveal who they are and kill the magician. (end episode. Note: that magician does not stay dead, and comes back for revenge!)

-----

If you are still confused at the airing schedule for the show I made a kinda calendar that shows how a month of episodes works out (about 2 episodes per month, example if the first day of the month was also the first day of the week). A checkmark means the episode airs that day, at three different times.

months all have 32 days

#fantasy soap #mystic woods #mystic woods extras

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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years ago

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{Story} Cold Comfort

What’s a mortician to do when the love of their life is just out of reach? A temporary replacement is just cold comfort for the time being. It can’t last, after all—

True love never dies.

Chapter One

A Dreadful Dalliance sits at the end of a long, forested road, the gate-keeper to a sprawling cemetery that will eventually be the resting place of every soul in New Senzannini. The Mortuary has been in operation for nearly a decade and has earned it’s sterling reputation as a thoughtful, caring place to bring your loved ones for their last rites and a compassionate send-off to the next stage of life. Owned and operated by Dot Dreadful, the Mortuary handles all post-mortem operations, from the preparation of the departed to the funeral arrangements, and though the morgue is fully staffed with plenty of attentive, devoted staff, there’s only one mortician on staff--Dot. Now that the owner of the Dalliance was growing too pregnant to be on her feet, or surrounded by the chemicals necessary to do her job, it left a gaping hole to be filled or New Senzannini’s only mortuary was going to be temporary closed. That wasn’t an option, and that left Dot Dreadful with only one alternative.

“You’re hiring a temp?” Felina Frenzy, known more intimately by her birth name Monica, glanced up at her best friend with a curious tilt of her head. “Do they even have temporary morticians?”

Dot Dreadful didn’t glance up from the stack of papers in her hand; there was so much involved in handing her business over while she was on maternity leave and she should have started preparing for this months ago. “Ah, yes and no. It’s something of an unspoken code that you help out a fellow mortician if they need it. We often consult with each other on difficult preparations or if one of us is handling a coroner’s report dealing with suspicious circumstances. That sort of thing.”

Monica nodded, turning back to the training manual in her lap. “Were you able to find someone to help you out?”

“The city coroner offered but he’s...” Dot paused in her reviewing, glancing up at the ceiling. “How do I put this diplomatically...he does as well as one would expect a coroner to do when dealing with living, breathing bodies after he spends all day with cold, dismembered corpses.”

Monica laughed, nodding. “Makes sense. So he wouldn’t be any good handling the people aspect of the job.”

“Definitely not.”

“I mean, you know I’m always fine to help you out,” Monica crossed one leg over the other, meeting Dot’s gaze over her desk. “But I don’t know why you think I’m going to be any better handling the people aspect of your job.”

“You’re better with people than you think, you just don’t like them.” Dot turned back to her lists. “I don’t like people either but I manage this job just fine. You’ll be a peach, you always are.”

“...But you’re not expecting me to do the hack and slash part of the job, right?” Monica ventured. She didn’t and wouldn’t tell Dot no, but it wasn’t like she had the technical training to prepare a corpse for burial.

Dot shook her head. “Not at all. I thought of a compromise. Since you offered to help where you could, I figured you could handle the managerial side of things, keep the staff running smoothly, sort of...just sit in this chair right here.” Dot patted the arm of her desk chair. “You’d be the boss, supervising the day to day operations, and I’d hire on a temporary mortician to solely be responsible for the more hands-on part of the job. You guys would tag-team it.”

Monica looked thoughtful before she nodded. It seemed a solid enough plan. “But the city coroner wasn’t interested in working that way?”

“Roger’s a decent guy, but he’s also been the city coroner for like, eighty years,” Dot exaggerated dryly. “He wants to work this alone, and I just don’t trust him to handle the entire process. I’m not going to ask you to try and deal with his gross man ego while you’re doing me a favor, holding this place down while I’m off.”

“I would have been fine, Dottie.” Monica closed the lid of the training binder, handing it back to Dot since the woman as still adding pages to the already thick instruction manual. “I’m not unused to men’s egos.”

“I know, love, it’s not about you not being able to handle it, but more why would I subject you to that when you’re doing me a favor? Especially since I was able to find a mortician who had no problem with staying below and just prepping the bodies for you.”

To Monica, that sounded reasonable enough and why wouldn’t it be? A Dreadful Dalliance has been Dot’s first baby, but now that she had actual babies on the way she needed help taking care of her “firstborn”. Monica had been friends with Dot for years, since before the Mortuary, so of course she’d been here through it’s conception and it’s construction, and it’s subsequent years of operation. How many hours had she spent with Dot in this office, working on her own projects? Being a novelist and illustrator afforded Monica plenty of freedom to set her own schedule and since her newest literary masterpiece was circulating and topping lists, she had some much earned downtime--granted one might not consider managing a mortuary as “downtime” but Monica knew the staff here was pretty much self-sufficient and short of just sitting in here and being present should any emergencies present themselves, it really wouldn’t be too taxing. Dot had spent the last couple weeks preparing that thick manual for Monica to have and she’d also insisted Monica call her if need be. Dot may be approaching the bed rest phase of her pregnancy but that didn’t mean her vocal chords didn’t work--Monica didn’t say this, but she was going to do whatever she needed to not have to call Dot. She wanted to do this, to help Dot out when she needed it, and with Dot taking care of the second part of her job with finding a temporary mortician, it all seemed to be falling into place without a hitch.

“When do they start?”

Dot reached over for her desk phone. “They already have, actually.” She pressed the intercom, connecting her to the morgue in the basement. “Can you come up to my office please, Glad?”

“Can do, Miss Dreadful!”

The chipper reply to Dot hadn’t been what Monica was expecting, especially coming up from the dark, cold recesses of the morgue. She actually blinked in surprise, but Dot just flashed her a smile and turned back to scribbling last minute notes in the margin of the list in her hand.

A scant few minutes later and there was a knock on Dot’s office door before the new hire let himself in and Monica got her first look at the partner she’d be working with over the next several weeks.

“Monica, this is Gladwyn Charles. Gladwyn, this is my closest friend and your new boss, Monica.”

The man Dot named was still in the process of ducking into the room when she made the introductions, his impressive height making the frame of the door a little bit of a hazard. He was wearing a floor length black latex apron but all that did was elongate his already tall frame even further; it stopped at his ankles, revealing polished black dress shoes that were a compliment to his black slacks and the white button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had on a bow-tie that was red rather than black, and that fiery crimson adornment drew Monica’s eyes further up to the same blaze of red that surrounded his head like a halo. Gladwyn Charles was a true redhead, his hair the color of blood, a stain of rose around his pale skin and he wore it long, braided and over his broad right shoulder. it nearly reached his waist, but it seemed even the braid couldn’t tame all the wavy strands, as curls sprang free to frame his square features, brushing the hollow of his freckled cheeks. Gladwyn had a dusting of freckles not unlike stars across the bridge of his nose and the crest of his cheeks, bringing Monica’s gaze to his long lashes and the deep, rich forest green of expressive bright eyes. His glasses were perched a little low on his nose; the frames were silver and square, fashionable and sleek, but Gladwyn’s smile didn’t speak of arrogance that came with wealth. The smile was big and bright, but as Monica continued to stare at him it only seemed to grow...bigger, brighter, reminding her of an animal baring it’s teeth. It was almost aggressive, his smile was so prominent, but nothing dangerous reflected back at her in those eyes--eyes that were riveted to her face. Gladwyn didn’t even turn when he closed the door, keeping his gaze on Monica as he pushed the door closed with one long-fingered hand.

“Ah, Miss Frenzy. It’s an honor to finally meet you,” Gladwyn made a show of wiping his hand one final time on his slacks before offering it to Monica. “Miss Dreadful has told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you.”

Monica stood to take Gladwyn’s offered hand. “M...Monica, please. And your name is...?”

“Gladwyn.” He laughed a little sheepishly, but still hadn’t taken his eyes off hers. “I know it’s a little unusual. You can call me Glad if you’d like. Or Charles, or Charlie. Even Smiley!”

From her desk, Dot’s eyebrow rose. “Smiley?”

“It’s a nickname from college.” Gladwyn answered Dot, eyes still on Monica as he kept hold of her petite hand. “Because I smile all the time.”

Monica would have ventured to bet it had more to do with Gladwyn’s smile being...hard to forget. It was almost painfully wide, as if he were the world’s nicest man. She gave Gladwyn’s hand a firmer shake, and though he released her hand...she felt the reluctance. She’d let his hand go several dozen seconds before he finally released her, but she tried to push that from her mind. Dot had warned her years ago that morticians were sometimes...odd. Like those who work in IT, only certain people want to play with the dead all day long; typically it’s those who don’t play well with the living. Gladwyn was probably just a little awkward from interacting with those who can’t interact back, day in and day out.

“Nice to meet you, Gladwyn.” Monica stressed his name, ensuring she said it right. Gladwyn’s eyes brightened.

“I assure you, Miss Frenzy, the pleasure’s all mine.”

“Monica, please.”

Gladwyn paused, his throat working before he spoke, inclining his head down in a show of respect and slight reverence. “...Monica.”

With Gladwyn much closer, Monica was able to discern even more from the tall mortician--like his tattoos. She could see at least four, though three of them were thick black bands on his left wrist, leading up to his elbow. When he finally turned to face Dot, Monica was petite enough to see there was a smiley face tattooed behind his right ear. Smiley really did seem to be a moniker that fit this unusual mortician. Gladwyn was tall and thin, but he wasn’t without some muscle mass. Now that he was closer, Monica could see his forearms and biceps laced with sinewy muscle, likely from lifting dead weight all day, and though his slacks left a little more to the imagination she assumed his entire frame was the same way., and she’d felt for herself how strong his hands were. Gladwyn was definitely not what came to mind when one thought of the word mortician; well, except for that smile. That was not a normal man’s smile, but Monica also couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong with it. Did he smile with too many teeth? Was it just too...eager? She shook her head slightly as if to clear it, moving to take her seat again--almost startled back into standing with Gladwyn extended his arm to help her into her seat before he took the chair next to her. When she looked up at him, intending to thank him, he smiled at her and her voice died in her throat. Eager was definitely a good word to describe Gladwyn’s smile.

Little did Monica know, but eager was a good word to describe Gladwyn Charles as a whole. The Dalliance’s newest hire initially comes across to others as unassuming, even if he was on the tall side with a head full of long, flaming curls. Gladwyn never minded that he had a tendency to blend in a little in the background; he’s perfectly fine with allowing someone else the spotlight because he’s a perfectly polite gentleman. Nice guys may finish last but Gladwyn would happily smile in the face of anyone quipping that at him with a, “True, but the tortoise always beat the hare, didn’t he?” before turning back to the task at hand. Gladwyn has gone through life with the intelligence to understand human nature, and the self-awareness to know he doesn’t always fit in. He’s aware he’s a little awkward but that awareness also allows him to fake it, to cover his tendency to make others uncomfortable with a self-deprecating joke or by being so polite others simply can’t be rude to him. If one were to ask Gladwyn he’s not sure why others are so put off by his smile; he thinks his smile looks just fine! After all, he practices in the mirror. His teeth are straight and white, and his eyes sparkle a little when he smiles--so what could possibly be wrong with him? Friends in the past have told him he just looks a little “creepy” or “crazy” when he smiles, to maybe try not smiling so widely...but if he’s happy, why shouldn’t he smile with all his teeth? For all his intelligence, Gladwyn can’t figure some aspects of human nature out, and that was one of them. Being too eager, too friendly, too clingy was perceived as a bad thing and he just didn’t understand that. That was why none of his friends ever stuck around for long. That was why none of his previous relationships ever worked out. Gladwyn simply cared too much. He was simply too eager.

Gladwyn slowly lowered himself into the chair across from Monica, eager green eyes devouring her in a way he knew he had to get under control, it wasn’t socially acceptable for him to stare this long but it was an enormous struggle. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful before in his entire life. Dot had told him a lot about Monica, he’d listened with his usual attentiveness but now, now he was calling upon his memory for every single detail from his previous conversations with his employer for the tiniest morsel he could glean about Monica. Even as his mind worked, his eyes did their job in committing everything he could about her to memory; her bone structure was impeccable, feather-light and delicate, and he ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips at the urge to pepper kisses along her jaw just to follow that tempting line to her throat. Monica sat like an empress in the high-backed chair, her posture so regal he felt the urge to shy away, to shrink back because he didn’t deserve to be so close to her...but how could he not be? Who could possibly stand to be away from such an ethereal creature? Was she even real? Gladwyn’s long fingers pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the focused lenses providing him with further admirings to commit to memory. Their eyes were the same color, green, but hers were brighter than his, a feminine compliment to his masculinity that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. Her hair was short, a bob that complimented her profile so devastatingly he had to slowly grip his fingers along the arm of his chair to stop from wanting to touch her hair. It shimmered, caught the office lights as if flirting with him, teasing him with how soft it must feel. And he knew how good she smelled; he caught the wisps of her perfume to the moment he’d stepped into the hallway outside the office and now that he was close enough to scent her effortlessly he focused on dragging the scent of her into his lungs, desperate to commit the scent to memory so he’d be able to recall it at will.

The simple act of meeting had never been so poignant to Gladwyn before in his entire life. How many hundreds of people had he met in his decades of life? None of them compared to this, none of them had ever affected him like this, like Monica. He knew her name was Felina to the public but she’d told him to call her Monica, the same name Dot was able to call her...that must mean something. To Gladwyn, it did. She’d shaken his hand, smiled at him and insisted, twice, that he call her by her birth name. A name intimate, known only to family and friends...that included him, now. How nice of her! How sweet...who would have thought a woman so beautiful, so stunning, would also be so kind?

“Gladwyn?”

The older mortician blinked behind his glasses, before turning to Dot. “Y-Yes? I’m...terribly sorry, I must have spaced out.”

Dot laughed, eyebrows raised. “You are wearing a face mask down there, right? Those are some pretty strong chemicals we work with.”

Gladwyn took the easy out with a gracious laugh, his rich tenor a compliment to that ever-present smile on his pale face. “Yes, of course, of course. A thousand pardons, what were you saying?”

“I was saying, Monica is the one I was telling you about, who will be sitting in my chair here while you’re working down in the morgue. She’ll be handling the operations, managing the rest of the staff and funeral arrangements. She’s got full authority and she knows how this place should run,” Dot looked between Monica and Gladwyn with a smile. “And love, Gladwyn has been familiarizing himself with the morgue downstairs over the past few days, shadowing me, and shouldn’t have any problems handling the hack and slash part of the job.”

Gladwyn cleared his throat slightly, his red brows pulling in at the center as a barb of jealousy seared across his chest. He’d known Dot for a couple weeks, knew her to use terms of endearment liberally and it had never bothered him before, but just now, her use of love directed at Monica rose like bile at the back of his throat. He didn’t particularly like that...and he didn’t particularly understand why.

Monica and Dot were both unaware of Gladwyn’s inner turmoil and confusion, mistaking his throat clearing and the shifting in his seat as mere fidgeting. Monica nodded, returning Dot’s smile before she turned it to Gladwyn.

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem to keep this place running smoothly while Dot’s gone, right?”

“Hm?” Gladwyn locked gazes with Monica before that smile of his returned in full force. “Oh, I highly doubt it. You seem a very capable woman, Mis--er, Monica.”

Monica’s laughter was a touch nervous at the compliment, most especially coupled with the sincerity behind Gladwyn’s glasses. He held his smile while he held her gaze, and Monica had to resist the urge to blush under such open attention. He was certainly a...nice guy.

“I drew up manuals for both of you while I’m gone, and Gladwyn I told Monica to reach out to me if you guys run into any problems.” Dot tapped Monica’s manual on her desk; Gladwyn’s was down in the morgue and he’d already been making use of it. “The Staff has already been prepped to treat the two of you as co-owners while I’m gone, so you shouldn’t have any issues there either.”

“Seems you really have thought of everything, Miss Dreadful.” Gladwyn sat back in his seat; his gaze appeared to be on Dot...but he was watching Monica out of the corner of his eye.

“I highly doubt it,” Dot replied, resting her chin on her hand. “But, I trust Monica and with you here to help her, Glad, hopefully it won’t be too rocky for her.”

“You have my word, I’ll look out for her.” Gladwyn’s smile was once again aimed at Monica. “She’ll be in good hands.”

A nervous flutter of butterflies rushed up Monica’s ribcage and she had to look away; Gladwyn was clearly a man who wore his heart on his sleeve and the genuine show of emotion in his eyes, on his face, made her nervous. Who was so nice this early on? Was it possible for someone to just...be this kind? It had to be, because here he was, giving her a million-watt smile with promise written all over his face.

“Then I guess there’s only one thing left to do.”

Monica took the reprieve where it was offered, looking up at Dot. “What’s that?”

Dot gave her a smile, looking between Monica and Gladwyn with her hands out in a gesture. “How about dinner?”

The Tower was a high-end restaurant with an established clientele, but there was nowhere New Senzannini’s literary elite and established death beautician couldn’t eat if they wanted to. There was no need for a reservation and the trio were ushered from the hostess podium to the best table in the restaurant, immediately; afforded their privacy but with attentive staff at the ready. Dot eased down into her cushioned seat with a sigh of relief to be off swollen ankles but it was something Monica missed, because Gladwyn was standing beside her chair with it pulled out for her, gesturing to it with that curious smile of his. She offered him a nervous but grateful smile in return as she slowly sat down, startled at how easily he settled her against the table. Even for the muscle she’d seen he was stronger than he looked, but Gladwyn would argue she weighed next to nothing at all. He had half a mind to order for her to ensure she was even eating enough; a thought that darkened his brow as he settled into his own chair to Monica’s left. Now that they were out of the Mortuary, Monica could see all of him as he was out of his apron and he filled out his tailored suit well. He’d also rebraided his hair before coming out and with his wealth of hair pulled back from his face in an elegant french braid, Monica had to admire Gladwyn. He was a handsome man. As if sensing her staring, he turned to face her, his smile catching the ambient lighting and she had a new appreciation for his bone structure, the way the shadows flirted with the hollows of his cheeks, the high cut of his brow.

“I’ve never eaten here. Have you?”

“A-Ah, a few times,” Monica nodded. “I’m...surprised you haven’t.”

“Why’s that?” Gladwyn’s head tilt reminded her of a puppy.

“You...well, don’t mind me saying so but you look like you come from money.” Monica was hopeful the low lighting of the intimate restaurant hid her blush well enough as she moved her napkin to her lap.

“Why would I mind such a sweet compliment?” Gladwyn’s voice was rich and warm as he regarded Monica. “I do, come from money, but I don’t get out much. Surely Miss Dreadful has explained we morticians don’t keep much living company?”

Monica couldn’t help the laugh. “I a-am her only friend.”

“Hey hey,” Dot snapped her cloth napkin before pointing between the two of them. “That is a thousand percent by choice. Other people are the worst.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Monica put her hands up, but as she moved to take the menu from their waiter, she was surprised to momentary silence when Gladwyn reached over, took her menu, and then handed it to her. “T-Thank you.”

“Of course.” Gladwyn’s tone was still warm, amiable, but he cut his eyes to the waiter as if daring the other male to say something. When the server cleared his throat and turned his attention to Dot, Gladwyn returned his gaze to Monica and his entire posture relaxed. His smile had never wavered.

The entire premise of dinner between the three had been Dot’s way of breaking the ice between her best friend and the new hire at the mortuary. She didn’t want to leave Monica with this new mortician for hours and hours a day, for weeks, perhaps months, without forming a sort of tentative relationship between the two, for Monica’s comfort level more than anything else. Part of why she’d hired Gladwyn was because he was such a nice guy. She’d called every colleague, boss, and even two of Gladwyn’s college professors to run him through the wringer to make sure he came out squeaky clean but every test Dot put him through, he passed. Everyone had something nice to say about Gladwyn, that he was an eager student, a polite co-worker, a diligent employee. He never called in sick, he never had any brushes with the law; hell, one of Gladwyn’s old employers stated he actually said, “Please,” and “I’m sorry,” to corpses if he mishandled them or when he needed to do something particularly invasive. Gladwyn was polite to a fault, and he was a certified nice guy. Granted, a couple people had mentioned his smile giving them the creeps, and Dot had to admit there was something a little off about it, but you can’t judge a guy by his smile, right? Besides, finding a mortician who wasn’t considered at least a little creepy was like finding a needle in a haystack. Dot had interviewed enough fish-eyed weirdos to know, Gladwyn was as good as she was going to get on such short notice. Judging by the swelling in her ankles just from the walk from the Mortuary to her truck and then into the restaurant, Dot was days away from being confined to bed--so as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, Dot lifted her water glass to her mouth as she looked between Monica and Gladwyn; they seemed to be hitting it off well. Gladwyn’s smile was a prominent thing, Dot noticed he really did smile all the time, but it seemed different when he looked at Monica. Dot noticed things like this, she paid attention, but it didn’t raise any alarm bells. He simply seemed to really enjoy Monica’s company and honestly who wouldn’t? Dot had been friends with the other woman for over a decade; she knew the kind of effect Monica had on others and even if Monica would deny it to her grave, Dot knew better. Gladwyn was proof enough; the man was hanging off her every word. Dinner would be the first step to solidifying a good relationship between the two, and as long as this went well, Dot would be confident in going on maternity leave knowing her best friend, and her place of business, were in good hands.

“So, I know plenty about you Gladwyn but Monica doesn’t,” Dot turned to the duo as the waiter took their drink orders to the bar. “Why don’t you tell her a little about yourself?”

Gladwyn would have opened a vein to get Monica to talk about herself, but he swallowed that graphic visual with that smile of his, moving his hands to his lap as he nodded a few times, his attention swiveling to Monica effortlessly. “Well, what about you like to know?”

Monica blinked a few times, unsure what to ask. She floundered a little before blurting out. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Corpse blue.”

Gladwyn dropped his reply like a body onto the table, so serious in his delivery that Monica was left staring at him, her eyebrows slowly creeping upward. “R-Really?”

“Oh, no!” Gladwyn shook his head with a rich laugh. “I’m sorry, no, that was a little mortician humor. It’s just blue, my favorite color is blue, it’s just, you know the corpses turn blue when they’re frozen. I thought I’d have a little fun with it.”

Dot rolled her eyes as she reached for a hot roll from the bread basket at the center of the table. “You know our type of jokes never go over well with anyone.” She gave him a pointed look as she tore open the steaming bread. “Especially when they’re that corny.”

Gladwyn’s laugh was sheepish but genuine, and Monica had to respect a guy who could laugh at himself.

Throwing him a bone, she joined in the laughter, nodding. “No, no, I get it! That was, that was clever.”

Gladwyn paused at the compliment, his posture straightening not unlike a flower given a little bit of sunlight. His eyes were riveted to watching Monica’s chest rise and fall with her laughter, his own pulse quickening as he swallowed around his attraction to her. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? No one ever really laughed at his jokes; he knew they were a little awkward and probably not in the best humor, but she called it clever. She thought he was clever. His pulse reflected just how much he liked that, basked in that knowledge, that such a beautiful woman found his wit to be...worthy of her beautiful laugh. It had sent him over the moon to walk into this restaurant with her; he saw the way heads turned, the whispers that the Felina Frenzy was here and though he felt that curious jealousy again, part of him using his impressive height to shield her from inquisitive, needy stares, there was also pride that he was there with her. That others recognized she was there with him. He really liked that thought.

“May I ask the lady’s favorite color?” Gladwyn took the opportunity to get to know Monica same as she was doing with him. He was eager to know her inside and out.

Monica gestured with a smile. “Blue, too.”

It may not be a monumental thing, sharing the same favorite color as someone else; there are only so many colors in the rainbow, after all--but Gladwyn felt that connection like a bolt of lightning. They...they shared a favorite thing? It brightened his smile, widened it until he felt his cheeks ache but he welcomed the sensation. It made him so happy!

“Excellent choice,” he complimented with a conspirator’s playful wink, trying to play it cool when inside, his heart was turning somersaults. Monica’s laughter was light but genuine and it was wreaking havoc on Gladwyn’s nerves, shredding him until he was rubbed raw, left vulnerable to the next tempting thing she was planning to do. He swallowed again, looking up gratefully as their drinks were brought to the table.

“That better be a virgin,” Monica eyed Dot’s Bloody Mary, and Dot gave her a playful look.

“Only thing about me that is, obviously,” she gestured to her generous bump before taking a sip of the blood red concoction.

“What did you get?” Monica turned to Gladwyn, trying to keep the conversation between them going. She knew without having to ask Dot that the reason they’d come to dinner was so she and Gladwyn could get better acquainted...it just helped he was easy to talk to.

“Ah, you’ve caught me, I’m afraid.” Gladwyn lifted his foaming glass with a sheepish grin. “It’s a Dry Stout. I’m Irish every day of the year, not only on St. Paddy’s.”

Monica eyed the glass; it was so dark she couldn’t see through it, and almost resembled coffee though she knew it to be an ale. She laughed a little at his joke, missing his grin brightening in response as she was still admiring his drink choice.

“What have you gotten?” Gladwyn took a swig of his drink, curious eyes on Monica’s beverage choice. It was peach-colored, bubbly, and served in a long-stemmed champagne glass.

“It’s a Gigi,” Monica supplied. “My family is originally from Italy so I’m pretty well-versed in expensive cocktails from Europe.”

Gladwyn’s laughter was honest and washed over Monica as he gave her his undivided attention; she could definitely respect that the man was genuine, there didn’t seem to be anything fake about him in the few hours she’s known him. It was laughter she joined in on, picking up her flute for a gentle, feminine sip.

Gladwyn watched her without blinking, committing her movement to memory with ease; she moved with the grace of a feline, her manicured nails a compliment to the expensive cocktail kissing her lips the way he longed to do--Gladwyn came from wealth and affluence, he knew what it was to be among the elite but Monica was simply on another level. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest to hear her family was of money, she carried herself like a queen and why shouldn’t she? Her throat worked as she swallowed and Gladwyn felt it like a punch to his gut; his muscles actually tightened, his abdomen turning flips as he struggled to get his attraction under control. Monica was doing something awful to him, stealing all his attention and he’d never once felt such a strong pull to another human being in his entire life. The more time he spent in her company, the less he was confused by what was happening. Love at first sight wasn’t an easy thing to dismiss, but it was an easy thing to pin.

“It’s probably rude to ask your age, Gladwyn, but I’m having a hard time pinning you,” Monica set her glass down, meeting Gladwyn’s gaze effortlessly--because he was already looking at her. “So can I ask?”

“You can ask whatever you like, my dear.” Gladwyn would have aged himself with such a formal saying, but at least the slight accent in his rich tenor made sense now that he’d given away his heritage (as if his hair and freckles hadn’t been enough indication) and that endearment certainly came out smoother than the ale in his hand. “But I’m thirty-seven years old.”

“You don’t look it,” Monica reassured, but that was only partially true. Gladwyn didn’t look to be near his forties, but he carried himself that way, and his smile had some age behind it. Likely, due to his ever-present smile, he also had smile lines near the corners of his mouth and around his eyes.

These lines deepened at her compliment and Gladwyn reached over, putting his surprisingly warm hand on her knee. “Thank you, Monica. That’s incredibly sweet of you to say.”

Monica’s gaze dropped to Gladwyn’s long fingers and she felt him squeeze her knee in response; he made no move to remove his hand and she didn’t...know if she should consider this forward of him or not. She was dressed in black slacks and a ruffle-sleeve button-up, having wanted to start looking the part of boss since she would be taking over for Dot but she could feel the heat of Gladwyn’s hand through the fabric of her pants. She would, for some reason, have assumed his hands would be cold as the corpses he worked on daily, but his hands more closely resembled the fire of his hair.

Gladwyn hadn’t even thought before he touched her--he just acted, closed the distance between them as if he had to do it. He cursed that she was wearing slacks and not a skirt, a dress, so anxious was he to feel her soft skin. He knew it was softer than a lily would be, and he knew she smelled sweeter, too. He slowly dragged his gaze up from his hand on her knee, up her front to lock gazes with her and he searched her face--not for signs of refusal but for acceptance. She had to feel what he felt, didn’t she? There was no way only one soulmate would be feeling the instant connection, the attraction that was driving him to complete distraction. There was no other way to describe what he was feeling but soulmate; everything about her clicked like a puzzle piece Gladwyn had been missing his entire life. She didn’t shy away from his smile, she shared the same favorite color as he did; she laughed at his jokes and she found him to be clever. He knew she thought he was nice because she allowed him to pull out her chair for her and she wasn’t pulling away from his touch, now. She had to be feeling what he was...perhaps she was simply shy? Well, of course she was, she was a proper lady. A right beautiful one. A woman who deserved to be wooed properly, courted in the way a man of Gladwyn’s upbringing could. His smile deepened, and he gave her knee another longing squeeze before he slowly, reluctantly removed it. He wouldn’t push his luck, now that he was more convinced she shared what he was feeling, that slow-burning but all-consuming fire that was licking at his heart like flames.

“Are we ready to order?”

The server started at the head of the table, or perhaps it was simply Dot being pregnant, but it allowed Gladwyn a moment to wrangle with his returning jealousy--because any moment, the man was going to turn to Monica and speak to her...and Gladwyn really hated that. He was staring, unseeing, at his own menu, his mind narrowing to how he was going to...deal with this. He’d never considered himself a jealous man before, had never felt such raw, biting emotion in all his life but then he hadn’t known his soulmate before today. Monica was beautiful, a siren’s call to any man and while he would never blame her for such beauty, no it was his good fortune she was breath-taking, he didn’t have to like others noticing her. His eyes slipped from his menu, moving discreetly to Monica and again, he felt his pulse spike, his throat run dry, and he fidgeted in his seat. If he needed proof, he had it; physical proof. His body reacted every single time he looked at her.

“And you, Miss?”

Monica shifted, her eyes on her menu. “I’ll have--”

“Would you order for me, Monica?”

Gladwyn interjected into the conversation without much forethought; he was only grateful what he’d said made sense. Monica seemed to flounder a little, and he could regret catching her off-guard...but she took her attention off the waiter and it reinforced he’d done the right thing. Gladwyn had to fight to keep his smile from going smug that he’d so easily gotten her attention back.

“O-Of...course, but I don’t really know you very well?” Monica faltered, looking worried. “What if...I order something you won’t like?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Gladwyn set his menu down on his plate with his smile lighting his eyes. “You have impeccable taste. You can’t steer me wrong if it’s good enough for you.”

Monica’s smile was still nervous, still unsure, but Gladwyn looked like he’d made up his mind and she could only nod, turning to order for herself...and for him.

It was a small compromise, Gladwyn still hated that she spoke to the waiter, loathed that the man was admiring her so openly, but at least he’d staked something of a claim on her in front of the other male. It made him feel better, sated his childish, unfounded jealousy--no, it wasn’t unfounded! He had a right to her, to the other half of his soul. That was how it worked. That was the reward for the way he felt about her; he felt so strongly, of course he wouldn’t want someone else looking at her, thinking about her. No one had the right to even dream of touching her, no one except him.

Dinner did what Dot had intended...and it did a little more than she’d intended, at the same time. The two hours passed by in the blink of an eye, the trio exchanging stories, learning about one another and as the time passed, the more Gladwyn became convinced of what he felt to be true. Monica was the other half of his soul, the fabled soulmate promised to hopeless romantics and skeptics alike. She was perfect; she was beautiful, hauntingly so, in that he knew she would be in his dreams tonight--if he was able to sleep from wanting her. She was witty, humorous, intelligent; she was clever and her sarcasm was so biting he nearly wished to be at the receiving end just to feel the scrape of her teeth. When Monica smiled she stole the light from the room; she was radiant, and Gladwyn felt himself drowning every time she turned that smile to him. Her voice was what silk was made of, sliding over his skin until twice he’d nearly dropped his fork against his plate when she said his name. It was...too soon, perhaps, to think of late nights with her body wrapped around his but he couldn’t stop himself from going there, from crossing that sordid line because she aroused him so fervently his appetite was of an entirely different sort. He’d finished two stouts in the hopes it would douse the fire building in his belly but all it did was warm him further, made his brain a little hazy so that the lines between right and wrong blurred further. He was seated beside an angel, his angel, and the expensive food turned sour in his mouth for want to sample her instead.

This must be what it felt like to be lovesick, to be so enamored with one’s adoration that food and drink lose their taste. Gladwyn seemed to have fallen down the rabbit hole with no hope to catch himself on the sides--would he have? If he were honest with himself, no, he wouldn’t have. He dove headfirst down this trap, chasing Monica’s laugh, her voice, the way she looked at him, smiled at him. The way she made him feel should be criminal, he was already so addicted to the man he was when she looked at him. The glasses were emptied, the bill was paid, and all too soon reality was severing his time with Monica and for a fleeting moment he panicked at the void that would be left when they went their separate ways for the night.

“Thank you, Gladwyn,” Monica stood with his help as he pulled her chair out for her, and his smile was a little subdued but still present as he held up her jacket, for her to slip into it.

“It’s cold outside,” he prompted, fighting to keep the hard edge from his voice when it seemed she was going to simply take it from him. He wanted her to wear it. He wouldn’t have her catching cold, and his smile broadened when she slipped her arms into it. “There we are. That’s better, hm?”

Monica’s smile was a touch shy as Gladwyn’s large hands rubbed up her arms, smoothing her jacket and warming her further beneath the expensive fabric. He placed his hand at the small of her back, giving his head a nod toward the door and he tailored his steps to match hers despite their staggering height difference.

“So, what do you two think?” Dot turned from the front door of the restaurant, the valet sprinting out into the snow to retrieve her truck. “Think you’ll be okay to work together for a while?”

Monica turned to look up at Gladwyn but he was already looking at her, and he gestured to Dot with a nod of his head. “Ladies first.”

“I-I, yes, I don’t see any problems.” Monica gave Dot a smile, knowing Dot would be looking for any signs that Monica wasn’t comfortable--this would be a question Dot would ask again when the two were alone in her truck.

“I’m delighted to hear that, as I can assure I’m very much looking forward to working with Monica.” Gladwyn tore his smile away from Monica when he felt Dot was still staring at him. “You’ll be fine to relax at home, Miss Dreadful. We’ll have no problems working together.”

Dot looked between Gladwyn and Monica, making a thoughtful noise at the back of her throat but she nodded, her smile reaching her eyes. “Good. Then you’ll be in charge of the morgue 7AM, Monday morning, Mr. Charles.”

Gladwyn gave Dot a nod, but his attention was already turning to Monica as Dot’s truck rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant. He moved his hand from the small of her back, already loathing the space between their bodies and knowing there’d be more, much more, over the weekend. It was all he could do to keep himself calm with the reassurance that he’d be working very closely with Monica on Monday.

“It was a pleasure getting to know you, Monica. I’m very much looking forward to continuing to get to know you during our time together.” Gladwyn bowed his spine, no hesitation as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I will see you soon. Take care of yourself until then.”

Monica’s fingers trembled as they settled on Gladwyn’s arm, and she felt his hand steady her waist in response. “H-Have a nice weekend, Gladwyn. I’ll see y-you Monday.”

“I look forward to it.” Gladwyn straightened up, replacing his hand in his pant’s pocket, watching Monica take hold of Dot’s arm, the two girls leaning on one another as the valet opened the door into the winter cold.

Without a word, he gave his keys to the valet but kept his gaze on Monica as she entered the truck, and as they drove off, he kept his gaze riveted to the vehicle disappearing in New Senzannini’s generous traffic. It wasn’t until Monica was out of sight that he was able to look away, the spell of her presence lifted enough for him to feel...completely and utterly alone. The smile dropped off his face fast enough to shatter on the marble floor beneath his dress shoes, and the valet nearly tripped coming back inside after retrieving Gladwyn’s car.

It would seem the only thing creepier than Gladwyn’s smile was when he didn’t smile, but for the first time in his life, he found he had no reason to, at the moment. The reason was currently driving further and further away from him, to live a life separate from him, where she didn’t have to think about him, didn’t have to see him, where he couldn’t see her, where he couldn’t touch her...

...for now.

Gladwyn pushed open the restaurant doors with one strong hand, ignoring the biting cold wind as he stalked toward his waiting car. Monday wasn’t too far away. Besides, the weekend gave him time to prepare, to make room in his life for a very special new someone. It had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect.

Just like she was.

Stay tuned! ♥ Next Update: February 17th!

#{theme} : for monica #{story} : cold comfort #{character} : gladwyn charles

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