#20th-century-man gif

[20th-century-man]

Danni Ashe

#Danni Ashe #gif #my gif #20th-century-man gif

[hornyforpoetry]

The Five Stages of Reading Albert Camus

 1. The Discovery – ”The Stranger” (1942)

 „The Stranger” is unquestionably the best choice for anyone who wants to get to know Albert Camus. It's so simple that it fools you at first. You think it's going to be an easy read, but when you finish the book and put it down, you don't even know your name or if it even matters to have a name. It will probably keep your mind busy for months and make you think about the true meaning of life. You will most likely never be the same person again.

 2. Falling in Love – ”Betwixt and Between” (1937) // ”The Fall” (1956) // ”Exile and the Kingdom” (1957)

After "The Stranger" has had time to settle and stick in your mind (a process that takes about six months to a year), it's time to explore other writing. Camus doesn't use the same language in every book, so it's important to be careful what you choose to read after. The best options to fall irrevocably in love with this French philosopher are ”Betwixt and Between”, which is his very first published book, ”The Fall”, which offers a very interesting narrative perspective, or ”Exile and the Kingdom”, his only collection of short stories. After going through these, your heart will be caught in the nets of love for Camus.

 3. The Surprise – ”The Plague” (1947) // ”A Happy Death” (written 1936–38, published 1971) // ”Summer” (1954) // ”Nuptials” (1938)

After the reader has gone through the above books, he will have the impression that he knows Camus. Now is the time for him to have the surprise of his life. Camus managed the feat of not giving the audience the same thing twice. That is why each of his writings is unique. Some are easier to read and digest, some are not. At this stage, it is time to get acquainted with its more difficult side. "The Plague" is a story that shakes you to the core and is difficult for even the best readers to get through. ”The Happy Death” should never have seen the light of day, being the first version of what we now know as The Stranger. "Summer" and "Nuptials" are dubbed essays and are similar in format to ”Betwixt and Between”, but here Camus approaches a completely new language, so poetic and refined that it instantly wins you over. Only after the reader goes through these books can he say that he understands a part of Camus.

 4. Not just a writer – ”The Myth of Sisyphus” (1942) // „The Rebel” (1951) // Theatre Plays // Journalism Articles

 Camus was not only a great French writer. He was also a philosopher (though he never called himself that), a journalist and a playwright. If you are interested in fully understanding Camus, you must also understand his writings in other fields. "The Myth of Sisyphus" is the essay that formed the basis of the formation of a new philosophical current called absurdism. "The Rebel" continues the work started by "The Myth of Sisyphus", going much deeper into the issues related to the meaning of life, art, war, etc. Plays like "Caligula" (1938) or "The Misunderstanding" (1944) are wonderful pieces of art in the history of the theater, while summing up the entire philosophy of Camus. His journalistic articles reveal a Camus involved in society, trying to change something in one way or another through writing. "Reflections on the Guillotine" (1957) for example was an important work that contributed to the abolition of the death penalty in France. Camus never confined his writing to a single specialization, and this can be seen in the skill with which he explored the power of the word in its various forms.

5. Camus the Human – ”The First Man” (incomplete, published 1994) // ”American Journals” (1978) // ”Correspondence (1944–1959)” // ”Notebooks”

At this point, after going through all these readings, we also want to find out who was the man behind the word. Camus put many things from his personal life into writing, but in this selection we have the most personal point of view. ”The First Man” was supposed to be an autobiographical novel, but Camus died before he could finish it. The remaining manuscript was revised and published years after the author's death. "American Journals" captures a highly sensitive moment in his life, an existential crisis in Camus's life. ”Correspondence” is an exchange of letters between Camus and the woman with probably the greatest influence in his life, Maria Casares. Finally, the "Notebooks" are a collection made from the notes that Camus wrote over the years in his countless notebooks. Every intimate thought, beginning of a novel, reflection, trace of feeling, all these complete the image of Camus as a man.

Congratulations! If you have reached this point, you have managed to go through all the stages of knowledge and you can call yourself a true fan of Albert Camus. Now go and spread his teachings to other little outstiders. And don't forget, the only purpose of life is to be happy (reading Camus together).

#albert camus #camus #camus quotes #classic literature #literature #french literature #albert #the stranger #the plague #the fall #exile and the kingdom #20th century #20th century literature #classic authors #a happy death #the first man #betwixt and between #nuptials #summer #the myth of sisyphus #the rebel #philosophy #philosopher #20th century philosophy #absurdism #absurd #existentialism #the theory of the absurd #notebooks #american journals

[spockvarietyhour]

Michael's Lab's a bit of a fixer upper "The Last Man"

#ah. “alien architecture” humans from another galaxy will just make a 20th century factory #Stargate Atlantis #SGA #The Last Man #explosion #sgaedit #stargateedit #GIF #my gifs #it's not a stargate rewatch rewatch #Hide and Queue

[gameraboy2]

Monty Python's Flying Circus (1969), “Man's Crisis of Identity in the Latter Half of the 20th Century”

#my gif #Monty Python's Flying Circus #monty python #cat #confused #vintage #television #vintage television #gif #gifs #Man's Crisis of Identity in the Latter Half of the 20th Century

[dramatothethirdpower]

Dramas I finished in 2023 (In Ranked Order from 1-5 stars)

5 Star reviews at the bottom

Bump up business ★★☆☆☆

Boss and a Babe  ★★☆☆☆

Professional single  ★★☆☆☆

See You in my 19th Life ★★☆☆☆

Crash Course in Romance  ★★★☆☆

Forecasting Love and Weather  ★★★☆☆

Glory Part 2 ★★★☆☆

Jun and Jun  ★★★☆☆

Kill Boksoon (movie) ★★★☆☆

Kingdom S1 finished ★★★☆☆

Maid’s Revenge  ★★★☆☆

Meet you in my 19th life  ★★★☆☆

My Lovely Liar ★★★☆☆

Only Friends  ★★★☆☆

Zom 100 (movie)  ★★★☆☆

Shoulder to Cry On ★★★☆☆

Strong Girl Nam Soon ★★★☆☆

Boy For Rent ★★★★☆

Castaway Diva  ★★★★☆

Exclusive Fairy Tale  ★★★★☆

First Love Again ★★★★☆

I cannot reach you (Japan) Netflix ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Jack O Frost ★★★★☆

La Pluie ★★★★☆

Midnight Silence (Movie)  ★★★★☆

Minato’s Laundromat ★★★★☆

Moonlight Chicken  ★★★★☆

Our Dining Table  ★★★★☆

Our Secrets  ★★★★☆

Unintentional Love Story  ★★★★☆

Unlocked (movie)  ★★★★☆

Why you? Y Me? ★★★★☆

20th Century Girl  ★★★★★ - I watched this one blind so I'm going to ahead and warn you, it's very, very, very sad! Sobbing hysterically on your couch, sad. Can't watch anything else until the feelings go away, sad.

Alchemy of Souls Part 2 ★★★★★ - I was worried with this one when they "recast" it that I wasn't going to like it, but it was gripping all the way through. I highly recommend the whole thing!

Glory  ★★★★★ - This one should be coming with all kinds of trigger warnings. It's a revenge drama about a girl who was brutally mutilated via school violence. If you, like me, love a good FAFO story give this a go. If you're even mildly squeamish, maybe don't.

Go Ahead ★★★★★ Go Ahead is... an acquired taste. It's found family, and it's coming of age, and it's love triangle and it's breathtaking beautiful. It examines different family dynamics and what it means to choose your family and what it means when your family doesn't choose you. All of that said... it is also a little bit about dating your step brother, and I know, okay, I KNOW, but if you just trust me on this, it's only a tiny bit weird and then it's not, and you're rooting for these maybe a little bit incestuous but not really, idiots.

Be My Favorite  ★★★★★ This thai BL is not your typical coming of age, falling in love, enemies to lovers, story. Instead we have time travel, and the butterfly effect of the consequences of our actions. Gotta be honest, I'm a total ho for sci-fi tropes and this was done well enough that it rocketed into a favorites of 2023 spot before it was half finished.

Hidden Love  ★★★★★ Come cancel me, Tumblr, I'm ready because one of my absolute favorite tropes is the *dun dun dun* age gap! In this drama a young girl falls hard for her older brother's best friend, and you get to watch as their relationship changes and grows as they mature. There is no hanky panky or even interest in our female lead before she comes of age but if you're a puri-teen steer clear, you won't have a fun time. My favorite part of this drama was actually the relationship between siblings, which felt much more authentic than many portrayals I've come across.

My Beautiful Man S2 ★★★★★ The second installment in this series delivers! There's angst, there's humor, there's *eyebrow waggles*. I'm a tiny bit obsessed with Hira and I can't wait for more!

My Personal Weatherman ★★★★★ Miscommunication, or as I call it, idiot plot, is the best. I know some people hate a storyline that could be resolved with less than 5 minutes of open communication between the romantic leads, but not me. Let these idiots stew in their misconceptions, let them leap tall buildings in a single misguided assumption. GIVE IT TO ME. Anyway, if you don't like that, don't watch this, but if you do, it's crack.

My School President  ★★★★★ GeminiFourth stole my heart in this cute coming of age story. It hit all the right notes, with the added bonus of Fourth! I will say normally I hate when they shoehorn music into Thai dramas (so that the stars can go on tour?) but it fit well with the plot and the soundtrack is amazing. They can be my only exception.

That's my dramas of the year wrapped! You can find all the drama's I've watched (that I remember) here:

#2023 #Year Wrap Up #Yearly Wrap Up #2023 Yearly Wrap Up #Year in review #20th century girl #alchemy of souls 2 #glory #be my favorite #hidden love #my beautiful man #my personal weatherman #my school president #Drama Wrapped #go ahead

[eideticallys]

Who's Your Barber?

request: based on this.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: “you move fast, kid.” he turned to spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

genre: fluff

word count: 852

author's notes: hello! i'm back with another spencer reid tooth-rotting fluff without plot. this was based on a request sent to me. i hope you'll love this! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

“DO YOU THINK MY HAIR’S TOO LONG?”

You looked up from where you were working on a pile of paperwork from a recent case only to stare at a pouting Spencer.

Cute, you thought.

“Why?” You asked, now facing the man in front of you who was busy fretting over his hair. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, not really.” He mumbled. “I just—I don’t know. I want to keep it this way because it’s always been kind of on the longer side but I also want to try cutting it short.”

A bit shy from his admission, Spencer started fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist, obviously not that comfortable implying that he did care about his looks even for a small bit.

You almost cooed at how adorable he’s being for a grown man.

“Okay,” You prodded him again, wanting to make sure you understood what he was trying to say. “So, you wanna try a new haircut but you’re not sure about it. Well, I can help you with that.”

Spencer looked up from where he was playing with his hair tie and scrunched up his brow in question.

“How?”

You instantly blushed at what you were about to suggest when you noticed Spencer being all for it. The thing about Spencer is that he’s a great listener as much as he likes to talk. Coming from a household where he never got to have a good companion unless his mom was doing okay, Spencer knew what it felt like when no one wanted to listen to whatever it was one has to say. With all your doubts starting to vanish at Spencer’s obvious interest, you shared your thoughts.

“Well,” You decided to share. It’s not like you would recount to him an embarrassing childhood story. That’s a story meant for another day. “I may or may not have worked at my aunt’s salon over the summer back when I was in high school. I wasn’t a hairstylist but learned a thing or two.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in wonder. You no longer regretted sharing your experience and were sure he was about to share a tangent on hairstyling in typical Dr. Spencer Reid fashion.

“Archaeologists discovered that cutting our hair and styling it have both been practiced by human beings as early as the Ice Age.” Spencer babbled. “Also, they said that people’s social class, age, ethnicity, race, and genetics determined the style of their hair throughout history even up to the late 20th century.”

You grinned at Spencer’s info dump and ruffled his hair, to which he scrunched his nose.

“So, Reid,” You replied. “When are we gonna cut your hair?”

“What, did you join a boy band?”

Everyone around the table started giggling and smiling as soon as Hotch directed the question at Spencer, as your cheeks reddened. Unfortunately for Spencer, you being a former employee at your aunt’s salon certainly did not do you wonders. Because what was supposed to be a trim here and there became a short haircut for him, quite shorter than what he has envisioned, he shared with you.

You almost dug yourself a hole right then and there.

But apparently, Spencer liked it enough—loved it even—to not hate you for cutting his hair too short. It’s fortunate—for him and especially for you who gets to see him in his new hair every day—that Spencer was pretty. He looked good both in long and short hair.

However, with Hotch asking him that question, you were sure Spencer would hate you for cutting it wrongly.

“No?” Spencer replied as his brows crinkled. You breathed a sigh of relief with his answer, which Rossi didn’t fail to notice. 

You were about to head out when Hotch just announced, “Wheels up in 30.” When you heard Rossi speak to Spencer

“I like your hair, kid.” You almost smiled until Rossi questioned him. “Who’s your barber? Maybe I’ll get myself the same haircut.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you heard Morgan join in on the conversation, like both he and Rossi knew something you don’t. Spencer probably didn’t know what that something was too.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Who’s your barber?”

Spencer looked like he had swallowed a frog and he had seen a ghost with how comical he looked right now. 

It seemed Spencer knew what Rossi and Morgan were trying to imply in their prodding.

“It seems to me,” Rossi continued. “It was our lovely Y/N who cut his hair.”

At this, your eyes widened as Derek smirked.

“You move fast, kid.” He turned to Spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

Spencer likes you back? 

As in more than friends? 

Non-platonic?

Spencer likes you back!

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched.

“Let’s leave the kids alone.” Rossi appeased Spencer while looking at you. “They have a date to plan.” 

Spencer sputtered out as both men chuckled while moving out.

“So, Reid.” You simpered. “Where are we going for our first date?”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal finds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #tooth rotting fluff #fluff without plot

[gumycandyyy]

Heyo I'm here to request that Male Reader x Winter King you wanted-

Anyways, can you write for a male Reader that used to be Simon and Betty's friend before the crown and the Mushroom War, who randomly shows up in the Land of Ooo? As in, Simon thought that they had died a long time ago, alongside Betty, but the Reader had survived through some odd means and got reunited with him?

Lol, if that's too much, then I'm sorry. It could be a fic or Headcanons, whichever you prefer!

⠂"ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏʟᴅ."⠐

⠂"ᴡᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ."⠐

AHJFHJGSKHA HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT SIMON?? I LOVE THIS WET CAT.

Winter King actually isn't this one, because I wanted to focus on Fionna and Cake ver. Simon

Male reader

Platonic/Romantic (I'm leaving it ambiguous, because I mean, c'mon. It's Simon.)

Type: Headcanons (With a drabble and oneshot mixed in)

Summary: An old friend shows up after a bunch of time-related shenanigans, and is finally ready to settle back down in Ooo. Though this sudden happening is quite a shock to Simon.

⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

-You used to be an old family friend of Betty's, and met Simon through her.

-Y'all were really close, and they invited you over for dinner every other weekend.

-But one day, you just...

-Vanished.

-Everyone thought you were kidnapped, and Simon and Betty were heartbroken.

-However...

-Through some odd means, you were kept alive for a thousand years.

-It all started one weird day when you bought a little doodad from a garage sale.

-the next thing you knew, you were in a big yellow cube with a pink wall guy.

-Apparently the little thing you bought was an item from another universe, and it was janking up Ooo.

-Aaaaand technically you just committed a serious crime by purchasing the little thing.

-And whether intentional or not, you now had to go on trial for this little accident. You tried to explain what happened, but you were found guilty.

-You were sentenced to a thousand years in some donked up time jail.

-Apparently, you wouldn't age in there, and a thousand years would pass on Ooo before you were set free.

-It was the worst thing that could've ever happened to you.

⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

-The time jail kept you from losing your sanity, and a thousand years later, you were released.

-You were teleported back to Ooo, which looked quite different than how you remembered it.

-It felt like an eternity since you've seen rolling green hills and a clear blue sky. An eternity since you've breathed familiar air.

-You heard something, about a hundred yards from you.

-You approached the loud noises to see some buff dude with a sick beard and robotic arm beating up some one-eyed monster.

-He punched the creature, and it was sent flying towards you.

-You ducked, and the dude noticed you.

"Ah, sorry man! Didn't see you there!"

-You assured him it was nothing.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

You shook your head, then blinked confusedly. Well, technically you were. It had just been 1000 years. You tried to get your story straight, then told the guy.

"Woah, so does that mean you're technically a time traveler?"

You shrugged. Time travel hadn't been proven yet, has it? You weren't sure. You asked the guy his name, so you didn't have to refer to him as just 'the guy.'

"Oh, yeah. Name's Finn. Good ol' Finn the H."

"The H.?"

"Y'know, the Human?"

But you were human too. With all due respect, you asked him about his strange surname.

"Oh, uh.. My real last name is Mertens, but I like 'the Human' better. It's only recently other humans have started living in Ooo. So I'm kinda seen as 'that one human' y'know?"

You nodded, trying to make sense of what he said. what had happened that caused humans to leave Ooo? How was that even possible?

The two of you talked for a short while, and you learned a little bit about Ooo. You were used to knowing a lot, but you barely even recognized this place.

"Oh, you're from the 20th century, right?"

You nodded.

"I've got a friend from then, maybe you'd like to meet him? He's one cool dude."

⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

-You agreed politely, wondering if this 20th century man would help you adjust to life in whatever century this was. What century was this anyway? 30-something?

-Finn ended up taking you to a scrappy little bar filled with people that looked to be made out of candy.

"Anything you'd like to order?"

"Nothing for me, Dirt Beer Guy. Maybe he'd like one, but we're just waiting for-"

⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

"Simon?"

You stared in disbelief at the face of your old friend, who looked at you with the same expression. He was carrying something under his arm, but he dropped it in shock.

"No way, you know him? That's awesome!"

Simon slowly walked up to you, as if afraid you'd disappear at any second. Tears welled up in the both of your eyes, and you had to suppress breaking down right there. It hadn't occurred to you that this 20th century man could've been Simon, but now that you were seeing him, you realized you subconsciously wished it would be him.

He spoke your name softly, not much more than a whisper, as if anything louder would cause reality to shatter, or one of you to wake up from a dream.

"You... You're really here, aren't you?"

You nodded softly, not daring to say a word. Tears spilled out of your eyes, and Finn looked slightly confused.

"Do you guys, uh.... Wanna step out for a minute?"

You agreed, still quietly, saying it would probably be better to not make a scene. Finn gave you a thumbs up and shooed you out, saying he'd wait for you when you got back inside.

You stepped out of the little bar with Simon, realizing it got dark out while you were inside.

"So..."

"How about we take a walk?"

You nodded, falling into step with Simon as you walked into a nice little forest. The small stream rushing by provided ambient noise.

"How are you here..?"

Simon asked, with an air of disbelief. He blinked, wiping his glasses and rubbing his eyes. As if you'd disappear once he'd open them. You explained what happened, and suddenly gasped.

"If you're here, that means Betty must be here too, right? Where is she?"

Simon sighed, bringing his arms up to hold himself.

"She's..."

"She's not."

You decided not to pry, but you couldn't help but notice the sinking feeling in your gut. She was one of your best friends, and she was gone. But she was Simon's fiancee. It must have hit him harder, whatever happened to her. You'd ask later, when the emotional turmoil between the two of you wasn't so fresh.

You walked in peaceful silence between the two of you, listening to the sounds of the stream, or chirping crickets.

You took that time to study Simon, how his appearance changed, and things that stayed the same.

Same fashion sense,

same goofy circle glasses,

even the same walk you remember.

There was a white streak in his hair now.

Wrinkles on his face.

Something about him just seemed so...

Sad.

"You've gotten old."

Simon smiled, though it seemed bitter.

"We both have."

"I missed you, Simon. Not a day went by that I didn't think of you, Betty, or any of our other friends."

Simon stopped walking, and you copied. He seemed as if he was about to cry again. To be honest, you were too. Talking about all of this while looking him in the face didn't fare well for your emotional state.

He took off his glasses, wiping at his eyes. Simon smiled bitterly through it though. He seemed to be so lonely. You wondered where he lived now.

". . ."

He wiped his eyes again, then looked straight at you with an unwavering gaze.

"You have no idea how much we missed you. Even years after you disappeared, we still looked. Even when the police failed, we still-"

He inhaled sharply, breath shaking. He turned his head away, as if ashamed of his emotions.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to provide comfort. Simon suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. You returned the embrace, holding onto him just as tightly.

Simon's breath shook, and you softly rubbed his back. You had no idea what he's gone through, and you were genuinely unsure whether you were helping or not.

"Simon..?"

His grip on you loosened, and he looked up at you.

You said nothing else, but you gently rested your forehead on his. He sniffed, then took a deep breath. Your hands fell to his waist, while his rested on your shoulders. Simon closed his eyes, cherishing this small bit of comfort.

After a few moments, Simon pulled away, bringing his fist up to his mouth and clearing his throat.

"W- well, today was certainly... Eventful."

You laughed softly, agreeing with his remark. The two of you walked back to the little bar, realizing you'd gotten farther from it than you thought you did.

Simon cleared his throat yet again, once you reached the outside of the bar.

"Yeah, Simon?"

He thought for a moment, then spoke.

". . .Thank you."

���⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂⠂

Thanks for reading! I absolutely loved writing this, and Simon needs a hug.

Your complimentary artwork ^^

reblog for a beginner writer?

#no beta we die like Jake #simon petrikov x reader #fionna and cake #fionna and cake x reader #pre fionna and cake events #simon petrikov #simon petrikov is a wet cat #fandom #brainrot #finn the human #adventure time #simon needs a hug #fanfiction #selfshipping community #simon petrikov x male reader

[inky-duchess]

Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: How to Dress

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI.

I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Today will be focusing on the rules of clothes with this time period.

A Cut for Every Occasion

As you may know, the wealthy elite and their servants lived extremely regimented lives and every aspect was governed by careful rules. They would be expected to wear the right outfit at the right time, every minute of the day. Any misstep would be noticed at once and be subject to scruntiny.

In the circles of the elite, one would be expected to change for every occasion. One simply wouldn't wear the same outfit they've been lying around the house in to attend tea at somebody's house. Fashion in this era was dictated by the clock and by the event diary of the wearer.

Ladies

Women of the upperclass would be expected to change at least six times a day. When she would rise for a morning of repose around the house, she would simply wear a house gown or a simple blouse and skirt. If planning a morning stroll, she would change into a walking suit which is a combination of blouse, skirt and jacket along with her hat usually of tweed. If running errands or paying a visit to friends, she would wear another walking suit. If riding, she would wear a riding habit and a hat. If hosting tea or taking tea in her own home, she would change into a tea gown with is a lighter more airier gown more comfortable for chilling in. If attending a garden party, one wears a pastel or white formal day gown accompanied by a straw hat and gloves. For dinner, she would change into an evening gown which would be more elaborate and show off a little more skin than her day wear. After dinner and ready for bed, she would change into her nightgown.

Female servants had an easier time of it. A housekeeper and lady's maid would simply wear a solid black gown for the entire day. A cook and kitchen maids would wear a simple day dress for working with an apron. Housemaids would usually wear a print dress with an apron and cap, changing into the more formal black and white attire you would associate with a maid.

Gentlemen

The gentlemen had an easier time but they too were subject to changes throughout the day. Men were expected to wear a suit. The most popular day time suit was a sack suit. These were comprised of plain and loose fitting jackets, worn over a starched shirt with a high collar, waistcoat and straight trousers with ironed creases. These suits were exclusively wool with cheaper ones made of a wool and cotton blend. Grey, green, brown, navy were usual but sine younger men preferred louder colours such as purple which was a trend for a time in the 1910s. These suits were worn about the house or in the city accompanied by a coat. Men would change into tweed if shooting or walking. For garden parties, a gentleman would wear a light coloured suit, usually white and a straw hat. For dinner, a man had two choices: his tails or his dinner jacket. A dinner jacket was for less formal suppers say if dining at home. This was a collection of a jacket, trousers, waistcoat, a bow tie, a detachable wing-collar shirt and black shoes. Lapels of these jackets were edged with silk or satin. Tails were worn at a formal dinner party, at White Tie events. This was made up of a tailcoat, white piqué waistcoat, a starched dress shirt with a pique bib and standing wing collar with a white bow tie. Trousers were lined with trim to hide the seams.

Male servants were soared changing. Footmen would wear their livery around the clock which would resemble white tie to a certain extent or mimic court dress of palace servants. Butler's would wear a variation of a gentleman's evening suit throughout the day. When a male servant is dressed, he usually stays that way. However, a valet or a footman may be taken to pick up during shooting parties where they would wear tweed walking suits.

Jewellery

Jewellery was an important sign of status in society. Upperclass women of this time has access to untold caches of sparklers but there were rules concerning their use and meaning. Earrings were usually clip ons as women of high status would not pierce their ears. Simple, understated earrings were worn during the day with more ostentatious sets were worn in the evening time. Broaches were popular at this time, usually worn at the throat of a gown or blouse or walking suit or affixed on hats. Large stoned rings were worn over gloves while slender bands were worn under. Jewellery was intricate and understated amongst old money whole the nouveau riche went for chunkier stones and larger settings. Tiaras were only worn at White Tie events, held after six pm and almost never by unmarried girls. One would not wear a larger tiara than that most senior lady present. Men would wear tie pins, cufflinks and pocket watches to match any occasion be it for a jaunt on the town or at a formal evening party.

Hats

Hats were a staple in this period. Anybody respectable from any class wouldn't venture out of the door without a hat.

Men would wear hats when heading out but always remove them when entering a building, and never wear one without removing it for the presence of a lady. The bowler was seen as more a servant's headwear while a top hat was reserved for gentlemen. Flat caps would be only seen on gentlemen at shooting gatherings or in the country, they were popular among the common class for any informal occasion.

Women had more stricter rules concern hats. Hats for women were more a day accessory worn while out and about. A woman would not wear a hat in her own home even when entertaining and nor would any of the other female occupants if joining the gathering. A woman would not remove her hat when attending a luncheon or tea or any activity. Hats were held in place by a ribbon or sash tied under the chin or by a hat pin, which is essentially a large needle thrust through the hair. This was the period where women's hats became more ornate and rather large, leading to some critisism. Among servants, housekeepers and lady's maids would not wear a hat while indoors and working but a housemaid or cook or kitchen maid would cover their hair with a cap with housemaids changing into a more elaborate one come evening time. Male servants would not wear hats unless travelling or outdoors.

Gloves

Gloves are a staple in this period and worn only at the opportune time. Among servants, only footmen would wear gloves and usually only when serving. Butlers would never wear gloves. Female servants did not wear gloves.

Men did wear gloves, usually woollen or leather while outside or riding gloves when out on horseback.

Women wore gloves whenever outside. Day gloves were usually wrist length, with evening gloves stretching to the elbow. During dinner, evening gloves would be removed at the first course and laid across the lap, replaced at the last course when the ladies leave for tea and coffee after where the gloves are then removed again. Gloves are always worn when dancing and at the theatre or opera. If one is sitting in ones box and sampling some chocolate, one can remove their gloves for that.

Hair and Makeup

Make up was a no-no amongst the upper crust and for their servants in England and America, as it was seen as licentious but in France, the use of rouge was accepted. Perfume and cologne were acceptable but excessive use was frowned upon.

Hair was dressed by one's lady's maid. Bouffant updos were popular in this time period for married women. During the last years of this period, women began adopting the 'bob' but this was seen as radical and sometimes scandalous. Unmarried girls could wear their hair down, often with accessories like a bow to adorn their tresses. Servants would always tie up their hair and never be seen with it down or uncovered (though this depended on their job).

Men would comb their hair, slicking it back for dinner. Most men were clean shaven but if they wore beards, they were usually well groomed. Hair was kept short for grown men and teenagers but young boys may wear their hair longer whilst in the nursery.

#This bitch loooonnnnggg #Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque series #Fantasy Guide #Early 20th Century #late 19th century #Great houses #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #ask answered questions #writing advice writing resources #writers #Writing advice writing references #Writing references #Historical fiction #1900s #1890s #Fashion

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

hi! loving your art. I was watching your awesome stories/gifs and I was wondering: how did Chang develop his feelings for Tintin? Did he discover them before or after him? How did he react and why? (English is not my first language so if you see a grammatical mistake, I'm sorry. Also, sorry if so many questions made you feel like you were in a philosophy exam)

Thank you so much! As a contrast to the rest of the Marlinspike team I'm writing Chang as someone who makes friends and develops crushes pretty easily!

I imagine he's had a crush on Tintin for some time, possibly from when they first met. He's been at the mercy of his circumstances for most of his life until that point - Tintin basically makes him feel capable of doing stuff.

He's pretty heartbroken after the Blue Lotus. Tintin doesn't contact him for years. Chang is struggling to adjust to his new family and is failing at school, having missed out on a good education for a few years prior. Until Tibet he feels pretty hopeless, he will never live up to the time when he took down a drug ring.

His near death experience in Tibet shakes him out of this rut. He starts to travel and take up hobbies like dance and photography. Didi trains him in some basic martial arts. Tintin makes an effort to actually stay in touch this time. Chang has some abandonment issues as he's frequently lost people throughout his life, so he's someone who's willing to give people second chances, even if they've hurt him badly. Chang thinks he's well over his crush on Tintin when he comes around to Belgium for his studies, but falls for him again very quickly!

Unlike Tintin, Chang is a lot more comfortable with who he is. He's used to being the odd one out and has generally low expectations for himself, so just goes with the flow.

Below I talk a little with how I'm going about writing him and the historical context surrounding this, cw for mentions of racism (sinophobia) and queerphobia:

I'm writing Chang as bi, I thought it would be interesting to explore as Asian men were perceived differently in the 30s compared to today. While Asian men in the West are currently heavily desexualised in the early 20th century they were stereotyped as predatory and deviant. In London a lot of Chinese immigrants were male dockworkers, so when they married white women there was a lot of fearmongering about predatory and disloyal Chinese men.

A lot of depictions of Asian men in Western media reflected these stereotypes (and often used queercoding to push the idea of Asian men being animalistic seducers - General Henry Chang in Shanghai Express (1932) was written to be bisexual while posing as a threat to the white leads). Some examples off the top of my head include Hishuru Tori from The Cheat (1915) and The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932). Novels frequently depicted Chinese drug lords with borderline supernatural powers in manipulation.

On the other hand I've noticed how fans frequently depict Chang as someone who's submissive, demure and soft, which ignores how ridiculously brave and proactive he is in canon (stealing documents from police officers, charging into a man immediately after getting shot at by a machine gun, I could go on!). It's a common example of Fandom Racism (not accusing anyone specifically, it's just a trend I've noticed.)

When writing Chang I'm kinda reckoning with two different eras. From a contemporary angle I'm writing him as a love interest, which as an Asian guy I rarely see in media today. I also gotta consider his own time and context, how he would navigate being a queer Chinese guy, and how that would affect his relationship with others and himself.

#asks #fanart #tintin #adventures of tintin #chang #tinchang #gif #animation #2d animation #comic #racism cw #biphobia cw #i am Absolutely overthinking this whole thing but i will not stop #tldr chang falls in love easily #he has a small crush on tintin from the blue lotus #gets his heart broken #meets tintin again and they rebuild their friendship #and he falls for him again #the blue lotus

[20th-century-man]

Sherilyn Fenn / Zalman King’s Two Moon Junction (1988)

#Sherilyn Fenn #Two Moon Junction #Zalman King #1988 #film #1980s #gif #my gif #20th-century-man gif

[trialversuch3]

Marilyn Monroe / photos by Earl Moran.

(via 20th-century-man)

#marilyn monroe #ardit #earl moran #ard-it

[7-wonders]

To the world we dream about (and the one we live in now)

Calliope & Reader, Morpheus/Dream of the Endless & Reader

Summary: Being in the right place at the right time turns everything you thought you knew on its head when a woman, imprisoned and battered, is literally thrown into your life. Left with no choice but to do the obvious, you offer her shelter and support in her time of need.

Unbeknownst to you, said woman is a powerful and ancient being who now belongs to you in accordance with the old laws. This situation definitely won’t become complicated, right?

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: A couple of months ago, I received an ask, seen below, and have not been able to stop thinking about it since. After a lot of brainstorming with the wonderful sender of the ask (not sure if they want to be named!), I finally sat down to write it.

So, here we are! This story took on a mind of its own the longer I wrote (perhaps the Muse Calliope paid me a visit haha), and it's genuinely something that I'm so proud to have produced. It's not necessarily an x reader fic—right now, though depending on reader reaction there may be future parts (including a Calliope/Morpheus POV of these events)—so I absolutely understand if you choose not to read, but I hope that you do. In the end, this is truly Calliope's story.

A story of empowerment, friendship, freedom, and self-discovery.

Content warnings for this work include allusions to sexual assault, general trauma, Richard Madoc, vomiting, kidnapping, realizations of inadvertent kidnapping, mentions of death, and Nightmare!Morpheus. Reader discretion is advised.

The man standing at the front of the room taps his fingers along the edge of his lectern, savoring the enraptured faces that stare back at him. For those in his class, this is expected of him—he always gets a dramatic air about him when he’s on the verge of making the point that he had been working towards for the entire lecture and looping it back to the thesis statement from the beginning of the hour. Though it was routine by now, practically tradition, the students still ate it up every time.

“The theme between all of these authors–the Fitzgeralds and the Hemingways, the Tolkeins and the Orwells–is that their words carry power and strength. While they may look like mere letters strung together on a sheet of paper, when read together, these words have a weight behind them. They can conjure up worlds, inspire the masses, make readers think critically; it’s a type of magic when you really think about it.”

He checks his watch before clapping his hands together in finality and smiling out at the room.

“Well, my friends, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Thank you very much for joining me, and please make sure that you have your essays on the influences of World War One and its aftermath on the literature of the time ready for our next class. See you then!”

When your university announced that world-renowned author Ric Madoc would be a visiting professor for the semester, you immediately jumped on the long list of students interested in taking one of the three classes that were going to be taught by him. You had absolutely no hope that you would get into the class, not when it seemed like half the student body was also signed up, but you had to at least try. The Spirit Who Had Half of Everything was one of your favorite books of all time, and you’d be remiss not to attempt to learn from the master himself.

Somehow, much to your surprise, you had received an email informing you that you earned a spot in Madoc’s “Great Works of the 20th Century” class. The class had lived up to the hype so far and you were thoroughly enjoying it, even though it wasn’t exactly related to your field of study. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you normally stayed behind with a group of students to continue having a discussion with Madoc about the aforementioned great works. Today, unfortunately, you couldn’t, having to rush out immediately after class was over to make it to your group project meeting in the library on time.

Of course, it’s difficult to get any sort of work done when one happens to be randomly paired with their best friend, but you’re trying your hardest.

“Psst.” You don’t look up, choosing instead to try and finish the sentence you’re writing, but a balled-up gum wrapper hits you smack in the center of the forehead. “Hey!”

After you’ve finished typing, you look across the table at Evie, your best friend. “Can I help you?” you ask.

“Do you wanna come out with me and a couple of others tonight?”

“It’s Thursday.”

She shrugs. “So?”

Points were made, and who are you to resist a good argument? “Convincing. I’m in! I just have to run home real quick and get changed.”

As you search through your bag, you start to feel your heart plummeting in your chest as you realize that you can’t find your keys. Digging through the contents furiously in the hopes that they’ll turn up yields no results, and neither does patting at the pockets you know are empty. With horror in your eyes and fear in your heart, you look back up at her.

“Fuck, I lost my keys.”

“Shit, dude. Do you remember where you last had them?”

“Um.” 

You have to think for a moment, mentally retracing your steps until you can definitively pinpoint the last time you saw your keys. They were with you in the parking lot, because you remember locking your car twice just to be sure that you did. From there, you would have been holding them in your hand as you walked to Madoc’s class. Considering you went straight from class to the library, there are limited options for where they could be. Either you left them in the lecture hall or you dropped them somewhere on campus. For your sake, you hope it’s the former.

On the syllabus, Madoc had given the class his work cell phone number in case of emergencies like being unable to make it to class or an act of God destroying your homework. Though you doubted you would need it at the time, you still saved it in your phone to be on the safe side. Now, as you pull up his contact and start a new conversation, you thank past-you for having such good foresight.

You: Hey, great class today! Did you happen to find a set of keys left behind in the lecture hall? I’m missing mine.

After a second of contemplation, you send another text with your first and last name when you realize he probably doesn’t know who it is texting him. It only takes a couple of anxious minutes before your phone chimes. 

Richard Madoc: Hello! Would these happen to be the keys in question?

Richard Madoc: Attachment

The keys are immediately recognizable as yours, thanks to the keychain of a possum wearing a cowboy hat that’s attached to them. You sigh in immense relief before glancing up at Evie, who’s been watching with bated breath the entire time. “I left them in Madoc’s class.”

“Oh thank god!”

You: They are! Any chance you’re still on campus so I can swing by and grab them?

Richard Madoc: I’m afraid I’ve already left for the day, but I live pretty close to the uni if you’d be willing to pick them up from my flat.

He sends an address in the following text, which you promptly input in your maps app so you can see where said address is located. It’s maybe a five-minute drive from campus and conveniently located in the direction of your apartment.

You: Will be there in a bit! Thank you :)

“He already left, I’d have to pick them up from his place,” you explain.

Evie immediately fixes you with a look, one that says she’s seen this particular move before (and she didn’t like the ending). “Do you want me to come with you?”

The unspoken words hang in the air between you: Do you feel safe going to an unfamiliar man’s house alone? Should I come to make sure nothing bad happens? It’s very thoughtful of her, and you consider saying yes for a moment.

But Evie lives in the opposite direction of you, and she doesn’t have a car. While you don’t know Madoc well, you’re also not expecting him to try anything on you, especially when it’s still light out. 

“I should be okay,” you say.

“You’re sure?” Evie double-checks, and you nod. “Call me before you get there, okay? Just…have me on the line, in your back pocket. It’d make me feel better about letting you go on your own.”

How did you get so lucky to have such a great friend like Evie? Of course, you would do the same for Evie in a heartbeat, but it’s so nice to have found a kindred spirit, someone who truly understands you and all your little quirks, so early in your adulthood.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you tease. “But yeah, I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, sliding her papers and her laptop into her backpack. “Now let’s go. The sooner you get your keys, the sooner we can go and get drunk.”

It feels a little dumb to be driving such a short distance, from the campus to the address that Madoc had given you. You’re exactly the type of person that’s killing the planet with unnecessary carbon emissions when you could just as easily walk, you chastise yourself on the way over. 

But you had driven to class this morning, that being a distance actually too far to walk, and it would be stupid to walk to Madoc’s, get your keys, walk back to campus, and then drive home. So here you are, beating yourself up over something stupid and inconsequential while you try your best to parallel park in a respectable manner in front of Madoc’s little townhouse.

It’s exactly the type of lodgings you’d expect a university professor to have, yet almost the opposite of what you envisioned as a successful author’s home; a small, yet stately, townhouse with a little fenced-in front yard. Plants try their hardest to survive in the patch of dirt that’s probably supposed to be a garden, and there’s a small chair and table perfect for Sunday mornings sitting on the front stoop.

The gate creaks when you open it, and even more when you close it behind you. At the last second, you remember that you promised to call Evie, so you pull out your phone and do just that. 

“Hey, you there?” Evie answers her phone.

“Yeah, just got here. Putting you in my pocket now.”

Even though the idea felt a little like an overreaction, you can’t deny that you feel safer now knowing that Evie’s listening on the phone.

You knock on the dark blue front door once, twice, three times before taking a step back and waiting patiently. After about thirty seconds, you start to worry that Madoc’s not home. But no, that wouldn’t make sense; you talked to him maybe half an hour ago, and he knew that you were on your way to pick up your keys. Frowning, you knock again, followed by holding your ear to the door to see if you can hear anything.

He’s definitely inside. Though the sound is muffled, you can hear what sounds like him yelling at somebody through the door. Who the source of his ire is, you can’t say, because there’s nobody saying anything back to him. Maybe he’s having a really heated conversation on the phone? If that’s the case, it’s a pretty inconvenient time to launch into a virtual argument.

You don’t want to be rude and knock for a third separate time, but you really do need your keys, and you’d prefer to not be kept standing out here waiting. Begrudgingly, you knock yet again, putting a considerable amount of force behind it this time. 

“Mr. Madoc?” you call through the door, raising your voice enough that you’re sure he’s heard you. By the way that he suddenly falls silent, you’re assuming that you’ve been successful. Pulling back from your position right up against the door, you wait for him to appear.

When the door is yanked open, you’re shocked at what you see. Gone is the confident lecturer who stood at the front of your class this afternoon. The man in front of you looks positively haggard. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, and his bottom lip quivers almost as furiously as his hands shake. His hair is a mess, as though he’s been pulling at it, and his shirt is weirdly rumpled like he fell asleep in it.

You take a big step back when his eyes land wildly on you without really seeing you. Your hand goes to your back pocket, hovering just above your phone in case this encounter goes south and you need to have Evie do…something. Call the cops? Yell at Madoc through the phone? Scream? Whatever it is, though, she’ll do it for you.

“Hi. Um, you–”

Madoc shakes his head back and forth and begins to mumble something, completely ignoring you and your presence. He reaches one of his hands further inside the house, grabbing at something unseen. Your body tenses, preparing to fight this man that, up until two minutes ago, you had believed to be completely sane and rational.

His hand comes back into view, tightly gripping a woman’s upper arm. She’s barefoot and clad only in a thin silk nightgown, and you can see the goosebumps already appearing on her skin.

“A city in which the streets are paved with time,” he mumbles a little louder, allowing you to hear what he’s rambling about. “A train full of silent women, plowing forever through the twilight. Heads made of light. A small piece of blue cardboard. A plum, sweet and tart and cold.”

“Mr. Madoc, are you alright?” 

Instead of answering you, Madoc throws the woman across the threshold and towards you. You catch her in your arms, both of you stumbling backward, but you let go when you notice how she immediately tenses at your touch.

“She’s your problem now, I can’t do this anymore!” Madoc begins to pull at his hair, so hard that you think he might end up pulling it out of his head. “I refuse to be tortured any longer!”

“What are you talking about?” 

He’s lost his damn mind, you think to yourself as he continues to spout the most random of ideas. You thought that you had properly calculated the risks of coming over here on your own, but apparently, you’re bad at math.

“A were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon. Griffins shouldn’t marry. Vampires don’t dance.” Madoc shakes and smacks himself multiple times as if to try and snap himself out of whatever he’s gotten into. “A man who inherits a library card to the library in Alexandria. A rose bush, a nightingale, and a black rubber dog collar!”

You’re so thrown off by what you’re witnessing that you don’t even realize he’s closing the door until the sound of it hitting the doorframe reminds you why you’re here. You bang your fist against the door and yell at him, “Hey! Give me my fucking keys!” 

Madoc opens the door just enough to throw your keys at you, which you fumble and nearly drop until catching them by the stupid cowboy possum keychain, before slamming it shut again. From within, you can hear several locks clicking shut loudly in quick succession.

The speed with which this entire interaction has occurred leaves your head spinning, and you have to take a moment to realize that yes, what you just experienced was real. Even then, you stare at the door bemusedly. “What the fuck?”

“I do not believe he will be coming back,” an accented voice says from behind you.

You can’t stop the little scream of surprise that leaves you when you whip around to face the woman who, until this moment, you forgot had been kicked out of Madoc’s house. She stares at you, just as warily as you’re probably staring at her.

She’s otherworldly beautiful, with olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. But what stands out the most is just how visibly scared she is. She watches you like you’re a predator readying to attack. You hate it because you’d never do anything like that to anybody, but especially her. What had Madoc done to cause her to have this reaction to a stranger?

Evie’s voice rises tinnily from the phone in your back pocket, loud and panicked, and you remember that she’s been on the phone this whole time. You pull your phone out and hold it up to your ear, having to put a little distance between it due to how she’s yelling.

“—I swear, I’m two seconds away from calling the cops! Please just let me know you’re okay!”

“Evie, hey, I’m here,” you say, making her cry out in relief.

“Oh my god, are you okay? I was scared when I heard yelling!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Pretty sure I just watched Madoc have a mental breakdown?” Is that what that was? You can’t say for certain, considering this is your first such occasion.

“Seriously? Well, did you get your keys, at least?”

“After he finished rambling about were-goldfish and plums.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you going to call somebody?”

“Who would I call? And anyway, maybe this is normal for him.”

“If that’s normal, I’d hate to see what abnormal is.” She sighs. “So, I’ll see you soon?”

“Um,” you trail off, looking at the woman. “Y’know, I might take a rain check, if that’s okay. I’m a little shaken up by everything that just happened.”

“I bet, that sounds like it was really scary. We’ll miss you, but take care of yourself. If you do decide to come out, just text me and I’ll tell you where we’re at.”

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

You hang up the phone, and now you and the woman are left awkwardly staring at each other. How are you supposed to approach a situation like this? Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you hold your hands with the palms facing out so that she can see you’re not holding any weapons and decide to just start from the beginning.

“Hi.”

She nods back in greeting, trying to hold herself with as much dignity as she can in this situation. The chill of the night and her lack of proper clothing leave her trembling in front of you, though some of that is likely from fear too, and you can see bruises in various shades of healing up and down her arms. Worse, there are visible fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing her neck. Though you’ve never been particularly violent, you’re tempted to break down Madoc’s door and do unto him what he’s obviously done to this woman.

“Are you cold? I have a spare jacket if you want it.” You point the hundred or so feet to where your car sits. “Here, let’s go over to my car, I’m just parked on the street right there.”

The woman attempts to gauge you and, presumably, your intentions. Though this is her decision to make, you give her a friendly smile in the hopes of convincing her that you have no ill will toward her. After a moment, she nods hesitantly.

You take the lead as you walk down the front path to your car, mainly to show that she holds the power here. There will be nobody sneaking up on this woman or trying anything, and she’s free to run far away from you if that’s what she chooses. 

Still, she follows you, and waits patiently while you dig around in your back seat until you finally come up with the light jacket that you had tossed back there after an outdoor movie night. You hand it to her and she shrugs it on, holding it tightly around her and trying to hide within the cotton fabric.

You don’t want to ask the question that’s on your mind, but you know that you have to. You need some sort of context for the situation. “Was…Madoc keeping you locked up in there?” She nods, and you feel your stomach roil with sick nausea. “Okay. We need to call the cops, so they can come and arrest him.”

“No!” she says firmly, a departure from how soft-spoken she previously was. “Please, I beg you, no authorities.”

“But…” 

Maybe he hadn’t kidnapped her like you found yourself assuming at first. Perhaps this is a severe case of domestic violence? Regardless, she looks like the poster child for abused women, and you’re not about to disrespect her wishes when this is probably the first choice she’s been able to make for herself in a long time.

“Okay,” you agree. “No cops.” 

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved that it makes you want to cry.

An idea begins to form in your head, but one that you’re not sure how to begin to broach. After all, the woman in front of you has absolutely no reason to trust you. “I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “No, I have…nowhere, and nobody.”

That settles it. You’re not about to leave a battered, formerly-trapped woman to fend for herself on the streets. “So listen. I have a spare room at my place, and you’re completely welcome to it for as long as you need.”

“Oh, I could not impose.”

“You wouldn’t be!” you assure her. “Please, it’s the least I can do. At least until you get back on your feet.”

She studies you again. Though you don’t know what she’s looking for, you can tell that she’s the kind of intuitive person that sees beyond that which is only skin-deep. Finally, she says, “Alright.”

You grin and open the passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Alright.”

After getting the car started and the heat turned up all the way, you watch as the woman fiddles with the airflow of the heater until it’s blowing directly on her delicate hands, which she holds in front of her to warm up. She looks at you as if realizing for the first time that you could betray her trust much in the same way as Ric Madoc had. To prove to her that you won’t, you unlock the doors when they try to lock automatically in response to you putting the car in ‘drive’.

You tell her your name, and for the first time, she smiles. It’s a small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it’s there. “I am Calliope.”

“Oh cool, like the Muse!” Her smile widens until she’s actually smiling, leaving you delighted. “Your parents were into Greek mythology, then?”

“Something like that, yes.”

As you drive to your apartment, Calliope turns in her seat and watches as Madoc’s apartment grows smaller and smaller behind your car. Even after it’s disappeared behind turns and other buildings, she still watches, perhaps waiting for him to come back to his senses and come after her. But there will be none of that tonight, or ever again. Not as long as you have anything to do about it.

When you get home, you continue the routine of taking the lead and allowing Calliope to decide whether or not she wants to follow you. Calliope lingers in the entryway of your apartment, taking her time carefully cataloging everything that she can see as you work at getting the lights turned on and trying to clean up a little bit—after all, you hadn’t exactly expected a houseguest when you left for class this morning. 

She runs her fingers along the walls and the frames of artwork that you’ve acquired at festivals and flea markets. She feels the coats on your coat rack, and her dark, inquisitive eyes scan over the battered toaster and soft fruit in your kitchen. As she walks further into your home, she takes care to take up as little space as possible until she reaches where you stand in front of a closed door.

“My old roommate moved in with their girlfriend a couple of months ago, and they don’t know what they want to do with her furniture, so they’re just storing it here until they can figure it out,” you explain as you open the door and flick on the light switch to reveal a bare bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished, with just a full bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk and chair. “Now, it’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“For as long as you need it,” you repeat.

Hesitantly stepping inside, Calliope looks over the room before nodding in satisfaction. You can only hope that she had a space of her own in Madoc’s house, but by the way that she looks around like she’s never seen something so wonderful as an empty bedroom before, you’re left with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the case.

“So! I’ll grab some sheets and a blanket from the linen closet and get the bed made up for you. Um, all of the doors lock on the inside, so feel free to keep yourself and your space private. Do you want to take a shower? Because you definitely can. Avery—that’s my old roommate—left some of the clothes they didn’t want behind, and they’re about your size, I think.” You’re rambling, but you just want to make her feel as welcome as possible. 

“A shower would be…nice,” Calliope decides.

“Awesome! The bathroom’s right through here, c’mon.”

In the bathroom, Calliope watches as you grab a couple of towels from the closet, along with the sheets and blanket you mentioned earlier. You set the towels down on the closed toilet lid next to the shower.

“Feel free to use any of my stuff here, it’s totally fine,” you explain, pulling back the shower curtain so Calliope can see your haircare products and body wash.

Instead of looking over that array, she simply stares at the chrome of the shower faucet in confusion.

“Oh yeah, the shower’s a little weird here. All you have to do is turn the handle, and then pull the plug on the faucet for the shower.” You show her as you explain it. “Turn the handle left for hot water, and right for cold. Got it?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just yell if you need anything from me.”

You close the bathroom door behind you and after a long moment, you finally hear the lock turn.

Good. In the meantime, you’ll make a quick meal for her, in case she’s hungry. Plus, you need to keep your hands busy. It will help take your mind off of the horrors you’re trying desperately to forget that you witnessed.

•••

Four days later, Evie runs up to you on campus when she sees you and wraps both of her hands around your upper arm before pulling you towards her. “Did you hear?”

“What?” You’re more focused on not falling over your feet at the sudden change of pace you’ve been forced into than you are wondering what you did or didn’t hear.

“You were right. Mr. Madoc had a complete mental breakdown! Somebody called in a welfare check on him, and the cops found him curled up in a ball mumbling gibberish. He hadn’t moved for days. You know the worst part, though?” 

You shake your head. 

“He covered every single wall of his house with the most random words and phrases, and they were all written in his own blood.”

You reel back. “Jesus!”

“I know, totally gory.” By her laugh, you can tell that she enjoys the gore.

It’s at this moment that you realize that you haven’t told Evie anything about what happened after you hung up with her that night. It certainly wasn’t deliberate; you’ve just been so caught up in the sudden change in your living arrangements that you haven’t had the time to text or call her about what you went through.

With that in mind, you say, “I have something to tell you.”

Evie’s eyes immediately light up at the prospect of gossip. “You do?”

You nod. “That night, when I went to his house? He grabbed this woman from inside his house and just threw her at me, saying that she was my problem now. She was all bruised and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he treated her like she was his property. Evie, she said he kept her trapped there.”

“What the fuck.” Evie stares at you in horror. “Is she okay now?”

“Physically, yeah. She’s staying with me.”

“At your apartment?”

“Where else? Her name’s Calliope. I’m letting her stay in Avery’s old room until she gets back on her feet again.”

Evie whistles lowly. “I can’t tell if that’s kind of you or stupid of you.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah, probably.” 

As you walk, an astute observation comes to your mind. “Y’know, it makes sense that he’s such a piece of shit. Now that I think about it, the only authors we ever discussed in class were white guys.”

“Hmm, typical white man.” Evie rolls her eyes before she grins. “Hey, can I meet her?”

“Calliope?”

“Who else?”

You have to think about that for a minute. Would she be comfortable with meeting new people and putting herself out there? While you think that your friends are great, especially Evie, you just don’t want to force her into anything before she’s ready.

Evie seems to sense this hesitation, and explains, “She just seems like she needs some friends. A support system might be good for her while she tries to get her life back!”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll ask her if she wants to do something like that.”

“That’s all I ask,” Evie says. “In the meantime, is there anything that I can do to help? Like, does she need clothes? Kiara’s aunt owns that boutique, and she would probably be willing to help out.”

That’s a good idea and one that you hadn’t even considered. Obviously, Calliope’s going to want some clothes of her own instead of Avery’s hand-me-downs. It’ll probably help her to feel more like a human being, one with choice and agency over herself.

“Oh, would you ask her to talk to her aunt?” you ask. “That’d be great.” 

Evie nods. “Definitely. I feel like that’s, like, the least I can do.”

“I wish there was more that I could do,” you admit.

“You’re doing what you can, and that’s what matters. Hell, most people wouldn’t have even offered to let a woman in Calliope’s situation stay with them. You’re a good person, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“Eh, what are friends for, if not to reassure you that taking in a random woman on a whim is the right idea?” You huff in mock anger, and Evie laughs. “Anyways, you’ll never guess what the university is trying to do about the whole Madoc situation now…”

•••

Calliope doesn’t come out of her room when you’re around, not that you blame her. If you had gone through even an ounce of what you suspect she had, you’d want to be safe and alone for a long time, no matter how nice your new roommate is (and you like to think you’re pretty nice). You hear her sneak around when she knows that you’re in your own bedroom, as quiet as a mouse, and every night without fail, she takes a long shower. Other than that, it feels like you’re still living alone.

Since you don’t know how often she’s eating, and she doesn’t leave dishes or any sort of indication that she’s getting food for herself, you leave meals out in front of her door for her, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sticky notes accompany them, because you have things that you want her to know and this is the only way to communicate with her right now.

“Feel free to grab food from the kitchen whenever you want!”

“I have great books, and you’re more than welcome to them.”

“If you find yourself wanting to watch TV, the remote is on the coffee table!”

Each message is signed with a smiley face, and each one is gone when the empty tray is returned outside her door.

The empty trays and, eventually, the books that go missing from your bookshelf are the only signs of life that you receive from Calliope. 

When Calliope finally emerges while you’re home and not in your room, it’s six days after Ric Madoc threw her into your arms. You’re sitting on your couch reading fanfiction, a random YouTube video playing in the background when Calliope’s door creaks open and she peeks her head out hesitantly. Immediately you pause the video, smiling brightly when she notices you looking at her.

“Hi!” you greet.

“Hello.” She slowly exits her room clutching the book she’s been reading, as skittish as a feral kitten, and you slide over on the couch before patting the now-empty other side in invitation.

“You can come sit if you want. I’m just reading.”

“What are you reading?” Calliope asks, perching on the edge of the cushion as though she’s preparing for escape at any moment.

The smile freezes on your face. Just because you’re happy your new roommate is here doesn’t mean you’re about to out yourself as a fanfiction reader. “Oh, just a fantasy book.”

“Why do you have that…television on, then?” Calliope says this as though she’s still unfamiliar with the concept of television.

“I like the background noise of putting on shows that I’ve already seen. Helps me focus.”

She looks at you like that’s one of the oddest things she’s ever heard. Maybe it is, but it’s your little habit, and it has been for so long that it’s normal now. You hit play again, and Calliope starts a bit as sound comes through the speakers on the TV. Funnily, even though she seems to not understand your reasoning, the sound itself helps her to relax enough that she’s sitting on the couch with you instead of hovering like she’s preparing to bolt at any moment.

You don’t say anything, not wanting to make her think that you’re dictating what she can and cannot do. Eventually, Calliope decides to follow your lead and open her book, though she keeps getting distracted by the TV and eventually forgoes the book entirely in favor of watching the show.

“The tall one does not believe in ghosts, but the little one does?” Calliope asks out of the blue. You swallow down your laugh at her description of the hosts and nod.

“Mhm, and that’s what makes the show so good, is that dichotomy between the two hosts. One is so serious about everything they do, every noise that they hear, and the other is just dancing around and begging the demons to possess him or whatever because he thinks they’re not real and so saying this stuff can’t hurt him.”

She watches silently for another few minutes before asking, “Why are they searching for ghosts in the first place?”

“Well, because people love trying to solve the unsolved. And I think ghosts and the question of their existence is one of the ultimate unsolved mysteries.” She nods in satisfaction and turns back to the show, and you decide to turn off your phone and join her.

Calliope, as it turns out, enjoys television, if only for the strange concepts of some of the shows. You’re more than happy to show her all of the strangest and best shows, with the bonus of getting to see them anew through her eyes, which seem to be watching everything for the very first time.

•••

It’s mid-afternoon, and instead of being outside on what’s turning out to be a beautiful day, you’re stuck doing homework.

Everybody had assumed that Ric Madoc’s classes would be canceled after his abrupt admission into the Saint Dymphna Mental Health Hospital. The university, however, not wanting to just give out automatic passing grades without merit, had scrambled to try and find professors to teach Madoc’s classes. Somehow, they had succeeded, and you were now once again immersed in the world of 20th-century authors. Though your new professor didn’t have the ability to truly capture a room in the same way Madoc had, she was a fine replacement, and she devoted a good chunk of class time to women authors.

It’s too nice of a day to not take advantage of, though. That first true spring day after a long, harsh winter has finally arrived, and you won’t let it pass you by. All of the windows are open to allow the stale air of the apartment to dissipate, and as you write, you listen to the birds chirping and people doing yard work. Maybe, if you finish quickly enough, you’ll be able to take a walk yourself. 

Calliope would probably enjoy that as well, you think.

The woman in question knocks on your open bedroom door, and you look up at her with a smile from your desk. She clocks the computer and the notes spread around you and grows sheepish.

“I’m sorry, you are busy. I’ll–”

“No, don’t worry! Just finishing up an essay for a class. Got a crazy burst of motivation for it, and ended up knocking it out in a couple of hours. It’ll be good to look away from the screen.” 

Calliope gets that funny little smile on her face, the one that says that she has found something amusing but is going to keep it to herself. She waits patiently as you stretch, wincing when she hears the way that your shoulders pop and crack after hours of stagnancy.

“What’s up?” you ask. “You seem like you want to ask me something.”

Calliope points out of your bedroom. “What is out there?”

You stand so that you can see what it is she’s referencing, and find that she’s pointing to your sliding door.

“Oh, it’s a little balcony. I don’t go out there much right now, still a little too chilly, but it’ll be nice to sit out there once summer comes. Here, I’ll show you.”

It’s the first time this season that it’s been nice enough to have the door open, which is probably why she’s only just now realized it’s there. You open the screen door and lead her out onto your balcony. It’s small, but you spent last summer adding to it and making it a comforting place to relax. Now, there are lights strung up above your heads, and there are two chairs with a table in between them. Planters sit lined up along the iron of the balcony railing, ready to be filled when planting season comes around.

Calliope gasps, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong (part of you is worried that a snake managed to find its way up to the third floor), when she tilts her face up to the sun, leaning over the railing to try and get as much of the light on her as possible. She looks like a painting come to life, probably with a name like “Muse Bathed in the Sun”, because truly, Calliope seems like the type of person to inspire every person lucky enough to make her acquaintance. 

“Helios,” you hear Calliope whisper reverently. 

It’s obvious that she isn’t aware that she said that out loud, and you start to feel embarrassed before she turns back to you with a true smile and tears running down her face.

“I have not been outside in the sun in so long.” 

She explains this simply and factually, as if she’s talking about why the sun is where it is and not about all that she was deprived of during her captivity. Madoc didn’t even let her go outside. It’s a good thing that he’s under secure watch 24/7, because there have been many times over the almost-three weeks that Calliope has lived with you that you have wished to be able to go and inflict upon him a modicum of that which he did to Calliope.

Now tears are running down your face too, and you wipe at them harshly with the backs of your hands. This is Calliope’s moment, Calliope’s joy, and you won’t have her feeling sorry for making you experience such happiness and broken-heartedness by watching her.

“It’s here no matter what. Even if it’s a little cold, bring a blanket out and sit whenever you want. Soon, we’ll be able to plant some stuff. You can help me if you want!”

Calliope’s back to facing the sun directly, but she still nods to let you know that it’s a good idea. Quietly, you back up into the apartment and close the screen door behind you, letting her have this time of reconnection to herself.

Most mornings after this rediscovery, you find Calliope already sitting on the balcony by the time you wake up, a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of something hot in her hands, a book on her lap, and the sun bathing her skin.

•••

“Y’know what, I’m gonna give that one a three.”

“A three?” Calliope tuts. “That is cruel. His performance was at least a six.”

“C’mon Cal, you’re just saying that because you see the best in everybody! The rest of us saw a douchey frat bro drunkenly singing ‘SexyBack,’ which earned him a three. And that’s me being generous.”

Calliope and your friend Ethan are, of course, judging the karaoke performances of the bar patrons brave (or stupid) enough to sing in front of others. They, along with your friend Kiara, take this tradition very seriously. For every performance, the three of them have detailed notes and a rating out of ten to go along with it. 

You had finally given in to Evie’s pleadings and decided to broach the subject of going out in public to Calliope. Much to your surprise, she accepted when you first invited her to karaoke night with your friends at the group’s favorite bar. She accepted when you offered to bring her to trivia, and she accepted when your friends finally got around to doing a book club meeting—which was mainly just drinking and eating appetizers while you talked about the books you’d read, but it still counted. 

(Taking Calliope to her first drag show quickly became one of your favorite and most cherished memories)

She took to your friend group like a duck to water, and in return, they embraced her wholeheartedly. Now, none of you could imagine a life without her in it. 

And slowly, it seemed as though Calliope began to start to heal. With every bar meetup, movie night, or random coffee date, you saw a bit more light return back to Calliope. Flashes of the woman that she once was, vibrant and funny and elegant and wise, begin to become more frequent as the days pass. Every time she allows for a hug or every time she smirks into her glass after saying something that has the group erupting in laughter, she becomes more and more herself.

“Oh my god, it’s our turn!” Ethan yells suddenly after the karaoke emcee calls his and Evie’s names. He stands and holds his hand out to Evie, who happily takes it and jumps up with him. “Let’s go knock some socks off.”

This will either go one of two ways. They’ll either perform their serious song, “Bennie and the Jets,” which they’re surprisingly good at, or they’ll go funny and perform the Sharpay and Ryan version of “What I’ve Been Lookin’ For” from High School Musical, which they’re also really good at. By their tipsy giggles, you’re guessing it’s the latter.

The second they both start doing the Sharpay and Ryan hype-up routine, Kiara sighs and grabs her drink and phone.

“I promised these dumbasses I’d film them the next time they performed this,” she explains before going to work as an unpaid videographer.

Throughout their entire routine, Calliope’s enthralled, as she should be. It’s a good performance, of course, but Evie and Ethan together are a true comedic duo. The matching jazz squares during the instrumentals truly bring the whole piece together, and you’re in tears from laughter by the end of their routine. When they return to the table after a rousing standing ovation from the patrons of the bar, Calliope gives them her own round of applause and beams.

Naturally, she bestows upon them the highest ranking one can receive during karaoke nights. “Now that was a ten.”

Ethan bows as Evie kisses Calliope’s cheek. “Thank you, m’lady,” he says proudly.

“When do you get the time to practice this?”

“Nights like this, usually,” Evie explains before Ethan interrupts.

“Though we have been known to skip a class or two when we were trying to work out the kinks in our performance.” Ethan picks up his drink before frowning when he sees there’s nothing but melting ice cubes in the glass. “Well, apparently I need another drink. Anybody else?”

Everyone at the table shakes their head, but Kiara reaches into her jacket. “No, but I am gonna go hit my pen.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with you,” Evie volunteers cheerfully.

“Weed thief,” Kiara teases.

“Are you telling me no?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not a no!”

Your friends go their separate ways, leaving you and Calliope to sit alone at the table. The next singer has already started, and you grin when you hear what it is.

“Oh, I love this song,” you tell Calliope before singing along. “‘Cause I’m dreaming of you tonight, ‘til tomorrow I’ll be holding you tight!”

Beside you, Calliope grows a little gloomy. She’s frowning a bit; even if it’s barely there, you can always tell because it completely transforms her beautiful face into something so sad. You stop humming and look over at her, watching as she slowly swirls her straw in her drink repeatedly to give her something to do.

“Having fun?” you ask, slightly worried at the sudden melancholy that seems to have draped over her like a shroud.

“Yes,” she tries to assure you, but it sounds clipped, like she’s holding back.

“You know you don’t have to come just because I invited you, right? You can do whatever you want.” You never want her to feel as though you’re forcing her to do anything, and even though she’s been having fun up until now, there’s still that anxiety that tells you that she’s just going along with it because she feels like she owes you.

“I know,” Calliope assures. “But I enjoy you and your group of friends. You make me feel…welcomed, and accepted, in a way that I have not felt in a long time.” 

“They’re your friends now too. Pretty sure they decided that the second they met you.”

“I consider them friends as well. I consider you a friend as well, though I hope you know that by now.” She smiles down at her drink. “Besides, I quite like the karaoke nights.”

“I can tell. You never sing with us, though.”

“I don’t need to, I just enjoy listening. The people singing, and enjoying themselves, it reminds me of my son. He, too, loved to sing, and he was gifted with such a beautiful voice.”

“You have a son?” This takes you by surprise. Though Calliope seems to be very maternal, she’s never mentioned anything about a child until now. The fact that she talks about him in the past tense has your heart sinking into your stomach from the implications.

Calliope nods. “My sweet boy, my Orpheus. He was beautiful, and heartbreakingly sweet. He had a voice that could bring even the gods themselves to tears. He was taken from me…far too soon, and I miss him every day, with every fiber of my being. Being here, among so many people happy and making music—I see his face in all of theirs, and it brings me some sense of peace, to know that I can find pieces of him here, in the most unlikely of places..”

It’s sweet that she kept the Greek mythology theme going with her own son, you think, though it’s tragic that he suffered the same fate as his namesake.

“He was so lucky to have a mom like you, Calliope. Any child would be.” You lick your lips and taste the sweetness of alcohol on them as you ponder what to say next. “His life might have ended too soon, but he knew that he was completely and truly loved until the very end, which is such a gift.”

Tears well up in Calliope’s eyes, and she dabs at them with a napkin grabbed hastily from the table. “Thank you,” she chokes out. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Ah, now you’re gonna go and make me cry too. Can I hug you?” 

You always, always ask for permission before hugging her or touching her. She doesn’t seem to mind anymore when friends do it without asking, but you can’t break yourself of the habit. 

Not after seeing what you saw the night that you met her.

She doesn’t give you an answer in the form of words. Instead, she simply falls into your arms, both of you clinging to the other.

From behind you, Ethan whispers, “Uh, are we interrupting something?”

•••

Evie has a date tonight and is naturally freaking out about it. She doesn’t know what to wear, she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, she doesn’t know if she’s even going to like the girl. Though you can provide her with all of the moral support in the world, there’s only one problem that you can currently help her with, which is how she ends up rifling furiously through your closet on a random Wednesday night.

You and Calliope sit on your bed, watching as Evie grabs different outfits and either critiques them herself or holds them up for you to do so. This is a tried-and-true routine for you, but Calliope’s experiencing the joys of helping a friend in need pick out a first date outfit for the first time. As a result, she puts far more thought into her responses when Evie asks for an opinion.

“You know, I believe I may have just the shirt for you in my room,” Calliope says after the outfit rejections have reached double digits. “Come.”

Calliope has truly made her room her own in the almost two months that she’s lived here, which makes you so happy to see. She’s decorated with items found antiquing (Calliope always manages to come out of an antique store with a haul—you think it's her superpower), and her room has an actual personality now.

She goes to her closet and begins searching through it before finding what she’s looking for; a white blouse with bell sleeves and delicate embroidering along the cuffs and collar. It’s beautiful, and exactly what Evie was looking for. Her attention, however, is drawn to something else in the closet, and she grabs at one of the hangers after approving Calliope’s choice. To your surprise, Evie comes up holding a cream-colored, silk nightgown.

“Wait, Cal, you still have the nightgown you were wearing the night you got away?” you ask.

It would be cruel to say anything more than the most vague descriptions regarding Calliope’s imprisonment. Nobody particularly wanted to remind her of that dark time in her life, so great care was taken to make it the least bit triggering as possible when it needed to be brought up.

She nods. 

“Why?”

Calliope thinks about that for a moment. “I am not sure, to be honest. I certainly do not want to keep a relic of such a terrible time, but throwing it away does not feel…right.”

Evie perks up. “Ooh, y’know what we should do? We should burn that bitch!”

Calliope looks perturbed. “I thought you said that he is still in a mental hospital? Besides, I believe that immolation is still a crime.”

You and Evie both laugh when you realize that Calliope thought she was talking about Madoc.

“Not that bitch, though you’re giving me great ideas. I meant that we should burn the dress. I saw it on TikTok; these friends did a ‘burn and release’ ritual. They had a fire going in their backyard, and they all wrote down and talked about things that they wanted to release before burning it and physically releasing themselves of that. It looks like it’s super empowering, and it might give you the closure that it seems like you’re looking for.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s intrigued. 

“We’d participate, too,” you chime in, Evie nodding along with you. “I think we all have things we want to burn so that we can give ourselves permission to move on.”

“I would like that, I think.”

Evie smiles. “Perfect. Leave it to me.”

It only takes Evie a couple of days to coordinate everything. Her parents live just outside of town, and they happily offer up their backyard to their daughter and her group of friends. When you and Calliope arrive, there’s already a fire pit set up with a ring of camping chairs surrounding it. Kiara waves from one of the chairs, a bag of marshmallows sitting in her lap, as Evie works at getting the fire going.

“Yay, you made it!” she says when she can finally trust the fire to not go out the moment she looks away from it.

Calliope nods graciously. “Thank you for hosting us this evening.”

“You’re so formal sometimes! If anything, I should be the one thanking you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“I do not think it is crazy at all,” Calliope assures.

“We’ll see, won’t we? Anyways, pens and paper are over in the empty chair next to Kiara, and there will be drinks and snacks momentarily.” Evie turns to you. “Wanna help me grab said drinks and snacks? I need an extra set of hands.”

After helping Evie with procuring and setting out a few bottles of wine, plastic cups, and a bunch of different snacks, the four of you each pick up a pen and paper and begin to write. Calliope writes furiously, her pen seeming to fly over the paper as she jots down her thoughts, and is done first as a result. The rest of you take a bit longer to write, needing to stop and think about what you want to put down before you do so.

In a group chat, you, Kiara, and Evie had decided that one of you would automatically go first, to make Calliope feel comfortable about participating. When you’ve all finished writing, Kiara stands and clears her throat.

“Well, guess I’m first up,” she says.

In hindsight, you should have guessed how emotional a night of talking about things that you need to release and then burning them as a physical manifestation would be. Still, the teary eyes from everybody when Kiara finishes reading her letter to her ex-best friend and tosses it, along with a small box of mementos, into the fire catch you off-guard. Though you said that everybody had things that they needed to release the night that Evie first brought this up, you just didn’t realize that everyone was carrying their own burdens that, to them, are just as heavy as Calliope’s is to her.

You volunteer to go next, reading about how you release all of the expectations that you’ve had about your life and where it’s meant to go. Even before Calliope arrived in your life, you struggled with the idea that your life was not going according to the plan that you had in mind. You weren’t hitting milestones that you had plotted out, and your life “schedule” kept imploding time and time again. Now, you hope to be rid of that, and the constant feeling that you’re failing yourself and your life. 

As you watch the paper burn in the flames, you try to convince yourself that all of those feelings are burning along with it.

Evie follows, with a big “fuck you” to her biological dad, who she recently found out only tried to form a relationship with her so that he could get money from her. It’s such a terrible situation, and though she’s handled it with her classic brand of humor, you can all see the hurt that she carries with her. Her letter is funny and biting and makes you all laugh, but she’s openly crying by the time she tosses it into the fire, and she gets a long hug from each of you after.

Finally, it’s Calliope’s turn, and she takes a long moment to stand. She’s been holding your hand since you finished reading her letter, and you give her a comforting squeeze before letting go so she can properly hold the letter. After taking a deep breath, she looks around the fire at the encouraging faces before her before she begins.

“I have often lived my life in the service of others, though most of the time, it was something that I willingly and happily did. That choice was removed from me when I was stolen from my home and bound to a truly vile and horrid man. He took everything from me. My thoughts, my inspiration, my—” Calliope’s voice breaks. “My body. Nothing was mine anymore, and I was told that that was how it should be, that it was the natural order of the world. He beat me down, physically and emotionally, to the point where I started to believe it. 

“Though I had long since lost hope, I prayed for some sort of salvation, and I prayed to whomever I could think of. Nobody answered, either because they could not or would not, and I believed myself truly alone. Eventually, my former lover, Morpheus, was the only one who could, or would, help me, and even then, there was only so much that he could do. I do not fault him for that, because he did the most that was possible for him to do.

“And then one day, somebody knocked on the door of my prison and demanded their keys back.” She looks at you with a wobbly smile, and you sniffle in an attempt to hold back tears. “I know not why that was the tipping point for my captor, and frankly, nor do I care. He threw me out like trash, but I was not really in a place to question a gift such as this. And it truly has been a gift for me. In the two months since I escaped captivity, I have been able to heal, slowly but surely, even though I did not think such a thing was possible. I have found my laugh once more. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. To sit in the sun, or read a book, or be with my friends.”

Calliope picks up the nightgown from where it sat next to her chair. “With this, I release every last hold that my captivity has had on me. From now on, when I think about that time, I shall think about survival, and how I refused to be kept down. I am free, and I shall remain forever free.”

She tosses the dress and the letter into the fire, watching intently as the flames catch the fabric and begin to work through it. Then, she laughs. Her laugh is beautiful and like the peals of bells, and it’s infectious too. Soon you’re all laughing, and you all have the same idea to hug Calliope. It turns into a group hug, the four of you laughing and hugging and watching as the smoke of the fire carries away that which you do not want to carry with you any longer.

•••

Calliope takes her time getting out of the car when you arrive back home, still basking in the euphoria of emotional release. When she turns to look at you, you already know what she’s going to say.

“Go in without me.” She sighs happily and looks up at the moon. “I wish to remain outside for a moment longer.”

You squeeze her shoulder before letting go. “Alright. The door’ll be unlocked whenever you decide you’re finished.”

You hum while unlocking the door, kicking your shoes off and hearing them thump against the wall of the entryway. Fumbling, you curse under your breath as you try to find the light switch—really, you’d think that after living here for almost a year, you’d be able to turn the lights on on the first try.

Light finally floods the room, and your humming resumes as you head into the kitchen to grab a drink. There’s a chill in the air, more figurative than literal, that causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens as you remove a glass from the cabinet, like your reflexes are trying to warn you of some unseen danger. Nervously, you hum a little louder while filling your glass up in the hopes that you’ll feel better. 

You don’t. How could you, when you look over the kitchen island into the living room and see a figure standing silhouetted against the back door? In fact, you feel much worse than nervous; now, you’re scared out of your wits, enough so that you scream upon realizing that there’s actually a man in your home, a man who is most definitely not supposed to be here.

You scream.

“Hello.” 

The man’s voice is deep, deeper than you think you’ve ever heard before. If he wasn’t currently in the act of breaking into your home, you’d think about how nice of a voice it is. Right now, it’s simply disturbing.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the darkness before he takes a step toward you, thus putting himself in the light. He’s paler than any living being you’ve ever seen, with long, unkempt black hair and cold blue eyes that seem like they can tell everything about you just from looking at you. He’s dressed in all black, with a long black coat completing his ensemble.

He’s not human, that much you’re sure of. You’ve spent enough time around Calliope in the past couple of months to guess that she is something more, and this stranger is the same. Power radiates off of him in waves, the same as it does with Calliope. Both are ethereally, sharply beautiful, in a way that lets lesser beings know that these are the true apex predators.

Even though it probably won’t help (now that you have the barest idea of what you’re dealing with), you pick up a kitchen knife from the dish rack and brandish it in front of you, thankful that you had cut up an apple last night and thus had needed your largest knife to do so. 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” 

He doesn’t move, choosing instead to just keep staring at you with those piercing eyes. You come out from behind the island, still holding the knife towards him. 

“Seriously, leave or I’m calling the cops,” you threaten, pulling your phone out of your pocket with your free hand.

This decision quickly has the situation going from bad to worse. The man seems to cross the entire room in a single step before slamming you against the wall, one hand wrapped dangerously tight around your throat. You gasp at the sudden violence, as well as the strength that he possesses under his lean figure, and both the knife and the phone fall from your hands as you try to figure out what to do. 

“Be quiet, mortal,” he spits venomously, his hand flexing around your throat. You attempt to grab at his hand to get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. When you try to kick at him, he just leans more of his weight against you and renders you virtually immobile. “You are keeping a woman here, against her will. You will release her immediately, or suffer the most dire of consequences.”

“What? No, I’m not!” you argue.

Is he talking about Calliope? If so, he’s about two months too late in coming to her rescue. The only one that was holding her against her will was Ric Madoc, and he’s facing his own set of consequences for what he did.

Speak of the devil. Calliope chooses this moment to come in from her nighttime sojourn. You and your attacker both stare at the door as Calliope enters the apartment. She’s humming, much as you had when you first came in, completely in her own little world.

“Cal!” you cry out helplessly in an attempt to warn her, the only sound you can make before the man’s hand tightens again and cuts off all but a bit of your air supply. If given the chance, you’re not sure if you would tell her to run or ask for her help.

She takes stock of the situation before her with calculated eyes. Instead of surprise, shock, or fear, Calliope just looks…angry. Her bag drops to the floor next to her feet, and she makes sure to shut and lock the door behind her.

“Let her go, Oneiros,” Calliope commands, her hand landing on his shoulder.

Wait, Calliope knows him? Internally, you chastise yourself; obviously, she knows him, she called him by name! Still, you find yourself confused. She hasn’t mentioned having any contacts in the area. In fact, you distinctly remember her saying that she had “nobody” that first night you met her.

The intruder—Oneiros, apparently—does as Calliope asks, and you slide to the floor without his interference keeping you upright. Calliope slides down with you, landing on her knees in front of you as she looks you over with her big, brown eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, using her thumbs to wipe away your tears, tears that you weren’t aware you were shedding.

You nod. “I–I think so.” 

Despite your reassurance, your hand goes to your throat, and you try to rub away the soreness that’s already settling beneath the skin. When she begins to rub her hands up and down your arms, you realize that you’re shaking violently. Calliope stands and briefly leaves the room, leaving you and Oneiros in awkward silence until she returns with a blanket, which she gently wraps around you.

After she’s completed this task, Calliope wheels around to point accusingly at the man. “You are a fool, and you allow yourself to act without first thinking far too often.”

“Calliope–” he tries to interrupt, but Calliope shakes her head.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

He scowls. “You called for me again, did you not?” 

“I did no such thing!”

“Really?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “You did not write my name down prior to burning it?”

Calliope falls silent, because apparently that’s exactly what she did.

“I thought that what I had done to Richard Madoc worked, Calliope. Why did you not come to me sooner to tell me that he had sold you off instead?”

“Nothing of the sort has happened!”

“Then how did you end up bound to yet another mortal?”

“It is not what it looks like, Morpheus.”

“Explain it to me, then,” he pleads.

As the two continue to bicker above you, you feel increasingly like you’re interrupting in your own home. You shift uncomfortably, and Oneiros—Morpheus? Seriously, how many names does this guy have?—turns his sharp gaze upon you.

“You. How did you come to bind the Muse Calliope? What spell have you used to bewitch her?” He demands answers that you don’t have, and your shaking becomes worse under the full brunt of his stare.

“What?” You scramble to your feet so that you can at least pretend to be on the same ground as the two others here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, let us sit down and discuss this civilly,” Calliope interrupts, gesturing both of you towards the living room. 

After a moment of consideration, Oneiros/Morpheus nods tersely and walks in the direction that Calliope had pointed as though this is his home and not yours. You try to get your legs to move, but they steadfastly remain stuck to the spot you’re standing in. Calliope notices this and loops her arm through yours before gently guiding you into the living room.

“Why did he call you a Muse?” you whisper to her.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “I will give you answers, I promise. It is…complicated.”

Though you’re not exactly satisfied by this answer, you trust Calliope, so you nod and silently agree to wait.

You don’t have to wait for long. Once everybody is seated (you in the chair perpendicular to the couch, with Oneiros/Morpheus on the couch and Calliope sitting next to him while simultaneously acting as a buffer between you), Calliope takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. About who, and what, she is, how she came to be bound by a writer named Erasmus Fry, and how she was basically bartered for by Ric Madoc. She explains what they wanted from her, and she explains, unflinchingly, what they did to her to get it. Though it’s horrific, you listen to all of it. After all, if she’s willing to give, it’s only fair that you be open to receiving.

Calliope’s words seem to hang in the air long after she’s finished. The three of you sit in silence; Oneiros/Morpheus with a stony expression, you crying (you think you’ve cried more today than you’ve cried in a long, long time), and Calliope waiting calmly for you both to digest what she’s said.

In the end, it’s you who speaks first. “So you’re a goddess?” you ask.

“A Muse, yes,” she says.

“Like, of the Greek variety.” You need to confirm this for some reason, even though you already know the answer.

She laughs. “Yes.”

“A literal Muse is my best friend and roommate?”

You think that you might be going into shock right now

Oneiros/Morpheus scoffs, and you glare at him. “You have something to say?”

“You say that Calliope is your best friend. Then why do you not set her free?”

“Set her free? She’s a person, she’s free to do whatever she wants.”

“No, she is not. Calliope is bound to you, by the old laws.”

“Morpheus,” Calliope says sharply, a warning, but the man continues.

“You are enslaving a goddess and calling it friendship.” The disgust is clear on his face. “How can there be any sort of friendship when she is unable to leave, to do anything, without your say? You have complete and utter control over her, and you force her to pretend that it isn’t so. This farce that you’ve concocted must end now. I implore you to free her before I am left with no choice but to take further action against you.”

The room begins to tilt, and you shake your head in disbelief. “No…”

“They don’t know, Morpheus!” Calliope snaps.

“Cal, you—” 

You feel sick, and you genuinely think that you’re about to throw up. All this time, you thought you had helped to free her from her prison. Instead, she’s remained trapped, bound to you just like she was bound to Madoc and, as you’ve now learned, Erasmus Fry. These men took everything from an unwilling goddess, a Muse, and you’re basically no better than them. 

Swallowing down the bile that rises in your throat does nothing, so you close your eyes to take a couple of deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down. That doesn’t work either, and you rise shakily to your feet before rushing over to the trash can in the kitchen and throwing up the wine and snacks that you had eagerly partaken in at Evie’s.

It’s humiliating, doing something as base and human as retching in the presence of two godly creatures. Everything about this situation is humiliating, if you’re being honest with yourself. You’ve unknowingly extended Calliope’s incarceration and deluded both of you into believing that it was friendship. How could you be a part of such a heinous act? Truly, are you no better than Madoc?

When you’ve finally thrown up everything in your stomach and then some, you’re full-on sobbing as you clutch at the trash can. Your knees give out, but Calliope catches you as you fall to the ground and wraps you in her embrace. She soothes you and murmurs words of comfort as she runs a hand through your hair, letting you cry in her arms when it should be the other way around. You don’t deserve her comfort, you think to yourself.

Once you finally have enough breath in your lungs to be able to talk, you gasp out between hyperventilating, “I’m so sorry. I–I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have never–”

“Shh,” she hushes you, grabbing your hands in hers. “My sweet friend, you have done nothing wrong.”

“But I–”

“I am the one who chose not to tell you. I trusted you in the beginning, and I trust you now. You have not failed me or abused me, or been a captor to me. Do you hear me?” She holds your face in her hands to make you look at her, and she waits until you nod to hug you once more.

“How do I free you?” you ask her. “Please, let me free you.”

“You must say that she is free,” your uninvited guest speaks up, making you remember that there’s a whole other person here. “And mean it.”

“Calliope, you’re free. You’ve always been free,” you say immediately, looking at her earnestly and hoping that she can see in your eyes how sorry you are.

Nothing physically changes. No burst of light envelops her, and she doesn’t undergo any sort of transformation. Yet, something in the air changes and becomes lighter. That inner glow that Calliope’s always carried seems to beam brighter now. Her shoulders look less weighed down now, no longer burdened by her forced captivity.

“Thank you,” Calliope says profusely.

“Don’t do that,” you say, feeling sick all over again. “Don’t thank me for something I should have done the second that Madoc threw you at me. I should have been smarter, more observant than I was. God, you deserve so much more than anything I can ever begin to give you.”

She’s not happy about your self-deprecation, but you will not be the source of her rage tonight. No, as she helps you once more to stand, her anger lands squarely on the man who barged in here and turned everything on its head.

“Apologize. Now,” Calliope demands. “What you have done here tonight is completely unacceptable and a new low, even for you.”

After thinking for a moment, perhaps to consider if he did transgress against you, he nods and stands like some sort of gentleman to properly address you. “The lady Calliope is right. I have acted deplorably towards you this evening, when you have done nothing but offer shelter and companionship to one needing it. I sincerely apologize for the pain and anguish that I have caused you.”

You nod warily, still tucked into Calliope’s side. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

Truthfully, you do appreciate the apology. If he’s as powerful as you think he is, then he could have just as easily decided that you weren’t worth the breath it would take to form words, and that would be well within his right.

“Well, now that we’re all close to being on the same page here.” Calliope gestures to the man. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re a god too?” you ask.

“Not a god. I am Endless, one of seven anthropomorphic personifications of natural forces. I am far older, and far more powerful, than any god, and will remain long after all of your gods are dead and gone,” Morpheus explains.

You try to ignore the fact that one of the most powerful beings in the universe is currently sitting in your living room, lest you start to have an existential crisis in front of him. Now that Calliope’s told you his name, it rings a bell. “Wait, is he your ex?”

Morpheus looks at you both in surprise. “You’ve told her about me?”

“Only tonight,” Calliope assures him. “When I…accidentally summoned you.”

The longer that you can think clearly without the threat of bodily harm, the more the puzzle pieces keep clicking into place for you. “He’s Orpheus’s dad, isn’t he?”

Calliope nods, and so does Morpheus, though he’s far more reluctant than she is. You don’t notice that, though, too caught up in your thoughts.

“Ha, Morpheus and Orpheus.” Maybe all of the crying has made you dehydrated, which in turn has left you a little delirious. That’s the only reason why you say this train of thought out loud. “What, if you had a daughter were you going to name her Alliope?” 

Calliope snickers at that, though Morpheus doesn’t share her amusement. “His name fit him perfectly, even though it was quite the coincidence that it was one letter off from that of his father’s.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” you bemoan. “How did I not know you were a goddess? I literally said, ‘Oh cool, like the muse’ when you introduced yourself! You must have thought I was an idiot.”

“It is difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend that which it believes to be fake. To you, that was the only connection that you subconsciously deemed possible,” Morpheus explains. Though he does it to make you feel better, it feels a little patronizing when it comes from someone as powerful as him.

“I wish you would have told me. Did you think that I wouldn’t have freed you? Because I would have!”

“I know that,” Calliope says. “Truthfully, I…forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot?” Morpheus says in disbelief.

At the same time, you ask, “How the fuck do you forget to tell someone that you’re accidentally bound to them?”

“At first, I was scared. That it was a trap, that you would be worse than Madoc. Of course, that lasted about twenty minutes.”

“What made you realize I was different?”

She smiles. “When you told me that the doors only locked from the inside. You cared about my privacy and that I was feeling safe, and I figured that you had no clue about anything that had happened, or about who I was. From there, it just wasn’t something that I thought to bring up. I was too frightened to leave the apartment, and I had been cut off from the world for over sixty years. Frankly, the idea of going out without you terrified me. As I began to regain control of my life and heal, it just became something that I thought about less and less. You are my best and dearest friend, and we do everything together, so why would I think about a bond other than the one that formed naturally?”

It’s very sweet of her to say, but you still have questions. “So you were just going to continue to live like this?”

“I did not have a plan, but I suppose so. I was happy here, with you.”

“Okay, but what happened if I got married one day, or like, had kids?”

“I would just be the fun aunt that lived with you and your family?”

“Jesus Christ,” you groan before sitting up suddenly. “Wait, is Jesus Christ real too?” 

Calliope and Morpheus share a look, and you’re suddenly frightened of the answer.

“No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know.”

You really, really don’t want to have an existential crisis until you can be alone in the comfort of your room.

Thankfully, Calliope and Morpheus take over the conversation from there, because you don’t think you have the mental capacity to try and further any conversation right now. They obviously have a lot to catch up on, since it seems like the last time they saw each other was when Calliope broke down and asked him for help escaping Madoc.

Instead, while they converse, you take a moment to zone out and try to process just what has happened in the past hour. The stranger that broke into your apartment turned out to be the powerful, eldritch nightmare king ex-husband to your roommate, who’s actually a goddess that was unintentionally bound to you. For reasons beyond your comprehension, he thought that she needed rescuing, and that you were the one that she needed rescuing from.

Your thoughts chase each other like a cyclone, and you try not to panic as you think about all of this. God, you need a drink right now.

When Morpheus and Calliope both rise, with Morpheus saying that he really must return to his kingdom, you rise with them. After all, how will you ever feel at ease if you don’t ask him what’s on your mind?

“Are we good now?” you ask. “Like, you’re not gonna hurt me or curse me? I promise I had no idea about any of this.”

“Yes, I know that now,” Morpheus says. “I will not harm you. If anything, I should be offering you a boon, for being such an immense help to one such as Calliope.”

“You owe me nothing. Neither of you do.”

Calliope leans in and kisses Morpheus on the cheek, so gently that you wonder if she even made contact. “Fare you well, Morpheus.”

He bows his head. “Goodbye.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone as though he was never here at all.

•••

That night, you dream, and for the first time, you’re aware of the fact that you’re dreaming.

You don’t know where you are, but it’s the greenest, lushest meadow you’ve ever seen. Wildflowers dance lazily in the breeze, and you can hear the low rush of a river behind the treeline. You’re tempted to lie down in the impossibly soft-looking grass and watch the clouds drift overhead, but before you can, you see them standing next to you.

Morpheus looks just as he did when you saw him in your apartment, only a lot less like he’s ready to murder you. The main difference is that he now sports robes fit for a king instead of his coat. His eyes, you also notice, are black pools of stars.

On the other hand, the Calliope you see before you is a complete departure from the Calliope you know and love. She’s wearing a white chiton that’s belted at the waist and her hair, which normally falls in curly waves, is braided back intricately. She shines, in a way that you’ve never seen, looking every bit the goddess that she is.

“Is this real, or am I dreaming?” you ask.

“Dreams are real,” Morpheus says with the slightest of smiles.

“Of course, my bad.”

Though it’s a picturesque dream, it’s stained with strokes of melancholy. On some level, you know what’s going to happen, and what Morpheus has brought you here for.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” you ask Calliope.

Selfishly, you’re hoping that she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you that your home is her home and where she’s meant to be. Yet even as you foolishly hope, you know that your ordinary apartment, your ordinary life, is no place for a goddess. No, she deserves far greater than that.

She smiles sadly, and that’s all the confirmation you need. “I think I must, at least temporarily. There is…much for me to do, back home on Olympus. I wish to reconnect with my sisters, for one. And though it is lofty of me, I wish to change the old laws so that we may never be enslaved on the whims of mortals ever again.”

“If anyone can change laws that are thousands of years old, it’s you.”

“Thank you…for everything these past two months. Truly, I do not know how I can ever properly thank you for what you have done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything; just knowing that you’re safe and happy is enough for me. I’m so proud of you for taking your life back after everything you went through. You deserve all of the happiness and goodness that the world has to offer you.”

“I would not have been able to do it without you, you know. No matter how we came to know each other, I am glad that we did. You saved me.” She says it so earnestly, needing you to truly understand your impact on her recovery.

“You did that yourself, Cal. I was just along for the ride.”

“You have my utmost respect,” Morpheus says. “Not many would have taken in a stranger needing help from off the streets with nothing but the purest of intentions, and fewer still would have offered them friendship. Your bravery and kind heart shall not be forgotten.”

“You have my respect too, for what it’s worth.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Why?”

“Calliope told me that you didn’t end things on the best of terms. But still, when she called for help, you answered with barely a second thought, and did all you could to help.”

He stares for a moment before nodding and turning to gaze out across the meadow. To your unabashed delight, his cheeks tint a light lavender in embarrassment, unsure of how to take your compliment. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh and decide to not tease the King of Dreams…for now.

Though you’ve been putting it off, some sixth sense tells you that your time here is nearing an end. You turn to Calliope again, who already is trying desperately to keep her tears unshed. When you meet her eyes, she holds out her arms to hug you, and you gladly accept.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble.

Calliope kisses your forehead before pressing hers to yours affectionately. “I shall miss you as well, more than you can even imagine.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? If–if your sisters are ganging up on you, or if you need someone to watch the best movies of the two-thousands with you, or if you’re missing going to karaoke with the gang. I’ll drop everything and go to Greece, just say the word.”

She laughs, the sound uninhibited and joyful. “I know you will.”

“Goodbye, Calliope." You have no choice but to finally, reluctantly say the words you've been dreading to say. If you weren't to do it now, you know you'd never let go of her.

Calliope pulls away just enough so that she can look you in the eye. “May fortune go with you, my sweetest friend.”

•••

Calliope’s gone when you wake up, her belongings the only sign that she even existed here in the first place. Though you cry, they’re not tears of sadness; rather, they’re happy tears, because how could you not be happy for Calliope? She’s found her freedom and the strength to return home, to try and make a better world for herself and her fellow gods and goddesses. Truly, this is all that you ever wanted for her.

On her nightstand sits a folded-up note, your name written on the front in Calliope’s ornate script. You open it up to read it, and when you finish, you hold it to your heart.

I will always be close by in your heart, as you will always be in mine. No distance can change that. Should you need me, you need only pray to me, and I shall hear you. Continue to make the world as bright as you.

-Calliope

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #the sandman #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus #calliope the sandman #calliope the sandman imagine

[yeondollie]

ᴍʏ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀʏ ౨ৎ ᯓ★

beomgyu x fem! reader ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

. . warnings ; ANGST .ᐟ, heartbreak, based on the film '20th century girl', usage of the nicknames (my love, baby, my pretty girl), very very tropey, beomgyu does NOT die like the film, not a good ending, mentions of sunghoon from enhypen and chaewon from le sserafim, just so so sad :( my heart hurts ♡

. . words ; 1.4k

a/n ; hi bbys !! i just rewatched 20th century girl and i was BAWLING :< i kept thinking of beomgyu with the "i will wait for you" trope ughhh so so sad :(( anyways enjoy ml ౨ৎ

. . part two ౨ৎ

"will you wait for me? can do you that for me my pretty girl?" beomgyus holding you close to him, your tears falling on his sweatshirt. he was leaving, to you it was for forever but it was just to study abroad in paris for a year.

"please dont cry, i'll be back for you. i promise you, pinky promise me?" he stuck out his pinky finger, waiting for your to intertwine with him. hot tears ran down your face as you pulled away from his chest and tied your pinky with his. "y-you really p-promise beomgyu?"

"yes angel," his head rested on yours. "you'll be back in my arms again in no time, okay?" he tried to push out a smile.

this one stung.

you nodded silently, your voice was too strained to answer him back. the final call to get on that stupid train was announced. he pulled away, cupping your face in his warm hands. "see you my love, i love you more than anything." and before you could answer back he was on that train, waving goodbye to you.

your tears were falling so hard, it was getting difficult to breathe. you waved goodbye back, seeing that dumb train door close allowing it to take off. as soon as that door closed, beomgyu broke out in tears trying to cover his sounds as to not disturb his other passengers. "f-fuck.." he mumbled feeling his own tears drop to his sweatshirt, paired with the stains of yours.

it had been a year. a year without beomgyu, a year with no contact. you tried texting him, nothing went through. you tried calling him, nothing went through. you even tried email, nothing absolutely radio silence. wasn't he supposed to come back already? why? why weren't you in his arms again like he promised?

you grabbed your pillow, screaming and letting out all your emotions. how stupid were you to think he would actually stay in contact? "you stupid.. stupid boy." your words were muffled in your pillow yet you didn't feel anger, only sadness and only tears of pain could come out of your eyes.

all your friend told you to move on, even setting you up with a guy. 'park sunghoon' was his name and yes he was handsome but.. every touch, you just thought of beomgyu. you thought of the way he would play with your hair, the way he would hold you in his arms, the way he would look into your eyes.

maybe sunghoon was good for you, maybe he would provide you the comfort you were truly needing but beomgyu was the only man on your mind. you couldn't bare the thought of being held by a man other than beomgyu.

the days he would fix your skirt when it was too high, when he would wipe the extra lipgloss on your lips, the way he would speak to you so softly. it was all too much, you missed him so much it hurt your heart.

yet today was the day you were to hang out with sunghoon, maybe try something new. you two were going to a local festival to watch some fireworks, maybe get a bit to eat. maybe this was the turn around for you, to see if sunghoon could help you out of your helpless state.

you were all prettied up. hair up in a bow, dress on, and some pretty sneakers your friend had gifted you. sunghoon, standing in front of you, had your favorite flowers in his hands and a pretty smile on his face. he looked so starstruck to see you like this. "i-i.. you look so pretty.. these are for you! i-i know you.. i mean i remembered you told me you liked them.. so i-i got them."

you took the flower sin your hands and smiled, maybe this was gonna turn around. "you're so sweet. thank you hoon." you give him and big hug, feeling that love surround you like it once did a year ago. "the place isn't super far away so i'd thought we could walk."

the walk was fun, he was a big question asker and luckily for him you were a big talker. he liked it, he liked to listen and to ask. until the two of you arrived, you just talked his ears off.

you were really starting to feel your mood switch. maybe he was bringing out a better you, a you that could actually love again.

when you two got there, to your surprise, he had already set up some blankets and some snacks. "hoon.. y-you didn't need to do this." you chuckle and you could feel his shaky hand wrap around your waist. "i-i know but.. you know you're really special to me" you could almost feel the tears start to dwell in your eyes.

sunghoon sat beside you on the blanket he had set, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "you see that star? it shines really bright huh? its really pretty.. like you." sunghoon adds, prompting you to lay your head on his shoulder. "s-stop.." you giggle. he ruffles your hair a bit and laughs himself. "hey! its true.." he adds.

after a while of snacking and laughing with sunghoon you had to use the restroom to freshen up. "hoon i'll be back, stay here okay?" he nods and you turn around, trying to find directions to the bathroom.

you spot a man drinking something and prompted that he looked nice enough, maybe he would have some directions. "hey excuse me, do yo-" you couldn't mutter another word as he turned around.

choi beomgyu?

to make matters worse, there was a girl around his arm. is this why he hasn't been taking to you? as much as you wanted to explode on him, you just wanted to get back to sunghoon to not have him worry. "d-do.. you know where t-the restrooms are?" you ask, your voice clearly shaky.

"r-right.. over there," he gulps and you turn around to leave. "but wait!" his shoulder forces you to face him once again. "_____?" his voice just sends tears to rush down your face immediately.

"s-stop dont.. dont cry." his hands were now on your shoulders. he knew he messed up. truth is, he could message you. you were just blocked. he could call you, he had just blocked you. he read your emails, he just didn't respond. why? he had met a women, chaewon, back in paris where he had been studying and forgot all about his promise to you.

"d-dont touch me." you brush him off and turn back around to walk towards the bathroom. he's taken aback from your words, dont touch you? but thats all he wanted to do at the moment, all we wanted was to have your love again.

"baby plea-" he was cut off from your harsh words. "dont you dare call me that."

he could tell how much pain he had put you through and god he felt horrible but no, you couldn't forgive him. not in a million years. for a whole year you had thought something happened to him, his phone got lost, his number had changed. all these delusion lies to shun you from the truth.

"you didn't keep your promise." you say, voice low. he cupped your face like he did on that fateful day but his look, his look changed. he didn't look at you with love in his eyes, he looked at you with this guilty look. he knew he had messed up.

you pulled away from him, unable to stomach the fact he was cheating on you while here you were; thinking he was in danger. "are you.. here with somebody?" he gulps as he asked this, god he hoped the answer was no.

"yea." he could feel the liquid rising in his throat, he was sick. "really? y-you.. you're here with somebody?" you nod, not wanting anything else to do with this conversation.

"i really h-have to go, h-he's waiting for me." you look anywhere but beomgyus eyes and turn away to leave once more but he insists. "_____ can i tell you something?" you nod your head, still avoiding eye contact while he bends down to whisper something in your ear.

"i still love you, please dont do this."

#txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt fanfic #txt angst #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu txt #beomgyu angst #beomgyu x reader #yeonjun #soobin #hueningkai #kang taehyun #angst #kpop #yeondolliesworks

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Kinkuary Day 1

AN: Bouncing off my walls in excitement. Happy New Year, and welcome to Kinkuary! Starting off the month with San, one of the biggest thorns in my side when it comes to Ateez. I've been itching to write something royalty related for him, and this was the perfect opportunity.

Synopsis: The crown prince is beloved by everyone in the kingdom far and wide. Unfortunately for him, you don't share that same fondness. However, that may be exactly why he seeks you out.

General tags and warnings: Choi San x Fem! Reader, one-sided enemies to enemies who fuck, royal au, no specific time period is mentioned but, it's heavily implied this takes place pre-20th century, prince! San, maid! Reader, one mention of decapitation in relation to treason, blood mentioned a few times, pretty minimal plot and I think that's it honestly.

Primary kink: Degradation.

Smut tags and warnings: Dom! Reader, sub! San, degradation ((duh) m. receiving), dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), clawing and marking (m. receiving), hair pulling (m. receiving), hints of a dacryphilia kink, piv sex without a condom, creampie and no aftercare.

Word count: 3.9k

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

It wouldn't be hyperbole to state that everyone in the kingdom loves Choi San.

In all the books and scraps of paper you've managed to get your hands on over the years, you're not sure you've ever come across a royal who has inspired more loyalty and adoration than the current crown prince. Not even the King and Queen who currently hold the throne. You'd never speak these thoughts out loud (you're much too fond of your head remaining attached to your shoulders) but, you think if he ever tried to make a claim for the throne that he'd have a solid portion of the kingdom willing to back him.

That's not the kind of man San is, though.

He's much too kind and honourable to let greed cloud that heart that so many people are in love with. No, he's the kind of prince that will do all of his duties while supporting his parents' reign. He'll patiently await his turn to sit atop that ghastly golden glorified chair like the good little princeling he is. And you're certain that when he does, the cheering through the streets will be so loud that it'll ring in your ears for decades.

It all makes you so sick.

You can't stand the way everyone falls all over themselves when he so much as nods in their direction with a gentle smile. You can't stand the stammers of thanks and praise from the lips of fellow royals to commoners such as yourself when he compliments this or that about them with so much earnestness that bile rises up in your throat. You can't stand the sincerity that sparkles in his eyes during his impassioned speeches about making the lives of his subjects better. You can't stand him.

It takes everything in you to stop yourself at clenching the fabric of your uniform and biting your tongue so hard that you sometimes taste the familiar tang of metal in your mouth when you know you've clenched your jaw too hard. Yunho says it's a bad habit you've developed over the years. He's never understood your disdain for the prince but, he doesn't need to. No one does. That's between you and yourself, and no one else.

Until it isn't.

If someone had told you months ago that you'd find yourself in the crown prince's bed, you would have laughed in their face. No, you likely would have slapped them across their face enough for your palm to burn and then laughed in their face like a woman possessed.

Any yet, here you are.

Or, to be more accurate, here he is.

In the most private parts of your mind you have been able to admit that San is an attractive man. Being in the same room as him is enough to cause your blood to simmer and bubble in your veins but, you are still a woman with eyes and a functioning libido. Between his muscles that seem to span endlessly and his handsome face, yeah. San is a good-looking man. And you suppose you're not above giving into your baser needs.

“You're late,” you drawl atop his bed, toying with the blanket beneath you. You try not to think about how just one of his sheets would likely keep your family fed for at least two weeks. Shoving that particular, unpleasant thought aside, you watch him from your position.

“My apologies. The meeting ran later than I expected. You know how my father can be–” if only the entire nation could see their precious crown prince rolling his eyes at the mere mention of his father.

“I don't care. Don't be late again,” you cut him off sharply, your eyes cutting into him far more harshly than your words ever could.

From the way he folds into himself and practically sags against his enormous bedroom door, you can tell he's already slipped into the self ascribed role he takes during these…encounters the two of you have.

“I won't be. I'm sorry,” ah, there's that whiney edge in his voice that you've become accustomed to over these past few months. He's slipping into it much quicker recently. The thought brings an edge of sadistic glee to you, the corners of your lips turning up just the slightest bit.

“Make sure the door is locked,” you order, drinking in the way he all but, jumps at your command. Sometimes, you think you understand why people wage wars and betray family members for just a drop of power. It is intoxicating. You've come to understand over these months why some people spend their entire lives grappling for it. Your ambitions aren't that grand, however. You don't care for sitting on the throne or ruling a nation. Having San at your beck and call is more than enough to feed your ego, you think.

Drinking in the way his jacket stretches across his broad frame as he locks his door makes your blood simmer in a way that is categorically different from normal. When he turns back around, his eyes already glossy, you can't help the way desire claws horribly at your insides and your walls throb.

“It's locked,” is all he says, the breathy quality to his voice not helping the gradually building ache between your thighs in the slightest. For a long moment, all you do is regard him. Ideas of what to do next rotate in your mind. You shift marginally, making yourself more comfortable on his mountain of silks and cotton. You don't miss the way his eyes follow your every movement, taking a second too long to depart from your thighs before they meet your eyes once again. Waiting.

He's so predictable that it reminds you why you despise him all over again.

“Take off your jacket,” you start simply, lounging on his bed while he complies. His jacket dropping unceremoniously onto one of his ridiculously ornate chairs. His shirt is so much worse than his jacket. Barely leaving anything to the imagination with the way it hugs his broad chest and clings to his arms in a way that prompts your thighs to rub against each other.

The air between the two of you is tense. The density of it is a phantom weight on your chest. You can't recall a single time where the air wasn't charged between the two of you even if your life depended on it. As Yunho likes to joke, you do have a knack for thriving in the most uncomfortable circumstances.

You elect to break it. Rather than for the poor princeling’s benefit, you can already feel your undergarments starting to stick to you and it's been longer than you care to think about since you last had a decent night of sex.

“I want you to crawl to me,” you say, tilting your head in the faintest bit of amusement at the light blush that colours his cheeks. You've made him do much, much worse but, for a moment you wonder if he'll hesitate, if not full on decline. The knife of arousal twists harshly in your gut when he drops down without so much as another glance from you. Your lips part unconsciously as you watch him make his way towards you. His gaze is later focused on his path, not that you mind all that much. You're much too busy following the lines of his firm body. Watching fluid muscle that pebbles your nipples beneath your nightgown and increases the steady heat in your bloodstream.

It's not long before he's mere centimetres away from your legs. Glassy, eager eyes finally finding your own when he eventually sits on the backs of his legs. Ever the good boy. Awaiting your directions with no signs of complaint or visible signs of frustration.

Well, signs he can control at the very least.

“You're already hard?” You both know your question is rhetorical. The tent at the front of his dress pants is visible from the mountains of The Healm. No, he knows you don't want an actual answer.

“I can't help it,” he whispers, his ears burning and you don't miss the way his hands clench and unclench on his firm thighs.

“What would people say,” you start, shifting closer to the edge of his bed. His eyes following your every movement like a hawk, his tongue darting out to lick his pretty mouth, “If they saw their precious prince like this? Crawling on his bedroom floor and getting hard just because I've been a little mean to him. How embarrassing.”

The shudder that rips through his entire body is intoxicating.

“Even worse, what if they all knew how much you like being embarrassed,” you continue, tugging your gown further up your thighs. More of your wetness dribbling out of you as you watch his eyes zero in on the apex of them. The whine that leaves his lips would be barely audible to anyone else. However, you're not just anyone when it comes to San.

“Look at you,” you bite out but, part of you knows it doesn't quite sound as intimidating as you'd like it to, “sitting there and panting like a fucking dog just because I'm letting you see my undergarments.”

A smirk spreads across your lips and you can't help the way your pussy flutters around nothing watching his eyes clamp shut and his teeth sink into his bottom lip. “I'm sorry. I'm–I just–,” he stammers, “It's been awhile,” he rushes out once his brain seems to finally piece itself back together.

“Aw,” you don't miss the way he shudders at the faux sympathy in your voice, “Poor, little princeling. Probably already leaking all over yourself just because it's been a few weeks since I've let you touch me,” you pout. Satisfaction coils in you watching the blush on his cheeks darken, fingers gripping his thighs like a lifeline.

However, as fun as it is to toy with him, you can't deny that you've been frustrated these past few weeks too. You'd sooner move kingdoms than admit this aloud but, your hand was a poor substitute for the prince's mouth and, occasionally, cock. Your fingers could get you there well enough on their own but, they paled starkly in comparison to him.

Much to your growing dismay.

San doesn't move. He doesn't even seem to breathe once your gown is bundled over your waist. Leaving your wet undergarments completely clear for him to view. He just stares. Hands gripping his thighs so harshly that if you cared about him, you may have been a little concerned. The dazed look in his eyes prompts your walls to flutter harshly without your consent.

His breathing is ragged as he watches you shimmey out of them. His eyes never leaving the apex of your thighs even as your undergarments drop unceremoniously on his pristine bedroom floor that you cleaned earlier in the day.

“Well?” You ask with a tilt of your head, spreading your thighs wider and pushing down a shiver when the cool night air hits your slick folds, “What are you waiting for? Do I really need to spell out what I want you to do next?”

“N–No,” he stammers out, shuffling forward so quickly that he's between your thighs in a blink. Your hand weaves into his hair as soon as his mouth descends onto you. You may not be able to stand the man hungrily lapping at you right now but, fuck is he fantastic with his mouth. Eager doesn't even begin to describe him. In moments, his mouth is thoroughly coated with your wetness, the vibrations from his moans further adding to the tightening in the pit of your stomach.

He only moans louder when you tug on his hair harder, your fingernails biting into his scalp sharply. He happily let's you shove him further against you. Latching onto your clit in an instant that briefly causes your vision to blur around the edges. God, he really may have ruined all other men for you. Your eyes flutter shut when his tongue, that fucking tongue of his, adds pressure. Licking patterns against your clit you couldn't decipher if your life depended on it.

“Ah, this is all you're good for,” you breathe out, using your unoccupied hand to tug down your gown to grab your breast, “Kneeling between my thighs while I use you.”

The smile his whimper brings out of you is sharp enough to cut glass.

Your hips jump when you pinch your nipple, a quiet moan ripping from your throat. Which motivates the little prince further. He sucks on your swollen clit in earnest, smearing the entire bottom half of his face with your juices as though they're his only source of hydration and he hasn't had a drop of water in decades. You're sure if you let him touch you, he'd use those stupid muscles of his to keep you locked in place while he feasts on you. Making you take all his mouth has to offer.

The thought makes your head spin and your hold on his scalp grows harsher. If the pain of your nails is too much for him, the prince doesn't show it. Electing instead to cling to your clit like it's the most important thing in the world to him. You're closer than you thought, you realise when another one of his pathetic whimpers forces your thighs to start quivering. Well, quivering more than they already were.

Cracking your eyes open proves to be a fatal mistake when you catch his watery eyes watching you. Drinking in every twitch of your brow, every pull and knead of your breast, every moan that slips past your bruised lips from when your teeth had sunken into them. He watched it all as if to commit every miniscule twitch of your muscles to memory. And those scorching eyes don't waver now. Even as your grip burns his scalp and you all but, ride his face to bring yourself closer to the metaphorical edge.

That's ultimately what does you in. Much to your ever growing irritation.

Not that you focus on it too much when your body feels as though it's floating somewhere amongst the stars. He continues to lap at you, albeit more subdued. Each brush of his tongue extending the shock waves that render your body limp on his too expensive sheets. You're sure that if he had his way, he'd continue to mouth at you until his jaw ached. Although that does sound like a wonderful way to spend your evening, you have other ideas in mind.

“Enough,” you bite, tugging him away from you once you regain some semblance of feeling in your limbs. He whines in protest but, otherwise doesn't disobey you. Letting you pull him away from your twitching hole and pulsing clit. The sight of him already looking thoroughly fucked out making you clamp down harshly around nothing. The emptiness is starting to burn.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” you order once you release him. The prince is nothing if not efficient. Stripping himself in what you can only assume is some record. On the endless list of things you'll never admit to anyone until you die, one them is that just the sight of his scalped torso is enough for you to start dribbling onto your undergarments. And now, watching his tan skin and muscles he's spent years crafting bathed in the moonlight, you know you're doomed.

Your body reminds you very quickly that you're still empty and the solution to that emptiness is twitching not too far away from you.

San watches you like a hawk as you recline onto his bed, your head resting on his mountain of pillows while your thighs remain spread. Smeared with your release and his spit.

“Would you like to fuck me, Your Highness?” You ask him, resting your cheek against your palm and biting back a smile when his cock bobs notably at your question. A question you both know the answer to but, it does wonderful things for your ego every time to ask it.

“Yes but, only if My Lady wishes it,” he whispers faintly but, he still manages to find the courage to meet your eyes. It makes you just a bit more mad how attractive he looks now with bruised, glistening lips and a faint blush colouring his cheeks. God, he's so annoying.

“I'm strawn out on your bed, am I not?” You ask him with a raise of your brow, your tone clearly questioning his intelligence but, based on the way his cock twitches, he's obviously into that too. Typical.

“Y–Yes, My Lady but, I didn't want to be presumptu–”

“Do I really need to tell you how to do everything? You can help run a kingdom but, all sense seems to leave you when tasked with fucking a woman. How pathetic,” you bite out, a twinge of sadistic glee twisting in your gut when he avoids your gaze and his flush deepens, “Come here.”

You snort when he nearly trips over himself in his haste to reach his bed. Shuffling between your thighs before you can blink but, not moving an inch beyond that. His body is practically vibrating with the effort it's taking him to not touch you without your say so. Cute.

“I really have done a good job with you, haven't I?” You ask more to yourself than him as your hand caresses his chest. Your pussy pulsing when a sharp gasp leaves his lips as you dig your nails into his skin. Dragging them along his body and marvelling at the faint, pink lines they leave. “To think,” you start once again while your fingers toy with one of his nipples, “the crown prince would become my own personal bitchboy,” you mutter, twisting his nipple between your fingers and revelling in the moan the action and your words rip from him.

“Please,” he whimpers so quietly that you don't catch it at first. However, once the word registers in your foggy brain, you grab his face. Cupping it and letting your nails dig into his cheeks, satisfaction and arousal coursing through your veins. You try not to do this too often. You don't need the palace gossiping and asking questions about the marks on the prince's face. However, sometimes you just can't help yourself.

“Please what?” You ask, the saccharine edge to your voice makes him shake in your grasp. Good.

“I want–may I please f–fuck you?” He pleads, tears welling up in his eyes and, Lord, does this all make you dribble onto his sheets even more.

“Aw, poor, desperate princeling,” you coo with pseudo sympathy. Your hand drifts from his face to the apex of your thighs. You watch his face while he watches your hand as though it possesses knowledge not even Galileo could have discovered. A soft curse flits into your ears when your fingers touch your swollen, soaked folds. The curse is more harsh this time when you spread yourself for him to see, to marvel at.

“Is this what you want, your highness?”

“Yes,” he rushes out, his body curling into itself with how much his desire weighs down on him, “I–please. I've been good and it's been so long,” he pleads, turning those watery eyes onto you once again.

“Go ahead. Let's see if you can impress me,” is all you need to say for him to grasp his slick cock in his trembling hand and guide it to your fluttering entrance. You're too preoccupied with watching him push into you to know what the prince is doing but, you have an inkling he's watching himself be swallowed by your walls too.

You'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing how good the stretch of his thick cook feels but, you can't stop your eyes from fluttering and your hands from anchoring themselves across his stupidly broad back. The prince isn't one for reservations, however. He moans long and loud once he's finally sheathed inside of you. His sweaty forehead resting against your shoulder while his cock twitches nonstop inside of you.

“All it took was being inside me for a few seconds for you to become this weak? Isn't this a little too sad even for you, my prince?” You whisper against the shell of his ear, biting down on his lobe and smiling when all he can respond with are pitchy whimpers for a moment.

“I–I'm–I'm trying,” he grits out against your skin, thrusting into you before you can spit out another response. San is a fucking machine once he's finally given permission. You don't consciously cling to him but, you rake across his back nonetheless. The pain just pushes him further. The sounds of skin hitting skin echo throughout his disgustingly large bedroom and, if you had the presence of mind to care, you may have worried that someone could hear the two of you.

All of his little whines and moans shoot straight down to your clit not unlike lightning. However, just as you're starting to enjoy finally getting a decent, thorough pounding, it ends just as quickly as it started.

Your eyes fly open when all you receive in warning is a strangled whimper of your name before copious amounts of warmth flood your slick walls. San shudders harshly over your body. His cock throbs with each rope of cum that paints your pussy white. He must've been just as pent up as you, you reason but, it doesn't stop the white-hot disappointment that you feel. You stare up at the maurel Hongjoong had painted for him ages ago while he tries to stop himself from crushing you with his weight as his seed starts to leak out of you.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters into your throat, strong hands rubbing your thighs in what you assume to be apology, “I could–I couldn't help it,” he squeaks. He's blushing so hard that you're certain the heat radiating off him raises your body temperature.

“Disappointing as always. Nothing new,” is all you say in response, shoving him off of you and standing on unsteady legs. He reaches out to help you but, must see something in your face that tells him not to touch you. So, he doesn't. He watches as you make your way into his washroom. Ugh, other than letting him touch you, the clean up is probably the most annoying part of these little meetings.

Once you've cleaned yourself up enough that the prince's seed isn't dribbling onto your thighs, you exit his unnecessarily ornate bathroom. Met with the sight of him still naked and lounging on his bed, waiting for you.

“We can go again,” he offers sincerely, “If you'd like to, of course.”

You resent the way your clit throbs at the offer.

“I'm fine. I think I'll retire for the night,” you respond, picking up your discarded undergarment from the ground and slipping it on. Only just managing to hold back from cringing at the cool wetness that meets your skin. The prince looks like he wants to say something. To argue. However, nothing comes.

“Well then, goodnight. I look forward to our next…encounter,” he finally replies once the words find him. A different man. This is the prince you're more accustomed to outside of his bedchambers.

You nod before turning to face his door. Slinking into the darkness of the hallways and hoping no one sees you leaving the crown prince's personal chambers at this hour.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Kinkuary 2024 Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

#choi san smut #san smut #ateez smut #choi san x reader smut #san x reader smut #ateez x reader smut

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

Unsmooth Operator

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Femme!Reader

Summary: It’s summer in Hawkins and Eddie finds himself caught up on the cute girl working at the record store in the mall

Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, brief mentions of sexual content (nothing sexual actually happens), swearing, potentially lethal levels of adorableness 

A/N: First of all, sorry it’s been so long since I posted my last fic. My poor little ADHD self is a slow writer, I’m afraid. But anyway, I kind of wrote this as a sort of prequel to my Henderson!Reader fic, but there’s no direct mention of Reader being related to anyone, so you can either read it as that or not. Also, special thanks to Mr. Joseph Quinn for confirming that Eddie Munson has no game. 

My Master List | Ao3

-

It’s June in Hawkins and the summer heat has already grown practically unbearable. The shitty window A/C unit Eddie’s been using has finally crapped out, and in the heat of the day the trailer is approximately the temperature of the sun. Mercifully, he’s found a sweet, air conditioned refuge in the newly built Starcourt mall, a temple to 20th century decadence and consumerism that also happens to be a very pleasant temperature inside. 

Jeff and Gareth are tagging along today, which is fun except for the quick pit stop they had to make at the homegoods store so Gareth could pick up some new linens for his mom. They’ve finished that now, though, and Eddie’s already got their next destination in mind. 

“I’m gonna do it”, Gareth insists as they go, “I’m gonna get a tattoo.”

“Your mom would kill you”, Jeff replies.”remember when she caught you smoking? I thought she wasn’t going to let us see you ever again after that.”

“It’s different now”, Gareth tells him, “I’m 16. I’m gonna be a junior. It’s time I make my own choices, you know?”

“Good luck with that”, Jeff laughs. 

“Let’s hit the record store next”, Eddie cuts in, “I want to pick up the new Bob Dylan album for Wayne.”

“More like you wanna see the cute girl working the register”, Jeff teases.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Eddie retorts, desperately hoping his cheeks aren’t actually turning as red as he thinks they are.

In truth, he does have an ulterior motive for wanting to go to the record store, and it is you. You’ve been going to Hawkins High for the past three years, but admittedly Eddie had never really been more than vaguely aware of your existence until this past semester, when you two had PE together. He had this routine he’d do where he would imitate the gym teacher when the man wasn’t looking, and it never failed to elicit a giggle from you. One day Eddie noticed how cute you looked when you laughed and well, he’s been a little bit stuck on you ever since. 

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Gareth comments, as if it’s just that easy.

Sweet, naive Gareth. Maybe for guys like Steve Harrington it’s that easy, but Eddie isn’t Steve Harrington. Gareth wasn’t there for Eddie’s early high school days. He wasn’t there during Eddie’s sophomore year when two hot juniors decided to prank him by convincing him their cheerleader friend was “super into him” or his junior year when he invited that girl from drama club to join Hellfire and she laughed out loud at him. Most girls don’t even want to be seen with Eddie “the Freak” Munson, let alone date him. 

“Jeff’s talking out of his ass”, Eddie lies, “come on, let’s go.”

You are, of course, there at the counter when they walk in, and oh God, is that an Iron Maiden shirt you’re wearing? Fuck, as if he couldn’t be more into you. 

“Um, Eddie, you good dude?” Gareth asks him and he realizes he’s stopped right there in the entrance of the store, just staring at you. He quickly turns away and walks the rest of the way into the store, thankful that you’re currently checking out a customer and probably didn’t notice him ogling you like a total weirdo. 

Admittedly, this may not have been a good idea, at least if he wants to convince Jeff and Gareth he’s not into you. He quickly grabs a Bob Dylan tape and starts making for the door, desperate to just get out of there and spare himself anymore humiliation.

“Um, you gonna pay for that?” Jeff asks and fuck. He’s shoplifted before but he’s not interested in getting barred from the record store, so he’s not gonna risk it today. 

“Right”, he mutters and then he forces himself to go up to the counter. 

He feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest when he walks up and you flash him that brilliant smile of yours.

“Hi, Eddie”, you greet and his eyes grow wide because you know his name. Well, obviously you did, you had a class together, but it just sounds so good coming from your mouth that he momentarily ceases to function. 

“Did you need help with something?” you ask after a moment.

“What?” Eddie asks, “oh no. Just um, just this.”

He sets the tape on the counter and you grab it to ring it up.

“Dylan”, you comment as you do, “not your usual fare.”

“It’s for my uncle”, Eddie explains, “he’s a big fan.”

“Cool”, you say, “I like your vest by the way. Dio. Nice.”

Well, that’s it. It’s over. Eddie’s done for. 

“That’ll be $6.30”, you say.

“Oh, right money”, Eddie sputters and fishes a ten out of his pocket. He knows Jeff and Gareth are standing nearby, watching this all play out and probably laughing with each other about it. He’s definitely never living this down.

“You want a bag”, you ask as you finish gathering his change. 

“Oh, I um, I guess”, he replies, not actually processing the question. You hand him his change, then place the tape in a bag and slide it over to him. He goes to grab it, and because he’s not at all paying attention to anything but you, inadvertently sends the display of Beach Boy tapes sitting on the counter tumbling to the floor.

“Oh shit”, he hisses, “oh fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay”, you reply, coming around the counter, “I keep telling Doug he shouldn’t put that stuff so close to the register.”

You bend down to start picking up the tapes and years worth of Wayne’s lectures on behaving like a gentleman come flooding back to Eddie, so he quickly follows suit.

“Let me help you”, he says.

“Thanks”, you say and you’re smiling again and Eddie kind of wants to die. 

With the two of you, it doesn’t take long to get everything cleaned up and back in order. 

“I’m really sorry”, Eddie says again as you make your way back behind the counter, and then before he can stop himself, he blurts, “maybe I could make it up to you somehow?”

“What?” you ask, clearly unsure of what he means.

“I mean like, maybe I could buy you a-a coffee or something sometime”, he stammers.

You peer at him for a moment, and he braces for the inevitable rejection he’s about to endure.

“I like ice cream”, you say, “if you meet me here at 3 tomorrow, you can buy me some ice cream and we’ll call it even.”

Maybe Eddie’s already dead and this is heaven. That or he’s being punked somehow. Either way, he stands there like an idiot for a second, trying to process that you just suggested the two of you meet for ice cream. 

“Um okay”, he says.

“Cool”, you grin, “see you then.”

“Right”, he says, “see you then.”

And then he’s swiping his bag from the counter and stiffly making his way back to Jeff and Gareth, his body still trapped in a state of shock.

“So”, Jeff prompts, “what was all that?”

“I um, I think I’m meeting her for ice cream tomorrow”, Eddie informs them. 

The two younger boys exchange glances, mouths stretching into a matching pair of shit eating grins. 

“Talking out of my ass, huh?” Jeff teases.

“Shut up”, Eddie snaps, “I’m just being polite okay? It’s not like a date or anything.”

“Sure it isn’t”, Gareth replies smugly. 

“Whatever”, Eddie huffs and the others know not to continue the conversation, even if they spend the rest of the afternoon exchanging amused glances at each other.

-

Eddie waits until he’s back at the trailer to let everything sink in. When it does, he feels a vague sense of panic washing over him. 

Embarrassing as it is, Eddie’s never had a real, serious girlfriend before. Hell, aside from a brief flirtation with Tammy Thompson that ended in a very awkward hand job in the school parking lot, he’s never really had any experience with girls (or boys for that matter) at all. And Tammy was the one that initiated that. He wasn’t even really into her, he was just desperate for some sort of female attention. 

You, though, he is into you. Very, very much into you. And he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do or say. He finally, finally has a chance to go out with his dream girl, and he’s almost certainly going to say something wrong and scare you off like pretty much everyone he’s ever been into. 

He wonders what the weather in Wisconsin is like this time of year, because he’s halfway to hopping in his van and heading there now, never to be seen or heard from in Hawkins, Indiana again.

Then again, maybe he’s over thinking it. It’s not like the word “date” ever came up in your conversation. Maybe this really is just him paying you back for his clumsiness, and afterwards you won’t even spare him a second thought. In the end, he figures that whatever the case, he’s not just going to leave you high and dry, so he has no choice but to go. 

-

Eddie shows up outside the record store at 2:45 the next day. He stands there awkwardly, fiddling with his rings and secretly hoping that you don’t show up and he doesn’t have to deal with all of this.

No such luck though, you appear exactly at 3, looking as cute as ever in your jean skirt. 

“Hey”, you greet and Eddie momentarily forgets how to speak.

“Hey”, he repeats, unable to formulate a coherent enough thought to do anything but copy your greeting.

“You ready to go?” you ask and he nods. 

The record store is a fair bit away from Scoops Ahoy, and for probably the first time in his life, Eddie finds himself unsure of what exactly to say. Thankfully, you take the lead.

“So, have you heard Megadeth’s album?” you ask, “I got it the first day it came out and I love it.”

“Me too”, Eddie says, and he can feel himself being knocked out of his stupor then, “you know, my friends and I have a metal band.”

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah”, he tells you, “we perform Wednesdays at the Hideout, if you ever want to come see us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind”, you smile and Eddie thinks his heart momentarily stops. 

Walking into Scoops Ahoy with you by his side is an almost unreal experience. You and him go up to the counter and Steve Harrington is there in his little sailor suit that Eddie almost feels sorry that he’s forced to wear. 

“Hey Steve”, you greet.

“Hey Y/N”, Steve replies, and then he notices that Eddie’s with you and he gets this super confused look on his face. 

“So, uh, get whatever you want I guess”, Eddie says.

Once you two have ordered and gotten your ice cream, you eat it while idly wandering around the mall, just chatting about anything and everything. Eddie, as always, is frequently cracking jokes, and God is it mesmerizing to see the way you laugh in response. 

It’s quite the disappointment when you’re finishing your ice cream and you’re bidding him farewell. 

He knows he has to at least try to see you again so he tests the waters with a quick “that was fun, we should do it again sometime.”

“I’d like that”, you smile.

“Awesome”, he replies.

“Here”, you say, rooting around in your purse, “give me your hand.”

He obliges, and you produce a pen, which you use to scribble something onto his outstretched hand.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“My number”, you reply, “call me tonight or tomorrow?”

“Sure”, he tells you. 

“Great”, you say, “I’ll see you, Eddie.”

“See you”, he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as absolutely lovesick to you as he does to himself. 

You flash him one final smile before departing, and he just stands there awkwardly for a second, watching as you go. Once you’ve disappeared from sight and he’s snapped out of his trance, he peers down at the numbers you’d scrawled onto his hand. He has to remind himself that it’d be weird to get them tattooed onto himself permanently. He can’t believe that it worked. You went on a date with him, in public, and didn’t care if you were seen together. You laughed at his jokes. You gave him his number and asked to see him again. You liked him. 

The trailer is as unbearably hot as ever when he returns, but for once, he doesn’t care. He’s too excited to call you later and hopefully set up another date. 

#stranger things #eddie munson #feral raccoon boy #nikki's fic library #nikki writes #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x femme!reader #stranger things fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie x femme!reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #god i hate tagging #also my boss has a bit of Sade obsession if you're wondering about the title

[ensignsimp]

Romantic TOS HCs: Kirk, Spock, McCoy

A/N: After a horrible blog explosion I've had to rewrite some of my headcanons. I hope you all enjoy it.

Prompt: Romantic TOS Kirk, Spock, McCoy w/ GN! Reader

James T. Kirk

Kirk is most definitely a hopeless romantic.

He is also the KING OF SAPPY ROMANCES.

Kirk most definitely reads those cheesy romance novels your grandma has on her nightstand.

He tries to keep things professional on the bridge, it doesn't last.

He'll give you longing looks, and endless compliments, the man is a total flirt with you on the bridge. (That and info-dumping.)

He'll give exaggerated sighs and swoon anytime you do even the bare minimum.

"Thank you, Ensign (L/N). What would we do without you?"

He'll write you little love notes and have the other Ensigns deliver them to you.

He is constantly blowing you kisses.

He even gives you the most ridiculous pet names;

"Sunshine, My Star, Sweetie"

It would be embarrassing if it wasn't so cute.

You're barely in the turbolift when he's covering you in kisses.

He's always sharing books to read with you (maybe the less goofy ones).

It's like having your own book club.

He loves head scratches and when you hold him in your arms.

He is a huge cuddler and enjoys snuggles.

He prefers to be the big spoon or to lay on your chest.

Kirk gets the cutest happy golden retriever look on his face if you give him head scratches and read to him.

S'chn T'gai Spock

When Spock falls in love, he falls hard!

He thought he should have been incapable of the feeling.

But to Vulcans' it's not just about the feeling of love, it's the subtlety of action.

He keeps things professional on the bridge. However, that doesn't stop him from consulting you any chance he gets.

He shows his love in discrete ways; long loving looks, sharing in debates and games of strategy, in addition to the ozh'esta. *Finger Embrace

He will complement you, just not in the way Kirk or McCoy would.

"I completely trust Ensign (L/N)'s judgment, they have profoundly sound logic for a human."

During slower times on the bridge, he'll write lines of poetry about you.

Though he never likes to share it.

Pet names are sadly rare but when you are alone he calls you almost anything but your name.

"Ashal-veh, t'nash-veh, t'hy'la"

He doesn't protest you using pet names for him while working together.

He likes to hold your hand by wrapping his pinky around yours.

He'll teach you how to play the Vulcan Harp if you're interested.

Totally not so he can have you sit in his lap and caress your hands.

He loves it when you caress his face and run your fingers through his hair.

If you just hold his face in your hands and look into his eyes he'll turn bright green.

He enjoys cuddling and having you sleeping next to him.

He'll usually prefer the honeymoon position or have you lay on his chest.

Leonard McCoy

He's a doctor and a glucose guardian.

He never thought he'd fall in love again, but here he is.

He's very old school when it comes to his style of dating.

He keeps things professional on the surface but you can tell he favors you more.

It doesn't matter what is going on, he'll always make time for you.

He isn't the best when it comes to frequent compliments but you know they're sincere.

"Ensign, you make me feel young again."

He scolds Kirk if he puts you on dangerous way missions.

He likes to keep you close by, like Spock, he's always calling you up for something.

His pet names for you are the sweetest.

"Honey, Sweetie, Darling."

He loves it when you call him things like "Doc, Hot Shot, Good Lookin'."

He likes to spend all of his off hours with you. He practically follows you around like a puppy.

Sometimes when you two are apart he likes to give you personal com messages, like back in the 20th century.

He loves to take you dancing even if he can't move as fast as he used to.

"In-quarters" dates are his favorite because he can just sit still with you in his lap.

He adores cuddling up in a big blanket and watching old movies with you.

During this time he's more openly affectionate, he likes to run his fingers through your hair and cover your face in kisses.

He prefers to have you sit in his lap, but he won't argue if you want him to sit in yours.

#star trek #star trek the original series #star trek tos #tos #x reader #james t kirk #james kirk #kirk #s'chn t'gai spock #mr spock #spock #leonard mccoy #dr mccoy #mccoy #tos kirk #tos spock #tos mccoy #tos kirk x reader #tos spock x reader #tos mccoy x reader #james t kirk x reader #james kirk x reader #kirk x reader #s'chn t'gai spock x reader #mr spock x reader #spock x reaer #leonard mccoy x reader #dr mccoy x reader #mccoy x reader