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im-his-druidess · 20 days

Text

The Deal

No one asked for this, but I needed something dark and gross 🤷‍♀️

TW: Dub-Con turned Non-Con; Infidelity; Cheating; Rough sex; Forced sex; Slight fuck-or-die but not really; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; Unnecessary amount of commas

Just when you think you couldn’t feel even more worthless, here you were spreading your legs for a man that wasn’t your husband, all for the chance to get food on your table. Your husband acted just as worthless as you currently felt and invited his parents to move into your already cramped house without discussing anything with you. Four grown adults living in a one-bedroom shack of a house, with your husband barely making enough money to feed you both let alone two more mouths, was enough to want to pull your hair out. Of course, it didn’t help that your mother-in-law found fault in every single thing you did which your husband agreed with to stay on his mother’s good side. Coupled with your in-laws living beyond their means, including gorging themselves on food that you managed to scrap together, which often left you going to bed hungry and riddled with anxiety. So, when you overheard the local gossip hounds whispering how the Hewitt family would give meat from their job at the slaughterhouse in exchange for favors, it didn’t take long for you to come to a steely resolve. It might have been the numerous days without a steady meal, or how you were belittled everyday at your home, that made you snap and jump at the chance.

Setting up the arrangement with Charlie Hewitt left a sour taste in your mouth at the way he openly leered at you the entire time, but you just kept thinking about finally going to bed with a full belly to get you through his poorly concealed innuendos and crass language. It wasn’t until you arrived at the Hewitt’s home, telling your husband you were walking to the next town for groceries as an excuse, that your plan began to crumble. The memory of Charlie’s words making fear squeeze your lungs and bile rising in your throat.

‘As much as I want a piece of that pussy…I made a promise to my kin. Tommy’s birthday is coming up and it is far past time for him to become a man despite what mama says. So that’s who you’ll be fucking today. If you got a problem with that then you can fuck off.’

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it made your head spin.

Relief that you wouldn’t have to sleep with that disgusting excuse of a man making you giddy, before realization at his words struck you like white-hot lightening. You’ve only seen Tommy Hewitt once and the memory was seared into your brain.

You had come across him as he lumbered down the main road on his way home from the slaughterhouse and you were frozen in your tracks as his hulking form stalked past you. He was a large burly man, with broad shoulders, huge biceps, and thick thighs, and his dark shaggy hair didn’t hide the fact that he wore some type of leather mask on the lower part of his face.

He still wore his bloodstained apron.

You had reluctantly agreed once Charlie “sweetened” the deal by promising double the amount of food he would give. Now, here you were, propped up on a bench in the shed while listening to Charlie whisper harshly outside the door. From his tone it sounded like he was scolding someone, Tommy to be exact when you heard his slow heavy footsteps nearing the door, and you swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest the longer you had to wait. From the snippets you could hear it sounded like he was giving instructions and you grimaced when you heard him give vivid instructions on what to put in where.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tommy came stumbling through the door looking exactly like you remember minus the apron. You realized his blunt appearance was because he was being pushed into the room. Charlie gave you a dirty lingering look, shaking his head with a wistful sigh, before slapping Tommy on a broad shoulder before ducking back out.

The door shut with a firm thud and then you were left alone with the behemoth.

Fear and anxiety once more rushed through you fast enough to make you lightheaded, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, and the man lingered almost awkwardly by the door. You dimly noticed that he kept his head down, stealing glances at you and your body through his curtain of hair, and you took a deep breath to gather your courage. The bench underneath you was hard and uncomfortable and you knew the sooner you got this over with the sooner you can go home and forget this entire thing.

With shaky hands you hiked up your skirt, removing your panties so they won’t get lost or ruined, and spread your legs. Your face burned in mortification at your actions, even more so when Tommy’s entire body jerked as if sucker-punched, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide the way he openly stared between your legs with wide blue eyes. You fumbled with the small bottle of oil you brought with you, knowing you weren’t going to get properly wet enough to make things less painful, and you quickly waved Tommy over. He approached slowly as if you were going to bite before settling between your spread legs. With him so close you suddenly realized just how big he was, your thighs straining to accommodate the width of his hips, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a large heavy hand landed on your thigh. His skin was rough and overly warm, thick fingers digging into the meat of your thigh curiously, and you spotted his eyes darting over the rest of your body before settling back between your legs. Your nerves were starting to crumble at his slow pace so you reached down and began unbuckling his pants with trembling fingers.

His entire body tensed up and you mumbled a quiet apology, but your hands continued their work. You knew this was supposedly his first time, but you were anxious to get this over with. Tommy made a low grunting noise as he shuffled on his feet before you got his pants open and his entire body seemed to spasm when you reached into his pants to grab his dick.

You immediately paled at the sheer girth you encountered as you fingers weren’t even close to touching.

He was clearly proportionate to the rest of his body, but that also meant that he was hung like a fucking horse. You let go and fumbled with the vial of oil with a quick prayer for things to be over quickly. You ignored how he jerked his hips closer to you as if willing your hand back as he restlessly pushed his pants down with a grunt to offer you more room to touch him.

His cock stuck out just below his button-down shirt, almost drooping from the heavy weight, and the thick tip was an angry shade of red. You couldn’t help but compare him to your husband. He was larger in every single way, almost laughably so, and you had the brief thought of if you could even get that inside you. It twitched under your gaze. You looked away suddenly embarrassed and saw out of the corner of your eye his hips jerk once more towards you. You felt sweat pool at your lower back, the hot summer air doing nothing to cool you off despite being in shade, and you nervously wiped the sweat beading at your brow the back of your hand. You chided yourself and focused once more at the task at hand.

You poured a generous amount into your palm, nearly half the bottle, and steeled yourself before reaching down to coat him thoroughly. The sound he made didn’t seem human, the punched out garbled growl making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you held back your whimper of fright as he thickened even more in your grasp. You tried to not think of how you were going to struggle to take him into your body. You dropped him once he was completely coated and dumped more oil into your hand, steadfastly ignoring the way Tommy panted through his mask. You leaned back while taking a deep breath before reaching down and slathering yourself, working the oil into your cunt while simultaneously trying to stretch yourself with two fingers in preparation. It wasn’t long until you felt calloused fingers brushing against the back of your hand making you nearly shriek in surprise. You whipped your head down to see Tommy had moved closer, eyes completely transfixed between your legs, and you realized he was gripping himself with his other hand.

He was stroking himself at the same pace you were working yourself open.

Unexpectedly, heat simmered low in your pelvis at the sight and you couldn’t help but squirm in place. It was only about a minute later that you could tell he was getting restless, his hand squeezing his cock tight enough to make you wince, and you pretended to not notice him rubbing the weeping tip against your thighs. Tommy suddenly gripped your leg and spread you even further and you did whimper at the pain shooting through your hip at the unnatural position. He began grinding against your hand still buried in yourself, huffing in annoyance when he was denied entry, and you took a shuddering deep breath before moving your hand away to grip the edge of the bench.

“Go…slow, okay? Slow,” you muttered in a raspy voice and the only answer you received was the sensation of something blunt and sticky nudging at you.

He suddenly surged forward in an attempt to ram himself in, making you shriek and kick your pinned leg uselessly, but thankfully he just slid through your wet folds and brushed against your clit. He did that a few more times and was clearly growing agitated.

Even as you tried to weakly soothe him by weakly petting the hand holding you open, but that just seemed to work him up even more. Eventually the head of his cock notched at your entrance and he began to slowly push forward, seemingly learning from his mistakes, and you felt your eyes widen at the stretch. He was impossibly wide, nearly making you scream as your body attempted to reject the intrusion, but he was determined and those dark blue eyes never strayed from your straining cunt. You tried to help by shifting your hips, bracing one foot on the bench to widen your pelvis, and even stretching your other leg out to help ease the tension.

Nothing worked and you couldn’t escape the mounting pressure.

“It’s not going to work…Tommy, you have to stop. It hurts,” you pleaded, beginning to push on his thick chest while wiggling your hips away from him, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. Tommy didn’t like you pushing him away.

With a growl he pulled back, but your relief was short lived as he easily grabbed your hips and flipped you over and resumed his position. One broad palm was flat on your back between your shoulder blades, pinning you in place even as you squirmed and kicked, and you felt him trying to push in again with renewed vigor.

“Tommy, stop! I changed my mind! Get off of me!” you shrieked with growing panic only to have your shouts silenced by the feel of that fat head popping inside you.

Your eyes widened, body freezing and clenching down on reflex, and you barely had time to draw in a breath before Tommy drew back and slammed himself halfway inside you. The scream you let out was ear-piercing and your throat immediately felt shredded from the sound, but was cut off by him rearing back and slamming his hip back into you until he was eventually buried to the hilt.

His croaky moan of pleasure was covered by another scream from you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face as you howled in pain, feeling as if you were being ripped in half, and you barely noticed Tommy’s other hand reaching down to paw at your wet cheeks as if to soothe you.

He only stayed still for a few seconds before leaning back and beginning a downright brutal pace. His hips were slamming into you with enough force to have the bench beneath you creaking ominously, your pelvis felt like it was going to shatter, and you had the stray thought that no amount of preparation would have ever prepared for you for him. Your gasping cries were short and choppy, from both his frantic pace and the hand pushing you down effectively squishing your lungs, but you still shrieked and yelped for him to stop or at least slow down to let your body adjust.

He didn’t listen.

He seemed possessed, grunting and snarling as he pounded into you mercilessly, and eventually your body went limp. You clawed helplessly against the wood beneath your cheek, blubbering incoherently, and prayed that Tommy would finish quickly. As if punishment for accepting this deal, you were granted no such reprieve.

He continued to rut into you like a mindless beast for what felt like hours, your insides swollen and throbbing as they were pummeled by his thick cock, and sweat was dripping off of him and mingling with your tears as he leaned over you to reach impossibly deeper. It wasn’t until his hips started stuttering and his thrusts turned deep and hard instead of fast and frantic that had you crying in relief at the telltale signs that he was nearing his finish. Then a horrifying realization dawned on you. Tommy wasn’t stopping. Instead it seemed he was spending longer and longer buried completely to the hilt, pressed flush against you as close as he could, and a new wave of terror-induced adrenaline washed over you.

“Not inside…Tommy don’t you fucking dare finish inside me,” you shrieked, renewing your struggles to escape him, and you grew increasingly wild as he only grunted at you.

You began writhing and attempting to twist away from him, kicking your legs and reaching back behind you to claw at his face, anything to get him away from you.

It only resulted in the hand on your back to slide up and fist painfully in your hair, nearly slamming you back onto the table hard enough for you to see black spots swimming in your vision, and his other hand grabbed your hip to further hold you in place. You continued to beg and plead for him to not come inside you, literally anywhere else but inside, but you were steadfastly ignored. His pace suddenly quickened, a low rattling whine escaping his broad chest, and you wailed as he stilled completely buried inside you. You felt his cock jerk and throb followed by a wave of scorching heat soothing your ravaged channel and you screamed in outrage and in despair. Tommy continued to grind into you, riding out his orgasm with small hurt noises escaping his throat, and by the time he was finished you were limp and shivering with shock. Realization of what all just happened rolling through your mind as fast as nausea rolled in your stomach at the feeling of wetness slipping down your thighs. Bile threatened to rise in your throat, silent tears spilling anew down your damp face, and your entire body felt both boiling hot and icy cold.

You wept quietly as he stayed buried inside you. He petted through your hair as if you were a frightened animal, his ragged breathing filling the stuffy air of the shed, and you swore you heard him cooing at you. You felt him lean down and nuzzle the back of your head as his hand moved from your hip to shyly pet over the back of your hand in some twisted form of affection after what just happened. The door suddenly swung open and you didn’t even have the energy to even twitch.

“Atta boy, Tommy! Heard that bitch caterwauling clear down the road!” Charlie shouted with clear glee and humiliation burned in your veins.

You heard the man move closer, no doubt wanting to leer at your crumpled body, but Tommy growled and moved his body more firmly on top of you. As if shielding you from view.

“Aw, what’s this, boy? You finally get your dick wet and now feel like you’re somebody special?” Charlie sneered and you felt the large body on top of you press even tighter to you.

You heard movement around you before a large item wrapped in brown paper tied with twine plopped on the table by your head.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t be shy now. I’m sure Tommy would love to see you again,” he continued with a wheezing laugh, clearly finding the whole ordeal hilarious, and he walked back out of the shed laughing to himself.

Regret and disgust swirled in your gut at the sight of the paper bag, knowledge of what all transpired making you want to cry all over again, and you let out a small hiccupping sob. Tommy nuzzled into your hair once more, his body relaxing now that Charlie had left, and he resumed his petting. He was letting out a happy garbled sound, clearly not realizing how he had just brutalized you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt Tommy begin to harden inside you once more.

#Thomas Hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre smut #texas chainsaw massacre 2003 #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt smut #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher smut #the cryptid posts

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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Am I the asshole for watching a movie as a family without including my dad? Writing it out, I think I know the answer, but this has still been bugging me.

Around Thanksgiving I (30s) visited home. It was also a trip to see for my mom (late 60s) for her birthday, so I was there for a few days longer than a Thanksgiving trip would normally account for. My brother (30s) and his wife (30s) visited for her birthday too. My dad (early 70s) was there as well. They've been married over 30 years. Originally I'd planned to take everybody out to see a movie as a birthday present for my mom...but it turned out there was literally nothing at the theater that my mom was interested in at all. The town is pretty small, and the options were limited. So instead, we started out with a nice dinner, and family board game run-through of a trivia game we all thought we'd have some fun with. My mom ended up winning, which is rare and was not deliberate, and it wrapped the game up way faster than we'd anticipated.

My dad immediately went back into the living room after the game ended, openly a little annoyed that mom had won a trivia game based on something he considers himself the family expert in. He watches old reruns of the show he's seen a million times on a loop every day, and it can be pulling teeth to get him to do anything else. It was just a fluke, but something the rest of us considered a pleasant surprise since none of us had expected she'd win. But he was annoyed. Given that it was still early, Mom suggested we find a movie to watch online, so we could all wind down before bed with something the whole family could enjoy.

Dad said no. Now this feels like important context: I...have a lot of problems with my dad. I love him, but he can be extremely emotionally immature. Downright verbally abusive at times. And very petty. I'm in therapy in no small part due to some of the insecurities he instilled in me over the years. I've worked hard to set basic boundaries with him. He also has multiple medical issues, and I'm pretty sure he has untreated depression and other mental health problems he refuses to acknowledge that contribute to him flying off the handle at a moment's notice. That, combined with the fact that my mom will 100% never, ever leave him, because she was raised in a very specific mindset that she's never been fully able to shake...means my brother and I usually have to grit our teeth when he starts ranting/yelling/complaining during a visit, or we'd just end up ruining the day for our mom. She's done so much for us, and we just wanted her to have a good visit. So, that's what I did for most of the trip. I breathed deep when my dad openly mocked my stutter, and refused to get in a fight about it. I stopped myself from getting visibly upset when he tried to feed my cat table scraps even when I told him the cat needs a special diet. On other days I tried to watch his old shows with him, and ignored the sexist comments he'd make about the female leads, all for the sake of keeping the peace.

But, it was Mom's birthday. And she wanted to watch a movie.

And Dad said no.

He refused to give up his marathon of old westerns from 60 years ago to watch a new movie with his family on the big tv in the living room.

My mom seemed disappointed, so I suggested we watch one on my laptop in the kitchen instead. Without my dad, if he really wanted to watch his show instead. She agreed, and my brother, his wife, my mom and I filed into the kitchen, sat in less-than-comfy chairs, and watched a fantasy heist film that I'd thought they would all enjoy. And they did. My brother was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the movie (I'd already vouched for it being good, none of the others had seen it previously) His wife kept making notes for her dnd campaign. My mom found it hilarious, and liked that some actors from another show she liked were in it.

My dad stayed in the living room, watching his marathon.

Partway through the movie, he came in and asked us what we were watching. We told him, and he passed through the kitchen for something he needed, then said that we were being too loud. More context: the kitchen is right next to the living room, but my dad turns the tv up so loud in there it can get physically painful to be in the room with him. He refuses to get hearing aides, and only recently relented on subtitles. He also has a habit of screaming at anyone who tries to talk for a long time when his shows are on and they're in earshot, even if they're in a different room. We thought he couldn't hear it over his tv, and so when he said something we said sorry and that we'd try to keep it down, but we could already barely hear it through the laptop speakers. We already had subtitles turned on to make sure we didn't miss anything. When we told him that, he got even more annoyed. He asked how we'd like it if he turned the tv up so loud we couldn't understand anything, then proceeded to go into the living room and do just that, just as I was trying to figure out how much more we could lower the volume without losing our whole experience. We called in that we were already turning it down, and he finally turned his volume back down as well. We finished our movie, turning the volume down during action scenes and up during speaking scenes so we could actually hear the dialog. We enjoyed the rest of the film, and then people started getting ready for bed, and my mom went to check on my dad. She told me a few minutes later that he was hurt that we'd watched the movie without him. That he felt left out. I told her that he'd had multiple opportunities to join us, and that is was his choice not to watch with us. And honestly, the fact that he wouldn't give up the real tv for a couple hours so she could have a birthday movie was really upsetting to me.

She still seemed to feel bad that he was left out, and I'm a little worried that he might've sulked for days afterwards, leaving my mom in an even more stressful environment after I left. Am I the asshole for insisting my mom get to watch a movie on her birthday? And would I be the asshole if I told my dad off for what I consider to be extremely selfish behavior?

Also before anyone asks, no, I'm not cutting him off. It's literally impossible to do that without pretty much cutting off my mom as well, and she absolutely doesn't deserve that. And yes, I've offered up my apartment as a place she can stay if she ever needs to. Repeatedly. She hasn't taken me up on it yet.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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forgeofthenine · 4 months

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So let’s say the three tiefling bachelors s/o is a Drakewarden ranger and the Drake has taken a liking to them. What sort of shenanigans would the Drake and the bachelor tieflings get into? (My own head cannon is that the drake acts like a giant cat and doesn’t realize it’s too big for lap time now)

This was a fun little prompt to write, I just love these guys with various little pets tbh. Enjoy everyone, and expect some more headcanons tomorrow :)

The bachelors with their partners drake companion

Dammon

Dammon and the drake got on like a house on fire

He's the type of guy that every animal he meets just loves him, you know the type

As soon as you introduce the two Dammon is already treating the person sized, red drake as if it's his new puppy

You'll see him scratching it's chin or sneaking it food scraps from the table

It's hard keeping an eye on them both to make sure he isn't instilling any bad habits into your companion

After you've been out with your drake for the day you'll find it eagerly scrambles up the stairs to reach Dammons forge

Sometimes you even dare to think that Dammon might be more excited to see the drake than he is to see you

The both of them have their tails wagging in excitement at the reunion, and it would be endearing if your drake didn't knock over your lovers work equipment

These two can often be found snuggling on the couch, your drake dwarfing Dammon as he calls you over to join them

Zevlor

Zevlor is slightly unsure of your drake at first

It's a silver beast that towers over anyone, himself included, and he feels justified keeping it at arms length

He watches as the beast snuggles with you or happily letting you ride it's back as if it were a horse, and he starts to realise it isn't so bad

It's a slow process of getting them used to each other, your drake a bit too forward and Zevlor a bit overly cautious

You start with having Zevlor feeding your companion various treats, first having him throw them and working him up to hand feeding

Once he's a bit more comfortable the two actually get on quite well

If you're hanging around the house or otherwise occupied, you'll often find your drake trailing around behind Zevlor as he goes about his duties

The drake is quite the good helper, carrying buckets and equipment from place to place as Zevlor cares for all your other animals

Despite a slightly rocky start, the two end up being quite close friends

Rolan

Rolan and the drake have the worst start of the lot

He's very grumpy about having a 'big, bumbling beast' in his tower, but he bites his tongue because he loves you

The two generally try to avoid each other as much as possible to start with, they much prefer trying to find one on one time with you

Until you leave them both home alone one day

You get back to them having a truce and a budding friendship and neither will give you a clue how it happened

Rolan definitely takes advantage of having a new purple drake friend, afterall they're both scarier when together

He also thinks he's sneaky when he gives it quick forehead kisses if the drake is pouting and you look away

Definitely puts on a magic show or two for it if you leave the room entirely, he's always happy to show off to an adoring audience

And the best part is Rolan doesn't mind now every time your drake clambers onto the couch with you both and completely takes over any available lap space

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader

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wyvernquill · 1 year

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I am BEGGING for more anastasia au. I need Dream to realize what Hob has done for him twice over and reckon with the fact he sent Hob away so coldly! So cruelly! I wanna grab him by his scrawny shoulders and give him a good rattling to get that brain working!!

Soooo this was HIGHLY requested, Dream Finding Out, and while I did write up the Bad Ending version of that already over here, now it's time for the proper scene! All 3k words of it. It got long. Hope you enjoy, everyone!

I also set up a masterpost for the AU here, which I've pinned and will update as I post new parts!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom and finally @acedragontype too because of the ask answer included here.)

Dream is given a room.

It is strange and uncomfortable, to live with his siblings, and in such a humble abode. Part of him misses his palace, the endless expanse of the Dreaming, and another part thinks this is far too grand a place for a man who had spent the past few years mostly sleeping rough.

(And yet another part thinks longingly of modest little inns or ship cabins or train compartments, of uncomfortable train station benches barely wide enough for two but now fitting three, his head on Hob's shoulder as they are both dozing off - but he does not pay much heed to that part.

It was a temporary delusion. A lovely dream.

It's over now.)

Still, he is glad for it. In an exhausted, melancholy way, perhaps, but still he is glad. Before… before Murphy, he had thought he would never see any member of his family again (except, perhaps, Death, at the end), would never walk free, would never regain even a fraction of the powers humanity has robbed him of - this is a gift. This little magical refuge-space for what remains of the Endless, the scraps of magic he feels flickering in his ruby, Matthew faithful by his side - it is more than cruel and greedy humans would have wanted him to have, so he is glad.

Though it is not so easy, some days, to remind himself of that.

"Dream?"

"Dear sister." Dream raises his head from a collection of plays he has found in the House's modest library, and gestures to invite Death into the room. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You weren't at dinner, I wanted to check up on you. See if you were alright. And…" Death holds up a plate. "...also to bring you some sandwiches."

"That is kind of you." Dream avoids her gaze. "I merely felt unfit for company tonight. And require no sustenance, in any case."

"Don't you?" Death sets the plate down on the low table next to Dream's armchair, and pulls another up opposite him. "Destiny does, now. Desire too, I think, though of course they don’t like to admit it. Despair feels heat and cold - you've seen her in her new knitwear, haven't you - and Delirium has a human's sense of balance. Very frustrating for her, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Dream glances up, frowning.

"We have been weakened, Dream. Damaged." Death points out, carefully, gently, with a sad smile. "All of us. We are Endless, still, of course, and we will rebuild, recover our realms and tools and powers eventually - but, for now, perhaps for a long while yet, we aren't as we were. New requirements, new struggles. We don't have daily dinners the way we used to have "family dinners" - our brother and sibling need to eat and drink, and we eat with them to show we care and are there for them in their time of need."

"Ah." Dream swallows. "I will… make efforts to attend. From now on."

"Good." Death smiles, approving. "You were missed, Dream. Dearly missed. We are all ever so glad to have you back."

"Even Desire?"

"Especially Desire."

A moment of silence.

Death nudges the plate of sandwiches closer, and Dream takes one, tearing off bits to feed to Matthew on his shoulder - and, when Death raises an eyebrow, to nibble at himself.

(Sharing all his food with his birds was ever Murphy’s habit, and Dream finds it hard to shake, the pattern of feeding Matthew first and foremost.)

"What of you?" He asks, after a tiny bite.

"Hm?" Death blinks.

"What new painfully human need do you suffer from, sister?"

Death grimaces, a little awkwardly.

"...I need to sleep. Every night." She finally admits. "And I was glad for it."

She leans out of her armchair, putting her hand on his knee.

"It made me feel just a little closer to my lost brother."

Dream regards her hand - and then moves his own from the armrest, covering hers with it.

(Murphy used to scoff at Death of the Endless, offering up immortality for the safe return of her brother. Had thought it foolish, to offer so much for a wisp of hope, to potentially give immortal life to someone cruel and undeserving.

He understands better, now, he remembers - Death loves him, and he loves her, and there is nothing else that could possibly matter.)

"Are… are you okay?" Death asks, softly, concern seeping through the gentle lines of her face. "Be honest, now, Dream. Please. I worry, and if there is anything we can help you with-"

“I am well, my sister.” Dream says. And then, for the sake of honesty, “or as well as one can be, under the circumstances.”

Death keeps watching him with something imploring in her gaze, so he continues, haltingly.

“I… I am ill-used to these circumstances, still, which are a great improvement over my time as… my absence, and are yet much worse than what I was accustomed to before.” Dream confesses, slowly. “My people have been greatly diminished, and I grieve for them. I grieve for my home, my realm - as all of us Endless do. I thank you for your concern, sister, but there is no aid you could render me that I do not already receive.”

“I can at least listen and be there.” A last squeeze to his hand, before she leans back into her seat. “And assure you that your people are much better for having you returned to them. They were flocking here even before, and… to be honest, none of us were entirely sure what to do with them.”

“Lucienne has told me as much.” Dream inclines his head in acknowledgement. “And I shall see what can and must be done. More nightmares have survived and returned than dreams, so I must make some anew to restore the balance - or change nightmares to dreams. Gault has already volunteered, and I shall grant her request as soon as I have strength enough in me to attempt it.”

(In the past, he might have refused - but his years as Murphy have taught Dream many things about the self, about change… and about the discomfort of existing as one thing when part of you yearns to be another. He will not change any against their will, as the Magus attempted and half-succeeded to do to Dream - but this is Gault’s earnest wish, and they have all lost so much, must all arrange themselves with these new circumstances.

He should like to gift her a little happiness, where he can.)

“Good. I’m happy for her.” Death smiles. "Speaking of your Major Arcana - Gilbert is somewhat anxious that you're going to unmake him. Or at least I assume as much, from him asking some rather philosophical questions about whether dreams die the same way living things do."

Dream knows, and Dream knows he should. With his powers reduced so, he cannot risk keeping a Dreaming creature close who might be… convinced to scheme against him and his. Fiddler's Green was equally complicit in the plot to trick the Endless, just as guilty as Hob. And yet…

"I cannot find it in my heart to punish him for his transgression." Dream half-sighs, fondly. Dear, foolhearted Gilbert. "It is in his nature to mean well, that is how I made him. He is not greedy and cruel as humans are."

"Humans aren't 'as greedy and cruel as humans are', Dream." Death points out, frowning lightly. "Some are, yes. I can't and won't deny that. Others are kind and generous and loving in ways we Endless can hardly fathom. Would you say all dreams are horrid things designed to frighten only because nightmares exist?"

"That is not the same."

"Isn't it?"

Another moment of quiet.

And then Death says, knowingly, “it’s not about humanity as a whole at all, is it? You’re angry with Hob Gadling in particular.”

Dream tenses at the name.

“Aren’t you?” He shoots back. “It is you he swindled and schemed against.”

“Who is talking of swindling? What schemes?” Death shrugs. “I asked for my brother back. He delivered. Impeccable service is what I’d call that.”

“Pure happenstance.” Dream would have spat out the words, if that sort of behaviour wasn’t so beneath one of the Endless. “He is a man of good fortune, not of sound morals. I despise him for it.”

“I don’t. I won’t.” His sister insists, unwavering. “He protected you, Dream, he saved your life many times over, and without him, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, talking to my little brother, seeing him alive and well. I’m going to be grateful to Hob Gadling until the heat death of the universe, and perhaps, who knows, in whatever comes afterwards, too.”

Dream swallows a scoff.

"Well. I cannot deny that he fought fiercely… to protect his chance at your boon." He mutters bitterly. "That I represented it was but coincidence. Even now, with his assurance that he will eliminate the assassin who has been pursuing us, I am sure he does so only out of self-interest."

"...what," says Death.

"Did he not tell you? There was a man attempting to kill me - I did not recognise him at the time, though I suspect I might recall him now - and Hob Gadling intends to do away with him." Another scoff that Dream cannot suppress, this time. "I should not trust him with it, but he has offered - and with his newfound immortality, he is quite ideal for the task."

"His immorta-" There is something strange and stricken in his sister's face now. "Dream. Do you think- has he not told you?"

It is Dream's turn now, to say "what", a strange sense of foreboding settling in his chest. Death is fixing him with the sort of expression he recalls from accompanying her on her daily business, tender and compassionate and apologetic, on the brink of imparting the worst of news - though there is a private horror in the depth of her eyes.

"Oh, Dream," she whispers, reaching for his hand again. "Dream."

"My sister, what is it that I do not know?" Dream feels himself teeter on the brink of panic, gripping her fingers tightly. "What has Hob Gadling done?"

"He refused the reward, Dream." Death tells him, with grief and condolences echoing in her voice. "He's as mortal as any man."

"No," says Dream.

"No!" he snarls, tearing his hand from Death's, rising so abruptly that Matthew squawks and flutters off his shoulder. "You lie! He would have- he would have said-"

"Lie? I would never lie to you!" Death rises too, anger sparking in her eyes. "I thought you knew! Lucienne said he spoke to you!"

"Not about this!" Dream thunders, pacing back and forth, robe swirling dark and angrily around his form. He has fallen now, right off of the cliff, into an abyss of terror, and feels himself drowning. "Why would he- impossible! He must be- what if he tricked you-!"

Something bounces off of the side of his head. Death has thrown one of the sandwiches at him.

"Give me some credit here!" She snaps. "I'm Death of the bloody Endless, I know if I've given a guy immortal life or not! And I haven't! Because he said he does not deserve a reward for trying to trick us!"

("I would give you another boon," Death had offered, frowning, after Hob's polite and apologetic - and insincere, he had wanted immortality still and was forcefully and reluctantly denying himself - refusal. "Whatever you wish for. You have given me back my brother, I would see you rewarded for it."

"Unfortunately," Hob had sighed, his eyes sad and yearning and wistful, "I want only two things, first and foremost. One is immortality, which I have not earned. And the other is something you cannot give me, kind lady, and without which immortality would not be half as sweet besides." A bitter laugh. "I am sure I needn't say more."

He had not. Death understood.)

Dream blinks at Death once, twice - and then turns away, pressing his bony palms hard against his eyes (they burn and yet leak fluid both at the same time), breaths coming in short gasps.

He does not normally need to breathe, he doesn't think, but he needs it now, the hollow star-cavern of his chest tight and constricted as if it held human lungs, a human heart - which it does not. It cannot. Not anymore.

“Dream-” He hears Death behind him, Matthew’s worried and imploring caw - but all he can think of is wiping Hob Gadling’s precious life’s blood from his injured cheek, and sharing a breath (nearly more) for one slow, tender second. Of strong hands holding him close, of smiles and winks, of that final exchange and the tears in Hob’s eyes.

Farewell forever, indeed! Hob certainly intended it to be, that accursed man, intended to go and die and leave Dream-

“Do it now!” Dream bursts out - and how shameful it is that he loses control of himself so in his frantic desperation, no better than he was as a human - and whirls around to face Death again. “Sister, you must do it now - give him his immortality, he is a fool, he knows not what he rejects! Ignore his foolish protests, he has served you well, has placed himself in great peril for me, give him his reward!”

“I-” Death begins, but Dream does not let her speak. He swears he can feel a heart thudding a panicked beat in his chest, and it hurts.

“My sister, please!” He grasps her hands, his own shaking. “Whoever pursued us is no match for a mortal man, he is throwing his life away, I know it! Do not let him die, do not take him from me-”

“Dream!” Death’s voice is sharp enough to cause him to falter. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Dream wavers, shivers, and Death gentles, though her face remains lined with worry and frustration.

“The reach of my powers isn’t what it once was, I don’t have that level of control over life and death anymore. I could make him immortal if he stood in front of me, but not… not like this.” Dream can tell it isn’t easy for her to admit this, to not be the supportive, steadfast older sister she has been to her siblings through this disaster. “By the Creator, Dream, why couldn’t you have talked all of this out with him sooner!? Now look at the mess we’ve gotten ourselves in!”

“If he stood in front of you? You could shield him then?” Dream repeats, seizing on those words like a cat on an unsuspecting mouse, grasping at them like a lifeline. “I shall bring him before you, then, if that is what it takes.” A breath, shuddering, not as unnecessary as it by all rights ought to be. “Yes, I shall do that. Lucienne!”

He begins pacing again, as Lucienne slips into the room, her eyes flickering only briefly from Death’s harried expression of concern to Dream’s agitation, stopping only briefly at the thrown sandwich now on the floor - before a mask of professionalism slides over her face.

“I am at your service, my Lord.” She produces a quill and book from thin air. “Your orders?”

Ah, Lucienne. He has missed her, even when he didn’t know who or what he was missing, missed her clipped, practical nature, and unwavering support. She will serve him well, in this matter and any other.

(Sometimes, as Murphy, he stole books he liked the look of, hoarded them with vague plans of giving them to… someone or other, he’d never known who.

Those books are long gone, now. Sold, when the hunger and the cold became too much to bear, taken by police constables who’d caught wise of his thievery, or simply lost to the elements. But he knows who they were for, now. At least that.)

“Gather any suitable dream-creatures and tell them they are to find Hob Gadling and bring him here.” Dream instructs her, hoping the sharpness of his voice will disguise the tremor in it. “He cannot have gotten far - concentrate the search on this city, and impress on them that speed is of the utmost importance. Whoever finds him may name their reward, whatever is in my power they may have, I care not - only bring him here.”

A minute uptick of Lucienne’s brows as she notes this down, but she clearly knows better than to question Dream’s sudden change of policy in the matter of Hob Gadling. He will explain it to her - but not now, when time is of the essence.

“And, Lucienne?” Dream calls after her as she is already slipping out of the room again. “Hob is to be brought to me alive, and of sound body and mind. He is to be handled with care.”

“...alive?” She repeats, gaze once more flickering over to Death, brows drawing together. “Pardon me, but I was under the impression that he-”

“He’s not.” Death shakes her head, as grimly as Dream has ever seen her.

“Oh.” Lucienne blinks - and then says “oh!” again, eyes widening as understanding dawns in them. “...I see.”

A curt bow to Dream, to Death - and then she is gone. Dream has every trust that she will organise the search with all due haste and utmost efficiency, particularly now that she has… some inkling, of what has prompted Dream’s sudden concern for Hob Gadling’s person.

“You as well, Matthew.” Dream runs a finger over the raven’s wing. “Go and find him for me. Call on all the birds in the sky, have them aid us in this search.”

Matthew ducks his head, caws his agreement - and with a beat of his wings, passes through the border of this tucked-away in-between space into the human world, leaving nothing but a few feathers behind.

And then it is only Dream and Death.

For a moment, they stand together in silence.

And then Death walks up to him, and wraps him in her arms, wordlessly, a silent reassurance - silent, because they both know that she cannot in good faith promise him that all will be well, that Hob will be safe.

She has no control over it, and neither does Dream.

Dream turns his face into her hair, and understands, now, how she felt for near a decade; waiting, and fearing, and hoping, always hoping, for the safe return of one she loved.

#WyWrites #WyAnswers #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #can you tell that i love death (the character)?#she gets to throw a sandwich at her brother as a treat #thank you everyone for these asks!#i can tell everyone is aching for the resolution #but i might go back and fill in some of the blanks at the start next #the first meeting maybe i've got some ideas for that #i do so love dream experiencing panic though #and feeling so much more human for it #lucienne must have been so confused though #dream went from 'i do not care about hob gadling he is nothing to me'#to 'i will promise anything in my power for his safe return'#in the span of one (1) conversation with his sister #his priorities have been rapidly rearranged there #no time to deny you love the man if he might well be about to die for you

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360iris · 1 year

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Backroom of a bad dream (marc spector x reader)

Marc is dreaming, he knows that. He knows it as soon as the clip starts rolling, frayed, fuzzy and worn around the edges. He can practically hear the feed spools of the movie projector turning as the lens focuses the film’s images onto the imaginary screen in his mind’s eye.

A single ticket sold for admittance to a private showing of his early life, featuring people he wishes he could forget. Forgive, hah. Forget. Just let him forget.

He wishes she’d allow him to omit the moments in time like this one, but bad memories latch onto him, into him. And this body holds them together like stitches sewn into flesh—and faintly he recalls you saying something to that effect once. During one of the many, painfully kind conversations the two of you have when the tide of emotions inside him is particularly high, to the point where it’s brimming to the surface and bubbling right over the edge.

You’re always there to catch the splashes and beaded droplets of information, gathering what meager scraps he gives away, whether it’s done so intentionally or not. Lining up every detail like puzzle pieces, locating the edges first and then steadily working your way inward.

He knows how tightly he guards the truth of his past, because he’s skeptical of what good it could do. Because he’s afraid to face the consequences if the iniquity of his actions see light and find a way to retake root. He doesn’t think he could handle Layla’s soft touches turning stiff and rigid, and he knows he would not recover if those doting and thoughtful eyes of yours ever dimmed when they fell onto him– like his mother’s had.

‘A means to hurt can also bring about healing, and growth.’ You’d said that particular evening, speaking more to the brim of the water bottle on its way to your lips, than to anything else. He’d guessed he must have looked as confused as he’d felt internally because you hurried to swallow the mouthful before elaborating on your thought.

‘If you know the story of Joseph, his brothers plotted several times to murder him, resolving finally to strip him naked and sale him to the Egyptians, with the intention for him to be taken leagues away from his home, never to be seen again. Little did they know, they were pushing him closer to fulfilling his life’s purpose, he would become the most influential and powerful man in the land, second only to the Pharaoh himself.’ —his eyebrows were still raised quizzically and you’re reminded that with everything he's gone through, memorizing religious stories hadn’t remotely been on his list of priorities.

‘He’s reunited with his brothers as a wealthy and respected man, utterly unrecognizable as their own flesh and blood by then, and instead of letting the great famine consume them for their past indiscretions, he shows them forgiveness. Though the most important part in all of it, to me, is what he says to them as they stand in fear of what he’ll do to them. He says ‘What you meant for evil, God meant for good.’ and that’s a quote I find myself thinking back on very often. The notion that perhaps, from every wrongdoing, every single nefarious lapse of humanity, behind the scenes something good and righteous is gradually weaving itself and taking hold. A greater plan, coming into play.’

But you’re not in his head as this scene of her drunkenly sauntering over to the dinner table plays, the frames clicking in and out of view cheaply.

He can see her coal-black hair, long and neglected, flowing past her shoulders like curtains. Can make out the glass bottle of beer in her hand and the dark circles from lack of restful sleep. Eyes overshadowed, hateful and watching, scrutinizing his every movement. Inwardly and outwardly cursing him for every breath he took.

He could smell the alcohol, the sickly sweet sugaryness of the icing and burning candles on top of the cake which sat in front of him.

Can hear the words that slip past her lips–and he’s sorry, he’s regretful and he hates her as she drills those same fucking words into his psyche.

Her hostility churned, it burbled and seeped into the fabric of everything like thick, black ink. It festered and clung to him, a dripping, oozing sludge as he watched her hands grip the glass, her lips sneering and her eyes glaring emptily. There was no attainable sign of recompense for what he’d done because he’d survived yet another year, and she’d all but sworn to make this particular day hell on earth for him. It was his birthday.

Lying on his back, he jolts awake. Eyes wide and chest heaving as he registers his labored breathing, forehead drenched with sweat and knuckles stiff from how hard they gripped at the sheets beneath him.

“We’re okay.” Steven’s voice comes out unusually hoarse, bringing up a sore hand to dab at the corners of their eyes and apples of their cheeks with a crooked wrist. Tears, he’d been drawn to tears. “We’re alright. We’re safe. And look, it's morning now.”

Beams of sunlight slipped through the open cracks and crevices made by the somewhat-drawn curtains, allowing golden slivers to illuminate the wooden plank flooring, filling the space with a warm, genial air.

The sizable studio apartment his system shares with yourself and Layla is quiet and still. Not a single sign of Khonshu darkening his path with his towering visage presents itself as he looks over the empty space— but as Marc hastily props himself onto his elbows, he realizes that the same could be said for both of his girls.

A wave of paranoia washes over him as he looks at the empty spaces beside him on the bed, the white sheets lay void of the bodily warmth he’d grown used to and spoiled by. Though just as he moves to sit up to continue his search, he spots you quietly exiting the dressing room which leads to the bathroom.

Absentmindedly toweling wet hair with one rotating hand, you clicked the door shut behind you as quietly as possible, moving further into the general space before seemingly feeling his gaze and looking up to inadvertently meet his eye.

You’re dressed in an ankle length, satin creme slip dress, the one you often wore to bed because of the lace detailing it had sewn along the collar and how softly it glided across the skin. Blanketing your shoulders and falling to your feet was a matching, ankle-grazer cardigan which you hauled with you almost everywhere, the snug material always plush to the touch.

“You’re up, baby?” With bare feet, you paddled over to where he lay, speaking softly even though he was awake now.

He nodded wordlessly, peering up at you. Unable to read the slight, upward crook resting between your brows as you approached as anything other than disappointment towards him, because of him.

“We’d hoped you’d sleep a little longer, thought the extra rest might help some.” You said fondly, sinking into the mattress beside him. “Do you know what you might want for breakfast? Or, do you want one of us to choose? Layla just got back from the market, she's in the shower now– bought a bit too much if you ask me.” An amused chuckle gets peppered between your words. But other than the way he fiddles with the fingers of your free hand, he doesn’t speak.

His eyes were hooded and preoccupied with a misty, glazed look about them; lips pressed into a line. He wasn’t completely still, as was typically characteristic of Marc, but the man in front of you was too withdrawn and remote for it to be Steven currently fronting. You surveyed him with a look of repose, pinpointing what giveaways were present to help clue you in on who it was you were dealing with, so you could act accordingly.

Twisting and tucking the towel back to keep it wrapped around your head, you laid down atop of the covers beside him. Resting an open-palmed hand across his chest which he continued to fiddle with as you nuzzled your face alongside his. “Where are you right now, baby? Can you tell me?”

He didn't answer immediately, swallowing thickly as he stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s my birthday.” It wasn’t a question or announcement, just a despondent statement.

“Yes, it is.”

“She– She’d always make today unbearable.” And you’re well aware of who he’s referencing, his hands grasping yours a hair tighter as he speaks, your own grip firming as well. “She made me hate ever being born. I would wonder why this day just kept coming, why it never stopped.”

There wasn’t a way to broach the topic of his mother, no tactical approach to institute, to speak on her behalf regarding her grief, her anger and her pain. At one point you’re fairly certain she loved her first born son.

Your own personal, and very secret theory was that her abuse angled towards Marc was her way of keeping her lost son alive, because perhaps forgiving him for his part to play in the tragedy would have felt too much like relinquishing the love that, which in her eyes, no longer had anywhere else to go. But that didn’t even remotely justify her cruelty, or unwavering devotion towards making Marc’s life as isolating and haunted as she possibly could.

Holding him inbetween your arms now, as tortured and mournful of a man as he is, you press your forehead into his cheek and think further on a certain comforting but dismal branch of thought.

Though she’d been none the wiser, and truthfully did not deserve any of the credit, all of her unrelenting fury had given birth to Steven– well intentioned, delightful and unbelievably quick-witted Steven Grant. Where would any of you be without him, or your love for him? You scarcely dared to entertain the possibility.

The truth was that one utterly good thing had been unearthed from the soot and grime of her profoundly misguided actions, and you would nurture the little boy she’d left behind and support the men he’d grown into.

Nudging him closer, if that could even be possible at this point with the way the two of you were so intertwined, you tenderly massage his shoulder. “Every single day I’m grateful that you were created and placed along my path. And I know that you’re hurting, and I understand that I can’t carry that burden for you–or claim to always perfectly understand where you’re at in your journey, but I mean it when I say that I fully intend to be here when you need or just want me to be present. I’m here for you, and for Steven.”

You don’t expect him to respond exactly, having just wanted to know that he had heard those specific words from someone who genuinely cared about him. And when he rolls onto his side to face you, softly scooping you up into his arms like a well loved teddy bear, you audibly laugh as he speaks into your hair– because it’s a start to the day, and it’s enough. “Whatever you decide to make, Steven and I will have two plates of it.”

#moon knight system #marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight blurb #steven grant x reader #moon knight system x reader x layla el fouley

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writergirl3 · 1 year

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4 Town Spending New Year's w/ Reader

Happy New Year (for tomorrow) 4 Townies! Here's a special seasonal set of headcanons for the occasion. How are you celebrating the new year?

Pure fluff✨

Robaire

Robaire loves new years. He’s someone who’s always trying to better himself in all ways, and January 1st is usually the fresh start that he needs.

Because he sees the occasion as something quite personal and intimate, that’s how he chooses to share it with you. He’ll book you a weekend away in a hotel, even if it’s not that far from your home. He likes to spoil you, so that’s exactly what he does.

He prefers to go somewhere quite remote instead of a city break. He’ll find somewhere classy, out in the middle of nowhere. That way, he can switch off from the potential of getting loads of attention and just focus on you.

He’ll probably keep it simple on New Year’s Eve. A chilled out day exploring the place you’re staying followed by a nice sit-down meal at your hotel. He’ll pay extra for a private table next to a window overlooking the scenery outside. You’ll both dress up nice and talk for hours about your goals, hopes and dreams.

Jesse

Jesse loves the holidays, and really sees new year’s as a time to unwind after Christmas. He’s usually eaten too much and is pretty over exhausted from his kids’ excitement, so he doesn’t really make any solid plans.

You’ll most likely go over to his place and spend time with his kids. He’ll encourage them to write down their resolutions, and you’ll help them out too. Once that’s all done and the twins have been put to bed, he’ll likely be sprawled out on the couch with you.

Whether you decide to stay up and see the new year in is really up to you, although given the choice, grandpa Jesse would probably go to bed at around nine thirty.

If you want to watch a movie or something, he’ll of course join you. You’ll just have to keep swatting at him to wake him from his dozing.

Aaron T

T is a sociable guy, so he’ll definitely host a party on New Year’s. It’s a joint effort between the two of you, and you’ll likely have your friends and family over. You of course invite the guys, too.

While you deal with the food (this boy can’t cook), T will organise all kinds of fun games and activities for your guests to take part in. Do NOT, I repeat NOT, leave him in charge of writing any icebreaker question cards, though. Your grandma still doesn’t understand some of the choice language that T included on one of the scraps of paper from last year.

While New Year’s with T is a busy affair, he’ll always make time with you throughout the night. When the final countdown at midnight begins, he’ll fight tooth and nail to be by your side and give you a big ol’ smooch as the new year rolls in. What can I say? He’s such a simp for you.

Aaron Z

Z really doesn’t care much about new year’s. It’s not that he’s a spoilsport or anything, it’s just that having his birthday on January 1st always put new year’s in the shade. His family never really used to stay up, because Z and his twin sister, Arielle, would whine as kids that they’d sleep in and ‘waste their birthday’.

If you’re a big fan of new year’s and want to celebrate it in a special way, Z will of course do whatever. However, his ideal new year’s? Curled up on the couch with your and a big-ass pizza between you. I feel like he usually spends lots of time watching TV during the holiday season. He says that it’s the only time anything good is ever on.

He tries to make the night special for the both of you, though. He’ll feed you little bits of pizza and pour you a glass of champagne. He’ll have a non-alcoholic version; I saw someone headcanon that he’s freaked out by alcohol and I stand by it 100%.

At some point he’ll put the movie on mute and give you his full attention, rambling quietly about his favourite moments from the past year with you.

If he stays awake long enough, he’ll give you a long, gentle kiss at midnight.

Tae Young

Tae loves New Year’s, maybe even more than Christmas. He just likes the sense of occasion and the idea of a fresh start, like Robaire. Spending it with you only makes it all the more special for him.

I feel like there’s not really one specific thing that Tae would do for New Year’s, but he’d definitely try and get all the guys together. He loves that you get on with them so well, and wants it to be a tradition that you all see the new year in together.

He always, always gets you a gift for new year’s. He’s pretty sentimental and spiritual, so he’ll likely choose you something that symbolises his hopes for you during the year ahead.

He also has this little tradition of making a wish right before kissing you at midnight.

One time you asked him why, and he told you that it was the only time he’d ever had a wish come true, because he’d open his eyes and you’d be there.

(Smh, I use the same gifs for the Aarons all the damn time but there are literally NONE out there)

---

Musing Meaninglessly Masterlist

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knockingonmychamberdoor · 2 years

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random eddie munson headcannons because i said so:

- growing up lower class, eddie definitely has a taste for junk food. he definitely eats pretty horribly and probably orders like chicken tenders whenever he goes out.

- his biggest fear in life is turning into his dad. resentment of him is part of why he started to grow out his hair.

- you'd think he'd have an artsy explanation for all his tattoos, but in reality most are haphazard sketches he decided to ink. speaking of which, he's actually a great artist.

- on the subject of art, eddie has a secret giant collection of art supplies used for the hellfire shirts. (most of its probably stolen but shhhh)

- the dio patch on the back of his vest (seen worn as a shirt in the photo on his missing poster) was incredibly well loved. his uncle saved up to get him a few things like that when eddie first began to get into metal, and when he outgrew it he upcycled it to a patch.

- this man cannot cook to save his life. he can burn something while still having it be raw in the center.

- eddie is most likely closer to pansexuality, but doesn't really like or know of much of a label. he can and will flirt with anything with a pulse, be it knowingly or subconsciously.

- probably feeds stray cats table scraps, would do more if he had more money. thinks it adds to his lost sheep thing.

- makes tiny trinkets for dustin to show he cares.

- speaking of dustin, he loves him with all his heart. knowing dustin's lack of father figure eddie goes out of his way to be one for him, one eddie never had. it benefits both of them in the long run.

- dustin's mom invites him over for supper once a week. eddie denied it at first but eventually ran out of excuses. dustin's mom loves eddie and always gives him a little container of extra food to take.

- he gets very excited very easily. eddie is most likely some form of neurodivergent and in denial.

- loves sharing music with people he loves. even if you listen to something completely different he'll gladly listen and analyze the lyrics, knowing songs have an intense link to souls.

- takes great care of his hair. it takes work to look bad.

- started dealing not because he wanted to, but because he needed money.

- has been known to shoplift from local grocery stores.

- eddie has always dreamed of being taken care of and having someone to love, cherish, and protect. he makes his own scenarios of a potential partner who would love him exactly how he is.

- adores halloween decorations. if he had the money he'd gladly buy all year decor during spooky season.

- if you're his s/o or even just best friend, he will do absolutely anything for you. point something out in a store?? a few days later it's miraculously yours. mention a favorite movie or album?? he's watching/listening to it.

- eddie finds people watching to be an interesting pass time. he's very observant despite not caring about others.

- he would gladly write you songs.

- will ruin his reputation and come to any event you're in. sports player?? he's in the front row cheering. acting in a school/community production?? he's there every night with flowers giving you a standing ovation.

- although his handwriting is barely legible, he writes you love letters constantly.

- seems naturally great at any instrument he picks up.

- he's got the worst abandonment issues ever.

- cries when he starts to get close to people.

- given his reputation as a freak, eddie got asked out as a joke constantly in years before. for this reason, he doesn't take it seriously when you show any interest in him at first. a breakdown session and a lot of intense feelings later he's more aware.

- always thinks you're too good for him and can overcompensate at times.

- has both mommy and daddy issues.

- there's long stories behind each and every one of his rings.

- occasionally paints his nails black and wears eyeliner. for the concerts of course. and then the next few days after.

- contrary to popular belief, eddie is insanely intelligent. (i mean, think of how quickly he learned master of puppets when it was freshly released. man is practically a musical genius.) part of the reason he keeps failing his senior year is because of his dyslexia no one takes seriously. so he started to give up on himself.

ive got tons more of these i could discuss, so if you like this post give me a like or a follow!! support a new writer granted this is my first post and leave some eddie requests!! thanks for reading loves <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things four #eddie munson fanfic #new writing blog #new writers on tumblr #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff

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violetsandfluff · 2 years

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SOMEDAY MY PRINCE WILL COME

Part 1: Divine Arrangements

Read the trailer here. Warnings: arranged marriage. I will not be posting on my usual days next week because Y/N will be too busy. Thanks in advance and I hope you enjoy! Word count: 1.2k+ @chocochipcookie305 @thebluetint bc you liked the this thing

“The king has a new chariot,” my mother ranted haughtily as she sat down in her rocking chair after work. “Who uses chariots anymore what with all of these cars? He has garages full of them, does he not? Never have I ever seen that lazy old king in a chariot.

“And look at us out here in the village, busting our backs to feed him another meal and buy more things to stroke his vanity.”

“Now, Sally,” my father consoled in his kind, tactful manner. “We mustn’t judge the king yet. He has made many rational decisions that have worked in the favor of his people.”

“Scrap the decisions! Any king high on God can imagine what should be able to throw a murderer or two in prison!”

“What does high mean?” my little brother Mortimer inquired, confusion crossing his soft, precious features.

“Never mind that,” I said hastily, scooping him up in my arms. “Momma’s had a long day at work. Do you wanna help me make some dinner?”

“Yeah!” He gave me a broad, toothy smile and he touched the tip of my nose lightly with his pointer finger. “Boop!”

“Boop!” I touched his nose back. “What should we make?”

“Mac and Cheese!” he replied decidedly.

“That sounds good,” I agreed. “We can start making it as long as you stay quiet. Okay, Mortimer?”

Mortimer nodded solemnly, taking my suggestion of silence very seriously. Mom and Dad’s tones had grown hushed and urgent and you planned on listening to their every word.

They were talking about arranging a marriage for me; not arranging, rather selling me off to any strange man who would pay a solid amount.

I didn’t want to be sold like a worthless possession, but the money would be my family’s to flaunt. They could give it away to other villagers or gloat about it to the king.

I just hoped that, given that I get my way, my man is handsome and he loves me. I want to have a family someday. I dream about it all the time. I just never think about how soon it may come.

And there I was presumably overthinking the whole matter. That’s such a me thing to do.

Mortimer remained silent (for the most part) for the remainder of our time cooking, and when we sat down for dinner, my parents kept making fleeting eye contact with each other. They were unusually quiet throughout the duration of the meal and the moment they were finished, they told Mortimer to leave the table.

This meant I was left alone with my parents.

My cool-tempered father cleared his throat twice; once quietly, once louder as if he was preparing to make an unnerving proclamation.

“Y/N,” he shifted uncomfortably in his creaky chair.

“Your mother and I have made a decision regarding your future,” my Mother said quickly.

I listened intently, pretending that I hadn’t heard their entire conversation from the kitchen.

“We would like you to marry. We could get a tremendous amount of money from your future husband and use it for good in the community. However…” she made eye contact with my father, signaling for him to continue for her.

“However,” he began, “Because your are of legal age in this country, you can say no to us.”

“Just know that your beauty can give us a thing of utmost importance,” my mother added.

“She doesn’t need to do anything,” prodded my father uncomfortably. “We don’t need anything. We’re scraping by just fine.”

“It’s all in the word scraping,” my mother retorted. “It’s up to you, Lovebug. All up to you.”

I had so many voices in my head I almost grew deaf. Some voices were telling me to go with their plan. I could end up with the man of my dreams and benefit my community all the while. But on the other hand, my man could hate me and abuse me and make my life miserable. Still, I felt compelled to oblige to their plan to help the village.

“I can do it,” I squeaked. Then, “Who will it be?” My breath caught in my throat as I waited for the response.

“Well,” my father glanced in dismay at my mother who was jumping and clapping for joy. “We will collect some of the most, say, beneficial men in the country and let you choose.

If it was my choice, nothing could go wrong… could it?

~~~

My father and mother had met dozens of young men waiting to marry me and assist our village. They all agreed on how barbaric it was that the king was stealing money from such a poor area. Some men wished for my hand in marriage out of spite, others for beauty, but eventually I had five young men to choose from.

My parents held private meetings with each one of them to get to know them. They had spent the larger part of a week getting to know them, and they spared no details.

“Harry is so handsome,” mused my mother. “If you were looking for a man with looks, he surely must be your choice.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “He seems like a good kisser too,” only to pull away and giggle. “He would pay a hefty sum for your hand.”

“Liam is very reasonable and down to earth,” my father said stiffly. “He’s wise beyond his years.”

“But all of the men are very handsome,” my mother was still ranting about Harry and his outrageous looks. “A girl with your beauty deserves nothing less.”

“Louis has the personality of a jester,” my father spoke over my mother. “You’d never have a dull day with him around.”

“Niall seems perfectly charming, but he’s not very attractive. He might be noted as ugly in my book.”

“Niall is a perfectly nice man and he seems very family-oriented. He would care for your wellbeing and look after you well.”

“Then there’s Zayn…” my mother trailed off and she looked to my father for support.

“Zayn is a little different,” he began gingerly, “but he seems like a nice enough guy. I can’t find anything to hold against him… no evidence at least.” His tact was nearly impeccable, but I could still sense the uncertainty in his voice. “He’s an interesting character, that Zayn. Very… secretive. Almost nervous, he was… well, don’t worry about it, Princess. You’ll pick the right man.”

“He’s right,” my mother comforted. “I know you will.”

After this conversation, I was extremely excited to meet Harry. If he was nearly as attractive as my mother said, I would have no problem falling for him. Liam seemed like just the type of guy my father would get along with, and Louis seemed quite entertaining. If Niall was homely, I might be hesitant to marry him, but he seemed so sweet. And Zayn… I was a little scared of meeting him. He seemed like a criminal type, bad vibe and all.

Despite the drawbacks, I was excited to meet the guys. I wanted to know who I could love. I wondered just how handsome Harry was and if he was a good kisser.

I would have a date with Harry on Monday, Liam on Tuesday, Louis on Wednesday, Niall on Thursday, and, gulp, Zayn on Friday.

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stayatiny · 3 years

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Little Dolly Chapter 1 ~ Yandere Seonghwa

(Gif made by me)

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

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

Chapter Warning(s) Mentions of murder, guns, someone getting shot, just the overall violence, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N - Hi everyone ^^ Im back at it again. I decided to make a little mini series still deciding on who and what to do the next series on. Enjoy.

Why did I wander home alone? I knew that this wasn’t a good idea. Now I’m here stuck in a cage in the basement of a killer. I’ll never do it again if I get out alive…

“Aw. Aren’t you a cute in that dress I picked out for you? I think I’ll just keep you,” he said, shutting the door of the cage. That was a couple of days ago…I think. The man was dressed nicely in a button up and slacks like a businessman and absolutely gorgeous. If he wasn’t a killer, I would swoon over him so fast. He opened the cage door and placed a sandwich and some water in front of me. Is this how I die? A poisoned BLT…what a way to go out. I looked at the man and then back at the plate of food.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I didn’t say anything. He leaned forward into the cage grabbing the plate. I whined as he pulled back. He took a bite of the sandwich and then put it back.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer,” he growled. I nodded and started to eat and drink the water he left me. His frown soon became a smile. He wasn’t going to kill me yet or he wouldn’t bother with wanting to feed me. Once he placed the plate back down, I snatched the plate up and started to scarf down the sandwich and water. I was so hungry almost starving. He had been giving me water but no food till today.

“Good girl,” he purred still sitting in front of the cage. He even leaned forward again and patted my head like I was a child. I finished eating and drinking the water. He took the plate placing it on a table. He leaned down and gently grabbed my arm.

“Come here. I don’t want you in this cage anymore.” The man leads me down the hall of the basement, away from the dungeon, to a small apartment like area. There was a mini fridge, a microwave, bed, and a bathroom off to the right of some stairs. I figured they led to the upper part of the house. I let out a small sigh being able to stretch my legs from being in a cage.

“You will be staying here from now on,” he said, holding my hands. I looked up at him. What was he talking about?

“What do you mean? I thought you were going to kill me,” I say. His smile is sinister.

“Aw darling. I’m not ever going to kill you…unless you make me.” I swallow hard. I didn’t want to end up like the other men and women that’s he’s killed.

“Why me?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking like an idiot. He frowned slightly then pulled me close to his chest. He was really warm but there again I blame the cold weather and damp basement dungeon for lack of warmth.

“I’ve been watching you for a while thinking that would just be another victim of mine, but you are too pretty, sweet, and so innocent. I have to protect you from the world. So I’ll be keeping you here with me,” he says, patting my head. My heart jumps into my throat. I need to get out of here…

“You don’t even know me,” I say trying to pull away from him. He grabbed my arms pulling me close to him once again.

“I don’t know a lot about you, but I know that I need you to stay here with me.” He sounded like he was almost begging me to stay here. I don’t think I have a choice. I’ll stay here until I can find a way out.

“What is your name,” I asked. I needed to play into this to stay alive. I couldn’t act so scared cause then he’ll know that he’ll have a hold over me. The man smiled.

“I’m Seonghwa, but you can call me Hwa if you want,” he said, smiling. I nodded and looked around the room. I was too afraid to walk away from him.

“I’m sure that you are tired. I want you to get cleaned up and head to sleep,” Hwa said, handing me some clothes. I nodded and did as he was told. Once I was done, he was gone and back upstairs. I laid down on the bed after turning off the lights.

Th next morning, I feel the bed dip down on my side. I open my eyes to see Seonghwa looking down at me. I jumped a little.

“Good morning little one,” he said petting my hair. He smiled. I sat up slowly.

“Come upstairs with me. I want to eat breakfast with you,” he said grabbing my hand. I follow willingly or else. I didn’t want to know what he would do to me.

“How did you sleep last night? I know that isn’t very comfortable but it’s all I have but it’ll do until I trust you enough to stay in a bed with me,” he said then opening the door. I wanted nothing more than to bolt out the front door, and I thought about it until I saw the gun sitting on the dining room table. I would definitely get killed if I ran. I didn’t answer him except for stare at the gun. Hwa grabbed then hugged me tight.

“Don’t worry about that. I won’t hurt you unless you make me use it,” he whispered, right into my neck. I shivered scrunching myself even closer to him, unintentionally. Hwa kissed my head then pulled me to the kitchen island. I looked through the window to see that we are outside the city literally in the middle of nowhere. My heart started to pound. Hwa put up the gun back in a lock box and put it up in the living room. He came back to the kitchen with a smile.

“Here I made some scrambled eggs and bacon for you. I didn’t know what you liked so I guess. Maybe later you can tell me what foods you like,” he said, smiling. His smile would have been comforting if this had been a different situation. I didn’t want to answer him, but the image of the gun flashed back into mind.

“It’s okay. I like bacon and scrambled eggs,” I say quietly but a little louder than a whisper. He frowned slightly.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. Like I said I won’t hurt you unless you deserve it.” I nod then taking the plate from him. I started to eat while he sat next to me with his plate. Hwa also put some fresh fruit on my plate. I scarfed down the food again.

“Slow down sweetie,” he said, then kissing my head. I stared at him. He wiped my face from the little bit of egg that was on my lips. I went back to eating while he cleaned up. When I was done, he grabbed my plate and cleaned it. Once he was done, he escorted me back into the basement. He turned to leave when I started to whine.

“Sweetie, I have to get some work done. I’ll be back down at lunch time.”

“Please don’t leave me down here, Hwa,” I beg. He kissed my head. I took the chance. I punched him as hard as I could causing him to fall to the ground holding his face. I didn’t waste the time before running for the door. Once in the kitchen I slammed the basement door shut then putting a chair under the handle.

“Sweetie, let me out,” he said from behind the door. His voice unnaturally calm for someone who is locked into the basement. I ran to the front door even taking a pair of his shoes. I quickly slip them on still hearing Hwa banging on the door and slamming against it. I jerked the door open and ran out trying to get to the road. Hoping I meet someone who could help me. I reach the gate at the end of his driveway only for me to realize that I have up to get to the other side. I started to climb up when I feel a searing pain in the back of my thigh. I scream only for me to see Hwa standing a yard or two behind me with his gun. Fuck me…

“Baby, come back. I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, sing song like. I jumped over the fence and ran. The adrenaline keeping me going and from feeling the pain in my leg. I cover the wound with a scrap of my dress to keep from Hwa following the blood trail. I hide behind a big oak tree away from the road I just ran down. Somebody help me…

#yandere ateez #yandere seonghwa #ateez fic #seongwha

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dodo-begone · 3 years

Text

Now Listen Here Sad Bitches - Stop Being Sad

Pairing: Yan!Xisuma x Reader (idk if it's rlly yan tbh)

Request: If you’re up to it can I get yandere nHo hcs? Bc I’m desperate for nHo content, But if you don’t know enough about the nHo boys can you do a continuation of your yandere xisuma fic? bc it was really good👀

Word count: 5k words

Warning: Falling, Depression, Death, Yandere (?)(just a bit posessive/protective at the end), Bit of confusion/memory loss, Mention of Running Away

This is a Part 2 to Ugly Fuckling

If this EVER looks funky or glitched, here's a link to it on Ao3.

_______________________________________________________

A methodical ticking echoes around the room, the only indicator that time was passing. The room was nearly a blinding black, yet a ray of moonlight made its way into the room. From that, you were able to see Xisuma. Without his helmet covering his face, he looked much more welcoming and soft. It wasn’t like he wasn’t soft and welcoming anyways, he just looked so much softer and approachable. A real person - man what were you even thinking?

Mentally shaking off that train of thought, you let your mind wander onto a different topic. Since Xisuma stopped you from following through with your impulsive decision to leave, he hadn’t exactly let you out of his sight. A few of your activities were free from his supervision, but otherwise you were with him.

At first you felt like an absolute bother to him, but his insistence that it was all fine made things better. Minimally better, if you were to speak honestly. It didn’t alleviate your feelings at all. He was being so nice and attentive to you and your needs. And what were you doing with that? You were being the little debbie downer that you are and not getting better. Come on, this was all for you. That meant you had to get better for him since he was putting so much effort into making you get better.

He made you all of your favorite foods, cuddled you any time even a tear fell from your eyes, asked about what was worrying or saddening you and trying to talk you through it to feel better, and so much more. All around it was everything you needed, really it was. Everything was getting better, yet you weren’t.

This had been going on for days, and you were still thinking of leaving. Though technically you did. Maybe the entire server moved with you. Maybe that fact could be ignored. Maybe. Everyone gathered up and went to a new server not too long after your most recent “escape” attempt. You weren’t sure if it was the unsaid yearly move to a new season or what, but it seemed a little too convenient if you thought about it. But thinking was a laborious and bothersome task. So no thoughts - only depression. Yea, that’s how things rolled for you.

The thought of leaving was far from leaving your mind. It was always on the backburner, but became a prominent thought whenever you weren’t with anybody. Especially Xisuma. Voices whispered to feed your insecurities, giving a source for your depression to grow off of. And boy was it growing. Adding in this new move made you question a bit more.

You knew you wanted to leave the server because of how icky, disgusting and disappointing you were, but now you were truly realizing where the issue lay. Wel, you knew before, but it just became more evident. It wasn’t the server itself. The issue lay between you and the hermits. So that feeling of not belonging? Still rather prominent. Even with their fresh new start where everyone had the same resources, said “resources” were nonexistent since everyone started with nothing, it was rather evident you still didn’t belong.

Grian was the only one who didn’t build a “starter house” immediately. That made two hermits you knew who didn’t make a starter house. The two hermits being you and Grian, so that made you feel better. Until you found out the reason he didn’t make a house was because he went to defeat the Ender Dragon and get loot from end cities. Yea that really didn’t make you feel better. And these “starter” builds the others made were no joke. They weren’t even starters, in your opinion. These were whole builds in and of themselves. Like things you’d be building late game, if you even got around to making anything that could compare.

Once again, your mind cemented that you were very alien to this group. Alongside the “new fodder” that you had, which was really recycled thoughts, memories, or insecurities, you started to cry. Stifling your sobs without being able to cover your mouth with your hands is a very hard task. All remaining strength you had went into calming your breath and being as silent as possible. You still allowed the tears to continue their route down your cheeks with no intent to stop them. If you only allow tears to flow with no noise, you can get your emotions out while not bothering Xisuma. A win-win.

Time was illusive, slipping through your hands like sand. One moment you were crying next to Xisuma in bed then a blink later you were waking up in an empty bed. The ever annoying sun was flaunting its energy and jovial beams into the room and blinding you with it. Man, how you envied the sun. It was able to get up every day and do its duty. And not even the duty it was exactly made for. One that it conveniently worked with. A necessity to life.

Still, you layed in bed. Too lethargic to move on your own; there was no will or energy to move. Well, there was one reason; you wanted to search for Xisuma. Where could he have gone off to? He wasn’t in the bed. Somewhere else in the house? Out on a project? Who knows. The likelihood of him being gone was high and that, along with the thoughts, kept you in the bed.

The day passed. Maybe you slept. You were still very tired and very sad, so it really made no difference in the end if you did actually sleep sometime that day since nothing changed. Snuggling into the blankets for warmth and comfort, you awaited for Xisuma’s return. Though you don’t remember him saying that he was going anywhere in particular yesterday. Did he? Memories blurred together and multiple days became one mushed memory. Many memories of him mentioning future projects to you or other things came to mind. How recent were those? Mulling over your memories, you tried to pinpoint when they happened based on some other memories. You referred to them as your “time reference memories”... They had a different name, but the name eludes you. But that was their purpose, so that name shall stay.

Soon a plethora of other memories came to mind as you quickly sorted through them. So they obviously didn’t take place in the same time area-frame thingy as when you joined the Hermitcraft server. That was months ago- clearly off the table. Then did they happen around the time you were building the trash on the server? Also a big no- that’s way too early. Oh dear- all the memories that were popping up were far too early. Crap- think. Think, think, think. Come on, more recent. What about when you tried to leave? Well it happened after that, but much closer.

A flash of memories pass behind your eyes yet you can’t decipher all of them. It was obviously some memories and you could faintly see some things, but it was all a blur of colors. You didn’t have the time for this right now. After you figure this out, you could reminisce on them. Now you had to figure out which memory out of the blob you had was most recent-

Staring at the ceiling did nothing to help. No new spark of memories came up, even with your mind scrambling for any scrap it could get its little grubby hands on. Great- now you were stuck going off of his appearance and what the house looked like during those times. Now the dilemma was “which came first”. Almost every memory took place in the house.

Wait! He didn’t have the diamond armor in all of them! Only two of them had diamond armor involved. Specifically on Xisuma. You didn’t have anything on this new server. Well, compared to him or any other hermit, anyways. To say you were behind or “lagging” was an understatement. Having iron armour isn’t really a flex. Especially when it goes missing. Like who just up and loses armor like that? You do, apparently.

That isn’t the point. Stay focused! So he had armor, what did the house look like? Or anything outside the window?

Finally a lightbulb went off in your mind. Of course! He talked about a fire last time. Yes, you were sure of you. Not sure why but you were very sure of that fact. He mentioned that some gravel on a mountain was on fire and he wasn’t sure why. Then he talked about a building in the next memory… Everything was starting to add up! Oh you felt so smart right now. So good.

So what mountain did he say he was going to? It was a villager hall, right? Or was it the future place for a build… No, villager hall because he mentioned villagers and trading. Obviously not another build. But what if it was? Now you were conflicted because you were so sure but at the same time doubt pranced around your mind obnoxiously. Your anxiety was getting ticked off more.

First the disappearance of Xisuma and now your worries are getting to you? Really, it was the opposite order. More of an Oreo, but that wasn’t important.

Taking a deep breath, you try to get your thoughts under control again. Regain you cool. Alright. If you find Xisuma then you can calm everything else down. That was your biggest worry right now. The longer you didn’t know Xisuma’s location and condition, the worse your mental state became. From there, it was obvious how everything would decline.

All you had to do was go to Xisuma. Right. Go to Xisuma. Who is outside. Out of the bed. Debating on whether or not to leave the comforting confines of the blankets or search for Xisuama was definitely something. It was hard but also wasn’t all at the same time. Because yes, staying in bed and being warm would be amazing. The preferred option. But you were worried about the lack of Xisuma’s presence. That took precedence over comfort.

Grumbling, you slowly start to drag yourself out of bed. More accurately rolling out and only turning to properly get out of bed and onto your feet. Same end result really. Slowly, as to not cause a dizzy spell, you get up and walk toward the door. Said dizzy spell still hits you like a baseball gets hit by a bat, but there was an attempt. Black overtakes your vision for a second before everything goes back to normal. Boy you didn’t miss those pounding headaches with dizzy spells. Damn vertigo.

Shaking your head, you steady yourself for the journey to the outside. It was going to be perilous. Well not really, but your mind tried to come up with the worse case scenarios. Like some Dream SMP members coming for you to drag you back. Or pillagers near or at the front door. Or some other nasty mob. Oh the possibilities were nearly endless. But you had to do this.

Hyping yourself up, you mentally prepare for what you could think of. Aka prepare for something bad like pain. To be fair, pain would be better than a Dream SMP member but pain still hurts.

A noise of annoyance leaves your lips as you once again try to get yourself back on track. You hated how easily distracted you got sometimes. Though it did help in some situations. Admitting to that wouldn’t be too helpful in any regard so back to ignoring it you go.

Soon you’re back on track and continuing your journey. The only thing standing between you and the outside world stared at you. The front door. It wouldn’t be for long. All you had to do was open it and then start the other leg of your journey and- wait.

The door greeted your face with a nice hearty slam as you walked right into it. Confusion was just written all over your face. You grabbed the knob, did you not? Taking a step back, you peer down. Low and behold, you were holding the door knob. Your brows furrowed as you twisted the knob. Nothing happened. Trying with more strength and vigor or whatever might do something? Maybe it’s just stuck. Unlikely but hey! Delusions are much sweeter and easier to swallow. Plus being more violent with an inanimate object makes it work! Usually, anyways. Beat a banana and you get mush so not always. That’s besides the point because the darn door still refused to open. Huffing, you try being a little harder with the door. Though that leads to nothing but you fearing it breaking. One creak escapes the poor door and you’re off of it like a puppy squealed rather than a door.

Anxiety started to bloom in your chest for the uptenth time or whatever. It’s happened a lot and that’s all that matters. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. It’s just a door. If it breaks it can be replaced. Also it’s a door. It’s probably fine. Though you didn’t exactly want to test that. Who knows when the door is going to just say “nope! I’m done” and just break?

Leaning against the door, you slide to the floor as you think of another plan to leave. The door was locked, right? This is a brand new door we’re talking about. Rust couldn’t have shut it already, right? You were by the sea though so who knew what the salt and water was doing to it. That ruins doors, wood, and mentals, right? If only you were a builder or someone more fluent with stuff like this. Someone who knew how stuff like that worked. Because wow, you were beyond dumb on that subject.

You curl up in defeat. Bringing your knees to your face, you wrap your arms around them to secure them. To feel safer and smaller. Block out the world. All you wanted to do was stay there, just like that. Not that exact position, but you want to feel comforted and safe. A craving for belonging and love. Although something you craved, whenever it was just handed to you or offered, you turned it down. Nobody actually likes you. They just want to use you.

Everyone has used you in the past for something.

Tears started to form in your eyes. As you lift your head from the curl, you take a deep breath. This is annoying, tiring. Crying is useless right now. Nothing is going to be fixed this way.

As you subdued the tears, you looked around the house again. There had to be another exit, right? Maybe. Half of the houses you’ve lived in only had one entrance or exit. The other half either had a secret exit or another doorway. This wasn’t one of the latter, though. It was one of the former; you were only informed of one way to exit or enter the house. Xisuma didn’t mention any emergency escape. Well there weren’t any holes in the house besides that- OH WAIT!

Smacking your forehead, you scramble to your feet and look directly at the closest window. If it had the ability to, it’d probably be sweating out of fear or anxiety. Either or, that window wasn’t going to have a good time. Fortunately for you, though, the window couldn’t judge you. And the window is very easy to climb out of.

Walking closer for inspection, it didn’t seem like it’d be too hard to open. Just flick a latch or two and just lift the bottom. You’re home free after that. The latches weren’t an issue. Grabbing the bottom of the glass, you silently pray that it won’t be as stubborn as the door.

Some deity was feeling nice today because the window opened without much trouble. A little elbow grease but that was a small price to pay. Now started the awkward maneuvering to get outside. This was one thing you didn’t miss from your past.

First a leg, then the other, and slide later, you land ungraceful into the outside world. Either you were going to land on your face or bum and you didn’t want any of that. So instead you did a nice little dance.

Okay so dance would be the fun way of stating it. What happened was you stumbled around for a bit, waving your arms around in a desperate attempt to regain balance. But you get to stay on your feet, so the trade off of your dignity was well worth it. Plus nobody was around to see it.

Once balanced, you were in awe of the builds that were just a wall away. How much has changed since you last came out? How long were you inside? You only remember the comically tall portal and the partial build of the portal tower being around when you came. Besides the starting house and a few other small things, of course. But now there were two completed towers. The dark one was obviously the portal tower because of the color scheme. What was the other than? It was colored like a lighthouse with the red and white bands encompassing it, but you didn’t want to say anything definitely. After all, it was somewhat hard to tell.

The coloration indicated a lighthouse, along with the silhouette, but it looked a bit too artistically done. And when something is artistically done, it could be anything. So you’ll call it tower two! Tower two was rather pretty!

Xisuma wasn’t around though. Right. The mountain wasn't around here, was it? Where was it, anyways? It must’ve been pretty far away.

With the prospects of a long walk ahead of you, your shoulders slump. Dear lord, this was more work than you wanted to go through. Who knows how far it is! But it wasn’t just some walking for fun, it had a purpose.

Gathering your remaining energy and grit, you start the laborious, long, and treacherous journey through the continent for Xisuma. Hiking wasn’t your strong suit and keeping an eye out for Xisuma too? This makes everything so much harder.

You were only able to get off the island and back onto the mainland, where you started to scale the mountain before you heard a ruckus. Progressively, it got louder and more discernible. Yelling. Sounded like words. Gibberish, but it slowly grew clearer.

“Oh my gosh,” danced with the wind by your ears. “Oh no.” A cry of your name, or something really similar. Were those words? Those couldn’t be words, right? Whipping your head around, you see Xisuma running your way frantically. Okay, so those were most definitely words if the scene before you proved anything.

Excited, you start your descent back to the ground. Step by step. Is it step by step when you’re climbing? Your focus is on Xisuma. Pretty much entirely. It really shouldn’t have as you misjudge the next step. In the blink of an eye you went from viewing rock to viewing sky and a scary feeling building in your chest. The feeling grew exponentially and it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on.

A scream ripped its way from your chest as it tightened more. Said scream doesn’t last long for it ended as quickly as it came. No air could move, no noise could come out any more. Air was stuck in your throat, unable to reach your lungs. Fear paralyzed your muscles, eyes shut for there was no difference in the view. Everything was blurred and the black was more welcoming and comforting.

Too fast. Time wasn’t even a consideration. A social construct thrown out the window as soon as your fingers lose contact with the rocks.

The ground had to be near by now. It felt like hours passed now, but at the same time everything seemed to be zipping by.

Contact is made, and you expect it to be the end. You grunt as all remaining air is forced from your body. Another noise came from beneath you. Gasping for air, panic made you feel so cold. Is this what death felt like? No air was coming in and you definitely hit the ground. Were you going to die because you slipped up?

Black was encompassing your vision once again. Frantic attempts to regain air were barely rewarded for your lungs remained mostly empty. Everything still felt paralized, but now your chest felt worse. It hurt so much.

Something was moving beneath you. Pink entered your failing vision. It shifted you around, moving your head and body. More accurately, it moved. Your head was placed on a soft surface while your body was on something else.

Slowly your vision ebbed back to reality. Or you did. Everything still felt wonky. But an axolotl helmet came to greet you. That was a nice thing about your vision clearing, you guessed. Pretty pink axolotl.

“Are you okay,” the axolotl shakily asks. It’s hands were shaking and it sounded masculine.

“Yea,” your voice felt and sounded weird. Very airy, frail, and kinda delirious. You know, the “I don't feel right” type of delirious. Is that delirious? Oh wait you were talking! “Yea i’m good.”

“Are you sure,” the axolotl keeps persisting. It seemed to be looking over you for any injuries. How nice of it! “Double sure? Triple sure? No scrapes? Nothing hurts?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” you assure. Man this was a comfy place and you wanted to stay here longer, but you need to get standing. With shaky arms and legs, you unsteadily get up, stumbling or leaning a bit too much at times. The axolotl panics and helps you to your feet, never letting go afterwards. You thank it for its help and try to walk away, back to Xisuma’s house. Though it assists you, staying by your side as if it were attached with cement.

“You need to stop doing stuff like this,” it begs, leading you by the elbow. “It’s like everytime i’m gone, you purposely go get yourself into trouble, get hurt, or try to leave. I don’t get it. Why do you keep doing it?”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. What’s it even talking about?

Suddenly a thought hits you like lighting and everything starts to line up. This is literally Xisuma. How did you forget that? He changes skins with every new season. Wow you either hit your head, panicked and forgot every important detail ever, or you really needed the oxygen for those brain cells because they finally got what they needed to function.

“Sorry,” you really are sorry. For half of those things, if not almost all of them. If you were simply allowed to go back to the Dream smp in peace, you would be completely fine. Not a bother to the hermits, not a walking hazard to society, and you wouldn’t feel inadequate anymore… Actually that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went or what you did. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Xisuma doesn’t reply to your words and you start to panic again. “You weren’t in the house and I got really anxious, okay? I didn’t remember where you said you were going and I just… I needed a hug. I know that sounds stupid or childish, but i wasn’t feeling good. And you said that if I needed something, I'd just have to go to you. Oh who am i kidding, this was the dumbest thing ever. I’m so so sorry for bothering you-” Tears started to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision entirely. You were thankful that you weren’t walking alone while like this. Who knew what else you’d get yourself hurt on.

Not only were your words stopped, but your whole body was too. Jerked back by Xisuma, your teary eyes look directly at his visor which only reflects back your pitiful face. Though you don’t see it for long as you’re pulled into a hug by Xisuma. This only causes you to cry harder.

“Hey hey hey,” Xisuma’s voice is a low murmur, a comforting rumble from his chest. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Did I not tell you where I was going before I left?”

Shaking your head, a tiny “no” escapes you between sobs. Xisuma just hugs you tighter and you snuggle closer. That’s if you can, but you still try.

“Oh i’m so sorry,” he starts to pat and rub your back in a comforting manner, repeatedly apologizing for forgetting to tell you. And other things. Though you can’t exactly tell what they are through your sobbing.

It takes ages for you to calm down. You don’t really have much to go off of, besides the sun. What was once a noon sun glaring down on you was a peaceful sunset over the ocean. When you finish crying, only shaky breaths and tear stains remain to show off the previous crying fit. That and the red eyes.

The sunset is pretty, so you focus on that. Positioning your face to not have it smooshed into Xisuma’s chestplate was a struggle since he was holding you so tightly. But you managed. Soon your face wasn’t full on smooshed into his chest plate, only the side. Your cheek was definitely doing that pancake thing which smooshes out like a flat tire.

Everything’s so peaceful and quiet. Only the waves and sea life disturb it, but it made a great background noise. Xisuma soon adds to everything with some light humming. Rumbling from the chest is so comforting. Why was it such a forgettable yet amazing thing? It felt so nice.

With the humming came some rocking. Going side to side, humming a nonsensical tune. Not long after, you join in as well. Yours was definitely less consistently though, for it was broken up but little giggles. The longer you two went on, the more you giggled.

His arms unwrap themselves and you feel disappointed and saddened by the loss. You needn’t wait for long though, as on both sides of your body, you suddenly feel a tingly sensation. Bursting out into laughter, you try to struggle away from the tickle attack Xisuma has launched on you. But he’s relentless, keeping up with your retreat. It’s only when you’re out of breath, on the ground, and playfully yelling your surrender at him, that he stops.

You two start to calm down again. Laughter slowly ebbed away to chuckles or silence. Not an uncomfortable or awkward silence by any means. A safe and comforting one.

“Come on,” Xisuma prompts, getting up from the crouched position he had to be in for his attack, giving out his hand when he was properly on his feet. “Let’s get home before mobs start to spawn.” You’re more than happy to take his hands. With a pull, you’re brought back to your feet. But you two don’t let go of each other’s hands.

Together you two finish the trek home, and rather quickly too. With the sun setting, it was just a matter of minutes before danger would appear. Luckily you two made it to safety without any issues. The beginning area Xisuma had set up was well lit, safe from the dark and the dangers it harbors.

Being back in the base area made you feel more at peace, calmer, less endangered. Whatever you wanted to say, but you felt safer. And everything looked so pretty at night! You really need to come out more with Xisuma. Staring in awe at the builds in a different light, you and Xisuma dawdle on home.

Everything was perfect again. Just like before. You were happy, Xisuma was happy, what else could you need.

Xisuma walks ahead of you to unlock the front door, to which you say a little “thank you” out of habit and slip on by him and into the house. You do mean it, but still, it’s a habit drilled into you.

After getting back into the house, with some idle chit-chat, you start to get things fixed up in the house. Some dinner was in order for the two of you. After all, you just tried to climb a mountain to find Xisuma and who knows if Xisuma actually ate today. Plus you haven't had anything to eat yet. Whoops.

Leaving Xisuma to his own devices, you continue your conversation as you prepare a meal.

You don’t notice him locking the door and windows, or the dark look he has when he sees the window open, or him putting the keys in his pocket after locking all of the other windows. When he doesn’t reply immediately, though, you turn toward the last direction you heard him from, only to reveal an empty house. Perplexed, you look around a bit, but are stopped by a tap on your shoulder.

Jumping, you whirl around to see Xisuma without his helmet on, chuckling at your reaction. Laughing along with him, you give him a nudge with your hip. He returns it, laughing harder when you’re bumped away from him. This goes on for a while as you cook dinner, with Xisuma helping you.

The night goes on like this. Full of gentle, playful antics and a loving atmosphere. The love you felt was immense. You hadn’t felt happier in months.

Xisuma hasn’t been so scared in months either.

He should’ve secured the house better. Made sure you were fine before he left. Locked the windows before he left.

Now he knows to lock windows. You’d try to use them in the future. Better a situation where you went looking for him than you leaving him. But now he knew.

And all was good again.

185 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 3 years

Text

Hope in the sheets.10

[Masterlist]

Beta: N/A Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers, Words: 5k

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Implied sex, pregnancy, implied reader has baby.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

Hoseok and the others were eventually led into the birthing suite; the entire place had been cleaned and only the bare minimum of staff stayed behind. They were sorting out equipment and monitoring your current state. When his eyes landed on yours he felt emotions bloom in his chest. There you were laying in the bed, a small bundle of soft blankets nestled delicately in your arms. You had showered and dressed in a nightdress that had been packed in your hospital bag.

Hoseok’s lip curled. He was trying to hold his expression, giving you a forced smile before he broke out into tears. Holding your free arm out to him, he stumbled into your embrace kissing your forehead and telling you how much he loved you.

His words were broken by the force of each sob. “Are you going to hold her, or do we have to hold you?” Yoongi playfully teased. Hoseok wiped his eyes taking a few shakey deep breaths trying to calm his emotions.

When you moved the blanket to show your daughter laying gently against your chest, he was a mess once more. “Hobi, you want to hold her?”

“I can hold her?” He hadn’t even thought that far ahead. He could hold this baby, his daughter, he could hold her in his arms and she was real.

“Of course you can hold her.” You laughed, reaching up to wipe his tears away. Hoseok remembered everything he was taught from the birthing classes, practically reciting them out loud. You placed his daughter in his arms and his bottom lip fell.

Tears were his automatic response. There was nothing else, this miracle, this symbol of his love for you, his best and longest friend. This was his child, his flesh and blood and he couldn’t thank you enough for giving him such a gift.

“You have to stop crying Hobi, we need a nice picture for your family.” You smiled and he tilted his head back sniffing.

“I love you so much, and I love her, I just can’t stop crying.” The words broke again Hoseok turned to show off his daughter to his friends. They were some of the people he was closest to and when he looked at them they were all crying. Jungkook’s wet cheeks and red nose, Jimin’s sweet puffy eyes bubbling with tears, even Yoongi let out a stray sniff.

By far it was a sight to see big burly Namjoon openly weeping like Hoseok and cooing over how precious she was.

“Look how little she is,” Namjoon whimpered

“Her hands are so tiny too,” Hoseok said back. The two were just making it worse for each other, a back and forth of doting comments of your newborn each statement causing a fresh cycle of tears.

The nurse who had been checking your vitals waiting to take you back to the ward rolled her eyes. “I have seen some sappy fathers but you brought a whole troop.”

“Gentleman it’s time to let mum and her baby get some sleep, the father can come back tomorrow morning any other guests can come two at a time during visiting hours.” She ushered the other six males from the room, Hoseok kissed you his cheeks were wet.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Get some sleep Hobi, get the house ready. If all goes well I will be out of the hospital soon.” The nurse took your daughter from Hoseok’s arms.

“Wait, can I give her a kiss?” You whispered. The nurse nodded bringing your daughter over allowing you to kiss her goodnight before she was wheeled down to the nursery.

“Are you ready to go back to the ward? You should get some sleep. Your body will be exhausted. We will bring the child in when she is hungry.”

“Okay Hobi, I have to go rest now you head home and make the house all ready for when we come home okay.” You waved goodbye to him and watched as Jimin took his hand leading him from the room. He seemed reluctant to take his eyes off of you, his hand coming to lay flat under his heart.

You touched your collar bone watching him mouth the words 'baseline'. It was like everything you ever wanted but such a weird and obscure way you got there. You wanted to be with Hoseok and cherish him and be loved in return, but you never thought you would get there by completely derailing your relationship and almost ruining your life.

It was like you had to destroy what you had to build something better. It seems counterproductive and a step in the wrong direction but somehow you were able to shape the rubble of your friendship into a relationship stronger than before.

You love Hoseok with all your heart and he only has eyes for you. It seems you were both delusional to believe that you weren’t in love. Everyone could see it except the two of you and now it was painfully obvious.

Being a mother was kind of a shock. Scared when you woke up to cramps, only to remember you had already given birth, you were also woken throughout the night to feed your daughter. A part of you worried about taking care of someone, the responsibility setting in as being a mother was a full-time job.

“You are doing wonderful.” The nurse gave you some pain killers for your cramps, your uterus was slowly shrinking back to its regular size and you were uncomfortable. “Would you like me to get you anything?”

“I would love something to drink.” Voice hoarse from sleep, she nodded before setting off for you. You sat up watching the sunrise, your daughter sleeping soundly on the bed in front of you. She was so precious. Even with closed eyes she still wiggled and stretched her hands out to the warm glowing orb.

“Seonhee, do you like that name?” You whispered, taking out a small outfit: a white onesie with sunflowers and bright yellow footed pants with soft yellow ruffles on the butt. “Jung Seonhee.”

“Ah, is that her name?” The nurse smiled, placing some apple juice and water on the small bedside table. She sanitized her hands and began helping you with the baby's clothes and diaper, bagging the old clothes and disposing of the soiled diaper. She smiled down at the little girl in her bright outfit. “I think it suits her, Seonhee”

The doctor came by on her round, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her scrubs pastel blue with stalks. “You are looking better, how are you feeling?” There was no messing around, she was straight to business, checking for any concerns or pain. Your stomach was being palpated while she brought up things to look out for. “Ultimately if anything happens that you are unsure about, even if it is something silly like, should I have coffee while breastfeeding, call this number here, they are a great service and they will help you.”

“Thank you so much.” Taking the card you were handed and a little care package from the hospital, the nurse placed the card into the baby book which had accompanied you throughout pregnancy and after. “Am I okay to go home today?”

“You are all clear. Let us know what time you want to leave and we can have all the paperwork ready.” Pausing in the doorway, a young nurse almost bumping into her, she spun around, her coat swishing with her. “After giving birth a lot of women become a little moody, fatigued, or cry. This is totally normal as your hormones will be dropping back to a normal level. It is perfectly normal to feel these things during this time.”

“Ah, that’s good to know.” You replied while searching through the care package, glancing at some of the booklets and information sheets. There was a number for a community service where mothers take their babies to be weighed and receive checkups. The nurses had few information sessions on feeding techniques and developmental leaps.

Looking forward to being a part of a group of new mothers, you knew you would have a lot of questions eventually. It would be nice to know if other mothers have similar concerns or effective tips for any future problems.

Hoseok arrived with a big smile, kissing you sweetly before heading over to scoop up his daughter. “Wait Hobi,” you stopped him, “I need to talk to you before you get all teary-eyed again.”

“Okay,” serious expression on his face he gave you all his attention.

“We need to agree on her name and sign the birth certificate.” The smile returned to his face, the twinkle in his eyes never dwindling since the moment he stepped into the room. “I like the name 선희 (Seonhee) written as 善 meaning Good or nice and 希 as in Hope”

Hoseok watched you write an example on a scrap piece of paper, and began nodding enthusiastically. Hands shaking the two of you eyed one another passing secret smiles, the taste of giggles on the tip of your tongue. Once the document was completed Hoseok’s hand swooped up into your hair, cradling your nape as he kissed you.

Neither lazy nor heated, the kiss was full and romantic, his lips telling a story against yours. The world stopped and only Hoseok existed. Until a shrill cry broke through the silence and the two of you apart. The cry brought with it the sound of machines and nurses walking down the hall.

“You want to go home,” Hoseok raced around the hospital bed towards your daughter, wiggling in the tiny hospital portable bassinet. His style was honestly amusing. Strips of fabric hanging from a graffitied shirt with a cargo jacket and sneakers. Strange to see him holding a baby but you loved it so much.

Just because you were parents didn’t mean you had to get rid of everything you love. Sure you had to grow up and it was extreme. The transition you made while pregnant felt like your life was ending. That you would live to serve a tiny being. But seeing Hoseok still smiling the same, still wearing the same street hip hop style reassured you that you still had a life outside of being a mother and that would never change.

Of course, the two of you probably wouldn’t club anymore. It would be unfair if either of you went out without the other and unfair on your daughter if you were not there for her. Not to mention the cost of babysitting and the trust you would need in order to leave Seonhee with someone who wasn’t you or Hoseok.

Hoseok helped you with your bags packing the car, he had borrowed Jin’s for a smoother drive. Always thoughtful even on the littlest details. Sitting by the baby's car seat while Hoseok drove you home apologizing for every speed bump and every turn.

“Hoseok, I would like to go home before it is dark. You don’t have to drive that slow.” You laughed, he was being so serious like a knight or warrior preparing for battle to protect those he loves. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you saw his lips twitch in amusement, the sun shining on his shaggy hair. “I love you.”

“Babe,” He whined, “you can’t say that when I am driving, I want to kiss you and then we really won’t get home before dark.”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror before concentrating diligently once more on the road. He was singing softly to the radio as he crossed town, you must have fallen asleep as you were woken by his sweet laugh and some kisses on your cheek.

“We are home Lil darling.”

Breathing deeply trying to clear your head from your nap, as the fog in your mind disappeared your hands were secured in Hoseok’s as he helped you out of the car. Standing patiently for your body to catch up, the tender sensations in your stomach leaving you stiff.

“Seonhee, time to see your new home.” Hoseok scooped up the infant holding her to his chest as if it was the most natural thing like he had several years of experience. As opposed to this child being his firstborn. He took the soft yellow muslin wrap and covered her protecting her eyes from the afternoon sun.

Opening the door, you weren’t surprised, (mostly because you had spotted their cars on the curb) to see the boys sitting on your couch equally as excited to see you as they had been the day before in the birthing suite. Hoseok was placing your bag on the table when Seonhee started crying.

“Hey, sweetheart what’s wrong?” Hoseok patted her bottom to a steady rhythm hoping it would lull her back to sleep. Her crying continued and you felt your shirt grow damp, taking a seat you held out your hands for your daughter and nursed her while the boys kept their eyes firm on one another to respect your privacy.

“Are you drinking or are you sleeping?” You giggled at your daughter who was milk drunk. Burping her gently she wiggled releasing a few loud burps and spitting up a little onto the back of your hand and the small burp cloth you had been holding to her clothes.

“Let me take her while you clean up.” Yoongi smiled, scooping up your daughter, holding her so her head was supported, her arms and legs draped over either side of his arm. His other hand rubbed and patted her back gently as he swayed.

“You look like a squashed pie.” He smiled cheekily talking to the baby in his arms. “Cute bow shape lip from your mum, and your nose is very cute like Hoseok’s.”

“How dare you call her a squashed pie.” Namjoon tried to defend but when Yoongi turned he showed the infant, her cheek squished up against his arm, her drool slowly seeping between parted lips. “Okay, maybe a little but she is also adorable.”

“All babies look like aliens when they are born,” you grinned.

“But do you love her, more than anything else in the world?” Jungkook giggled trying to make small talk while also projecting his newfound love for such a tiny being.

“We just met, I need some time to get to know her some more.” You joke playfully curled up on the couch Seokjin handing you some dinner and a cup of tea while the boys took turns meeting your daughter.

“It says in the paperwork she can have a bath tomorrow, and that her first poo might be really yucky.” Hoseok read the take-home leaflets from the hospital and constantly checked on his two girls making sure they were both safe and sound.

“Put her in outfits you don’t care if they get destroyed,” Yoongi was singing something to the child. It was low and rough. He was talking about dreams, freestyling about how your daughter didn’t need to go to university and that she didn’t have to know everything right at this moment.

Placing the little girl into Jimin’s waiting arms. His eyes sparkled and his lip dropped as he turned soft for the little girl.

“Hello, I am Uncle Jimin and I am going to spoil you so much.” His sweet voice gasped. He practically wiggled on the spot when she brought her fists up to her closed eyes and yawned. Taehyung was quietly snapping photos, careful not to use the flash as he didn’t want to hurt the baby's sensitive eyes, even while they were closed. He assured you, that he would get photos of everyone holding Seonhee. He had already captured Yoongi and was taking a few extra of Jimin with the small bundle.

It was honestly nice to see them all so supportive and there for your daughter. Images in your mind blooming of her first Christmas and birthday and all that would follow. Namjoon would buy her a green bike with flowers and tassels on the handles and Yoongi, helping assemble it before she woke up, attaching the training wheels for her safety.

Learning how to wrap people around her finger from her Uncle Jimin and then using it against them. She would be a dancer like her father and would light up the room. You could see her performing on a stage with the eight of you waiting with flowers to throw on stage. Maybe she wouldn’t win the first prize at her first show but they would still take her out for pizza and celebrate. Her skills would improve and the day she wins the trophy she would be lifted onto Seokjin’s shoulders.

Not noticing you had started crying until Namjoon pulled you into a hug. “Hey what’s got you so upset.”

“No, I am not upset, I was told that as my hormones go back to normal, I might cry and be more tired and moody and upset and I just,” Sniffing Jungkook handed over some tissues and hugging your back. The newer of the group Taehyung and Jungkook had just fit perfectly into the group, it was like they were always meant to be.

“Hey love,” Hoseok said, coming over to kneel at your feet holding your knees softly. "Tell me what made you so upset."

“I was thinking about her first Christmas and her first birthday and how you would all be here and she would be loved and…” Taking a sniff and pushing the tears from your eyes you looked up at them seriously. “You can never leave now, we are going to be one big family. I hope you know you are now each my daughter's uncles and therefore responsible to attend events. If you didn’t want to be a part of the family, I am sorry you are now my family.”

More tears shook your form. “You're the only family I have, I wasn’t exactly disowned more than I left when my mother told me not to have my sweet daughter. My precious baby deserves a big happy family and so I am sorry you are stuck with me.

“And don’t even think you are getting out of it.” You pointed at Taehyung and Jungkook, “You are my family now. Seonhee needs lots of uncles to protect her.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Seokjin grinned, taking a turn holding the wiggling bundle, smiling for a picture, and looking at her. “She will be a heartbreaker.”

The first couple of weeks were a learning curve filled with broken sleep, reheated meals courtesy of Seokjin, and constant fatigue looming over your head. Jimin appeared one-afternoon Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi apprehended your daughter. Settling her into a baby carrier strapped to Namjoon’s chest. The thick bodyguard looked a little silly with a tiny child nestled against his pecs.

Seonhee was wearing a new outfit from her uncle Jimin. It was a sweet-footed onesie with bear ears warm enough for a day out in the park. Kicked out of the house by Jimin who stressed how much you needed a break. Hoseok was at work while you were still on leave which meant you took the larger portion of the home and baby duties.

Mostly because you were at home all day, but also not wanting to interfere with his sleep schedule seeing as he was going to an actual job that needed proper attention. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation from Jimin as he dragged you into the bathroom and started the bath filling it with a generous amount of bubble bath. It was the sleepy-time product you had chosen for your baby, emitting a soft lavender scent.

“You relax and I will wash your hair.” He smiled and he massaged your scalp to help relieve any tension, after washing out all your hair products he took your skincare products letting you lay in the bubbles as he pampered you. “You are such a good mum, you are doing amazing.”

“I hope so,” you yawned.

You stepped out of the tub, quickly wrapping yourself into the fluffy robe you hadn’t used in a while. Then sat down on your bed whilst Jimin dried and styled your hair. The others had returned, poking their heads into the room and smiling at your new refreshed look. You quickly fed your daughter while Jimin braided your hair securely.

“You rest okay, we will watch her until Hoseok comes home. Don’t worry we will come to you if we are unsure about anything and for food times.” Yoongi said playing some soft tranquil music on the small speaker by your bed.

It seemed pointless. Laying there believing it impossible to fall asleep. As you walked past the clock reading half-past one, your stomach rumbled in a gentle protest. Before you could even think of the food you wanted to get dressed, pulling on a white crop top and a baggy overall dress. Something easy to breastfeed in. It was definitely time as your breasts were heavier with milk.

Walking out you poured yourself a glass of juice and scooped up your fussing daughter, stomach growling again. Yoongi stood up marching into the kitchen, rapidly chopping ingredients. Soon the house was filled with a savory aroma and the glorious sound of oil sizzling.

Hoseok was having his first afternoon with Seonhee. You were going for a checkup. Jungkook was free and agreed to accompany you to your appointment, he almost paled when he saw the equipment on the table for your checkup. It made for a good laugh and endless teasing during your small coffee date afterward.

Jungkook’s phone buzzed and he grinned texting back quickly. “Ooh, what or who is making you smile so big?”

“Uh, I just got a funny text from Namjoon. Apparently, Hoseok asked for company so Namjoon and Yoongi stopped by the house after their errands.” He laughed, nose scrunching showing off his front teeth. “And well, your daughter may have accidentally had a poo explosion. So far from the pictures I have seen, Yoongi and Hoseok are covered in it. And while trying to help Namjoon dropped a whole bottle of baby powder and they are vacuuming the carpet.”

“Jimin and Taehyung agreed to pick up some more and I have been asked to keep you busy,” Your smile growing the more you heard, of course, they would make a mess on your first day out. Expecting something chaotic to happen but never something as funny as this.

“I am just glad it is something like this and not that someone is sick or hurt,” You smiled while eating a strawberry cheesecake and sipping coffee. Not making any move of leaving early and relieving them of their duty. It was a right of passage and showed just how much you trusted them. Hearing that something happened and not jumping to take over.

“They said not to tell you, but how could I not?” Jungkook turned his phone showing you some photos worthy of scrapbooking, the kind you would take out for Seonhee’s twenty-first and a story she would get sick of hearing at every family gathering. “Look at them.”

“Well while they are busy, how about we go grocery shopping? I think perhaps we can make something delicious for dinner,” Standing and collecting your jacket from your chair, and leading the way. Jungkook followed listening to your concerns about your weight and figure, he assured you how good you were looking and even offered to personally train you at 21, the gym.

Seonhee was growing steadily. Each milestone leading into the next, she would roll over and had started to crawl. Finding herself putting things she shouldn’t in her mouth. Going back to work was hard for the first few days, leaving Seonhee at the daycare was easy but she became more clingy when she came home. It was her way of coping with the separation that came with daycare and full-time work but eventually, Seonhee got into a routine.

Understanding that her parents were always coming back made everything in the house run a lot smoother. She had a small handful of sounds, mostly eomma, appa.

Work was a lot more tolerable and dare you to say fun. Jimin had quit his sugar baby gig and joined the company working alongside you. Sure he had broken a few hearts by canceling his service but he was happier. He never explicitly said it but you believed he was trying to be more independent and above everything else make himself more approachable to Taehyung.

Taehyung however left for a while, he had been away working with a few celebrities and luxury brands, photographing concepts, photos, and more. He had been pushing and working harder and harder as the days passed until he traveled away for his latest project.

It was a little sad that they weren’t together but you could see the longing in Jimin’s eyes whenever he replayed Taehyung’s Instagram story. Dragging him from his desk to have lunch together and distract him from the thoughts spinning around in his head.

December marked eleven months since Seonhee was born. Cruising against the couch and cabinets opening things she shouldn’t. You had invested in baby locks and a small playpen. Neither really did much as she knew how to push the whole contraption across carpet and tiles to get into things.

Mostly she would follow you to the kitchen hoping to get teething biscuits or any other treats her father would sneak her. He was never able to say no and you often found them sneaking snacks together where he would give you his big eyes and pouty lips claiming that she deserved a snack.

Christmas had your house filled to the brim with presents and boys, Seokjin was cooking in the kitchen with Yoongi’s help while Jimin and Jungkook were playing with Seonhee. Hoseok was helping Namjoon into a Santa costume in the backyard. No one had heard from Taehyung. You assumed he was busy with work and that he would be unable to make it.

There was a knock and Jungkook raced to answer it and laughed, “Finally, I thought you were skipping out on the family Christmas.”

“I wouldn’t skip out on the family Christmas, you are my favorite family,” Taehyung said handing over a suitcase to Jungkook and carrying in some bags of wrapped gifts, placing them under the tree. “Look at you, you have gotten so big!”

Namjoon Santa came in and delivered gifts and ran off getting changed only to come back and watch the gift unwrapping. Jungkook went to collect the two eldest from the kitchen, pushing Seokjin before dragging Yoongi out the two stopping in the archway.

“Hey, you are under the mistletoe!” Jimin giggled, proud that his trap had worked, he was hoping that some people would get stuck under it. “You are going to have to kiss.”

“We don’t have to, we are watching Seonhee open her gifts,” Jungkook said only to be grabbed by Yoongi who kissed the younger male and pulled away.

“Satisfied.” Yoongi turned back to the young girl opening her presents, Namjoon got her some picture books and a few educational toys. Seokjin had wrapped a small toy kitchen that was her size. Yoongi brought her to everyone’s surprise a little clam pool and some plastic toys to play with.

Jimin brought her a whole lot of princess dresses, tiaras, and fairy wings. Jungkook got her a cozy coupe red and yellow plastic car that she could push around with her legs. Taehyung handed her the small gift bag and inside was a night light that made the roof look like a galaxy and played soft music.

After Seonhee’s gifts from the boys, Hoseok brought out a box. He was struggling with it but when he opened it out popped a little dog who began licking her cheeks and wagging his tail intensely amongst the large group. “His name is Mickey.” Hoseok grinned watching Taehyung taking pictures and smiling fondly as she giggled.

Other gifts were exchanged, the most notable was Seokjin giving everyone matching sweaters with his face on it, and Taehyung’s gift to Jimin. It was a small bag and inside was the signature Tiffany blue colored box.

“You didn’t have to,” Jimin said softly and Taehyung smiled.

“I told myself I would support you, and I know you didn’t want to be treated like a sugar baby, I just told myself that I wouldn’t allow myself to date until I got you those earrings you really wanted. I wanted to give you something you could be proud of.” Taehyung explained, “And it was so hard to resist you when you kept inviting me over.”

Opening the box Jimin saw the earrings he had once mentioned ages back, the exact earrings Taehyung had handmade for him. “Now you can get rid of the ones I made you, they look horrible compared to these.

“I still love the ones you made and I will keep them forever.”

“I won’t treat you like a sugar baby anymore, I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to go on a date.”

“Well, these earrings will get you about five dates.” Jimin giggled cheekily

“Five I thought for sure it would be five and a half?”

“Five and a free butt grab?”

“Deal!”

The nine of you were walking through the kid's attractions at the theme park seeing some familiar faces, you were having lunch when some music started playing. It was the theme park's dance parade and Hoseok was dragged into the dance by Taeyong.

You were giggling when WinWin dragged you up dancing with you and turned to see Hoseok on one knee, a ring box opened in his hands. You felt your chest about to explode as you tackled him to the ground sobbing in his chest. “Hoseok really, you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it, I have loved you for years.”

“I love you so much, hell freaking yes put that ring on me, quick quick.” You kissed his face nonstop giggling between your tears. He was finally able to get the ring onto the designated finger standing and pulling you onto your feet. He kissed you passionately, you pulled back burying your face in his chest squealing.

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zarcake-writes · 3 years

Text

Berries and Cinnamon

I like Karl Heisenberg. And I was in the mood for something sweet, loving, and slightly sad. Enjoy!

The village is quiet as a bitter wind whistle past the rickety homes and down the muddy little side streets. Most of the houses are dark; only smoke rising from chimneys to show proof of inhabitance. The outline of Castle Dimitrescu is barely visible against the gloomy night sky.

Karl Heisenberg is alone on the muddy streets. The farm animals that usually roam the village during the day have retreated to the safety of their homes. While the cold weather keeps the villagers inside.

He curls his lip when he passes one of the houses. The smell of animals and wet hay is a scent he cannot grow accustomed to. Most of the village reeks; the stench of decaying wet wood and shit is so oppressive it clings to his coat. Personally, Karl finds the entire place to be an affront to his senses.

But worst is the people. Pious fools who consistently grovel and pray at the feet of Mother Miranda; yet cower in fear at the sight of the Lords.

Alcina revels in the fear. It feeds her massive fucking ego. Donna refuses to interact with any except for the few who work in her house. And Moreau is a disgusting freak whose only concern is the occasional validation that Mother Miranda may give. Karl, though, is not sure if he wants to be feared or validated.

A harsh wind blows past him, shaking the trees and nearly taking the hat off his head.

Snow is in the air. And with it, the promise of a harsh winter.

The human villagers have been in a panic about having enough food and supplies for the coming season. Karl has heard plenty of prayers, seen the offerings to Mother Miranda and the Lords in the tiny church. A few brave villagers even approached his factory at one point, asking for metal scrap.

Reluctantly, he gave them a few sheets of metal.

The humans of the village may fear the coming winter. In an attempt to survive, they give offerings to a Mother Miranda, a fake god. Their stoves are stacked with logs, and they cower under moth-bitten blankets hoping to see next spring. Karl does not share their fear.

He revels in the sensation of the cold slicing through his coat. Cold so sharp it reminds Karl of rust-coated metal. The frost-cold ground seeps through his mud-drenched boots. And as chilled wind bites his cheeks, Karl feels almost human.

Almost.

As Karl comes to the edge of the village that borders up to the forest, he stops. The woods are dark, and the path is barely visible through the overgrown brush and ever reaching trees. There are no lamps or torches to light the way. There is not even a sign. Yet, a trail of smoke rising above the trees comes from deeper within the forest.

He enters the dark forest. Immediately, his eyes adjust to the gloom. Similar to the village, the woods are quiet and cold. The trees creak in the wind as an owl screeches, causing every small creature to scuttle into the brush for safety.

Karl dislikes the forest almost as much as the village. There is not enough metal that sings for his touch. Not enough metal that is eager to bend beneath his command. The trees do not listen to him, roots do not break, and every fucking stone gets caught under the toe of his boot. The only good thing is the smell. But even then, the forest smells too pure. He feels like a trespasser.

The path ends in a small clearing with a small cabin in the center. It is surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence that fell to ruin long ago. A chicken coop is behind the house. Karl cannot stop himself from sneering at the smell of chicken shit. A small raised garden in the front of the house.

The cabin looks abandoned, but the black smoke climbing out of the chimney says otherwise.

Karl’s heart speeds up as he approaches the cabin. The stone pathway beneath his feet is new.

The metal lock on the door sings out to Karl. It would be easy for him to unlock the door using his powers, but he promised to stop doing that. The key in his pocket will do just fine.

Inside, the cabin is warm. The slow-burning fire in the fireplace casts the room in a golden light as shadows dance on the wall. The scent of mashed berries and cinnamon lingers in the air.

All the irritation and anger that was bubbling beneath Karl’s skin melts away. A single word comes to his mind: home.

The cabin is small but decorated by someone who loves their home. Pictures of people Karl does not know to hang on the walls. The faces are familiar, and he has heard their stories, but he cannot remember their names. Knick knacks and precious items linger in every part of the room.

On the opposite side of the room is a small makeshift kitchen area that is too small for one person. The stove is old and partially broken, but the sink and cabinets are new. A vase of flowers sits on the dining table. Next to the table are two chairs; one is partially pulled out, while the other is tucked away. A pang shoots through Karl when he notices the jacket and items piled on the unused chair.

A small couch sits in front of the fireplace. A blanket is lazily thrown over the back.

To his right is a partially opened bedroom door.

Karl shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack near the door. A familiar jacket is the only other coat hanging. His hat goes up next. And his boots are placed next to a pair of feminine boots.

The floorboards creak beneath Karl’s weight.

“Fuck, shut up,” he whispers.

The floorboards do not listen.

As Karl pushes open the bedroom door, the hinges squeak. He freezes, expecting the room’s occupant to wake up. But the room is quiet. And the form in the bed does not move. Behind him, the fire crackles.

The bedroom is small. The bed, which can barely fit two people, takes up most of the space. A pile of clothes lay on the floor near the foot of the bed. Paintings of the ocean and a field of flowers dot the walls. Karl has spent countless hours memorizing every swirl and color of the paintings.

Tucked into the bed is a woman. She’s buried beneath several layers of blankets. Karl can smell the lingering dust on them.

The mere glimpse of her makes his heart speed up, and his hands grow clammy.

For the longest time, Karl hated that she made him feel like a young man who has never been near a pretty girl. He hated the sweaty palms and word vomit he spluttered. He felt so weak that he decided to avoid her. But he couldn’t stay away for long, and he could not imagine chasing her off.

She shifts in bed but does not wake up.

Karl pulls off his shirt, tossing it into the pile near her bed. He winces at the noise his necklaces around his neck make. Even when set onto the bedside table, they still make a jingling noise. Even his belt clinks as he undoes it.

But still, the noises he seems to constantly make do not wake her. Karl is grateful.

Karl pulls the blanket back. She’s curled up on her side wearing a thread-worn nightgown. Carefully, Karl climbs into bed with her. He gets as close as he dares. The sweetness that clings to her skin is dizzying. He can't stop himself from reaching out and placing his arm on her waist.

She jolts at his touch and begins to move away. Karl hears her heartbeat speed up. He can smell the panic and fear already rising.

“Just me,” he rumbles in her ear.

She relaxes and leans into him. He feels the relief in her body.

“Karl,” she whispers.

He hums at the way she says his name. For the longest time, he detested his name. Karl. What the fuck is a Karl? Everyone else must agree that the name is terrible because no one calls him that, not even the family that Mother Miranda formed. Miranda herself hasn’t called him Karl since he was a child. For so long, he has been Lord Heisenberg.

But she calls him Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Whether she’s yelling at him, laughing with him, whispering to him in the darkness, or moaning his name with a reverence that should be saved for a church service, he loves how she says his name. He’s even begged her to never call him Lord Heisenberg, call him Karl. Only Karl. Karl. Karl.

“Karl?”

“Hm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

She rolls over in his arm to face him.

The orange glow of the fireplace slips through the cracked bedroom door, casting the faintest hint of light in the room. The curves and dips of her face are darkened, accentuating her features. The tip of her nose is highlighted, as is the plumpness of her cheeks. Her lips stand out the most. Karl has the urge to taste them, to taste her. But she can see the soft exhaustion in her eyes.

“I asked how your day was.”

It was shit, he thinks.

“Oh. It was fine,” he says.

Her eyes narrow. “Karl.”

He can’t keep her gaze. She knows him too well. Knows that when his jaw clenches, and he blinks twice that he is lying or avoiding the question.

But Karl can’t stop himself from lying to her about his day. He spent most of it with Mother Miranda and the other three Lords, so of course, it was a shit day. But he can’t tell her the truth because she will no doubt want to know why his day was shit. How can he tell her the religious leader of their village is a fucking cruel bitch? How would she react if he screamed about the other Lords? Moreau is fucking disgusting. And Angie is an annoying fucking freak. Not to mention the dick-cutting mega-bitch that is Alcina.

And worst is he can't explain to her that his shit interactions with the Lords and Mother Miranda were because of her.

All the Lords and most of the village know that Karl Heisenberg has a sweetheart he's trying to keep a secret. Angie asks irritating questions. Alcina gets this unhinged look in her eyes. While Mother Miranda is silent on the topic, but Heisenberg knows she is plotting something. He could see it with the slightest tilt of her head. The only one who doesn’t bother Karl is Moreau.

The sinister glint in Alcina’s eyes combined with Mother Miranda’s silence made Karl’s skin crawl. He knows they can hurt her, kill her, or experiment on her. Karl knows he needs to make some kind of claim on the woman in his arms before those two bitches can act.

Her hand cups his face, bringing Karl’s racing thoughts to a stop. He refuses to look at her. His face will reveal too much. She whispers his name, so soft and sweet, and he cannot refuse her anymore.

He meets her gaze, and she sees it all. The anger, hate, pain, and fear burned in him. But she does not push him away, only smiles and runs her thumb along his cheekbone. Her hands are gentle but worn from working in her garden behind the house.

“I will not pry for details, Karl. But you can be honest with me. I won’t judge you for having a bad day. We all have them.”

“I haven’t just had a bad day, sweetheart.” He clasps her hand that is still holding his cheek. “I’ve had a bad life.”

His voice cracks at the end. Body growing hot with embarrassment and fear of her judging him for the emotion that screams for release in his chest, Karl looks away. He cannot bear to see the rejection in her eyes.

But her silence is loud. Karl's ears begin to ring as his body grows hotter and hotter. He wants to scream for her to say something, anything. He wants her to push him away now for being a weak, broken man.

She does none of that. She sits up in bed, making sure to keep a hand on Karl, and readjusts her pillows. When she lays back down, she is sitting up. She smiles and opens her arms, welcoming him home.

Karl curls around her body, nuzzling his face into her chest. The tears in his eyes bleed onto her nightgown. If she feels the dampness grow on her chest or feel his trembling against her, she says nothing. She is silent as fingers moving gently against his skin. And slowly, the overwhelming emotion that nearly consumed Karl fizzles out until it is all gone.

“Your tits are soft,” he mumbles eventually.

She snorts. “Kind of like your gut.”

“Your tits aren’t hairy like my gut though.”

“And my tits are probably quieter. No grumbling from digestion.”

He hums in agreement. The only sound from her chest is the gentle beating of her heart.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers.

He opens his mouth to reply, but her fingers begin to move up and down his bareback. Nails that she keeps short and blunt leave soft trails along his back, taking care to ghost over the numerous scars. He can’t form a response, only hum at the sensation.

“Go to sleep, Karl,” she whispers again.

Her hands move up towards his head. She gently pulls at his hair, starting from the ends before pulling at the base of the strands. And with gentle fingers, she brushes through the knots in his hair, careful to not yank or hurt him.

Being in her arms is the closest thing Karl has ever been to having a home. Mother Miranda was no mother. And the other Lords are not his siblings. They are no family, just pawns that Mother Miranda will use as she pleases.

And used him she did. She took everything from him, turned him into a monster by making him perform terrible experiments. He’s numb to the monstrous things he has done and continues to do, that Karl does not feel human. Fuck, he hasn’t been human in so long.

But in this tiny cabin, in the arms of the woman he loves, Karl has a home and a family. And he feels human.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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lilkermit14 · 3 years

Text

Lavender & Mint

Fem!reader x Pero Tovar

Synposis: In the conventional village of Cullfield lived an unconventional woman who served as an apothecary for the townsfolk. Stubborn and set in her ways, the woman of three tens remains unmarried and childless and plans to continue as such for the rest of her life, much to the horror and confusion of the village. But this unconventional woman has some surprises in store for her when an unconventional man named Pero Tovar rides into town, an event that will change both her and his plans forever—and may flip Cullfield upside down too.

Notes: Idk why I kept mentioning poop complications this chapter but I’m sorry and enjoy. It’s been a while but the CHAPTER is here. Please reblog!!!!

General Warnings: minor injuries, slow-burn, eventual smut, blood, childbirth

For this chapter: Non-sexual references to poop, mention pregnancy, murder, implicit brief reference to infanticide or child abandonment, pre-marital pregnancy and it’s complications in the 1400s, religious “morals”.

Chapter 5: Garlic

Last chapter // Next chapter

“When was the last time you passed bowels, Mister Ashdown?” you inquire, pressing on the old man’s stomach knowing you have found the root cause of his stomach issues. He blinks for a moment thinking as he lays on your observation table, before telling you, “quite some time I’m afraid.”

“I see,” you move your hands away putting your hands on your hips, “well, it seems that you just have a case of constipation––burdensome but not something hard to fix or that will have you laying on your deathbed.”

“You sure?” he asks, almost confused, moving to rise up from the table by himself only for you to come to his assistance. You clarify yourself, “Yes, you have many signs that point to it. It can be caused by a lack of competitive foods in your diet and is more likely with old age.”

“I’m not that old,” He interjects, but you compete, “Yes, but you're old enough for a blockage sir––you’ll be glad to know you’ll live to be truly old as long the burden is treated.”

He huffs now in a sitting position with legs dangling from the table, “so what do you have so i’ll shit.”

You huff at his language, “standard garlic will help move the process along, and I’m suggesting you make sure to eat more greens and berries to clear your system.”

You always assumed that you were let free to discuss any matters with your patients when they were the only ones in the shop, as no one else resided in your residence besides you. But that arrangement had changed and you were not the only one that resided in your home, “If my cock and bowels stop working just have someone put me out of my misery.”

You turn rigid and scandalized to see the face of Pero Tovar standing in your back entrance of the shop—entered unbeknownst to you through quiet steps and a lack of clear view. Mister Ashdown has no qualms defending himself, “I’m only five tens and if my cock doesn’t work how is my wife pregnant?”

You want to scream having to hear this conversation and did certainly not want to be reminded of the conversations you were subjected to by Farrah Ashdown. When the woman at four tens and five found out she was pregnant she spared no expense in telling you how it happened. You opted to rush him along before you could get his account of what he does with his wife, “okay sir here’s your supply get going now.”

“Enjoy the shit,” you hear Pero say and before mister ashdown can respond he is out your door. You turn to Pero fury and rage evident on your face as you are prepared to let the flames of hell loose on him. All he has is a stupid look on his face as he lets out the word, “what?”

“You bastard,” you begin pointing your finger at him moving towards him with menace in your voice towards a man that stands unbothered, “you do not talk to ANY of my clients in such manner especially in my shop.”

“Why is that hermosa? I would be rude to that man outside of your business, what makes your apothecary different?” He queries again with that name, only increasing your anger and distaste for him at the moment. With clenched teeth, you answer him, “I don’t care what you say to Mister Ashdown in town, but my shop is a place of respect––a place where anyone can come for health problems even if they are embarrassing. I want people to know they won’t be judged here because if they feel like they will be, they will come when it’s too late and I can’t do anything for them.”

Pero raises his brow at you, but lets you continue your rant uninterrupted, “When my mother was still alive, a young woman at ten and six came to us complaining of diarrhea, something she was embarrassed to talk about because it was gross and she did not want suitors to find out. Turns out she had sickness from a miasma––we took one look down the town well and discovered a deer had fallen in and died overnight.”

“That was lucky,” he comments, still invested in your story despite the vile nature of talking about excretion. You continue, “Yes, and we may not have caught it so soon if she didn’t come to us. The sickness is fast acting, in hours many more villagers could have been sick, but it was only her––and she lived.”

“Lived?” you smile at his question feeling pride at the healing powers your mom had and hope you live up to, “Yes, the sickness causes dehydration quickly but if you keep the person well hydrated and area clean to prevent reinfection––they will live. This summer she gave birth to her third child at my aid.”

“So their trust is important to you?” you give him a simple nod, glad he is understanding what you were asking of him. You turn to clean up the materials you had brought out to examine Mister Ashdown, not realizing that Pero was not done with questions, “Like how that woman came to you the other day crying in distress?”

You freeze––you had really thought the interest in Mariam had ended when William had first asked you about her the day after asking if she was okay. You nodded and told him it was just feminine needs and didn’t serve much interest in men, something that usually turned men away from asking questions. Well not Pero Tovar I guess, “Why was she crying?”

“It’s a complicated matt––”

“Things of safety are something I have to worry about you know,” He interjects, and you turn your head looking at him to see something serious cross his face, “I have to keep everyone in this village safe––you in particular hermosa––and I want to know if theres something you need to tell me.”

“Part of gaining trust is not telling personal information,” you counter, pulling together to formulate a lie, “It’s nothing of safety she was upset about something––she’s a friend of sorts to me.”

You can tell he doesn’t buy it––he can probably pull the full story together even though you doubt he’s heard a single thing about Mariam’s husband beating her––but he accepts, slouching and learning against a table in thought, “William and I may go for a short hunt––there's not much action in this town I’m afraid and we could use some fresh game.”

You nod, “If you catch any pigeon, I know how to handle it so it's not gamey.”

He huffs, “We're not very good hunters I’m afraid, so you’ll probably only get that or rabbit.”

–––––––––––––––––––

Pero Tovar had useful traits to him––like getting you pigeons––but he was mostly an annoyance. His mere presence always had you on edge, as you waited for something, something from him. It was usually something he said but if not it was his scent or stench rather of pine and something that was him. It was also his sloppy manner, the way he seemed raised with no table manners as he ate all your meals. He spoiled Mite, petting him and feeding him table scraps much to your despair. He was also too loud, his boots filling up the cottage and shop with noise, something that never usually happened.

You lent some time today to make more bread for the household, settling at your dining table and working the necessary ingredients for dough together. Mite lays in the corner, not doing his job as per usual and watching you with some sort of interest in the mannerisms of bread making, but he was likely just hoping for more food in the future. Kneading dough you begin to imagine the dough is Pero kneading your frustration into it. You press and it is his stupid broad shoulders that take up too much space. You pull, it’s the curls on the nape of his neck that are too unruly and untidy. You slam it down, it’s that stupid smile that appears on his face when you have entertained him. God you hate Pero Tovar.

“You may want to stop before you overwork the dough sweetheart,” You stop and see Mildred Becker staring at you with an amused look on her face. You huff Jesus, what does she want, “Sorry for my state, I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Don’t worry I understand too well––I always work out my anger into the dough,” you chuckle a little thinking about how a woman with too many children works out anger the same way as you––you definitely hate Pero Tovar, “I just stopped by because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

You perk up, “Is Cateline suffering from baby blues again.”

“No, No thank the lord––we’ve been watching over her better this time,” Mildred rounds off, and you remember despite the grievances she gives you, she is a good mother to her children. She was the first to notice that something was wrong with her daughter after the birth and came to you to talk about it. From there Cateline was able to recover and enjoy motherhood, “Something with your house guest Pero Tovar has come to my attention.”

“What did he do,” You ask, prepared to beat Pero Tovar with your broom, but Mildred settles you, “nothing he did, just something someone is doing around him.”

You raise your brow at her beckoning her to continue, “You know Stanislava Rolfe?”

“Of course,” you affirm, surprised she is asking you such a question when you have treated everyone in Cullfield five times over. Mildred continues, “Yes well, She has begun to work at the Inn as a barmaid––she did well with charming Balthasar I guess.”

You were wondering why a poor farmer's daughter’s career path interested you, but you didn’t interject, “I happened to take a quick ale there with my husband, when I noticed something with her and Pero Tovar. You see she appeared extra flirtatious with him––and although barmaids usually are flirty with men in hopes for extra coin, it was more intentional.”

You frown, how could such a beautiful young girl be interested in such a disgusting brute, “Why is she interested in him?”

“Who knows? Many of the girls around Cullfield were excited to see unfamiliar battle-hardened men I supposed,” She ponders for a moment, “all we do know is that she is likely interested in him.”

“I don’t think he is interested in taking a wife,” You contest, brushing aside that Pero would have feelings for the young girl of two tens. Mildred just gives you a hardened stare, “He doesn’t have to be interested in matrimony to want something from her.”

“Was he showing interest back?” you dig trying to figure out the full extent of what you are formulating must be a whirlwind romance. Mildred hums, “no I suppose not, but sometimes men take persistent interest as a way to have a good time.”

You bite your lip remembering that Pero did not fornicate with prostitutes but barmaids, and feel a ball of ache and pain in your stomach at the thought. Mildred instates, “I came to you about this because I want you to try to stop it.”

“Stop it?”

“Yes, make it clear he is to not have such guests,” Mildred explains, and you can tell by her tone and expression you are in for some sort of story, “You know well enough that things go arigh when an unmarried woman gets pregnant, right.”

“Of course,” you remember the chaos that erupted in families when one of their daughters ended up pregnant, and the hasty weddings that came from it. But Mildred had a different story, “although most of the time it gets swept under the rug with a quick marriage and everyone just chooses to ignore it––horrid things can happen when there's not one.”

Mildred sits down at the nearby table, in clear thought of something dark and you go to sit down at a nearby chair, “When I was about ten and eight, and old enough to understand these things, a girl was taken advantage of by a soldier in our village. She was ten and six, and him far older so he should have had the wisdom not to mess with her. What mattered was after it happened, he left with his troop and was never seen in my home village again. She got pregnant, and tried to hide it at first––her mom was dead and she had no older sisters or aunts to go to, so she was afraid to go to her father. When it became too obvious, hate inspired awful things in the leaders of the village, and by the time she gave birth it accumulated.”

Mildred takes a moment to pause, emotions brewing inside her and you feel yourself frozen in place, “she tried to talk to them, pleading, saying he pressured her––persuaded her, but they all pointed and said witch and condemned her son too. She was burn’t at the stake, and her son––well he was never seen again.”

A pause fills the air as you sit in shock, digesting what Mildred has told you, “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Mildred huffs, “I’m sorry too, I made sure to get a husband that would get me out of that village and landed a good one on the way––I had seen what that village did to women and children for the sake of moral value and did not intend to stay so my daughters could see too. Adultery is a two person crime that only one party, the feminine one, receives punishment for.”

“So that's why Pero and Stanislava are of such concern to you?” You assume, and Mildred nods, “Although I think Cullfield is of better standing, I don’t desire to find out what they would do if such a case erupted. The girl may be doing this because she intends to capture a man with a better job, but mercenaries rest for a few women and not those of ten and eight.”

“I can understand her intentions I suppose,” you contemplate, believing that she doesn’t hold much true interest in him, but for a better life. Mildred hums, “so is there a chance you can talk to Pero about it?”

“I already established that he is to not bring guests into my home, and I doubt they would find a secluded enough place otherwise,” you reassure, standing up, “I can even remind him today if you would like.”

“That would be good,” Mildred agrees, joining you in standing and allowing you to guide her to the door, “be on the lookout too if you see her come preying––even though he lacks true interest.”

“I will,” you say, and somewhere in your heart you feel prepared to beat Stanislava Rolfe with your broom instead of Pero.

________________

Gardening was no easy task but it was the most necessary task the runner of an apothecary and a household had. Today your tending to crops was more focused on your food supply rather than collecting the necessary ingredients to keep your shop running. You're pleased to see that the last of your harvest grew well, and know that your winter stock will last even with your house guest. You had already pulled out all the carrots, and beets, and had shucked the vines wounding your house of beans and brussel sprouts. You were now left to work at the tough vines of the gourds and squash, planning on leaving the single pumpkin for Pero to handle––who should be on his way home from helping Balthasar with something at his inn.

Standing up with the final gourd in hand––you see something that fills you with immediate displeasure and sickens you to your core. Pero is walking up to your house pursued by Stanislava. You don’t quite know why you feel this angry at him; maybe it’s because you gave him explicit reminders on conduct or maybe––something else. Seeing the near, and well hearing Stanislava, you attempt to think fast to try to get her to leave. Greeting them both in an unnatural kind manner, “Pero, Stanislava, greetings.”

Pero gives you an immediate strange look while his shadow is oblivious and greets you back, “I was just telling Pero this wonderful stor––”

“Oh I must ask how is your rash healing up,” You feel like clapping your hands over your lips the moment the words fly out of your mouth. Stanislava stops in her tracks staring at you blankly, “what?”

“The one I gave you the ointment for––on your groin,” Oh my God what were you doing.

Stanislava turns bright red, “Good thank you––I––I have things to tend to at home, good evening you two.”

Stanislava hurries off, and an amused smile erupts on Pero’s face, “thank you for finally scaring that crow off––she’s been yapping my ear off with nonsense for weeks––I guess you're my scarecrow.”

“Excuse me?” scarecrow, you were going to kill this man. He smiles, a genuine smile, “Yes you scared off my crow––like a scarecrow would. Plus you're covered in leaves right now.”

“Do not call me that”

“Fine mi espantapájaros”

“I swear I’ll smother you in your sleep”

“Is that a true promise for you? Like how you promised not to tell customers private information yet just shouted about the crow’s crotch rash,” at that your body works on it’s own, taking the gourd in your hand and flinging it at Pero’s chest. It was a magnificent shot, and caused the vegetable to break and splatter it’s internal organs onto Pero’s chest and neck. Pero steps back from the impact and looks down on the goop he’s now covered in, “Now, no good espantapájaros does that.”

You press your palm to your face, “Just cut the pumpkin for me and bring it inside, you could use a good bath anyway, your stench is disgusting.”

“I do not smell,” he retorts, and you ignore him, bringing inside your harvest. You really do hate Pero Tovar.

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

Apothecary’s feelings––hate or nah yall?

Garlic is use to treat a lot of ailments in Arab traditional medicine, including heart disease, high blood pressure, arthritis, toothache, infections, and––as seen in this fic––constipation. Listen, I know the constipation part is true because I ate a pesto made with raw garlic and LORD did I shit. Anything else, not quite sure but hey worth a shot if you are desperate.

It is also seen as an immune booster for colds and coughs––in fact if you are congested from a cold putting a clove of garlic in each nostril can clear that shit OUT.

Garlic is also believed to help asthma symptoms. IDK if it actually is true but that’d be iconic because my mom loves garlic and she has asthma.

Garlic is my favorite seasoning. I put it in my soup. I put it in my eggs. I put it in my ramen. I put it in my burgers. I put it in my cooch––

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

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