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starrywooyo · 3 months

Text

treasure: Six

synopsis: when y/n gets whooshed into an alternate universe, an adventure: one with pirates and monsters and much, much more

pairing: ot8! pirate ateez x fem! reader

genre: pirate au!!

!!warnings(per chapter)!! - [bellow cut!] no warnings i can think of- plz lmk if there is

notes: omg- guess who's backkkkk with an update!! I'm so sorry it's taken this long to get this chapter out.. i also split this chapter into 2 since i felt its a bit much to read with it being so long.. or do you guys not mind really long parts/chapters?? maybe i also done it to keep you guys in suspense too 😏😏

word count: 4.3k

taglist: (if you want removed or added to the list please lmk)

@toxic-babexe , @sunnyhokyu , @cambriel , @lelaleleb

if if missed anyone again just let me know! i also don't know where my tag list is so please let me know if you wanted added and are not on here

series masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

previously:

hongjoong stands, placing his hands in the table, slightly leaning forward.

“I have some news I want to share” he says

your breath gets stuck in your throat. He doesn't know, does he??

“i have progress of our voyage for the Cromer.” he adds

everyone now gives him their full attention.

“thanks to sedna here, we have our heading. it'll be a long, dangerous journey but I know we as a team, a crew. can manage it!! we will get the cromer before they do”

You don't know how long, it’s most likely been days that have passed. All you can see from the horizon is the ocean and then more ocean.. Water as far as the eye can see.

Crew are starting to feel as though this mission is lost, that you were all lost on the sea, some starting to get bored out of their minds.

You sigh

“What’s wrong?” a voice asks

You close your book over

“Are we ever going to reach wherever it is we’re trying to get to yeosang?” you ask

He bookmarks his own book and lets out a small laugh.

“I’d tell you to be patient but I feel we’re all getting a bit restless these days, we’ll get there all in good time y/n.. Now let's continue reading shall we?” he replies and then proceeds to open his book to continue reading.

Deciding to do the same you reopen your own book and continue reading.

…

You toss and turn in your bed, unable to get some sleep. You still can't help the thoughts that pass through your mind. Tossing off the covers you pull your boots on and make your way through the ship.

It's mostly quiet as you walk down the corridor, the only thing to be heard being the waves crashing outside the ship and the slight creak of the wooden floorboards, the rest of the crew getting some kip while they can.

Walking up the stairs you slightly shiver from the nip from the cold air, rubbing your arms you take no notice of your surroundings and make your way to your spot you like to rest on at the front of the bow.

Leaning on the wood, you look out into the dark, there's not much visibility bar the light coming from the little lantern hanging down but when you look up, you’re in awe. The stars are out and shining bright. They look so… pretty. You wish you had a camera so you could capture this moment

Still gazing at the stars above you don't catch the sound of someone walking up behind you

“D’you like stargazing?”

You flinch turning to the voice

He laughs slightly “sorry didn't mean to scare ya” he says leaning beside you

You finally take in your surroundings you notice hongjoong is at the wheel and that's pretty much everyone who’s still awake

You turn back to him, he’s just looking at you intently

He gestures to the stars with his head and asks again.

“D’you like stargazing. y/n?” he asks.

“I do.. Do you like the stars, Yunho?” you ask him.

He smiles

“I do, being a lookout i get to see ‘em pretty much every night, i know a lot of the constellations too but what ‘re you doing awake at this time.. Can’t sleep??” he asks

You shake your head

He looks away for a second, then walks away a little bit and hold out his hand for you to take.

“Follow me”

You take ahold of his hand and he and he begins to lead you up the stairs past hongjoong at the helm to where the mizzen mast stands.

“Ladies first” he gestures to the rope ladder

And you climb up till you get to the barrel-like section at the top and yunho climbs in after you.

“It’s easier to see the stars from up here” he says and blows the candle out from the little lantern that's hung up in the mast so that he or wooyoung can have a little light when they need it. And then he sits beside you on the ground and tucks his legs up to his chest just like you.

Looking up you can see all the pretty twinkling lights and you’re in awe of them all.

A light tap on your shoulder brings you back to the man sitting beside you, and you listen and watch intently as he points out various stars and constellations and explains some of them to you

…

You shiver slightly rubbing your arms as a chill wind blows through you in the mast.

“Hmm cold?” yunho asks, tilting his head to the side a little.

You nod “ a little bit.. Yeah”

He shuffles about a bit in the space and opens the basket sitting in the corner, and pulls out a worn out greyish blue blanket

“ ‘ere “ he wraps the blanket around you and you pull it tighter around yourself

“it does get pretty chilly up here so there's a blanket in every basket for the three masts just in case you need that information” he laughs a bit and he sits back into his spot beside you on the ground and he wraps one of his arms around you pulling you closer to his side

“See that one ‘ere.. thats pleiades its-” he stops seeing you are now fast asleep he breathes out a laugh and then pulls you closer to his chest and then proceeds to fall asleep not long after you

…

You’re drawn out of your slumber from people talking in hushed tones, one of which you know to be yunho but the other you can't tell, still being in a haze.. The other person leaves.

“Yunho..” you voice out.

He hums

“What's the prettiest star youve seen?” you ask randomly still in your sleepy haze while wrapping your arms around his waist snuggling into him

��Hmm well… it's not actually a star but the aurora’s the most beautiful thing i've seen in my life time”

You smile and shut your eyes again resting your head on his chest

“I'd like to see that too” you say as you slowly drift off

Yunho rubs your back as you do

“I'll take you to see it.. Don't worry”

…

Your eyes flicker open and you stretch bones clicking in the process. Scanning your surroundings you see you’re still up in the mast with yunho still wrapped up in his arms as you shuffle around he stirs in his sleep, hands coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Hmm good morning” he says, his voice still laced with sleep.

You reply to him and the both of you begin to make your way to the kitchen to get something to eat before everyone else.

You grab a bread roll as does yunho as well as an apple that yunho reluctantly lets you cut up yourself with your history of knives.

“Thank you.. By the way” you say as you begin to nibble on your food “for last night.. I had a good sleep thanks to you, yunho” you smile.

“Don’t worry about it, m’glad you could get some rest”

You both sit and continue to eat your food in the peaceful silence quite content.. Until it wasn't- more of the crew came piling in to grab their own breakfast before getting to work and it's then that yunho leaves you to go do his own chores around the ship again. And you go and join yeosang again.

…

“So where is it exactly we’re going yeo??” you ask him

“Well we’re going here to this docking town to restock supplies then we’ll head east or ‘tis where captain says we need to go” he explains pointing places out to you on the map “not to worry though, we’re almost there i'd assume we’d be arriving to the dock at any minute”

And he was right, you were in fact pulling up to the dock but not 20 minutes later.

Most of the crew started flowing out the ship, stretching. Their feet finally on firm solid ground. Standing on the dock you watch in silence as members of the crew converse with the workers on the dock, seonghwa wagering with the man how many pieces of gold would grant the amount of time the ship could stay docked

In the distance you see hongjoong talking with sedna about what.. You don't know but it looks to be a serious conversation. The conversation stops and he seems to make his way back over to you all and he speaks.

“I want everyone to stock up on supplies they may need and rations for the ship as for seonghwa, mingi, jongho, yunho, wooyoung and san you all come with me.. y/n you stay with yeosang” he says then he claps his hands together.

“Okay. everyone get to work” he says and he and his little team head off.

…

And so you walk through the streets of the town with yeosang carrying some of the things he buys to help him carry them back. You’re bored out of your mind, it’s been a good few hours since hongjoong and the crew left to god knows where. And you wont lie, you’re curious so… you pester yeosang about it. To which he replies something about a mini mission for the actual mission..just boring stuff

“Hey y/n.. I'm gonna nip into this last shop real quick. Can you wait out here for a second?” yeosang asks you, you nod watching him through the window of the store after he enters.

Bored you end up zoning out looking in the opposite direction, lost in your own thoughts.

Something catches your attention, as you stare your features contort in confusion

What.. is.. that..!?

You must've been staring for a long time as you’re brought out from your trance from yeosang calling you

“y/n… you good?” he asks, looking worried.

You hum

“Hmm.. yeah.. I thought I saw..” you look back, the thing is no longer there “nothing.. nevermind ..”

And then the both of you head back to the ship.

…

The others didn't get back to the ship until a long while after you, some covered in cuts and other bruises.. Just what was the ‘mission’

San ushers those with cuts to his study to clean the wounds up the rest follow hongjoong to his cabin and you’re left in the dark.. Not included. So you just help the other crew carry the stock onto the ship

…

With the ship now stocked and ready for the vast journey on the water you can finally start the main voyage.

The main 8 currently gathered in the captains cabin, map sprawled out on the table as hongjoong points to the locations on the map and explains in detail the route to be taken for this quest.

They all end up piling out of the foom after a few hours

You sit in your cabin seemingly lost in deep thought

“A penny for yer thoughts y/n.. What's got yer mind so busy” there's a knock from the doorframe.

Being drawn from your thoughts your head snaps to the doorway.

Hongjoong leans on the frame, sleeves of his white button shirt rolled up and his jacket discarded, being held in his hands.

You frown.. Thinking about it some more

“It’s nothing” you brush it off

He sighs

“May i?” he asks, gesturing to your room, you nod and he enters placing his jacket on your bed and taking a seat next to you.

“It cant be nothin if its got you frowning like that.. Did somethin happen??” he asks slight worry on his face

“No.. nothing happened per say.. I just.. I don't know.. I saw something but i don't know if my brain was playing tricks on me”

“Whatd ye see? Maybe I can help if I know what it was?” he pries some more..

You turn to face him

“I thought i.. When you and the others went on that little mission.. When i was shopping with yeosang.. i .. i thought i saw you.. Only it wasn't you?? I don't know.. you had different clothes on and.. All black and a black hat too” you laugh “i’m going crazy right?” you ask him

Only a sinking feeling comes to your chest as you see his face, its pale as if the colours been drained out

“y/n.” he begins “if you see that person again or someone similar. I need you to tell me or one of the others.. Can you do that for me?” he asks

You nod.

He shakes his head “no. i need you to say you’ll do it. Promise me you will”

You tilt your head in confusion

“I will” you say

“Good” he starts to grab his jacket and stands to leave the room

“But hongjoong,who or what was that?” you ask

“You don’t need to know that right now” and with that he leaves the room.

…

The ship comes to a stop with a sudden jerk, an island in the close distance.

Hongjoong stands giving commands as the crew rushes about the ship preparing to leave the ship and get to the piece of land on the longboats.

Chucking equipment onto the small boats crew piling in and getting lowered to the ocean.

Most of you make it to land, some crew having to stay back and watch the ship.

This is it. The main island.. Whatever it is you're searching for. It's here.. Somewhere.

Making camp on the beach tents get set up in all different sizes as well as some crates as makeshift tables, a fire being planned to get set up in the middle of camp.

“Yunho, wooyoung go scout the surroundings and make sure its safe” hongjoong orders. And the two do as told with woo whining a tad.

“And y/n, mingi, jongho come with me.. Lets split up and get some firewood for that fire later”

And the four of you make your way up the sandy dunes to the entrance of the woods. And slowly you all creep in.

You walk a good few minutes in far enough in that there's branches and leaves

“Just take as much as you can carry, we won't be camped on the beach long, take just enough to keep the fire going overnight and to cook a dinner” hongjoong says and begins to pick up the sticks on the ground and the other three of you follow suit.

With arms now filled with branches and dry leaves for kindling you make your way back to camp on the beach and dump the wood on the ground where the fire will be set up. And seonghwa comes along and gets started on the fire and you watch him intently; he starts by taking stones from the beach to which you help and places them in a circle for the boundary of the fire, then taking the twigs and branches you all collected and places them neatly in the stone circle, lastly he takes the dried leaves and skaters them throughout the logs.

He pulls from his pocket a rock of flint and holds it securely on one of the big stones surrounding the unlit fire close to some of the kindling and he whips out a small steel dagger. He pauses-

And briefly looks up to you.

“You good?” he asks

You let out a hum

“It's just, you’ve been watching me for a while.. Is it really that interesting?” he asks

You nod

“Hmm! I always used to watch my da- i mean i just think its cool to watch” you tell him

He kind of looks at you with your first choice of words but he decides to not comment on it. And just nods along.

“Y’wanna try then?” he taps the sand beside him

You slightly laugh

“I don't know if i can do it but i'll certainly give it a shot” and you get on your knees beside him.

Seonghwa briefly shows you how to hold the flint and the angle to strike the dagger against it, once you're sure you’ve got the hang of it, you take the items from him and strike the blade against the rock.. Nothing happens the first few times but then all of a sudden a few sparks fly off and land on the leaves slightly letting some smoke travel in the air. Seonghwa gets closer to the leaves and gently blows on them and at last the fire is going!! It works its way through the other twigs and leaves until finally a big blazing fire lights up the camp.

“Why don't you go see what the others are doing and if they need any help while I get started on dinner” seonghwa tells you. And with a nod of your head you're off through the camp.

Walking around the camp you find jongho sitting cleaning out his gun, all the pieces laid out..

You sit in front of him and he looks up from cleaning and gives you an awkward smile

“y/n… hi” he says

“Hi Jongho”

The awkward smile still there he doesn't pay you any mind and goes back to cleaning

Damn this is awkward..

“So.. jongho..” you begin-

“Look y/n. With all due respect just leave me alone” he sort of snaps as he puts the cleaned gun back together “im not interested” he gets up and walks away.

Oh…

Disappointed you sit and look out to the waves.. The sun is starting to set, it hangs low in the sky

Someone takes the place of jongho..

“y/n?” they speak

“Captain.” you reply.

Hongjoong sits across from you.

“I.. um.. I have somethin’ for you.. Will you come with me a minute..?” he asks, his eyes darting everywhere bar into your own.. His cheeks slightly flushed

You let out a small yeah and get up to follow him, he leads you towards his tent and holds open the fabric for you to enter. Which you do.

Hongjoong enters after you and you take a look around the large tent.

There's a make-shift table to the right with a chair and to the left his bed, some clothes folded on top with his hat neatly placed against them and a rucksack laying on the floor at the foot of the bed and some oil lanterns hang in random spots

“y/n.. Come in. don’t just stand there..” he says now standing at the table so you walk closer to the table.

He clears his throat and places a medium-ish flat box on the table in front of you.

“I.. haha um.. It might be weird but.. I got you this.. I know you were lookin at one a while back..” as he rambles on you peel the lid of the box off and your eyes go wide

“A-and you don't have to like it. I know it's not the same one you saw.. And its probably weird that i bought you it-” he continues

“I love it” you whisper out

“That's okay.. Wait- you do?” he asks

You nod and take it out of the box. Inside was a pretty black lace up corset with little white and red flowers embroidered on going up the left side with green vines and on the right side in the same red as the flowers which looks to be an ‘A’ in a red circle.

Hongjoong watches as you look at the corset with pure happiness in your eyes and a smile goes onto his own face

You look to him

“This is probably one of the nicest gifts anyone has given me..thank you. Hongjoong.”

“Of course, I'm just glad you like it.. Now. let's go get something to eat shall we?” and you both go out to join everyone else around the fire to eat.

…

The next day you all wake up bright and early ready to make your journey into the dense forest. Getting ready, you pack your little bag first and change into your clothes: trousers and a nice white flowy shirt.. The corset catches your eye in the corner so you decide to put it on. undoing the laces you slip it over your torso and go to pull the laces shut.. Only you realise something. You can't do it by yourself.

You make your way to the entrance of your tent and slightly poke your head out..

You see hongjoong giving out orders and overseeing them as most people are packing up their things and tents, majority of the crew are busy though someone catches you sticking your head out, with a cheeky grin on his face he saunters over towards your tent, you quickly pull your head back in and hold the opening shut

“y/n~~ are you ready?? We’re about to head off” he says..

“i - nearly, i'm just getting ready but i-” you weigh up all the options in your mind. Cursing at yourself you pop your head back out again and look at the blonde who's still smiling, his arms crossed over his chest.

You bite your lip slightly “wooyoung” you sigh out “can you come in here and help me?” you ask

He frowns slightly and tilts his head

“Help? Hmm sure, but with what?” he asks

You pop back in the tent

Wooyoung follows in after you, brushing a hand through his blonde hair and when he finally looks at you he sucks in a breath.

“Y-you need help lacing that up..” he asks a faint yet prominent blush creeps its way onto his cheeks

You nod slowly.. “if .. you wouldn't mind” you add.

He quickly shakes his head.

“I don't mind” he says and he walks over to you.

You turn around for him and he takes hold of the laces with shaky hands

“Let me know if it's too tight.. Okay..? i don't wanna hurt you” he says and begins to fix the strings before pulling on them. You feel yourself being sucked in oh god you don’t know how those women in towns do this, He pulls them tight a few times before he's asking you if it's okay you tell him it's fine before he’s pulling some more more and then he ties the bow in the back. His hands rest on your waist for a moment.

“There” he whispers out.

“Thank you”

He smiles though you can't see it.

Turning around you grab your bag to head out. It's wooyoung's turn to look over you, he bites his lower lip looking away slightly before looking back to you.

“You look good.. It suits you, pretty” he says and you both leave the tent. He helps you pack the rest of your things and roll your tent up and attach it to your bag.

Walking over to the rest of the group by the forest entrance, the fact you're wearing his corset doesn't go unnoticed by hongjoong. A blush of his own coating his cheeks as well. He clears his throat and continues his ‘speech’ and not long after you're all off into the forest..

…

hongjoong leads the line from the front, map and compass in his hands. You don't know how long you walked for.. All you know is this island is bigger than it seems to be and all you've been seeing is trees, trees and even more trees. And you’re losing daylight again.. Wherever it is that map leads.. We’re not getting there as quickly as hongjoong hoped we would.

You come to a small clearing in the woods.. Still covered with trees but space enough to make a small camp for your team of 15..

Hongjoong stops turning to face everyone.

“We’ll camp here for now” he sighs out shaking his head frustrated. He seems to have a silent conversation with seonghwa before he's speaking again “Mingi.. Jongho you both take night watch.” he says to the two men before he begins to walk off seonghwa close behind him.. Yeosang too before he adds

“We don’t know what or who lurks in this forest..”

…

The camp set up everyone seems to get settled seemingly staying in their own tents exception of jongho and mingi who pace around a makeshift border of what you call ‘camp’

Sitting watching the flames of the fire at the side of the camp.. It's quiet.. Peaceful.

“y/n..” yunho stands in front of you with a smile on his face. He outstretches his hand for you to take.

“Come with me.” he says and you look at him suspiciously.

He sighs out.. “Just come on.. Or we’ll miss it” he grabs your hand and begins to pull you away. Away from camp.. Down the path. You walk hand in hand with yunho for around 10 to 20 minutes. Until you come to another opening. This time a cliff opening. He lets go of your hand and goes and sits on the edge of the cliff sighing dejectedly

“Missed it.. It was right there my star.. I'm sorry” he says to you.

You sit next to him

“What was it?” You ask

“The lights..” he sighs

You smile

“Thank you for coming to get me because you saw them.. Don’t worry though Yun.. the stars are still very pretty to watch” you tell him. He nods still upset that he failed to get you on time.. You sit in silence for a few moments and then he turns to you.

“I'll be back quickly star.. I'll go get a blanket and my telescope and we can watch them better” he says to you and you agree and he gets up and walks back in the direction you both came from.

You sit yourself in the quiet and peaceful for a bit looking up at the stars.. Occasionally looking at the darkness of the ocean below from your viewpoint.

You hear the crunching of the ground in the distance

“Sorry I kept you y/n.. I’m back” he says and sits beside you again.

#starrywooyo #starrywooyo fics #starrywooyo treasure series #starrywooyo treasure #treasure #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez pirate au #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung oneshot #jongho x reader #ateez series

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blainesebastian · 9 months

Text

diving deep

words: 1,609 ship: austin butler x reader summary: austin and reader work on the same film together where reader has trouble coming down from an emotional scene on set warnings: mentions of familial loss notes: while i am taking requests, i am pretty much just writing where / when i feel inspired, hope ya’ll enjoy :) masterlist is here (along with ccg masterlist linked at the top) tag list: @killerqueenfan, @austinbutlermischief , @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

One thing that you’ve particularly enjoyed about acting is that you feel like you can step into different versions of yourself—maybe versions that would never see the light of day if it weren’t for a particular film or character you’re attempting to bring to life. It’s been one of your favorite experiences because nothing is the same twice. You suppose that should be fairly obvious, but you also know that a lot of people have the same methods when it comes to acting.

For yourself, you’re always trying to tap into something different, a new part of yourself. That can come with outstanding results and equally as many consequences.

You’ve always been one to feel your emotions deeply and you realize it’s helped you gain a lot of track record with your films. Your characters become very real to you because you tie those emotions to them—you realize there’s a double-edged sword to doing this. Those emotional ties can quickly become weights that are capable of dragging you to the bottom of the ocean if you’re not careful. Because you dive so deep to access raw emotions, sometimes it’s hard to come back up for air, to disconnect yourself when the scene is yelled cut.

It's been manageable depending on what the scene needs, what the film wants, what type of character you have until, well, recently. You’re not gonna lie and say these past few days on set haven’t been difficult.

You’ve been lucky enough to land a role in an upcoming drama-romance film with Austin Butler, playing alongside him as your characters grow, change and eventually become romantically entangled. Unsurprisingly, falling in love with Austin is easy—he’s so wonderful to work with. He’s been kind, thoughtful, persistent, and reliable. He’s dependable in reading lines and practicing and he’s always willing to brainstorm how to take on scenes together. He’s really a castmate’s dream…and still so early in his career. It’s nice to know that stardom doesn’t go to everyone’s heads—he’s as every bit lovely as you’ve heard.

It’s this scene that’s been really giving you trouble. You’re not reaching deep enough; you can tell with how the lines are playing out. You’ve gotten great notes from the director, Max, you’re mostly just annoyed with yourself that you’re not pushing it in the direction you want it to go.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Austin tells you over coffee before you head to shoot. “You’re givin’ everything you can.”

You’re not and that’s the problem. Sure, the scene has been turning out fine—but you don’t want ‘just fine’, you want excellence, you want feeling. You know there’s compelling dialogue but you don’t want that to be the source of emotion.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and center yourself as you settle into the diner booth that this scene takes place in. Regardless of how you feel about it? you’re certain that this is probably the last time you’re going to run through these lines. They’ve got workable footage and despite you wanting to make this ‘perfect’, a film has a schedule to keep.

Austin gives you a soft smile once you fix your gaze on him, playfully nudging your ankle underneath the table. A wordless relax. You give him a twitch of your lips in return, before allowing yourself to sink.

In this scene, you’ve just lost your father to some shady dealings at his work, though you’re not sure what exactly happened. Austin’s character works at the same place and you’re begging to somehow get into his office to try and get some answers. There’s loss and grief and heartache and love and you’re trying to manage all those at once as your eyes gather tears.

Focus, concentrate, lines.

“Please,” You say—your character is not above begging but she doesn’t want to have to, “No one will tell me what happened, I just need to be around his things? Find some closure.”

If Austin’s character was teetering on the edge before, he’s definitely not now. His face swims with empathy, his hand slipping across the table to settle on yours, “Alright.”

A few more lines are exchanged, Max yells cut and Austin smiles as he comes up to the table. He leans his palms on the surface, giving both of you a onceover before nodding, “Definitely more emotion this time around but I think it works great for the lines and relationship already built up between the characters.”

Your instincts had been right, and God, while you know it shouldn’t feel so good to be validated? It does. Grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the table, you wipe your face, giving Max a watery smile.

“Thanks Max,” You begin to maneuver yourself out of the booth, “I just need a minute.”

“Yeah,” He nods, “Take all the time you need.”

There are still a few tears slipping down your cheeks as you make your way out of set, your hands shaking as you try to ground yourself in reality. This is the consequence of diving deep, of reaching down inside yourself for core memories that will produce honest emotions. You just have to back out of it, slowly.

You close your eyes, leaning your shoulder against the outside of the set building, taking a deep breath in through your nose. You hear people come and go around you, working their typical jobs on set, except then someone hovers. Distantly, you know exactly who it is without opening your eyes.

“I’m alright,” You tell Austin quickly and yet your voice catches, as if to give you away.

Austin shakes his head as you open your eyes, tilt your chin up to look at him, “I wasn’t gonna ask—just wanted to know if I could get you anythin’.”

And that’s…that’s so nice without being overly pushy and you hate that one emotion just topples into the other. A soft laugh that wants to come out of your chest ends up sounding like a strangled cry and God, this is so embarrassing. Your cheeks dot pink and you shake your head, running your hands along your face,

“God, I’m sorry,” You sniffle.

“I’ve been there,” Austin smiles softly, leaning his shoulder against the set building as well. His hand moves to smooth over your shoulder, squeezing, “Difficult to come down from.”

Of course he understands and despite feeling that painful lump in the back of your throat, that actually does help. You shake your head, pushing your hair over your shoulder. You knew what you were doing when you pulled a scab off a healing wound, raw nerve endings now bright and sharp in your chest.

“I uh—I lost my grandfather last year,” And you have no idea why you’re telling him this, like you need to explain why you can’t get your shit together. “We were close and I guess I never really—” You let out a shaky breath, shrugging your shoulder, saying ‘got over it’ doesn’t feel right.

“Let myself feel it.” Maybe it was stupid to use that as emotional leverage, even though it registered the reactions you wanted.

Austin doesn’t try to guilt you or say that he understands, even though you know that loss is very much a universal concept. Instead, he lifts his hand to brush a tear track from your cheek, “I’m sure he’d be very proud of you.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you don’t think you realized how much you needed to hear it until that very moment. A solitary tear slips down your cheek even though you’re smiling and Austin lets out a soft, affectionate noise.

“Come here.” He whispers, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around you.

You find yourself letting out a breath of relief, eyes fluttering closed, nose and lips pressed to his shoulder. Not only has Austin been an incredible support system as a fellow actor but also a really good friend—someone you can lean on and talk to. You hope he knows you’re always available the same way.

You take a moment to breathe him in, the sandalwood of his cologne mixing with something distinctly him, comforting in a way that you can’t quite describe.

“Thank you.” The words are a bit muffled against his shoulder but you think he hears it; he squeezes you before pulling back.

“C’mon,” Austin says, motioning towards the tents in the distance, “Lets get some breakfast.” Doesn’t matter that it’s like, seven at night, but you kind of love that. “Think the next scene we’re shooting is where we’re fightin’—sure you won’t have to dig too deep for that one.”

A soft laugh escapes your chest and you shake your head, straightening your shoulders as you begin to walk with him, “Pretty sure the script says that I slap you.”

“Did you want to practice that, or?”

You grin, already feeling a lot better. You’re not sure he’s right though—from what you remember about the script orders, “Think a kissing scene is next, by the way.”

Austin purses his lips, “So you want to practice for that?”

You playfully smack his chest with the back of your hand even though you’re smiling (and thinking about kissing him).

“Just checking.” Austin winks and slips into the food tent to grab two plates, beginning to pile them high with breakfast items.

You feel that same flush heat the back of your neck and cheeks all over again for a different reason. At least you won’t have to dive deep in order to find affection and attraction for your upcoming scenes.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #mccall writes things #got your ccg request anon #will begin working on it tomorrow hopefully?

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alexthefly · 9 months

Text

Snakes on a Thunderbird

For @godsliltippy for TAG MiniBang 2023 (@tagminibang)

Inspired by this adorable piece of Fishtank art here. (@tippystreasurebox)

Trigger warning for snakes. Also brief mention of animal neglect, plus some minor whump and peril.

As Virgil went through his post-flight checks, Gordon twisted and revelled in the several satisfying pops his back made.

“Oh god, that is so much better! Want me to crack yours for ya, Virg?”

There was a grumble of disapproval from his right.

“I’ll pass thanks. Hearing yours was an experience in itself. In fact…”

His brother reached over and snagged the small metal box Gordon had been carrying on his lap.

“...perhaps I’d better take that before you do yourself any more damage.”

Gordon rolled his eyes and snatched the box back with perhaps just a little too much snap.

“Right Virgil(!) ‘Cos hauling passengers and crates off of a sinking ship was fine, but this last hundred yards to the rescue centre is where things gets really tricky(!)”

The rescue hadn’t really been all that bad physically. The crates in question had been lighter than expected, though that was because apparently properly feeding the various animals inside had clearly not been much of a priority for the smugglers on board; about as high as safety and ship maintenance had been. And although Gordon’s back was definitely starting to twinge a bit now, he’d have been a lot happier to be a lot achier if it meant those poor creatures had been treated right.

Well, whatever. He’d stayed professional. …Mostly. That Johnny hadn’t mentioned his little brother's prolonged blue streak ricocheting over the comms was likely a sign that he’d felt the same way.

The fact the GDF were already briefed and waiting with an arrest warrant the second they’d touched down was probably another one.

A yellow light broke through his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. He batted the medi-scan away with a grunt.

“Would you quit it, Virg? I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Gordon opened his mouth, ready to deliver a witty yet devastating retort, but then thought wiser of it. Better to just let the big guy get it all out of his system. He'd only worry otherwise, and a worried Virgil was a pain in the backside, especially with the flight home and debrief to get through. He closed his mouth and submitted to the inevitable with a huff.

Virgil for his part stayed quiet too as he completed the scan; once it was done, he continued to look Gordon over with the practised eye of both a medic and a big brother.

“Well, Doctor Virgil? Are you done? Can we go now?”

Another moment of scrutiny. Then:

“You know today was a good day, right?”

Dammit. The big green angst-detector strikes again.

Gordon really didn’t want to talk about it now.

“Whatever you say, bro.”

“I mean it,” Virgil insisted. “You’ve said it yourself - this shelter is the best. They've got the facilities and the expertise; they’ll take good care of all these guys, big and small. And the GDF will make sure the people that did this get what's coming to them."

“Uh-huh.”

"Gordy, the good guys won. Take the win.”

Honestly it didn’t feel like a win. Not even a tiny one. The memory of all those sad little eyes was too raw. It was going to take a lot for it to fade into the background, and he just didn't have the energy right now. All he wanted was to get everything unloaded, go home, swim ‘til he couldn't think anymore and then crawl into bed and sleep for 12 hours.

"Virg, could we please do the pep talk another time? The shelter staff are waiting for us."

A little frown appeared on his brother's brow, but he sighed and nodded.

"Are they all okay in there?” Virgil asked instead, nodding at the box balancing on Gordon’s dashboard.

It was an obvious change of subject, but a welcome one. Gordon gave the portable incubator a protective little pat.

“Should be. I candled them earlier and they look good. Not pipped yet, but I think it should be soon.”

He blinked as a sudden thought occurred.

“Actually," he said as he opened the incubator lid and retrieved the covered tray inside, "I’m just gonna check they’ve not been turned mid-flight. I’ve been holding them steady the whole way over, but you never know.”

“I thought you were supposed to turn eggs?” said Virgil with a hint of confusion. He leaned across to watch what Gordon was doing. "Grandpa said it stopped the embryo getting stuck."

“That’s for birds. Snakes are different. All the little veins and stuff are fragile; you flip the egg, the umbilical cord tears away and they die.”

Gordon gingerly lifted the lid and peered inside.

"Of course, these guys are almost ready to hatch so I don’t know how much of that appli-”

But the rest of his thought died on his tongue as he lifted the lid and took a look inside.

A beat.

“What?”

“Erm, not sure. Hang on a sec…” Gordon gently slid the eggs to one side of the tray and running his gloved hands very carefully in the sandy substrate below.

"Where are you?" he muttered softly.

"Where's what?" Virgil quickly jumped to his feet, unease radiating from every pore.

"One of the eggs must have hatched in transit," explained Gordon, still rifling through the soft gravel, looking for any flash of movement. "Once the shell breaks they usually take a few hours to come out, but I guess with all the jiggling…"

"Okay, so presumably there should be a snake in there then. Where’s the snake, Gordon?!"

Gordon kept digging, slightly more urgently.

"Some snakes bury themselves down into the substrate after hatching - it’s a kinda protection thing. They wait there for their first shed, then they come out looking for food."

Virgil reached out gingerly over Gordon's shoulder and picked up the soft and clearly empty egg shell, complete with a neat split down the middle. He held it softly in his hands, turning it over and over as if he might find the wayward snake still clinging to it somewhere.

"Exactly what sort of snakes are these, Gordy?" he asked slowly, deliberately.

"Umm…”

“Gordon!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a snake expert, and you can only tell so much from just the eggshell anyway.”

He set the tray onto the dashboard and started checking inside the incubator itself, just in case. He could feel heat starting to rise across his cheeks.

“Gords, could it be… poisonous?”

Gordon swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth.

“I don’t know.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as those words sunk in. Of course, the chances of the snake being venomous were slim - only about 10-15% of known species were after all - and in any event their uniforms were designed to withstand pretty much anything, but there was still that tiny sliver of doubt in his mind. Was Brains far-sighted enough to have considered snake fangs as a variable during the testing phase?

Virgil took a step back, eyes darting everywhere, and tapped his wrist controller.

“I’m not picking anything up. John? Any chance you could run a sweep of the cockpit for… uh… unusual heat signatures?”

“Unusual?”

John’s projected image leapt out of the dashboard holo’ right in front of Gordon’s face, causing him to almost fall off his chair.

“What sort of unusual?”

Virgil cleared his throat in a far-too-obviously guilty way.

“We’ve kind of… misplaced something.”

“O-kaaay… What sort of something?”

Gordon opened his mouth to say… Actually he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but in any case Virgil got there first.

“Can you just do it please, John?” he asked, brow furrowed. "Now?"

The look John shot them both could have stripped paint, but he turned away and started swiping.

“No unusual readings found,” he said after a few seconds. "Perhaps if I knew what I was looking for…”

Gordon caught Virgil’s eye. Despite his obvious concern about the situation, the big chonk was clearly still trying to cover for him.

He really was the softest marshmallow.

But as touched as he was, right now the most important thing wasn't avoiding blame; it was finding the snake before anyone got hurt, including the creature itself. There would be time to wriggle out of Scott and John’s inevitable lecture later.

“The signal’s likely very subtle,” he said, drawing John's attention. “He’s cold-blooded, so his core temperature’s gonna be mirroring the immediate environment. Look at components a little below body temperature and check for tiny, unexplained fluctuations.”

“Cold-bl… You lost a reptile?!”

“A snake,” clarified Virgil.

There was a moment while John processed this new information, then he closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose.

“Of course it's a snake(!)” He sighed. “EOS? Did you catch all that?”

EOS’s voice rang through clear over the comms. “Yes, John. Checking now…”

“In the meantime,” said John, “I suggest you put your helmets back on, just to be safe. The less exposed skin you two have the better.”

The brothers nodded.

Gordon set the incubator down and grabbed his helmet from the dash in front of him, just as EOS brought up a schematic of the cockpit onto the screen in front of him.

“There’s a slight irregularity in temperature around the co-pilot’s control panel, but it’s too indistinct to pin down to a specific component.”

Gordon’s eyes darted all over the dashboard in front of him.

Where?

Scrabbling to push his chair back and get his helmet on, he vaguely heard Virgil say something about lifting the main cover off the console before he was suddenly distracted by a sharp, stabbing pain in his right cheek, just above the jaw.

“Yeow!”

Virgil was by his side immediately, mediscanner in hand. “What?! What is it?”

Gordon remained in his chair, sitting stock still.

"Don’ scan.”

"What?"

"Don' scan. Th' noise'll scare 'im."

Virgil's eyes went wide.

"Where is it?" he whispered, looking him up and down.

“I’z on m’ face."

“What?!?”

“On. M’. Face. W’z inside th’ helmet.”

Virgil and John exchanged a panicked look.

…Yep.

By rights, Gordon should have been scared. After all, there was a chance he could die here; the little danger-noodle might be pumping deadly venom into him by the second. But surprisingly he wasn’t overly worried about that possibility just now. In fact he felt strangely calm and clear-headed. What was done was done after all, and the priority now was to a) not do anything to make the snake strike again (him or Virgil); and b) get it secured.

“Ah’m gonna slowly r’move th’ helmet," he mumbled, trying not to move his mouth too much. "When y’ see ‘im, grab ‘im c’refully b’hind th’ head an’ unhook ‘im.”

Keeping his head stock still, he looked sidelong at his big brother to check he’d understood. Poor Virg looked pale, but he nodded and shifted into position in front of him, mouth set in a grim line. Behind him, John's face was a picture of worry.

“R'dy?” Gordon asked.

Virgil nodded, hands poised.

He gave a little blink in lieu of a smile. “Okay."

Deep breath.

"One. Two. ‘Hree.”

And slowly he took off his helmet.

Virgil reached forwards and closed his hand next to his face. Gordon's skin pulled painfully for a moment, then released, leaving a sharp echo across his cheek.

He exhaled in a big whoosh that seemed to come from his very soul, and raised his eyes to finally look on the thing that had bitten him.

“Scanning for a species match now,” said John urgently as Virgil stepped back, holding the offending creature out at arm’s length. “Cross-matching size, markings and-”

“It’s a Children’s Python!”

“A what?” Virgil asked roughly.

John took a massive breath in. “Oh thank god! Are you sure?”

“Certain,” replied Gordon, finding his feet and bouncing over to look a bit closer, all concern for his safety gone. “We had one as a class pet in 5th grade. Native to Northern Australia. Fantastic pets.”

“I can confirm the identification, John” said EOS. “The species is non-venomous.”

All the remaining colour drained from Virgil's face. He lowered himself down shakily into his chair, arm still outstretched. “Well in that case would someone please come and take this thing out of my hand before I have a heart attack?”

“Oops! Yep, give me one second…”

Gordon grabbed the tray of eggs and fished out a roll of electrical tape from one of his console drawers.

“This should keep the lid secure until we can get him into the shelter, at least.”

Gordon reached out and gently took hold of the little snake, who had stopped thrashing around and instead seemed content to curl its body gently around his hand. He took a second to admire its beautiful mottled markings in light and dark brown, and the gentle undulation of muscles pulsing as it moved.

"Hey, little guy."

The tiny snake flicked its tongue at him, tasting the air.

Slowly, gently, Gordon encouraged the snake back in the tray, extracted his hand, and then put the lid on and taped it down.

As soon as the tray was closed, John seemed to deflate like he was the one who’d been punctured.

“Please, for the love of god, don’t ever scare me like that again, okay guys? My cortisol levels can't take it."

"Take it easy John," soothed Virgil as he stumbled over to examine Gordon's cheek. "You sit back and have a float and we'll finish up here."

He took Gordon by the chin and turned his face to the side.

"...C'mon Blofeld, let's get you cleaned up."

…

Fifteen minutes later and sporting a natty Baby Shark band-aid on his cheek, Gordon skipped across the animal shelter car park towards the front desk. Alongside him, Virgil carried the now-definitely-sealed incubator. (Gordon had argued it was his privilege as 'the walking wounded’ not to have to carry stuff. Virgil had just rolled his eyes and agreed, muttering something about checking for himself to ensure no more 'jailbreaks'.)

Behind them, a dozen or so vets and other volunteers were unloading the various other crates of animals from Two's hold, checking them over and directing them to their respective enclosures.

Gordon grinned.

"Feeling better now?" asked Virgil, quirking a smile in reply.

He was, in more ways than one. Somehow, staring into the face of that tiny serpent had made him feel a lot more positive about everything. Nature really was amazing. If a baby creature, just out of its egg, could survive and protect itself in a hostile environment like that little one had today, then with a little bit of care he was sure the other animals they'd rescued would as well.

Life was good. He had his health, he had his family, and they’d done good today.

Suddenly overcome with happiness, he couldn’t help doing a little jumping air punch, earning a low chuckle from his left.

"You were right, Virg. Today really was a win.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. "Not sure I'd quite describe it that way, but if you say so. You did still set a snake loose in my ‘bird, though.”

“Hey, don't blame me! I'm as much a victim as you are. Little Hissy Houdini's a force all of his own.”

A pause. “You named him?”

“Yep! Kinda fitting, don’t you think?”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re not keeping him.”

Gordon gasped dramatically.

“Virgil Tracy, I am shocked! I would never-”

“Sully the Gully, Puppy Longstocking, Razorbill Bob, the Swift Family Robinson…”

“...again. Never again.”

“Well that’s just as well then, because I don’t think Scott would appreciate finding this little escapologist in his sock drawer, do you?"

As Gordon contemplated all of the delicious trickster-y possibilities that that image brought up, he stretched and gave his back another series of cracks.

Virgil regarded him coolly. "You sound like a goddamn popcorn maker," he grumbled. "Speaking of, I wonder if the others'd be up for a movie night tonight? I feel like we've earned a bit of down time."

"Sounds good to me," said Gordon, flinging an arm around the big man's shoulders. "And I have the perfect one in mind… You like Samuel L Jackson films, right?"

#tw: snakes #tagminibang2023 #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #tagminibang

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gracieart · 10 months

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You’re seriously going to take drawing requests from A Court of Thought?!? Someone who routinely lies, gaslights, bullies, and blocks Elriels? You were truly one of my fave people on this platform but watching you pander to Eluciens…whew, the respect I’ve lost.

Hello anon. I seem to have upset another one of you.

First and foremost, I am going to draw whatever I want and I'm not going to apologize to you. Let me just get that out in the air.

And for now, we are just going to ignore how you seem entitled to me, my art, my free time, and what I decide to do so we can quickly address your concern here.

I want to preface this by saying I sat on this ask for hours because I was genuinely so confused where this came from. I literally had no idea what you were referring to. I thought ‘A Court of Thought’ was you trying to criticize me for taking art prompts for A Court of Thorns and Roses and that you were saying I do all those things you mention. Which, as you can imagine, made me very sad.

But it finally dawned on me (after one of my friends pointed it out to me) that you were referring to the comment I replied to from the blog ACourtofThought.

After that realization, your comment started to make sense… for the most part.

Now, I have never once spoken to or even heard of this person before they commented on one of my posts. I know absolutely nothing about them. I’ve never even seen one of their posts. But if what you say is true, then you should know there is no possible way I could have even heard of them before, as I have a long list of anti tags blocked and have a strict no negativity policy on all my blogs. If you knew me at all, or if I was one of your favorite people on this platform, as you claim, then you should know that about me at the very least. I make it very very clear I do not deal with that kind of negativity.

And you know, not everyone in this fandom chooses to surround themselves with negativity. I hope you free yourself from this, truly.

I am not upset that you talked down to me, hurt my feelings, and insulted me. No, I’m mostly upset about the fact that you immediately jumped to the worst conclusions about me. The fact is I simply replied to a nice comment I saw on a post I made. That’s it. You saw that and thought “Wow, this woman is siding with this person I really dislike. And she obviously knows exactly who this person is and why I dislike them so much. So how dare she!”

…That is what you thought, am I wrong?

This is unwarranted and out of context. I am not “pandering” to Eluciens. I was simply asking my very kind mutuals, who happen to like that ship, if they had any prompts they wanted me to draw. And I tagged Elucien in that post so it reached other people. I have so many nice and genuine friends on here who ship all kinds of things, and I want to create something that makes them happy too. Is that a crime?

What if I told you I’m the exact same person I’ve always been? What if I told you that all the while I’ve been one of your “favorite people on this platform,” I’ve been doodling Elucien for some of my longest friends. Would you still have had any respect for me left to lose if you knew that all along?

I won’t talk about the ships here. If you want to know about that, go see my response to the other ask I answered yesterday.

When I first saw this ask, I’ll admit it upset me very much. So much so that I couldn’t get anything done for most of the day because I was so sad that someone would say something like this to me. But I’ve had a whole day to think about this, and I’ve come to one conclusion: I really don’t think you had much respect for me to begin with if you are so quick to turn around and talk down to me and insult me after I seemingly did something to offend you.

And if I did offend you, you could have easily just unfollowed me and moved on. But… you chose to go out of your way to insult me. Why?

I am sorry you are stuck in a place where you feel like you have to assume the worst of people. I’m sorry you have found yourself surrounded with so much negativity in this fandom. Fandom is a place for people to come together because they enjoy something, and I am truly sorry you’ve fallen into the part of the fandom that doesn’t comprehend that.

I’ll never begin to understand why people can’t see that kindness is so much easier. But at least I have a lovely circle of friends on here I can fall back on. Friends who have different opinions, who ship different things, or like other stuff. Friends who are in a completely different circle, but are the kindest, most compassionate people I’ve ever met.

Anon, I truly wish for you to find that for yourself. Try surrounding yourself with kind people who like different things. You will be so much happier. Trust me. There are so many nice people out there once you step outside your own circle.

#ask #so thanks #I felt like crying today #gracie answers

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eomereadig · 3 months

Text

Snippet: The Heart of the Ship

Hey guys, this is a little extract of the fic I'm working on atm, hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Commander Cody/Captain Rex

Rating: T

Tags: Rex needs a hug, self-loathing, potentially polyamory, not so unrequited love (eventually), hurt/comfort, pining

Full fic now avaliable here

His thoughts ground to a halt.

Movement flashed at the corners of Rex’s attention and he let his eyes follow it just in time to witness Obi-Wan’s hand coming to rest on the plastoid armour adorning Cody’s thigh.

Rex held his breath.

Though he wouldn't have been able to feel the contact through his armour, there was no doubt that Cody had noticed the gesture as soon as it had happened. Rex watched intently and was sure that Cody would push the offending hand away or at least look uncomfortable at the unsolicited attention from their superior officer. But instead, Cody smiled so fucking gently at the Jedi, as if Obi-Wan were the most beautiful thing in the galaxy.

Rex could feel his world coming crashing down around him.

It was like being dunked in a vat of ice water, or as if someone was reaching up through his ass and pulling his lungs out the same way. It had him feeling suddenly cold and nauseous, filled with the desire to move, to do anything other than sit there.

But as much as it pained him to do so, Rex couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than stare at the couple.

Because what the fuck.

Though Rex knew that those close to him probably suspected something, he knew he’d done a good job of hiding just how desperately he’d cared for Obi-Wan since he’d first set eyes on him.

Because of course he’d had to hide it!

Rex was well aware of the chain of command and the rules in place to protect it. He and Obi-Wan? General Kenobi and a mere clone? It could never happen, even with the best will in the world. Rex knew that and so he’d chosen to keep those feelings to himself instead of enduring the very likely possibility of being reassigned. He knew how unprofessional his feelings for Obi-Wan were and so he’d restrained himself.

Why was it that when Cody didn’t do the same, he was rewarded and not punished?

Why was it that Cody was allowed this, something good, but Rex couldn’t?

Distantly, a little voice in the back of Rex’s head echoed ‘don’t ask, don’t get’ but that wasn't the point - the point was Cody’s sheer audacity to ask for something Rex couldn’t (wouldn’t).

Cody shouldn’t have been pursuing this in the first place! Rex couldn’t be too angry at him, though. At either of them, really. He knew what that blasted general looked like, how lovely he was. It made sense that Rex wasn’t the only person who was interested.

No. This had nothing to do with him being angry at Cody. In fact, Rex wasn’t sure he could fully untangle his feelings towards Cody at all in that moment.

Why was it that Rex was left alone while both of them lived the life that he wanted?

It wasn’t as if Rex felt the need to separate the happy couple either. Why would he do that when (theoretically) he could just squish himself right in the middle and join in? He could practically feel the warmth of their bond, their affection for each other, all the way across the mess hall.

If Obi-Wan were a Vod, Rex wouldn’t have needed to think twice. His brothers did that kind of shit all the time and it had worked out mostly well for them so far. But nat-borns were different, everybody knew that. Jedi even more so. Rex couldn’t help but wonder just how far Obi-Wan had needed to bend his own resolute moral compass to love Cody and vowed to himself that he wouldn’t be the one to make Obi-Wan bend it even more. He would have rather died than cause either of them even a fleeting second of discomfort - even if that was to his own detriment.

Rex took note of how close they were sitting. Not subtle at all, really, but Waxer didn’t seem put out by it in the slightest. Rex knew why. They looked right together and Rex knew he couldn’t spoil what a pretty picture the two of them made. He couldn’t bring himself to be happy for them, either, and hated himself or that.

With how loved-up they both looked, Rex almost expected them to start making out right then and there. His stomach gave a lonely, jealous twinge at the thought. He knew he couldn't afford to see if he was right - his poor heart had had quite enough for one day.

Abruptly, Rex stood. So much so that several of the clones seated nearby startled and stared. Coric stared up at him with wide eyes.

“...Sir?”

Full fic now avaliable here

#livy's writing #star wars #commander cody #codywan #obi wan kenobi #captain rex #obi-wan x cody x rex

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gilgamish · 3 months

Text

WIP Wednesday - Tides

(shhhh its still wednesday somewhere)

thank you @thana-topsy for the tag i have something for once

i tag: @tallmatcha , @dirty-bosmer , and @kookaburra1701 <3

Tides to Carry Us Home - Chapter ??

Aicantar’s tower was perhaps the one and only place in Markarth that Felix felt completely safe. The Dwemer spider clanked by, crawling along the bookshelves as it re-shelved them — a simple task that he and Aicantar had spent the better of part the winter programming into the spider. Felix watched it work, letting his mind idle for a moment. Aicantar hadn’t needed the help in the laboratory.

Sure, he had been interested in having a Julianite work out the programming logic for him, despite the fact that Felix hadn’t written out a proof since he was thirteen. And at thirty-three, Felix had not felt equipped to help at all and admitted as much. But as he had soon learned, it wasn’t so much the logic or the deduction. Mostly ignored by the court and his own uncle, Aicantar just needed someone to keep him company, even if under the guise of needing help programming the automaton. He was stubborn that way.

Harboring similar feelings, so was Felix, and their friendship had sprouted like a weed through the cracks. He watched the spider now, as it reached in with its tiny bronze pincers and pried another book from the stacks, then tossed it onto the floor. “It’s still a work in progress,” Aicantar said, sitting down with his slate and Felix’s notes.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“Now, I’m quite certain I can decipher your handwriting now, but…” Between them on the table, Felix’s scrawled calculations were strewn about. Aicantar had gone through each one, narrowing his gaze, occasionally taking a hit from his smoking pipe— another habit he had gotten from his uncle Calcelmo. “This seems like it should be wrong.” He passed the writing slate over to Felix, and on it, there was a far neater, cleaner rendition of his own math, replicated by Aicantar.

Felix picked up where he left off, “It just looks like it should be wrong.”

At which, Aicantar slid the promptuary machine over to him, and along its porcelain frame, there were the Dwemer runes that represented the figure, matching the one circled on the writing slate, and the Dwemer machine had yet to be proven wrong. “This is much more than I think would be efficient for your purposes. For the calcination process, anyway.”

“The fire salts,” Felix explained. “I’m planning on using them for that part. Slow and steady. Reliable.”

“You’d get the same results if you used bifocalized soul gems for much less. But I know you have some compunctions against it.”

“I do. Soul-magic and all that.” Felix attempted to wave it off, but Aicantar wouldn’t be so easily deterred.

“It might be worth it, giving yourself enough time to finish your… other projects.” Aicantar’s eyes were a deep shade of gold the like most Altmeri, but they were far more understanding that Felix felt like he could stand at times. Aicantar wasn’t old by Altmeri standards. In moments like these, it was hard to forget he had three times the life experiences that Felix did, which made it all the more difficult to disregard his advice.

Cursing his stubborn nature, Felix asked anyway, “Do you think it’s doable without it? With the miasma and everything else?”

Aicantar didn’t respond right away, taking another long pull from the smoking pipe. “Yes, however, that’s not really taking into the account the expense of resources, time, or sheer effort, for that matter.” He then offered Felix the pipe.

The lacquered black wood of the pipe was pleasant and smooth to his hand, cold and brittle with nerves; an incense-like mix of smoke coated the back of his throat and his lungs as he breathed it in and released the rest with a sigh. “Yeah, I had this feeling it’d be a tight ship to run.” What remained on the back of his throat and tongue was tarry and bitter the way he liked. Ravyn smoked something like this, didn’t he? They sat in silence, silver smoke curling into the study’s frigid air, occasionally broken by the skitter of the Dwemer spider as it carried out its tasks. The smoke had tugged a coil loose in him, and he almost felt incomplete without tension binding him together. “Doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice though, with what he wants to pay me.” And along the convenient fact he had threatened blackmail. Openly.

“How much is that?” When Felix stated the price, Aicantar whistled. “Most people in this city would be set with that arrangement.”

“I should’ve said I couldn’t make it. I wanted to, but…”

“At least you didn’t accept then and there. Perhaps, you may be able to negotiate the terms differently?” Aicantar’s words gave Felix pause.

On the day of that meeting, Felix had asked to examine Thonar, and when he cursorily took his pulse, the knock of the older man’s irregular heartbeat answered back with blood struggling to flow in his veins. A fury of Forsworn storm-magic during the uprising had left Thonar Silver-Blood with a weakened heart, worsening with age.

Now in Aicantar’s office, Felix wondered if fluid had already begun pooling in the man’s lower extremities. How much it would hurt to walk and conduct himself as if the valves of his heart weren’t being corroded by calcium creeping in like mildew. Calcium had been the main culprit, was the main statement in the other alchemist’s, writings; healers brought in from the rest of Skyrim only corroborated this, and it was this calcium would keep growing until it formed a dam in the valves of the heart, and then...

Aicantar stopped wiping down his writing slate. “You haven’t, right? Agreed to work for him?” Felix stopped his pencil. Smudging under his hand was a sketch of the heart and the aorta, now left a bulging smear.

“No,” said Felix wiping the charcoal smudge onto his pant-leg. The sketch of the aorta snaked down the margins of the page. Aicantar’s gaze landed on it. Though he had never been much for the arts, the image intrigued him, golden eyes glittering with curiosity. Felix hadn’t told him the exact reasons why Thonar needed this elixir, but it seemed he found his answer in the art.

#wip wednesday #tes fic #tcuh #oc: felix #aicantar #i'm trying to figure out which of them i'm going to shove into a locker

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web-novel-polls · 6 months

Text

Five Love Languages of Danmei Tournament Submissions

Submissions are now closed

Submit a Danmei ship here under one or more of the Five Love Languages:

Constantly Being Annoyingly Flirtatious

Biting

Giving Him a Raging Boner

Cooking a Large Meal

Desperate Pining for a long-ass time

Each love language will have its own bracket with a short, final round between the bracket winners.

Tag: #danmei love languages tournament

Not sure who to submit? Feel free to add some propaganda for the CPs below the cut!

(CW: spoilers, biting, suggestive language, colored text, murder, swearing)

[Last Updated: Jan. 2nd, 2024]

*Dealer's Choice (tentative)

1. Constantly being Annoyingly Flirtatious (5)

Wenzhou from Faraway Wanderers

Characters: Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu

Submission:

Mostly Wen Kexing (he's so continuously on it it's hard to pick a scene), but it reaches the true peak annoyingness once Zhou Zishu starts to flirt back. That one time Ye Baiyi was so peeved with them he literally told them to go fuck each other or shut up...

Huangkou from You Yi / Itinerant Doctor

Characters: Huang Jinchen and Kou Tong

Carrd Link

Submission:

Their first "meeting" is them killing a guy together with HJC doing the murder and Kou Tong over the comms helping him figure out which guy is the guy they need to kill. The comms cut after the fighting starts, and then basically a minute later HJC calls Kou Tong back with "Let me just ask, handsome, can you tell me your personal contact information?" Then when they meet for real its soooo bad (affectionate). My favorites were Huang Jinchen embarrassing Kou Tong in front of his dead mom (long story) to pay him back for teasing him, and Kou Tong replying to Huang Jinchen asking him out with "whatever there is to discuss, we'll discuss in bed". Theyre such clowns

Yuling from Everywhere in Jianghu is Wonderful

Characters: Qin Shao Yu and Shen Qian Ling

Carrd Link (No Characters section)

Submission:

I'm guessing few people know this couple especially considering good TL was deleted(sob) so first a quick intro: Shen Qianling is an actor from the modern world who transmigrated into a wuxia world. Worst part? The person he transmigrated as is engaged to a man! And the man is a huge weirdo! So Shen Qianling resolves to do everything in his power to break the engagement. You Can Guess How Well That Works Out for the MC of a danmei novel lol So the annoying flirt in question is exactly SQL's husband-to-be, Qin Shaoyu. He's constantly going "wife~" and making dramatic declarations of love... especially in front of others. Shen Qianling is onto his insincere ass! (They're really kinda theater kid x theater kid tbh, both are acting and pretending a lot.) Later it's actually revealed that Qin Shaoyu had a reason to act like that and provoke SQL all the time, but by that time SQL's (lack of) swag has deeply captivated him, so he just goes from annoying flirting(insincere) to annoying flirting(affectionate).

Liushen from SVSSS

Characters: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

Submission:

SQQ loves to be Constantly Be Annoyingly Flirtatious to his poor, flustered shidi, though the jury is very still out on how much of that is intentional/he is aware he is doing. (Denial is not just a river in Egypt to Shen Yuan.)

Wangxian from MDZS

Characters: Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

2. Biting (7)

Wenzhou from Faraway Wanderers

Characters: Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu

Submission:

Chapter 63 my beloved... there is a super significant and intimate scene where Wen Kexing bites Zhou Zishu's wrist, drinks his blood, and then rips up his own clothes to dress the injury. And then they cuddle to sleep on the bloodied sheets. It's such a good scene okay. Also it ends with my favorite line in the novel: "And just like that, they fell asleep in each other's arms, steeped in the scent of blood." Wenzhou thesis statement fr fr.

Cezhou from Qiang Jin Jiu

Characters: Shen Zechuan / Shen Lanzhou and Xiao Chiye / Xiao Ce’an

Carrd Link

Submission 1:

Literally the second time they meet (the first being Xiao Chiye almost killing him) Shen Zechuan bites Xiao Chiye's hand so hard it leaves a permanent scar

Submission 2:

I love their feral bastards energy in general but I knew I was in for a good time when Shen Zechuan fucking chomped on Xiao Chiye's hand super early on in the novel. Meet cute: giving him a scar to remember you by (i think it wasn't their first meeting, but its the spirit of thing)

Image Link 1, Image Link 2, Image Link 3, (NSFW–>) Image Link 4

Zhaowen from Tu Fei Gong Lue / The Bandit’s Strategy

Characters: Zhao Yue and Wen Liunian

Submission:

So I know the translation isn't there yet (the TL isn't even up to them getting together they're slow-burny like that...) but after they do get together and after Wen Liunian gets over Some Stuff, it's mentioned several times that he bites Zhao Yue when they fuck. Then again, if I had a man with big pretty badonkers, I would also chomp on that shit...

Bingqiu from SVSSS

Characters: Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

Submission:

Shen Qingqiu mentions several times that Luo Binghe kissing him feels like he's trying to bite his lips off... it counts, right?..

Xiyuan from Qi Ye/Lord Seventh

Characters: Jin Beiyuan and Wu Xi

Submission:

- Wu Xi famously kisses (mauls) Jing Beiyuan's like an untrained puppy, biting his lips - Wu Xi wants to Chomp and Bite. This is how he shows his love <3 - Wu Xi drew blood when biting Jing Beiyuan. And liked it

*Cang Ji x Jing Lin from Nan Chan

A significant part of the novel occurs while Cang Ji is under the impression that he wants to eat Jing Lin because then he can be together with him forever - “It doesn’t matter if I’m the one. As long as I’m together with you.” He also bites Jing Lin more than once to receive spiritual powers.

Chapter 25:

Cang Ji teased him. “Is Cang Ji good?” Jing Lin hesitated for a moment, then shook his head hard. “He’s always biting me. No.” Cang Ji laughed aloud and said, “Then what should we do? He will definitely bite you again in the future.” “Then.” Jing Lin replied in all seriousness. “Bite me gently.”

No Propaganda

Wangxian from MDZS

Characters: Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

3. Giving Him a Raging Boner (4)

Bingqiu from SVSSS

Characters: Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

Submission:

1) Poor teenage Luo Binghe having to dunk himself into a freezing pond in winter because his hot teacher hugged him 2) Holy Mausoleum coffin scene. This is all.

Hualian from TGCF

Characters: Hua Cheng and Xie Lian

Submission:

the coffin scene 🙏 and it's Xie Lian's first boner in 800 years poor guy

Needs Propaganda

Cezhou from Qiang Jin Jiu

Characters Shen Zechuan/Lanzhou and Xiao Chiye/Ce’an

I barely started this story before getting distracted, but I have heard SO much about their unhinged sexual teasing/tension.

QJJ Carrd Link

No Propaganda

*Mo Xi x Gu Mang from Yuwu

4. Cooking a Large Meal (4)

Bingqiu from SVSSS

Characters: Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

One of Luo Binghe’s main hooks as a stallion novel protagonist (that gets him a giant harem) is his cooking. It’s so delicious Shen Qingqiu, who wants to avoid “wife plots,” can’t help but have him cook for him.

Submission:

Luo Binghe's love language is literally cooking! He starts making Shen Qingqiu's meals as a teenager, then makes him three meals a day for the 5 years Shen Qingqiu is dead, and ofc cooks for him regularly after they get together. Binghe's congee might as well be a symbol of their love at this point!

Wenzhou from Faraway Wanderers

Characters: Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu

Submission:

New Year's Celebration chapter my beloved! Anyw yeah Wen Kexing malewifes it up so hard in this one. He cooks a whole feast, he flirts over it ("When one eats, one should eat something handmade by a human being. It has soul and flavor to it, and it might even have love… When you taste it later tonight, you’ll be able to tell”), he puts food into Zhou Zishu's bowl, it's all soooo sweet and domestic!

Moshang from SVSSS

Characters: Mobei-jun and Shang Qinghua

Submission:

noodles! hand-pulled! he'll make them!!!

Liu Qi and Bai Chuan from The Right Way to Offer a Sacrifice to The River God

Submission:

Liu Qi x Bai Chuan is a "masterful cook x ultimate foodie" couple. Not only is Liu Qi an amazing cook, his cooking is actually what first draws Bai Chuan to him. To quote: "Not long later, Liu Qi served up two dishes of home-cooked food. Tomatoes and scrambled egg, vegetables stir-fried with smoked meat, and a large bowl of fish soup." And then, a few paragraphs later: "Liu Wi once again entered the kitchen and made two bowls of noodles, added in two eggs, and topped it with a few slices of cooked beef." And then: "Liu Qi rolled his eyes at Bai Chuan's antics and asked, 'What do you still want to eat? Want me to add in another dish of fried prawns?'" And so on. Bai Chuan, being the river god, brings in all the seafood they want for Li Qi to cook: "With a shake of his sleeves, a heap of seafood that could be found in the river came out from his sleeves, making pitter-patter sounds when they landed on the floor as they were still alive and jumping around energetically. Frantically, Liu Qi called out for him to stop so he could use a small basin to pick up the prawns. The remaining fish and crabs were stored in a bamboo basket for their next meal." Even better, they split the chores! Bai Chuan uses his river god-powers to act as a magical dishwasher after Liu Qi's done cooking. Peak domestic. What harmony.

Translation Link

5. Desperate Pining for a long-ass time (11)

Hualian from TGCF

Characters: Hua Cheng and Xie Lian

Submission:

Hua Cheng has been in love with Xie Lian for 800 years before he could ever approach him as a possible romantic partner

Mingqian from Liu Yao

Characters: Yan Zhengming and Cheng Qian

Liu Yao Carrd Link

Submission:

"A hundred years, Cheng Qian! A mortal's lifetime would've passed just like that" Poor single mother Yan Zhengming keeping the family alive because SOMEONE couldn't stay alive... The way Han Tan was able to recognize Cheng Qian because YZM kept drawing portraits of him... The fucking. slappy ring. Anyw yeah Yan Zhengming be pinin'

Bingqiu from SVSSS

Characters: Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

Submission:

Luo Binghe spends roughly 11 years pining for Shen Qingqiu before Shen Qingqiu gets a clue about his feelings. This includes 2-3 years in the Abyss and 5 years Shen Qingqiu has been dead. But the pining never stopped!

Not specifically romantic yearning, but Shen Qingqiu holding on to and taking care of Luo Binghe's sword while he was in the abyss, seemingly refusing to admit the "truth" that Luo Binghe was dead? Yeah, Shen Qingqiu was definitely feeling emotions he was not ready to acknowledge imo

Moshang from SVSSS

Characters: Mobei-jun and Shang Qinghua

Submission 1:

They've known each other since teens and well into their thirties before getting together. And it's difficult to tell for MBJ, but Shang Qinghua had considered him his ideal man the entire time!

Submission 2:

Airplane has been pining for MBJ since /before the universe was even created/… he has pined for him desperately and also just been desperate in general for two (2!) lifetimes, not to mention that MBJ has been trusting in and helping sqh out since basically the very first time they met as TEENAGERS and now they are like… At Least 50,, probably older to be honest .

Liushen from SVSSS

Characters: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan)

Submission:

Want Desperate Pining for a Long-Ass Time in spades? LQG not only spends ✨five years✨ daily fighting to get SQQ’s body back and lay him to rest, he’s also on full on Be SQQ’s Uber and Return All Fans to him before that little temporary human mortality hiccup for ages before that

Yuesong from Mistakenly Saving the Villain

Characters: Song Qingshi and Yue Wuhuan

Submission:

First, you get Song Qingshi spending 1,350 lifetimes falling in love with and trying over and over again to rescue Yue Wuhuan. (His 1,351st attempt finally succeeds! Yay! Also, *holy shit*.) Then things happen to Song Qingshi, and you get Yue Wuhuan spending 3,000 years waiting for Song Qingshi to reincarnate. And then the lore drops, and you find out that then-newly-ascended-stone Song Qingshi had already been mesmerized by Phoenix-God Yue Wuhuan ten thousand years before the story started. And *then* the background of the universes' worldbuilding is revealed, and you realize that Yue Wuhuan had actually been waiting for Song Qingshi for literally hundreds of millions of years, long before these two ever even had human forms. You want "long-ass time"? Here's your long-ass time. (And on that note, if you enjoy MXTX books and want to read something that's an unholy mixture of SVSSS and TGCF cranked up to 100000%, please read MisVil.)

Novel Updates Link

Xiyuan from Qi Ye/Lord Seventh

Characters: Jin Beiyuan and Wu Xi

Submission:

- Wu Xi waited for a whole year for Jing Beiyuan to return to the capital, and each day of it waited at a pavilion outside the city, just in case he happened to return that very day. Each day. For 365 days. - When he returned, Wu Xi gave Jing Beiyuan a jade ring, which in tradition meant that Jing Beiyuan would be betrothed to him. This was when they were both teenagers - Does Wu Xi tell Jing Beiyuan this? No. He simply gives a token of his love & affection and doesn't dare tell him yet, just pines - Ends up in his 20s when he finally, actually tells him the meaning of the ring and confesses

Submission 2:

Additional Xiyuan propaganda: If we're counting Wu Xi's life as the Soulhook Envoy, then there's also the "several endless centuries" where he watched Jing Qi as he did his duties while Jing Qi never looked back at him, plus another 63 years that Jing Qi spent by that rock.

*Ranwan from 2ha

Characters: Chu Wanning x Mo Ran

"To yearn unwittingly breaks the willow branch." - Ji Baihua to Mo Weiyu

Chapter 150:

"The two of them had misunderstood each other so deeply in their past life that they were separated by a huge abyss. Therefore, in their lifetime, they had used their blood to water the abyss into a sea of blood and swam towards each other. However, because of a barrier, they could not see each other's surging emotions, and could only allow their love to flood by itself."

Mo Ran and Chu Wanning pined for each other in two lifetimes - one of which Mo Ran wasn’t even aware of his feelings for the majority for it.

*Wen Xuan x Jian Yi from Let’s Talk About That Guy Who Transmigrated to Pursue Me

NU Description:

“After dinner for leisure, many people would use a mocking tone of disdain to discuss your disastrous life. But no one knew how you survived through all those years. No one saw how you struggled to hold on to your principles in your lonesome. No one cared about the suffering you experienced and your perseverance. But I saw it. I know. I care.” “That’s why I came to this world. To become your support.”

Need Propaganda

Wangxian from MDZS

Characters: Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji was prepared to spend his life in mourning until Wei Wuxian came back to life around 13 years after his death.

Qijiu from SVSSS

Characters: Shen Jiu / Original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan

#submissions #danmei love languages tournament #not a poll #tumblr tournaments #queue #suggestive language #colored text #<-I don't like using it for accessibility reasons but I need it for organization. I cannot read this without it lol #my submissions

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littlesparklight · 1 year

Text

<3 thank you @papillon82fluttersby :D

The Rules: Tag (9) people you want to know better and/or catch up with, then answer the following:

Four ships:

Zeus/Ganymede: feel like it'd be a crime not to start here, haha. I've always been into mythology, but randomly thinking about Ganymede's myth a couple years ago now (that long!!) got me wanting to read Greek myth stuff, and I started with the Iliad (for the Trojan-related angle) and the Bibliotheke, and so. I might currently be more focused elsewhere but this is still my beloved ship <3 You can do so much with them, and, especially, I'd say, by interpreting them as mutually in love. There's obviously other m/m couples in Greek myth and even one of those that at first looks tragic doesn't need to end that way (Apollo/Hyacinthus) but there are so many reasons Zeus/Ganymede is the one that has me by the throat.

Menelaos/Paris: Honestly, looking back I'm not quite sure how I didn't zero in on this one from reading the Iliad itself the first time, because this is definitely one of the flavours of ships I love. This ship is also what led to, first, Helen/Menelaos/Paris for me and then Helen/Paris, because 99% of the time I just don't care at all about het ships. This ship is also why I currently am like I am about Paris! Make no mistake, I didn't hate or dislike him before that, either, like the majority of Tumblr (and elsewhere) seem to do; reading the Iliad I mostly thought him kinda hapless and inoffensive, so going from there and liking him wasn't that big of a step. The possibility of them having bonded during those nine days in Sparta (or in Troy!), going from friends (or more) to enemies with complicated feelings still in the background is just so damn juicy to me.

Carmilla/Laura: original novella flavour! One day I hope to do a rewrite/retelling of my own, that would definitely end with Laura going or otherwise together with Carmilla, one way or another. The way Carmilla talks to/about Laura and what they feel for each other is just. so great. The caterpillar quote. The one about Laura loving her or hating her, and especially "love will have its sacrifices; no sacrifice without blood". And you know. The boob-biting to feed is extremely inspired and very hot, even if Le Fanu undoubtedly didn't mean it that way. I don't care. They're mine now. :)

Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker: Since I am so deeply into gen&family ships aside from romantic/sexual shipping, it feels, again, like a crime not to mention these two. The ST might have broken the back of my fannish engagement in SW currently, but these two? I love them. I love Luke's impossible and earnest belief in his father's inherent goodness, I love that fucking scene at the end of ESB where Vader reaches out and Luke reflexively, despite everything, says 'father?' HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE IT???

Last song: Oh, uhh... I don't remember, but it's possible it was Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer (happens to be one of my Helen/Paris songs for late war lol). I end up listening to a row of songs while drawing, sometimes (which is the only time I can listen to music and actually do something else at the same time), but it could have been another one, just as well.

Currently reading: Iliaden - en cover, by Dimitrios Iordanoglou, which is a (pretty heavily, sometimes) abridged and modernized version of the Iliad where the language is extremely slangy sometimes and the setting has been moved into "present day". Everyone uses guns and stuff. Apollo's main epithet is now "the Bomber" lol and he uses bombs and grenades. It's both extremely fun(ny) and really interesting, even if the language used sometimes make me wince even when I get why he's chosen it. But it's exactly because I know the changes he's made etc. that makes it extra interesting. When he keeps lines word-for-word from the Iliad they both stick out and fit in very well and it's interesting to see that, too. Also, and much longer than the above, is Paris in the Epic Tradition : a Study in Homeric Techniques of Characterization by Roberto Nickel, his thesis from 1997! I've mentioned it before; Nickel is exploring the possibility of the Iliad having changed/presented Paris (a lot) differently from how he might have been in traditional oral epic material. It's really interesting!

Last movie: Dungeon and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves! Loved it, a lot of fun, and despite how long it was, it all moved along at a good clip, nothing dragged.

Craving: Uh... :C Fics/art for my rare pairs? lol

Tagging: @a-gnosis @battlinghurricanes @crowlilies @my-name-is-apollo @scribeprotra @kebriones

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raccoonfallsharder · 8 months

Text

Chapter 10/20+ Window Across the Galaxy (new 8/31)

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

And so this is how the space between Knowhere and Asgard unfolds: the coziest, rosiest nights she’s had in years - decades, probably, if she wants to waste time doing the math - and days spent cascading through jump-points like honeycombs and stardust like spilt glitter. Snacks tossed at her head by a grumpy copilot who she’s basically-desperately-in-love-with-shhhh, and the clinking of his inventions, and an uncountable number of golden-hearted flowers in her hair. And the fragile beginnings of - well, maybe they’d all still disagree and say Jolie, you moron, this is an uneasy alliance at best - but she’s going to call it a family and let the word curl up like a kitten in her heart. She suspects that Groot, at least, would agree with her in this. When they finally reach the pocket of starry galaxy that cradles the Realm Eternal - hung like an island in the sky, like a more-feral version of the Neverland she’d seen painted in books as a kid - Pete slows the Gemma Lynn to a crawl, and Jolie slides into the copilot’s seat.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

action! too much action. i hate writing action (unless it's smutty action). uhhhh there's some violence and minor gore/description of wounds in this chapter but I don't think it's egregious?

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut. let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic/headcanon/doodle taglist ♡

General Summary~

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best raccoon

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship. Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron. Chapter III. A Kindness.in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last. Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food. Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave. Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course. Chapter VII. I'm Here.in which we visit Knowhere. Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.” Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking. Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way. Coming Soon: Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slooowww burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. rating will go up and tags will be added to as needed.

@evolvingchaoswitch ♡

#window across the galaxy #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket raccoon #enemies to friends to lovers #gotg fanfiction #slow burn #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon romance #rocket raccoon x oc #eventual smut #oc x rocket raccoon #ao3 author #gotg rocket #rocket gotg #gotg vol 3 #rocket raccoon fanfic

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vespertin-y · 8 months

Note

so hey, *sits down politely in Listening Mode™* what do you think about akasaiou? :} (feel free to go off. going off is encouraged!!) /genuine

DEEP INHALE

IMMEDIATELY FORGETS EVERYTHING I'VE EVER THOUGHT ABOUT AKASAIOU DESPITE THEM OCCUPYING ALL MY BRAIN SPACE FOR MULTIPLE YEARS AT THIS POINT

TAKES SEVERAL DAYS TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION (SORRY) BECAUSE WORDS HARD EDITING EVEN HARDER

ough. um. well first of all there's LOTS of tasty hand symbolism and i go bananas for that. with saiou it's pretty explicit (i reach out, but he doesn't take my hand and the bandaging scene in the FTEs, he can't lie about the warmth of his hand in salmon mode, to a lesser extent shuuichi's accusatory finger point but ESPECIALLY in the fourth trial) for saimatsu it's a bit more subtle (kaede reaching out to pull shuuichi up when he falls out of the locker, shuuichi taking her hands over the desk to comfort her even though his own are shaking, a lingering shot of their hands desperately reaching out for eachother that they CUT from the execution and i will NEVER NOT BE MAD ABOUT-) and for oumatsu it's almost entirely in my head (them playing tag COUNTS, it DOES-). it's good food basically.

(small side tangent about that last bit - i want to focus mostly on them as a trio here, but i feel like i need to play a bit of defense for oumatsu because GOOD GOD are people nasty about it in a way they aren't about saiouma or saimatsu. no, kaede does not dislike kokichi - she calls him "hard to hate" more than once. no, kokichi is not "too mean" by pointing out her failings in the tunnel (and yes, he's allowed to be snappish when he's exhausted and injured!). kaede and kokichi are a wonderful duo who both give the other much needed pushback on the faults in their personal ideologies, and they do that while knowing when to stop and just goof off together. half the people who say their dynamic is irredeemably unhealthy are stealing that dynamic and plastering it onto kaito/kokichi because they hate ships with women in them. this has been Soapbox Time With Vesper).

i think the main reason i started shipping them - beyond all three of them just having fun/cute/silly dynamics with the other two sdhnjhsf - is that they are, to me, the core of v3. i've talked about it before (1 2) , but kaede's death is EVERYTHING to kokichi and shuuichi's parallel character arcs.

kokichi is bright, extroverted, and has a hand leading the group (challenging kaede in the tunnel, establishing the first breakfast meeting, leading the charge in convincing the others monokuma is dead even when he doesn't truly believe it) but he's never the same after kaede dies; he believes *any* kind of open cooperation will get him targeted by monokuma and killed. he resorts to manipulations on top of schemes on top of plans in a desperate attempt to never end up like her.

shuuichi is withdrawn, suspicious, and really only cooperates with one person (he suspects rantarou to the point of taking kaede aside and warning her not to ask him any more questions about his talent, he makes his own plot to catch the ringleader with no intentions of sharing it with the group) but once kaede passes on her wish he forces himself to socialize and to trust in a way he never would've before, and by ch4 *he's* basically the group's de-facto leader. if v3 had a movie poster kaede would be big and faded from the back and saiou would be back-to-back in the center with everyone else lining the corners. does that make any sense?? idk.

ough what else...i think the flaws/weaknesses in each pair are helped by their third member (kokichi has ZERO tolerance for shuuichi or anyone else putting kaede on a pedestal, shuuichi is a calming presence to balance out the oumatsu shenaniganery, kaede will simply knock the boys' heads together if they attempt Miscommunication™). i think they should all bond postgame (what if we didn't directly kill anybody but we still had blood on our hands...and then we held them!!). i think they should have one of those bunk beds with a twin on top and a queen on bottom, so saimatsu can spoon and kokichi can cackle manically from his nest of pokemon plushies. i think they should go on a boba date and shuuichi should have to pull out all his acting chops to pretend he doesn't hate the texture. i think that i love them a lot :]

#HHHOLY SHIT DID THIS TAKE ALL MY BRAINPOWER #time to lay in the mud (<- write easy fun shitposts) for a while #I HOPE U (and everyone else!!) LIKE THIS...i must spread akasaiou brainrot it is my noble duty #if you notice a mistake No You Didn't i am TIRED!!!#akasaiou #saioumatsu #akasaiou tag #akamatsu kaede #kaede akamatsu #ouma kokichi #kokichi oma #saihara shuuichi #shuichi saihara #<- yes im maintagging this. i worked very hard on it #dr #ndrv3 #mem says stuff

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teecupangel · 1 year

Note

Hi! I was thinking about your reblog of my AssCreed headcanon list and I got this idea... Adha and Desmond character swap?

Desmond just wakes up in the Levant without any reason while Adha gets transported into the future because of their weird Chalice connection.

Bonus points if the switch happens at a really awkward time, like Des wakes up in bed with Altaïr and Adha with Lucy/Shaun/Rebecca (... basically whatever modern day character you ship Desmond with, or maybe all of them if you wanna go the poly route)

And what do you know, maybe Desmond knows enough about the future to warn everybody about Al Mualim and Kadar gets to live, and maybe Adha is well-versed enough in Isu bullshit to save Lucy and the world (and also Clay, somehow? Can we fit him in there as well?).

The reblog in question and the tags I included:

#no 3 though would mean that calling adha the chalice meant, #she was similar to desmond miles, #maybe she was a failed version, #and there's a few like her, #with desmond being the final 'product', #i personally headcanon adha is called the chalice because she has a specific isu blood that can open something, #like maybe the lost city of iram, #also known as atlantis of the sands

Honestly, Desmond being reborn as Adha has been a Yew Branches idea of mine since last year mostly because:

The term Chalice would mean it’s meant to hold something (as @fanworldbuildingfun once stated) and considering the most famous Chalice is meant to hold blood, the idea that the title Chalice is connected to her blood is high and is similar to how Desmond’s blood(line) plays an important part in his story.

Adha means ‘sacrifice’ and Desmond ends up sacrificing himself. (While Adha was the sacrifice that needed to happen so Altaïr would become who he is in AC1)

Adha wanted to leave Levant and everything behind. Desmond wanted the same thing and did just that.

There’s a possibility that she was 25 when she died (unconfirmed) which is also the same age Desmond died.

Anyway, let’s talk about how Desmond and Adha swapping places would work.

Okay, so let’s go over what we’re sure will happen:

Desmond and Adha would switch places at very awkward times because that would be fun and we all love to make Desmond suffer (affectionately).

Desmond would end up saving Kadar and warn everyone about Al Mualim (and be believed, I guess?)

Adha would end up saving Lucy and the world

Optional: Clay will be saved as well

So, for this one, we’ll have to twist the timeline a bit. We never did get an idea of when (if he ever did) Desmond relived Altaïr’s memories of Altaïr’s Chronicles (although I do like to headcanon he dreamed of it while he was stuck in the trunk of the car as Lucy drives them to the Rome hideout) so we’ll throw that away and make Desmond only have vague memories of Adha because we are setting this in the timeline where Lucy is still alive so that means Desmond hasn’t reached a Synch Nexus with Altaïr yet.

I propose that they switch not after a night of passion but during it, like in the exact middle of it. The kind reason for this is that no one would mistake that some kind of nefarious switcheroo has happened or another. The mean (totally the main reason why I'm suggesting this) reason is… maximum embarrassment and panic for Desmond which I am all for. XD

Okay, so let’s focus on Desmond first:

The best time for Altaïr and Adha to have some quality time would be just after they reunited and left the sewers and before Altaïr went to Tyr to ‘confront’ Harash. For this, we’ll assume Altaïr didn’t leave immediately and, instead, decided to stay with Adha for one night. During that time, Desmond changes places with her and… there’s a long period of just the two of them staring at each other with growing surprise and whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

Then Altaïr grabs him by the throat and demands to know who he is and where’s Adha.

And just as Desmond is starting to get lighthearted from the lack of oxygen.

He manages to blurt out.

“I’m Adha!”

And that… is how Desmond Miles, the Isu’s favorite chew toy and the unluckiest chosen one in the world, screwed up so badly that he now has to pretend to be the tragic destined-to-die lover of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

Of course, Altaïr didn’t believe him at first but then Desmond started answering his questions, questions only Altaïr and Adha would have known the answers to and Desmond is pretty sure it wasn’t his Bleed of Altaïr that was giving him the answers.

Not when one of the questions made him say “Oh, that? Yeah. I lied to you back then. What? You were cute as a kid and you believed everything I say so I wanted to see if you’d be able to tell if I was lying! You never did, right?”

There was no way Desmond could have answered that unless Altaïr knew it was a lie. Altaïr had truly believed it which means…

For some reason…

He has Adha’s memories inside him.

Unorganized Notes:

Desmond got Altaïr to call him ‘Desmond’ because “it’ll be weird if you call a guy ‘Adha’, right? Also, the Brotherhood knows Adha and I don’t look anything like her.”

Desmond joins Altaïr in finishing up the remaining plot points of Altaïr Chronicles because something inside him knows something bad is going to happen if he doesn’t stay with Altaïr. Also, Altaïr wasn’t going to let him out of his sight because there were still a bit of lingering doubts about Desmond’s true identity which Desmond is like “yeah, that sounds about right”.

Altaïr Chronicles’ parts end successfully but Desmond gets a headache the day Adha was meant to die. He loses consciousness and Altaïr has to carry him off to somewhere safe until he wakes up.

When he wakes up, he knows where to go…

And now we get to Adha’s side of the story, in which she gets transported while Desmond was in the middle of a little stress-relieving session with Rebecca, Shaun and Lucy. All three of them immediately freaked out while Adha is momentarily confused before giving the same excuse Desmond gave to Altaïr.

“I’m Desmond Miles.”

Everyone is super sus at that but, really, they’re dealing with Isu BS and Desmond’s Bleeding Effect had been weirder than what was recorded (Lucy’s insistent “It can’t do this!!!” falls into deaf ears) and they figured the best way to check if Adha is Desmond is to put her in the Animus to check her genetic memories.

Lo and behold…

She has the same genetic DNA as Desmond Miles.

Not only that, the Animus ‘sees’ her as Subject 17 and the next memory to be played was the same memory of Ezio where they stopped for the day.

So, yeah…

According to the Animus…

Adha was Desmond Miles.

What the fuck.

Unorganized Notes:

Unlike Altaïr and Adha who did have an intimate romantic (most probably, fuck it, I’m headcanoning here, childhood friends to arranged marriage) relationship, Desmond’s relationship with Lucy, Shaun and Rebecca is primarily sexual although the feelings were starting to creep in.

If this was a fic, the narration would be more… vague. Less of Adha being an unreliable narrator and more of like the narration isn’t set in Adha’s eyes like with Desmond’s but in the eyes of the people around her although she’s the main focus.

She actually has a higher sync rate than any of Desmond’s past synchronization which is surprising.

Instead of going to the colosseum, Ezio’s memories stopped just as he had taken the Apple back from the Borgias, instead giving them the memory of Altaïr and everyone freezes when they saw Desmond with him.

They were underground and Shaun noticed that it looks a lot like the vault in the Vatican but… there are pillars, large and tall, piercing the dark ceiling above them.

After that memory plays, Adha slips into a coma and the Animus tells them that taking her off would endanger her so they keep her hooked to the Animus as it starts playing memories of Altaïr and Desmond.

During that time, Adha meets with Clay who calls her an ‘anomaly’ and Adha just smiles as she says “yeah, that sounds about right.”

Their conversation will be hidden from everyone (including the readers) and it will end with Adha waking up from her coma and telling everyone that they need to go somewhere else right now.

She takes them to the colosseum first to get the Apple but she tells Lucy to stay in the van for now. When Lucy tries to join them, the van locks by itself and Lucy freezes when she hears Clay’s voice coming from the laptop connected to the Animus.

When they returned, Lucy is oddly quiet and just asks Adha where to go next.

Adha gives them the location of a place they never heard from Ezio’s memories at all.

The Convergence:

The location in question is the lost city of Iram which has an underground Isu ‘temple’ named Iram of the Pillars.

The pillars there served as one of the many failed experiments of the Isu to protect themselves from the Solar Flare. The pillars were meant to store the data of all the Isus and the idea was they would be used to transfer the Isus forward a little bit after the Solar Flare.

The process of uploading the data itself proved to take too much time and Juno used the premise of this project and created the Mead to transfer the Isu’s consciousness instead of its entirety.

Iram can only be opened by a specific bloodline. To be more specific, the bloodline that Adha belongs to with an Isu ancestry that had been in charge of the Pillar Project (since this is a Capitoline Triad thing, I wanna say Minerva since she has a statue in Masyaf according to the novel but the idea of Juno and Aita having a child that would could be the Isu ancestor of Adha is a bit fun). This Isu ancestry is also in Altaïr’s bloodline thanks to Umar although his blood is more ‘diluted’ than Adha’s.

The Isu ancestry is why Adha is named the Chalice and why she ‘can turn the tide’ of the crusades since this is pretty much a teleporter of some sort.

Desmond is connected to Adha for one specific reason: he’s was Adha in his past life and now, thanks to whatever the fuck happened in 2012 that serves as the premise of all Yew Branches, Adha herself is the reincarnation of Desmond Miles after he died in 2012.

In other words, the Adha we’ve been looking at had been Desmond Miles who used Iram’s Pillar Project to switch their places because she, as Desmond Miles, wanted to save the people he couldn’t save in his previous life. And now, the pillars are ready for its final use.

By using the Pillars that have been upgraded thanks to Desmond in the past (and Altaïr) bringing the necessary POEs that would start the automatic upgrade construction that would need centuries to be completed, the Pillars could be used for one big moment where the entire world will be transported a few seconds into the future just as the Solar Flare hits. This way, the entire world would be gone and when it returns (without anyone knowing of the time and space displacement), the Solar Flare would have already been completed.

Now…

This is the conundrum…

Do we include in the idea that using the Pillars to save the world meant that Adha and Desmond would be stuck in their current time with Desmond with Altaïr and Adha with Shaun, Rebecca, Lucy and (digital ghost for now) Clay?

Or will the Pillars switch them back in their proper time?

What would count as a happy ending in this scenario?

Because Adha has Desmond Miles’ memories so she does love Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy the same way Desmond Miles had and everything she had done was to save the world and save Lucy and Clay.

And Desmond has spent years with Altaïr at this point, growing close to him and Altaïr definitely realized that Desmond is more than just Adha.

So… really…

Would returning them to their original timeline truly be a happy ending?

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serenailith · 1 year

Text

in bloom

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: b4, flowers Rating: e Word Count: 8104 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags: gift giving, language of flowers, confessions, dream of the endless | morpheus is bad at communication, blink-and-you-miss-it mentions of hob’s canonical past, idiots who can’t communicate properly Summary:

Most men receive their first gift of flowers at their funeral. It’s a fairly universal belief that flowers are meant to be a “woman’s thing”, that women are the only ones truly interested in floral arrangements and symbolism. Hob thinks it’s a load of dung. Men like flowers, too, damn it. But still, men don’t receive flowers throughout their life.

Hob Gadling isn’t most men. Sure, he hasn’t gotten flowers, no. Even living through almost seven hundred years hasn’t allotted him any flowers. He’s different in that he plans on never dying. Not even a little bit. So he has resigned himself to eternity without ever being gifted a beautiful bouquet of flowers that says something meaningful, even if it’s “You’re a great friend!” Blast it all to Hell, he wants flowers.

Of course, wanting never really amounted to much. Except for now, apparently.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

@caberneigh @wordsinhaled

Hob Gadling isn’t most men. Sure, he hasn’t gotten flowers, no. Even living through almost seven hundred years hasn’t allotted him any flowers. He’s different in that he plans on never dying. Not even a little bit. So he has resigned himself to eternity without ever being gifted a beautiful bouquet of flowers that say something meaningful, even if it’s “You’re a great friend!” Blast it all to Hell, he wants flowers.

Of course, wanting never really amounted to much. Except for now, apparently.

Hob blinks stupidly at the flower currently held in a pale, slender hand. A hand he hasn’t seen in 133 years, and one that is holding out a flower to him. It’s a single flower, a beautiful peach colour. The petals look as if they’ve only just opened, fresh and dewy, and the fragrant aroma drifts through the slight distance between Hob and his Stranger.

The Stranger speaks, and his voice is just as familiar as it is unfamiliar—the same as it has always been. “It seems I owe you an apology. I have always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Hob realises belatedly that his Stranger still holds the blossom extended. “Is that–Is that for me? I, well, thank you.”

It’s both confusing and amazing, really, that his Stranger comes bearing a gift. A flower, no less. Perhaps he isn’t well-versed in the unspoken rules behind flowers. Despite that, Hob reaches for it. A shiver does not run down his spine when their fingers brush, but it’s a close thing. The ivory skin is just as cool as he always imagined it would be.

As the Stranger takes a seat across from him, Hob watches him closely. He’s an enigma of a man, if a man at all, one who’s intricately inserted himself into the fabric of Hob’s life. Only once before has he given anything. He’s mostly taken–Hob’s stories, his time, his thoughts, even if his Stranger never knew how often Hob thought of him. Too many times has Hob’s mind wandered only to land on the Stranger who stood him up in 1989. He will never be able to explain why he’s been so fascinated. After all, he barely knows the man before him.

Or maybe that’s why he hasn’t been able to stop thinking of the Stranger over the last six hundred years.

The point is this: His Stranger has given advice only once, nothing else, but now he stands before Hob with a gift Hob has never received before.

“Thank you,” Hob says again, fingers playing with the stem of the flower.

“It is called ‘faithful friend’,” the Stranger replies with a dip of his chin toward the blossom.

Hob hardly dares to dream. Still, he asks, “And you’d call me one?”

“Of course.” His Stranger pauses, then his gaze drops to the flower still in Hob’s hand. “If you will still consider us friends, that is. After all, we did not part on the best of terms the last time we met.”

Hob huffs out a laugh that darkens his Stranger’s–no, his Friend’s–expression. “Mate, I called us friends all the way back then despite knowing nothing of you. Your storming off didn’t exactly change how I felt. I just figured you weren’t ready to admit it yet. Although you not turning up in 1989 almost made me change my mind.”

“My absence was unintended, I assure you.”

Hob hesitates. There is something in the other man’s eyes that tells Hob more than he is saying. Hob knows secrets. He understands. So instead of questioning it, he glances down at the blossom and smiles softly. A flower. He’s never gotten one before, and it feels nice to receive one after so long of wanting. He reaches for his mug, frowning when he finds it empty, and gestures to Monica. She nods then points at his Friend with a questioning look.

“Ah, you want anything? Food, drink?”

“I have no need of either. But thank you.”

“Right,” Hob replies without knowing exactly what his Friend means even as he shakes his head at Monica. “So if we’re friends, I think I should know your name. After all, I can’t go about introducing you as just ‘my Friend’.”

His Friend cocks his head, lips curving slightly in the corners. “You would wish to introduce me to others.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what people do when they have people they care about.”

Something twists in his Friend’s face, and he lets out a quick, sharp exhale. After a moment in which Hob fears his Friend will leave, Hob decides it isn’t worth it. He’ll continue calling his Friend as he always has in his mind, if it means keeping him around. In his life.

It’s odd, really, how 133 years can go by and some things not change. Sure, the world is different now; that’s the cost of living, really. Nothing actually stays the same. Except Hob’s feelings for his Friend. Always it felt off-balance, as if his Friend held all the power and Hob was merely along for the ride. He was an experiment that his Friend could put down and walk away from at any time. Whether he would have taken Hob’s immortality is unknown, but Hob feels like maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he isn’t truly that cruel or capricious. He wouldn’t have allowed Hob to live six hundred years, forced him to endure so much, only to take it all away without warning.

Right?

And still it feels that way to Hob as he watches his Friend consider his thoughts. He still holds cards to his chest while Hob’s shown his.

“My name is Morpheus,” his Friend finally says, so quietly that Hob almost doesn’t hear it.

“Morpheus,” Hob repeats slowly as if to taste the name, the letters and sounds rolling around his mouth. It doesn’t quite suit his Friend, but what does he know, truly? He is no expert in names and meanings. “Well, it’s nice to know your name after so long, my Friend.”

“Do tell me–”

“Sorry, gentlemen!”

Hob and Morpheus look away from each other as Monica approaches. She sets the new mug of coffee on the table, picking up the empty one, and smiles at them both. Her hazel eyes flicker from Hob’s face to Morpheus’s to the ‘faithful friend’ in Hob’s hand. A thin brow rises, but she only leaves them with a smile.

“You were saying?”

“I was requesting you tell me how you have spent our time apart.”

Our time apart. As if it was a mutual understanding to part ways and not meet again for over a hundred and thirty years. Hob bites back the words, the frustration. His Friend is here now, that’s what matters. Not the lack of explanation or even a real ‘I’m sorry for leaving you waiting for me for so long, it won’t happen again’. All he has gotten is ‘It seems I owe you an apology’. Not exactly the epitome of genuine remorse.

He supposes it’s the best he could expect, really. He hadn’t anticipated Morpheus showing up today of all days, anyway, and he did admit they are friends. Hob should probably take the wins no matter how small they may seem (although being called a friend to the man he’s been meeting for six hundred years is hardly inconsequential).

Instead of voicing his inner conflict, Hob decides to leave it be for now. He can figure it out later when he’s alone in his flat. He tells Morpheus of everything that has happened in his life since their last meeting, though he leaves out the bad things. Morpheus surely doesn’t need to know about the couple of months Hob spent in captivity before managing to escape back in the 1950s.

Morpheus’s eyes soften, light up, when Hob says he’s become a professor. Dual subjects–History and 18th-century Literature. He enjoys it, he says, especially the fact he has better insight than most into the times.

“Easier to be more accurate when you were there.” He takes a hurried sip of his coffee then levels Morpheus with an assessing look. “And what about you? What have you been up to?”

It’s the wrong question. He knows it before the words are even fully out of his mouth. There’s an ugliness to Morpheus’s expression, a haunted darkness in his grey-blue eyes, and his lips thin out. Abruptly, he rises to his feet and adjusts the long, black coat he wears.

“I apologise, Hob, but I must take my leave.”

“Wait! You don’t have to go. I won’t ask again, I promise.”

Morpheus shakes his head. “I must.”

“Well, will you come back?”

“I should like to.”

Morpheus is gone before Hob can speak again. He carefully picks his way through the tables, avoiding any contact, then disappears through the door. Hob drops back into his seat and sighs. Of course he’s bungled it once more. He really should have learned in 1889 to shut his mouth. But that’s him, he supposes. Always putting his foot in it.

Sighing, he twirls the flower still pinched between his fingers and stares at the dainty petals. He wonders when he’ll see his Friend next.

Hob is just coming out of the lecture hall two weeks later when he hears someone fall into step beside him. He doesn’t bother looking up as he tells the person he’s cancelled his office hours for the day. There comes a soft laugh, one that is decidedly deeper than he expects, and he finally looks away from the screen of his phone.

Morpheus’s lips are curved, just enough to display the smallest amount of amusement, and he easily sidesteps a cluster of students chatting in the middle of the corridor. He waits until they’ve emerged from the building to speak.

“Hello, Hob Gadling.”

Hob swallows thickly at the sight of a long, slender flower in Morpheus’s hand. “Hey, fancy seeing you here right now.”

“You asked if I would come back to see you. I assumed you would have no qualms about it happening sooner than another century.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Hob comes to a stop by his car and unlocks the doors. Tossing his bag and phone into the passenger seat, he turns back to Morpheus. “Just didn’t expect for you to show up at my work, that’s all.”

Morpheus frowns. “Should I have met you at the New Inn?”

Hob winces and scrubs a hand over his face. The confusion, the utter ‘Have I done something wrong?’, in Morpheus’s voice is actually quite painful to hear. Hob shakes his head quickly.

“This is fine, really. Like I said, just wasn’t expecting it.”

Morpheus nods, a slow deliberate thing, then holds the flower out to Hob. He doesn’t recognise it, but it’s a pretty flower nonetheless. The rich purple petals curl artfully toward their stem, and he takes the flower from Morpheus with a murmured ‘Thanks’.

Two flowers in as many weeks. He silently wonders about what it could possibly mean.

To Hob’s surprise, Morpheus accepts his offer to go back to his flat. Hob isn’t even sure why he invites Morpheus, but it’s too late to rescind. And does he really want to, anyway? So he only waves a hand at the passenger door and rounds the car to the driver’s side. Morpheus hesitates, eyes darkening as he stares at the vehicle, before he visibly swallows and pulls open the door.

Of course Hob notices—it’s hard not to see how uncomfortable Morpheus is, spine ramrod straight and hands clenched into such tight fists, his knuckles are even whiter under his pale skin. Hob understands there’s something his Friend isn’t telling him, but that’s fine, everyone has secrets. And anyway, it’s really not a big deal that Morpheus doesn’t like riding in a car. It can feel too constricting with the windows up. So Hob rolls them down.

“Beautiful day, this. No point in wasting it behind glass.” I need the air on my face to remind me I’m free.

Morpheus relaxes. Minutely, but enough.

It raises more questions than it can ever answer.

Neither man speaks during the drive back to Hob’s flat. The radio plays quietly, some classic rock song from the 80s (and the term ‘classic rock’ will never cease to amuse Hob. He knows the classics). He leads Morpheus inside, ignoring the way his heart starts racing in his chest. His palms grow clammy, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the thighs of his trousers.

This is the first time Morpheus will have ever seen Hob’s home, and it’s a tragic disaster. He hasn’t really had the time to clean up properly, as evidenced by the mugs on the counter and the books sprawled across the living room.

Morpheus doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he is downright curious about the way Hob lives his life, judging by the way he examines everything in sight. He wears a pleased smile as he picks up book after book to read the covers.

Thankfully, it’s simple enough to pick up everything in the living room. Hob stacks the books on the coffee table and quickly folds the throw blanket that lies rumpled on the couch. Once that’s done, he turns to face Morpheus only to find a flower directly in his face.

Right. Another flower he’s received. If this keeps happening, Hob is going to feel very spoiled very soon.

The first hour passes awkwardly. There isn’t much that Hob can ask about, not really. If he asks after Morpheus’s activities over the last hundred-plus years, he risks Morpheus disappearing again and potentially never coming back. But talking about himself has grown old after six centuries. So Hob decides instead to tell Morpheus of the advancements in medical care and music and books.

“So many great books out there these days. Less misogyny in a lot of them, too.”

By the time dinnertime rolls around, Hob has finally run out of things to discuss. Not that there’s been much discussion, anyway. Morpheus stays quiet the entire time except to ask prodding questions to keep Hob speaking.

Hob asks if his guest will stay for a meal, but–to Hob’s nonexistent surprise–Morpheus declines. He leaves the flat with a promise of returning another day.

Hob sighs once the door closes and grabs his phone to take a photo of the flower. A reverse-image search says it’s a purple hyacinth. He sniffs at the petals before moving to put the flower with the ‘faithful friend’ tea rose to dry between the pages of a heavy book.

Morpheus follows through multiple times over the next two months. At least once a week, he appears either at the New Inn or at Hob’s work. If on campus, he then rides back to the flat in the passenger seat of Hob’s car (with the windows down, of course), and spends a few hours on the couch. They watch the television these days, though. The silence between them is easier when it’s broken by clever puns and the antics of amateur bakers on the screen.

So it goes. Morpheus shows up whenever he deigns to grace Hob with his presence, and Hob soaks in the attention when he can. More flowers are added to his collection: zinnia, cymbidium, and a cherry blossom. Hob has taken to keeping a list that he writes in a code he learned back in the 40s, when there was safety to secure. It wouldn’t have done for anyone to learn about the meetings and the goings-on of Hob and his rather massive group of friends.

He no longer has those friends, no longer has need for the code. But they were–and it was–such resounding parts of him for so long. He can’t just forget any of them now.

His dreams grow more strange with every passing night. Hob has always been plagued with odd dreams. Ever since he was a young boy, his mind had played fantastical films behind his eyelids, deep in his subconscious. Memories began to intertwine with the figments of his imagination until, in those fine seconds between sleep and awake, he almost couldn’t tell them apart. It was easier that way, he thinks now. It meant he could lose the fear of his past with the easement of wonder and hope.

His dreams now hold the same hazy curiosity, even as he explores the same sights and scenery he’d seen in the real world. There are no wars here, no pain and suffering tonight. All he sees when he looks around are the faces of old friends long gone but so alive in memory. They all laugh and drink together, a veritable grab-bag of styles from through the centuries. They all wear flowers on their persons.

There are Crispin and Hugo, arguing goodnaturedly over watery ale, and that blasted Shaxberd drinks soberly his own pint at the bar. Hob had met the man once, not long after the disastrous 1589 meeting. He’d hated that he couldn’t truly hate the man. There was–he can admit this, centuries later–jealousy, but no hatred. Perhaps his Stranger had just seen something special in the playwright (though Hob likes to think he’s special in his own right, considering his immortality).

Thomas and Mary, a couple Hob had lived with and loved, are wrapped around each other in the shadows, and Hob watches them for a moment. They were always so deeply in love; they held enough of it in their hearts to share with him, as well, without detracting from what they gave each other. Jacques and Caroline and Eleanor. Sweet, beautiful, perfect Eleanor. . .

There’s his Stranger, his Friend, in the corner. Hob stares. There is something different about Morpheus here. Something almost inhuman, which Hob has always considered a possibility. After all, how can Morpheus live so long if he were merely a mortal man? But no, that’s not really it. Here, he’s sharper in view, edges focused and solid where the rest of the scenery and people in it bear the fuzziness of mind. Hob frowns when Morpheus’s head turns toward him. Stars reside in his eyes, but then he’s gone.

Hob lets himself be pulled toward the stairs by the memory of his wife.

He doesn’t see Morpheus in either real life or his dreams for another week. Then, it’s only when he’s asleep, and he wakes with a hammering heart, damp underwear, and the acid of guilt rising in his throat.

Morpheus has been giving Hob flowers, sure, and damned if that doesn’t mess with Hob’s mind. It certainly stirs up questions. Namely: What the Hell do the flowers mean? But that’s no reason to go and have inappropriate dreams about his Friend.

The more Morpheus shows up and spends time with Hob, the easier it is for Hob to understand what’s happening. He loathes it, if he’s honest. How can he possibly have feelings for someone who never had the respect for him to give a name for six hundred years? Someone who still holds a secret large enough that it affects him even when the pair is doing nothing but watching the television. Morpheus had abruptly left in the middle of Iron Man, just after Ho Yinsen died on-screen from a hail of bullets.

Hob isn’t an enormous fan of the film, but he didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant such a departure.

Morpheus brings a white orchid the next time he arrives on Hob’s doorstep.

The fact remains that, despite his best efforts, Hob is absolutely, undeniably, deeply falling in love with the enigma of a man he has never really known for six centuries.

He’s drunk. Even in the dream, he can feel the lightheaded quality that coats the scene. He stumbles through the crowd, beaming as people clap hands to his shoulders. What are they celebrating? Ah, what does it matter, really? All he cares about is the fact everyone is having fun, himself included.

The inebriation is, well, intoxicating. It’s been a long time since Hob has allowed himself to let loose like this. Too many times, he’s come so close to admitting his immortality while imbibing. He has had to limit how many drinks he consumes in order to maintain his secret. Here in his dreams, though, he can do whatever he wants with no consequence.

Which explains why he strides right up to Morpheus, who stands on the outskirts of the group. It also explains why Hob cups Morpheus’s cheeks and brings his face closer. Star-filled eyes stare back, wide and full of something unreadable. Hob opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. The words won’t spill from his tongue, but he doesn’t really need them anyway.

The punishment-free reality of his dreams explains why Hob slams his lips to Morpheus’s, graceless and no less enthusiastic.

Morpheus doesn’t kiss back.

Hob pulls away with a sloppy grin that dies when Morpheus no longer stands before him.

There’s a daffodil on his doorstep the next morning when Hob leaves for work.

His dreams are nightmares for the next week, and Hob slogs through them as best as he can. There is no respite, but he is accustomed to this. Nightmares are all he had for over a century. This is no different.

It’s worse this time, though. He’s had a brief period of sweeter dreams over the last few months, ones that gave him better rest, even if he woke with guilt on his tongue. Now the nightmares seem to be mocking him for his desires by punishing him. Giving him Hell in his sleep.

Morpheus appears in a dream a month later. Hob sits with his friends at the same table they sat at in 1389, and the memory is bittersweet. The years–centuries–have done nothing to erase the mourning of loss. Hugo had just had another babe when he died three years after this night, but he’s alive here. Hob will never forget how John looks at Roger as if the man hung the stars, though Hob knows neither ever acted upon it.

He stares at his ale and wonders about his own mortality. If he wasn’t meant to live forever now, how would he have died? He supposes he’ll never know, and for now, that’s a reassuring thought. He definitely isn’t complaining. After all, he’s been granted a gift that none else has.

The Stranger takes the seat to Hob’s right, but that isn’t correct, is it? Thomas was just here. Hob remembers him ranting about the King.

“Funny you should turn up here on this night,” Hob says before swallowing down the tears with horrible drink. Morpheus doesn’t reply. Of course not. Why would he ever deign to speak to someone as lowly as Hob?

The ale has loosened his tongue, he finds when Morpheus cocks his head. On his face is more expression than Hob can recall ever seeing through six hundred years.

“You believe yourself of a lowly station.”

“No. I believe you believe I’m lowly,” Hob corrects.

Morpheus doesn’t dignify it with a response; he only stares around the tavern and frowns like a lord judging his peasants. “You dream of this place quite frequently.”

Hob shrugs and finishes the dregs of his drink. “It’s where my life truly began, isn’t it.”

Blue eyes flick back to his face. Morpheus raises a brow and nods consideringly, as if conceding Hob’s point. Someone slams a glass against the crude wooden tabletop. Hob startles and turns to see John rising to his feet; his face is ruddy, and his fists are already swinging. When Hob turns back, Morpheus is gone.

In his place is a blossom that Hob will learn in the morning is an opuntia flower. Thomas doesn’t notice the bright yellow-and-red flower pinned to his lapel, nor does he care that Hob reaches out and plucks it away.

The flower sits on his nightstand when he wakes.

Another book is sacrificed to the task of drying and pressing the flowers gifted to Hob. He has no clue as to why Morpheus is giving him flowers of all things, but Hob is afraid to ask. He’s become used to it. He’s become as spoiled as he feared he would, and he’s damned if he wants it to end.

Morpheus stays for dinner more often than not now, though he refuses to eat. He’ll accept a cup of tea every once in a while, so Hob has taken to having a variety in his cupboards. He’s quite interested in learning Morpheus’s tastes. And if it’s his way of showing love, taking care of the enigmatic man, no one needs to know. Morpheus tells him little of his life outside of these visits but still expects Hob to fill the silences. Sometimes, however, Hob can coax him into philosophical debates or conversations over books. Never films, strangely enough. He’d only given Hob a wide-eyed look when Hob asked what he thought of the newest drama.

Morpheus doesn’t come by on Christmas. Hob spends the day alone.

The first time Hob falls asleep on the couch is after a long day at work followed by a shift in the New Inn. He hadn’t meant to—he and Morpheus had been discussing the merits of Shakespeare’s works (and Hob will never admit to the frisson of jealousy he still feels after so long). But the day had been arduous, and Hob hadn’t slept well the night before.

Morpheus is here in Hob’s dream. It makes sense. He’s the last person Hob spoke to, so of course he’d be on Hob’s mind still. But it’s different this time.

Hob is hardly overjoyed at seeing his Friend, false image as he is. He’s angry, ready to fight, and more than willing to bloody his own knuckles on someone’s teeth. He can’t explain it. He has no idea why he’s so on edge. All he knows is seeing Morpheus’s face is enough to threaten to send Hob into a frenzy.

So it would stand to reason that the dream takes place in a boxing ring with Morpheus in the front row of spectators. Hob had decided to take up amateur boxing when last he was in London, back in ’64. He relished the mutual beatings, the pain inflicted with permission, and the way his anger fizzled with each bout. It was sanctioned violence, and he loved it. He still does, he finds, when the first punch lands squarely against his jaw. He grins and launches himself into the fight.

The dream shifts, warps, and he finds himself swinging against open air. A brilliantly blue sky stretches overhead, and sunlight glints off the surface of a crystal-clear river to his right. He scowls and struggles to return to the boxing match. It’s what he needs right now, not this serenity. He ignores the bright sunflowers stretching tall around him. Something rustles behind him, and he spins to see Morpheus in the middle of a clearing.

“You were dreaming quite violently.”

“People are known to do that from time to time,” Hob pants out. This is different; usually, his dreams render him tireless.

Morpheus’s head tilts–just a bit, just enough to betray his curiosity. “You wish to dream of fighting?”

“It’s all I have sometimes.”

The admission feels like a failure. Hob has spent centuries attempting to rectify past mistakes, to hide his temper and his lust for physical altercations, to become a man he can be proud of. How can he, when he derives pleasure from fighting? From inflicting pain on another simply for his own selfishness?

Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, Hob turns away from the inquisitive expression on Morpheus’s face. This is the most human Hob has ever seen his Friend, and he isn’t quite sure he likes it. It’s too unfamiliar, too unknown, and Hob prefers the known when it comes to people. Surprises are rarely good where people are involved. Footsteps approach slowly. Hob glances from the corner of his eye at Morpheus who watches the sunflowers dance in the breeze. Hob only now notices that his Friend wears a pair of simple dark jeans and a black T-shirt. His skin practically gleams in the sunlight, pale and smooth. His feet are bare. Yes, Morpheus certainly looks more human like this.

Hob almost wishes for the aloof, cold being he’s always known.

“Why are you giving me flowers?” he finally asks when the silence stretches to an unbearable length. His hand comes up, fingers stroking along the soft petals of the nearest sunflower towering just over his head. “I’m not complaining, just. . . I’m confused.”

“I choose to,” Morpheus replies after a pregnant pause.

“Why?”

Morpheus gestures toward Hob, a regal motion that shifts him back to ‘untouchable’. “Why do you accept them?”

“Because I want to.”

“And could you put into words the reason why?”

Hob has to concede the point. He knows, deep in the heart of him, why he continues to accept the flowers, why he presses them and dries them between the pages of his favourite books. It has nothing to do with his centuries-old desire to be gifted flowers and everything to do with the one giving them.

He can’t articulate that, however. Not only would words fall flat and become mangled in his attempts to speak them, but–

Morpheus ran when Hob implied they were friends. Admitting to the love he carries in his bones would prove even more disastrous. It’s best left a secret.

Flashes of white feet against rich, green grass as Morpheus takes a step, then another, coming closer to Hob. His eyes narrow as if in thought, but he doesn’t speak. Hob stays just as quiet, frozen in place. Only inches remain between the two. Hob only needs to raise a hand to touch Morpheus’s chest, his jaw, lean forward to press their lips together. It would be so easy. Perhaps it would feel right.

Hob finds himself closing the distance before—

Wake up wake up wake up.

He does.

The sunflower that appears on his coffee table the next morning is pressed into the book.

He spends the next three days hating himself for nearly giving in.

Something changes. Whether within Hob or Morpheus himself, there is something different. The visits are no longer as separated. Morpheus still does not speak of himself or where he has been for the last century, but he stays while Hob eats. He actually eats, little bites of whatever Hob has made that seem to please him. It’s no longer just sipping tea while Hob talks.

And when they sit together on the couch, there is no longer an ocean of fabric and padding between them. Hob feels like he can just reach out and touch whenever he wants. He doesn’t no matter how bad he wants to, and God, does he want to. He keeps his hands to himself, only allowing himself the mercy of dreams to live out those desires. Nothing will ever come of it, but Hob lets himself be punished by his own mind night after night. What else can he do?

Hob wakes late one night to tears drying on his cheeks. Ah, an Eleanor-and-Robyn dream, then. Those haven’t happened in a long while, not since his Friend came back and began their friendship as properly as he seems capable. Before, his dreams of his wife and child were just as bittersweet, as yearning and painful as they were beautiful. Then the Sleepy Sickness began, and his dreams turned to nightmares. He never saw their faces, but he will always recognise their voices, the ones reminding him of every horror he’s ever committed.

Capturing and transporting enslaved people as if they were items to be conquered, murder in the streets, banditry, the prostitution he’d gotten himself into after he lost everything. Even something as trivial as his bursts of anger that had taken joy from his life. From Eleanor’s, when she would quiet and wait for the storm to pass. From Robyn’s, when he would hide in his bedroom or in the great outdoors as a way of staying far from his father. Hob doesn’t remember much of his own, but he knows he became just like the man in those moments.

But now the dreams have come back, and Hob sobs every time he sees Eleanor’s beauty and his son’s quick smiles in the home they used to share. Everything had had its place, and it was Hob’s place. It was where he belonged. He’ll never have that again.

He sits up in his bed and scrubs a hand over his face. His palm comes away damp, and he wipes it along the comforter. Hob blows out a shaky breath then swings his legs to the side until his feet touch the cold floor. Sleep will no longer be possible tonight. He may see Eleanor every once in a while among his other friends, his past loves and ‘friends with benefits’, as they’re called now. But it is always harder to see her with their child living life as they always had before her untimely death. Before Robyn fell at the drunken hands of another with no justice given.

Hob watches the sun rise from his position on the couch, having spent the last four hours curled up beneath the knitted blanket he’d purchased at a thrift store upon moving back to London. Pink-gold spreads its fingers through the gap between buildings, into the glass of the windows, and against the walls of his flat. It’s a peaceful scene, and he wishes he hadn’t dreamt of Robyn and Eleanor. Those dreams always make seeing beauty a painful ordeal.

A knock echoes in the silence, and Hob doesn’t bother stifling his groan. The last thing he wants right now is a visitor, especially one so early in the morning. The knock comes again, a familiar voice calling his name through the wood, and Hob squeezes his eyes closed. If there is anything that can make this morning more beautiful, more serene and deserving of some sort of awe-filled worship, it is Morpheus’s presence at his side.

It’s also the thing that could break Hob on a morning like this.

He shuffles toward the door, unlocks it, and yells out a ‘Come in’ as he shuffles back to the couch. The blanket trails along the floor behind him; yarn whispers against the wood, but the sound goes unheard once the door creaks open. Hob drops to the cushions with a grunt, rolling his shoulders before turning his head toward the door.

Morpheus stands there, watching him closely. Finally, he steps into the flat and closes the door quietly behind him. His footsteps grow muffled once he removes his boots—an oddly human behaviour that he’s taken to like a duck to water. Hob had only asked once, and Morpheus has yet to forget to remove his shoes before entering the flat proper.

“You look unwell.”

Hob snorts and closes his eyes. “Great morning to you, too, mate.”

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant. It’s. . . It’s fine, Morpheus.”

Morpheus narrows his eyes; the sight slams Hob back to that field of sunflowers. When he’d nearly kissed his Friend. It may have only been a dream, but it was too realistic. Hob would never have forgiven himself if he’d allowed even an imagined taste of Morpheus’s lips. God, the desire he’d felt in the dream had nearly knocked him on his arse, and it only grew worse when he woke and realised how close he came. Caving to those urges, even only in dreams, can never happen.

Hob knows himself rather well after six centuries. He knows how he’ll obsess and desire and yearn to the point of devastating consequences. He already wants so fiercely, and he’s yet to know anything substantial about Morpheus.

Morpheus carefully lowers himself onto the couch beside Hob. He doesn’t speak, but something soft brushes the back of Hob’s hand. Without even opening his eyes, Hob knows what it is. Yet another fucking flower to mess with his head. His emotions. His heart, as if Morpheus knows what he’s doing and is making a game of it.

He still looks down at the flower, one he recognises without needing to look it up: A violet. It’s similar to the ones an ex-girlfriend used to grow in the garden. She’d always been so pleased when they sprang up through the dirt, as if they didn’t bloom year after year. Hob wonders if they still grow, or if she lost the joy when he slipped out of the house in the middle of the night. He’d left a note, but he doubts it’ll ever be enough to write something so trite as an “It’s not you, it’s me” missive to explain running from a stable relationship.

He’d been rather happy with Caroline, if he’s being honest. Ten years were all he could give her, though. Such is the downfall of immortality, he’s found, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even after six centuries, he has far too much to live for.

He takes the violet from the slender fingers and brings it to his nose. The aroma is stronger than he expected; he doesn’t remember Caroline’s flowers ever being so fragrant. She would have been jealous of Morpheus’s garden–at least, Hob is assuming he has a garden. Otherwise, he’s stealing flowers from some poor gardener, and Hob isn’t sure how he feels about that thought.

He may have been a bandit at one point, but that was a life removed from his current one. Thievery isn’t high on his list of things he appreciates anymore.

He wants to ask Morpheus, the real one and not the figment of his dreams, about the flowers, the reason behind them. But he keeps the words tucked firmly behind his teeth. The enigma of his imagination is hard enough to handle; he doesn’t think he could bear the cryptic response of the man beside him.

The sun is slipping below the horizon by the time Morpheus takes his leave. All day he’s stayed. He’d even eaten lunch and dinner with Hob. The pair spent the hours reading silently to themselves, though Hob could hardly concentrate. There was something different about today than any other.

It isn’t until he’s crawling into bed that night that he realises what it is.

Morpheus sat within inches of Hob’s side instead of at the far end of the couch as he normally did. The realisation sends a funny flipping sensation through Hob’s chest.

He rolls onto his side and forces the thought from his mind. It means nothing, and he’d do well to not dwell on it.

Unfortunately, his subconscious has differing ideas: He finds himself dreaming of scarce centimetres between his thigh and Morpheus’s, a pale hand carefully landing on his knee almost as if Morpheus is afraid of how Hob will react. He dreams of kissing Morpheus in return, pressing him back against the couch cushions–the bed that suddenly appears beneath them–of taking everything Morpheus will give him.

He comes with Morpheus’s name on his tongue, as sweet as the young brilliant dandelions he used to eat with Mary and Thomas on their picnics by the lakeside. He wakes feeling bereft of something but so full of guilt. Shame.

Over the next three weeks, Morpheus brings more flowers. Hob can hardly keep up with the influx, and his coded list grows ever larger: alstroemeria, veronica, ixora. . . There’s even a gorgeous flame lily, though Morpheus warns him to handle it with care. Hob can’t figure out why Morpheus would have given him a flower that he can’t touch without issue, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. Morpheus frowns, looks off into the distance, then takes his leave.

He does promise to come back as soon as he can.

Hob finally caves: He tells Margaret about the flowers one late night as the pub is slowly emptying but for the regulars who stay til closing. The bartender raises a brow as she wipes out a glass before putting it on its shelf.

“He’s been giving you flowers for the past few months, and you don’t know why?”

Hob shakes his head. “Haven’t asked. Been kind of afraid to, if I’m honest.”

“My advice is to ask him.” She shrugs when Hob opens his mouth, speaking over him, “Just my advice, Rob. Take it or leave it, I don’t much care either way.”

“Why–why don’t you just look up the meanings of the flowers?” a young woman two stools down hiccups before gesturing for another drink from Margaret.

Hob stares at her, mouth slightly agape. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He’s certainly researched what the flowers were, but why had he never researched their meaning? After all, the question has been on his mind this entire time. He thanks the woman and Margaret, then rushes up the stairs to his flat.

The faithful friend, the hyacinth meaning ‘seeking forgiveness’. Friendship of the zinnia and cymbidium, hope of the opuntia. The cherry blossom with its new beginnings, the humility of a white orchid. The sunflower meaning adoration and loyalty. He stumbles when he reads the symbolism of the rest: Devotion, affection, commitment. Fidelity and love in the veronica, and passion in the ixora and flame lily.

He struggles to breathe as he rereads the meanings, cycling through each internet tab in consternation. How. . .? More importantly: Why? Does Morpheus know the meanings, or is he just as clueless as Hob was?

Speak of the devil, Hob thinks four hours later as he stares at Morpheus on his doorstep. In his hand is another flower. This one has has vivid pink heart-shaped petals hanging from the long stems. A white petal sits beneath the heart. Morpheus frowns when Hob only blinks owlishly at the blossom. When Hob closes his eyes against the burning of oncoming tears.

“What does this one mean, then?” he croaks.

“Pardon?”

“The flower,” Hob says, opening his eyes to stare at the thing in question. “What does it mean? They all have meanings, don’t they? And you–you knew, and yet you gave them to me.”

Morpheus’s expression grows blank, but the flower in his hand trembles gently. Hob finally reaches out for it; Morpheus carefully wraps long fingers around his wrist to stop him.

“You would do well to wear gloves when handling this one, as well.”

“C’mon in,” Hob says in response when he catches old Gregory stepping off the staircase. Once Morpheus has followed him inside and the door is closed, Hob presses his forehead to the wood and inhales unsteadily. “Morpheus. . . Please tell me you. . .”

You what? Didn’t know? Did know? Hob isn’t sure what would be worse. The longer Morpheus is quiet, the harder it is for Hob to remain on his feet. He pushes away from the door and turns around. The flower rests on the coffee table while Morpheus has taken a seat on the couch. He eyes Hob with a certain level of interest–and apprehension.

“I knew.”

Hob’s breath hitches at the admission. “You–you knew.”

“I knew the meanings when I gifted you the flowers.” His pale hands curve over his knees, skin made paler by the dark denim of his jeans. He’s shed his jacket, Hob notices belatedly. “I apologise if I caused you any undue distress.”

“Distress? Distress? Morpheus–”

“Dream.”

“What?” Hob breathes, brought up short by the interruption.

“My name, my truest name, is Dream.”

Eight months, and Morpheus is lumping this on Hob now? Hob lets out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. To his dismay, a tear spills over and slips down his cheek. This is too much. So fucking much, and Morpheus, Dream, doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve let me call you ‘Morpheus’ for eight months,” he manages, and Morpheus dips his chin. “Why?”

“I held my name in low regard. After. . . It no longer felt proper, such as an ill-fitting coat might feel to don.” A haunted darkness lingers in Morpheus’s eyes for a moment, but then it’s gone. “Hob, I truly never meant to upset you.”

“Why couldn’t you have just told me this before?”

The question earns him a wry smile, and Morpheus glances at the empty space beside him. Hob moves without thinking; he plops onto the couch with a lack of grace. Morpheus’s smile grows real, warmer.

“I want the truth.”

The smile dims slightly, but Morpheus nods anyway. “Of course. You, of all people, deserve that much.”

So Hob listens as Morpheus tells him who he truly is. He carefully sidesteps the topic of what kept him away for 133 years, though Hob really expected nothing less. He’s learnt after so long that Morpheus says only what he wants and nothing can make him say more. None of what comes from his mouth sounds real, but. . . Hob can’t find it in him to doubt it. To doubt Morpheus.

“Wait, wait, wait. Let me see if I have this right. You’re the personification of literal dreams and nightmares, something called an Endless, and you rule a plane of existence called the Dreaming.”

“Correct.”

“Which means–Oh, fuck. You. . . Did you see. . .?”

Here, Morpheus’s cheeks turn pink, and he averts his gaze. “I apologise for that, as well. Your dreams were inviting, for a disturbing lack of better terminology.”

“Then I–I forced myself on you.” Hob swallows down the bile and stares at a spot over Morpheus’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“Of course you did not!” Outrage paints Morpheus’s expression, his tone, and he shifts to face Hob more fully. “I control all that happens in the Dreaming, Hob Gadling. If I had not wanted it to occur, I can guarantee you it would not have. It is I who should apologise. I had a momentary lapse of judgement, of control, and I allowed it to happen.”

“So you regret it.”

Morpheus’s voice softens as he says, “The only regret I carry is that we never spoke of it before or after. That I was not–am not–certain of your feelings then. Or now.”

Hob hesitates. It’s one thing to admit to one’s self that they’re in love with someone who has turned out to be an eternal being. It’s quite another to actually confess it to said eternal being. But Morpheus was–mostly–honest, so Hob can’t lie. Can’t keep secrets.

Not when there’s a sliver of hope on Morpheus’s face.

So Hob says all he can: “I’ve been in love with you for far too long. I figured my dreams were the only time I’d ever get what I wanted.”

“And what was that?” Morpheus breathes, and Hob is sure he isn’t imagining the fact that Morpheus leans in toward him.

“You.”

Definitely not imagining it. Hob exhales sharply at the tentative brush of cool lips against his. Morpheus keeps his eyes open, clearly watching Hob’s micro-expressions for any hint of discomfort, but he will find none here. Hob presses closer, tilts his head, and sighs blissfully when their mouths align more comfortably. He tastes rain and the cool sharpness of snowfall, and it’s the most wondrous taste Hob has ever experienced in his life.

Eleanor will always be his greatest love, his first true love, and Hob has loved plenty of others in the centuries between. But there’s something to be said about a love like what he holds for Morpheus, an entity that has seen the best and worst of humanity for countless millennia. And that Morpheus wants, loves, him? There are no words to describe the euphoria.

Hob presses his forehead to Morpheus’s and stares into steel-grey eyes that have no end, unfathomable depths. “So you really meant them? The flowers, I mean.”

“Every one of them,” Morpheus murmurs before capturing Hob’s lips with his own once more.

Warmth blooms in Hob’s chest much like the blossoms he’s been gifted for so long.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream of the endless x hob gadling #dream x hob #dreamling #my writing #dreamling bingo

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